by CW Browning
“Good.” Jenaro nodded and motioned to a tall metal stand nearby. “Turn on the light.”
Turi switched on a blinding spotlight, lighting up the corner like a beacon. The figure on the floor groaned and raised his bound hands to shield his eyes from the glare as he lifted his head. His dark hair was on the longer side, brushing his ear lobes and flopping over his forehead in disarray. A swelling lump on his temple showed just how Turi and Ramiero had convinced him to come with them.
“You missed our appointment, little Philip.” Jenaro stood outside the circle of light and watched coldly as the man tried to peer past the white light. “I had to send Turi after you. That was an inconvenience.”
“The files weren't ready. I told you. I can't rush it,” Philip replied, struggling into a sitting position.
“According to Rodrigo Frietas, you can,” Jenaro answered calmly. “He was very informative. It only took...a little persuasion.”
“Rodrigo wouldn't understand,” Philip muttered. “We all have our own roles in the project. His was planting the virus. He didn't design it.”
“No.” Jenaro pulled a chair over to the edge of the bright circle and sat down. He crossed his arms over his chest and studied the man leaning against the crumbling wall. “Neither did you. So tell me, how do you trigger the transfer?”
“It takes two of us,” Philip said. “Killing me won't help you. Lowell can't do it alone.”
“Who said anything about killing you?” Jenaro asked smoothly. “No, no, no. I'm not going to kill you. Not yet.”
Philip swallowed with difficulty and Jenaro watched as a fine sheen of perspiration appeared on his forehead. Shifting in his chair, Jenaro crossed his legs and made himself comfortable.
“When you stole two and a half million dollars of heroin from me, you did design that virus, didn't you?” he asked almost pleasantly. Philip was silent. “That is how you altered the manifests, isn't it? Did you and your Korean friend really think I wouldn't know exactly what was supposed to be on those trucks? Did you really think we wouldn't miss it?”
Jenaro watched as Philip stared at the floor silently. He didn't fidget or shift positions. He showed no sign of response. Jenaro studied him thoughtfully.
“I told you two weeks ago, we want our money back,” he said softly.
“You'll get your money,” Philip said, lifting his head, “when we harvest the virus.”
“No, Philip. We'll get it now. All of it,” Jenaro said softly. “I gave you enough warnings. Now, we will take everything.”
Philip's eyes flared wide and Jenaro's thin lips curved into a terrible smile.
“You were kind enough to show us the benefits of technology, you and your friend Lowell,” Jenaro said, standing up and setting the chair out of the way. “People think the cartels are primitive and uneducated, especially here in the States. It's true we prefer more basic forms of human manipulation, but that doesn't mean we're not open to growth and progress.”
Jenaro motioned to Turi and together they advanced on Philip. Grabbing each of his arms, they hauled him to his feet.
“When you exploited our limited software capabilities, you made us realize just what could be accomplished with that kind of technology,” Jenaro continued, dragging him forward. Turi grabbed his tied hands and inserted a long, steel hook into the thick rope. Once it was secured, Jenaro reached up and grabbed one of the steel chains hanging from the cross-beam and tossed it to him. Turi hooked it onto the other end of the hook and Jenaro looked into Philip's alarmed face. “Really, you did us a favor. Once we have the virus, we'll be able to manipulate whatever government we choose.”
“You'll never get it,” Philip announced.
The sweat was pouring down his face now and he watched with wide eyes as Jenaro reached for the other chain. Jenaro smiled at him and pulled. Philip cried out as his arms were wrenched up above his head painfully. Jenaro pulled with both hands again and the make-shift pulley system started to lift Philip up off the ground. Turi grinned as Philip began to kick out with his legs, trying to land a kick on one of them. He circled the thrashing man and joined Jenaro at the chain. Together, they pulled Philip up off the ground until he was hanging with his feet a good twenty-four inches above the cement.
“Of course I will,” Jenaro replied, reaching up and wiping moisture off his thick brow. He turned away to the case on the table and returned with a long, curved blade in his hand. “You're going to give it to me.”
Viper dropped silently into the apartment from the skylight above and glanced around. Karl's third-floor walk-up was small, but unexpectedly tidy. Located in an apartment complex off Route 38 in Lumberton, it boasted hardwood floors and a washer and dryer in the unit. The skylight was a bonus, probably installed to add incentive for walking up three flights of wooden, exterior stairs.
The small dining room she landed in was separated from the kitchen by an open counter with bar stools along one side. On the other side of the dining room, the living room housed a couch, a coffee table, and a flat screen TV sitting on a low entertainment table. Karl kept a neat house, and the table was clear of any clutter, save three remotes and an X-box controller, all neatly lined up in a row. Alina turned her attention to the kitchen, noting the spotless counters and floor. She moved into the kitchen, glancing into the stainless steel sink. A rinsed out coffee mug was inside, along with a single spoon. Viper turned to the fridge and opened it. Aside from a case of Yuengling Lager taking up the bottom shelf, the refrigerator revealed nothing out of the ordinary and she let the door swing closed again silently. Karl clearly lived alone, and did not entertain. A quick look into the cabinets revealed only a four-setting dish set, and the glassware consisted mainly of pint glasses with faded beer logos on them.
Viper moved out of the kitchen and turned to go down the hall to the bedroom and bath. She poked her head into the bathroom. Shaving cream and razor were still sitting on the vanity, but there was a glaring absence of toothbrush and toothpaste. Alina raised an eyebrow and silently pulled the shower curtain back. Shampoo and Axe Body Wash were balanced on the edge of the tub, but the inside of the shower curtain and tub were bone dry. Reaching out a gloved hand, Viper lifted the body wash bottle and glanced beneath at the tub surface. The water mark was clear, but also dry. She replaced the bottle thoughtfully and turned to leave the bathroom.
Crossing the hall, Alina went into the bedroom and glanced around. The bed was made neatly and nothing was out of place. A quick inspection of the closet and dresser revealed the absence of a museum uniform and a half-empty bottom drawer.
No sign of struggle, so he left voluntarily, Alina thought, turning around in the middle of the bedroom. No signs of anyone else staying with him. More importantly, no sign of a little person.
As she was turning to leave the bedroom, something sticking out from under the bed caught her eye. She bent down and gently pulled out the shoebox protruding at an angle. There was no lid on the box, and Viper raised an eyebrow. Stacked neatly inside in rows were piles of money. They were all used bills and each stack was its own denomination. Alina stared at the box of money thoughtfully before pushing it back under the bed, replacing it exactly as she had found it.
Standing swiftly, she turned to leave the bedroom.
Wherever Karl had gone, he definitely expected to return. And that was all she needed to know.
Lowell watched from his car as another van pulled up outside Philip's building. The FBI had arrived at the apartment complex twenty minutes before, swarming to Philip's door like a bunch of black jacket clad bees. He frowned and shook his head, glancing at his phone again. A call to Philip's boss earlier had elicited the information that Philip and his laptop were missing, and the FBI were looking for him. Scott seemed more worried about the FBI than Philip, and Lowell hung up with the promise to call him if he heard anything from Philip.
Now the FBI were searching his apartment.
Lowell started the engine and pulled out from his parking spot
across the street, easing into traffic. He had already been through Philip's apartment and was crossing the street, returning to his car, when the first FBI van pulled into the parking lot. He knew they wouldn't find anything in the apartment to incriminate either Philip or himself. Lowell had made sure of that.
But where was his laptop?
Lowell shook his head and turned a corner, heading away from the development. He wasn't worried the laptop would be compromised. They all had the same security layer built into their hardware, and he had designed it himself. There was no way anyone was getting into that laptop except Philip. Lowell scowled and glanced at his watch. They had an hour left. Wherever Philip had gone, and whatever he was doing, he had an hour to extract the virus and notify Lowell. If it wasn't done in time, three years of planning would go down the drain, and Lowell would have to answer for the failure.
Lowell tried to ignore the nagging sense of unease trying to creep into his mind. First Rodrigo, now Philip. Philip had been acting jumpy ever since Rodrigo disappeared. When his head showed up, Philip had been almost beside himself. Lowell had never seen him so scared. He stopped going out and wouldn't even leave his work to go to lunch. Philip had been convinced that someone was going to come after him.
And now he was missing.
Lowell slowed down for a light and stared absently at the car stopped in front of him. What if Philip knew something he hadn't been telling him? Lowell just assumed Philip's unease stemmed from the fear that Rodrigo would talk and reveal what they were doing. What if it had stemmed from something completely different? What if he knew who had killed Rodrigo?
A chill streaked down Lowell's spine and his lips tightened. What if the head had been a warning? And the tongue? What if they had been warnings for Philip, not just macabre tokens of a psychotic mind? What if Philip was right and the killer had come after him?
His phone chimed loudly in the silent car, making Lowell start. The light ahead turned green and the traffic started to move again. Glancing at the phone on the passenger's seat, Lowell sighed as relief washed over him. Philip's unique and encoded alert was flashing on the phone.
The virus had been extracted.
Lowell smiled and reached for his phone, opening the text message alert. It was sent automatically from the system as soon as the virus was extracted from the mainframe. Glancing down at the code on the screen, Lowell frowned. He pulled off the road, flipped on his hazards, and stared down at the code on the screen in confusion.
His first thought was that there was some kind of mistake. The code he was looking at, streaming in from the system, was not the extraction code. Lowell reached into the backseat and hauled his laptop forward. The code looked vaguely familiar, but he couldn't place it. Opening his laptop, he pulled a USB cable from his console and plugged one end into his phone and the other end into his laptop. Within seconds, the code was streaming into his laptop.
Lowell stared at it with a frown. Where had he seen it before? What was it? What was Philip doing?
He was still frowning in concentration, watching as the code started to repeat itself, when the realization hit Lowell like a truck. It was Philip's old code that he had come up with back at Stanford, the one he used to steal...
Lowell's head snapped up and his mouth dropped open.
Philip wasn't extracting the virus. He was warning him!
Lowell threw the car in gear and hit the gas, pulling out in front of a truck without a second glance. The truck slammed on his brakes and laid on his horn, but Lowell never heard it. He pressed the gas and flew down the road, heading back to the office.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Stephanie slammed her car door and glanced around the marina parking lot. The Riverside police had blocked off the lot and the only people inside were FBI and local LEOs. Larry was just opening the back doors to the medical examiners van while his assistant climbed out of the passenger's side. He was carrying a toolbox in one hand and half a burger in the other. Her stomach started to growl at the sight of the burger and Stephanie realized she hadn't eaten at all today. She was running on coffee with a side of more coffee.
Sighing, she turned to look across the grassy median toward the docks. A small group of workers was clustered off to one side of the main walkway, watching as John directed a group of techs at the end of one of the piers. Stephanie started toward the pier tiredly, glancing at her watch. It was almost three, but she felt like it was closer to ten. John looked up and waved as she came across the grass.
“Welcome to the party!” he called.
Stephanie shook her head slightly. A vehicle honked behind her and she turned her head, pausing to watch as Blake pulled through the barricade and into the lot. He pulled his black SUV up next to her Mustang and got out.
“You certainly don't waste any time, do you?” she asked as he joined her.
Blake glanced down at her, sunglasses concealing his eyes, and grinned.
“Nope,” he replied. “Rob called me on my cell. Have you seen him yet?”
“I just got here myself,” Stephanie answered, turning to walk with him toward where John was waiting at the end of the pier. “I've got another missing witness. This is the last thing I need.”
They stepped onto the pier and John nodded to Blake as they walked up.
“Blake.”
“John.”
Stephanie looked at the body stretched out on a black tarp at the edge of the pier. Lorenzo Porras had dark hair, now matted and stuck to his head. His gaunt face was discolored from being in the water, and he was missing a shoe. Stephanie pulled a pair of latex gloves out of her pocket and put them on as she crouched down beside the body. The hole in his temple left no mystery about the cause of death.
“When was he found?” she asked, glancing up at John.
“The workers say he floated up to the pier a little after lunch, around one,” he answered.
“Nice watch.” Stephanie nodded to the Rolex on the body's left wrist. It was a submariner and the last time she saw it, it was strapped to Rodrigo Frietas' arm.
John nodded.
“I was wondering if you'd recognize it,” he murmured. “More proof the Cartel is behind Rodrigo's death.”
“Care to fill me in?” Blake asked, glancing from John to Stephanie.
“Rodrigo Frietas was wearing that watch when we interviewed him,” John told him, “but it wasn't on his body when we found him.”
“Did you see this?” Stephanie asked, carefully turning the corpse's arm with the tip of a pen. On the inside of the forearm was a small, discolored circle.
“Yeah. Looks like a bruise of some sort,” John replied.
“That might be consistent with his medical history,” Blake said.
John glanced at him.
“How so?”
“Porras is, or was, a diabetic and a chronic drug user,” Blake told them. “I'm sure your ME can shed more light on it, but it could be from a needle.”
“Hmm...” Stephanie looked up and across the water. “Isn't there a drug area not far from here, John?”
“There's a few. You think that's where he was?”
“Could be,” Stephanie said, standing. “Check with the local cops over there in the parking lot. See where the closest hot spot is.”
“On it,” John said. He turned away and headed down the pier as Larry and his assistant ambled onto the planks.
“Does this one have all his parts?” Larry asked as he approached.
Stephanie's lips twitched.
“All present and accounted for, at least all the visible ones,” she told him, stepping to the side so he could join her. “I don't think there's much debate over the cause of death.”
“Certainly wouldn't appear to be,” Larry agreed, looking down at the body. “However, we don't want to jump to conclusions before I've had a good look. The dead have a habit of talking just when you think you've got it all figured out.”
“I'll leave you to it, then,” Stephanie said,
turning away and stripping off her gloves. “Let me know when you're ready for me.”
“Of course,” Larry murmured, already crouched down and leaning over the body. Stephanie and Blake hadn't gone two steps before Larry called her back. “Ms. Walker!”
Stephanie turned back and raised an eyebrow. Larry motioned her over.
“This man had a recent injury, aside from the one on his head,” he told her. Stephanie and Blake peered over his shoulder as he motioned to the left shoulder of the body. “It looks like any bandage was pulled off in the water, but here...” Larry reached over and carefully eased the edge of the wet tee-shirt away from the shoulder, revealing a gunshot wound.
“Was it done at the same time as the one on his head?” Blake asked.
Larry shook his head.
“No bullet hole in the shirt,” he answered, “and it appears as if the wound was already starting to heal before he ended up in the water. I'll know more once I get him back and on the table, but at a rough guess, I'd say this wound is at least twenty-four hours old.”
“Two gunshots in two days. He wasn't very popular, was he?” Stephanie murmured, straightening up again.
“I'll let you know what else I find,” Larry said and waved them away.
“Is it possible Jenaro could have killed him?” Stephanie asked Blake as they moved away to give Larry and his assistant more room.
“Doubtful,” Blake answered, scratching his jaw. “He's aware of Lorenzo's drug habits, but he keeps them in check. If there's a problem, he traditionally handles it a little differently.”
“I suppose it's possible Lorenzo got himself shot by a dealer,” Stephanie mused.
Blake glanced at her, smiling faintly.
“You really think it will be that easy?” he asked.
Stephanie looked at him and chuckled reluctantly.
“No,” she admitted. “But I can dream. I'm going to go talk to the marina workers. You're welcome to come, if you'd like.”
“Actually, if you don't mind, I'd like to join John with the cops,” Blake told her. “I have some questions for them about the neighborhoods around here.”
