The Bid

by Adrian Magson

  “Could you ask her to come up here, please? I’d love to speak with her.”

  “Of course.” She reached for the phone and asked for Valerie DiPalma. She listened for a moment before replacing the phone and frowning. “I don’t understand.”

  “What?” said Ruth.

  “She’s not there. The security guards said she felt unwell and went home. Right after you arrived.”

  Ruth stood up. “Can you give me an address?” She felt the press of urgency. It just seemed too coincidental, the receptionist leaving the building so suddenly.

  Janna tapped her keyboard and scribbled down the details on a slip of paper, and held it out. “She’s listed online, so please don’t tell her I gave you this information.”

  “Of course.” Ruth took the piece of paper. It showed a Newark address. If DiPalma had been close to Chadwick, she was probably the only person who might have some idea about why he had gone off the radar and where he might be now. They could only find that out if they got to her before she, too, disappeared. “Thank you, Janna. I appreciate your help.”

  twelve

  Tommy-Lee turned as the door opened and Paul stuck his head in. He didn’t say anything but checked everything with a look, then signalled for Tommy-Lee to follow him outside.

  The man on the bed watched them, unblinking and silent, then turned his back and huddled up close, like he knew something bad was about to happen.

  The evening air hit Tommy-Lee like a sledgehammer. It was warm and sweet and tasted of dust stirred up by the arrival of the van. But it was still a million times better than the rank air he’d been breathing inside the box. He winced at the brightness of the light after the gloom, and shielded his eyes. It would have been good to have his shades, but they were back in Dougie’s place and he was hardly in a position to go back and get them.

  He took a deep breath and feasted his eyes on the open spaces. Wherever they were, the scenery went on forever. He turned and looked at his temporary home. He hadn’t seen it in daylight before. It was an ancient shed, like a small workshop, with warped overlapping wooden walls and a corrugated metal roof. A battered wooden door hid the inner door, and windows down the side showed the bare wood of the inner skin but nothing of the box inside.

  Damn, he had to hand it to Paul and his goons; you’d have to come right up close to see that there was more to this old place than first appeared. He turned and looked round and saw the two goons scuttling away towards the hangar, kicking up spurts of dust as they went. It looked like they were in a hurry and he guessed they must have been told to shake it and get under cover before a car came along. Donny was hauling his toolbox as usual and struggling to keep up with Bill, who kept looking at him and waving at him to go faster.

  Big, stupid dumb-ass, thought Tommy-Lee. Would have been quicker if he’d stuck Donny and the box under his arm and carried them both.

  “What are they doing, rewiring the old place?” he said with a grin, and immediately wished he hadn’t. Paul fixed him with a stare that could freeze water and slapped a hand on his shoulder, making him turn back to face the door to the room.

  “That’s no concern of yours. However, this is.” He moved round in front and pushed a slim nylon zip bag against Tommy-Lee’s chest. “Open it.”

  Tommy-Lee did and found he was holding an electronic device with a plastic case, about the size of a hardback book. He turned it over and saw a screen with several buttons down one side. It had a hole in one edge for a jack-plug and another for a charger.

  “It’s a DVD player,” he said. “I stole a bunch of these off a truck once. Got three hundred bucks back in Kansas City. Man, I got ripped off that time, let me tell you.”

  Paul ignored him. “You know how to work it?”

  “Sure. Enough, anyway. Had plenty of time to play with them before I unloaded the whole consignment. What’s on it?”

  Paul nodded towards the room. “That’s for him to see. I want you to show him.”

  “What, just that? No message?”

  Paul hesitated, then said, “Show him first. Let him have time to understand what he’s seeing. Then ask him if he knows what it represents. He should answer yes, because it’s very clear. But he might pretend otherwise—that it’s nothing to do with him. He might scream and shout and plead with you, but you must ignore him, no matter what he might say, what he might tell you … or what he might offer you. Make no mistake, Mr. Roddick, no matter what he offers you, ignore it.” He leaned forward until their faces were inches apart, the smell of his cologne suddenly vivid and heavy in Tommy-Lee’s nostrils. “Do. Not. Listen. Everything he tells you will be lies. You understand me?”

  “Yeah, sure. I got it. Ignore him. Then what?”

  “Then we come to your special … talents, Mr. Roddick.”

  “Huh?” Tommy-Lee wasn’t sure he’d heard right. What the hell was he talking about?

  “Your interrogation techniques, of course. Don’t all prison guards have them?”

  “Well, I wouldn’t exactly call that a talent—and we never actually interr—”

  “No matter.” Paul cut him off mid-stream with a gesture of impatience. “Your part is simple. You allow him to run out of steam, then you impress on him that the contents of this disc were filmed just yesterday … and that my men are still in position where those films were shot, close by.”

  “Will he understand what that means?”

  Paul smiled. It wasn’t a pleasant sight, and Tommy-Lee figured there was something real bad about this man. It was like a dark light far down in his eyes, but you could see it if you knew what to look for. And Tommy-Lee knew sure enough. He’d seen the same light in the eyes of detainees in Iraq and a few other places, and it carried something rotten and twisted and dangerous.

  Paul said, “I’m sure he will understand perfectly. But just to make sure—and I don’t care how you do it—see that he gets the point fully about what will happen if he doesn’t agree to do what I’ve already asked him.”

  “What will you do to him?” The moment the question was out Tommy-Lee wished he’d never asked. It breached an invisible line he instinctively knew he should not have crossed, taking him from being an impartial, paid observer to something else altogether.

  It made him one of them.

  If Paul shared the same thought, he didn’t say so. Instead he murmured coolly, “Just bear this in mind, Mr. Roddick: you’d better convince him to comply.” He checked his watch. “You have until this time tomorrow, when we come back. Not a moment longer. Because if he says no, it won’t be a good outcome for either of you.”

  thirteen

  Valerie DiPalma’s address was east of Newark’s Independence Park, in a street of neatly painted clapboard properties and small businesses. Conveniently close, Ruth decided, to James Chadwick’s apartment. Easy to reach and keep any relationship—if that’s what they had—nice and private.

  “Looks nice,” she commented. “Up-market chic.”

  “It is,” Vaslik agreed, and slid the car into a convenient space. “There are worse places to live if you have to be close to New York.”

  Through the side window they could see the park alongside. It was busy, with games of soccer and baseball, walkers circumnavigating the pathways, and others merely sitting and enjoying the atmosphere.

  Vaslik led the way, and they reached a small apartment building with a bank of six entry-phone buttons by the front door. Ruth pressed the button by DiPalma’s name and signalled to Vaslik that she would take the lead.

  “Yes?” The words were slightly distorted by electronics, but the receptionist’s voice was clearly recognisable.

  “Miss DiPalma, it’s Ruth Gonzales. We spoke earlier at StoneSeal. May we speak with you, please?”

  “Wha—why?” DiPalma sounded close to panic and her voice faded as if she had backed away from the speaker. “I’m so
rry … I’m not feeling very well. Can we do this another time?”

  “Not really. It’s very important that we find James. I’m sure you want that, too, don’t you?” There was no response and for a second Ruth thought she’d been cut off. Then she heard the woman breathing and added gently, “We’re not here to make judgements, Valerie. We just want to find James.”

  There was no answer, but the buzzer sounded and there was a click as the door catches were released.

  Valerie’s apartment was on the second floor at the back, and looked out on a small yard. She was waiting for them. Dressed in jeans and a man’s shirt, she looked very different from her desk persona at StoneSeal—somehow less distant and cold, and more vulnerable. She stepped back and allowed them to enter. It was a small place, comfortable and light, enough for a single person or a couple who liked close proximity. Furnished in a modern, stylish collection of Scandinavian design, it suited its owner for colour and neatness.

  Ruth smiled and handed the woman a card containing her cell phone number, but received only a muted response. She took the offered spot on a two-seater settee while Vaslik took a hard-backed chair by the door, signalling his detachment from the conversation.

  “I don’t know what you think I can tell you about Mr. Chadwick,” Valerie said softly, fingering the card. “There must have been some misunderstanding—”

  “We’re not interested in your relationship with him,” Ruth said flatly, cutting through her words and making her blink in surprise. “A man’s gone missing and our task is to find him. What your relationship with him might be or might have been is your business, not ours.” She leaned forward, fixing the young woman with a stare. “Seriously, it’s the twenty-first century, Valerie; people get together, become friends or closer—it happens. That’s not what we’re here for. And neither will we discuss what you tell us with anybody else. We simply need your help in finding out what happened to James and hopefully to bring him back.” She paused, allowing the woman time to think.

  “I … we were friends,” Valerie said at last, her face going pink. “At least, it started that way. He was always nice to me, very polite and correct. Not all men are. We bumped into each other locally a couple of times and we always seemed to laugh a lot, which was nice. I knew he was married, but I could tell he wasn’t happy. We were friends at first but it changed—” She looked away, tears forming in her eyes and her voice breaking. “I’m sorry. I don’t know where he is—I promise. I wish I did. I’m worried sick about him.”

  “Tell me how he was recently,” Ruth said. “You know his moods, his demeanour; how did he seem to you?”

  “I’m not sure. He was always busy with work, but we really couldn’t discuss what he was involved in. He was very correct about that.”

  “Okay. Was he unusually stressed or secretive? Did he show any changes of temperament? Anything.”

  “He was under pressure, sure. But that wasn’t unusual. But … about two weeks ago he told me he thought he was being followed.”

  “By whom?”

  “He wasn’t sure. A man, that’s all he said. I thought he was joking at first. We’d been talking about him being away for a few days on one of his assignments and he kept saying, ‘That’s classified, ma’am,’ in a dramatic voice, even when I asked him where we should eat later that evening.” She smiled at the memory and blushed, then looked stricken.

  “What?” Ruth prompted her.

  Valerie nodded towards a door at the side of the room. “We were in there … in bed. He had something on his mind, I could tell. I asked him what was wrong and he told me he kept seeing the same man in the street.”

  “Where?” said Vaslik.

  Valerie glanced over, as though she’d forgotten Vaslik’s presence. “Twice near his apartment and outside the StoneSeal building. He said he was sure the man was following him. I said it could be work-related; the security agencies running a background check like they do occasionally. But he said he wasn’t working on anything government-related and why would they need to do that?”

  “Did he describe this man?” said Ruth.

  “No. He just said a man.” She looked at them in turn, brushing away a tear rolling down one cheek. “I promise you, I have no idea where James might be. This isn’t some kind of thing to hide what was building between us; if we were going to get together permanently, we’d do it and be upfront about it.”

  “Had you talked about that?”

  “Talked around it, sure. Joked about it, too … in a kind of dreamy, wouldn’t-it-be-nice way. But we hadn’t made the final decision.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a tissue. “I’m sorry.”

  Ruth allowed her to mop at her eyes, then said carefully, “Valerie. I know what it’s like between work colleagues who develop feelings for each other. It doesn’t matter how careful they are, eventually they talk—first about each other and their feelings, then about work, other colleagues, anything else. It’s normal. Stuff comes out because that’s how things develop. It’s natural.” She glanced at Vaslik but he nodded for her to continue. “Did James confide in you about anything else? It might not have been work-related, or about his marriage. But anything … his life generally.”

  “You mean like the guy following him?”

  “Yes.”

  She thought it over, then said, “There was something he told me about six weeks ago, I think it was, maybe a little more. He’d been to give a talk at a technology convention near Chicago some weeks before that. They’d asked him to participate in a demonstration, and he was excited to be doing something that wasn’t about the usual subjects StoneSeal worked on, like economics or business. Anyway, he told me that he was on his way out of the convention center after finishing the demonstration, when he was stopped by a delegate who wanted his help with a business project he was putting together. He told the man he wasn’t able to do that because of ongoing work commitments, but the guy wouldn’t let it go. He said he was interested in getting a new project off the ground and needed some expert help, and would pay James well to help him. He mentioned twenty thousand dollars as a fee.”

  “That’s a lot of help,” said Vaslik.

  “That’s what James said. He figured the guy was a dreamer just showing off and wanting to come across as a big shot. But he eventually agreed to have a drink with him, as he figured it might be the best way to let him down gently without offending him. They went to a bar and the man chatted about nothing in particular, then asked about James’s family. James thought that was getting intrusive, so he decided to leave. That’s when the guy dropped a bombshell.” She stopped and dabbed at her eyes, gently shaking her head.

  “What kind of bombshell?” Rush asked, and leaned forward. “Valerie? What did this man say or do?”

  “He … he suddenly got very angry, as if James had promised him something then let him down. He made it obvious that he knew a whole lot more about James than he’d first pretended; he knew where he worked, where he lived—even that James was something of an expert in the specific field he’d been talking about at the convention.” She shivered. “James said it was creepy how quickly he switched from being friendly to being very threatening, and how he seemed to know all about James’s life going back years—like he’d been studying him.”

  “What did James do?”

  “He told the man he couldn’t help him and walked out. It was the only thing he could think of. I asked him why he hadn’t called the police, but he said the guy was clearly a nut and he didn’t want to make waves. But I know he was thinking about it for a while after and he said he might mention it to somebody. But I don’t know if he ever did.”

  “You said James was an expert in this field of technology. Did he talk to you about it or mention any specifics?”

  “No. He’d once mentioned that he was planning to take his son, Ben to a model exhibition in England, and said he’d alwa
ys been into that kind of stuff. But he … we didn’t really talk about that side of his life much. I think he found it very difficult and I didn’t want to intrude. To be honest, it was easier for us both to avoid the subject.”

  “But the convention definitely wasn’t work-related?”

  “No. He told me it was all separate from work. I think it was his way of unwinding.” She gave a small shrug. “I think he knew I wasn’t really into it so he didn’t discuss it.”

  Vaslik said, “Do you remember the name of the convention?”

  She gave it some thought and said, “It was something like Unmanned Aerial Expo or words like that. Sorry—I don’t remember exactly. It was near Chicago airport, I know that, because he mentioned getting a shuttle bus that had been set up for exhibitors and delegates.”

  When Vaslik didn’t say anything, Ruth glanced at him. He was sitting very still, his forehead creased in a frown as if he’d experienced a surprise.

  Valerie noticed his expression, too, and took it to mean he’d misunderstood her. She added quickly, “I’m sorry. James said it was all about unmanned systems for commercial and private use. He reckoned it was going to be all the rage very soon but he wasn’t sure that it was a good thing. He certainly seemed to know a lot about it, and said there was a certain type of technology that had started out as a toy, but was now available in advanced versions with dangers that hadn’t been fully considered.”

  “What kind,” Ruth interjected, “of unmanned systems was he talking about?”

  “Quad-something or other, he said. I can’t recall now. Radio-controlled flying machines, anyway.” She smiled. “He’s a bit of a geek on the quiet.”

  “Quad-copters?” Vaslik sat up. “Did he say quad-copters?”

  “That’s it. He showed me a picture on Google. It looked like something out of Star Wars.” She looked at Vaslik. “Does that help?”

  “Maybe. Maybe not.” Vaslik was looking serious. “There are lots of different types and names. But most people call them drones.”