Part 19

[nekonexus.livejournal.com]

It's just a minor inconvenience in Tamsin's life, right?


~*~*~

The most annoying part of the whole situation, Tamsin thought, was the fact that he hadn't been maliciously hacking anything this time. All he'd been looking for was a back door -- and not even one that would get him to the profitable data. No, he'd merely been indulging his curiosity in the rumour of "greenware" and the kid had simply been an access port.

He hadn't lied to the boy, either. He'd warned him that strange things might happen when he downloaded the information he'd been asking for; much the same way a responsible dealer might warn a user about a new drug. Not that the kid had paid him any attention, of course, which was why Tamsin didn't usually bother trying to warn people.

But of course a trojan was a trojan, to a cop at least, and he'd used them before to get himself in and out of places he had no right being. He hadn't always been so... scrupulous about those data digs, either. No reason not to turn a profit when he could. There was food to buy and rent to pay (even if it was paid through a third party), after all, even if most of the other usual monthly bills could be circumvented.

Kurosai was different, though. Kurosai held answers. Could be the answer.

And none of this would have even crossed the cop's radar if not for the kid overreacting, and Calder being surprisingly --

Calder.

The damn car wasn't fixed yet; was still at the mechanic's (and wasn't the mechanic still too much of a distraction himself...). Renting a car would leave a paper trail even if he wanted to risk a fake ID. And Keiran....

Damned if his twin didn't have the worst timing ever when he wanted to.

Giving his head a quick shake, Tamsin dumped his bulging duffel bag by the door, and gave the apartment a quick once over, all the while cursing steadily beneath his breath. Airline security was too much to fuss with without due preparation. Buses were traps once you were on them, and either way, he needed to get to the station or airport. He could take a cab (better two or even three in succession, actually, harder to trace), get far enough away to start hitching....

He made a face at that, not at all pleased by the thought of lugging the duffel around with him. But it could have been worse. The flash drives were compact and portable by design. He'd burnt most of the paper notes, scattered the ashes in the postage-stamp back yard of the apartment complex; tucked the two notebooks he needed into the duffel along with the one textbook he'd bothered to keep. Stripped the hard drive and RAM out of his PC, stuck those in anti-static bags and wrapped them in t-shirts. The laptop had its own case, and came with him, obviously intact. His cell phone was reprogrammable; new chip, new number, wipe the old account. Hadn't bothered with a land line.

He knew exactly how the forensics team would look at the place, too. It almost made him laugh. This was precisely why they managed to catch criminals. Even the best grew careless when rushed. The most detailed plan could go out the window the moment the alarm was sounded.

If you weren't careful.

If you weren't prepared.

Taking a deep breath, he rolled his neck and shoulders and let his hands fall open at his sides.

He was both, actually. Meticulously so.

He'd made a few phone calls, a couple of data drops online and arranged a couple of payments before he'd stripped and packed his hardware. Within another -- he checked his watch -- hour or so, someone he'd never met would be moving in here, ready to insist they'd been here all along. They'd finish stripping the hardware, rebuild the machine, or simply destroy the pieces.

The fact that said stranger was also alleged to be a lovely, distracting, charismatic pyromaniac was just an added bonus.

DNA evidence was a bitch to remove. He'd taken care of what he could, quickly and easily. His linens and the clothes he hadn't packed had gone in a garbage bag, deposited outside one of the unoccupied apartments for pick-up by a laundry service ordered by phone and paid for with a borrowed credit card number. He'd gathered all the garbage as well, and disposed of it in the unlocked dumpster behind the convenience store a block away.

Wiping down all the surfaces for fingerprints was a time-consuming task. He'd done the obvious ones. Thoroughly destroying evidence was where the pyro would come in handy, if it came to that.

Really, it was just a matter of seeding chaos. The rest would take care of itself.

Pulling on a new pair of latex gloves, Tamsin hefted the duffel and laptop case and opened the door. New prints would be on it shortly anyway.

The sight of the silver-white car parked in front of his ground-floor apartment stopped him dead in his tracks, again.

"Calder?" he exclaimed, more loudly than he should have.

The wyvern chirped at him, sounding very pleased with itself as it let the window tinting fade out. There was no one in the car.

"What the hell are you doing?" Tamsin growled. Setting the bags down, he reached behind him to check that the door was locked. He'd left the spare key under the single patio stone that marked his back door. Moving to stand in front of the car, he inspected the remains of the damage silently.

The front grill was straight again, more or less. He ran his fingers over it, felt the line where the bars had split. It wasn't welded. It was an organic regrowth, like a bone mending itself. Reaching through the grill, he pulled the latch and raised the hood.

The engine block had resealed itself and, to judge by Calder's purring idle, the interior had been repaired as well. Which was all well and good -- and wouldn't Keiran be pleased to no end to know that he'd been right about the wyvern's healing ability? -- but there was still an obvious problem.

"Calder," Tamsin said, as gently as he could, "you have no radiator. No fan."

Calder made a curious cooing noise, as if trying to understand. Sighing, Tamsin let the hood drop and made sure the latch caught. "You'll overheat," he added tiredly.

The wyvern growled softly, clearly unwilling to even consider being left behind.

"Stubborn," Tamsin muttered. As stubborn as his twin, really, and (unlike Ran) likely to follow him until it couldn't. Turning to retrieve his bags, he tried very hard not to think of Ran again. He needed to be focused, not fighting off the sudden ache that made it hard to breathe.

"Let's go, then," he said, sliding behind the wheel.

~*~*~

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