Chapter 1: Biting the Big One

I PICKED UP A TAIL at the start of display Aisle 200 and she was sticking to me like cat hair on a blue suit. I didn’t really mind. She was the only thing I’d seen in a skirt all week. Cocktail waitresses don’t really count.

I was in Vegas for the annual Geek Convention, also called SpyCon. A lot of private dicks, investigators, cops, and undercover geeks get together to view the latest in high tech toys, hear improbable tales of law enforcement, and act like they are on covert missions. Basically fun, and the only reason I drive from Seattle to Vegas once each year.

I’m Dag Hamar, PI. And I’m a tech geek.

I dallied in front of a display of long-range listening devices, guaranteed to filter individual voices out of a crowd at a hundred feet. She either had to stop in front of a display of interrogation techniques or move on to join me. She chose the latter.

“Do those things really work?” she asked. “They seem too small to be effective. You really need a tripod to steady it if you are going to pick out an individual, don’t you?”

Good technique. A tail would never actually approach her quarry. Doing so would call attention to her and therefore disqualify her as an effective tail. Unless she thought you’d invite her to join you. That would make the job of tailing you a lot easier. Well, it was a good ploy. I’d play along for a while.

“You’re right, a nice big mic on a tripod would be best, but it’s an interesting technology. Supposedly you can even bounce off any solid surface. It has possibilities.” We walked on to the next booth and she asked the exhibitor a detailed and intelligent question about miniaturized transmitters. The exhibitor was all too thrilled to give her an equally detailed response, just to be in her presence. She was tall and slender, and the kind of natural honey blonde whose hair stuck out in all directions. And cute. She had no end of cute.

I decided to hang around and wait for her instead of losing her at just that moment.

We chatted as we walked down the display aisle that included everything from night vision glasses, to telephone bugs, to high-resolution miniature digital cameras. This was really toy heaven. I’d already selected a miniaturized homing device in the top of an innocuous looking ballpoint pen. It was the kind of thing you could give to a mark or slip onto him without his ever knowing you were tracking him. I do like gadgets.

For her part, my tail was proving herself charming, funny, and flirtatious—sure signs she was not what she appeared to be. It’s been years since young women have been charming, funny, and flirtatious around me. I’m not only a PI, I’m a retread.

We turned into Aisle 500 and she turned more abruptly than she intended and stumbled into me. I caught her and she leaned into me and said breathlessly, “What would you say if I asked if you’d like to get lucky?” She looked up at me with teasing eyes that held a hundred unspoken promises.

Okay. I’m flattered, even if I know this is a pro job. What’s a man to say?

“Well, hypothetically speaking,” I said, “I’d have to consider that you are a very beautiful young woman making an obvious pass at an older and distinguished gentleman. Then I’d have to say, no.” She looked up at me startled.

“No?”

“No.”

“Why not? Don’t you like me?”

“Oh, I like you very much. I think you’re delightful company.”

“Then why?” I couldn’t tell if she was acting hurt or insulted, or a little of both. It was the first crack I’d seen in her act.

“First of all, I try to never get involved with anyone less than half my age,” I said. Plus seven, I added silently to myself. How true. Unfortunately I’m pretty successful at it. She did not seem impressed.

“Okay, do you remember that long distance mic that could pick a single voice out of a crowd?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“They have one over on that balcony, considerably less than a hundred feet away, that’s been following us ever since we left that booth, meaning every word has been recorded.” She appeared startled and turned to look.

“Third,” I continued, “you are a woman of exquisite taste, but the buttons of your blouse don’t match. That tells me that the one in the middle is a fisheye camera that you are using to record our interaction.” She clapped a hand over the offending button.

“And finally, judging by your Olympic University lapel pin, I’d have to say that Lars Andersen is standing around here someplace laughing at us for all he’s worth,” I concluded.

“Wow,” she said. “He told me you were good.”

“The best I ever trained,” Lars interjected walking up behind me. “How you doing, Dag?” I greeted my old friend and mentor warmly. “It’s good to see you haven’t forgotten everything I ever taught you,” he said. “I was worried about your skills going downhill stuck in that office all the time. No field work, no fun.”

“Oh it’s not that bad,” I said. “I accomplish a bit here and there.”

“Like what?” Lars asked.

“Like three embezzlement cases, two bank fraud cases, six child porn cases, three industrial espionage cases, and fifteen identity theft cases,” said Jordan Grant walking up next to Lars. It was turning into old home week. I shook Jordan’s hand.

“Sixteen if you count John Doe,” I said. Damnedest case we’d ever had. He had stolen over twenty identities, but we never could identify who he really was, even after he was in custody. He had completely erased his own identity in the process.

“So you guys all know each other,” my tail said. “Anybody want to introduce me?”

“Dag,” Lars said, “Let me introduce you to the finest student I’ve had since you and Jordan. This is Miss Deborah Riley.” I reached out to shake her hand.

“I’m glad to meet you D...” I broke off as she squeezed my hand in vise-like fingers.