by Paul Stein
Blimey! Kilmer thought. What’s about this clan that makes ‘em threaten the very people holdin’ ‘em hostage? Cheeky blighters, I’ll grant.
“Yer gutsie, lady,” Kilmer chuckled, mildly amused by the woman’s spunk. “I know ‘bout yer father, ma’am. We’ll have a proportional response ready for anythin’ he does. I hope for yer skin he doesn’t interfere. Now put my mate back on the tellie,” he ordered.
“Yes, sir?” Sully asked, replacing Sela on the call.
“Listen, pally…hang tight,” Kilmer said. “Both yer and Marlon chill ‘til I call ya. Keep an eye peeled for Feds. The woman’s too right…the cops’ll pull out all stops to find ‘er. I’ll let ya know when we make tracks to West Point; we’ll all meet there. Has Holloway showed?”
“No, sir, but everything’s fine here. The woman’s cooperating... she’s got a mouth on her, though,” Sully said with a slight chuckle. “We’ll await your call. Oh…and just so you know, Travis was planning on flying back to California. He won’t be happy to hear he’s staying in Hilton Head.”
“Tell the piker to shut the fuck up. He doesn’t make a move b’fore I tell ‘im. And let me know if Holloway surfaces…good oh, mate? I don’t need any of his bullshit, either.”
“Stayin’ frosty, sir. Let me know if you need anything else,” Sully said, disconnecting the call.
Righto…it’s a goer, Kilmer thought, walking to rejoin the group near the trailer. The machine works; Holloway’s not up my nose; no cops… what’s missing? Couple more days we’ll be in Kentucky. Mother, that’ll be a slog.
He walked over to the vehicle. Let’s see if the cheeky professor can flatten the Humvee….
FORTY-ONE
SAN FRANCISCO
08:30 HOURS
SPECIAL AGENT JASON HENRY was in his spacious quarters along Pilot’s Row in the Presidio near downtown San Francisco. The joint chiefs kept several homes along Lincoln Boulevard for visiting generals and their families while billeted at the old San Francisco Army Base. Staying at the Presidio was one of many perks offered to executive officers of the Department of Defense.
He loved the thought of all the great military minds that had sat at the very desk he now occupied. It was a little before 8:30 a.m., but he was in no rush to leave his room. He sat at the spacious writing desk, transcribing notes from the past several days of investigation, trying to figure out his next move. There was something about this evolving case that bothered him; he just couldn’t put his finger on it.
He gazed out at the Golden Gate Bridge from the picture window framing his room. In the few days he’d been staying at the base, he’d become quite fond of watching a seemingly endless parade of vehicles traverse the bridge. He’d even witnessed a Navy FA-18 Hornet fly underneath it; something he figured would earn the pilot a severe reprimand. What an incredible engineering feat, he thought. Amazing what some people accomplish.
“We interrupt this program to bring you late-breaking news,” said the television anchor from KGO in San Francisco. This snapped Agent Henry back to reality, drawing his attention to the news flash on the TV.
“KGO has just learned that Dr. Sela Coscarelli, daughter of United States Senator Alfonse Coscarelli, has been kidnapped. Dr. Coscarelli is a cellular genetics research fellow at Johns Hopkins University. The University has not issued a formal response but sources tell KGO that Dr. Coscarelli is a highly respected researcher working to discover a cure for a wide range of genetic diseases, including muscular dystrophy. Authorities have yet to divulge anyone claiming responsibility for the kidnapping or the existence of any ransom demands. There is no comment coming from the senator’s office. KGO will of course keep you apprised of further information as it develops.”
Holy shit, Henry thought. Unbelievable. I knew something smelled about this cousins’ vendetta nonsense. This is way out in left field!
Not a minute after the news flash, his cell phone began to vibrate. The phone identified that Lieutenant David Morris was calling.
“Morning, Lieutenant,” Agent Henry said, quickly answering the call.
“Hello, Jason…hey, did you happen to catch the news about Dr. Coscarelli?”
“Yeah, I just heard it.”
“Did you know she’s Ryan Marshall’s sister-in-law?”
“No. What do you make of this?”
“Well, grab your ass, buddy, ’cause it gets even better,” Morris said, filling Agent Henry in on the happenings at Conrad’s house.
“Whew,” Henry whistled as he listened to the news.
“No, no…wait…that’s not all. There’s more,” Morris continued. “I sent a patrolman to check on Conrad this morning when he didn’t answer his phone. I wanted to get his reaction to the news about Dr. Coscarelli. Now it looks like he’s missing, too. Neighbors tell us that shortly after we cleared the area last night, Dr. Conrad left with two men in a black van. No one’s seen him since. We have people combing the area at the university. Same deal...he hasn’t reported to the lab, either. Can you believe it?”
“Well, no one could make this shit up…I’ll grant you that,” Henry replied. “Let’s see if I have this straight: We have three people ostensibly abducted—all from the same family, two of whom are related to Senator Coscarelli. We have two estranged cousins that are somehow embroiled in a plot surrounding new technology the Defense Department’s been tracking. And we have twenty pounds of missing radioactive material that this contraption needs to operate,” he recited, pausing to see if he had missed anything. “Dare I ask… have you got anything else?”
“Chrissake, there better not be anything else,” Morris replied. “We’ve got the entire department working on this thing. My first priority this morning is to track down Dr. Conrad and hopefully catch Marshall before he and his ex make matters any worse…if that’s even possible.”
“Okay, keep in touch, Dave. I was planning on visiting Niles Penburton this morning. There’s something that’s just not right about this guy. The disappearance of his partner will give me the perfect opening to ask him a few more questions. We’re not out of this thing yet, Lieutenant, but the wind’s shifting. Anything this complex leaves a wide swath of evidence and all kinds of overlooked details. We’ll nail these bastards, mark my words,” Henry boldly predicted.
“Well, I hope you’re right, Jason. We haven’t begun to see the political fallout yet. But brace yourself…the heat’s rising as sure as thunderheads bring afternoon showers,” he said, ending the call.
Jason Henry sat at the writing desk looking astonished. The latest events had exponentially complicated his investigation. Previously it had seemed wildly coincidental to him that the theft of this new antigravity technology at the Quantum Building, which required atomic fuel to function, was followed so closely by the theft of twenty pounds of nuclear material from the Livermore facility. In his twenty-six years in law enforcement, thirteen as a special agent for the Defense Department, he had learned to be wary of coincidences. The current situation confirmed his experience once again.
The news of multiple abductions surrounding the pioneer of the new technology left little doubt in Henry’s mind that someone close to Dr. Conrad was connected to the crime, and his intuition kept pointing to someone closely associated with the Quantum Corporation. He’d make book on it. It was most likely someone with in-depth knowledge of the research that Conrad was conducting.
Agent Henry didn’t have the same conviction about Jarrod Conrad. He recognized Dr. Conrad was the genius behind this new technology and he’d remained implacable about losing his coveted research. Conrad’s ego is larger than an Oklahoma prairie, his notes read. Would never sell out; vital to be recognized as the pioneer of this work.
Agent Henry figured it was time to follow his hunch and pressure Niles Penburton. He was certain this guy held the key to the mystery behind both Quantum and Livermore. Everyone had an intrinsic vulnerability, and even though Penburton’s soft spot still eluded him, Henry knew that skillful probing
would uncover his weakness. Let’s roll some dice, he thought, grabbing his coat and heading for the door. Niles is about to crap out.
Agent Henry arrived at the Quantum Building at Stanford just after 10:00 a.m. He parked in the visitors’ lot and went directly to Penburton’s office on the tenth floor. He knocked but didn’t wait to be admitted, opening the door and walking directly inside. Penburton looked up from his desk and Henry caught a brief glimpse of terror on the man’s face. He was glad he’d caught the man off-guard.
“Good morning, Professor,” Agent Henry started, watching as the man nervously shuffled together something he’d been reading before quickly storing it away in the top drawer of his otherwise neatly ordered desk. “I hope I haven’t caught you at a bad time, but there are new developments in my investigation that you might be able to address. This’ll only take a few minutes,” he said, indicating that Penburton had no choice otherwise.
“Agent Henry, what a pleasant surprise,” Penburton lied, trying to conceal his alarm. The special agent’s impromptu visit was unwelcome but not altogether unexpected, given the message he had received from Jarrod late last night. The agent’s presence at Quantum was always troublesome and mentally fatiguing, made more so ever since Holloway’s team had stolen Conrad’s antigravity research. “Please, come in. How can I help you?” he asked, hospitably, feigning curiosity.
“Professor, we have a big problem here,” Henry said, taking a seat while removing his notebook from his breast pocket. “Things are just not adding up. I’ve been working with Lieutenant Morris from PAPD, and it seems we’re both running into the same inconsistencies. I don’t know if you’ve heard, but as of this morning, Dr. Conrad is presumed missing. In addition, his cousin’s son was kidnapped from his home late last night and we’ve just learned that Dr. Sela Coscarelli, Ryan Marshall’s ex-sister-in-law, has also been abducted from her home in Maryland.”
Penburton was mortified at the report from Agent Henry. A rush of adrenalin shot through his body when he heard about Sela. He realized that Holloway had acted on his hunch that she was someone Jarrod cared about. He tried valiantly to maintain his composure and not let Henry see that he was mortified. He also needed to conceal his foreknowledge of Jarrod’s abduction, having previously decided not to divulge the late-night call he had received. Penburton realized with grim awareness that he would be considered an accessory in all these capital crimes if Agent Henry discovered his association with Holloway.
“My God, Conrad’s missing?” he asked in mock surprise, contorting his face into an anguished look. “In light of everything else that’s happened since the break-in, I’m surprised you fellas didn’t have someone assigned to protect him. Do you have any idea what happens to our research if he’s not found?” he asked firmly, attempting to deflect the subject of conversation. “What’s all this got to do with me anyway?”
“It’s looking more and more like an inside job, Professor,” Henry bluntly replied, setting a steady gaze on Penburton, looking for a flinch, a jerk, or any imperceptible sign that might give him away as the inside source. He saw it, barely detectable; the professor was scared. His eyes darted almost indiscernibly, but it was a dead giveaway. The professor was exhibiting the mammalian fight-or-flight reflex. When confronted by danger, the subject will choose to fight, or run like hell. There was no doubt: Penburton was looking for a way to bolt. I’ve got you, you son-of-a-bitch, Henry thought.
“Since you’re Dr. Conrad’s partner, I’m sure you must know things about him that most others wouldn’t be privy to. Can you tell me if there’s anyone who might be able to set up this plan? It’s remarkably complex—making it look like his long-estranged cousin was behind the break-in could have only come from someone closely allied to the professor. See where I’m going with this?”
“I understand your point, Agent Henry, but I can assure you I don’t know anything about this. As you correctly point out, I’m his partner. Why would I steal research I already own? And to imply I’m somehow involved in his kidnapping…mind-boggling.”
“Well…then you won’t mind me investigating your phone calls, bank records, credit card transactions, and past tax filings,” Henry responded officiously. “That should clear up any doubt about your involvement quite nicely, Professor.”
Jason Henry had to keep from breaking a smile. The look on Penburton’s face was priceless. It was the look of a trapped animal— inextricably caught, without recourse, and no hope of rescue.
“I can’t see how that information will help you, but if it assists in finding Jarrod and recovering his stolen research, by all means you’ll have my full and complete cooperation,” Penburton calmly replied, stalling while he assessed his next move. “But since you appear to have made me a suspect in this investigation, I’ll need to consult with my attorney, and I must insist that you produce a court order to procure the documents you request. Now, if you’ll kindly remove yourself from my office, I have a class to teach,” he finished, abruptly standing up from his desk, indicating their discussion was concluded.
“No problem, Professor. I appreciate your willingness to cooperate, but making me obtain a court order makes your offer insincere. I would advise you not to leave the city until this is resolved. Good day, Professor. I’ll be in touch,” Agent Henry said, standing to leave.
There was no doubt in his mind that Niles Penburton was dirty. He could smell a rat and this rat was the partner of Dr. Jarrod Conrad, inventor of the world’s first antigravity machine. Lie to me once, shame on you. Lie to me twice, I’ll eat your lunch, Henry thought. I’ve got my man. He’s not Lex Luthor, but this guy knows the man with the plan. I’ll make book on it.
FORTY-TWO
SAN JOSE
08:30 HOURS
RYAN MARSHALL slowly awoke from a fitful sleep filled with frightful dreams: driving down a dark, steep grade, brakes and headlights failing; fleeing an angry posse brandishing rifles and swinging a noose; being forced to watch Jeremiah drown—his wide eyes looking hurt, longing for rescue. Mercifully the nightmares ceased as the dawn broke and he awoke, relieved that these dreams were just that.
But then reality engulfed him like a mine cave-in as the recollection of his circumstances returned, the certainty of last night’s events crashing down upon him. Even though he badly needed sleep, once his mind began grinding on the enormity of his predicament, he knew it was futile to try further. He looked to the bed next to his and noted that Sarah was not there; it was then that he heard the sound of the shower. He sat up on the edge of the bed, his face in his hands, feeling as though his whole world had been rocked. It was 8:39 a.m.
Ryan’s emotions were horribly conflicted. Even though he felt terrible about Jer’s abduction, he was also feeling a peculiar exhilaration being with Sarah again. Under other circumstances his euphoria from their recent reconciliation would have been boundless, but he had to quash this feeling. He took solace that they were back together, working on the problem, and hoped this interaction would spur them toward a new future.
Their work ethic had always been prominent in their relationship; given a problem, the Marshalls would doggedly pursue its resolution. They were undeterred by obstacles and considered overcoming challenges a noble pursuit. They worked like two draft horses sharing the load, undaunted by rough terrain that lay ahead. At critical times each tapped hidden reserves of fortitude to overcome seemingly insurmountable odds. Ryan knew it was time again to reach for this inner reserve and draw the emotional strength needed to locate their missing son. Even though it seemed hopeless, it was comforting that Jeremiah was presumably alive and healthy, a luxury that had not been available to the Marshalls when facing Jacob’s illness.
Sarah began the upcoming day without having slept a wink. The trauma of losing Jer was excruciatingly difficult to bear; shutting her mind off to this new horror was impossible. After the call to Ben Dare, she had experienced intermittent bouts of anger, grief, fear, and hopelessness. She felt like she’d been run o
ver by a stampede. It was all too much and completely unbearable. Her only consolation was the acknowledgement that Jarrod had made contact with Jer and that he was okay. Throughout the remainder of the night, she reread the message a dozen times, comforted by and grateful for his words that her son was unharmed.
Sarah returned Jarrod’s message. She needed to give assurance they would find his location at all cost: JC: relieved you and Jer ok. We are on the trail. All my love…Sarah
She had composed the brief message, become introspective, and then gratefully sent it on its way. She couldn’t believe that she now held Jarrod in such high esteem, after having loathed his existence nearly every day since the New York City incident. She had no ability to explain how quickly she had moved from absolute contempt to complete forgiveness of Jarrod’s transgressions. All her hopes for Jer’s safe return were in Jarrod’s hands.
Sarah had worked on the laptop for most of the night. She had pored over every inch of the area surrounding Stanford, using Google Earth to look for warehouses within fifty-two minutes of Jarrod’s home. The only thing she could identify was an industrial complex on the southeast side of San Jose. This had to be where Jer had been taken. She decided to let Ryan sleep a bit longer before sharing her hunch. When he awoke, they would make a plan about how to locate their son. Feeling exhausted yet unable to unwind, she decided a long hot shower would help her relax.
Ryan rose from the bed and quietly came into the bathroom. He watched for a moment, noting that his ex-wife stood motionless underneath the steamy showerhead, lost in thought, unaware of his presence. He flashed back to the days immediately following Jacob’s death, remembering the grief counseling they had done at the request of Father Sabo from their church. They’d been advised to maintain a strong sexual intimacy in their relationship, which, among other things, would help them manage the pain of their loss.
