Burke pulled the Firebird into the parking lot of a large shopping plaza that boasted a Walmart and several other smaller chain stores. But on the outskirts of the shopping center, beside a large open field of scrub brush and weeds, sat their destination—the Henderson branch of GoBox.

The parking lot was a buzzing swarm of activity. Reporters and onlookers on the perimeter, and police officers as they pulled closer.

“We can walk from here,” Carter said.

Burke turned off the supercharged engine, and the powerful rumble, which had been giving Carter a headache for the past several minutes, finally fell silent.

As Carter stepped from the car, he said, “If you want some homework, read the book The Sneetches by Dr. Seuss and google Ubuntu Philosophy. Then we’ll talk more about it. But right now, kid, it’s time to go to work. Are you nervous?”

“Should I be?”

Carter smiled. “Only if you are not really as smart as I think you are.”

“I never claimed to be anything special.”

“Most exceptional people don’t.”

Chapter 15

Kruger stood in the center of GoBox’s private lounge. The modern art furniture had been scraped and scooted into a tight circle with all of the hostages now seated around him like campers encircling a fire. But, since they’d been gathered, Kruger had yet to say a word to the hostages.

He would let the tension rise. The calmer he remained and the tenser they became, the more he was in control of the situation and of them.

In a very calm voice—still muffled by the scratchy and fever-inducing material of the ski mask—Kruger said, “Doc, how are we coming along?”

“Just give me like ten seconds. I mean, like a minute. I mean, I almost have it.”

Kruger kept his eyes closed, directing his own personal symphony in his head. He liked the classics. Mozart. Tchaikovsky.

Quentin Yarborough, the stuffy British GoBox manager, said, “You’re wasting your time.”

Kruger didn’t raise his voice or strike the man. He didn’t even open his eyes. He simply raised the .44 Magnum revolver and cocked back the hammer. It was his baby. Well-oiled and well-kept. The sound was loud and crisp, the cylinder locking in place on a fresh life-ending projectile. He had learned in the bush to always have his gun cocked and ready when hunting, so that he didn’t startle his prey. But when hunting men, sometimes he wanted his quarry to be a little spooked.

And just like a gazelle, the instincts of every person in that room kicked into fight or flight mode with the sound of Kruger’s .44 Magnum cycling a round.

Kruger didn’t speak.

And neither did anyone else until the Doc finally said, “That’s it. We’re in. We have control of their computers.”

“You know what to do,” Kruger said. “Are the cameras disabled?”

“It’s done.”

He ripped off the sweat-soaked ski mask, opened his eyes, and said, “Ladies and gentlemen, since you’ve already been checked for weapons, you may keep all of your personal items including your cell phones. We are employing signal blocking that will not allow them to connect to anything or get any kind of signal inside these walls. But you are welcome to play whatever mindless game that is currently rotting your brain as long as it doesn’t require an internet connection. But if anyone disrespects me or my friends or does anything to interfere with our business, you will be killed immediately. Am I understood?”