Lowell and the other agents paused mid-step.
Tyler continued as he walked over to Lowell. “This company is prepared to cooperate with the government in any investigation. There’s no justification for proceeding in this fashion.”
Lowell leveled a withering stare at the general counsel, who continued unperturbed.
“If you proceed with a search at this point, you will certainly be violating the constitutional rights of this corporation and its employees. Your actions will taint your investigation and any possible prosecution in this matter.”
“With all due respect,” Lowell growled. “I wouldn't start that routine.” Then he leaned close, so only Tyler could hear his next words. “Look, kid, anything you do to hold us up will only piss me off, and I’m a guy you really don’t want to piss off today.”
Tyler raised his chin. “I know the bureau plays it fast and loose these days, but I’m still a do-it-by-the-numbers kind of guy.”
The agent smiled back tightly. “I didn’t come here looking for a fight.”
“And I didn’t expect the FBI to storm our offices this morning. Listen to me, Agent Lowell. I don’t care if the Attorney General himself sent you here, I need to talk with someone before I let you people traipse through my offices.”
Lowell stuck out his lower lip and nodded. “Okay,” he said. “Fine. I'll leave, and report that you wouldn't cooperate. We'll be back later, with more agents, and then we'll shut the whole building down to get what we need. How's that sound?”
Tyler threw up his hands in mock frustration. “Look, if you don’t want to wait a few minutes for a simple phone call, then ... what can I do?”
Lowell turned and signaled his men to disperse, but as Tyler resumed speaking, the agents paused once again, their faces simmering with frustration.
“By the way,” Tyler added loudly. “I should mention that your search includes privileged documents from our legal department. The fifth and sixth amendments and established attorney work-product privileges prohibit these types of searches. Once you violate those privileges, the only appropriate sanction is dismissal of any charges related to those privileges. But I'm sure you well-mannered agents know that already.”
Lowell threw his partner a glance. Ramirez returned a shrug. With an impatient grunt, Lowell crossed his arms over his chest. “All right, Mr. Tyler. Let’s get our Assistant U.S. attorney on the phone.”
Tyler brightened immediately. “Would you care to wait in my office? How about some coffee?” He turned to the other agents. “You guys hungry?”
The agents relaxed a bit at the mention of food, though Lowell kept a stony expression, studying the young attorney with a clinical intensity. Only when Ramirez tapped his partner on the arm did Lowell begin moving.
As the men entered his office, Tyler grinned and stepped back from the doorway. When he turned to face Cindy, his smile vanished. “Cindy, call the IT department and have them bring up some video cameras and recording equipment.”
Cindy whispered, “What's going on?”
Tyler’s face tightened as six more agents strode into the reception area. “I don’t know,” he told her softly, “but you’d better clear my morning schedule.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Other than the rusted barb-wired topped fence and an electronically controlled main gate, few would suspect that the roughshod concrete building on East Hanover Street in Leonia, New Jersey was a Department of Defense installation. The Coleman Complex had been a Defense Reutilization and Marketing Office since 1989, and was one of the largest of the one hundred seventy field offices in the DOD supply chain. Surplus government property from all over the East Coast was delivered here. Inside, employees established audit trails and reviewed demilitarization codes for each processed item before the material was either released for reutilization or sent to government surplus auctions.
Nestled within the twisted third floor corridors was the main computer room. Inside, the rumbling air conditioning system kept the air cool and dry as three-dozen print and file servers hummed away, their small indicator lights flashing as they stood side by side on large metal cabinets. Behind the racks and their tangle of connecting cables sat a small desk facing the corner. A large swing arm lamp illuminated the books, papers, tools, discs, and bits of hardware that cluttered the area.
A woman was hunched over the computer keyboard. Her face was lean and taut, her black hair pulled back in a loose ponytail. Her dark eyes were narrowed in concentration as she stared at the glowing monitor.
The woman typed a few commands and then rubbed a surgical-gloved hand across her chin. Deep in thought, she paused a moment before tapping a few more keys.
On the monitor, a database record appeared. She tabbed across the fields and retyped several numbers. Then she hit the Enter key. The record disappeared. She repeated the process several more times.
The women’s head snapped up as she heard the metal door to the server room unlock, creak open, and then slam shut. Squinting, she leaned over and peered between two servers. A tall, lanky man wearing jeans and a flannel shirt tossed his keys on the worktable. She relaxed when she saw that it was only Aaron Fontana, the facility's Systems Administrator.
“Hey, I thought you went home,” Fontana said as came around the server rack and set a small hard drive on the shelf. “I'll take care of -”
His voice dropped away as the chair swiveled around. In the dim light, he took a step back as he regarded the person seated at his desk. “What the hell are you doing here?”
The woman ignored the question. She reached back, pulled out a thumb drive from the front of the computer, and dropped it into the front breast pocket of her blouse.
“Why are you here?” he asked, louder.
“Relax, Aaron.” She swiveled back around to face the screen. “I'm just about finished.”
The systems administrator took another step closer. The background hum of equipment was the only sound in the room. He glanced around, as if expecting someone to leap from the shadows. “These are my machines,” he whispered sharply. “If you wanted something done, I would have set it up for you. Whatever you needed; an account, a password -”
“This was quicker.”
“I'll call security, Merrick.”
The woman's gaze never left the screen. “Aaron, turn around and walk out that door.”
“You're not supposed to be here,” the man persisted. He took another step closer and ran a hand through his thinning hair. “Our deal was that you were never to visit me in person. Hell, you aren't even supposed to be in this building!”
“These changes needed to be done internally.”
The man stood silent as he stared at her back, his thumbs jammed in his belt loops. He leaned over her shoulder to see what she was doing.
“Don't worry,” she assured him. “I created my own user accounts.”
Fontana's face darkened as he recognized what she was accessing. “You can't change the main inventory databases from here! What about the system logs and the backups?”
“I’ve taken care of it.” She logged off with a final flourishing keystroke, pushed back her chair and stood, pausing for a moment to brush a piece of lint from her sleeve. When she turned around, the two were directly facing each other, inches apart.
Fontana remained directly in her path.
“Nobody,” he said firmly, “and I mean nobody messes around in my computer network without my permission. Whatever it was you changed, you're going to change it back. Right now.”
Merrick shook her head, looking the younger man up and down with an appraising eye. “All that money you make, and you still can't afford decent clothes? Doesn’t this place have some sort of dress code?”
“Lady, this is my workstation you're playing from. It's -”
“Risky?” Merrick offered.
“We could get caught.”
“No,” she corrected him. “You could get caught. I pay you to handle the risk.”
&
nbsp; “Screw the money. This is my job on the line.”
“Want to put your marriage on the line as well? Or don't you remember that night at the LA Technology Expo?” She cocked her head to one side, looking up at him with narrowed eyes. “I still have the photographs, if you need a reminder.” She smiled knowingly, and then lowered her head and attempted to slide past.
Fontana shifted to block her. His mouth was set in a scowl, nostrils flaring. Merrick glanced up at him, and then shoved him aside. Enraged, Fontana lashed out. He grasped her right arm with both hands and held tight. In a desperate attempt to maintain her balance, Merrick swept her free arm back across the desk, scattering papers to the floor. The arm lamp swung against the shelf, shattering the light bulb. The area plunged into near darkness, save only the glow of the computer monitor.
Her stumble was a brief one, but enough for Fontana to attempt a more secure hold. Merrick twisted as Fontana wrapped his arms around her torso. Locked together, they grappled face to face, each angling for advantage. Fontana forced her backwards. Merrick braced herself as they bumped hard against the server rack. She felt her spine scrape against the metal shelf. She panicked, realizing that as the larger of the two, Fontana could overpower her.
She struggled again and managed to wriggle her left arm free. She slammed her fist into Fontana's back, just below the ribcage. The system administrator grunted in surprise. The moment he loosened his hold was all the opportunity Merrick needed. Her gloved fingers scrambled over the shelf and curled around the handle of a small Phillips screwdriver. In one smooth motion, she swung her arm and buried the tip of the screwdriver deep in his thigh.
Merrick gave the tool a half twist before yanking it from his flesh. Fontana staggered back, gasping in shock and clutching his thigh with both hands. Without hesitating, Merrick reached out, grasped a fistful of his hair, and slammed his head down against the lower shelf. Holding the side of his head with one hand, she jammed the screwdriver against his neck with the other, pressing the tip firmly under his jaw.
One quick thrust would drive the point clear into his throat.
Fontana held his breath, not daring to move. Sweat blistered across his forehead. His dazed eyes grew wide. From his awkward angle, he stared up at Merrick and blinked.
Merrick studied the screwdriver thoughtfully as she moved the tip to his pulsing jugular vein. She leaned close and smiled; her teeth glimmered in the shadows.
Into his ear she whispered, “You consider this risky, Aaron?”
“Crazy bitch,” he rasped.
Merrick tightened her grip on his scalp. He winced.
Whatever humor she held in her eyes was gone now, replaced by something cold and lifeless. “A termination bonus has been deposited into your account. Our arrangement is over, Aaron. After today, you will never see me again - unless you ever talk about me to anyone.” She pulled the screwdriver away from Fontana’s neck, leaving behind a bloody smear. “You get my point?”
He nodded, his eyes never leaving hers.
She dropped the screwdriver. It clattered to the floor.
“Get yourself bandaged. You're making a mess.”
She released him. He fell to his knees.
Moments later the door clicked shut. Blinking back tears, Fontana slowly stood and limped across the tiled floor. He reached out with both hands and grasped the server cabinet for support, leaving behind a pair of dark, sticky handprints. He peered around the rack to see that Merrick had left the room.
“Crazy bitch,” he muttered, blinking back tears.
***
Snapping off her latex gloves and stuffing them into her pockets, Merrick did not slow her pace until she cleared the security doors at the main entrance. Outside, it was a bright, cloudless day. Sunlight glimmered from the sea of vehicles in the parking lot. Pausing beneath the shaded entranceway, she straightened her blouse, plucked a pair of wide sunglasses from her breast pocket, and slipped them on.
As she crossed the parking lot, pulled a cell phone from her pocket and dialed a number from memory.
“Jennifer?” Merrick said pleasantly, changing her voice to an octave higher than it had been. “Hi, this is April Betsry. I’m calling again about that property in Franklin County. Yes, the orchard. Have there been any other offers?”
She cradled the phone on her shoulder as she pulled keys from her pocket.
“I see. Well, I’ve decided I want the property. I’m willing bid up if I have to. Go ten thousand above their best offer. Keep going up in five thousand increments. If you hit a hundred thousand over the listing price, let me know.” She listened and nodded. “No, the financing won’t be a problem. Let me give you a number where I can be reached… No, it’s a new number.”
She gave the phone number and ended the call. By then, she was seated in an unmarked white minivan parked at the far end of the lot. She pulled on her seat belt just as she heard a chime. Frowning, she pulled a second phone from her belt. She checked her text messages. The most recent was from a number that she recognized.
The message read: Sev 1.
A severity one code. An emergency.
Frowning, she jammed the key in the ignition. The engine rumbled to life. She could make it into New York City within the hour, providing traffic was merciful at the Holland Tunnel.
Apparently, there were going to be more loose ends to tie up today.
CHAPTER FIVE
Poised on the main runway of the Thomas Dorian Space Center, the space orbiter Naiad gleamed under the bright New Mexico sun. Massive and sleek, the wedged-shaped hull was shimmering white, with dark blue trim on the wing edges and nosecone. A massive engine sat behind each wing. She was a majestic craft, both familiar and exotic in design, the result of three years of research, two years of construction, and a multi-billion dollar investment.
The orbiter was three hundred and seven feet long, with a wingspan of two hundred and thirty eight feet. Designed to take off and land as a conventional aircraft without booster rockets, its take-off weight, including fuel, was five hundred seventy-two thousand pounds. Advanced carbon-fiber material comprised the majority of the orbiter's airframe, allowing it a payload capacity nearly twice that of any NASA-legacy space shuttle. The craft was rated to lift a payload of up to fifty-five tons into low earth orbit.
The Naiad's first official mission was a freight haul of thirty tons of supplies and replacement equipment to the International Space Station. The payload included a new solar array to replace one that had recently malfunctioned and had forced the station to shut down two service modules. The mission was a critical one. With the cutback in NASA launches, Templar Enterprises had been able to negotiate a contract with the government. While NASA brass had downplayed the overall importance of the flight, Templar saw the opportunity to prove that American private industry was ready to permanently supply and maintain the space station.
Warning alarms sounded throughout the spaceport. The few remaining blue-suited technicians scattered away from the orbiter to head back to the Vehicle Assembly Building.
Directly behind the Naiad, hydraulic pistons slowly raised a massive blast shield from under the runway. Heavily reinforced with steel girders and ablative plating, the shield was designed to provide resistance to the orbiter’s initial engine thrust. It took twenty seconds for the barrier to lock itself into place.
***
“Ninety seconds to ignition.”
The cockpit section of the Naiad was open and spacious. The main digital control panels were displayed through multiple touch screens, giving the crew easy access to two and three-dimensional color graphic and video information. Nearly every square edge of the crew section was rounded off and padded. Sound-reducing material covered the floor, ceiling, and available wall space. The astronauts were strapped into their seats, wearing white pressurized suits and helmets. Commander Roland McManus sat in the front right seat. Pilot Elliot Schwartz sat to his left, with Payload Specialist Todd Boynton situated behind and between
them.
“You set, Todd?” Schwartz asked as he gripped the controls.
“All set,” Boynton replied with a grin. “Now that we’re carrying a real payload, I’ll finally have some work to do.”
Schwartz grinned. “About time you earned your paycheck.” He looked over at McManus, who was checking his readouts. “How are we doing there, Commander?”
McManus tapped the display screen above him. “Computer shows green across the board. Primary fuel pumps are online and tertiary systems one through nine are a go.”
***
Fifty seconds to ignition.
Standing behind his station in the Launch Control Tower, Noah Gettleman's nerves were on fire. He swept a hand across the sweaty nape of his neck, wondering if the astronauts inside the orbiter were feeling the same wrenching nausea. He always felt sick before a launch. At any time, something could go wrong. Any mission was always just an instant from disaster. Gettleman licked his lips and spoke into his headset. “Orbiter Naiad. We'll begin countdown at the thirty second mark.”
“Let's light ’er up already,” replied the Naiad's commander.
Gettleman tightened his jaw and grunted. Roland McManus always sounded painfully cheerful, no matter the situation. Of the three astronauts, Gettleman was closest to McManus. They had become friends during the astronaut-training program. Gettleman attended many weekend barbecues with the McManus family. Since he didn’t have a wife or girlfriend, time at the McManus home pretty much constituted his entire social life.
“Hey, Noah, are you coming over Sunday? We’re having a big party to celebrate the mission. Everyone’s invited, you know. Even you clowns in the Control Tower.”
Gettleman smiled. It was as if McManus had read his mind. “Sounds good to me.”
“Hey, my sister’s flying in from New York. You know - the single one...”
“Yeah,” Gettleman said, ignoring amused glances from the others around him. “Why don’t we talk about that later on the private channel? Give me your status, Commander.”
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