Bad Things Small Packages Read online

  She allowed herself to check the time. Fifteen minutes had passed since Brent left the car. She sighed and peered outside again, hoping to see him approaching. Instead, she saw a dark SUV headed her way. She ducked down and froze.

  That has to be them! Spies and bad guys always drive black SUVs!

  Well, unless they’re Brent.

  She raised her head cautiously and peeked again. The black vehicle rolled past the Subaru slowly, the heavily-tinted windows not allowing her to see even a silhouette of the driver. She held her breath as it passed the memory card’s hiding place.

  The SUV kept going and she exhaled. It turned at the corner and the street was again quiet.

  I’m so jumpy!

  A knock on her window made her actually jump and give a little scream. She turned to find Brent staring down at her, an amused look on his face and her microwave in his arms. With shaking hands, she pressed the button for the power locks and opened her door.

  “Don’t do that, Brent! You scared me!”

  “Dreadfully sorry.”

  She frowned at him, trying to determine if he looked more sorry or amused. It was a pretty even mixture of both, she finally decided.

  “Clock’s ticking, Prepper. Let me put this thing in the back seat.”

  “Sure! Of course, Agent Nighthawk,” she said, opening the rear passenger-side door for him, “go ahead and put my microwave in the back seat. Oh, and by the way… why on earth do you have my microwave?”

  Brent winked and jogged around the car to his side. “C’mon. I’ll show you.”

  Emily got back in, and Brent started up the Subaru. Making a U-turn, he brought the car alongside the Palo Verde tree in which he’d stashed the memory card. “Be right back,” he said. He retrieved the card and then opened the door to the back seat again. He pushed the release for the microwave door—the sound was familiar but quite out of place—and set the microSD card inside.

  “There are no small slots in the microwave for that thing to fall into, right?” Emily asked.

  Brent shook his head. “No, it will probably slide around, but I made sure there was nowhere for it to get stuck.” He got back into the car and made yet another U-turn to continue north to the interstate.

  “So,” Emily said, shrugging as if it was an everyday occurrence, “we are traveling with the card in my microwave. This helps with the tracking problem how?”

  “Faraday cage!” Brent exclaimed, glancing over at her with a wide, proud grin.

  “Come again?”

  “A Faraday cage. It’s basically a metal enclosure that blocks signals.”

  “Oh, that does sound familiar—I must have learned about it at some point in school.”

  Brent’s phone chimed and he glanced at it. “And it’s apparently working. North Pole confirms the tracking signal disappeared.”

  “That’s good!” Emily shuddered. “I’m just glad the bad guys didn’t turn on the tracking while we were still at my place. I don’t want them to know where I live.”

  “Me neither,” Brent said gravely.

  “Microwaves are a lot heavier than they look,” he observed a moment later, “especially when you have to jog with them for two blocks. I would have used tinfoil, but you didn’t have any.”

  “It’s one of those things I don’t buy to save money. Wait. Does that mean you ransacked my kitchen?”

  “Maybe a little?”

  Chapter 7

  The interstate wasn’t very busy. It was mostly just them and anyone unfortunate enough to work overnight or be on a really long road trip. Or both, in the case of the long line of semi-trucks in the slow-lane.

  They chatted about random things—Emily often interrupting with either a yawn or a violent sneeze.

  After half an hour, she had to confess. “Brent,” she said, her voice sounding stuffy, “I’m afraid to sneeze one more time. It might not end well.”

  He glanced sideways at her, looking a little confused. Then understanding lit his eyes and he looked back at the road a teasing grin on his face. “Need to make a pit stop already?”

  “BRENT! Ew, no! Not because of that!” Emily scrunched her face and pinched the bridge of her nose where the tell-tale tickle was beginning to form. “My nose—I need to blow it.”

  Brent laughed. “Oh, that makes more sense.”

  “I don’t have tissue or paper napkins or anything in here.”

  “Hmm… and I don’t have a handkerchief to loan you.”

  “What kind of spy are you that you don’t carry a handkerchief?” She couldn’t resist teasing him. “What if you had to break a window?”

  “Oh, I’d just be able to break it without suffering any cuts…” Brent was grinning. “Because I'm just that cool.”

  “Movie stuff, Brent. That’s movie stuff.” Emily squealed. “I got to be the one to say it that time!”

  Brent was shaking his head and grinning. He checked the countdown on his phone. “How fast do you think you can run into a convenience store and get some tissue?”

  “Pretty fast. There shouldn’t be lines this time of night.”

  “Good.” Brent signaled and moved over to the exit lane. “Operation Noseblow is underway.”

  “Okay, that sounds epic.”

  Brent parked in front of a gas station convenience store just north of the freeway, and surveyed the area carefully before nodding at Emily. She hopped out and jogged into the store.

  I never would have thought to check for danger. Glad he’s so careful. Hopefully that microwave is doing its job and keeping the bad guys from tracking us.

  She found a small package of tissue and headed toward the register. On the way she passed a hot dog warmer and noticed a roll of tin foil for wrapping the hot dogs. When she reached the register she said, “Weird question: I noticed you have tin foil over there with the hot dogs. Would it be all right if I tore off a piece and took it with me?”

  The sleepy-looking clerk raised one eyebrow and scanned her package of tissues slowly. “Uh, sure?”

  “Thanks!” That was probably one of the stranger questions anyone has asked, she thought.

  Emily’s gaze strayed to the small TV behind the counter. It seemed every convenience store had one playing the news. Yet again, they were playing a report about Brent’s infamous Smart Car chase. The sound was turned down almost all the way and there was no closed captioning on, but the footage fascinated her. She glanced at the corner of the screen and noted that it was from a different news outlet than the report she’d seen earlier that night.

  The footage included some shots of the police swarming over the scene in the aftermath. Various teams disappeared and reappeared from the parking garage where Brent had ditched the Smart Car. An African American woman—a detective, if Emily had her guess—emerged from the parking garage. The news camera was zoomed in far enough to make out her expression.

  She very definitely looked puzzled and determined. As if she knew something wasn’t adding up.

  Emily bit her lip.

  “Here’s your change,” the clerk said.

  Deep in thought, Emily pocketed the change, picked up her tissues and went back to grab some of the tin foil.

  She waved goodbye with the piece of tin foil and said, “Thanks again!” as she exited the convenience store. Brent leaned across and opened her door, and she slid into the passenger’s seat.

  “Got you something,” she said.

  “Tin foil! Aww, you shouldn’t have!”

  “I figured it might come in handy to be able to carry or hide the memory card sans microwave.”

  “Good thinking.”

  While Emily blew her nose vigorously, Brent tore off part of the tin foil, reached into the back seat and opened the microwave. Stretching, he picked the microSD card up with the tin foil, wrapping it neatly before withdrawing it from the microwave.

  “Wrap it in another layer for good measure, if you would,” he said, handing
the little package to Emily and shutting the microwave. “I keep expecting popcorn every time I hear that door open and close,” he added, putting the car in gear.

  “Oh, good—it’s not just me.”

  “Perhaps your new codename should be Pavlov,” Brent grinned sideways at her.

  “Or perhaps not,” she said decidedly.

  He shrugged. “Well, all right.”

  “Where should I put this?” she asked, holding up the microSD card now neatly wrapped in layers of tin foil.

  “Let’s put it in the glove compartment for now. Just make sure it won’t find any little spaces to disappear into.”

  Emily did so and then leaned back. They were headed west on the freeway again, and she was beginning to feel just how tired she was.

  “Oh—I saw something in there. In the convenience store,” she said. “I nearly forgot to tell you. The TV was playing another news report about your car chase, and I noticed a detective who looked sort of… skeptical, I guess.”

  Brent cocked his head. “Hmm… well, that is a detective’s job. Being skeptical.”

  “Do you think she will figure out you were there? The first thing they do in police shows is get surveillance footage. Were there cameras in the parking garage?” Emily studied Brent’s profile worriedly.

  He nodded. “Yes, there were four along my escape route.”

  Emily sucked in a breath.

  “But I evaded them all.”

  “Of course you did, Agent Nighthawk.”

  He winked at her.

  Emily cleared her scratchy throat, and asked, “How are we doing on time?”

  Brent’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. “We’ll make it. Assuming our hacker can work fast.”

  Chapter 8

  A familiar vvvrrrttt! sound and the rattling of the car woke Emily.

  Cattle guard?

  She sat up straight and pushed her hair out of her eyes. She’d been slumped against the car window, sleeping.

  “Okay, understood,” Brent’s voice said.

  “Huh? Oh.” He was on the phone. She focused on what he was saying.

  “Do we know if he even lives out here full-time? … Got it. … Yes, sir, I’ll keep you updated. You’re the Best!” Emily was relieved to hear Brent end the call with his signature way of teasing his boss. He must be less worried than he was before.

  “New information?” she asked.

  “Good morning, Sleeping Beauty!” he said, grinning at her, his teeth gleaming white in the darkness. The remote road on which they headed north was unlit, the area too rural for proper street lights. Only their headlights and the moon illuminated the cracked asphalt.

  “It’s neither morning, nor was I sleeping beautifully, I’m guessing.”

  Brent just shrugged and then added, as if he couldn’t resist. “Well, there was a little snoring…”

  “No! Really? It’s just because I have a cold.” As if to prove her point, Emily pulled out a tissue and blew her nose vigorously.

  Brent was chuckling. “Okay, in that case, I guess I won’t change your codename.”

  “Oh, well thanks for that. So what did Santa say? And… where are we?” she asked.

  “North Pole has been trying to contact Zero since we left Phoenix, but they haven’t gotten a response.”

  “Zero?”

  “That’s the computer guy’s codename.”

  “So he might not even be here?”

  “Santa says they have a team going through satellite footage now to try and ascertain that. He wants us to proceed with the knock, but with caution. As for where we are: we’re on a small, two-lane road in Tonopah, just north of I-10,” Brent said.

  “I figured that.”

  “I probably shouldn’t be more specific, and—technically—” he looked over at her apologetically “—I should blindfold you for the last leg of this journey. We have an agreement with Zero that we will protect his location.”

  Emily nodded. “That makes sense. I guess hackers probably don’t want just anyone knowing from whence they hack.” She yawned and checked the time. It was just after midnight. “Oh! Happy tomorrow.”

  Brent smirked and raised an eyebrow. “Happy tomorrow to you, too. See? It is the morning!”

  After a little ways, he pulled off the narrow road and onto the dirt shoulder. “Okay…” he sighed.

  “Time for the blindfold?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What will we use?”

  Brent frowned and looked around the car. He glanced upward in thought and, after a moment, shook his head. “Nothing useful in my messenger bag.”

  Emily reached up to touch the wide headband she wore. “Would this work?”

  Brent’s gaze followed her hand and he nodded. “Good thinking. Yes, it should.”

  She pulled the headband off and untied it, handing it to him and leaning toward him. “You know,” she said as he laid it over her eyes, “under normal circumstances this would be really creepy.”

  “Don’t I know it.”

  “In the middle of nowhere in the middle of the night being blindfolded—that’s the stuff of horror movies!”

  “Wow, you are really not helping this be less awkward,” Brent groaned.

  Emily grinned. He was struggling to tie the ends of the headband behind her head. “You know, for a spy you aren’t very good at tying things.”

  “What makes you say that?” he asked, his concentration evident in his voice.

  “Well, this, for one. And your apron strings at work are always barely or badly tied. You’re just lucky Terry hasn’t noticed. She can be a bit of a stickler about the whole uniform-tidiness thing.”

  Brent seemed satisfied the makeshift blindfold would stay well enough, for she felt him withdraw his hands and lean back. “Okay, I guess you have a point. But I'm just fine at knot-tying if I can actually see the knot. Does that feel okay?”

  “Yep!” she said.

  “Your file didn’t say anything about anxiety or claustrophobia, but say something if it starts to bother you. It shouldn’t be too much longer until we’re there.”

  “Thanks, Brent. You’re the most considerate blind-folder I’ve ever met.” She felt him put the car back in gear and pull onto the road.

  “How many blind-folders have you met? Did you play a lot of pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey as a kid or something?”

  Emily laughed, stopping as it turned into a cough. “Only played it once and totally won because, while waiting my turn in line, I memorized the position of the tail in relation to the top and sides of the poster. When it was my turn, I felt the edges, sort of triangulated in my head, and the rest was history.”

  Brent burst out laughing. “That’s brilliant, Emily. How did the other kids feel about it?”

  “They weren’t very impressed,” she said wryly.

  A few moments of silenced stretched between them, punctuated only by the crunching of the Subaru’s tires on gravel as they left the pavement. Emily sniffed. “Could you hand me a tissue?” she asked.

  In a moment, Brent pressed one into her hand. After blowing her nose, she leaned her head back against the headrest.

  “Feeling okay?” he asked.

  “Ehh. Coldy and tired.”

  “I’m sorry. You probably should have stayed home and rested, Prepper.”

  “I probably shouldn’t have gotten mixed up with you and ICS or even known you’re a spy in the first place,” she replied. “But has that stopped me? Nope!”

  Brent chuckled softly.

  Emily felt herself sway as the road curved to the left. “Okay, so after the pavement ends, we curve to the left and—” she broke off with a cheeky grin.

  Brent snorted and said, “I should have known you’d try to work out our location despite the blindfold.”

  “Don’t worry,” Emily said. “I’m just messing with you. I don’t even know what exit we took off the freeway, seeing as I w
as asleep, so my sense of direction is no good to me.”

  They were silent a minute and the road became bumpier—more like a dirt road than a gravel one. Or maybe no official road at all—Emily wasn’t sure.

  She shifted in her seat. “So, tell me this, Agent Nighthawk: where did you live prior to this assignment? You’re obviously not an Arizona native.”

  Brent didn’t answer right away, and Emily realized she missed seeing his facial expressions.

  “What gave me away?”

  “Mostly just your sense of amazement at the heat, the fact that you carry hooded sweatshirts as disguises even in the middle of summer, and your comment about ‘shouldn’t it cool off after dark?’”

  “Are you saying Arizona natives don’t complain about the heat?”

  “Oh, no. Complaining about the heat is kind of our state hobby. But you haven’t answered my question.”

  “You noticed.”

  Again, she wished she could see his face. Were his eyes doing that twinkly thing they did when he was amused? Or was his expression tight and stressed?

  After a moment, the car’s momentum slowed and he said, “Here we are.” He parked and turned off the car. She felt him lean closer and reach around the back of her head to untie the blindfold.

  She blinked as it dropped away. Brent gave her a quiet, genuine smile. “I can’t tell you where I was assigned before Phoenix, Emily. But I can tell you I was born and raised in Virginia.”

  She returned his smile. “That’s cool.”

  “Literally, compared to here.”

  Emily turned to look out the windshield and cocked her head at what she saw. “That’s not what I was expecting.”

  “I imagine that’s probably the point.”

  They were parked a short distance away from a rusty, metal shipping container, the only structure in sight. The desert stretched out all around them; undisturbed, uninhabited, and dimly illuminated by moonlight. Emily shivered.

  Chapter 9

  “Pass me the memory card?” Brent asked.

  “Sure,” Emily tore her gaze from the unexpected sight and popped open the glove compartment. She pulled out the little tin-foil-covered package and handed it to Brent. “We got here in time, right?”