Momentary Stasis (The Rimes Trilogy Book 1)

by Adams, P R

  Rimes gave a quick nod, then focused on the presentation as images of his friends—his brothers—materialized above him. He remembered his time training under Martinez, the missions with Wolford.

  He’d always considered them good men, people he could trust with his life. To see them presented as corrupt, murdering mercenaries—regardless of how accurate it was—hurt.

  “Of the suspects listed, only Captain Moltke, Sergeant Martinez, and Corporal Barlowe survived the mission to T-Corp 72,” Kleigshoen said. “Thanks to the data we were able to recover from Kwon Myung-bak, we have enough evidence to connect Captain Moltke to Kwon.”

  Marshall held up a finger. “Help me out with this piece. What sort of evidence?”

  “We sent messages—” Kleigshoen began.

  “They were intriguing,” Marshall admitted, stroking his chin. “But I can’t justify a commitment based off them. You’ve got Moltke meeting Kwon in a bar. You can’t place the bar, but you’ve provided several sketches and notes … I mean, what, render an image and push it out to every police precinct and sheriff’s office and hope someone can identify it? Ask them to visit every bar in their jurisdiction to see if it has a spot in it like what you saw?” Marshall looked from Kleigshoen to Rimes.

  “We’re working on it,” Kleigshoen growled and flashed Rimes an impatient glare.

  “The memories are getting easier to decipher,” Rimes said. “I can recall a little more each time I think about them. Kwon’s senses were engineered to be able to pick up so much detail.”

  “You think you could locate this bar? Eventually?” Marshall asked.

  “Yes, sir,” Rimes said. “I can run through missing persons files. I was planning to start that tonight.”

  “Missing persons?”

  Rimes looked at Kleigshoen for support. She nodded.

  “Kwon was a serial killer,” Rimes explained. “He killed at least a dozen women. The woman he picked up at this bar was Thai, between one-hundred-fifty and one-hundred-sixty-three centimeters, forty-four to forty-seven kilograms, twenty to twenty-five years old. Dark brown hair, brown eyes, a slight scar on her chin, dental work on her incisors.”

  Marshall’s brow wrinkled. He smiled worriedly, looking first at Rimes, then at Kleigshoen. “You could tell all that from Kwon’s memories?”

  “No, sir,” Rimes admitted. “But Kwon could. I’m still struggling with it all.”

  Marshall sipped at his water while he considered Rimes’s words. Finally, he set the cup down and clucked his tongue softly. “Okay, I’ll tell you what we’re going to do. Start your research on the missing persons data tonight. Since you’re searching for a victim, not a suspect, I have authority to approve using what might otherwise be deemed profiling parameters. But I want the two of you on the first plane to Fort Sill tomorrow.

  “You have one week to get me something.”

  Kleigshoen powered down the display, then sighed as if centering herself. “Thank you, Jim.”

  Marshall paused for a moment, then stood. Kleigshoen and Rimes stood as well to follow him out, but he stopped at the door and leaned against the frame. He turned. All pretense at friendliness and cordiality were gone. He drummed his fingers against the wood.

  “Honestly, I was hoping for more. I think a celebration dinner would be premature at this point. Let’s meet again when you’ve got something I can work with. You get me something actionable, I’ll make it special for you.”

  Rimes looked down. His hands shook with anger. Marshall's attitude was misplaced, misguided. He left; Rimes looked up and caught Kleigshoen’s eye. Her face was tight with emotion, but he couldn’t tell for sure what it was.

  One week. One week to take down my brothers and friends. One week to betray the men who are my family.

  34

  10 March 2164. Washington, D.C.

  * * *

  Rimes stared at the display terminal. He rubbed his face to work away the fatigue that ate at him, slowing his reaction time and eroding his focus. He shifted in his chair, starting when his knees brushed against Kleigshoen’s on the opposite side of the desk.

  He’d been so caught up in his research, he’d forgotten she was even there.

  She looked up from her own research, distracted. “You okay?”

  Rimes stood, then stretched. His joints popped loudly, but along with the fatigue came the reassuring tingling of the accelerants and stem cell treatment at work. His foot was no longer sore, merely tender; the wound on his hand nothing but a faint scar. The nerve damage was well on its way to complete recovery.

  “Yeah. I’m just tired. No surprise—jet lag, the healing accelerants … it always takes a toll.”

  Kleigshoen bit her lip. “I warned you we’d need a stronger case for Jim to buy into it.”

  Rimes looked out the office window.

  Kleigshoen sighed quietly. “I can work in the vault, if I’m bugging you?”

  Rimes turned and shook his head. He was tense, anxious, ready to act, but there was no target, no clear objective. “It’s not you. It’s this whole situation: the way he blew us off, the search, the unknown.”

  Kleigshoen defocused momentarily. She shifted in her chair, a more comfortable and less worn one she’d wheeled in from a nearby conference room. “Don’t let Jim’s behavior bother you. He’s under a lot of pressure on this. There’s nothing personal in it. He can’t commit resources on what we’ve provided so far. He’s already spent so much, and all he has to show for it is …” She stopped and touched a knuckle to her lips.

  “I’m sorry, Dana. I can’t imagine what it must be like losing a friend and a mentor.” Yet here I am, cooperating with you to send Martinez to his death.

  “You work alone a lot of the time,” Kleigshoen said after a moment. “Brent was my partner for … well, it felt like forever. I can’t even imagine working alone now.”

  Rimes settled back into his seat and stared at the display.

  “Any luck with the search?” she asked.

  “Nearly two hundred hits so far. All dead ends.”

  The returns on what he’d considered narrow criteria had nauseated him. So many missing women. The implications for his own children were unsettling. And the search engine was still processing images based on his criteria, and wouldn’t be complete for another forty minutes.

  “I’m going to get a few things from my station in the vault,” Kleigshoen said. “I—we’ll need to shut things down in a little bit. Our flight leaves at ten-fifteen. I don’t know about you, but I need some sleep.”

  Rimes grunted agreement.

  She exited the office. His eyes lingered on her legs for just a moment.

  With some effort, he closed his eyes and thought of Molly and the baby. She’d said from the start she’d wanted children and that she would carry them to term rather than use any of the popular proxy methods. It was a huge sacrifice. He suddenly felt selfish and petty.

  An intense heat burned within him—but was it for Molly and the baby, or Kleigshoen?

  Someone coughed lightly, and Rimes’s eyes popped open.

  “Your opportunity for coming to some kind of decision is now.” Perditori sat draped over Kleigshoen’s chair, wearing the same jumpsuit.

  Rimes slowly massaged his brow. “You’re late.”

  “I was otherwise engaged.” Perditori waved a hand toward the hallway behind him. “Have you decided?”

  Yeah. I’ve decided I’m insane. Or desperate. Maybe both. Or maybe I’m not even making the decision for myself. Rimes looked at Perditori’s image and saw nothing to indicate Perditori was sensing the answer. “What choice do I have? I’ll go forward with it for now.”

  Perditori pursed his lips. “Things are already in motion, and inertia can be quite a dangerous thing. Changing your mind would not be a good idea, Captain Rimes.”

  “Sergeant.”

  Perditori waved away the correction. “The data devices are in Director Marshall’s office. Be quick enough, and your partner wi
ll be none the wiser.”

  Rimes pushed back his chair and started walking toward the door. He could feel Perditori’s eyes on him the entire time. He took several tentative steps down the hallway, broke into a run, then slowed himself to a quick walk.

  Perditori trailed him soundlessly.

  I’m going to stop any second now and tell him the deal is off.

  “What sort of security do I have to deal with?” Rimes asked.

  “Nothing to speak of,” Perditori replied. “The security measures were designed to keep intruders out of the building and the offices. The patrolling guard is on the floor above and will be for several minutes. You already know how to gain access to the office.”

  I do? How? Of course! My first meeting with Marshall.

  Marshall’s office door was protected by a fairly simple digital pad and card reader. Out of habit, Rimes had noted the combination when Marshall had entered it at their first meeting there. Rimes’s security card information would be logged automatically, but no one should have any reason to check.

  If I don’t screw this up.

  He swiped his card, entered the combination, and turned the knob.

  The door opened. Rimes froze.

  The room smelled like a lair; Marshall’s musky cologne clung to everything. The office felt low, dark, and shadowed, as though a predator were waiting to jump out from behind an armchair or the desk. Digital photos hung on the wall—pictures of VIPs shaking hands with Marshall, who smiled widely, showing his teeth. Knowing what he knew of Marshall now, the pictures felt like trophies.

  Bones of prey.

  Rimes cautiously edged into the office.

  Perditori sat on the desk with his knees crossed, then waved his hand in the air.

  The bar rose off to my left. A country dance tune blared from overdriven speakers. The heat radiated from the crowd. The cologne—Marshall’s cologne—drifted from the shadows to my right.

  Alcohol hung heavy in the air, only overcome by the musky press of the patrons—desperate laborers and even more desperate whores—come to share company and obliterate their awareness. And through it all, the cologne—an extravagance few could afford in even moderate amounts.

  Moltke shoved the napkin across the tabletop, and his partner nodded from the darkness.

  “The envelope,” Perditori said. “On the desk.”

  Rimes moved to Marshall’s desk with a dreamlike awkwardness, picking up an official-looking plastic envelope. He flipped the flap up and saw two data sticks within.

  Two? Barlowe said they found three sticks’ worth of data.

  He emptied the data sticks into his hand and set the envelope back where he’d found it.

  “Now go,” Perditori said.

  Rimes jogged back to his office, Perditori effortlessly following.

  Rimes began the data transfer process. Evidence of the transfer would be easy enough to clean up once the data was downloaded—but speeding up the transfer was out of his league.

  It dragged on.

  When the second data stick finally completed copying, Rimes popped it out of the terminal’s base. Someone was coming down the hall: he shoved the data sticks into his pants pocket, turned off his terminal, and started to pace—then quickly sat on the desk corner and tried to look relaxed. Perditori vanished.

  Kleigshoen stepped into the room. “Jack! I expected to find you still staring at the display. Did you find something?”

  Rimes shook his head, hoping to explain away the anxiety he couldn’t hope to hide. “I’m worried. What if I can’t find her? What if my understanding of Kwon’s memories is wrong?”

  “It’s not the end of the world. We’ll find something to nail these guys with,” Kleigshoen said, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. She pulled it away after an awkward pause. “They’re still sitting on a large cache of X-17. Maybe we should focus on that? How many places could they store it without raising suspicions?”

  Despite all the distractions, Rimes found himself intrigued by Kleigshoen’s idea. “Did the Bureau run a search of stolen or rented vehicles that could have transported the canisters? A helicopter would have a fairly limited range without refueling, and I’d imagine that’s a lot easier to track than cargo trucks.”

  Kleigshoen seemed to center herself and shook her head. “Our best guess was that they used both—a cargo helicopter for the initial extraction and some trucks to get the load to its final destination. At one point, we were confident we’d identified the helicopter they used; unfortunately, by the time we finally located it, it had been destroyed. All that remained was trace evidence inside the cargo bay, nothing likely to withstand a good defense challenge. Even if it were allowed in trial, it would be circumstantial at best, and it doesn’t get us any closer to where they would store it.”

  Rimes’s excitement drained away. “So everything really depends on this search.”

  Kleigshoen settled into her chair and brought up her display. “We need to catch a break.”

  He stretched. “Speaking of a break, I’m going to take a quick walk, see if I can clear my mind.”

  Kleigshoen nodded and went back to her work. Rimes stepped out of the office. He walked several steps before turning back to see if Kleigshoen had followed. When he saw he was alone, he sneaked back to Marshall’s office, replaced the data sticks, and exited, closing the door behind him.

  Getting the data out of the Bureau’s private Grid would be the next challenge. He regretted not having simply swapped out data sticks, but then he’d still have to get them out of the building somehow. With the data stored in his personal workspace, he would at least have access to it so long as he could access the Bureau’s Grid.

  He needed to somehow get the data onto the Grid. And an idea of how he might pull it off was forming.

  Rimes returned to his office. Kleigshoen looked up from her work for a moment. He settled into his seat and looked at the terminal. “Damn.”

  “What?” she asked. “Is it done?”

  “Almost. None of the hits match Kwon’s memories. I don’t understand. I was so sure.”

  Does she know about Marshall? Would she tell me if I asked her? Maybe just ask about any travel Marshall took around the time of the theft. I’d have to word the question just right, or it would tip her off.

  The search finished. There were four last hits.

  Rimes flipped through each image, staring, hoping, willing. The first woman looked nothing like Kwon’s victim. The second had vaguely similar eyes, but nothing else. The third … he enhanced the focus.

  It was Kwon’s victim. “It’s her!”

  Kleigshoen came around the desk and looked over Rimes’s shoulder. “Duan Lek? She doesn’t even look twenty, Jack.”

  “Reported missing in January,” Rimes said. “She would have been just barely twenty. The photo’s from her ID card, taken at eighteen. She was a little skinnier, a little more worn down by nirvana or some other stim, but that’s her.”

  “The missing persons report was filed in Raleigh,” Kleigshoen said. “Was she a resident there?”

  Rimes flipped to Lek’s travel records. “Immigrated with her parents at six. Moved from Los Angeles to Joliet, from Joliet to Baltimore, from Baltimore to Charlotte, then from Charlotte to Raleigh. Four years in the Raleigh area.”

  “Arrests?”

  Rimes shook his head. Lek was the wrong type of person to get the attention of the overtaxed police force. She got high, turned tricks, probably committed small-scale theft. There was no room in the prison system for petty criminals anymore.

  Kleigshoen walked back to her chair, but just stood for a moment before shutting down her display. “Let’s pass it on to Marshall. He can have someone run it down. It still sounds like a long shot.”

  “Have you ever been to Raleigh?” Rimes asked as he powered down his terminal.

  “Just for jump school. That was about eight years ago. I didn’t really see much of it.” Kleigshoen stretched, slowly arching her
back. She gave Rimes a sleepy, lingering glance. “It’s sort of pretty, I guess. What’d you think of it when you went through? The sort of place you’d like to go again?”

  Rimes looked away. “Once was enough.”

  Rimes had relatives from the area; it was a dangerous place to grow up, with a lot of violence between locals and recent immigrants. Lek’s experiences would have almost certainly been rough.

  “What about Marshall?” Rimes asked. “Would he have any contacts in the area we could ask for help?”

  Kleigshoen thought for a moment then shook her head. “I doubt it. He’s from Delaware. I think what’s left of his family is still there.”

  Rimes sighed.

  “Let it go, Jack.” Kleigshoen walked to the door and stopped, turning to give him a tired smile. “We can’t do anything more with it until we get more evidence. We’ll get what we need if we work together. We can do that, right?”

  Rimes woke to the sound of his earpiece chiming, Molly’s ring. He set the earpiece in his ear and accepted the call. The hotel room was dark except for a thin sliver of light sneaking through the drawn shades.

  Molly’s image took on a sickly glow. She looked weak and troubled. Rimes sat upright.

  “Molly?” The display showed 0417.

  “Jack? I’m sorry. I had a dream.” Her voice was sleepy, her words slurred.

  Rimes shook his head. “No, it’s okay. I had to get up in a little bit to go for a run. This is all on the Bureau’s dollar right now.”

  The urge to pull her close and hold her was maddening.

  “I dreamed the baby was dead.” Molly took a deep breath then wiped her eyes. Tears welled up then rolled down her cheeks. “You killed it.”

  “Whoa.” Rimes threw up his hands and motioned for Molly to stop. “You know I’d never kill our baby.”

  Molly sobbed quietly for a moment. “Jack, I feel horrible. I feel fat and ugly and you disappeared for a week with that woman.”

  Rimes froze for a moment. “Molly, you’re beautiful to me, you know that. I love you. Nothing’s going to change that.”