The Evolution of Evil (The Blackwell Files Book 6)

by Steven F Freeman

  The team took a few minutes to look for themselves but couldn’t turn up anything new.

  Fifteen minutes later, the investigators loaded onto Fuentes’ patrol boat for a return trip to Santa Cruz Island.

  Tuttle seemed to be mumbling to himself. Alton approached the agitated scientist. “Dr. Tuttle, are you okay?”

  “I’m fine, but who knows how Dr. Summit is doing?” burst out the normally placid allergist. “We don’t have time for delays like this. If we’re to have any hope of saving her life, we have to find her—now.”

  “Agreed,” said Alton. He turned to Mallory. “That trip was a bust. Not only does possibly the only living suspect of Summit’s abduction die, but we couldn’t find any evidence of his attacker.”

  “Let’s not give up hope,” replied Mallory. “We haven’t heard from the teams on Santa Cruz since we left. Maybe they’ve turned up something we can use.”

  “That’s true,” said Alton. “I’ll wait until we’re ashore to ask for an update. I can barely hear on this thing.” His phoned chimed, and he glanced down at it. “It’s Vega. He wants me to give him a call. I wonder what’s up now.”

  CHAPTER 53

  All the investigators rendezvoused at Summit’s research facility. As they entered the lab, they each grabbed a sandwich and water Pavia had laid out on a side table near the entrance.

  Alton faced the group. “Vega wants me to call him,” he said, taking a hasty bite of turkey and cheese on white. “Before I do, let’s debrief. I imagine he’ll want an update.”

  “No luck finding Quintana,” said the Gooch. “We canvassed the neighborhoods closest to where we lost his trail the other day, but no one knows him.”

  “At least they say they don’t know him,” added Rios. “The people in these pueblos, they stick together.”

  “What about you, Lieutenant Torres?” said Fuentes, “Have our four suspects been able to provide alibis for the times Gromov and Garza were attacked?”

  “All four suspects said they were asleep at the time Garza was attacked,” said Torres. “And how do you prove that is not true?”

  “Fair enough,” said Alton. “What did they have to say about their activities during the evening of the day before yesterday, the time Gromov was killed?”

  Torres consulted a page of scribblings in a small, spiral-bound notebook. “Señor Pavia says he went out to dinner with his wife at the time Gromov was killed. His wife confirmed it.”

  “But she is his wife…” said Mallory, looking on knowingly. “She might say that even if he wasn’t with her. Did you confirm their meal with the restaurant?”

  “Not yet,” said Torres. “That is going to be my next stop.”

  “And the other suspects?” asked Alton.

  “I spoke with Wendy Chin first thing this morning. She says she was at her hotel all evening, but she was not with anyone. There is no way to confirm this, since she was alone. Then I called Charlie LeFlore and got the same story. He says he watched the television all evening and ‘was bored out of his mind.’ Both resorts have security guards, but neither place has security cameras, so we can’t check to see if they actually left.”

  “I see,” said Alton. “What about Shoemaker?”

  “He is an angry man,” said Torres. “I asked him where he was during those times, and he said some bad words.”

  “Nice,” asked Alton, rolling his eyes. “Did he offer up an alibi?”

  “No,” replied Torres. “He said if we can prove he had anything to do with those crimes to come arrest him.”

  “Okay. Is there any way to discover his movements?”

  “Sort of,” said Torres. “A lady named Señora Garcia was working the front desk of Shoemaker’s hotel at the time of Gromov’s murder. She says she saw him go into his room late in the morning and did not see him leave until that night.”

  “Would she have seen him?” asked Mallory. “Does she have a view of his room?”

  “She has a good view, but she said that a lot of the time she is helping the guests,” replied Torres. “She might not have seen Shoemaker if he left.”

  “So nothing conclusive for any of the suspects,” said Alton. “No smoking guns, but no one we can eliminate from suspicion, either.” He checked his watch. “I need to call Vega back. Why don’t you guys stick around in case he has questions I can’t answer? I’ll put the call on speaker.”

  Alton attached a camera to his laptop, and the team gathered around. He placed the call and waited as the phone rang. The remote location rendered the quality of the signal less than pristine. The warbling call tone reminded Alton of the sounds a Lava Gull had made a few days ago when it flew into one of the lab’s plate glass windows.

  “Hello?”

  “Agent Vega, it’s Alton Blackwell. I heard you missed us.”

  The NSA manager chuckled. “I can’t even sleep at night with you all gone.” He turned serious. “I’d like an update on your progress, then I have some news to share.”

  Alton provided a concise summary of the past day’s events, once or twice checking with teammates to ensure he had his facts straight.

  “So next step is to keep looking for Quintana?” asked Vega.

  “Yes,” replied Alton, “and to continue reviewing Summit’s files. They’ve been the source of most of our intel so far.” Alton hesitated. “Agent Vega, you said you had some news to share? Is it concerning Delaney?”

  “That actually wasn’t my news. But I can tell you Delaney is hanging in there. No real change in her condition, but it’s early days yet. At least she hasn’t gotten worse.”

  The group breathed a collective sigh of relief.

  “No,” continued Vega, “my news concerns a conversation I had this morning with Senator Jackson, Summit’s husband. It seems a colleague of Jackson’s is putting pressure on the NSA to de-fund your investigation, saying it’s a waste of taxpayer money to spend so much looking for a single citizen.”

  “That wouldn’t have been Senator Leach, would it?” asked Alton.

  “Bingo,” said Vega. “I’m looking at a follow-up e-mail Leach sent to my boss. He says, ‘The Ecuadorian police are perfectly capable of conducting this search without the need for wasteful spending by our government.’”

  “You know there’s no love lost between Jackson and Leach, right?”

  “Oh, yeah. They’ve been duking it out for years.”

  Alton mulled over the news. “It makes me wonder if Leach is truly worried about government spending or has a more personal agenda.”

  “Could be,” replied the NSA manager.

  “Agent Vega,” said Mallory, “what kind of response is Leach getting on the hill? Is anyone listening to him?”

  “Not much yet, but it’s starting to build.”

  “But hasn’t Jackson explained what’s going on?” said Mallory. “There have been multiple murders here, possibly including an important American scientist. And there could be more if we don’t get to the bottom of this.”

  “I understand, Agent Blackwell,” replied Vega, “and I agree with you. But it’s the same old bipartisan BS here. Support in the Senate has less to do with the merits of Leach’s argument than with party affiliation.”

  “So what’s the bottom line?” asked Alton. “Could our investigation be shut down?”

  “If Leach gets enough senators complaining to my boss, then yes. Rather than deal with the political flak, he’ll suspend our operation.”

  “And is Leach gaining that kind of support?”

  “He’s starting to. Two other senators have already reached out to the NSA. If Leach convinces a few more, you all may be heading home sooner than expected.”

  “Understood,” said Alton. “We’ll get back on the investigation as soon as this conversation ends.”

  “In that case, I’ll let you go.” Vega hesitated. “Good luck, Blackwell. You’re going to need it.”

  Alton disconnected the call and turned to face the team. “Let’s make the
best use of the hours we have left today. Torres will finish confirming our suspects’ alibis. Mallory, Cragmire, and I will work on Summit’s files. Captain Fuentes, I recommend that Gooch work with Rios to expand the search area for Quintana.”

  “Yes,” said Fuentes. “And I’ll assign Muro to Quintana’s search, too. I also have some volunteer constables I can ask to help. We’ll get as many people as possible looking for this man.”

  “I’m wondering,” said Alton. “Would the local government be willing to offer a reward for anyone who can locate Quintana? That might encourage a witness to come out of the woodwork.”

  “I’ll check with the governor, but I don’t think he will say yes. He is pretty tight with the money.”

  “It’s worth a shot.” Alton surveyed the group one last time. “Call me if you find anything significant or need help. Now let’s get to work.”

  The group broke up and scattered until only Alton and Mallory were left.

  “I can’t believe Leach is such a prick,” said Mallory. “I wonder what he’d do if it were his wife. I bet he wouldn’t be complaining to the NSA then.”

  “Yeah, even for Washington, that’s low,” replied Alton. “Unless there’s another reason…”

  “Okay, I know that look,” said Mallory. “I can see the wheels turning. What is it?”

  “Nothing yet,” said Alton. “Nothing that has any evidence to support it, at least.”

  “Well, let me know if you want to bounce an idea off me.”

  “I will. In the meantime, thanks to Leach, we have another clock that’s ticking down on our investigation—as if we needed a new one.”

  CHAPTER 54

  The sun sank low in the horizon. On the equator, night never falls much later than six or seven o’clock.

  In the research center, Alton was working on decrypting the fifth day of Summit’s lab notes when Mallory’s phone rang. She examined the caller ID on her phone. “It’s my forensics lab. Want to join the call?”

  “Yep,” said Alton, kicking off an automated search routine to run in the meantime.

  Mallory answered the call and switched her phone over to speaker. “Agent Blackwell.”

  “It’s Withers,” said the FBI analyst on the other end. “Remember that nylon cord you sent in for analysis?”

  “Yes, the one from the tortoise necklace, right?”

  “Exactly. First, the good news. We were able to extract some DNA from it, just like you hoped.”

  Mallory glanced at Alton and nodded. “Awesome.”

  “Now for the not-so-good news. We ran it against NDIS and didn’t get a match. Whoever this DNA is from, he or she isn’t a registered criminal. Not the in US, at least.”

  “Unfortunate, but not surprising,” said Mallory.

  “It’s not a complete bust,” said Alton. “I doubt any of our suspects here are listed in NDIS, but if they are, they can be eliminated as the owner of that pendant.”

  “Exactly,” said Withers. “If you have a particular person in mind, a particular suspect, send us a DNA sample. We’ll compare it to the DNA from the necklace. In the meantime, send me a list of your persons of interest, and I’ll bump up their names against our records. Might as well eliminate anyone you can.”

  “Will do,” said Mallory. “Thanks.”

  She turned back to Alton. “How’s your work coming?”

  He shifted in his seat. “I should have the next day’s notes cracked pretty soon.” He leaned over to check the results of the job he had initiated before the call. “Ah-ha—success!”

  Mallory leaned over to peer at Alton’s laptop display. “You’re in?”

  “Yep. I’ll send the files to you and Cragmire in the next five minutes. I’m going to review them, too. I could work on decrypting the next set of files, but I’m afraid if we don’t finish this case soon, it won’t matter how many days’ notes I decode.”

  Mallory returned to her laptop, where she had been working before Withers’ call. Alton sent the files to Mallory and Cragmire, then activated Summit’s research program and began scrolling through the journaling module, the same application that had provided the names on Chin and LeFlore. Silence reigned for twenty minutes as he and Mallory focused on their work.

  “Listen to this,” said Alton, using a finger to keep his place in a small section of text buried within a sea of notes. ‘Latest set of alpha files saved to flash drive and stored in the usual place.’ I wish we knew what she meant by ‘the usual place’.”

  “Why don’t you ask Senator Jackson? He might know.”

  “Good idea. In fact, I’m going to call him right now. I’ll use the laptop camera again so we can both participate.”

  Alton initiated the call. He and Mallory waited as the senator’s administrative assistant put them through.

  “Senator Jackson? It’s Alton Blackwell and my wife Mallory.”

  “Blackwell!” said Jackson. “The guy with the limp, right? Do you have any news?”

  “Not yet, but I need your help,” said Alton. “Your wife’s lab notes refer to her storing her most important research files in ‘the usual place,’ which she earlier referred to as ‘the tunnel.’ Do you have any idea what she might be referring to?”

  The senator couldn’t hide the disappointment from his voice. “No. Jan is clever, though. She’d put it somewhere no one would think to look.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of,” said Alton.

  “Blackwell, I know my wife’s research is important, but do you really think finding it—even the most important parts of it—will help locate her?”

  Alton rubbed his chin. “I can’t say for sure, Senator. But I prefer more evidence over less, and while the rest of the team tries to track down leads on our suspects, this seems like a good place to focus my energies.”

  “Hmm…maybe.” The senator didn’t sound convinced. “Or maybe you’re just trying to coast with a cushy assignment.”

  Mallory began to bristle, but Alton held out a placating hand. “If I wanted to avoid work,” he told the senator, “I wouldn’t have come here in the first place.”

  The disdain in Jackson’s voice was evident. “Since when did the NSA start giving its agents the option to refuse an assignment? You’re there because you were ordered, buddy boy.”

  “No, senator, I’m here because I agreed to the NSA’s request. I don’t work for them. I’m a civilian.”

  “A civilian? Then why they hell are you even involved?”

  “Because I have the decryption skills needed for this mission. If you don’t want me here, I can pack up tomorrow. And leave the rest of your wife’s notes encrypted.” Alton decided to omit the fact that he, a civilian, now led the team of NSA investigators. That piece of information would really send the senator over the edge.

  “No, no.” Jackson paused. “Dammit, I’m sorry. This whole thing has got me so on edge. It’s the not knowing that drives me crazy.”

  “I understand, Senator. I know this is upsetting for you, but we both want to recover your wife, so I’m going to press forward. Did she ever hide her notes in the past, when she worked back in Washington?”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact. She’d save them to flash drives and squirrel them away. Didn’t trust keeping key records on the servers or even her hard drive. ‘Too easy to steal,’ she said.”

  Mallory seemed to warm to the topic. “Where did she hide the flash drives at home?”

  “Let me think…I gave her an Eiffel Tower piggybank when we traveled to Paris for our twentieth anniversary a few years ago. She hid it inside there.”

  “Did she bring the bank with her down here to the Galapagos?” she asked.

  “No,” said Jackson. “It’s still sitting on her dresser here in Washington.”

  “Crap,” said Alton. “Well, at least we know her pattern. Maybe that will help.”

  “Yep. And Blackwell, if the NSA trusts you, I guess I should, too. Please let me know if you need anything else from me.”


  “I will,” said Alton, ending the call.

  He turned to Mallory. “Can you think of anything comparable here that Summit might have used to hide her flash drive?”

  “Not off the top of my head,” said Mallory. “Maybe we should look around again.”

  The couple spent the next thirty minutes searching the lab and administrative offices but found nothing.

  Alton’s leg throbbed from the past few days’ overexertion. His eyes and mental acuity both felt bleary. He looked at his watch. “It’s past eight o’clock. Let’s round up the gang on a teleconference, debrief, and call it a night—unless someone is hot on a lead.”

  It turned out no one had any leads. “Take a taxi directly back to the resort,” Alton told the NSA team members. “We need to get as much rest as we can. Captain Fuentes, can we meet in your office tomorrow?”

  “Yes,” replied the policeman, “and I recommend an early start.”

  “Agreed,” said Alton. “Let’s make it eight o’clock.” He paused, then added, “Assuming the NSA hasn’t already pulled the plug on our investigation by then.”

  CHAPTER 55

  Just past midnight, Cesar Pavia pulled his ancient F10 pickup to a creaking stop in the parking lot of Summit’s research facility. The glow of a waning moon and the building’s outdoor floodlights cast just enough light to illuminate the approaching figure of Sergeant Muro.

  Muro returned Pavia’s wave and stopped a few feet away.

  “Good evening,” said Pavia.

  “Good evening to you,” replied Muro, stifling a yawn. “Back to work again?”

  “Yes. You have been here long?”

  “Aye, four hours, and I don’t leave until the morning.”

  “That long? You need a rest, my friend,” said Pavia.

  “For sure. But I don’t think my captain would approve.”

  Pavia leaned in close, as if the facility’s nocturnal birds might repeat their conversation to someone else. “I’m going to be here for an hour or two. Why don’t you take a little nap? Nothing’s going to happen as long as I’m here.”