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  Crappola. I did know that. But how did he know I knew that?

  I sighed. “Okay, then let me do it. This is a mess of my making.”

  Basia let out a screech. “No, Lexi! You can’t hack. Forget it. You gave your dad your word. Besides, you work for the NSA now. Don’t blow it. You just got the freaking job.”

  “They work there too, and have a lot more to lose if they get caught.”

  Xavier laughed, leaning back against the cushions and putting his feet on the coffee table. “I assure you, getting caught would never happen. Don’t worry, Lexi. We’re good and Elvis is the best. Ace of the aces. So good, in fact, that for an easy hack like this, I’m not even going to offer my assistance.”

  Elvis snorted. “Like I’d need it.”

  “You would.”

  Basia held up a hand. “Hey, are we like five years old here?”

  Elvis shrugged. “It’s okay, Lexi. It’s my machine and software. I know it best. Let me hack for you. You can watch.”

  Jeez, I really did want to see him in action. I just didn’t want to see him led down the path of criminal activity all because I broke some wacko scientist’s fingers and he singled me out for a heart-to-heart session.

  “Elvis, are you sure?”

  “I’m prime, Lexi. Seriously.”

  “Okay then.” I agreed because I couldn’t, in good conscience, stand in the way of a man and a good hack.

  Elvis’s hands flew over the keyboard as he hopped around the Net, making sure he wouldn’t be traced. He was good. Amazing. A flare of envy rushed through me, wishing it were my fingers on the keys. Jeez, I totally missed hacking and I’d only been on the wagon a few months. I was worse than a drug addict. Elvis gave me a sideways glance and I swear he could see the envy on my face because he smiled.

  After a few minutes, he murmured, “This won’t take long at all. It’s good he has an unusual name.”

  “A geeky name, you mean.” Basia slipped off her sandals and tucked her feet underneath her bottom. “No offense.”

  “Jeez, Basia.”

  Elvis either didn’t hear or didn’t care. Instead, he tapped his finger on the monitor. “Got it.”

  “That was quick.”

  “Humphrey Nickelward is a resident of Baltimore. I’ve got a home address. He works for a hi-tech firm called Hot Chips, also located in Baltimore.”

  I peered at the screen. “What do they produce?”

  “Not surprisingly, microchips.”

  Elvis leaned forward. “Nickelward is identified as a lead scientist. Hold on a minute.” He typed a bit more. “Okay, I’m in.”

  Basia sat up on her knees, looking over at the computer cluster. “In where? Did you hack into that firm? Just like that? Oh, my God. I didn’t know lawlessness could be so cool.”

  Elvis continued reading. “According to his HR file, Nickelward has a top-secret clearance and has been at the firm for sixteen years. He never married and has no children.”

  “And who’s surprised about that?” Basia asked.

  I gave her an exasperated look over my shoulder and she shrugged. “Just saying.”

  Xavier got off the couch. “Is Hot Chips a defense contractor?”

  “Not exclusively. Let me take a look around.”

  Basia rose and stood beside Xavier, watching Elvis hop from screen to screen. “So, what was with all the money? Did he steal from his company?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t think so. I’m guessing the money we found in his pouch was counterfeit.”

  Basia gasped. “Huh?”

  Elvis nodded. “Lexi’s right. That’s why the Secret Service is involved. Somehow, Nickelward got his hands on stacks of counterfeit bills. Given the fact that your room was trashed, someone else wanted it too.”

  “But who?” Basia asked.

  “Don’t know.” Elvis pointed a finger at Xavier and Basia. “Now you two go sit on the balcony and commune. Lexi and I need to concentrate uninterrupted for a while. We’ll tell you when we have something.”

  Basia and Xavier wandered out to the balcony and sat at the table. I didn’t think I was doing anything of much value, but it felt nice not to be banished.

  Elvis whistled under his breath, bringing my attention back to the matter at hand. I leaned closer to him. “What did you find?”

  “Hot Chips is involved in the development of an RFID chip for the U.S. Treasury.”

  I thought for a moment. “Tracking currency.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Interesting. A potentially excellent way to deter counterfeiting.” I shifted in the chair, the wheels in my head spinning. “So, I suppose that means if the U.S. Treasury is able to embed a chip into each bill, it could be tracked from its inception.”

  “Yes. Think of it this way…every bill created automatically becomes registered. Theoretically, the Treasury Department could keep a running record of every bill produced. More importantly, money without a functioning code-protected chip could be instantly noted as counterfeit.”

  “Okay, I get this, but am having a bit of a Big Brother moment. Do I really want the government to know how I’m spending my money?”

  He grinned. “They track the money, not the person spending it.”

  “True to a certain extent. But there will likely be cases where the money could be traced back to the person, especially if people directly withdraw the money from their bank and then use it.”

  “Plausible. But it’s the way of the world today. I would say a responsible use of the technology and certain limitations would have to be imposed.”

  I paused, letting the implication sink in. “Heavy stuff.”

  “The heaviest.”

  “So, back to Nickelward. What does he have to do with all of this?”

  Elvis typed some more and I saw him hacking into the personal email of someone named Sonia Nash.

  I squinted at the screen. “Who’s she?”

  “CEO of Hot Chips. The IT guy has her account behind some pretty tight security.”

  “But not impenetrable.”

  “Not for me.” His lips twitched. “Or you, I’d suspect.”

  “You can tell it’s killing me that I can’t have my hands on that keyboard, can’t you?”

  “Totally.”

  I let out a breath. “Jeez.”

  His smile widened and then he sat back, linking his fingers at the back of his neck. “I’m in. Want to read some email?”

  “Do I ever.” I scooted my chair even closer, leaning in so close to the monitor that my hair fell onto the keyboard. I opened the latest six emails and read quickly. “Holy microchip. The company is in big trouble.”

  Elvis put his head close to mine as I pointed to the email I’d been reading.

  “Check this out. Here’s the problem.”

  Elvis scanned it, his eyes widening. “Mega disturbing. All of which leads to one paramount question.”

  “Which is?”

  “What quantum mess have you got mixed up in, Lexi Carmichael?”

  Chapter Seven

  I swallowed hard. “Apparently a big pile of crappola.”

  Elvis put his hand on mine and squeezed. “Keep it loose. We’ll piece it together.”

  I decided hyperventilating would not help in this situation. Elvis was right. We had to piece this together to make sense of it. I took a couple more breaths to calm down. After a minute, I felt better.

  Elvis cocked his head, watching my face. “You good?”

  “I’m good. Let’s lay it out.”

  “Okay.”

  I leaned my elbows on the table. “So, we know Nickelward was the lead scientist at Hot Chips on the development and production of an RFID microchip to be used in U.S. currenc
y.”

  “Yes.”

  “And now we know he disappeared five days ago from Baltimore and showed up here in Ocean City at some point.”

  “Where he met you.”

  “By sheer accident. So, three days after his disappearance, Hot Chips notices the true prototype is missing.”

  “Stolen.”

  “And replaced by a fake. They think Dr. Nickelward took the original to sell to counterfeiters.”

  “Seems logical, given he is missing as well.”

  I pushed the hair back from my shoulders. “It would also explain his nervous-bordering-on-psycho behavior as well as his rambled explanation of having to take unusual steps to fund the research of his heart.”

  “But?”

  I glanced at Elvis in surprise. “But what?”

  “But…there’s something else. You’re thinking it. Just say it.”

  I pressed my hand to my forehead. “Okay. Here it is. I’m not convinced he’s a bad guy. An idiot, perhaps, to think he could get away with this. But he seemed genuinely interested in helping the human race, not sending us all into economic ruin by aiding counterfeiters.”

  “What was his research baby again?”

  “An implantable RFID chip for detecting and possibly curing disease in humans.”

  “Prime.”

  “Yes.” I leaned back in the chair, stretching my legs out in front of me. “Unfortunately, his passion got in the way of rational thought.”

  “So, you’re thinking he had a change of heart?”

  I narrowed my eyes. “Are you psychic?”

  “Just good at deduction.”

  I sighed. “No kidding. Yes, I think he had a change of heart. At the last minute, he decides not to pass on the actual microchip to the counterfeiters.”

  “Interesting. So then what? He passes off a counterfeit chip to the counterfeiters? It would be poetic justice of sorts.”

  “That’s what I think. Then the counterfeiters find out. But what’s with the fake money in the pouch, if that’s what it was?”

  Elvis stared off into space for a moment. “Maybe he printed it for them. Showed them how and where to insert the chip into the bill.”

  “How could he print it? You think they have some kind of special printing assembly line here in Ocean City?”

  Elvis laughed. “Lexi, the only factory counterfeiters need these days is a decent computer and a hi-resolution printer. The hard part would be getting the right kind of paper, the chip, and embedding the chip into the bill in the correct way. Nickelward would have helped with that, I suppose.”

  My cheeks heated. “Right. Note to self…read up on current counterfeiting measures.”

  His grin widened. “Be careful with that. Never know who’s watching. However, we’re missing a critical part of the puzzle.”

  “Which is?”

  “How do you fit into this?”

  “I’m pretty sure I’m a totally random variable.”

  “Yet a variable just the same. We can hypothesize that your first meeting happened by chance. After that, we must keep into play that Nickelward rendezvoused with you because he wanted to.”

  “But why?”

  “He told you he had no one else.”

  “True, but he was scared. Maybe he just wanted someone to talk to.”

  “Perhaps. I think he was testing you. Seeing if you’d be a good person to keep the microchip safe for him.”

  “Me? Seriously, that’s a leap in logic. It’s totally risky, not to mention a bit creepy, given the fact that he didn’t even know me. But it would fit with the Secret Service’s heightened interest in whether he’d given me anything to keep safe for him.”

  Elvis fell silent for a moment. “Okay. I’m thinking back to when you opened the pouch. I didn’t see anything resembling a microchip, but it would have been microscopic so I might have missed it.”

  “I sincerely doubt he’d dump it in the pouch with no protective covering.”

  “Agreed, but let’s look anyway.”

  “Hasn’t housekeeping vacuumed?”

  “Not yet.”

  We both got down on our hands and knees and crawled around the carpet, feeling around. Basia and Xavier walked in from the balcony.

  “Dude. Dudette. What are you doing?”

  Elvis looked up at his brother. “Looking for a microchip.”

  “So that’s what it’s called these days. Well, Basia and I are going to get something to eat.”

  My stomach growled. “Bring something back, will you? Make it quick and be careful. You don’t know who will be watching.”

  “Will do.”

  The two of them walked out and Elvis and I searched around for a while longer. I finally sat up, resting my back against the couch.

  “Nothing.”

  “He could have hidden it inside the pouch somewhere, a hidden pocket perhaps. I didn’t look for one.”

  I rubbed the back of my neck. “I don’t think so. My guess is that is the first place the Secret Service would have looked.”

  “Well, theoretically, it’s possible it could still be here on the floor. Microscopic is easy to miss. How about I go borrow a vacuum and we suck everything up and sift through it with a hi-tech magnet?”

  I looked at him hopefully. “You’ve got a magnet here?”

  “Always carry one with me.”

  “Holy cow. You’re amazing.”

  Elvis left to borrow a vacuum from housekeeping and I pushed back the furniture in the area where I had opened the pouch. He came back a few minutes later with one of those round industrial-type vacuums with a long hose.

  “Let me jury-rig it first.” He removed the original vacuum bag and replaced it with a plastic trash bag, securing it at the neck with a couple of rubber bands. “Won’t last for long, but we only need to sweep this one area.”

  I took the hose and he turned the vacuum on. The vacuum was brand new and the hose jumped and wriggled in my hand like a snake on drugs.

  “Jeez,” I shouted over the roar. “This thing is crazy strong.”

  “Start here.” Elvis shouted at me over the din, bending down and pointing at a spot on the carpet.

  I swept the hose back and forth, using all my strength to control it. The vacuum shook and rattled until my teeth chattered. After several sweeps, I glanced up at Elvis.

  “Good enough?” I yelled.

  I hadn’t realized he stood almost on top of me, and the hose leaped from my hand and took a big suck of the loose strings on his cutoff jean shorts.

  “Hey!” He danced away from me, but the hose stuck like glue and began to suck its way right up to his groin.

  “Aaaaagh!” He shouted and gripped the hose with both hands, trying to stop it where it was.

  Horrified, I fumbled for the on/off switch, but in my haste knocked the vacuum over. It rolled a few steps but kept right on sucking.

  Elvis screamed again, and this time I threw myself on top of the vacuum, clawing desperately for the switch. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Elvis leaping around the room like a wild man, holding on to the hose and trying with all his might to pry it off his crotch.

  At last my fingers found the switch and the vacuum shut off with a horrible screech and whine. Mortified, I looked over my shoulder. Elvis had divested himself of his shorts and stood in his bright white undies, holding the hose in his hand. His face had turned beet red and he stared in shocked fascination at his shorts, which were hanging halfway out of the hose.

  I put my hand over my mouth and stared at him, completely speechless.

  At that exact moment, Xavier and Basia walked in. Xavier’s mouth dropped open and Basia gasped.

  Xavier said, “Dude. We can come back later if you want
.”

  Finally getting control of my senses, I ran over to Elvis. “Oh, jeez. Are you all right?”

  “What the hell happened here?” Basia looked between the vacuum, Elvis and me. “Is this a kinky geek thing?”

  “Basia!” I yelled.

  She looked slightly chastised. “Well, inquiring minds want to know.”

  “If you must know, the vacuum attacked him. Elvis, are you okay?”

  He didn’t answer and he didn’t look okay. In fact, he looked seriously shaken. I took him by the elbow and made him sit on the couch.

  “Can I get you something? Some water? A bandage? A new pair of pants?”

  He abruptly stood. “No. I’m okay. Really. I’ll be back in a minute.” He walked kind of funny back to the room and closed the door. Xavier and Basia looked at me.

  I lifted my hands. “What? Evil vacuum.”

  “Sure, if you say so.” Xavier held up a bag. “Anyway, we brought back lunch or an early dinner. Chinese food. Hope you like it.”

  “Right now, I’d eat the cardboard box it comes in. I’m starving.”

  I went to use the facilities and wash my hands in Xavier’s bathroom. When I came out Elvis was already sitting at the table on the balcony with the rest of the gang in a pair of soft sweatpants. He seemed marginally better.

  I sat next to him and took a big gulp of water. “I am so freaking sorry. Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “I’m okay. Look, it’s not your fault. I stood too close to the hose. It was an accident waiting to happen.”

  “It did happen.”

  “As was mathematically predicted.”

  Basia spooned some rice on her paper plate. “Really, Lexi. If you want to see Elvis without his pants, just ask him.”

  I spewed the water.

  Xavier patted me on the back and then took the carton of rice from Basia. “So, you two really were looking for a microchip?”

  I wiped my mouth with a napkin. “Jeez, what did you think we were doing? And we weren’t looking for just any microchip, but the microchip.”

  Basia reached for the beef and broccoli. “What microchip are we talking about?”