Chain Reaction Power Failure Book I

by Andrew Draper

  The in-flight news broadcast droned on in her earphones as she leaned against the window and the jet circled Manhattan. She snapped out of her quasi-slumber when the standard headline fare was interrupted by a special bulletin. The reporter’s voice scratched her ears as he rehashed the story.

  “Boston Police said they have identified a man found dead by two construction workers early yesterday as Jackson Verde, 43, of Braintree.

  Police officials said two electricians found Verde’s body in a trash dumpster behind the Boston Tower building at around five a.m. Saturday morning.

  Police confirmed Verde was Director of Research at Tower tenant Diversified Research Incorporated.

  Police listed the cause of death as a gunshot wound and said they are investigating the case as a homicide, but released no additional information.”

  Her pulse quickened, dusting the cobwebs from her mind as the words washed over her. She had no real interest in this Verde character, but she did have an interest in anything having to do with Diversified Research. It was widely known in her circle of “associates” that projects developed at Diversified were high-dollar, very high-dollar.

  If they’re going through chaotic times, this is the stuff golden opportunities are made of.

  Her mind raced with the possibilities.

  As the plane made its final approach to Kennedy Airport, she ignored the rest of the news and began to formulate a plan to do some digging in Boston and see what came up. Intuition tingling, she pulled the phone out of the seat in front of her and dialed the ticket counter. “I’d like to book a seat on your next flight to Boston, please.”

  The hop from JFK to Logan went by in an instant, compared to her tans-Atlantic crossing. As her second flight of the day touched down, she replayed the news broadcast in her head.

  There is money to be made here. I just have to figure out how. If one of their senior people is gone…mistakes get made…things turn up missing.

  Those thoughts occupied her feverishly working mind until the plane coasted to a gentle stop at the gate. Her skin prickled with tension and excitement as the timeless quote of Arthur Conan Doyle’s great detective, Sherlock Holmes, flashed across her mind. The game’s afoot, Watson!

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  As the taxi wound its way through the crowded streets, Aaron struggled to temper his boiling rage with his concern for Jenny. He knew this situation was already dangerous enough and mishandling Temple would only make it worse. The streets were now dark and the cabbie almost missed the address sign as he slid the car to a stop in the new snow.

  “Here it is, sir,” the Pakistani driver said. “15697 Commercial Street. That’ll be $13.45, please.”

  He paid the cabbie. Collecting his thoughts, he walked up the concrete stairs as the driver sped away, disappearing into the noise and traffic.

  Stepping in from the cold air outside, Aaron strode across a rich red carpet, its delicate gold embroidery offsetting the dark wood gracing the lobby of the converted 18th century brewery. Aaron stopped briefly to read the directory standing in the entryway, then made his way toward the elevator and Temple’s fourth floor office.

  Exiting the lift, he noticed the surrounding décor changed from the colonial motif in the lobby to a more contemporary style as he approached the offices of Temple Corporation. Polished brass and dark laminates marked the way to a pair of frosted glass doors baring a logo and “Temple Corporation” in bold relief.

  Parting the doors, he stepped up to the reception desk, catching the attention of a bleach-blond behind it.

  “May I help you?” she asked as he drew near.

  “I’d like to see Phillip Temple please.”

  “Do you have an appointment?”

  “No, but if you just tell him Sean Murphy is here, I’m sure he‘ll see me.”

  “I’m sorry. Mr. Temple is not in at the moment.”

  “When might he return?”

  “Well, if you would like to make an appointment…” He stopped her in mid-sentence.

  “Look, Miss…,” he leaned over the counter, reading the polished brass name plate on her desk. “Miss Miller. If he’s here, you might want to consider letting me in. Mr. Temple and I have some time-sensitive business to take care of.”

  “I’m sorry sir, but I couldn’t possibly do that.” She frowned briefly, then padded her voice with artificial sincerity. “But, if you’d like to make an appointment I’ll be glad to help you,” she said. “Otherwise I’ll have to ask you to leave.”

  Seeing this was going nowhere, he tired a different approach.

  “Just pick up the phone,” he said, his voice equal parts authority and impatience. “Call his office and tell him I’m here. He’ll see me. In today’s job market, can you really afford to screw up a deal your boss spent months putting together?”

  He watched as the wheels turned in her tiny little mind. He could almost smell the smoke. She picked up the phone on the left end of her desk and punched a few numbers.

  “There’s a Sean Murphy here to see you,” she stared silently at Aaron for several seconds, listening, then hung up. “Down the hall, third door on the left.”

  “Thank you,” he said, stepping around the desk.

  Aaron looked through the window and saw Temple sitting at his desk, typing on his computer.

  His heart raced as he contemplated the gravity of the meeting now only seconds away. He took several deep breaths and locked his mind in battle mode, bracing himself for the confrontation. Adrenaline surging, he entered silently, moving inside.

  “Temple!” he roared, channeling his first drill instructor. He slammed the door, ejecting two picture frames from the wall and sending them crashing to the floor in a shower of broken glass. He moved to the desk and leaned forward on it, eyeing the other man.

  “Where is she?” he barked.

  “Get out of my office!” Temple’s eyes narrowed as he gave the order. “Before I call security!”

  Aaron reached over the desk and bitch-slapped the seated man, snapping Temple’s head back with a whip-crack blow. “Wrong answer. Try again.”

  The stunned man stuttered slightly, rubbing his stinging face. “I…I…I don’t know what you are talking about! I’m calling the police.”

  “You know dammed well what I’m talking about. Now, where is Dr. Ryan?”

  As Temple reached for the phone, Aaron covered the receiver with his hand, his voice turning cold and menacing. “That would be a serious error in judgment.”

  Temple, now turning pale, sagged lower in his chair and held his hands up in defense. “I don’t know where she is, really!”

  Aaron eyed the cringing man, mind running high with suspicion. “Why should I believe you?”

  “Because I’m telling you the truth,” Temple whined. “I don’t know where she is!”

  Stepping around to the other side of the desk, he spun Temple’s chair, putting the two men nose to nose. He paused for several seconds, thinking.

  “Who did you tell about her?” he asked, his voice suddenly calm and controlled.

  “No one, I swear!”

  Aaron noticed Temple’s hands shaking perceptibly as he answered. A second blow landed on Temple’s right ear, exploding with a loud snap.

  “Stop, please!” the seated man begged, grabbing his injured ear. “I didn’t tell anyone, anything!”

  “Well, you better give me something!” Aaron’s arm shot out, clearing the desktop, scattering papers and fine accessories in all directions.

  Temple kept rubbing his howling ear, throwing Aaron an acid-filled glare. “Who the hell are you?”

  “I’m a friend of hers. However, I don’t have a lot of patience, so start talking.”

  Temple hesitated.

  “Okay, I’ll talk first.” Aaron said, sitting on the corner of Temple’s desk. “Here’s what I think happened, and by all means, stop me if I’m wrong. I think you hired that little piss-ant Murphy to steal Jenny’s project. He did it, and
you either have it or sold it. Unfortunately for you he made one mistake. He didn’t kill her. How am I doing so far?”

  Temple said nothing, but Aaron noticed his face grow a little more ashen, small beads of sweat now adorning his forehead.

  “Okay Phil, old buddy, on to plan B.”

  Aaron walked over to the wood casement window and lifted the lower sash. He turned back to the man in the chair. “Care to estimate your glide ratio?”

  Aaron grinned an evil smile as Temple’s eyes widened in disbelief. He rounded the desk and grabbed Temple by the collar before the smaller man could move, jerking him out of his seat.

  “You can’t do this!” Temple yelled. “Let me go!”

  Temple struggled to get free, but Aaron cuffed him in the head, and hand still stinging, dragged him to the window. He felt the cold air on his face as he forced Temple’s head out into the freezing night.

  “This is your captain speaking,” Aaron’s voice had that distant ring, a perfect imitation of an airline pilot. “Prepare for takeoff.”

  Looking down four floors to the dark pavement below, Temple swallowed hard and braced his hands against the frame. “You’re crazy! You can’t do this!”

  “Really? My shrink doesn’t think so,” He knocked Temple’s right hand off the window’s edge and out into space. “Now, where’s Ryan?”

  Panic edged into Temple’s voice. “I told you, I don’t know!”

  He lifted Temple a little higher and further out into the cold. “Then you’re of no damned use to me, are you?”

  He knocked the other hand into the open window. Arms flailing in panic, Temple searched for something to grab onto. “Okay, I’ll tell you! I’ll tell you!”

  Aaron pulled him back inside, but only a few inches. “I’m listening.”

  Temple’s voice quivered in fear. “I made a deal to sell Ryan’s work.”

  “No kidding? To who?”

  “To someone who paid.”

  He pushed Temple’s head back out the window and lifted him by the belt. “Have a pleasant flight.”

  Temple screamed and thrashed in Aaron’s grip. “Nooo! Pull me in! I’ll tell you! I swear!”

  He jerked the frightened man back a second time, intentionally slamming Temple’s head into the window frame. The sharp sash opened a jagged gash that instantly ran red with thin line of blood.

  “Last chance.” Aaron warned.

  The hyperventilating man struggled to speak. “Yashidda…I sold…the plans to an Arab…named Yashidda…Abdule Yashidda.”

  He pulled the shaking man inside, keeping one hand on Temple’s collar. “See, that wasn’t so hard, now was it?”

  He threw the man back into his chair. “You deliver the goods yet?”

  Again Temple hesitated, biting his lip.

  Aaron sighed, shaking his head in disbelief. “We were making such progress. Do we really have to start all over again?”

  He briefly scanned the floor around him and picked up a sword-style letter opener, carefully examining the gleaming edge. “This should do nicely.”

  As Aaron stepped closer, Temple made a small gurgling sound. “No bitch is worth this. All I wanted was the money. You want her so bad…you can have her.” Temple’s eyes suddenly brightened. “Hey, maybe we can work a deal. I’ll cut you in. A guy can buy a lot of pretty girls with a million bucks.”

  Aaron glared at him, blade swishing threateningly. “Hand over what you took, all of it, and I might forget you said that,” he paused. “And don’t even think about holding back.”

  Slinking out of his chair, Temple knelt in front of a small bookcase in the corner of the room. Removing some volumes, he revealed a small black safe hidden in the wall. Spinning the combination dial, Temple turned back to Aaron. “Are you sure we can’t work something out? It’s the girl you want, not the material.”

  Aaron rolled his eyes in disgust. “I don’t think so.”

  Swinging the door back, Temple stuck his hand in the safe and Aaron placed the cold steel of the blade against his neck. “Nice and slow.”

  Moving at a deliberate crawl, Temple retrieved a small silver box from the safe and stood up, hesitating again.

  “Open it.” Aaron ordered.

  The trembling man lifted the lid, revealing a small metallic object. Perhaps four inches wide and six inches high, the external hard drive rested in a two-inch deep depression cut into the case’s padding. Two thin, silver disks also resided in the case, nestled in their own fitted sockets.

  “This all of it?” He took the case from Temple’s resisting grip, snapping it shut.

  ‘Yes, that’s all of it.”

  “Where can I find this guy, Yashidda?”

  “I can’t tell you that, he would kill me!”

  “Well, if anything happens to Dr. Ryan I will definitely kill you. You have two chances to die and one chance to live. Tell me how to find Yashidda.”

  Temple stood rock still for several long seconds then scanned the mess on the floor. He walked behind the desk again, pulled open the center drawer and retrieved a scrap of paper. He scribbled a number on it and held it out.

  Aaron reached for the note. “Good choice.”

  “This concludes our business, I assume.” Temple said.

  In the blink of an eye, Aaron slammed the point of the letter opener into the top of Temple’s desk. He watched in disdain as the other man flinched in fear.

  “Yes, it does. And just so we understand each other, in the future you leave Dr. Ryan alone. From here on, consider her under my protection,” he pointed an accusing finger at Temple. “If you so much as blink in her direction, I’ll snap your neck like a twig.”

  What color remained in Temple’s face dissolved like smoke in a tornado.

  Aaron crossed the room to the door. As he reached for the handle, he turned back to Temple. “Don’t show up on my radar again. It just wouldn’t be healthy.”

  He walked out, threat hanging heavy in the air. In the hall Aaron leaned back against the wall and expelled an audible sigh, allowing himself to breathe again as his heart hammered in his chest.

  I think I enjoyed that just a little too much.

  He patted his pocket and felt the case. Now that I have some leverage, maybe this can end.

  Getting out of the cab in front of his building, Aaron felt the cold night air sting his cheeks. He exhaled heavily and watched the vapor cloud circle his head, then hang motionless before dissipating.

  I need a drink.

  He thought about the earlier encounter with Temple, wondering if he’d gone too far. He chastised himself for second guessing his actions.

  I must be getting soft in my old age.

  As his foot touched the ice-covered steps, the ground rushed up, slamming him hard in the face. Like dropped crystal, his vision exploded into long shards of neon light, each shaft an alternating bolt of brilliant red and high-voltage yellow. Dazed, he fought to shake off the escalating pain. Trying to get up, he felt a weight drop on his back, smashing his face into the ground a second time. The snow burned his cheeks and again he tried to rise, only then did he feel the insect-like bite at his shoulder.

  Perception fading in and out, he wondered for an instant what happened. He rolled to his right, trying to see who or what lurked above him. Reality swiftly dissolving, he struggled against hands reaching from the darkness as the world melted in a sea of swirling black ink.

  Trish pulled the hypodermic needle out of Aaron’s back and replaced the cover, quickly putting it back in her pocket.

  “Jesus, this guy’s the size of a barn.” Clark groused, dragging the unconscious man across the sidewalk by his armpits. “Don’t just stand there. Help me!”

  Trish grabbed Aaron’s feet, grunting with effort as she lifted them into the back seat of her rented car and slammed the door. Climbing into the front, she shut the passenger door against the freezing night.

  Just what we need! Her common sense railed in her mind. Two guests instead of one!
>
  She looked at the man in the driver’s seat as the engine roared to life. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

  “I always know what I’m doing. Trust me.” Clark said.

  As he pulled away from the curb, car sliding in the slush, she wondered if he actually believed his own bullshit.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  FBI headquarters bustled with controlled chaos. The crackling flow of nervous energy in the room never ceased to invigorate Special Agent Carla Raven. Ignoring the din, the statuesque brunette twisted left then dodged to one side of the constricted walkway between desks. Narrowly avoiding a collision with a fellow agent, she winced in pain as the hot coffee she carried sloshed over the rim of the Styrofoam cup. Running down the back of her hand, the fiery liquid left a burning trail before dripping to the floor.

  Making a hasty apology for the near-miss, she shut the door to her tiny office, trying to block out the background noise of the world outside. She pushed two days worth of empty coffee cups and pizza boxes off her desk into a small trash can. Sitting in her chair, she yawned.

  Sixteen hours yesterday, and I’m no closer to Ryan than I was two days ago.

  Carefully sipping the fresh brew, she drove the cobwebs from her thoughts and stretched her intellect, grasping for a new focus on the case.

  After spending hours running down possible leads, the frustrated FBI agent did an extensive check of Ryan’s credit card activity and telephone records. Finding nothing suspicious, she began an hour by hour reconstruction of the scientist’s last day.

  She went to work…had a meeting with her boss, now deceased, and then…poof!...she falls off the face of the earth.

  I’ve searched her house, her office, her bank statements, checking accounts…nothing! I even put out an APB on her brother.

  She bristled with each new wave of frustration that churned in her acidic stomach.

  No plane tickets or anything else that would lead us to believe she was planning on being away for any reason.