CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Marilyn found a small house that she could rent by the week in Nags Head, North Carolina. The tiny beach community wasn’t yet in full swing for the summer months, so she was left to herself. Just what she wanted until she could complete her plan.
Everyone thought this was about military secrets. It wasn’t about military secrets. It was about the system being broken. Yes, she’d fed that system, flamed it, welcomed the fire. It was exciting to see, to watch.
Her mother had worked her fingers to the bone to give her a nice place to live her life. There was no privacy because they shared a bedroom but most nights her mother would sleep on the pull-out sofa to give her space to study and read. She encouraged her at every turn.
But when she needed help the most, when the landlord was selling the building and everyone was losing their apartment, her mother had nowhere to go. Nowhere except to Cain Hampton.
She didn’t know for certain what became of that meeting. She didn’t see her mother again. Found dead along the river near their home, it appeared to be a random act of violence. Marilyn never believed it.
Cain. Cain was always at the edge of their lives causing trouble for them. She just wanted to finish what she’d started.
She glanced up at the television, shocked by what she was seeing. Cain Hampton, in handcuffs, being carted away from the capitol.
“No,” she whispered. “No, this can’t be.”
Her only hope of inside assistance was gone. She needed to act swiftly. She opened the multiple laptops, running the programs she herself designed. Collecting data and information for whoever wished to buy it. With enough money, she could leave and start over again.
She heard the familiar whir and hum of her laptops and watched the data being downloaded as she sipped her coffee.
Turning, she looked out at the water, the sun rising slowly, giving it the eerie glow of orange, red, and purple.
The water was calm, but like her life, there was turbulence below and the hurricane was about to come ashore.
Something was wrong. She heard a strange sound from the laptops and turned to see the programs had literally stopped. Nothing was working, nothing was moving. Then alarms began to go off.
“No. No, no, this can’t be. My programs are fool-proof. I can get it all. They can’t stop me!”
On her personal laptop she heard the familiar ping of her messaging system and stared at the message.
“I expect all to be delivered today.”
“Shit! Shit, shit, shit!”
Years of work put into making the system work and someone had found a way to stop it. Credit card numbers for millions of people across the world. Banking information on every human with a bank account. But the most important thing to her buyer, access to nuclear codes and their sites.
“What do I do?” she whispered to herself as her fingers hovered above the keyboard. “Half. I can deliver half.”
She sent the message that half could be delivered today, the other half in one week. A week. She would need to hide for another week and she wasn’t certain she could do it.
“Half is unacceptable. All or the deal is off.”
“No, no, no,” she said aloud. Then she typed a response. “If you want it all, you have to help me get Legacy off my back.”
It was a risk to admit that they were chasing her but it couldn’t be that bad. A few guys with some computer skills and muscle. What the hell did it matter? Cain had been afraid of them but he was a weak, pathetic old man. With any luck he’d die in prison.
“Answer me,” she whispered to herself.
“You’re on your own. The deal is off.”
“What?” she gasped. The chat went dark, the connection completely cut off on their end. She attempted to get them to respond again, begging for help but got nothing.
“Someone will help me,” she said calmly. “Someone in the community will help me.”
She opened the chat rooms where people often went to complain about government and the supposed hidden scandals, secrets, and lies. She began typing in a message, requesting help from the warriors fighting for what is right. Before she could even finish, messages flashed one after another.
“A must read!”
“Look at this! Predictions coming true.”
“Wisest woman ever! Find her killer.”
She glanced up and then down and then back up again. Then she saw the first few lines.
“Written by Ellen Sanders, prior to her death…”