minutes Fisher was entrenched behind one of the computers. As he
briefly peered out the window of the bar, the black van came to a stop
in an alleyway across the street. Fisher turned back to the computer.
A waitress brought over a bottle of beer and a glass, and a plate of
munchies. As she set the plate down next to the computer, she put a
linen napkin next to it. Inside the carefully folded napkin was a blank
three-and-a-half-inch disk. Fisher nonchalantly unfolded the napkin and
quickly slid the disk into the computer’s floppy drive.
He typed in a series of characters and the high-decibel dialing of a
phone modern could be heard. Within a minute, Fisher was connected to
his computer at home. It took about thirty seconds for him to download
the computer files he had copied from Sidney’s disk onto the blank disk.
He looked out the window again. The van had not moved.
The waitress came over to his table. Obviously privy to his plan, she
asked if he needed anything else. On her tray was a padded FedEx
envelope with the Bell Harbor address typed on the mailing label. Fisher
looked out the window again. Then down the street he noticed two
policemen standing next to their patrol cars shooting the breeze. When
the waitress reached for the disk, which had been part of the plan
hastily fleshed out with the bar’s owner, Fisher shook his head.
Sidney’s warning had come back to him. He didn’t want to involve his
friends unnecessarily in any of this and now maybe he didn’t have to. He
whispered to the waitress. She nodded and took the FedEx envelope into
the back room, returning barely a minute later. She handed another
padded envelope across to Fisher.
He looked down at it and smiled when he saw the metered postage label on
the envelope. His friend had been very liberal in his estimation of
what it would cost to mail the small package, even certified, return
receipt requested. It was definitely not going to be returned for
insufficient postage. It wasn’t as fast as FedEx, but it would have to
do under the circumstances, Fisher concluded. He slipped the disk into
the envelope, sealed it and put it in his coat pocket. He then paid his
bill, leaving a healthy tip for the waitress.
He dabbed some of the beer on his face and clothes and then tipped the
glass back and finished it in one gulp.
As he exited the bar and walked toward his car, the van’s headlights
came on and Fisher could hear the engine start up. The van headed
toward him. Fisher started staggering and then singing loudly. The two
cops down the street turned their heads in his direction.
Fisher gave them an exaggerated salute and a bow before he collapsed
into his car, started the engine and drove off toward the cops on the
wrong side of the street.
As he hurtled by the police, his squealing tires doing at least twenty
over the speed limit, the cops jumped in their cruisers. The van
followed at a safe distance but then turned off when the police cruisers
caught up to Fisher. His hazardous driving and the smell of beer on his
breath earned Fisher a pair of handcuffs and a quick trip to the police
station.
“I hope you know a good lawyer, fella,” the cop barked from the front
seat.
Fisher’s response was completely lucid and tinged with more than a trace
of humor. “Actually, I know a number of them, Officer.”
At the police station he was fingerprinted and his possessions
inventoried.
He was allowed to make one phone call. Before he did so, however, he
politely asked the desk sergeant ro do him a favor. A minute later
Fisher watched gleefully as the padded envelope was dropped into the
police station’s U.S. mail chute. The “snail mail.”
If his techie friends could only see him now. On his way to the holding
cell, Jeff Fisher actually broke into a cheerful whistle. It wasn’t
wise to screw around with an MIT man.
To his pleasant surprise, Lee Sawyer did not have to travel to