by Rafael
“If this is not a prank then you have a sick, deranged killer on your hands with a twisted symbology. Why do you need me? A detective would better serve your purposes.”
“Perhaps. But a psychopathic killer does not explain the DNA. We’re trying to be thorough. If you can rule a creature out and leave us with a deranged killer, we can move forward.”
Miranda paused. The case certainly intrigued her scientific curiosity. That she couldn’t remember her last vacation also made a strong argument. And an Easton-free Columbus would be a life improvement. “Why is the CIA involved in this case?” Dawkins cleared her throat.
“Although the National Science Foundation administered Dr. Ang’s research grant, the project in fact was under our aegis. He knew nothing of our involvement. It’s something we often do to avail ourselves of scientific advances while keeping the type and extent confidential. Our goal was to use Dr. Ang’s expertise in quantum encryption to enclose our information systems. Given the circumstances, the possibility exists we have an internal security breach. Dr. Ang may have made an encryption breakthrough some individual, group, or country thought it worth murdering him over. The ghastly method may simply be to throw us off.” Miranda nodded.
“Still, as you indicated, neither of our theories explains the DNA report.” She made up her mind. “I’ll need a couple days to get my affairs in order.” Cross broke in.
“With all due respect, Dr. Logan, the national security implications mean time is of the essence. You do not have children, pets, or plants. We will insure your scheduled payments are made including rent and utilities.”
“Rent? You expect me to be gone a month?”
“We’re just being thorough.” Dawkins replied. Cross reached into his jacket. “This is an unrestricted credit card with your name on it. We’ll escort you home to retrieve immediate necessities, but including travel and meals, you have complete discretion to purchase anything you feel necessary. And of course, our agency will reimburse the zoo in full for your salary.”
Miranda spread her arms palms up. “Okay. Let’s go retrieve my immediate necessities. Before they exited, a chime sounded from within Cross’ jacket. His grim expression turned grimmer as he scanned the communicator’s display.
“I’m afraid you’re leaving on the first flight to Hawaii, Dr. Logan. We’ll arrange for your pickup on arrival.” He turned the screen toward her. On a wall two men hung naked, their severed arms pasted to their shoulder blades. Fear, genuine fear stabbed her heart. Yesterday she had entered an angry hippo’s stall. Today she had agreed to help pursue a homicidal maniac. The ground beneath her no longer seemed sure. She reached for her bag.
“Dr. Logan.” Miranda turned toward Clifford. “Good luck. Don’t worry about Ben.” She nodded, managed a weak, hesitant smile. The three exited the office.
CHAPTER 4 Put to Flight
Miranda slid the video screen back into the ceiling. The formulaic comedy of a boy in love with a girl in love with his sister had swiftly descended into predictable farce. She had vague memories of her parents complaining the in-flight movies had become second- rate but couldn’t imagine flying for longer than forty-five minutes. Half-hour, made-for-flight sit-coms fit the bill now. She smiled at the thought her children might one day hear her complain the in-flight fare had become second-rate.
The forward bulkhead’s digital display indicated the flight’s zero-g segment had three minutes left. Below it, an oversized monitor provided a panoramic exterior view. They flew fourth in line toward atmospheric reentry as the Earth slowly rotated Hawaii into position. White heat already engulfed the first flight’s orbital descent. Around her everyone remained glued to their sit-coms.
Miranda gazed out beyond Earth’s spectacular blue horizon. The planet’s reflected light failed to mask the stars in their unimaginable numbers. And beyond them galaxies, countless galaxies extended into forever, suspended in the grand void, calm, serene, profound. Only man’s brilliance shielded her from the expanse’s duality. Outside, it would need but an instant to erase her existence. Return her to her true origin. Not dust…irrelevance.
Miranda pressed her communicator’s “2” button. Its female voice responded. “Connecting to Gary Akiyama.”
“Say ‘hello’, Miranda.”
“Hello, Professor Akiyama.”
“I am reduced to a few simple pleasures: my wife, my grandchildren—but only for two days, then they must return home—and the sound of your voice saying ‘hello’.”
“What about your students?”
“They’re not like normal youths. They’re very studious. They attend my lectures, turn on their recorders, listen attentively, then regurgitate my words on test papers. They seem oblivious to life’s moments passing by, never to return.”
Miranda smiled. Everyone, including rebellious youths, adored and revered Professor Akiyama. If they did what he described, it could only be out of respect and a desire not to miss whatever he might say. “I’m sure they’re just trying to understand. Sometimes you can be a little…opaque.”
“Aha. I’m sure that will lead to the topic of conversation.”
“Indirectly, yes. I’m still trying to understand why you saddled me with Clifford Easton. He and I clash in every possible way. After you announced your retirement, I had high hopes for your hand-picked successor.” His gentle tone belied any harshness.
“The interests of the zoo came before any need to get along with Miranda Logan. He’s a good man and an excellent administrator. I thought he’d do well as a counterbalance to your extraordinary animal skills. If I had picked a more compatible personality type, you’d be more comfortable, but one day you’ll be Director. You need to learn what he knows.
Nonetheless, I did consider you. One does not learn from half-knowledge. It is not enough to know what to do and how to be. You must also know what not to do and how not to be. The comparative opposites provide perspective, the basis for all wisdom.”
A jealous twinge stabbed through Miranda. She could see his students sitting quiet, attentive, their recorders whirring. She missed the daily interactions with the former Director. He’d served as mentor and taskmaster while she weaned Ben. He made her his second when she returned. Under his tutelage, she learned more than in any lecture hall. “Well, it might please you to know that good man of yours has me on loan to the CIA.” The silence gave her some satisfaction.
“What, what? What could the CIA possibly want with you? Wait, I’ll sit before you knock me down again.” Miranda laughed.
“Don’t bother. I’m on a flight to Honolulu and about to reenter the atmosphere. The signal will disconnect. I’m transmitting some photos and documents as well as my notes to you. It includes a DNA report I think you’ll find interesting. This Hawaii trip is in conjunction with the case. I’ll call you in the next day or two, so do your homework.”
Gary laughed. He’d often commanded her to do the same. “I will, Miranda. Thanks for calling. Aloha.”
“Aloha, professor.” No “Fasten Seat Belt” sign flashed. In zero-g the orbiter automatically locked them.
CHAPTER 5 Curiouser and Curiouser
Encumbered only by immediate necessities, Miranda bypassed the typical baggage claim anxiety for the terminal’s exit. Cross and Dawkins had accompanied her to the Columbus ticket counter then wished her luck. “How will I know where to go when I land?”
“Someone will be waiting for you and make contact.”
“What if the person contacting me is the maniac we’re pursuing? Don’t we have to exchange passwords or something?” Dawkins smiled.
“That happens mostly in fiction and movies. The irony of our business is that without a little faith, one can easily end up a paranoid schizophrenic. There’ll be undercover assets throughout the terminal. No one will pick you up who’s not supposed to.”
“Will we see each other again?”
“Yes, but first we have other leads to follow.”
Curious who awaited h
er, Miranda stepped through glass doors that swooshed open. All about her, frenzied passengers rushed for departing flights, tired travelers greeted excited family, anxious arrivals searched for taxis, casual shoppers awaited connections, loudspeakers announced delays. She slowed then noticed the tall, tan, fortyish, good-looking man strolling toward her. He wore khaki pants and a blue open-necked, pullover sports shirt with matching blue, deck shoes. Sunglasses perched atop his black curly hair conveyed a relaxed, island-chic image. In comparison to the instantly forgettable Cross, he certainly fit the suave, dashing, international spy ideal. Strong, white teeth smiled at her.
“Dr. Logan? Dr. Miranda Logan?” She smiled back.
“Yes, I am. How did you know?”
“They told me to look for a distinctive female emerging from Gate 11b. I thought a beautiful, green-eyed, red-head fit the bill.” She shot him a look.
“I’m kidding. I saw a photo.” He extended a hand. “My name is Ben Wolford. Hi. May I take your bag?” Miranda shook it and her head.
“That’s okay. It’s not heavy. You’re the second Ben I know.” A faux frown darkened his face.
“I knew there had to be competition. Oh well. If you’ll follow me, we’ll be on our way.”
Miranda didn’t like to set first impressions in concrete but the glib and too self-assured Ben Wolford might have talked himself out of any chance. Long accustomed to just showing up and smiling, he’d become lazy. She appreciated a sense of humor and a quick wit but preferred her men serious and not kidders. Miranda smiled to herself. How would his ego react if she told him he’d lost to a hippo?
Outside, a riot of color and floral variety greeted her. Oahu’s magnificently landscaped aerospace port matched every Hawaii image she’d ever seen and softened the hectic activity bustling about her. It quickly became a pleasant memory as they sped along North Nimitz Highway. The black asphalt, white-striped lanes, and familiar vehicles overshadowed her brief glimpse of tropical paradise. She looked up through the open-air Jeep to the azure heaven pockmarked with fat, lazy clouds. How many times had she seen such a sky? Something about this one though left no doubt she rode atop an island dwarfed by the Pacific.
Miranda pressed against the seat’s back and stretched lazily along its lowered length. She gave up trying to find an apt comparison to the sky’s rich, deep blue but noticed Ben casting quick, sideways glances. Her less than form-fitting clothes could not hide the body underneath. She found her reaction curious. The obvious lust bursting from his eyes suffused her body in sensuous warmth. When had a man last looked at her like that? When had she last had a man? That she asked answered the question. The zoo’s schedule cocooned her life and the animals provided a convenient outlet for pent up emotions. When had she last had a man?
“Where are we going?”
“Foreign Trade Zone 9, a section of Honolulu Harbor’s Pier 2. Companies can rent warehouse facilities for assembling imported equipment or disassembling manufactured goods for export. How much have they briefed you?”
“Beyond the bizarre circumstances that prompted this case, I only saw a low-resolution photo of two men hanging on a wall. Do you mean the victims are inside a warehouse?” Ben nodded.
“It is a bizarre case. I’m in charge of the site. We fenced off the area under 24-hour guard. It’s an industrial zone so secure sections are commonplace. No one has given us a second look. A plastic wall seals off half the interior. The temperature within is just above freezing to prevent biological degradation pending your inspection.
We think the two hanging by their faces had something to do with the equipment missing from Joshua Ang’s laboratory. They might have brought it here and used a container to ship it. Cross and Dawkins are backtracking the paperwork with Hawaii’s Department of Transportation which runs the facility. If it’s anything like your typical bureaucracy, they’ll be a while. Honolulu Harbor processes over a million cargo containers a year. It could be anywhere. I suspect they won’t find anything. My nose tells me those two hangers-on weren’t the types to leave paper trails. But we have to be thorough.”
“I’ve heard that. Who discovered the bodies?”
“Dead end. Routine security patrol wondered why the lights were on in the middle of the night with no apparent activity. Anyhow, we’re about five minutes away. Pier 2 is only fifteen minutes from Honolulu Aerospace.”
Wolford signaled for the off-ramp under a sign pointing to Sand Island Access Road. Neatly maintained, one-story storage and administrative buildings bordered both sides of a well-marked road free of potholes. Only diners and support services interrupted the bland, utilitarian structures that described any industrial zone. Ben turned left into a narrow dead-end where two armed guards waved him through a chain-link gate. Beyond the road’s end, the huge harbor’s blue water gently rolled docked boats.
Another armed guard stood aside to pass them through the main entrance. Inside, haste had thrown together a crude prep area next to a zippered flap leading into the sealed interior. Ben removed two boxes from a stack along the wall then sat on a bench to remove his shoes and the box’s haz-mat suit. He grinned at her. “I’m hoping you can figure it out. I’m not as practiced helping someone dress.”
Miranda ignored him, pulled a perforated tab, and figured it out. She fluffed open a one-piece, white suit. One zipper sealed the front and once she fitted the air filter over her nose and mouth, another sealed the headpiece. Suited, Miranda removed a leather-bound toolkit from her bag. Ben held a pencil and notepad in one hand and opened the flap with the other. His muffled but audible voice bade her enter. Inside, overhead fluorescent lights illuminated the ghastly setting enlarged by its emptiness.
Please, please don’t let me vomit in this thing, she prayed. A defiant stomach twisted a tighter knot. Her hands trembled. Sweat beaded on her forehead, laughed at the cold. She inhaled, concentrated, and began a slow survey.
Straight ahead two short men hung about two feet off the ground. Both faced right. Her head swiveled toward the right wall. Before it two pistols lay in four bloody pools that had converged into one. Seven, small numbered papers lay in random fashion atop the congealed blood. Seven numbered pock marks marred the left wall.
“What do those numbered markings signify?”
“Either our two friends used the wall for target practice, or they tried to kill whatever killed them. The numbered papers on the floor are where the shell casings fell. They match the bullet holes in the wall. One gun clip is minus two rounds, the other five. They must have missed. All the blood matches the two victims.”
“How do you know that?”
“Our forensic team has already been through here. They’ve given me a heads up on their preliminary findings. Cross and Dawkins should be receiving their final report at any minute.” He smiled through his headpiece. “If you give me your number, I’ll forward you a copy of mine.” Again Miranda ignored him.
“How could they miss at that distance? What is it thirty, thirty-five feet?” Despite the suit, Wolford shrugged.
“You’d be surprised what nerves do to your aim in a gunfight. They can scatter shots everywhere except at the target.”
“But those shots aren’t scattered. All seven are in the same general area.” Wolford turned toward the wall then turned back to Miranda with new-found respect. “I didn’t think of that. You’re right.” He scribbled into his notebook then turned back to stare at the wall. “How did they miss?”
Toward the left Miranda noticed a glimmer from the floor. Her eyes widened then narrowed as she squatted next to an iridescent feather. A ruled marker alongside it indicated eight inches. She moved her head back and forth, left and right. Its colors shifted and shimmered as she changed viewing angles. A gasp escaped her throat. At certain angles it appeared to move. She stood. Walked around it. Backtracked, leaned, then bent. At certain angles it appeared to move only to reappear at its original position when the angle changed. The scientist submerged the nervous, frightened woman.
“Did the forensics team see this?”
“Yes, but you’re the zoologist. They left it for you.”
She reached to pick it up then stopped. “Wait a minute. This is evidence. Why aren’t the police here?”
“National security. This is federal property leased to the state. Although the local police were first on site, they have no jurisdiction. As soon as the details came to us we shut it down.”
Miranda thought the contamination risk a calculated one. She picked it up. Holding her hand steady, she leaned left. The feather disappeared from view yet she could feel it between thumb and forefinger. “Remarkable.” she breathed. She pulled out her communicator and videotaped the phenomenon.
“What kind of bird is it?” Ben asked.
“Many species have iridescent feathers. Ducks, hummingbirds, some starlings to name a few. I don’t know any with eight-inch feathers.” She reflected for a moment then made up her mind. “When we’re back outside, I want this specimen bagged and shipped fastest means possible to an address I’ll give you.”
Miranda turned her attention to the congealed blood pool. Hands on knees, a careful examination along its edge ensued. She shifted her feet inch by inch until satisfied with their position. Her index finger pointed to a smudged indentation. “Whatever killed them stood right here. That mark there is its right front toe.” She stopped and stared. Right front toe? Whatever stood here had not worn shoes. Could that partial toe print be real or an elaborate attempt to mislead?
Her eyes closed as she strained to recall long ago Physics and Anatomy lessons. Open again, Miranda leaned forward at various angles, arms straight out before her or spread wide. A befuddled Wolford paused his note taking to watch her walk over to the corpses, examine the ragged holes left by the torn arms, then return before the blood pool.
