Dragon: Out of the Box (The Girl in the Box Book 37)

by Robert J. Crane

  “That's another thing,” I said, “where's Firebeetle? He's been a persistent thorn in my side, showing up everywhere – the original kidnapping, the furniture store, the Baltimore slum, even that office complex. Where is he?” I folded my arms in front of me. “This is a huge break, presumably the focal point of their plan, and he's nowhere to be found? My poor head.”

  Someone walked up to Chalke and Bilson, and I almost fell over.

  It was Yan Liao, the Chinese attaché. Behind the tape on an FBI crime scene. Again.

  “Who's that?” Holloway asked. “Looks familiar.”

  “He was at the office complex, remember?” I asked. “Works for the Chinese government. Diplomat, aide...spy, maybe.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “What's he doing at our crime scene?”

  “Showing himself around, apparently,” I said. He shook hands with Bilson, then Chalke waved over an FBI agent, who escorted Liao toward the rescues. He immediately engaged in conversation with a bedraggled woman, touching her shoulder sympathetically. There was a Chinese translator standing next to him, nodding all the while, and Liao's posture was all sympathy. I watched the woman's eyes. They were the kind you'd see on a traumatized person, all fear, adrenaline long since blown through and leaving her weary.

  I was familiar with that feeling, having experienced it a time or two in my own life. Still, suspicion settled over me.

  “You ever seen human trafficking before?” Holloway asked.

  I shot him a confused look. “What, you didn't hear about my adventure in Nashville?” He stared at me blankly. “I took out a whole house of sex traffickers.”

  “Good for you, Nealon,” Holloway said with genuine enthusiasm. “Man, I always miss the fun.”

  “Well, maybe if you hadn't been swimming while I was wiping out these mercenaries, you'd have had more fun today.”

  “Is that any way to treat the man who saved your life at the buzzer?”

  “Probably not,” I said as Bilson broke away from Chalke and trotted off, heading back toward his car. Chalke lingered for a second, watching operations, then headed our way. “But it's how I treat you nonetheless, regardless of whatever you've done on any given day.”

  “I appreciate the evenness. Sort of.” Then he hushed up, because he, too, saw the boss coming.

  “This was some good work,” Chalke said, moseying up to us.

  “We just followed the leads,” I said. Not really being modest.

  “It was well done, though,” Chalke said, a little stiffly. “I'm glad we can put this behind us.”

  Holloway and I exchanged a look. “Ma'am,” he said, “we haven't caught the metahuman kidnapper yet. And there's still a lot of loose ends here.”

  “I know,” Chalke said, nodding along, taking in roughly none of what we'd just said – or maybe just ignoring it. “But this is a big deal. You broke open a huge kidnapping and smuggling ring tonight.” She glanced around, gaze settling on the bloody cargo container I'd used to pulp the balance of the mercs. “The ringleader is probably under there, and it's unfortunate that we may never get the full story, but it is what it is.” She was speaking so confidently, so definitely.

  There was a rising alarm – or maybe irritation – present in Holloway's eyes. He started to speak up, and I put an arm out in front of him. “Thank you, ma'am,” I said, cutting him off.

  Holloway looked apoplectic, but he kept his mouth shut. Good.

  Chalke gave us each a nod, then a smile. “I hope you each have something nice to wear. You'll be getting a commendation straight from the top on this one.”

  And with that, she walked away, her bit said, and all right in her world.

  “What the hell was that?” Holloway hissed as soon as she was out of earshot.

  “The answer that was wanted, I think.” I watched her go, pretty sure that one way or another, we were done here. Maybe not just at the scene, but period, with this investigation.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR

  Chapman

  He'd nodded off watching the crime scene footage and listening to the muffled conversations caught by Nealon’s and Holloway's phones. Nothing had been nearly as interesting as the shootouts, and soon enough, Jaime had found himself dozing behind his desk.

  He was awakened with a kiss, to find an impishly smiling face looking down at him. Her black hair was in a bob now, and the diamond piercing in her nostril glittered in his office's dim light.

  Gwen.

  “Hey,” he said sleepily, feeling a smile creep across his face inadvertently. “What are you doing here?”

  “Security gets kinda lax after about nine,” Gwen said. She leaned forward and brushed her lips against his again. “Only one of your assistants was out there, and it's the one who likes me, so...”

  “I told them all to let you in,” Jaime said, feeling the smile plaster slowly across his face, spreading. He looked at the darkness outside the windows. “What time is it?”

  “I don't know.” She brushed her lips against his forehead, and he shuddered. “Late.”

  Jaime moved in his chair. He felt surprisingly good given that he'd fallen asleep sitting upright. His eyes fell to the monitors–

  The activity on the screens had settled down. Sure, there was still a hum of busy-ness going on around the Port of Baltimore, but the phones were both dark. He reached past Gwen and clicked the sound up on both; the first registered soft breathing, the sound of someone asleep. The other had a hum of conversation. Conversations, actually. And music.

  Jaime frowned, unable to quite decipher what he was hearing.

  “What is that?” Gwen asked.

  Chapman listened too. “I don't know,” he said after a moment, nose wrinkled. It was a low din, the sound an irritating buzz, broken by the occasional peal of laughter. Low music played in the background.

  “No, I meant what are you watching?” Gwen asked, leaning down to stare at the video. “Whoa, that's a lot of cop cars.”

  “Oh, it's a scene for a...thing...that happened earlier,” Chapman said casually. Gwen watched him intently. She wasn't going to let him off with no answer, and his cheeks began to redden. “Yeah. Well. So...it's kind of a project I'm working on. That's a crime scene that Sienna Nealon got tied up in earlier.”

  “Uh huh,” Gwen said, that casually dangerous look on her face telling him that she not only wasn't buying his cool playing of this thing she'd caught him in, but her brain was moving very swiftly to its own conclusions. Better to head those off before they became...unpleasant.

  “I'm using my mad skills to surveil her for her boss,” Chapman said, letting that go in a rush. Felt good, man.

  Gwen just looked at him for a moment, and he could feel the weight of judgment in her eyes. “Was that so hard?” she asked, finally, and back impishly. “Scoot over.”

  He moved over a little and she sat on the arm of his chair, causing it to squeak. She was slight enough that it didn't mess with it too much, though, and he kind of liked having her next to him like this. “It's just for this project thing.”

  “Uh huh.” She didn't believe him, not a bit. He could tell. “What's with the pocket view? Did you RAT her phone?”

  “Yeah,” Chapman said, not looking straight at her. She kind of chuckled, and that gave him a dash of relief. “And her partner's.”

  “Oh, so that's what this one is.” She pointed at the one that was slightly less dark, concentrating. It was also the one the buzzing, humming, crowd noise. “He's at a bar,” she finally said.

  “Ohhhh,” Chapman said, nodding along. That made sense.

  “Couldn't you have just pulsed the GPS to figure it out instantly?” Gwen turned, smiling slyly at him.

  “Didn't think of that,” Chapman grunted. “I haven't really used RATs before.”

  “Get better at your job, slacker.” She slapped him lightly on the arm. “I mean, if you're going to use your tech skills to spy on people, don't half ass it. You should be dumping their GPS data regularly if you're go
ing to monitor them. Also...” She leaned over the keyboard and pulled up the interface for the Remote Access Trojan.

  “What?” Chapman leaned forward to see what she was doing.

  “Just checking what other apps they've got on their phones.” She let out a laugh. “The partner's got Tinder. That's hilarious. Let's see his profile.” She pulled it up, then cringed. “Ooh. Old guy.”

  Chapman let a laugh of his own. “He does look like he's due for a hardware upgrade.”

  “He's at the age where he's probably experiencing 'firmware' problems.” Gwen shot him a look out of the corner of her eye and then casually landed a hand on Jaime's crotch.

  “Oh!” Jaime jumped slightly. Was not expecting that, at least not after she caught him spying on people.

  “You should get all their app data, too,” Gwen said, finishing up on the computer with a couple more keystrokes. “If you're going to invade someone's privacy, do the thing right, man.” She gave him a pitying look. “You never were much of a hacker, were you?”

  “I was more of a coder, programmer,” he said. Her hand was still...there. “Parlayed that into business pretty early. I did a little hacking. It was barely black hat, though. Like...gray hat, kind of.”

  “Not a bad boy?” Gwen made pouty lips at him. She stood and spun his chair around, then sat back down, straddling him.

  Jaime felt himself having trouble breathing for a second. Gwen ran a hand over his face, and it was electric. It was like all the weariness of the day washed away as his heart started to beat much faster than it had been a moment before.

  “Hey, Mr. CEO,” Gwen said playfully, “do I have your full attention now?”

  “Yes. Yes, you do.”

  “Good,” she said, and leaned in to kiss him, “because I don't want you having any 'firmware' difficulties, okay?”

  Chapman smiled and she kissed him long and slow. When they broke, he said, “I don't think that's going to be a problem.” And it wasn't.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE

  Julie Blair

  “Hey,” Dominic Blair said sleepily as his wife slipped into bed next to him. “How was your day?”

  “Busy as ever,” Julie said. She'd had her last cup of coffee around seven p.m., and the drive home had felt like forever. Now she was strangely wired, a caffeinated edge overlaying the ragged exhaustion she felt beneath, a facade to cover over the fact she hadn't had a full, decent night of sleep in what felt like years.

  “Oh, yeah?” he murmured. She slipped in closer to him, felt his warmth beside her. She'd checked on the kids; they were all fine. Little Paige still had her hair in lopsided bows. Daddy wasn't very good at those, but with Julie gone before sunup every morning, he did the best he could. And Julie could admire the cuteness it inspired.

  “Yeah,” Julie said, snuggling closer. Dom was a big bear, and it felt like she rarely ever got to just be close to him like this anymore. He worked short hours so that he could get home in time to meet the kids coming off the school bus, then watched them all night. It had to be a little rough on him – hell, she knew it was – but he'd done so well at it. Hardly complained at all, at least until recently. But that was understandable; work had gotten more intense for her. “This China thing is spinning off into some interesting directions.”

  “I thought it was over?” Dom mumbled.

  “Maybe,” Julie said. She'd heard the news, but when she checked the email she'd gotten from that donor and compared it to the list that Sienna Nealon had recovered earlier in the evening, that nanny – Zhen – her name hadn't been on it. She'd forwarded that note up the chain to her boss, and replied with this detail to the donor, figuring it would be good to give her an update so she didn't get her hopes up. “But I don't think so.”

  Dom just grunted in his sleep. Julie snuggled a little closer, letting her fingers run over his skin. It had been a while; she felt this little thrill of hope that maybe tonight they could...

  A bleary snore from Dom shattered that hope instantly. He wasn't even really awake. “Aw, come on,” Julie muttered under her breath. But Dom didn't stir, and so she cuddled up to him, burying her disappointment. He'd have to be up early with the kids, so it was probably better to just let him sleep.

  This wouldn't last forever, after all. Soon, maybe, she'd be recognized for her work and move up. And President Gondry wouldn't be in the White House forever, either. A few years, and she could even move into the private sector. K Street, maybe. Julie chuckled. More like E Street, for easy. Because after working in the high pressure environment of the White House communications office, doing some PR/lobbying work would have to be a change of pace. On that note she settled in next to the warm, lightly snoring form of her husband, but couldn't get to sleep for hours.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX

  Sienna

  I woke the next day feeling vaguely grimy. I'd gotten home so late that showering hadn't really been an option; I'd fallen into bed and conked out, leaving my sheets stinking of the Chesapeake Bay and my boots in desperate need of a wash. When I got up, it was before dawn, and I had completed a load of laundry and washed both my filthy pairs of boots before I went for my morning run.

  Back at my apartment before sunrise, I showered and ate a quick breakfast, mind churning the whole time. I'd been handed a big break last night, and recovering all those trafficked Chinese folk felt good – for a minute.

  But there were too many nagging questions to put my mind at ease. I was still fully in this case, mentally, even though I knew my boss wanted me to rubber stamp it and call it good. She'd been clear enough the night before.

  I resolved, staring at my morning bagel, covered in a light spread of cream cheese, that no, I couldn't let it go yet. But I needed to at least do whatever came next off the radar, because I wanted blowback from Chalke like I wanted a bomb to go off under my bed the next time I lay down on it.

  Michelle Cheong was waiting in the alcove across the street from my work when I strolled up, just before nine. I crossed the street and sidled over to her. She was scrolling her phone and greeted me with a, “Hey,” when I walked up.

  “You hear about last night?” I asked, trying to look casual about standing next to her in the little carveout in the building's facade. I'd done more natural-looking things in my life, like turning into a dragon and shredding a human being in my teeth, probably. Looking casual while lingering on a street? Not the easiest look.

  “I have cable in my hotel, a phone with news alerts, and ears attached to my head, so yes,” she said, not looking up from her phone. She flashed a look at me, or appeared to, at least, under those dark sunglasses. “They didn't release a list, though.”

  I looked out on the street, again violating casual behavior principles. At least we were out of the view of the cameras mounted up and down the street. I unlocked my phone, pulled up the list, and thrust it in her face. “See anyone you know?”

  She stared at it, then scrolled a couple times to the bottom before shaking her head. “No. None of the people I tracked down are on here.”

  I cursed under my breath, a very unladylike thing that made Michelle smile for some reason. “Is it possible they're on here under a different name?”

  Her eyebrow inclined slightly, rising above the top edge of her sunglasses. “No.”

  “That was pretty definite.”

  She just shook her head. “These people haven't changed their names just because it's convenient for you not to have more victims to look for.” She did a little glancing of her own; once more, the stupid pigeons were cawing above us. I could just see one crapping on me before I walked into work this morning, ruining my nice new blazer. “Want some more bad news?”

  “Oh, yes, I'm just dying for it.”

  She didn't smile, plowing ahead. “I've been networking while in town. Talking to some locals in my field.”

  “How do gangsters meet, you know, socially? Is there a country club for human traffickers?”

  “In the Triads, we mostly pla
y Mahjong.”

  I blinked. “Seriously?”

  God, she was inscrutable. “No, I'm totally fucking with you. There are others missing, locally. More than the number on your list.”

  I let out another beneath-the-breath curse. Not because I was averse to swearing, but I did try not to yell them in public places. Kids could be walking by, after all, and it'd be really embarrassing for them to tell their parents they learned that word from Sienna Nealon, of all people. “Great.”

  “Doesn't this help?” Michelle asked. “Isn't it useful to know the depth of your problem?”

  “No,” I said. “Because my boss is trying to declare this thing 'case closed' after last night's big break. Do you at least have something concrete for me? A list? Someone I can talk to? Verify identities? A missing persons report?”

  Michelle shook her head. “No one's going on the record on this one. For their employers, it opens enough cans of worms to fish for a lifetime. Whoever's doing this, whether it's China's government or not, they chose their targets well.” She frowned. “Except that college professor. I can't figure out why they did that. That was stupid.”

  “That's not the only thing I'm having trouble figuring out in all this,” I said. “Do you have any idea why the Chinese government would go to all this trouble? This is a lot of shit to go through to recapture some...what? Dissidents?”

  “Maybe,” Michelle said, sounding skeptical all the way. “Don't get me wrong, the Chinese government is that kind of vengeful, especially if they thought they could get away with it. But it breaks my brain to think that all these people are dissidents.” She paused, considering. “Actually, I know of at least one person in my organization who was a dissident, went to prison for it, got released, got on a boat and has agitated against them, loudly, from America, and is not kidnapped, so...no. I don't think that's the motive, or else why would she be able to keep being a pain in their ass?”

  “Maybe they just haven't come for her yet.” I shook my head. “I have no insight into why they're doing this. Can't even prove it's the PRC government.”