by Fiona Quinn
“No, no, they released me. I’m still experiencing some after effects of my time in prison and the wreck. They said to get some extra sleep, is all. Thank you so much for calling Striker and getting me some help. I’d like to invite you out to lunch, to show my appreciation. Are you available?”
“You know that’s not necessary. I. . . well, you were unconscious, what was I going to do, leave you there? But yes, I’d like to have lunch with you.”
“Great. Why don’t we meet in the atrium in about an hour? Would that work?”
“Hang on.” There was a muffled discussion. Leanne must have her thumb over the handset. “Can you make it an hour and a half? Echo Force is crawling all over my office.”
“Lucky you,” I said. “What are they doing in there?”
“Oh they’re trying their hand at extermination. They said it was time for our random bug scan to check whether anyone left any electronics behind.”
Good. Spyder must have passed word to Mr. Spencer that that was a possibility. “Hey, before I hang up, I need you to find me five minutes of Colonel Grant’s time today. It’s a priority.”
“I’d have a better shot at it if I had a subject heading.”
“Sorry, classified.” I was beginning to hate that word. “So I’ll see you at thirteen hundred downstairs, unless Colonel Grant has an opening. If he does, give me a call, and I’ll run over.”
Hanging up, a thought ran through my head.
“Hey, Deep, you don’t happen to be friends with a guy named Dawson Hughs do you?”
“We’ve had a beer. Why?”
“Leanne likes him.”
“Yeah, they’ve been dating for a while.”
“She said he was in China?” I asked.
“And you’re wondering if it’s legit? Yes, it is. He went to China with his sister, Cindy, who’s adopting a baby. His sister’s never been outside of their small town in Oklahoma and has never been on a plane before, so she was freaking out until he offered to go with her.”
“Isn’t Cindy married? Why isn’t her husband going?”
“Deployed. Marines.”
“And you’re sure you can substantiate this?”
“Are you getting paranoid in your old age, Lynx?”
“Verify. Verify. Verify.”
“Gotcha, yeah. Their story’s been pretty public on social network ever since Cindy found out she couldn’t have a baby herself three – four years ago.”
“Here’s something a little weird, Deep.”
“What’s that?”
“I’m logged into the Hisako Museum of Modern Arts’ website. There’s nothing on the English translation page about the retrospective next year. But they do list other shows that are coming up. Looks like a three-year schedule into the future. I’m scanning through the pictures on their website, and I don’t see Tsukamoto’s image anywhere. Here’s a phone number. Do we have a Japanese interpreter on staff?”
“Checking. Yup, Robert O’Keefe. He’s in legal, extension 529.”
“I’ll just walk over. I want them to read this contract, anyway.”
As I turned left down the corridor, Gater headed my way from the team room. I stood in front of the elevator, waiting for him before I pushed the button.
He gave me a hug that was mostly a thought, with almost no body contact. “How are your ribs? I saw Striker carrying you to his car yesterday wrapped up like a baked potato. Everything okay?”
“I’m okay. I decided to take a nap and Striker freaked out a little.”
“Yeah, well, not everyone decides to snooze in Elliot’s office.”
“I’m not big on conformity.” I offered up a lopsided smile. “I’ve got a question for you.”
“Shoot,” Gater said, resting his hands comfortably on his hips.
“Vibrations. Yesterday was the first time you felt them?”
“Nope. First time I felt them was the day you came back to work. It was in the Puzzle Room when I slid past you and put my hand on your back. That lasted—oh, I’d say until I was tracking the D.O.A. through the weeds. Could have still been with me, but I was pretty focused on the mission at that point.”
“But you felt it again in the Puzzle Room. It wasn’t when I walked in; it was around the time Hock came in?”
“Yeah. Got so loud there for a while I thought I might get electrocuted. You know what caused it?”
I shook my head. “But it stopped about twenty minutes later, right?”
“It eased up some around the time you left and was tolerable. It went away, yeah, that seems about right. This got something to do with you passing out?”
“My falling asleep while I was thinking. I don’t know. I’m piecing things together. Can you do me a favor? Can you write down the time whenever you feel it, and when it stops? We can compare notes. Are you feeling it now?”
“Nope. You?”
“No. And no one else has said anything?” I asked.
He shook his head. “And I’m not likely to be going around asking who’s feeling like their finger’s stuck in a socket. I like my job.”
Twenty
Leanne called to say she was swamped and she’d ordered takeout to eat at her desk. Echo Force was still crowding her office, so she couldn’t leave. I decided to head back to Striker’s apartment for lunch and a nap, per Dr. Jasper’s orders. To tell the truth, I didn’t mind that much. As I walked through the park that separated Headquarters from the men’s high-rise, I missed my pups, Beetle and Bella. They loved autumn days like this. A nip in the air meant they could run miles and miles without needing to stop. I liked having them close.
Striker told Command when they were hiring me that my dogs and I were a package deal. Since Beetle and Bella were trained operative support dogs, no one in management seemed to mind. It might have been different if I was bringing in Chihuahuas in tiaras, and not Dobermans in studded collars. I smiled at the thought. When they put together my Puzzle Room, the designer even included the pups’ needs in the arrangements.
But I was glad they weren’t here. Whatever was sparking Gater and me would probably be torturous to their highly sensitive awareness. Still, without my dogs around, loneliness edged into my thoughts. I loved hanging out with the guys on my team, but I couldn’t cuddle up with them and vent about my day. I’d had fun with Celia on our spa day. I’d like to hang out with her more – sometime when knowing me wouldn’t paint a target on her back. I sure hoped no negative ramifications came her way from the ball. I should call and check in. I thought I probably needed a break from the vacuum of my case. It sucked up all of my time and energy. And it wasn’t a balanced way to live.
I pressed the elevator button and soon arrived on the top floor. I stuck my key into the lock and swung the door wide. Emptiness greeted me. Quietude enveloped me, making me feel isolated. I checked the fridge, but nothing appealed to me. I grabbed a handful of nuts, headed back to Striker’s bedroom, and climbed under the covers. I just wanted to check out for a while.
My phone vibrated on the bedside table.
“Lynx,” I said, rolling onto my back and rubbing my eyes.
“Alpha. Zulu. Foxtrot. Can you identify today’s information, please?”
“Just a second.” I pulled up the website. “Today’s color is black and the animal is toad.”
“Thank you. Please hold for Spyder McGraw.”
I rolled over and checked the clock. I had been asleep for hours. And now I had that tipsy feeling I got when I napped too long. I scrubbed a hand over my face.
“Lexicon, I’ve heard that you had an adventure. How are you?”
“I’m fine. The doctor checked me over. Striker’s pretty torn up about the whole thing.”
“I imagine so. I was not at liberty to respond to your text. However, my response would not have changed the circumstances. I’m very sorry that Lynda and you suffered, but I would not have given Striker any information. And at that juncture, it would not have created a safer scenario for anyone.”<
br />
“Yes, sir.”
“What intelligence did you gather from the experience?”
“A couple of things. First, the man asking Lynda questions—the captors referred to him as the Puppet Master, so without having a way to verify his identity, this could have been Indigo. I never saw his face. He wasn’t in the house with us, but he used some video conferencing site. Second, the interrogator wondered why I – and he used my name Lexi Sobado – sent someone to steal the necklace. He said the man entering her house had blackberry skin but offered no other description like height, weight, or hair — the things people normally offer as descriptors, which I found curious. He also asked if I could use my psychic skills to find other necklaces.”
“That is very curious indeed. Continue. Did he ask anything else about your psychic skills?”
“He knew that Lynda had been rescued from the gang because I was able to find her psychically. The Puppet Master wanted to know more about that, and what my skills encompassed. Lynda did a good job of saying that I could find lost pets if I had a picture, but that was about it – nothing in the future and nothing from the past, which is true, but the Puppet Master seemed very concerned about this point.”
“There are very few people who have information about the mission in which you saved Lynda and Cammy. Only Lynda and your team. Does Miriam know?”
“I didn’t tell her. It’s possible that someone told her about it when she was trying to help them find my prison. I don’t know why they would, though. It didn’t help them find me.”
“You will not go off Iniquus property for any reason without a guard, and you will be in disguise. This is non-negotiable. If they get to you, they will hold you, and your experience in Honduras will quickly seem like a vacation.”
“Sir.” Crap, really?
“I am in Miami now. I have interrogations scheduled with the three kidnapers. Then the three will stand before the grand jury this afternoon, and should the jury decide there is enough evidence to proceed, which surely they will, the men will probably be let out on the smallest bond allowed by the schedule. The judge for their bond hearing is an Assembly man. Either that, or he will deny them bail, which has proven in the past to be a death sentence from the Hydra. I suppose the outcome will tell us how much these men knew or did not know about their work.”
“I’ll have to get word to Striker so he can make sure his sister is safe.”
“Be extremely circumspect. Tell him nothing except that it might behoove Lynda to take a vacation. He’ll understand.”
“Yes, sir.” Darn it. Lies of stinking omission.
“Has anyone on your team raised any red flags for you? Has anyone from Strike Force set off your ‘heebie-jeebies,’ as you like to call your limbic warning system?”
“No. Absolutely not. We are the good guys.”
“Lexicon, we must search the field of all possibilities. A blind eye can mean death.”
I squeezed my lids tightly together. I didn’t care what Spyder said. I would not consider anyone on my team. “Here’s another curious thing: the Puppet Master asked Lynda why the necklace was significant.”
“Do you remember his words exactly?” Spyder asked.
I scratched my nails through my hair to rev my brain. “Something like – ‘Where did you get this necklace? And why would anyone care about this necklace? Is it worth money?’”
“I see.”
“Spyder, do you think he was checking her veracity, or do you think that. . . I don’t know. It makes no sense. How did they tie me to knowing about the necklaces? And they used my name, but not yours. You were just someone with blueberry skin.”
“Blackberry.” Spyder chuckled.
“Right, sorry. Blackberry.”
“This event is very curious. I have no answers for you. So tell me what you are working on today.”
“Did you know that Florida hired Iniquus to find Brody Covington?”
“I did not.”
“Striker wants me to puzzle out the path for them to follow. So far I’ve been ducking and covering.”
“I am the only one who knows the answer to that question.”
“Thank goodness. So, to answer you, I’m heading over to Headquarters to work on the art bizarreness. Here are the players: Iniquus, Omega, and the Assembly.”
“And Sylanos.”
“How do you mean?” I asked.
“Babcock is a money launderer for the Sylanos Cartel.”
“When did that happen? We planted a bug on him last January at the Halston Ball, but I never knew why.”
“It’s been happening, very cleverly, and for quite some time. That’s one component of the information I culled from the data in Lynda’s necklace.”
“Son of a gun. I’m playing with the Hydra.”
***
“Deep, you’re working late.”
“Yeah?” He spun around to see the clock. “I had no idea. Guess I was in the zone.”
I smiled. “I get that. It happens to me when I’m working on a puzzle. What sucked you in?”
“I hacked into Lacey’s computer and copied everything I could find, so if her hard drive suddenly gets destroyed, we’ve got the information in-house.”
“Great. What triggered your curiosity? This is case-related, right?”
“Case-related. I don’t use my mad skills against the women in my life. It ruins the game if it’s an unfair playing field.” His eyes twinkled when he said that. I bet he thought pursuing and winning the girl was most of the fun.
“Have you talked to her since that day at the gallery?”
Deep shook his head. “I invited her, but she said no. I gave her my card. If she changes her mind, she’ll call.”
“You don’t think she wants you to pursue her?”
“I’ve heard my sisters rag on enough guys that I know that’s a bad strategy.” He stretched his arms over head and cracked his neck. So gross. I hated that sound.
“So what’s the best strategy?” I asked.
“You invite, you give them a way to contact you, and you move on.” Deep stood up and moved to the coffee machine.
“If you drink caffeine this late, you won’t be able to sleep.”
“Thanks, Mom, but I want to keep going with this. I’m not scheduled for anything next shift. So I can hit the rack later.” He poured a mug of what must be ten-hour-old coffee. He took a sip and made a face. “Oh my god, that’s awful. Even by my standards. And my standards are half coffee, half sand, and a scorpion on the handle.”
“Here, I’ll make another pot, since you’re being such a great guy, putting in the overtime.” I went to the bathroom to refill the water and returned. As I changed the filter, I asked, “So you never do a follow-up call with girls? They get the one chance, and that’s it?”
“When you don’t call, they wonder why; they ask their friends; they spend time worrying that there’s something wrong with them. Then they get angry that you didn’t follow through – if your call catches them in the anger phase, they’ll take your head off, and you still won’t get the date. Then, if it’s meant to be, they finally break down and dial the phone because they want to give you another opportunity to see how awesome they really are.”
“Sounds like the kissing game my friends described in the school yard.” I pressed the button and the machine hummed into action. “Run away, look over your shoulder to make sure they’re coming after you, and pout when they don’t.”
“Right, and what happens when the girls see you running after them?”
“They laugh and run faster.”
“And they stop running when. . .”
“You stop chasing. Huh. Keen observations, Deep. Well done.”
“Still waters. . .” He winked.
Twenty-One
With a fresh cup of coffee by his side, Deep settled back behind my computer. “I wanted you to see this.”
I scooted my roller chair over to him, and put my hair back into a ponytail, for c
lear thought’s sake.
“The signatories for the art loan contract are Iniquus — signed presumably by Colonel Grant and Bartholomew Winslow himself, not a proxy. I found some court documents in our data bank, and the authentication software came back with 98.2% confidence. That’s the best result I’ve ever seen come through. So we can say with a high level of certainty that Winslow is a key player. Have you talked to Colonel Grant yet?”
“Leanne said he’s coming back to the office tonight. She’ll let me know as soon as he arrives, so I can grab a quick yes or no from him on his signature.”
“Okay, good. Next puzzle piece.”
“Wait, let me start making lists. I don’t want to miss anything.” I moved to the white board and scribbled, CONTRACT BW = yes Col. G = ?
“Next point?” I asked.
“O’Keefe called. He had to wait until twenty-hundred to call the museum because Japan’s ahead by thirteen hours. He said he made up a story about an upcoming trip to Tokyo and had heard there was going to be a Tsukamoto retrospective, honoring his passing. Are you ready for this?”
“Do you think I should sit down?”
“Probably.”
My heart picked up its pace. Rarely did Deep make such a big deal of things he found in his research. I plunked into the chair beside him.
“There is no retrospective planned at this time. The Dyozo Tsukamoto who died last year was the artist’s father; he was ninety-nine. Dyozo Tsukamoto the younger – the one who was the monk turned artist – has retired to Fukuoka, where he is enjoying robust health.”
“O’Keefe was circumspect about it? We don’t want anyone to start chatting. We need to keep things flowing as they are. If the players feel safe, they’ll make mistakes. If their antenna is up, behavior tightens.”
“Sounded like he did a good job. Stereotypical stupid American, struggling with language barriers, is usually pretty good at putting people off their guard.”
“Did you verify O’Keefe’s data?”
“Yup. Tsukamoto the elder was a professor of engineering. Tsukamoto the younger is an artist.” He tapped the keys. “Here’s the father’s death certificate.” He tapped again. “Here’s a recent article that was written about Tsukamoto the younger, written in a London paper.”
