Jan Coffey Suspense Box Set: Volume Two: Three Complete Novels: Road Kill, Puppet Master, Cross Wired

by Jan Coffey

  There were too many strands that were potentially important out there, and his people had to chase every one of them down. Every minute counted. They couldn’t afford to chase around after their tails.

  Four of the agents were already in the conference room when Geary walked in. Five more of them were connected through speaker phones. Everyone was supposed to bring what they had to the table. The SAC didn’t waste any time with formalities and got the meeting started.

  “Johnson, you’re working on Billy Ward Ebbett. What have you got?”

  Johnson’s voice came through the speaker phone. “I’m still in Madison, Wisconsin. The subject is presently with the adoptive father. Name, William Ebbett. The mother is deceased, four years ago. No other children. The father’s employer moved his department to Frankfurt, Germany, in 2004, and the father accepted a transfer. The boy moved there with him. We’ve been trying to get our Frankfurt Field Office to locate the father and Billy, but so far they have not connected.”

  “You don’t have a current address for them?” Geary asked.

  “We thought we did. But we were wrong. The Frankfurt office has an idea that William Ebbett and his son moved in with the father’s girlfriend over the Christmas holiday.”

  “A permanent move?”

  “I can’t really answer that. We don’t know the people or what their relat—”

  “I don’t want their goddamn horoscope!” Geary looked up at the ceiling, exasperated. “What I meant was, did they move in just for the Christmas holiday? Did they move their furniture and clothing and everything else in with her?”

  “Moved in, sir,” the agent said quickly. “The apartment listed as their address has been vacated, though the company’s personnel files have not been updated to show anything different.”

  “Have you identified the school Billy goes to out there?”

  “He goes to the International School. With the difference in time zones, we haven’t been able to contact them directly, but our local agents there will be in touch with the school administrators in just a few hours.”

  “Just because Billy Ebbett isn’t in the U.S., that doesn’t mean we can let down our guard,” Geary barked. “He can do the same kind of damage there.”

  “I understand, sir.”

  Geary looked down at the next line. “How about Roy Carter…Naves? Roy Naves?”

  There was absolute silence from everyone.

  He looked up at the four who were in the room. “Where the hell is everyone? Are you all sleeping?”

  Three agents started speaking at the same time.

  “He’s nowhere,” one said.

  “The same thing goes for his family.”

  “The first search for this family is turning up nothing,” the third agent agreed. “For the past eight years, there is no record of employment for the parents. Nothing on their social security records. The last address we have for them—which was temporary—was Lancaster, Pennsylvania. But they don’t live there anymore, and no one has heard of them.”

  “Whole families don’t disappear,” Geary barked. “Have you checked the death records? The national file for unidentified dead?”

  “We have,” the same agent answered. “We’ve only been looking for them since this morning, so I can’t say they’ve really vanished, sir, but so far, we’re coming up empty.”

  “Motor vehicle registration, driver’s license applications and renewals, the last place of employment, credit card records…the references they used on the adoption papers. They had to have other family. Are you looking at this from every possible angle?”

  The answer of “Yes, sir” from three agents wasn’t enough. This wasn’t good at all, Geary thought. This constituted the most uncontrolled situation of the three teenage boys they were after.

  “We’re not done with the Naves family investigation. We’ll continue this discussion individually,” Geary told them updating everyone on Donald Gray Tucker, the third boy.

  He looked at his list again. “Anything more on tracing the account number of the package sent to Dr. Bradley?”

  “We have some information,” an agent at the table reported.

  “What have you got, Smith?”

  She glanced down at her notes. “The package was sent from a self-serve UPS drop box on West Liberty Street in Reno.”

  “We need more specific information about the account number. Any luck tying it to one of the campuses or a specific department?” Geary asked.

  “No, sir. We’re back to 44,000 faculty and staff. But there’s something else.”

  “What you got, Lillian?” Geary encouraged.

  “Two packages were picked up at that drop box location on West Liberty Street in Reno using the same CSU account number.”

  “Our friend shipped two packages,” Geary said. “Who was the second package mailed to?”

  “To a Mr. Curtis Wells, president of NanoCure Research Company, in New York City,” Lillian responded, reading the address.

  “Delivered?”

  “This morning.”

  “What do we know about Wells and this NanoCure Research Company?” Geary asked.

  “I just started digging into it a few minutes ago. All I have so far is that it’s a privately held company, five and half years old and about to go public. They do biomolecular detection in the field of nanotechnology, nanobiotechnology and nanomedicine. Curtis Wells is the founder and president. They just so happened to hold a press conference this afternoon.”

  Looking at his watch, Geary considered contacting Curtis Wells tonight but decided against it. He didn’t want to burn a bridge before he crossed it.

  “I’ll visit Mr. Wells myself, tomorrow morning,” Geary said. “He could be the best lead we have.”

  He sat back in his chair.

  “NanoCure, huh?”

  ~~~~

  Chapter 32

  Thursday January 17, 8:55 p.m.

  Reno, Nevada

  There had been no time specified in the email, only name of a motel, the address, and the day she was expected to be there. There had also been no mention of whether she should come alone or not.

  Lexi stared for a moment at the half-lit signboard in front of the motel. The red neon ‘vacancy’ flickered in the dark. A plastic garbage barrel lay on its side next to the rusted metal posts. From what she could see, the rooms in front all looked dark. Another neon sign indicated the location of the office. The motel looked positively decrepit. Not a place she’d consider staying at, never mind going into by herself. Not in a hundred years.

  But she wasn’t alone.

  Bryan had stopped the car some fifty yards before the motel. “I don’t think this is such a good idea,” he told her.

  “Too late,” she whispered. “Let’s go in and see what he’s got in store for us.”

  “I can still call up a replacement.”

  “Bryan,” she said sharply.

  “Oh, no. The mother’s voice,” he shook his head, still failing to put the car in gear. “Do you know that was the first time you’ve called me by my first name?”

  She glanced at him, surprised.

  “I like it,” he said, but he quickly looked back at the front of the motel. “But I definitely don’t like this location. This place doesn’t look safe.”

  “I’m here. I came all the way to find out what this guy has to say. Besides, you told me yourself that there are at least a dozen agents in the vicinity. So let’s just go and meet the man.”

  He still didn’t put the car in gear.

  “I can walk, you know,” Lexi said, unbuckling her seatbelt and reaching for the door handle.

  Her threat did it. He slipped the car in gear and pulled into the lot, stopping in front of the office. “Just remember that you don’t get more than a foot away from me. Whatever arrangement he has made here, I’m going in with you. We’re a team. You don’t go anywhere or do anything alone.”

  “You’re repeating yourself. But whatever you say, Ag
ent Atwood.”

  “I liked ‘Bryan’ better.”

  She smiled, grabbed her purse and stepped out. She wasn’t used to having protection of this kind. She wasn’t accustomed to having anyone tell her what to do or lecture her on what was and wasn’t safe. Still, it wasn’t too bad at all.

  He was out of the car and by her side by the time she reached the door.

  “We’ll be okay. I’ll take care of you,” she whispered going inside ahead of him.

  A loud electric bell sounded as they entered. The musty smell of the place attacked her senses. The office was no more than an eight by eight room, painted lime green. A high counter divided a third of the room from the rest. A door behind the counter had been left open and they could hear a TV in the small back room. And occasional cough could be heard over the sound of the TV.

  On the wall, there was a AAA showing a three-star motel rating. The plaque was dated 1989. Above the plaque, brown rings stained the ceiling from where the roof must have leaked. Stains on the worn carpet matched the rings on the ceiling.

  No one came out of the back room to greet them. Lexi hoped she wasn’t late. She saw an old style bell on the counter but before she could ring it, a heavyset, balding man in his seventies walked out of the back room. He coughed as he approached the counter.

  “Can I help you?”

  “Yes, I…we need a room.” That didn’t sound right. She wondered if the old man’s next question would be for how many hours.

  He pushed a photocopied sheet in front of them. The top part consisted of a standard registration form. The lower section contained the prices of the rooms.

  She stared at it for a minute.

  “You don’t have to bother with all the stuff on top. But that’s the rate down there. We take Visa and MasterCard. We also take cash, but it has to be paid up front.”

  All the ‘stuff on top’ was personal information, like the name and address and phone number. Interesting that he didn’t need that.

  “Actually, now that I think of it, we might already have a reservation,” she said on a whim.

  “That so?” The look on his face was comical. “Let me check with the reservation department,” he cracked.

  The comment was funny, she supposed, considering they hadn’t seen a single car in the first row of rooms. With the exception of other FBI agents, Lexi wondered if anyone else was staying at this motel.

  He looked down at something behind the counter and coughed again. She stood on her toes and looked over the counter. He was looking through about a dozen little message slips.

  “Huh!” he said with surprise, picking up one of the slips. “What’s the name?”

  “Bradley,” she said. “Lexi Bradley.”

  “As a matter of fact, you do,” he said, grabbing a key out of the cabinet and putting it on the counter for her. Room 114. It’s in the back.”

  “Don’t we need to pay for it?” Bryan asked.

  “No, it’s all paid for. You’re staying for one night. That right?”

  “Only one night,” Lexi repeated looking up at Bryan before taking the key.

  They walked toward the door. At the last minute Bryan turned around. “Why that room and not one of the ones in front?”

  The old man shook his head. “Sheryl was working last night. I wasn’t here.” He picked up a yellow sticky note and waved it in the air, coughing again. “Thursday January 17, room 114, Lexi Bradley, paid. I couldn’t care less if you want to change the room. We’ve got about twenty others that you can have.”

  “No, that’s okay,” Lexi answered.

  “Was anyone staying at that room last night?” Bryan asked.

  “If you mean do we clean the room or not between guests, count on it. Jo is proud of the two girls who help out. The sheets and towels get changed every day, and we even wash the blankets regular. And they vacuum…” He had to pause to cough again.

  “I wasn’t worrying about cleaning,” Bryan told him. “I was just curious if that room was rented last night.”

  “You work for the IRS?”

  At the airport, Bryan had changed into jeans and a black shirt, totally shedding his federal agent image. Lexi thought he looked pretty good, in fact.

  Bryan put both hands up. “No way. I was just curious if the same friend who’d paid for the room for us was staying there last night.”

  “I don’t know. That would require keeping books. I manage the place, but Sheryl is the owner’s daughter. And she doesn’t give a shit…if you’ll pardon my French.”

  “Thanks for your help,” Bryan called, opening the door.

  Lexi took a lung full of night air as they stepped out. Two pickup trucks went by on the road.

  “I’m here, wherever you are,” she whispered, looking around at the empty lot.

  They got into the car, and Bryan immediately locked the doors. He took his time driving around to the back. As he drove, he spoke with another agent on the phone.

  Bryan backed the car into the parking space across from the row of rooms. Their headlights shone on the door of Room 114. The curtain in the front window was partially open. The lights inside the room were off.

  “Shall we?” Lexi asked, feeling the jitters starting to make her lose courage.

  “How about if you wait here until I go and check the room?” he asked.

  “Remember that ‘don’t get more than a foot away from me’ statement?” Lexi looked around the lot. “I really don’t want to sit alone in the car. If you don’t mind I’m coming with you.”

  He took something out from under the seat and stuffed it in the back of his belt. She figured it had to be a gun. He grabbed a windbreaker from the back seat and started to pull it on.

  “Is this one of those FBI jackets with reflecting letters you can see from 30,000 feet away?”

  “I’m not in the FBI,” he said, not taking his eyes off the motel room door.

  Lexi was trying to lighten the mood, but he obviously wasn’t game. She’d never seen him as serious as he was now. He glanced around the lot and fitted an earpiece into his ear.

  “There’s no reason for this guy to drag me all the way out here if he wanted to hurt me,” she said reasonably.

  “What if he holds a grudge because of what Juan did?” he told her. “In my line of work you see some very strange people. You can’t assume anything.”

  It was a possibility, she supposed. “Tell me what to do.”

  “Hold on,” he said, holding the earpiece in place. Someone was talking to him. Bryan turned to her. “We’re going inside. Don’t forget the one foot rule.”

  “Whatever you say.”

  He told her to stay inside the car until he got their overnight bags from the trunk. He came around and opened the door for her, and Lexi stepped out.

  “Do you think he’s here now, watching us?” she asked, quietly taking her bag from him.

  “No. Our people have checked everyone staying here tonight. None of them seemed to fit the profile.”

  They crossed the parking lot to the room. Lexi handed Bryan the key. She stood close to him as he unlocked the door, turned on the light and went in ahead of her. He asked her to give him ten seconds but before she could count to ten, he was ushering her in. Closing the door behind them, he set the latch.

  “This isn’t much use,” he murmured.

  She moved to the window and drew the shade, looking around at the room. A double bed, neatly made, an old TV. The lines on the carpet showed that the room had been recently vacuumed, possibly even today. She dropped her bag on one of the chairs. She guessed a partially open door at the far end of the room must be the bathroom.

  Bryan had already shed his windbreaker. He was checking inside the cabinets, looking in the small closet.

  “So what do we do now?” she asked.

  “Sit and wait,” he told her.

  ~~~~

  Chapter 33

  Thursday January 17, 11:30 p.m.

  Manhattan, New York
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br />   Curtis had a splitting headache. His wife kept all the medication in their bathroom but he wasn’t going there. He wasn’t about to leave his study and chance waking his family up. He cradled the phone against his shoulder and pulled open the drawer of his desk. There had to be a Tylenol in here somewhere.

  As he rummaged through the drawers, the man at the other end of the call continued with his tale of woe, listing the myriad reasons why they hadn’t been able to reach Juan Bradley. Curtis’s mind churned. Considering the overnight package he’d received from Mitch, Juan’s survival might be the least of their problems.

  What happened if the files they’d destroyed in Reno hadn’t been everything? How much data about their research had Mitch kept? Could some of that include information about their investors? In those days, he hadn’t worried about computer security. Their business and financial records were kept on the same central computer system. Mitch could have copied some of those files, as well.

  They shouldn’t have killed Mitch, at least not until they had some of these answers. Curtis closed the drawer and sat back. No Tylenol.

  “The good news is that Juan Bradley is still in a coma,” the man on the telephone said.

  Curtis had to find a way to minimize potential damage. Between the two hospitals, they must have already run diagnostic tests on the boy. They’d have to be blind not to see that something had been implanted in the kid’s head. Injected into the infants’ brains as a serum had been brilliant, even if it did mean that there was no hiding whatever was left of the device at this point.

  And there was another problem he had to consider. One goal of the scaffolding they’d created for the developing brains had been to implant the potential for triggered early memory.

  This was a step above high intelligence. The possibility of having a photographic memory from a very early age was what had drawn in a number of investors. Of course, too many of the test subjects had died to provide any results that mattered. Curtis thought about that now. They’d never had a chance to completely test the outcome, so he really didn’t know if he should consider Juan a threat or not. If the triggered early memory had not developed the way Mitch had theorized, it was probable Juan would never remember anything from those early days.