And recorded the file that was now on his computer screen.
Just a few lines, which looked like Adam and Jeff were talking to each other, doing something with some kind of program.
Then there was a mass of what looked to Josh like nothing more than gibberish.
Then one more line:
REPROGRAMMING VERIFIED.
Reprogramming of what? What did it mean?
He shut off his computer, the words still etched in his mind.
Reprogramming verified.
The words, in the darkness of the night, seemed somehow ominous.
Ominous—and dangerous.
26
“It’s almost five-thirty,” Chet said, draining the last of A his coffee and putting the cup in the sink. “If we’re going to be at the Brodys’ by six, we’ve got to get going.”
“Maybe I ought to call Frieda and cancel,” Jeanette suggested. “I’m not sure I want to leave Jeff by himself. When he wakes up—”
“We’ll be leaving him by himself all day,” Chet reminded her. “And if we don’t go, it’s just letting him manipulate us one more time. Besides, Curt and Frieda are leaving for London this afternoon. That was the whole point of the game this morning, remember? It’s been planned for a month—a bon voyage match, which I intend for us to win.”
“I know,” Jeanette sighed. “It’s just—”
“We’re going,” Chet declared, his tone leaving no more room for argument.
Jeanette knew he was right—she’d been looking forward to the game this morning as much as Chet had. The whole idea of getting up at dawn, driving up to Stratford and playing a set of tennis before work had seemed like a lark when they’d set it up last month. Indeed, they’d even talked about making it a regular thing after Curt and Frieda Brody got back from their trip. “Great way to fight off middle age,” Curt had said, to which Chet had darkly replied that it was an equally great way to drop dead of a heart attack before breakfast. “Well, at least let me go wake him up and say good-bye,” she said.
Chet hesitated, then decided to tell her what had happened the previous night As she listened to his retelling of the conversation he’d had with their son, her face paled and she bit her lip. “If you want to let him ruin your morning with his attitude, I suppose I can’t stop you,” he finished. “But right now, I’d just let him sleep. By the time we get back, he’ll be up, and I might have had enough exercise that I can control my temper if he gets snotty again.”
This is a mistake, Jeanette suddenly thought, the idea coming unbidden into her head. We shouldn’t be going up to Stratford at all. We should be staying here and dealing with Jeff, no matter how painful it is. But the look on Chet’s face told her very clearly that if she insisted on canceling the tennis game, whatever confrontation developed with Jeff would be even worse than it had to be. She made up her mind. “Then let’s go,” she agreed, forcing a bright smile even though she had the distinct feeling the morning was already ruined for her.
Picking up their rackets and a can of balls, they went into the garage, tossed their things into the backseat of the car, and a few seconds later were gone.
Neither of them saw Jeff peering out the window of his room on the second floor, a tiny smile playing around the corners of his mouth.
Five minutes later Chet and Jeanette left Barrington behind. Chet pressed down on the accelerator as they started up the coast highway. The sun was just rising over the hills to the east, and the morning fog had already retreated from the coastline, the billowing clouds glowing a golden orange in the dawn light. As she watched the panorama of the sea, Jeanette began to feel a little better. “Maybe you were right, after all,” she said, sighing, relaxing into the seat. “Maybe this is just what we both needed.”
Chet reached out and squeezed her hand reassuringly, pressing his foot a little harder on the accelerator and inclining his head toward the view of the Pacific. “On a morning like this, there’s nothing like it in the whole world, is there?” The needle on the speedometer crept up slowly, edging past fifty, and Chet eased his foot back on the accelerator, knowing that in another mile or so he’d have to begin slowing down again for the series of hairpin turns that curled along the convoluted coastline between