by Vivian Barz
People fell out of love every day, so was it really so strange that he’d begun to feel lukewarm about rocks? He knew a great deal about geology, and he could ace all his exams in his sleep, sure. But did being good at something mean that he needed to be married to it for the rest of his life?
Weird as it may have been, he was realizing that he had a real passion for undercover work. And he seemed to be good at it. Was it so outrageous that he was maybe, possibly, perhaps toying with the idea of quitting school to become a private investigator? He was still young enough that a complete career overhaul was possible—it wasn’t like he was nearing retirement age with a sudden proclamation that he wanted to train to be a doctor. So what was holding him back?
He was beginning to understand that part of his reluctance to switch gears was rooted in his having invested so much time and energy in geology. But it wasn’t only that. Even though he prided himself on his individualism and his claims of not giving a toss about what people thought of him, he was still deeply concerned about how his parents and Eric would take his sudden turn into the left field of career choices. He felt almost mortified by the complete 180, as if the randomness of it made it less respectable.
Like he was a flake.
Of course, he didn’t want to get ahead of himself. This was only his first “case.” There was still the possibility that the whole thing would blow up in his face. But if he could manage to do some good in the world by seeking justice for Samantha and Bryan—and bring down a group of possible budding terrorists to boot—it might be worth the risk.
He still wasn’t sure what to make of DOTE. He found it hard to believe that someone as charming as Rodent could be behind a master plot of terrorism, though he imagined he’d need charisma to get his followers to stay with him until the bitter end.
He’d tried to circumvent them picking him up at home by offering to meet them at the secret location of their “field trip,” as Rodent had called it. At least if he knew where they were going beforehand, he could either text Eric the address or leave a note as a precaution in the event he disappeared.
But Rodent had refused. “It would ruin the surprise,” he’d said breezily, which had done nothing to ease his concerns. The only other directive Jake had been given was to “bring a backpack,” which made him think that they might be hiking into the woods. After the gruesome events that had taken place in Clancy with all the dead bodies unearthed in the forest, he was not looking forward to the trek.
He worried that they might have discovered his true motivations behind befriending them and were really just taking him someplace private to beat him up. Or worse. His trepidation further deepened once he was hunkered down inside their vehicle, a nondescript beige minivan with the back windows tinted so dark that they were almost black. The back seats had also been removed—and he was just small enough that they could do practically anything to him and he would not be seen by passersby, should he try to seek help.
“We going to a soccer game in this mom mobile or what?” Jake joked when they were on their way, though internally he was so terrified he could barely keep his thoughts straight. He commanded himself to calm down—acting shifty was the fastest way to alert the doters that he was shifty, at least by their standards.
He also reminded himself that he had yet to uncover any concrete evidence that DOTE were actually committing evil deeds. They could be on their way to pass out flyers for all he knew, though where they’d be distributing them at ten at night was a wonder. No need to get himself worked up over nothing.
Still, he would keep his guard up.
Rodent had not come alone, though he had enough energy for ten people. “It’s going to be great, man, great!” he announced out of nowhere, causing Jake to nearly jump out of his skin. Rodent banged his hand on the steering wheel every so often, and then the chant would start all over again, continuing on loop throughout the journey. It’s going to be great, so great, so fucking great!
He’d been joined by Kimmy and two other senior doters who introduced themselves as Miguel and Marty. Jake recognized them from the fashionable crowd at the party, though tonight they were dressed casually, like college students: baseball hats, worn jeans, sweatshirts. Rodent was wearing a sloppy LU hoodie with frayed sleeves that looked strange and out of character on him, given his polished appearance from the party. He also saw a pile of four backpacks on the floor, which further enhanced their collegiate appearances.
“Hiding in plain sight, man,” Marty said in response to Jake’s question about their vehicle. “You roll up in a scary-looking kidnapper van, and people take notice. But, you look like a soccer mom taking the kiddies to practice, and nobody blinks.”
Jake was surprised when they entered the LU campus and parked. Kimmy placed her parking permit on the dashboard.
“We’re here,” Rodent said.
“Are we picking someone else up?” he asked, dubious. There wasn’t much room left in the van.
“Nope. Grab your backpack.”
Jake kept his mouth shut and did what he was told. Given the late hour, the campus was quiet. Still, there were a few students milling about, which wasn’t surprising. There was a bar near the quad, as well as a twenty-four-hour gymnasium and several dorms. Rodent and his cronies were onto something with their claims of hiding in plain sight. With the way they’d dressed, they looked just like LU students, despite being a lot older than the typical attendee. The backpacks completed their look, though Jake was worried about what might be in theirs.
They walked to the STEM side of campus and then headed toward a tall structure that housed all the engineering courses. The building was completely dark and, not surprisingly, the doors were locked. Jake felt relief ease over him.
“Guess that’s that,” he said, feigning disappointment.
Rodent barked out a laugh. “Man, you’re a riot.”
Jake laughed, too, as if he’d been joking. “Seriously, though, how are we going to get around the alarms?”
“Already taken care of,” Miguel said. “Security cameras too. Everything here’s run remotely online. You wouldn’t believe how easy it was to crack into their system. Piece of cake. We’ve got a guy who takes care of this for us.”
“Ah, speak of the devil!” Rodent said as a man came sauntering up. Jake was instantly uneasy, though he couldn’t put his finger on why. “We all good?”
“All good,” the man said, his response sounding garbled. He wiped a smudge of brown away from the corner of his mouth using his sleeve. He was truly a disgusting individual, and Jake was hoping that, whatever they were up to, it wouldn’t entail touching this slob.
“Jesus, Wicky, don’t you ever stop eating?” Marty sneered.
“Not if I can help it,” Wicky said, and then he pulled whatever he’d been chomping on previously out of the waistband of his jeans so that he could resume eating. It was a chocolate bar, Jake saw.
Shaped like a baby.
It’s him, Jake thought, the man Bryan had taken a photo of at Salty’s the night Samantha was murdered. And now here he was, eating her sweets. Unless, that was, he was the charitable type to have his desserts shipped from Africa at twenty bucks a pop.
“That’s a trip,” Jake said to the man. “Is that chocolate shaped like a baby?”
“Yup. Watch this.” Wicky tore off some of the wrapper so that the child’s head was exposed. “Waaaahhhh-waaaahhhh-waahh,” he wailed, and then he bit the head off with an amused snort. “Quiet, you brat.”
“That’s hilarious,” Jake said easily, using all his energy to hide his repulsion. Bryan had been wrong in his assumption that the man would reek of farts and cigarettes, but he was plenty disgusting nonetheless. “Where’d you get that thing. Is it any good?”
“Naw, man, it tastes like shit. But I’m hungry, so.” He shrugged, squinted at the wrapper. “Don’t know where it’s from—this is written in Chinese or something. I got it off some bitch—”
“You talk too fucking muc
h,” Rodent hissed. He handed Wicky a stack of twenties, which Wicky made a show of counting. “Bye.”
“You don’t got to be a dick about it,” Wicky grumbled, and then he stomped off.
“Sorry about him,” Rodent apologized. “He’s a necessary evil, I’m afraid.”
“He’s a dipshit and a creeper,” Kimmy said. “But he can break into any place blindfolded and with one hand tied behind his back.”
“Great,” Jake said weakly. He was so nervous he felt as if he might pass out. Some private eye he was. He wanted to get on with things. The sooner they completed whatever the hell mission they were on, the sooner he could get out of there.
“You’re a teacher’s assistant, right? You must’ve noticed how ridiculous security is here on campus,” Rodent said. “I think it’s mainly there for show, to give these rich kids a feeling of being safe.”
“Oh, I’m only a TA for one class. I don’t really know about the security side of things—I mainly correct homework,” Jake said dismissively. He was unnerved by Rodent’s awareness of what he did on campus for work. The guy wasn’t even a student there, but Kimmy was, and he hadn’t told her either. He’d told nobody at the party, in fact. He supposed that, given the popularity of Eric’s class, it wouldn’t be too difficult to learn such information—he had no doubt there were at least a dozen students waiting for him to graduate so they could take his place.
Still, creepy.
The way Rodent had spouted the information so casually had unsettled him. It was almost as if Rodent was providing him a subtle reminder about how much he could find out about his life, should he put his mind to it. A preemptive threat, should Jake ever decide to turn them in.
So, Rodent knew where he lived and what he did for a living. What else might he try to unearth to use against him?
They used their cell phones to light the way toward their destination, which Jake thought was a classroom at the end of the hall. They kept walking past it, however, and then went out the back door and down a path that ended at a warehouse-type structure that was fenced in with the engineering building. Kimmy picked the padlock on the large garage door–style entrance, and Jake cringed as it was noisily rolled up—to him, they were being as loud as a freight train. They rolled it back down again, leaving it open a few feet, so they weren’t confining themselves in.
“Relax.” Kimmy smiled. “Even if anyone hears us, they’re not going to think to come back here.”
Inside, it looked as if a gigantic robot had exploded. There were gears, mechanical arms, cogs, tools, and chunks of shiny objects that would have been mistaken for scrap metal had there not been laptops plugged into them. There was also a large excavation machine of some kind at the back of the room broken down into several pieces.
“What are we doing here?” Jake asked.
Kimmy pulled a can of spray paint from her backpack and popped off the red cap. Shaking it, she said, “Do you know where the mechanical engineering department gets a large portion of their funding from?” She walked to a door and sprayed CORPORATE PIGS! on it, the drips of red giving the words a bloodied appearance. Jake had to bite his tongue to stop himself from screaming—What the hell do you think you’re doing?
Miguel, extracting large pliers from his bag, said, “It’s the same bastards who’re responsible for destroying the rainforests in Colombia, Indonesia—”
“Papua New Guinea, Angola, Tanzania . . . ,” Marty added, and then he walked to the excavator, tore off an arm, and hurled it at the wall. Jake started as it burst apart into dozens of pieces. “This machine here is a prototype of the ones they’re developing for mass annihilation of the rainforests where indigenous populations still call home.”
“Fuckers!” Kimmy cheered with a shrill laugh as she helped Miguel tear a laptop away from the chunks of metal.
“Would you like to do the honor, milady?” Miguel asked. He bowed at the waist and handed the laptop over to Kimmy ceremoniously. Kimmy drop-kicked it hard. Its screen shattered as it smashed apart on the concrete a few yards away. The trio of doters burst out in laughter.
“Oops, looks like your grant money has been put to terrible, terrible use,” Marty said with a vicious snort. “No excavator for you!” They erupted in laughter once more.
They’re like animals, Jake thought. Crazy, rabid animals.
Rodent offered Jake a can of spray paint. “It’s now or never, friend.” When Jake hesitated, he added, “I know it might seem like we’re doing a bad thing here right now, but you have to think of the bigger picture—the future. Mechanical engineering students are often recruited for mining and drilling jobs before they’ve even graduated. The corporate vultures come to LU job fairs and target them specifically. By delaying their research now, you’re saving future generations of indigenous populations, who are unable to fight against the greedy corporations displacing them. But if you don’t have the stomach for this, that’s cool. You can walk away now, no hard feelings.”
Walking away would also mean giving up on his investigation of the group, and Jake suspected that vandalism was just the tip of the iceberg as far as what DOTE were capable of. And, if he was scared off this easily, what hope did he ever have of becoming a real investigator?
He gave Rodent a wicked grin. “Gimme that,” he said, taking the spray paint. He made an incensed sputtering sound. “Walk away? I was only trying to figure out what to write first.” He sauntered to a workbench and popped the lid off the can. “I think I’ll go with ‘no blood for grant money.’”
“Good one. But, before you get to work, come with me,” Rodent said, and then he extracted a small glass bottle of clear liquid from his pack. He opened a side door and entered a classroom that was separate but still a part of the warehouse building. He went to the desk at the front of the room and grinned maniacally as he shook the bottle at Jake. “Liquid opium. Students are in for one hell of a lecture tomorrow.”
Jake laughed conspiratorially, his alarm bells ringing. Opium, like the opioids that were found in Samantha’s system? “What’re you doing with that?”
“Got a couple street soldiers on campus who’ve infiltrated old Professor Pascal’s classes. They say he drinks water like it’s going out of style during his lectures.” Rodent pulled open the top drawer of the desk and extracted several full bottles of water. “Of course, he uses plastic, because why give a shit about the ocean?” he grumbled.
Carefully, Rodent poured out a capful of water from each bottle, and then added the opium. He then resealed them. It was as if they’d never been opened, not that it was likely the professor would take notice of such a thing, anyway, after seeing what they’d done to the machinery.
“Man, I’d love to be around tomorrow when he starts drinking these,” Jake said with a snicker. “When’s his first class?”
“Eleven,” Marty answered. “We’ve actually got someone in the class who’s going to record the event.”
“Awesome.” Jake, while smirking on the outside, was already trying to think of how he was going to warn Professor Pascal in time. He was going to need Eric’s help. Though, he imagined, his friend was not going to be too happy to give it.
CHAPTER 24
Susan sat at home in front of Tori Blakenwell’s computer, frowning. For such a so-called flake, she’d sure taken precautions to guard her privacy. Susan was working on yet another password attempt, to no avail. She’d gotten the laptop from Ivor Tuttle, a Lamount grad student and Tori’s editor at the school paper, who she was lucky enough to catch just before he’d left for the day.
The conversation she’d had with Eric at lunch had not only made her sad for a girl who apparently nobody cared had vanished but had also piqued her interest. If the body at the morgue did turn out to be Tori’s, she’d need to solve who had put her in the river. It may have been premature, but she wanted to get a head start. Based on Eric’s vision, she suspected DOTE might have had a hand in her disappearance, since they seemed to be linked to most evil deeds s
he’d uncovered. Linked, she reminded herself, but with no proof. They were sneaky little bastards—she had to give them that.
While Eric’s psychic gift had helped lead her in the right investigative direction on Tori’s possible murder, his input would never hold up in court. Despite Eric’s notoriety for helping law enforcement, no judge on the planet would convict persons culpable based on a college professor’s psychic vision. She needed proof, which might be contained on Tori’s computer.
If she could only unlock the damn password.
She could, of course, simply wait until tomorrow and have the FBI’s tech team take a look at it. But she knew that she wouldn’t sleep a wink, having that puzzle sitting on her kitchen table waiting to be cracked—okay, and she suspected that she might still be buzzing from her lovely lunch with Eric. She thought about her conversation with Ivor Tuttle as she went into the kitchen, frustrated, to fix herself another cup of coffee.
According to Eric, Samantha and Tori hadn’t gotten along, and she didn’t have very many friends. There also didn’t seem to be much love lost between Tori and the editor, who’d called her “an insufferable know-it-all” before Susan revealed that she was looking into her disappearance and possible murder.
A few shades paler, Ivor had backpedaled. “I don’t mean to give you the wrong impression. I’m not harboring any ill will toward Tori, nor is anyone else here. She just . . .” He let out a long, frustrated sigh, which told Susan everything she’d needed to know. He was fed up, but he was no killer.
He continued, “Tori, she was simply unwilling to collaborate with anyone. She knew best—no, I’m sorry, she knew everything. At least in her mind, she did. She would disregard all my edit suggestions, and she’d frequently mock the ideas of others. She’s even made a couple reporters cry. She was paranoid and secretive as all get-out; it’s like she actually believed that everyone was out to scoop her or plagiarize her work. We’re hardly the Washington Post here at Lamount Times. We do mostly puff pieces about happenings on campus: theater productions, sporting events. That sort of stuff.”
