by JP Ratto
Without taking his eyes off Brandon, Chakir spoke in Arabic to Dhakar. Brandon noticed Chakir’s agitated tone, and whatever he said caused Dhakar to stiffen. They exchanged more words, and Brandon could tell by the sharpness of their voices and the quick looks they both shot at him that they were arguing. Brandon shifted his stance and glanced around the room in an effort to distance himself from the heated exchange. Finally, Dhakar moved toward the door and yanked on the handle.
“Let’s go, Brandon. I’m sorry for my friend’s inhospitality. Apparently, now is not a good time to be here.”
They were halfway to Wired for Sound when Brandon stopped. “I’m going to do some reading before my class. I’ll catch up with you later or tomorrow.
“Sure, my friend. And again, I’m sorry about what happened back there.” He looked at his phone and shook his head. “It’s Uncle. He needs me to open the shop right away. A customer needs assistance.”
“Not a problem,” Brandon said, and watched Dhakar put his phone to his ear and walk in the direction of the electronics store.
Taking his own phone from his pocket, he tapped in a number. “Hi,” he said, smiling. “Can you meet me? My plans have changed and I have some free time.”
Brandon waited as the person on the other end of the phone hesitated. He held his breath in anticipation.
“I…yes, of course, I will meet you. The usual place?”
“Yes,” said Brandon. “See you there.”
Brandon slipped his cell into his jacket, checked his reflection in a storefront glass, and headed toward his destination. His heart pounded with excitement at the clandestine meeting and he could think of nothing but the one he longed to see for days. Focused on his thoughts, Brandon didn’t notice the person who followed him at a distance.
CHAPTER 6
Robert Vilari stared at the top of his massive oak desk buried under reports, charts, and recommendations, all requiring his signature. He shook his head and grumbled, “What happened to the paperless world?” Shoving papers into a single pile, Vilari uncovered a framed photo of his wife and two children. He sighed. “What happened to my world?”
Since returning home from Lebanon, Vilari functioned in a semi-dreamlike state. He couldn’t yet believe what Abboud was forcing him to do. Unless he did as he was told, his family would be killed. Of that, he had no doubt.
Vilari hadn’t been home in a week. He didn’t even have time for his therapist, a worthless hack who thought corporations should be more in touch with their employees’ personal needs. Francesca insisted on therapy to make their marriage a priority. With the kids in college, she wouldn’t put up with many more lonely nights.
He gathered what he needed for another damn meeting. CEO Mark Halpern used these meetings to pressure everyone to work harder and faster on Windstorm, their latest project. Vilari’s department did the actual work to produce the bioweapon and its antidote. It would be difficult, but he believed he could meet the deadline imposed by Mr. Abboud.
Halpern had given him the same deadline.
The timing was critical for everyone. The Defense Department had to provide budgeting data for the next year and what they would spend on what products. If they didn’t agree and gave their funds to competing companies, it would be a terrible winter for employees of ADL. There were no other legitimate customers for this product.
For Vilari, the timing was dire. He wasn’t concerned that the theft of Windstorm would deprive the army of the toxin and antitoxin; ADL could always create a new batch. But Mr. Abboud had paid a lot of money in bribes to police and airport personnel. Failure to deliver would cause Amari Abboud to make Vilari’s demise painful and embarrassing to his family.
***
“Good morning, everyone.” Mark Halpern, a formidable figure in spite of his five-foot-seven height, entered the room. “Once again, I remind you that you have signed legal documents requiring your complete confidentiality regarding our products and any conversations related to those products.”
His precise speech and raised timbre irritated Vilari. There are only five people in the room, and he makes it sound like he’s addressing an army.
“For the new member of our team, Dr. Alexander Hoffman, I will summarize where we are so far.”
All eyes focused on Hoffman. Vilari was last to meet the latest addition to his team. Halpern had hired Hoffman while Vilari was in Lebanon. It was unusual for the head bioengineer not to be involved in the hiring process, and Vilari let Halpern know of his displeasure. Halpern did not apologize and told him he had no choice but to act when one of the chemists resigned unexpectedly. He had deadlines to consider. It was opportune that ADL’s Human Resources had recently reviewed Hoffman’s resume and he was immediately available. Besides, Halpern had cajoled, Vilari had enough on his plate.
Hoffman, like Vilari, was in his early fifties and above average in height and build. Except for his thick, tawny mane in contrast to Vilari’s short-cropped salt and pepper hair, Hoffman bore a striking resemblance to his new boss. He returned Vilari’s glance and nodded. Both resumed listening to Halpern.
“The Department of Defense wanted us to produce an antidote for a Russian-made toxin that could be released on American soil. The DOD has provided a list of ingredients their sources confirm are contained in what they are calling a mega toxin. To do this, we first needed to develop our own mega toxin with the ingredients in various combinations, then test it and develop an antidote. According to the reports I’ve seen so far, this anti-toxin, part of project Windstorm, is…promising.”
Vilari’s head jerked up from his notes. Promising? A few tweaks to the proportions to increase effectiveness and it’s done!
The staff had been working late nights for months. Vilari scanned the others at the table. Hands propped up chins and bloodshot eyes wandered. Everyone was bone weary and longed to return to their workstations.
“I had dinner with General Carter.” Halpern’s voice cut through Vilari’s meandering thoughts. “The CIA has advised him that our company name has turned up in chatter in the Middle East. The conversation the CIA has picked up is not specific, but there seems to be some excitement. I’ve hired Gates Global Protection to provide additional security.”
Vilari shifted in his seat, his discomfort growing.
“With regards to Windstorm, I’ve convinced General Carter a slight delay is unavoidable to perfect the product.”
Vilari shuddered at Halpern’s words.
“We negotiated and decided on three more weeks,” Halpern continued. “We’ll provide him with our working product for testing. I expect everyone in this room to do whatever is required to meet that deadline.”
Vilari sucked in a shallow breath. No. This can’t be happening! He leaned over the table in an attempt to catch Halpern’s attention. “Excuse me. Speaking for my department only, I believe we can accommodate the original deadline.”
Halpern narrowed his eyes at Vilari’s challenge.
“Well, Mr. Vilari, I’m sure you think so. I’ve read your reports, and I’m not convinced the anti-toxin will achieve the effectiveness you claim. If it doesn’t, people will die.”
Vilari blanched. He fought to remain focused on the CEO.
“Our best opportunity to get the general to sign on is our first opportunity. Please double check your calculations. I doubt you’ll have a second chance.”
Vilari’s words tumbled from his mouth before he could stop himself. “I disagree. I’ve confirmed—”
“Any other questions?” With a sharp glance at Vilari, Halpern cut him off. Halpern’s glare dared Vilari to speak. “No? Good.”
***
As Vilari paced his office, Halpern’s assessment of the project and resulting mandates whirled through the bioengineer’s mind. More security? The labs were already equipped with cameras. An unavoidable delay? Vilari wondered what could necessitate three more weeks of work on the anti-toxin. Halpern had to be wrong. If not, Vilari could not deliver to Abbou
d on schedule.
There was a loud rap on Vilari’s door. “Come in.”
Mark Halpern entered and headed for the couch.
Now what?
“I hope you have a moment, Robert.”
“Of course. Can I get you anything—coffee, tea?”
“No, I’m supposed to cut back on coffee, and I’ve had three cups since five am. How did everything go with our friends in Lebanon? Any problems?” Halpern’s crooked smile unnerved Vilari.
Lebanon is the last thing I want to discuss. “It was all pleasant. They would like to know in what way they can be helpful. There’s a lot of interest in what projects we’re working on next.” Vilari crossed and re-crossed his legs. “I guess they’re watching their bottom line too.” The last was meant as an icebreaker, but all Halpern did was nod several times.
“Oh, well, we’re not ready to share that yet.” Halpern looked agitated. “At the meeting today, you seemed on edge. Is anything wrong?”
Vilari considered telling Halpern about Abboud.
When Vilari didn’t respond, Halpern continued, “I ask because you’re managing our most important project—if there’s anything you need…”
I need a miracle. “I think our team has everything they need.”
“I have to admit, Robert, you caught me a bit off guard earlier—questioning my decision in front of everyone.”
“Sorry, Mark. I guess I got a little excited.”
“In the future, please save those comments until we can speak privately.” Halpern rose to leave. “And if you don’t believe my assessment of Windstorm is valid, show me where I’m wrong. But not today. You look exhausted. Go home and get some sleep. Tell Francesca I said hello.”
Vilari waved off the suggestion. “I’m fine, still a bit jetlagged. You look a bit peaked yourself. This project has caused everyone to lose sleep. Maybe you should take your own advice.”
Halpern shook his head. “As the saying goes, I’ll sleep when I’m dead.”
***
Mark Halpern sat forward in his office chair; his knuckles were white from clutching his cell phone. He punched in a number.
“Hello, Mark.”
“What the hell are you up to?” Halpern shouted. Vilari’s nervous reactions had caused him to make a connection that struck fear.
“I can hear very well, no need to yell in my ear. What has you so upset?”
“Don’t play dumb. I told you I wouldn’t allow the integrity of this firm to be compromised in any way. Have you got your traitorous hooks into Robert Vilari?”
“And I told you we’d find another way, with or without your help. You chose the high ground, and we are willing to accept that. You weren’t always so noble, Mark, and that’s why you won’t stand in the way.”
Halpern stood and paced the floor, listening to the lightly veiled threat. “You think you can threaten me? I don’t care what you know. What I know is far more damaging.”
“You don’t have the courage to do anything with what you know. Willing or not, you’re in this too. It was your choice not to take an active part. We can work with that.”
Halpern’s face colored with simmering rage. “You won’t get away with it. I won’t allow it.”
“You can’t stop it.”
“But I can.” Halpern would not back down. “I’m putting an end to whatever scheme you’re planning.”
Halpern heard a low condescending chuckle. “How will you do that, Mark?”
“I’m going to fire Robert Vilari in the morning.”
***
Vilari rose from his office chair and removed his jacket. He strode to the window and stared at the black sky, allowing the blinking stars to mesmerize and relax him.
What the hell was Halpern talking about? I wasted the last three hours trying to find an error that doesn’t exist.
Some department heads reviewed the data submissions and handed off report preparation to a junior staff member or an intern. But Robert Vilari had prepared the entire report himself. He had interviewed other department heads on their analysis. He spoke to their staff members to insure they took the proper steps, in the proper order. He asked those who prepared the calculations if their work was peer-reviewed.
From across the room, Vilari turned, eyed the report on his desk, and walked back. He opened Efficacy Study of Windstorm Anti-toxin and flipped to the appendix. He had checked and double-checked the calculations prepared by his chemists. They were all correct and the amounts carried over into the body of the report properly. No error. This is agony. There is only one thing left to do.
Tomorrow, he would begin the laborious process of creating a new report from scratch. Vilari had to prove Halpern wrong.
His life depended on it.
CHAPTER 7
The coolness of autumn had breezed in, shoving away New York’s moist summer heat. I love living in a four-season climate in a city that claims to never sleep. I’ve had many sleepless nights and find kinship with other restless souls who roam the streets at all hours.
Saddened over Susan’s death and the funeral I had to attend the next day, I sat in McAllister’s and drank my beer as Kyle wiped down the bar. I looked at the photo I had scanned to my phone, as I’d done countless times since receiving it in the mail.
A thick-chested man seated on Willy Sands’ regular barstool called to Kyle that he wanted to pay his tab. Distracted, I glanced over. Willy was in the hospital having his gall bladder removed. In his eighties, he had a strong constitution. I thought the guy keeping it warm for him shouldn’t get too comfortable. He caught me looking at him. I nodded.
Instead of acknowledging me as was natural, he averted his eyes. He opened his wallet and with a shaky hand, threw a bill on the bar. Swiping his forehead with a handkerchief, a few thinning strands stuck to his head. A couple days’ worth of unshaven growth covered his jowls and chin. His dark eyes moved in all directions but mine. I could tell he was nervous.
As a private investigator, I notice things. He coughed a loose, phlegmy, smoker’s cough. I wondered what his story was. Everyone who sits at a bar for hours has one. Kyle laid the man’s change on the bar. He grabbed all but two bills and headed for the exit, nearly colliding with Ray Scully.
My former NYPD partner, Ray is also a good friend. He and his wife Regina were pillars of strength for Susan and me when Marnie was abducted. I suspected he’d come to McAllister’s to see how I was handling Susan’s death. Although descended from a long line of Dubliners, he’d inherited his mother’s dark hair and complexion. The term “black Irish” came to mind. A solid-built guy with a slight paunch, thanks to Regina’s signature macaroni and cheese, Ray flattened himself against the door to let Mr. Nerves pass. He shook his head, unzipped his jacket, and scanned the bar. I caught his eye and pointed to the empty seat next to me.
“Hey.” Ray clamped a hand on my shoulder as he eased onto the barstool and ordered a beer. “See that guy? Almost knocked me over to get out the door, and he gives me a dirty look for getting in his way. Should have arrested him for assault.”
I noticed the time on my phone. “It’s kind of late for you to be out prowling.”
“Yeah, Regina lets me off the leash once in a while,” he joked, but didn’t laugh.
We both picked up our beers and drank. Not speaking for a few minutes, the silence was not awkward. We’d been friends a long time and never felt the need to fill time with inane conversation. Scully leaned back in his chair, glanced around the bar, and jerked his head in the direction of an attractive redhead sitting at the far corner to our right.
“Have you heard from that sheriff lately? What’s her name again?”
“Maddie.”
My last case had led me to Broome Pennsylvania where I met Madeline Grange. Maddie is a smart, beautiful woman whose sense of justice and personal demons drives her success as Broome’s sheriff. A girl after my own heart, we developed a rapport while working together. By the time I left Broome, we had more than a
casual interest in one another. Our phone conversations helped keep the flame alive, but I missed being with her. I invited her to come to New York for a weekend. She accepted, but stuff happened, and so the weekend didn’t. In spite of all that was going on, I still looked forward to it—and was feeling guilty about it too.
“That’s on hold right now. I—”
“Yeah, I know. Dumb question. Listen, how are you holding up? You know Regina and I will be there tomorrow. You won’t be alone.”
“Thanks. I’m okay. There’s something I want to show you.”
I brought up the picture of Marnie on the screen of my cell. I hesitated in anticipation of his reaction and turned it so Ray could see it.
“I received this photo in the mail a couple of weeks after I returned from Broome. Janet Maxwell sent it to me via her lawyers.”
Ray took the cellphone in his hands. “Is this the girl you rescued?”
“No, Ray. It’s Marnie.”
I could see he was stunned, and if I didn’t know better, shaken. “I don’t understand. You think this is your Marnie?”
“Yes.” As Ray stared at the photo of my fifteen—soon to be—sixteen-year-old daughter, I told him that although I hadn’t believed Maxwell’s claim of knowing what happened to Marnie, this was evidence she had. “She looks just like Susan did when she was young—except for the cleft in her chin.”
Ray continued to examine the picture, shaking his head. “Hard to believe, but I do see the resemblance. Do you know how Maxwell got this photo?” He handed me back the phone.
“She didn’t say, but I have an idea Douglas Cain might have something to do with it.”
“Grayson’s lawyer?”
“Yeah.”
“Lucas, are you opening that can of worms again? Man, Grayson’s running for president. The election is weeks away.”
