by M. Z. Kelly
“How large will the explosion be?” Taylor asked.
“Based upon the quantity of plutonium we have to work with...” Hollister paused, maybe for dramatic effect, Caine thought. “...I would estimate a detonation in the forty kiloton range.”
“What does that mean in words we can all understand?” Caine asked, his impatience growing.
Hollister smiled, exposing jagged, discolored teeth. “It will be twice the size of the bomb dropped on Hiroshima during World War II.”
“Is that big enough to destroy Los Angeles?” Taylor asked.
Hollister nodded, his smile slipping away. “The center of the city will be evaporated, the surrounding areas rendered uninhabitable.”
Caine took that opportunity to add some dramatic effects of his own, punctuating the scientist’s words with two explosions. His eyes fixed on Lee Chong, who had a hole in his chest, pumping blood.
As Chong slumped to the ground, Caine put his gun away and looked at the scientist. “Playtime is over, Mr. Hollister. Let’s blow up the world.”
NINE
“I’m not sure how this is going to play with you being at the taskforce meeting,” Joe said to Pearl as he drove us to FBI headquarters. “Witnesses in protection aren’t supposed to come out of hiding.”
Leo and I were in the back seat as Pearl glanced over at Joe. “Don’t get me wrong. I appreciate the accommodations, but the chances of keeping me out of this are about the same as you winning the lottery.”
“Never buy a ticket, so that isn’t going to happen.”
“You have any thoughts about Phaedrus’s next move?” Leo asked Pearl.
“Let’s see what the experts and profilers have to say,” Pearl said, craning his head in our direction. “But my guess is it’s going to be something big. The death of Noel Sanford was just a prelude to what they have planned.”
As it turned out, the taskforce not only had the director of the FBI, Jerome Buckley, and Chief Bronson, it had over twenty profilers and law enforcement experts from around the country. One of those experts was Eva Valdez, Joe’s ex-flame.
“Nice to see you both again,” Eva said, coming over to us after we entered the conference room where the taskforce was assembling.
The profiler was in her mid-thirties, with short brown hair and deeply set brown eyes. She carried herself in a way that telegraphed power and intelligence. Valdez was the author of a bestseller about serial killings, and had recently been on the talk show circuit.
After we exchanged greetings, Joe introduced Pearl and Leo, then said something about us working together again, obviously uncomfortable with her presence.
I tried to take the edge off things by telling Eva, “I’m glad you’re here. We can use all the help we can get on this.”
“I think it’s critical that we get on top of things quickly.”
Pearl agreed with her, then said, “Do you have any specifics?”
She was about to respond when Joe’s boss, John Greer, came over. He said hello to us, then took Joe aside. I had the impression Greer wasn’t happy about Pearl being present, as he and Joe exchanged words.
Greer walked away, and we all took seats at the table. Binders of the crime scene findings at the Century Museum were handed out, as I lowered my voice and said to Joe, “Problems?”
“Just a boss who’s making me think about retirement again. He reluctantly agreed to let Pearl in on things. For now.” His voice grew more confidential as Eva settled at the head of the table with other agents. “Just so you know, I had no idea she was going to be here.”
“I don’t have a problem with her,” I said. “Maybe you need to move past whatever happened between you two.”
He sighed. “You’re probably right.”
After introductions, and a brief summary of events, John Greer updated us on some issues. “The autopsy of the latest victim, Noel Sanford, was completed by the LA County Coroner’s Office this morning. There’s nothing new regarding the COD, which is detailed in your case summary binders. It is noteworthy there were in excess of three dozen superficial premortem wounds found on the victim’s body.
“As you’re probably aware, a reptile was inserted into the victim’s mouth postmortem. It has been identified as a non-lethal black snake common to the western US. We’re checking with local pet and reptile stores about recent purchases. Those findings form part of our subject’s signature. I’ll let Lauren Weld, the head of the agency’s Critical Incident Response Group, or CIRG, give you her analysis of recent events.”
Weld was around forty, on the heavy side, with short dark hair. She spoke in a manner that demonstrated both her confidence and experience.
“As you’re aware from the briefing summary, there was nothing in the way of trace or DNA evidence found at the Sanford crime scene. There was also no closed-circuit security system in place, since the museum wasn’t scheduled to open for a couple weeks. That said, there are elements of this crime that give us insight into the perpetrator, his possible background, and motivation.”
Weld activated an overhead monitor, and we saw the crime scene photos appear. Maybe it was the lighting, or up-close photos of the victim, but the images seemed even more gruesome than what I’d remembered.
“As you’re aware, the victim was trussed up, using a series of cables and wires that were rigged through pulleys and hooks at the top of the window display. This staging process was elaborate, relatively complex, and time consuming. It may indicate a couple of things. First, it’s likely that the perpetrator of this crime did not act alone. The rigging and physical manipulation of the victim would have required both time and physical dexterity. It’s not impossible that this was a solo act, but our analysts believe it’s unlikely that the perpetrator acted alone.
“Secondly, the wires, cables, and rigging indicate a fair amount of expertise and advance planning. It may be indicative of someone who had experience using such devices. In my estimate, it probably shows one other factor: this was the work of someone who has acted out in this manner in the past.”
A man, who introduced himself as Dr. Harold Moss, raised his hand and said, “Is there anything in VICAP that approximates what happened in this instance?”
VICAP was the FBI’s criminal database, a computerized repository of serial violent and sexual crimes from throughout the country.
“We have over a dozen similar crimes,” Weld said, “but nothing that matches the exact details of this incident. That said, we’re following up on the subjects associated with those crimes. But, to date, we don’t have a viable suspect based upon what’s in the database.”
Weld introduced Declan Montgomery, one of the analysts in CIRG, who discussed the profile of our suspect. The agent was around forty, with dark hair and a stocky build. “Our staff worked with Noel Sanford’s father to develop this composite drawing of our suspect.”
The crime scene photos on the overhead projector were replaced by a couple of drawings of an older man with silver hair, as Montgomery continued.
“Our suspect is likely in his late fifties to early sixties, around 180 pounds. He has blue eyes and a mottled complexion. As you’re aware from the summary notes, he speaks with a New England accent, possibly Bostonian.”
Montgomery came around the table, moving closer to the drawings on the screen. “Based on the elements of the crime and what’s already been discussed, our best guess is that our suspect is intelligent and well-educated. The fact that he’s chosen the name Phaedrus may also be an indication that he’s well-read.”
I felt compelled to speak up, telling the group what Cynthia McFadden had told me about the phone call she’d received. “I don’t know what it means exactly, but my friend said Phaedrus told her what’s happening is a dialogue. He also said something about the soul, madness, and the divine. As you know, when he called me, Phaedrus said this is a game called Underworld.”
Dr. Moss spoke up again. “Are you sure he used the term dialogue when he called your friend?
”
“Yes. I have no doubt about it.”
Moss addressed the group. “The Dialogues of ancient times featured Socrates as the speaker, or maybe, more aptly, the teacher, who used the subject known as Phaedrus as an interlocutor. In this instance, I think it’s possible that Phaedrus sees himself as the teacher, and death, or the Underworld, is his subject of choice.”
“Yeah, well, what the hell is he teaching?” Joe said.
“He’s an expert in killing as a form of self-expression.” Moss looked at Montgomery. “We’re dealing with someone who is brilliant and considers murder his art form.”
TEN
The room was quiet as we processed what Dr. Moss had said. Declan Montgomery took his seat as the lights in the room came up. Director Buckley then spoke up.
“I think those elements that have been discussed and postulated are all worthy of consideration, but there’s much more to what’s been happening.” I was surprised when Buckley then turned the meeting over to a CIA agent named Seth Reed, and Eva Valdez, telling the group, “What you’re about to hear does not leave this room. No exceptions.”
Reed, a handsome African-American agent in his forties, with graying short hair, began the discussion. “What Ms. Valdez and I are about to tell you comes from developed sources and an informant who was murdered last night. As you will soon learn, time is of the essence in this matter. The FBI, CIA, and Homeland are moving all available manpower into this area as I speak.
“The agency spent the past several months investigating the Swarm and those associated with the movement. As you’re all probably aware, the terrorist group has adherents around the world. In recent weeks, we’ve developed sources that have close ties to the group and its leadership. We have reason to believe that the man who calls himself Phaedrus is this individual.”
Reed worked a remote, and the projector came on at the far end of the room as the lights were lowered again. We saw mug shots appear on the screen of a powerfully built older man, as Reed continued.
“This is Nathan Caine. The photographs you’re seeing were taken during his incarceration at ADX in Florence, Colorado. He was sentenced to two life sentences in 2012 for the derailment of a CSX train carrying hazardous materials in Newton Falls, Ohio. That episode resulted in the catastrophic rupture of several tanker cars and the disbursement of anhydrous ammonia. The event caused the death of a dozen people, and severe injuries to over one hundred other people who inhaled the toxic gas.
“What you probably don’t know, and hasn’t been reported to the press, is that Caine is the only prisoner to ever escape from a supermax prison. That happened in the fall of last year, thanks to the assistance of two guards whose families were threatened if they didn’t assist him. Those guards and their entire families have since been murdered.”
Agent Reed looked at Eva, who took up the summary. She put on reading glasses and referenced her notes as she spoke.
“Nathan Caine is a master of disguise. He’s been known to completely alter his appearance as the need arises. I developed an informant who recently told me that Caine changed his identity and left the country immediately after his escape from prison. We have reason to believe that he was in Brazil during that time, where he met with both Harlan Ryland and his granddaughter, Harlee. It’s likely that the recent efforts to destabilize the government with the murders of government officials and their family members, including the homicide of Noel Sanford, is the result of those meetings.”
Reed used his remote, and we saw the photograph of an Asian man appear on the screen. “This is Lee Chong. He was an undercover operative, working on our government’s behalf to expose the efforts of a North Korean operative who we believe was recently involved in the sale of plutonium to Caine. Chong’s body was found this morning dumped beside a rural highway near the city of Newhall. Based on contacts with Chong shortly before his death, we’ve been told that Caine was planning to use an expert in nuclear weapons technology to assemble a weapon. It’s our belief that operation is currently in progress, and the explosive device could be operational within a few days.”
The room was silent as those in attendance came to terms with the gravity of the situation. Then the questions began. Over the next hour, the experts in the room speculated that Caine had possibly recruited someone who had worked at one of the country’s nuclear weapons laboratories, who had the skills and materials necessary to build a bomb. Agent Reed told us that he believed the terrorist was acting on behalf of Harlee Ryland, since she and her grandfather had recently been responsible for the use of dirty bombs exploded in New York City.
Joe then asked the question that was on everyone’s mind. “Where is the detonation likely to occur?”
All eyes turned to Eva as she answered. “Los Angeles.”
ELEVEN
“How can you be sure LA is the target?” Joe asked. “Harlee Ryland is in custody here.”
“Before his death, Lee Chong told us the city is in the crosshairs,” Agent Reed said. “Besides, once the weapon is assembled, it would be problematic to move it any great distance.”
“I can answer the Ryland part of the equation,” Jerome Buckley said. The FBI director was in his fifties, slight of build, and bald. “Since Ryland may have information critical to this situation, she’s been moved out of state.”
“We tried talking to her before she was moved,” Eva Valdez said. “She refused to meet with us.”
“I want to see her,” I said. Everyone in the room looked in my direction. “As everyone knows, my family and I have a lot of history with her.”
Chief Bronson spoke up. “It’s my understanding your prior conversation with her wasn’t productive. I don’t see what it would accomplish.”
I tried to keep my voice even, knowing this had as much to do with Bronson’s personal feelings about me and my adoptive father as it did Harlee’s attitude. “It might be that if she knows we’re aware that Caine is in possession of nuclear materials, it will change her attitude.”
“That’s hardly going to make her cooperative. It might even move up the assembly process.”
“I doubt that,” Agent Reed said. “There’s a specific protocol to be followed that can’t be rushed.”
Director Buckley looked at Bronson. “I don’t think we have anything to lose by letting Detective Sexton try. Ryland’s under heavy guard and has no communication with the outside world. It’s not like we have a lot of other options on the table. Our agents can go with her.”
Bronson folded his arms and nodded, but remained silent.
“I’ll have Agent Dawson make the arrangements,” John Greer said.
“I’d like to tag along,” Eva said.
Joe looked at her but kept quiet.
The remainder of the meeting was taken up with planning and logistics. Several working teams were designated to meet with local law enforcement personnel to try to locate Caine. The teams were told to emphasize that Caine probably spoke with a New England accent. Director Buckley also said they were working on identifying experts in nuclear weapons technology who might have been compromised by the terrorist.
After the meeting ended, I learned that arrangements had been made for Joe, Eva, and me to fly to Phoenix in the morning, where, we were told, Harlee Ryland was being held at an undisclosed location. Despite my fatigue, I agreed to honor my earlier promise and go with Joe to Malibu for dinner.
We decided to go to Paradise Cove, where there was a little café with direct access to the beach. After settling in at a table overlooking the ocean and ordering drinks, Joe gave me his opinion of the taskforce meeting and our options. “Too many paper pushers and we’re running out of time. Ryland and Caine are holding all the cards. We could be really up against it this time.”
“You really think they’re capable of assembling a nuclear weapon?”
“There are enough experts out there with the technology and lack of ethics to make it a real possibility.”
What he’d sa
id only increased my anxiety, and it was already off the charts. My wine was delivered. After the server left, I took a sip and thought about what Joe had said.
Joe regarded me. “You okay?”
I took a breath. “It’s just...” I took a moment to collect my thoughts. “...in less than a week, life as we know it might be over, and I can’t say anything to anyone about what’s happening.”
“Don’t rule our side out. There’s also the possibility that Harlee will have a change of heart, tell us what’s going on.”
“Maybe we should try to play her.”
“How so?”
I twisted the stem of my glass between my fingers. “Not sure. Let me give it some thought. If anything comes to mind, I’ll let you know in the morning.”
We chatted about some mutual acquaintances before Joe asked about my friends. “What crazy thing are they up to this week?”
“They recently broke up with their boyfriends, so they’re planning to go to some kind of goofy racing event involving mud.”
“Mud?”
I chucked. “It’s called a JPS run. It stands for Just Plain Stupid.” I went on about the event for a moment, then mentioned Natalie’s boyfriend. “He’s developing some kind of robot named Bones that’s supposedly an expert on serial killers.”
He laughed. “Maybe we should bring Bones to our next taskforce meeting. It might liven things up.”
As we ate, the conversation shifted, growing more serious, as I said, “Are you still considering retiring?”
He finished his beer and nodded. “It’s time. I’m losing my edge.”
“I don’t think that’s true, at least not from what I saw today.”
His pale eyes held on me, his expression serious. “This is my last dance. We put Harlee away for good and take down her henchman, then I’m pulling the plug. Not a bad way to go out.” He reached over, took my hand, and smiled. “The good news is I’ll have a lot of time on my hands. Maybe we could go fishing.”
