by Steven James
Already after three.
He really hoped the email hadn’t come to his computer yet.
Considering that it would be an hour drive back to the ICSC offices and that Claire had told him she was going to close the doors at four, he needed to do something.
He phoned her and explained that he needed to grab a few personal items before they locked up for the day.
“I can wait until four ten at the latest,” she said, “but then I will need to leave.”
+++
On the way to my apartment, I called Tobin to catch up and told him about my meeting with Skylar and her warnings to me.
“Do you want me to go over there to the hospital?”
“There’s an officer with her, and Jodie called in a team to go stay with her. I think she’ll be okay. And Jodie’s having an agent look into the LeBange security footage. Skylar said Randy was poisoned by them. We need to find out when he got there and who was with him.”
Tobin explained to me that they had finally gotten a list of Tribaxil distributors and were comparing it to names related to the case. “There’s a lot to get through. I might be late tonight.”
“No problem. Jodie and I can handle it. Also, Maria Aguirre will be there.”
“The OPR lawyer?”
“Yeah. DeYoung set it up.”
I figured that with traffic at this time of day, I might not make it to Rockwell’s until after five, but I wanted to be there early enough to have a look around at the security before Christie and Tessa showed up.
Once I got to my place, I dug out my best suit and quickly changed. Then, with the key in my pocket, and the mask and the cloth hood in the trunk of my car, I left for 54 North Worthy Drive.
I also brought my.357 SIG P229 with me.
And my automatic knife.
Just in case.
86
4:00 p.m.
5 hours left
Tessa entered the apartment.
Her mom had come home from work early and was sorting through a bunch of dresses, trying to figure out which one to wear.
Tessa wasn’t really into the whole idea of dressing up. “Can’t I just wear what I have on?”
“It’s a formal event. We need something nice. What about that dress we bought in the spring for that awards banquet for students on the A honor roll?”
“Oh, you mean that stupid pot roast dinner thing for geeks that you made me go to?”
“That would be the one.” Her mother found the dress in the back of Tessa’s closet and pulled it out. “Here it is. You look lovely in it. Come on, let’s get ready.”
+++
Francis saw Claire standing by the door, ready to lock things up, when the taxi dropped him off.
She glanced at her watch. “Tell you what, Francis—just lock up after yourself, okay? I need to get going. I’ll show you what to do.”
She trusts me.
You’ve been working here for eight years. She ought to by now.
She demonstrated how to set the alarm.
When she was done, he waited by the glass front doors, watching until she was past the hedges and out of sight down the street. Then he went to his desk, logged in, and, taking a deep breath, opened up the email program to see if the message from Ivan’s people had come through.
Nothing.
Empty.
He called the hospital to check on Derek, who answered, and was doing fine.
Okay, so Ivan had said the email would come this afternoon. That probably meant sometime before five.
You can’t just sit here waiting. You need to do something!
What about graciousgirl4? The guy sent that threatening email. Maybe I can figure out who he really is.
Somewhat anxious about what he might find, Francis set to work trying to identify the IP address that the email had been sent from.
+++
While I was driving to the banquet, Tobin called to tell me that he’d spoken with the NYPD officer who’d interviewed Skylar Shapiro at the hospital, but that she had slipped away and was gone. “I’ll see what I can do to find her,” he said.
“Stay on it. I won’t look for you tonight. We need to locate her.”
“I’ll put a BOLO for her and get officers to her home.”
+++
Wearing her official geek-meal dress, Tessa left in a taxi for the billionaire’s house with her mom, who actually looked pretty stunning for someone as old as she was.
Tessa took advantage of the ride to finish pulling together the puzzle for Patrick.
+++
Francis was still trying to trace graciousgirl4’s true identity when he received the email from Ivan’s people, just before five o’clock.
87
5:00 p.m.
4 hours left
At first glance it looked like an official correspondence from the Los Angeles Police Department, but rather than provide him with links to potential sites according to their normal reporting procedures, it had just one link listed.
The form looked so realistic that later on, after the fact, Francis figured he would be able to claim that he thought it was all legitimate. Even with all his years of experience, it wouldn’t take much to convince Claire that he’d been rushed in getting everything done before tonight and just hadn’t taken the time to read through it carefully enough.
Well, he could say those things, but he wouldn’t.
No, he wouldn’t lie about something like that.
Then you can’t open it either!
But Derek’s in trouble. Ivan told me they would bring me his arm. Besides, Skylar said the people she worked for could help him.
Yes, but if you let someone hack in here, that could be devastating for other kids all over the world.
Was that worth Derek’s life?
Then Francis had a thought, and he was shocked by how cruel and heartless it seemed. He hated himself for even thinking it: Derek is dying anyway. Would they really be able to save him? To help him?
Ivan hadn’t told him how much time he had to download the file, and before Francis did anything, he wanted to make sure he did the right thing, or at least the best thing.
Whatever that was.
So he made two lists, writing down the good and the bad parts of each choice, creating a chart in a way that Dr. Perrior had taught him for organizing his thoughts before making important decisions.
+++
I arrived at Rockwell’s place.
It was valet parking only.
After dropping off my car, I took some time to study the grounds and walk through the mansion. On the way past the library, I ran into Alejandro Gomez.
“I’m glad you could make it, Agent Bowers.”
“Glad to be here.” I glanced around. “Looks like things are almost set.”
“Just a few little wrinkles to iron out.” He held up a stack of about half a dozen notecards. “And I should run through my speech a couple more times, just to make sure. Don’t worry,” he assured me, “it’ll be brief.”
As self-assured and confident as Gomez was, I doubted there would be any problem. “I’m sure it’ll go fine.”
“Are your other guests here yet?”
“They should be here soon.”
“Well, let me know if you need anything.”
“I will.”
Jodie drove up only a few minutes later. She must have gotten to my apartment to change soon after I left.
“I didn’t have much time,” she informed me, “but I did glance through the personnel files from the task force. So far no red flags. No one off the charts on their shooting range qualifications. Tobin had the highest scores. Descartes and Officer Hinchcliffe were up there too. If I can, I’ll slip away and look them over more in-depth tonight. The tech guys are inspecting Made
ra’s computer now. They think a couple of hours.”
“Any word on who was off duty on the day Wooford died?”
“Maria kept those parts of the personnel records confidential.”
Great. And that was the most important part.
Well, she should be here tonight. Maybe I could ask her about it in person.
“I’m going to go meet with Rockwell’s security detail,” Jodie said. “I’ll see you in a few.”
+++
The chart helped.
Francis decided what to do.
From their exchanges the other day, he had the agent’s cell number.
+++
My personal cell rang.
“Hello?”
“Agent Bowers, this is Francis Edlemore. They said I couldn’t contact the police or the FBI. But you’re on administrative leave. You can’t tell them.”
“I can’t tell who?”
“The people who sent the email.”
“What email? What’s going on, Mr. Edlemore?”
“I’m in trouble and I don’t know what to do.”
Then he told me the extraordinary story of what had happened this morning at his apartment. “The woman I was with, Skylar Shapiro, she’s working with them. And she’s going to claim I assaulted her.”
“Wait a minute. Skylar Shapiro?”
“Yes, but I’m not even sure that’s her real name. She might have been lying.”
The rug, with so many disparate strands, had a pattern more complex and intertwined than I’d imagined.
“I just got the email,” he told me, “and I don’t know what to do. Ivan said he’d go after Derek.”
“You can’t download the file, Francis. There’s no telling what it might do.”
“But Derek is in danger. They might hurt him.”
“I’ll get an officer over there to watch him. Meanwhile, don’t open it. There’s someone who I think might be able to help you.”
“Who?”
“Her name is Angela Knight. She works with the Bureau’s Cyber Division.”
“No. They said they’d know if I contacted the FBI.”
“She isn’t on the task force. Just talk to her, no one else. I’ll make sure she doesn’t tell anyone.”
He was silent.
Still unconvinced.
“Will you be at this number?” I asked.
“Yes, but hurry. Please. I don’t know how much time I have before they’re going to suspect something. And make sure Derek is safe.”
“I will.”
Before he hung up, Edlemore told me the name of the hospital and the boy’s room number.
I called Tobin and he agreed to phone their head of security and then go by personally to check on Derek.
Then I contacted Angela and gave her Francis’s phone number, emphasizing that all this needed to remain confidential.
+++
Francis heard from Angela Knight.
She said that she and her partner, Lacey, would analyze the email. “Forward it to me. We’ll take a look.”
“Agent Bowers didn’t mention Lacey.”
“She can be trusted. In the meantime, stay there by your desk in case we have any questions. We’ll get back to you.”
+++
With Angela helping Francis, Tobin on his way to check on Derek, and officers looking for Skylar, there wasn’t much else I could do on any of those fronts right now.
A text from Christie told me that they were five minutes out.
A line of limos and town cars stood backed up in the circular drive in front of Marcus Rockwell’s mansion, dropping off dignitaries and guests.
I wondered about the people coming here, how much wealth and influence was collectively represented. And I also wondered—couldn’t help but wonder—what connection any of them might have to the Final Territory.
And what would happen when nine o’clock rolled around.
+++
Surrounded by his silent ladies, Blake decided to post the video that Patrick Bowers had provided of the young woman changing clothes. He would offer it without cost to the world.
He knew the best sites to place it on, and as he did, he listed her name and age:
Tessa Bernice Ellis/15
Then he watched as the number of views almost immediately began to rise.
+++
When she stepped out of the taxi, Christie took my breath away. The evening gown she wore was silky and red and formfitting and she made it work in all the right ways.
Tessa wore a black dress with a lace fringe on the bottom. She looked much older than her fifteen years.
I took Christie’s hand. “You look amazing.”
“Thank you. You clean up pretty well yourself.”
“Tessa, you look great too.”
“Okay.” The compliment seemed to make her uncomfortable. “I’m done with your logic problem, by the way.”
“I’m not sure I’ll have a chance to work on it tonight, but text it to me. If I can look at it, I will.”
As we crossed the walkway to the house, Christie said, “No drinking tonight, Tessa.”
“What if they offer me some champagne?”
“Then you politely decline.”
“I wouldn’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings.”
“How gracious of you.”
“I’m big-hearted, what can I say.”
“Just soda, dear.”
“Fine,” she grumped. “I didn’t want any anyway.”
Then the three of us ascended the steps to the ballroom.
88
6:00 p.m.
3 hours left
An ornate balustrade ringed the balcony.
Women in elegant, shimmering dresses chatted amiably with men in freshly pressed tuxedos. I felt like I’d stepped into the realm of beautiful people, the elusive world of the rich and influential and famous.
A world I wasn’t exactly at ease in.
In the northeast corner of the room, a cellist played. Near her, Billy McReynolds and his wife stood talking with Marcus Rockwell, who was laughing, apparently at a joke Billy had just told him.
Billy didn’t look too excited to see me, but I thought Tessa would like to meet Marcus, so I went over and introduced Christie and Tessa to the three of them.
After we’d left, Tessa said, “Was that seriously the guy who started Krazle?”
“That’s him.”
“Cool.”
Waist-high round tables had been set up throughout the room for guests to set their wineglasses or hors d’oeuvres plates on as they mingled. Waitstaff were discreetly clearing the tables of empty glasses and plates as other servers passed through the ballroom offering appetizers to people.
One of the servers approached us with a platter of sparkling crystal wineglasses.
“May I interest you in our select wine for tonight?”
“I’m good,” I said.
“Me too,” Tessa told him. “I guess.”
Christie looked interested. “What are you serving?”
“Sailler-Cipolla Osanner Kirchlay. It’s from a small, select, family-owned vineyard in Germany.”
She took a glass, went through the whole swirling and sniffing routine, then tasted it. “A classic Mosel Riesling. Very crisp. Dry. A solid and bombastic bouquet.”
The server nodded, pleased with her assessment, then stepped away.
“How can a wine be dry?” Tessa asked. “It’s wet. It’s a liquid.”
“She does have a point,” I noted.
Christie sighed lightly. “If I try to explain myself I’m just going to end up sounding like a wine snob.”
“That is true,” Tessa replied.
Christie eyed me, one eyebrow raised.
&
nbsp; “Wine expert,” I said. “Never a snob.”
She winked. “Good answer.”
+++
Tessa tapped at her phone’s screen and sent the puzzle to Patrick.
It wasn’t brilliant and it was more math than logic, but it did have a slight twist in it, a little misdirection that might trip him up.
But honestly, there was something even bigger than the logic problem on her mind. She needed to talk with him about Nebraska, regardless of whether or not he solved what she’d come up with.
+++
I glanced at Tessa’s text.
Her puzzle.
Written with excellent punctuation.
No surprise there.
In South America, there is a certain river that flows 5 miles per hour in a northerly direction past the village of Gooma. One day, a Goomian boy decided to try swimming south to buy a bag of tortilla chips at the local general store 15 miles downstream. In still water he could swim at 1 mph. After half an hour he got tired and hopped into a canoe, which he paddled at 4 mph. After half an hour of that, he called some friends who helped him paddle a war canoe at 10 mph. After half an hour in that canoe, did he reach the store? Will he ever get his tortilla chips? How far south was he?
By the time I’d finished reading it, she’d sent me another text: “I’m not giving you forever to solve this. Let me know your answer by breakfast.”
Well, it didn’t appear too tough. Right now I was preoccupied with everything that was going on, but once I had a few minutes I would take a closer look at it.
“No problem,” I texted back. “Meat, beware. Here I come.”
“That’s just disgusting.”
Christie said, “You two are standing side by side. Why are you texting each other rather than just talking?”
“Seriously, Mom,” Tessa said. “Enter the twenty-first century.”
“As long as they have good desserts.” She gave me a peck on the cheek. “Listen, I’ll be right back. I need to find the ladies’ room.”
When she was gone, Tessa spoke to me in an insistent whisper. “Patrick, you have to make her stay here or else you have to come with us.”
“What are you talking about?”
“To Omaha. To Nebraska. You need to make her stay here in New York or you need to come along.”
