“So she meant Tait was at the loading docks?”
“Yes sir. I had seen Tait’s name on the guest list and so had my men lock the place down until we could find him for questioning. I requested backup to the loading docks and took off after him. I located him in the parking garage across the street.”
“You weren’t alone though, correct?”
“That’s right,” Caleb verifies, “Lynne Bosworth was with me at that point.”
Hofstra makes a notation while urging Caleb to resume his account. Despite a growing feeling that he’s being led down a garden path he continues, “I clearly identified myself as FBI and told Magnus that I needed to speak with him. He refused and took off running.
“It was then that his bodyguard attacked me. While I was defending myself Lynne took a blow to the head. After I put him down I called again for backup and medical attention for her.”
“You didn’t wait for the backup to arrive though, right?”
Exhaling Caleb answers, “No, I didn’t.”
“Uh-huh,” Hofstra nods, “What happened then?”
With a deep breath Caleb suppresses a shudder as he recounts the next part. “I left Lynne…alone…and went after Magnus. As he was attempting to flee in a vehicle I discharged three rounds at his car before I had to duck out of the way. I ran out onto the street after him and commandeered a motorcycle—”
“At gunpoint,” Hofstra interjects.
“Yeah,” he confirms, “At gunpoint. I didn’t have time for niceties. Once I had the bike I took off in pursuit of Tait.”
“A high speed pursuit that resulted in numerous accidents, thousands of dollars in damages, and four deaths. That’s the pursuit you’re referring to, right Agent Fine?”
Caleb stares him down without giving him the satisfaction of a reply.
“All right let’s stop there,” Hofstra folds his hands on the table saying, “The inquest into your actions that day found you to be negligent in the commission of your duties.”
“Are you serious?” Caleb scoffs in disbelief.
“Do I look like I’m joking?” Hofstra returns his steely gaze, “The findings contend that by engaging in a high speed pursuit in the densely populated area of downtown Toronto you recklessly endangered the lives of civilians.
“It is being recommended that you serve a three month suspension from active duty and the FBI is accepting that recommendation.”
Shaking his head Caleb bristles, “This is bullshit.”
“No, what’s bullshit Agent Fine is the way you acted in Toronto,” Hofstra churns, “Your jurisdiction ended at the doors of the convention centre. Your actions put the entire agency on politically unstable footing!”
“If I may intercede,” Mary Ann speaks for the first time, her voice a soothing timbre in the growing maelstrom, “Why did you feel it was necessary to give chase Agent Fine?”
“To catch the bad guy,” he speaks to her as if she were a simpleton, “It’s kind of what we do here.”
Undeterred Mary Ann presses, “But surely it wasn’t necessary to give chase in order to do that. You knew where he was going; you could’ve had the local police detain him at the airport.”
“And if he didn’t go to the airport?” Caleb retorts, “Besides, he wasn’t noticed when he arrived why would he be noticed when he was leaving?”
“Well no one was looking for him when he arrived,” she counters, “And even if he managed to escape the city, he’s Magnus Tait; he could hardly disappear entirely.”
Growing weary of her questions he snaps, “Is there a point to this?”
“Yes,” she says waddling closer to him, “And I think it goes to the heart of the matter. What happened to you before you arrived in Toronto?”
“You tell me Doc,” he sneers, “You have all the answers right?”
“Agent Fine,” Hofstra cautions, “Answer the question.”
“No it’s all right,” Mary Ann says, “If I may?”
Receiving a terse nod from Hofstra and a dismissive wave from Caleb she explains, “You possess alpha personality traits Agent Fine; they’re part of what makes you such a good FBI agent. But they’re not all upside.
“You’re used to success—to catching the bad guy. When that happens, everything’s fine but when it doesn’t…I don’t think you handle failure very well. You spent the seven months leading up to that day in Toronto hunting the Toymaker with what is fair to say, very little success.
“You had just been removed from leading the task force when you arrived in Toronto. How rational was your thinking that day?”
“This is absurd,” Caleb smolders, “I don’t need to listen to this psycho-babble bullshit. All of this is fucking unbelievable!”
“No Agent Fine,” Hofstra matches his intensity with his own, “The bureau feels that there’s merit to Dr. Cornish’s observations so you will listen!”
Startled by the vehemence displayed between the two men, Mary Ann takes a moment to regain her composure. “Agent Fine I’m not casting any aspersions upon you. I am merely wondering if it is not possible that you felt slighted, or maybe even blamed yourself for being unable to catch the Toymaker when you went to Toronto.
“Then in that context, when you thought Magnus Tait was also going to slip through your fingers you refused to allow that to happen. In your mind it had to be you that caught him. It wasn’t enough to let the local PD apprehend him; you needed a success after everything that happened. Will you deny that?”
Ignoring her Caleb says, “The Toymaker is still out there. Please sir, let me finish this case before you suspend me.”
Not appreciating being ignored Mary Ann blurts out, “Do you regret anything that happened that day?”
His eyes dart toward her and she is frightened by the malevolence found there. Unconsciously she takes a step back. Staring into those pools of hate she can feel her hands begin to tremble before the white hot rage at their core breaks and the hurt beneath spreads across his face, softening his features.
Fighting back tears he whispers, “How can you ask me that? Lynne vanished that day after I left her alone, so yeah I have regrets. But don’t you see; that’s why I have to catch him. I have to find her.”
Hofstra exchanges a quick glance with Mary Ann before lowering his own voice in reply, “She’s gone Agent Fine—you have to accept that.”
“No,” he grinds his teeth saying, “She’s alive. He has her somewhere. You need me—I know him better than anyone else. I’m the only one who can find her.”
“He’s never kept anyone alive this long,” Hofstra replies, “You know that’s true. Your suspension is to begin immediately.”
A pained expression unfolds across his face. For Mary Ann the hurt conveyed there is heart breaking.
“Why?” is all he can manage to say before his voice wavers.
“Why?” Hofstra repeats, “Are you serious? I can smell the booze coming off you right now. You’re in no condition to do this job.”
“That’s not true.”
“Really?” Hofstra cuts him off, “Cause your partner disagrees. She’s expressed concerns about your behavior. She thinks you’re too unstable to be in the field right now and I’m inclined to agree with her.
“Do yourself a favor Agent Fine; take these next three months to get over it. Stop beating yourself up about the Toymaker and Lynne and accept that she’s gone.
“Stop drinking yourself into an early grave. Use this time wisely. You were one of the bureau’s finest and when you return I know you can be again. Just clean yourself up, all right?”
Slowly Caleb nods before rising to his feet. The set of his jaw and the look in his eyes reveal that there is so much more he wants to say but doesn’t. With a nod toward Mary Ann he turns to leave the room.
At the door he pauses with his hand on the knob. “Sir?” he says over his shoulder.
“What is it Agent Fine?”
“You’re going to regret this. You’re going to reg
ret giving up on me and giving up on her.” Twisting his head around to stare into Hofstra’s cold eyes he asserts with alarming desperation, “She’s alive.”
Chapter 6
Washington D.C.
The National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration was officially organized under President Nixon in 1970, but its foundation reaches back to the early nineteenth century.
The agencies that came together in 1970 included the United States Coast and Geodetic Survey formed in 1807, the Weather Bureau formed in 1870, and the Bureau of Commercial Fisheries formed in 1871.
NOAA’s mission reaches from the surface of the sun to the depths of the ocean floor. Their mandate encompasses daily weather forecasts, severe storm warnings, climate monitoring, fisheries management, coastal restoration and supporting marine commerce.
NOAA’s products and services affect more than one-third of America’s gross domestic product. Maintaining a presence in every state they have evolved over the years to become an international leader on scientific and environmental matters.
The circular room on the sixth floor has always reminded Tyler of the set for the Starship Enterprise. The middle of the room is sunken by two steps and is crowded with meteorologists and technicians hovering near glowing flat screen monitors while the outside is ringed by several workstations and a massive eight foot high screen displaying the current weather patterns for the United States.
Acting as a hub for the National Weather Service in conjunction with the National Hurricane Service in Florida, the room is always bristling with tension and today is no different.
Spying his supervisor—Cruella when she’s out of earshot—beneath the massive LCD display opposite the door, he slowly makes his way around the left side of the room.
“How nice of you to join us Tyler.”
Hearing the frigid tone to her words he mumbles a hurried apology before lowering his chin in a hang dog expression.
“Don’t be sorry,” she admonishes him, “Be on time.”
Anne Blackwell is a no-nonsense sixty-two year old who has spent the last twelve years as the Assistant Administrator of the National Ocean Service, one of the many Line Offices under the umbrella of NOAA.
She can be very aloof and demanding of her subordinates, traits that gave rise to her nickname while also making her both respected and feared.
Her white hair is done up in a 1950’s style perm that frames a narrow face wrinkled with age. The wrinkles and slightly sagging skin do nothing to soften her features though. She has thin mirthless lips lightly accented by a soft red hue, a tiny scar beneath a hooked nose, and dark pin pricks for eyes that burn with an intensity it would be difficult for a woman half her age to match.
She’s wearing a finely tailored Armani suit, light gray in color, with a white chiffon blouse and matching pearl earrings. As those under her have often remarked she’s the spitting image of the kindly grandmother until she locks you in her withering gaze and begins chipping away at your self-esteem faster than Mexican food through a first time tourist.
Raising his eyes to the screen Tyler notices the swirling mass off the east coast heading for the Bahamas and suddenly understands the frenetic pace of the room. “Is that…?”
“Yes it is,” Anne coolly states, “Only a tropical depression at the moment but if it continues to strengthen at the current pace it will become the sixth hurricane of the season—say hello to Fiona.”
His attention is riveted to the enormous image of clouds swirling counter-clockwise around an eye made sinister by the knowledge of what it can do.
“It’s projected to be the first category four storm of the season,” Anne says, “Possibly even a category five. Right now its path is plotted to take it up the eastern seaboard hitting Florida and the Carolinas shortly thereafter. But…that’s not why you’re here.”
Pulling his gaze away from the enormous thunderstorm activity he looks at her, waiting for her to continue.
“Let me introduce you to the man who requested your presence here today,” she motions to her left where a man in uniform slowly turns around to face him, “General Alexander Cummings from Homeland.”
Tyler quickly appraises the man before him. He guesses that he is in his mid-to-late fifties. He has a bullet-shaped head covered by silvery gray hair cut close to his scalp. There’s a defiant set to his square jaw that works in concert with the perpetual sneer of his lips to augment his imposing presence.
Dressed in a dark green army suit coat, his broad shoulders fill it out nicely. The jacket is outfitted with gold buttons and medals pinned above his left breast that reflect the glow from the LCD screens almost as well as his steely blue eyes do.
“A pleasure to meet you sir,” Tyler says extending his hand already feeling his palms begin to sweat.
“All mine,” Cummings takes the proffered hand in an iron grip that Tyler is sure could crush walnuts. “Might there be someplace we could talk in private?” he asks while glancing toward Anne.
“There’s an office right over here,” she answers.
Together they leave the activity of the room behind, shutting themselves off from the tumult behind a teak wood door.
Giving them both a Cheshire grin Cummings begins, “I trust that you’re aware of what’s happened in Hope?”
“Yeah,” Tyler nods, “I think I read something about it.”
“Then I’ll get straight to the point. The situation is growing worse with every passing hour. We have very few leads and nothing substantial to explain what happened to the four hundred missing people. The administration is growing impatient and the families of the missing are becoming increasingly frightened. Everyone wants answers—answers we can’t provide.”
Spreading his hands apart he adds, “It’s as if the earth just opened up and swallowed them whole.”
Furrowing her brow Anne asks, “Forgive me General, but why is Homeland Security involved in this? Wouldn’t missing people be a matter for the FBI?”
Without missing a beat he explains, “I’m actually here on behalf of NBFAC♦, under authority of Homeland. There’s concern that this could be a chemical or biological attack on our country.
“By Presidential Directive NBFAC is the lead federal facility for the forensic analysis and interpretation of materials recovered from a biological attack.
“After the missteps in Stillness, Senior White House is stressing the importance of inter-agency cooperation so Homeland, among others, is assisting the FBI in this investigation.
“I’m afraid it’s all hands on deck until we can come up with some answers as to what happened out there. Right now all we know for certain is that red tides have been noted around the island.
“This is where you come in Mr. Edlund. We need samples taken and analyzed in a short amount of time because as you’ve seen we’ve not much to spare. If that depression turns into a hurricane striking the Carolinas, it will destroy any evidence that might otherwise be found.”
“Uh General,” clearly overcome by the situation Tyler suggests, “I’m not sure that I’m the right man for this job. There are others at NOAA who are more knowledgeable and experienced in working with red tides.”
“Yes,” Cummings flicks his gaze to Anne saying, “So I’ve been told. But as I explained to Ms. Blackwell you are the man for this job.”
“I don’t understand…” Tyler trails off as he looks over at Anne imploring her to step in.
“What do you know about the red tide phenomenon?”
Exhaling wearily Tyler answers, “It’s caused by algal blooms, once a natural phenomenon in coastal ecosystems. Unfortunately as industry has developed the blooms are no longer entirely natural.
“The frequency and severity of algal blooms has been increasing in recent years due mainly to anthropogenic activities that create agricultural and sewage runoff, overloading the nutrient levels in coastal waterways and creating a habitat ideal for the development of Harmful Algal Blooms.
“Degradation
in the aquatic ecosystem occurs because of HAB’s high respiration rates at night that deplete the oxygen in the water column. This results in the deaths of other organisms that require the oxygen. In addition to this, some algae produce toxins that have an adverse effect on humans.
“While there are many different types of algae that produce harmful toxins, Pfiesteria is potentially the most destructive. Known popularly as ‘the cell from hell’, it is a dinoflagellate that unlike most dinoflagellates possesses a complex life cycle numbering about 20 different stages.”
“Could this cell be what we’re looking for?” Cummings asks.
“The only toxic blooms tied to Pfiesteria that have been reported thus far in America have all occurred in estuaries of North Carolina so the geography somewhat fits. Pfiesteria blooms are also limited by temperature, only occurring in warm months—May through October primarily.”
Narrowing his gaze upon Tyler, Cummings observes, “I sense a but in there somewhere.”
“The outbreaks tend to be limited to slowly moving estuary waters,” Tyler explains, “They’ve always been confined to areas that already have conditions of poor water quality due to nutrient over-enrichment. It would be unusual to find Pfiesteria so far offshore.”
“Unusual but not impossible?”
Feeling uncomfortable under the weight of his gaze, Tyler shrugs “I guess so.”
Reaching beneath his uniform jacket Cummings withdraws a letter-sized envelope and drops it on the table in front of them. “This is above top secret. Just so we’re clear the information does not leave this room.”
He stares at both of them until they each nod their agreement before motioning for Tyler to open it.
With slightly shaking hands he loosens the string keeping it shut and removes a stack of photographs. Looking at each one in turn he can feel his heart racing as a chill tickles his spine.
Raising his eyes to Cummings he stammers, “…is…is this…”
Wearing a satisfied smirk Cummings replies, “Now you understand why you are the man I need. Those photos show what we have found spray painted on walls or carved into wood all over Hope.
Realm of Shadows Page 5
