Whitewash

by Alex Kava

  “Not this stuff.”

  It worked. He waved her out of the office and gave her a shove toward the sample bottles lined up on the shelf across the lab.

  This could work. She just needed to be patient. She’d humor him and get him to forget about the gun. It was small, practically looked like a toy. She could put a counter between them and make a run for the door. She had to believe O’Hearn wasn’t much of a shot.

  Just when she felt hopeful, the lab door opened and filled with a stocky, square-shouldered man with slick-backed hair, a widow’s peak, deep-set eyes. She thought she recognized him.

  “Well, look who’s here. It’s about time you showed up,” O’Hearn told the man. “You can finally take care of your mistake.” And he pointed at Sabrina.

  That’s when Sabrina realized who the man was. He looked bigger close up, not like when he was on the catwalk over the tank. And unlike O’Hearn, Sabrina knew this man would kill.

  107

  Eric brought a partially loaded hand truck with him to the fourth floor. Down in the lobby he had met up with his first security guard who gave him a curt, dismissive nod, like he didn’t waste time even greeting lowly vendors. That’s when Eric realized the uniform and hand truck didn’t just give him credible admittance, they made him invisible.

  The fourth floor opened to a reception lobby. There were no hallways and only three doors off the lobby. The main door had a simple gold-plated and engraved plaque, not a nameplate, but a plaque: William Sidel.

  Eric had expected to find the CEO’s secretary here. Weren’t CEO’s secretaries in early to organize their day before their bosses arrived? Eric had even come up with several charming excuses on the elevator for why he had ended up on the wrong floor.

  Sidel’s huge office door with the name plaque opened easily. And why not, Eric thought. If the man didn’t have anything to hide he shouldn’t need to lock his office door at night, especially when a security key card was required to get in the building and then required again to gain access in the elevator to the fourth floor.

  Sidel’s office was a huge triangle with two of the walls floor-to-ceiling glass. Eric had theorized that if a security tape existed of Anna Copello’s murder—and Sabrina was confident that every reactor had cameras—then William Sidel would have wanted the tape in his safekeeping. He obviously had not given it to the police. But as Eric began searching the office, he found few hiding places. Finally he found a false bottom in one of the CEO’s drawers. There was no video, no CD. However, there were a half-dozen interesting Polaroid photos.

  Eric slipped the photos into his shirt pocket. Before he left, he looked out over the campus, wondering if Sidel spent a great deal of time in this exact spot, admiring the kingdom he had created. It was quite an accomplishment and it could have been an amazing business if only the bastard hadn’t gotten so cocky and greedy.

  Then Eric realized he could say the same thing about himself. He had gotten cocky and greedy with the key card. Of course Sidel didn’t need to lock his office. There were probably hidden security cameras. Somewhere a guard could be watching his every move and by now be sending up guards to remove him.

  Eric turned slowly, his eyes examining every shelf, frame and fixture in the room. In the meantime he listened for the elevator. Experience and training reassured him there were no hidden cameras. He did, however, need to get the hell out of there and get to their agreed-upon pickup place or he would, literally, miss the boat.

  108

  Leon sure hated loose ends. This woman, this Dr. Sabrina Galloway, represented the biggest fuckup of his career. He figured it was even bigger than Casino Rudy. Well, at least she had the decency to look scared shitless.

  “You even know how to use one of those things, Doc?” He pointed to the .22-caliber revolver, a nice little brain rattler, but the way Michael O’Hearn tossed it around it wouldn’t do much damage.

  “I wouldn’t have to do this if you’d finished what you got paid to do.”

  “Actually, Doc, I haven’t been paid yet. And if I remember correctly, you told me to leave it to the cops. So…” Leon glanced at his watch. “The cops must be on their way, right?”

  “Don’t be a smart-ass. Just take care of her.”

  “You were the one who hired him?” The Galloway woman looked at O’Hearn. Leon shook his head. She was still seeing her colleague instead of the mad little scientist.

  “Yeah, it’s amazing,” Leon said to Sabrina, “what people, even scientists, are willing to do out of greed.”

  “This wasn’t about greed.”

  Now Leon had made the man angry.

  “Not for me it wasn’t.”

  “Really?” Leon cocked his head to the side and grinned enough to ignite O’Hearn.

  “This is about being taken seriously and being seen as a true competitor. Something that would never happen under Lansik and definitely not as long as we were using only chicken guts.”

  “How could we ever be taken seriously?” Galloway said, surprising them both. “How could we gain any credibility by making people sick?”

  “What? Oh yeah, that stupid little bottled-water company?” O’Hearn laughed and Leon thought he sounded a little like a foghorn—not a pretty sound.

  Leon didn’t know anything about people getting sick from the water. Hell, every time he was out here he couldn’t believe people didn’t get sick from the smell. He glanced at his watch again. He really just wanted to get this over and done with.

  “Let’s get on with this,” he said. He crossed the room and put out his hand. To his surprise, O’Hearn relinquished the revolver without a protest.

  “Get it right this time,” he told Leon, reminding him of an old teacher he had in high school, one that Leon didn’t particularly like.

  “You can come along. Make sure it’s done right.”

  “No, that’s quite all right.”

  Leon thought he saw the cocky scientist get a bit squeamish.

  “Actually, I’m gonna have to insist. It’s my policy when something like this happens.” He took the Galloway woman’s wrist, his fingers easily wrapping and overlapping. She didn’t flinch…much. “Oh, and Doc, I’ll need that video from the security camera.”

  “Video? I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about.”

  Leon almost let another grin loose. This guy might be a brilliant scientist but he was a god-awful liar.

  “The video of me bashing that poor woman into the tank. I know you have security cameras in every one of those reactor buildings. Me and Dr. Galloway will wait here while you get it.”

  He could see O’Hearn’s mind churning around the alternatives. Finally, without a word he went to a row of foot-lockers and twisted open the combination padlock on one of them. He pulled out a CD case and tossed it to Leon.

  Leon couldn’t help thinking the brilliant mad scientist threw like a girl. He wouldn’t be much help at all, but then he also wouldn’t be much trouble, either.

  109

  This is what had happened to Dwight Lansik, Sabrina told herself as she looked over the railing down into the swirling tank of chicken guts. All that was left of him was a piece of his watch and a glob of tissue. She might not even be that lucky. And yet all she could think about was her dad. He had lost so much. For his daughter to literally become a part of a scientific formula seemed a particularly cruel injustice.

  O’Hearn had ended up being the one dragging and prodding her. Her wrist hurt. So did her jaw. She had tried to twist away from him and he slapped her hard. His hit man followed, wiping sweat from his forehead, using tissues from a small packet. He seemed indifferent, almost reluctant, not exactly cold and calculating like she imagined a hit man would be. O’Hearn, on the other hand, acted like a man on speed, pumped full of energy, jerky and anxious and strong.

  Leon pocketed her wireless earbud as soon as he noticed it. Oddly he didn’t mention it to O’Hearn. He had plucked it off as they left the lab and slipped it into his trous
er pocket without a word or a look. So there was no longer a way for her to even get a message to Russ and Howard. It didn’t matter. They wouldn’t be able to hear her.

  The steel-grated catwalk swayed and vibrated from the steady rumble of pulleys, engines and conveyor belts down below. A few tanker trucks started to load and unload. Up here, three stories above the noise, no one would notice a wave for help or a scream or even a gunshot.

  Leon pulled out O’Hearn’s gun now. He flipped open the chamber and looked at O’Hearn.

  “Loaded,” he said. “I’m impressed. I didn’t think you had it in you.” Then suddenly he surprised both of them by shoving the gun’s muzzle up against O’Hearn’s temple.

  “What the hell is this?”

  Sabrina could hear the panic in O’Hearn’s voice despite the roar of trucks below and the whine of conveyor belts.

  “Oh, I forgot to tell you,” Leon said. “I have a new client. Sorry to drag you up here, ma’am, but I’d never get him all the way out here without you.” He managed a casual glance at Sabrina. The gun didn’t budge from O’Hearn’s head. “You’re free to go.”

  “Excuse me?”

  O’Hearn still had a grip on her arm, and now his fingernails were digging deep into her skin. Maybe this was part of some sick joke between the two of them. But Leon gave the muzzle another shove, this one enough to tilt O’Hearn’s head to the side.

  “Let her go before I start breaking your fingers one by one.”

  “This is ridiculous.” But O’Hearn let go, giving her a hard shove.

  Sabrina slammed against the railing. It hit her in the small of her back, the force enough to throw her off balance. She grabbed on to the railing, trying to steady herself. A slightly harder shove would have sent her over. She didn’t know if she could trust him. After all, she had seen him bash Anna when Anna wasn’t looking. Would he do the same to her as soon as she turned her back?

  Her eyes met Leon’s and in what looked like an afterthought he said, “Tell your neighbor I don’t plan on coming back down to Florida for a while.”

  Miss Sadie, of course. She really had made some kind of deal with this man. How was that possible?

  Sabrina didn’t hesitate this time. She gripped the railing and hand over hand found her way to the end of the catwalk. She didn’t look back. She crawled down the steel ladder, missing the last step and stumbling to the ground. Somewhere in the distance she thought she could hear a security alarm going off. It had to be her imagination, triggered by the memory of the last time she had fled this place.

  Anyone who saw her—and employees’ vehicles had started to come onto the grounds—might think she was getting in a morning run before work. Except she didn’t stick to the sidewalks, or the roads. She took the shortest route, over landscaped berms, through the middle of parking lots and around tanker trucks. And she didn’t stop until she hit the tall grass.

  She found the rubber waders where she had left them and struggled to pull them up over her running shoes and sweaty legs. All the while she watched where she had just come from, her heart pounding, her breathing coming in machine-gun gasps. She expected to find someone racing to stop her, especially now that she could hear the alarm. It was not her imagination.

  Sabrina stumbled through the trees, her feet suddenly awkward and heavy. She skidded to a halt at the riverbank and thought she’d faint from the wonderful sight of the boat and Howard waving frantically at her. She was so relieved that when she felt the hand on her shoulder she simply froze. She closed her eyes, not wanting to look, too exhausted to fight or care.

  “I had to do something.” She heard Russ’s voice and she opened her eyes to see him, beside her now. He was dripping wet, his shaved head glistening, but he was smiling. He put his arm around her shoulder and she leaned against him to get her balance back. He smelled of river water and perspiration.

  “You pulled an alarm somewhere,” she said.

  “Yeah, so we better get the hell out of here.”

  Soon her concern switched to snakes again. By the time she flopped onto the boat she was pretty sure she wouldn’t be getting seasick on the trip back.

  110

  Tallahassee Regional Airport

  Natalie Richards stepped the short distance from the airport doors into the waiting limousine and yet she could swear she felt her hair already frizzle in the hot, humid air. Colin Jernigan was waiting for her inside the car. He smiled at her patting her hair.

  “This might help.” He handed her a glass of something frosty and lime green with a spear of fruit balanced against the rim.

  “You do know how to pick up a girl in style.”

  She slid in, taking the seat opposite him. She carefully set down a long, narrow, gift-wrapped box beside her before she accepted the drink from him. She took a sip, smooth and tangy. If all went well she hoped to treat herself with a day or two of these on a beach.

  “You really didn’t have to bring me a gift.”

  “This?” She held up the package carefully, almost reverently, with her free hand. “This is the only reason I am here.”

  “That’s some special delivery.”

  “I told you we like to do things the old-fashioned way. My boss wants to make sure the president receives this gift before the reception tonight.”

  “Must be something special indeed.”

  “You don’t know the half of it,” Natalie said, waving her hand at him like she usually did when emphasizing a point. “You have any idea how difficult it is to find a solid-red silk necktie on short notice?” Actually, finding a solid-red necktie had been quite easy, but joking about it helped her stop thinking about it and treating the necktie like it was a ticking bomb.

  She took another sip of the glorious creation. The last-minute trip preparations had been the least of her unraveling. Things were moving fast, locking into place. Yes, both of them were being a bit flippant, a tactic to relieve tension and stress. Like soldiers in a war zone or cops at a grisly crime scene. She and Colin were the only ones who truly knew how close to out of control this situation had gotten.

  Now in a matter of hours they would know whether or not they had succeeded in foiling a terrorist plot or had succeeded in instigating one.

  111

  EchoEnergy

  Leon couldn’t believe how bad this guy smelled. He almost smelled worse than the chicken guts down below. And he was pathetic, too. A grown man pissing his pants.

  “Not so brilliant now, huh, Doc?”

  “Who paid you?” O’Hearn wanted to know. “It was Sidel, wasn’t it?”

  Leon simply shook his head, not as an answer so much as out of disgust. He never understood why anyone wasted his dying breath wanting to know who had done him in.

  He had the mad scientist backed against the railing, sweating and crying and pissing his pants. His forehead was raw where Leon had pressed and jabbed the barrel of the gun. If the idiot would hold still instead of jerking around, this part wouldn’t have to hurt.

  “Please don’t kill me.” It was a whimper. Finally, maybe the asshole would settle down. Leon liked the idea of making him squirm a little. Maybe just because this whole goddamn job had been such a bitch.

  Christ! It was hot up here now that the sun had broken out of the trees. All this fucking steel and concrete. And that stink! Leon would be glad to finish this up and finally get back home.

  Somewhere down below he heard an alarm. He cocked his head, trying to listen over the groans of hydraulics and the roar of motors. Or was it a siren? That Galloway woman wouldn’t have been so stupid to sic the security guards on him, would she?

  It distracted Leon. Sent his eyes off O’Hearn long enough for the scientist to notice. Long enough for O’Hearn to believe he had one desperate chance left. He grabbed for the gun. Son of a bitch! Leon pushed back, but the guy was already attached. Why the hell did they always grab for the gun?

  The mad little scientist was strong. He arm wrestled Leon so that both of them wer
e pressed against the railing. Leon tried to keep his footing solid while O’Hearn dug long fingernails into his skin. He tried to keep his own finger on the trigger, but O’Hearn had managed to shove their arms down, against each other’s bellies. And now Leon knew his best option was to shift the balance. Use his bulk to shove the madman over the railing.

  He had O’Hearn where he wanted him. He just needed to brace himself against the railing and kick one of O’Hearn’s legs. The man’s grimace tilted up right into Leon’s face. It wasn’t a pretty sight: gritted yellowed teeth, silver goatee glistening with spittle, eyes wide, forehead veins bulging. And there was a growl. Even with all the surrounding noise Leon could hear the madman growling like some rabid dog.

  Leon had control. He had the advantage of a solid balance. He was ready to fling the little bastard over the railing. There were two gunshots. Leon wasn’t sure he would have even recognized them as gunshots, both muffled and small, but their force jabbed both men.

  Leon watched O’Hearn’s grimace slide into shock—raised eyebrows, eyes still wide. The struggle stopped. O’Hearn slipped away, falling sideways, his torso simply tipping over the railing. There was no grasping, no straining, no scream. And Leon stood still, staring as another scientist plunged into the churning feedstock.

  It wasn’t until Leon swung his legs over the catwalk to connect with the steel ladder down that he realized it wasn’t all O’Hearn’s blood on the front of his shirt. He could feel the pain in his side with every step.

  The sirens were louder on the ground. He’d never make it to the back parking lot where he’d left his latest ride. And he couldn’t just walk out of here with all this blood. What an absolute fucking way to end. That fortune-teller was probably smiling somewhere about now.

  Leon thought for sure he was fucked until he saw the Pepsi truck. The driver was closing up the back, getting ready to move out. Leon made a dash for the truck, running between whining conveyor belts and making it to the passenger door without anyone noticing. Or at least he hoped. He opened the door and pulled himself up into the seat just as the driver opened his door on the other side. Leon showed him the gun, keeping it down on the seat.