by Matt Brolly
‘Lynch, good to see you again,’ said Balfour, with no hint of irony. ‘May I?’ he added, taking a seat next to him.
Lynch noticed a change of attention in the guards as Balfour sat. They were more on edge than they’d been when Clarissa had sat next to him. Did they think it more likely that Lynch would attack the former agent? Or did they consider Balfour more valuable than the glamorous waitress?
‘What’s with all the theatrics, and the freak show?’ asked Lynch.
‘You’re in the presence of greatness,’ said Balfour.
Lynch glanced at Balfour’s four companions who milled around the circular room with a restlessness he shared. ‘Jesus, you are deluded. So this is all your work?’
Balfour sighed as if Lynch had somehow insulted him. ‘This is the inner sanctum. The people in this room dictate your future, and that of your son’s.’
Lynch lent towards Balfour at the mention of Daniel, each of the guards lifting their automatic rifles in his direction. ‘When this is done, Balfour, I will take your life and that’s a promise.’
Balfour smirked. ‘If I had my way, Lynch, we would have eliminated you long ago but others have a higher opinion of you than I do.’
‘So am I ever going to meet this organ grinder or do I have to spend my life speaking to his monkeys?’ said Lynch, repeating the phrase that had antagonized Balfour before.
‘You have a chance, Lynch. Personally, I hope you blow it but you have a chance,’ said Balfour, through clenched teeth. He rose to his feet before Lynch had time to respond and began pacing the room like the others.
An air of anticipation filled the area. Lynch sensed it from the guards and the five people Balfour had described as belonging to the inner sanctum. The anticipation was tinged with a nervousness that reminded Lynch of a class of unruly kids waiting for a head teacher.
A shaft of light darted down from the glass ceiling, illuminating a patch of the circular floor and for a brief second the room lost its sense of mystery. It became just a room, subject to the elements and the physical world. It was no longer imposing, and the people within it lost their menace
As if in response to the intrusion of the lights, the doors slid open and everyone except for Lynch fell to attention. Clarissa shimmied into the room, gliding across the floor as if floating on air.
Behind her, a huge smile etched onto his face, was someone Lynch thought he would never see.
38
If McBride was hung over then he was doing a good job of hiding it. The sunglasses helped. Though woefully out of place in the grey light of the early morning, they made him unreadable. He smiled at Rose as she clambered into the passenger seat of his Bureau issued car. He was clean-shaven and she didn’t lean close enough to check if the feint waft of aftershave masked the smell of alcohol.
‘Good night?’ asked McBride, before she had time to speak.
Rose had slept fitfully, her thoughts alternating between her mother, sister, and Lynch. ‘I’ve slept better,’ she said.
‘Me too. I’ve been trying to find out more about Mallard but haven’t got any further. After your call I did some more research on Hanning Industries. From what I can ascertain, Mallard’s portfolio includes a fifty-five per cent controlling interest in the company which would be a significant chunk of change for most people, but nothing for someone of Mallard’s ilk.’
‘Does his name appear on any of the documentation?’
‘No, he’s not a member of the board and doesn’t personally appear as a shareholder, but when you dig further you see the links. Companies owning companies, with Mallard somewhere at the heart. All perfectly legal but designed to keep Mallard himself at arm’s length.’
‘I presume this is all managed for him?’ asked Rose.
‘He must have a small army working for him. I can’t imagine he gets involved in the day-to-day stuff. Why the hell would he? I’d be surprised if he’s worked a day in his life. I can’t even imagine that kind of wealth.’
‘Some things money can’t buy, McBride.’
‘It’s what it can buy that scares me.’
Hanning Industries was situated on private land twenty miles outside of Houston. The complex was built over two hundred acres and the gated entrance reminded Rose of the FBI compound where she’d fled with Lynch. McBride had secured a meeting with the company’s CEO, Lyle Niven, for that morning. Rose checked her iPad hoping for a flicker of activity on Lynch’s tracking app, whilst a heavyset man in a blue uniform, who’d gleefully shared with them his previous experience as a cop, checked their credentials.
‘You’re free to go through, Agents,’ he said, returning to the car ten minutes later. ‘Park in sector one, space seventy-two.’
‘Thank you ever so much,’ said McBride, with such heavy irony that Rose was forced to smile.
The parking space was right outside a vast sprawling building painted a perfect white. Panoramic folding doors shifted apart as they made their way through the early morning sunshine into the building’s foyer where a pencil-thin man with a covering of sandy-colored hair greeted them.
‘Special Agent McBride and Special Agent Rose. My name is James Rawlings. I am Mr Niven’s personal assistant. Please follow me.’
The interior of the building had a surprisingly industrial feel in comparison to the pristine façade of the outside. ‘Our research and development site,’ said Rawlings, as if needing to explain.
‘What do you research and develop?’ asked McBride, as Rawlings led them through a labyrinth of corridors.
‘We are effectively a construction company but we work in many arenas. In this department, we could be testing the durability of the smallest nuts and bolts to examining the integrity of immense structures such as bridges.’
‘And railroads?’ said Rose.
‘We have worked on numerous railroad projects,’ said Rawlings, not losing step or turning back to make eye contact.
The corridors were wide and high ceilinged. Despite the whirring air conditioning, Rose felt particles of dust in the air that she brushed from her hair and skin.
After what felt like an extended time, long enough to have walked the perimeter of the building at least once, Rawlings stopped outside a service elevator.
‘Mr Niven is waiting upstairs,’ said Rawlings.
The elevator took them to a glass cube-shaped room looking down on a sprawling factory where most of the work was being conducted by robotic machinery.
‘Quite something, isn’t it? I’m Lyle Niven,’ said a smiling man, surveying the scene below him. Niven was in his late seventies, a neat shock of white hair matched by the trimmed beard on his face. He walked over to shake hands first with Rose, then McBride.
‘Special Agent Sandra Rose and Special Agent McBride,’ said Rose.
‘A pleasure,’ said Niven, the smile not once leaving his face. ‘May I get you something to drink? You’ve had a fair journey.’
‘Coffee would be wonderful,’ said Rose.
Niven was a genial host. He poured them both coffee from an antique silver pot and asked them about their journey. ‘So I imagine it’s time we got to the point?’ he said, after they’d had the first sip of coffee.
‘Yes thank you for your time,’ said Rose. ‘We’re here to discuss one of your former employees, Edward Gunn.’
Niven frowned. ‘This is not the first time I’ve had the privilege of speaking to someone from your organization regarding Mr Gunn. I thought we’d put that unfortunate business behind us by now, but obviously not.’
Behind Niven’s front of geniality, Rose sensed the steely personality that would have propelled Niven to such a lofty position. She wondered how long the politeness would last. ‘There have been some new developments.’
‘We only buried that poor family last week,’ said Niven. ‘What possible developments could there have been? Furthermore I was under the impression that you had caught the man responsible?’
‘I’m afraid we’re unable to confirm
or deny that,’ said Rose. ‘We need to ask you some questions about the setup of your organization.’
Niven frowned, affecting a quizzical look. There was a hint of amusement to the gesture. ‘You realize we’re a publicly owned company,’ said Niven. Any information you wish to know could be found quite easily. I imagine you already have all the information you need.’
‘You are aware of the company shareholder structure,’ said McBride.
‘No, sir, I am the mere Chief Executive of Hanning Industries. How the hell would I know something as insignificant as the share structure of my own company?’ replied Niven, all sense of civility fading.
So this was the point of no return. Niven was no longer humoring them. McBride’s question had been purposely obtuse and it had the desired effect. ‘Excuse my colleague,’ said Rose. ‘We do have something more specific to ask you.’
‘Then please do,’ said Niven, the redness in his cheeks a stark contrast to the whiteness of his beard.
‘Could you tell me who has the controlling interest in Hanning industries?’ asked McBride.
‘Jesus Christ, why don’t you just get to the point?’ said Niven, who had clearly taken a dislike to McBride. ‘We both know Barker Price Inc. has a fifty-five per cent share of the company. A cursory glance through our records would have shown you as much. Now tell me what this is really about?’
‘We are trying to find out more details about Barker Price Industries,’ said Rose.
‘Specifically?’
‘Can you tell me what dealings you have with their board members?’ asked Rose.
‘What dealings? We deal with them all the goddamn time. My assistant can give you the details of all our meetings. I am afraid it won’t make for very interesting reading.’
‘Who would you usually correspond with?’
‘Their lawyers mainly, Agent Rose,’ said Niven.
‘Have you ever come across someone by the name of Wilberforce Mallard,’ asked McBride.
Niven didn’t hesitate. ‘No, but it is one hell of an interesting name.’
‘That it is,’ said Rose. We believe Mallard has a controlling interest in Barker Price Inc.’
‘There would be records of that,’ said Niven. ‘He either does or he doesn’t.’
‘Now you know as well as I do that is not necessarily the case,’ said McBride
Niven attention was being drawn elsewhere, to the robotic factory beneath their feet. ‘I have to be honest with you both, I’m not sure that I really care. Can you tell me what this has to do with me and Edward Gunn for that matter?’
‘Would your company ever have worked on a special project for Barker Price?’ asked Rose.
‘No. The type of projects we work on are huge in scale. I would know about any projects we would have worked on for them.’
‘Could it be possible that Mr Gunn worked on a freelance basis for this corporation?’
‘I’m not sure what you’re getting at here, Agent Rose. Gunn was a full-time employee of Hanning industries. Even if he’d wanted to, he would never had the time to work freelance.’
‘Do you have a list of all the projects Mr Gunn was working on before he left Hanning industries?’ said Rose.
Niven laughed ‘Mr Gunn’s belongings were taken away by your colleagues. All his laptops and files. Don’t you people ever talk to each other?’
‘So if we did a thorough search of this building we wouldn’t find anything belonging to Mr Gunn?’ asked McBride, ignoring Niven’s scorn.
‘If you think you’re going to threaten me, Agent McBride, then you clearly do not understand me very well. I think this concludes our meeting,’ said Niven.
‘Thank you for your time,’ said Rose, shaking hands with Niven who gave her the faintest of nods.
‘He was hiding something,’ said McBride, once they were back at the car.
‘Probably on first name terms with Miller and Roberts.’
‘Which reminds me, they want a report. Or at least a sighting of your ghost train.’
‘You really are in a foul mood today, McBride, do you know that?’
McBride shrugged, put on his shades, and started the car.
Gunn’s personal belongings had been taken to a holding depot back at head quarters. Rose didn’t want to face Miller and Roberts anytime soon so she accompanied McBride to the basement storage area.
A disheveled-looking civilian by the name of Hussein was on storage duty and he wasn’t taking kindly to the fact. He was busy drinking coffee and reading a magazine. He scowled when Rose asked him for everything he had on the Gunn case and initially didn’t even look up.
‘By everything what do you mean exactly. We have a room full of stuff. As it is part of an open case, we still have everything we recovered from the house that day,’ he said, flicking over a page of his reading material.
Rose shook as she remembered that day. The decapitated bodies arranged in a circle, the terrible stillness of the room, and the ludicrous smile on Razinski’s lips.
‘We need everything you have from Gunn’s work. His laptop and all his paperwork,’ said McBride.
‘It would have been easier if you’d just said so,’ said Hussein, dragging himself from his seat and magazine.
He returned twenty minutes later carrying a box of hardware belonging to all members of the Gunn family. “Thought I’d process them now to save me having to go back,’ said Hussein, with a smirk.
‘These have been analyzed?’
‘Of course. Written report is in the file and if you have access you can view on the system.’
McBride took the pile of laptops, e-readers, and tablets from Hussein. ‘It’s great to see someone who loves his job,’ he said.
They both retreated to the offices, Rose stopping to pour some coffee for the long day ahead. When she returned to the incident room her heart sank. McBride was sitting at his desk, one of Gunn’s laptops in front of him. Hovering behind him, a look of thunder on her face, was the ASAC, Janice Roberts.
‘Special Agent Rose, good of you to make an appearance,’ she said. ‘I think it’s time we had a talk.’
39
It was like a magic trick. No one in the room moved. The guards, the inner sanctum, the glamorous assistant, even Balfour, all stood frozen in awe at the sight of the man standing ten meters in front of Lynch.
His face tilted to one side, eyes wide, his lips formed into a curious smile, everyone in the room held their breath as he began to speak. ‘Mr Samuel Lynch. At last. This truly is a pleasure.’
The sound of the man’s voice sent reverberations through Lynch’s skull. It belonged to the man he’d spoken to on the phone, the man who was always one step ahead of him.
The Controller.
‘Mallard,’ said Lynch, full of disdain.
‘Very good, Mr Lynch.’
Wilberforce Mallard. Lynch had only seen the one photo of the man, taken twenty years ago, but it was definitely him. He’d aged well, his body shape lean and muscular. His face had only a hint of ageing, and his eyes shone with uncanny brightness. ‘We could have done this a long time ago, Mallard.’
‘Now where would the fun have been in that?’ said the Controller, his voice the same soothing baritone Lynch had heard on the phone. ‘May I?’ he continued, indicating the sofa next to Lynch.
‘Be my guest,’ said Lynch, mimicking the man’s tone.
‘Thank you.’
Mallard moved towards him and the room rushed back into focus. For the brief time they’d been talking it had been as if it was only the two of them. The periphery of the room, the sycophants drooling at the sight of their master vanished, and Lynch had existed as if in a bubble. Mallard’s movement ignited the room. The guards tensed, raising their guns and pointing them at Lynch.
‘I imagine you have some questions for me,’ said Mallard, taking a seat less than three meters away from him. Despite everything - the atrocities the man had committed, the fact he’d taken Daniel - being in
the man’s presence was having a strange comforting effect on him.
‘Where’s my son?’ said Lynch, trying to shake the hold Mallard had over him.
‘We will get to that.’
Lynch lent towards Mallard causing one of the guards to rush over and push him back.
‘Now, now, Travis, let’s be polite to Mr Lynch. He is under a bit of duress. Why doesn’t everyone take a break. Travis, you and Roy over there can stay,’ said Mallard, gesturing to one of the guards. ‘Everyone else, please excuse us for the time being.’
Everyone in the room did as they were asked. Only Balfour lingered receiving a smirk from Lynch in return.
‘Please, Mr Balfour,’ said Mallard, prompting Balfour to nod and retreat without a word.
‘Can I get you anything else to drink?’ Mallard asked him.
‘Where’s my son?
Mallard nodded. ‘You’ve come such a long way, you deserve some answers, I understand that.’
‘Why don’t you provide them then?’
‘We have all the time in the world,’ said Mallard, holding his arms wide as if he could control time itself.
‘I’m curious, you’re the one responsible for all these disappearances from the railroad lines?’
Mallard turned the palm over his right hand over, shrugging as if being modest.
‘You’re the Controller?’
Mallard shook his head, once again with false modesty. ‘That term was not of my choosing. Why do you think we do that, give silly names for things we don’t understand?’
‘I understand you very well,’ said Lynch. ‘You have delusions of grandeur like the rest of them, but you’re no different.’ Lynch pointed to his head. ‘You’re off, Mallard. Something up there is wrong. I don’t know if you were born that way, or if Daddy didn’t love you, but something has messed you up.’
‘Maybe. Or perhaps that’s the only explanation you can come up with.’
