by Jack Bowie
He had immediately requested a drink and she had disappeared, returning with a tumbler filled with Scotch, and a glass of white wine for herself. The story of his meeting with Luckett had filled the next half-hour.
“Who would have done this?” she asked.
Braxton shook his head. “Taylor didn’t say. He just tried to talk about Vision One.”
“Vision One? They did this to him? But why would they . . . torture him so?”
“I can only guess that whoever did this was trying to find out what Taylor knew. And apparently was after me as well. Taylor was the bait.”
“That’s awful. Do you think Taylor really discovered something?”
Braxton rubbed his forehead. What was it Luckett had said?
“He said something about it not being Amsterdam. Not what we thought.”
“What not being Amsterdam?”
“I don’t know Sydney. That’s all he said.” His hands were shaking. He had to calm down.
“I’m sorry, Adam.” She reached over and placed her hand on his shoulder. It actually did make him feel better. “What do we do now?”
“I don’t know.” His head fell back into his hands. “I was afraid to go home. I’m sorry I bothered you.”
“Oh, stop it, Adam Braxton. Don’t start feeling sorry for yourself now. I’ve got something to show you.” Walker stood up and went over to a small desk in the corner of the living room. When she returned she had a folder in her hand. “But first of all you need to contact the police. Someone was bound to see you at the Memorial.”
“Okay. In a minute. But I’ve got to think this through. They’ll want to talk to me. Drag me down to some goddamn interrogation room. I’d like to be able to live long enough to get there.”
“I’m sure they’d protect you.”
He curled his nose at her. “Sure. I’m everybody’s favorite person right now. Guess what the DNI would say if he found out I was getting Luckett to investigate Vision One? How would the DIA feel about your involvement?”
Walker’s silence was enough of an answer.
“So what have you found?” he asked.
“I’ve been trying to figure out what Paul would have done. We know he was soaking DoD for money to develop an antibiotic for C. Pneumoniae. According to the lab tech documents, he had found it, but needed more time to work out the manufacturing process.”
“Then we came along.”
“Right. He couldn’t afford to have his project discovered so he buried it.”
“You mean torched it. But why would he destroy his own lab?”
“I don’t think he really did. I think he packed up the lab, moved it somewhere else, then set the underground facility on fire to cover its real use.”
“And concoct that archive story to bury us.”
“Paul is a very bright man. And very practical. The structural damage from the fire was minimal. I’ll bet he didn’t lose one full day of work in the rest of the Vision One building.”
“That’s still a helluva chance to take. What if the fire had gotten out of control? It could have destroyed his building.”
“Not if he knew what he was doing. It’s the only explanation that makes sense. Who else would have wanted to destroy the lab? Who else could have? You saw the security.”
“Okay, say I buy this. Venton moved his lab and set a fire for a cover. But where did he take it?”
“That’s what I’ve been working on. It has to be fairly big, he couldn’t do it in a house. Probably a commercial property for the power and other utilities. I checked all the ownership records and . . .”
Braxton curled his brow at his companion.
“Okay, I didn’t do it. I’ve got a friend in the Department of Justice. He pulled some strings. Anyway, no new property transfers in Venton’s name or Vision One. Anywhere, including Amsterdam.”
“What about property he already owned?”
“We checked that too. There’s nothing in Amsterdam except the new Vision One building.”
Suddenly something clicked.
“That’s what Taylor said,” Braxton cried. “‘It’s not in Amsterdam.’ He meant the lab.”
“Then where could it be?”
“What about California?”
Walker’s mouth opened, but no words came out. Her eyes drifted up to the ceiling.
“Maybe, just maybe,” she said.
“Maybe what, Sydney!”
“A lot of the old-timers at Vision One would reminisce about their first facility. It was a small warehouse on Alameda Island. They were only there a few years but everybody talked about it like it was their family home. They said Venton never sold it out of sentimentality.”
“Maybe it was more like practicality,” Braxton replied. “A place to hide a little biological moonlighting. Not like he hasn’t done it before. I’m thinking we need to visit that island in the bay. You up for it?”
“Who’s buying the ticket?”
“I’m losing my business, remember? Dutch treat.”
Walker shook her head. “Why do I let you talk me into these midnight escapades?”
“It’s only a plane ride.”
“Okay, okay. But I’ve got to pack a few things first.” She turned and walked toward the front hallway. “Don’t you have a call to make?” she asked.
“Oh, right.”
Braxton picked up the phone and punched a number. Seven rings later a sleepy voice answered.
“Hello?”
“Sam? It’s Adam.”
“Adam?” Fowler replied. “What are you doing calling me now? I’m in bed.”
“Sorry, Sam, but it’s been a busy night.”
“I don’t want to hear this, do I?”
Braxton hated it when the huge man whined. “Taylor Luckett was killed tonight. Tortured.”
“What!”
“I was supposed to meet him at the Lincoln Memorial. Someone got to him first.”
“Who would want to kill the reporter?”
“We were looking for something that connected the militia attacks to Vision One. Taylor must have found something.”
“What do the D.C. cops say?”
“I didn’t stay to find out. They started taking target practice at me, so I split.”
“Jesus, Adam. Where are you? What are you going to do?”
Before Braxton could answer he heard a knock at the door. Walker appeared from a doorway in the hall and stared back at him, a look of fear on her face.
“Go see who it is,” he whispered, waving his hand in the direction of the door.
“What?” came the voice from the phone.
“Sorry, Sam. That’s why I called. We’re going to San Francisco.”
“Yes, who is it?” Walker called through the door.
“Why are you going to San Francisco?” Fowler pressed. “And who’s we?”
“Venton has another building,” Braxton replied. “We think he moved the lab there.”
“Adam, who is we?” the ex-cop repeated.
“FBI, ma’am. Special Agent Davis.” The deep, resonant voice echoed through the apartment like thunder. Braxton’s head spun toward the door. “I’d like to talk to you about Adam Braxton.”
“Shit!” Braxton whispered.
* * *
“Adam? Braxton!”
The line went dead. Fowler slammed down the phone and fell back onto the mattress.
“Braxton again?” his wife asked from the other side of the bed. “Please leave it alone, Sam. You know what happened last time.” She rolled over and stretched her arm across his chest.
What the hell was the damn consultant doing now? Braxton was in over his head again, and this time Fowler was in no position to help. He had no authority. No cavalry to call. There was only one option. Braxton would be pissed as hell, if he lived long enough.
“I can’t, honey. I just can’t.” He tenderly set her arm aside and reached back for the phone.
Chapter 64
Bet
hesda, Maryland
Saturday, 10:45 p.m.
“What do I do, Adam?” Walker whispered. Braxton had joined her at the apartment door.
“Stall,” he replied quietly. “Ask to see his badge.”
Walker turned back to the door. “Could I see your badge please? We’ve had some trouble in the building lately.”
“Certainly, ma’am,” the voice said.
“Now what?” she asked, turning back to the inside of the apartment.
Braxton pushed her aside and squinted through the security fisheye. He saw an average-sized man holding an FBI identification card in front of his face. As he watched, the card slid down, exposing the features behind. What he saw turned his body as cold as the black voids staring back at him.
“Adam? What’s wrong? Is the badge real?”
He grabbed her arm and pulled her away from the door. “It’s the man who attacked me at my office.”
“My God!” Walker gasped. “How did he find you?”
“How did he find you?” Braxton’s heart was racing. Seeing those eyes had revived the terror of that night. “And I bet this is the same man who killed Taylor. We’ve got to get out of here!”
They needed time. Braxton’s eyes scanned the room for ideas. Nothing.
The pounding in his head was becoming unbearable. He could barely think. What can we do?
“Tell him you have to get dressed,” he finally whispered. “It will give us a couple of minutes.”
“But there’s no . . .”
“Do it!”
She nodded and leaned back toward the door.
“I’ve got to get some clothes on. I’ll be right back.”
“Yes, ma’am. This won’t take very long, by the way.”
Braxton pulled her back into the living room.
“How can we get out?” he asked.
“That’s what I was trying to tell you. There isn’t any other way out. What are we going to do?”
“Well, staying here will not be very pleasant, I assure you.” He scanned the room looking for something. Anything. His eyes stopped at the balcony sliding doors. “What’s out there?”
“Just the balcony,” she replied, as he ran for the doors. “Where are you going? We’re ten stories up!”
Braxton slid open the door and stuck his head into the night. A cold, damp wind slapped him in the face. It was still raining, but the balcony of the apartment above acted as a canopy and shielded him from the brunt of the storm.
“Get a coat and some clothes. And hurry. He won’t wait much longer. Go!”
Walker disappeared back into the room off the hallway, then returned a few seconds later in a light nylon jacket and carrying a small duffel bag. Braxton had had barely enough time to think through their next step.
“Don’t look so surprised,” Walker said to his obvious confusion. “I had a go-bag ready. Now what do we do?”
“We’re going to pay an unexpected visit to your neighbors.”
He pulled her out to the balcony, grabbed her bag, and nonchalantly tossed the duffel over her railing and onto the matching balcony of the adjoining apartment.
“Adam,” Walker cried. “You can’t be serious.”
“It’s our only chance, Sydney. Watch me. It’s not that hard.”
So much for the pep talk. It had been two years since he had done any serious rock-climbing; he hoped he still had a few of those skills left.
It wasn’t all that much of a leap. Only a short four-foot space separated the two railings. All he had to do was ignore the hundred-foot drop to the concrete pavement below.
Braxton grabbed a plastic patio chair and pulled it next to the railing. He stepped onto the chair and climbed up to the side railing, trying to get a foothold on the slick metal bar while balancing against the damp brick of the building exterior. He took a deep breath and, never looking down, swung out his right leg until it touched the neighboring railing.
Another breath and he reached out with his right arm, digging his fingers around a protruding brick face. He flattened his body against the wall and finally exhaled. Turning his head, he saw the lights of the D.C. skyline through the rain.
“Adam? Are you alright?”
The voice seemed miles away. All of a sudden he felt very tired. Why was he having so much trouble concentrating?
“Adam!”
Another breath and he yanked his right arm with all the strength he had. His body pivoted over his lead foot and he fell awkwardly onto the far landing.
“Are you okay?” Walker called across the space.
“Yes,” he yelled back, pulling himself up. “It’s easy. Now it’s your turn.”
“Adam, I can’t.”
“You have to, Sydney. He won’t wait much longer. Just crawl up and give me your hand. I’ll pull you over.”
She took one look back into the apartment and put her foot up on the chair. Her next step was to the railing. As she stood balanced at the brink, Braxton saw her eyes wander downward.
“No!” he yelled. “Don’t look down. That’s not where you’re going. Look at me.”
Her head came up. Tears welled in her eyes. He had to get her over.
“Reach over and give me your hand. You can do it.”
Walker extended her arm. Her hand barely passed the railing.
“Come on, Sydney, I know you did far worse than this in boot camp. Reach over and grab my hand.”
He thrust his hand out into the rain. Walker leaned forward and their fingers met. He stretched farther and grabbed her wrist. Her fingernails dug into the soft skin of his forearm.
“Okay. Good. Now I’m going to slowly pull you over. Shift your weight to your front leg then step over to my railing. We’ll rest then. Keep looking at me. Okay?”
Walker hesitated then nodded. He pulled back carefully, watching her body rise up to the railing.
“That’s great. Now just step over. I’ll take your other hand. We’re almost there.”
Walker’s back leg moved over the railing. Braxton felt the nails dig deeper into his skin. Her foot came across and she was there, straddling the chasm. He reached for her other hand.
The sound of the crash exploded through the still-open patio door. Walker snapped her head toward the sound, losing both concentration and footing. Braxton grabbed for her other hand as her sneaker slid off the wet railing.
She fell straight down into the darkness.
Braxton desperately grabbed for her wrists, praying he could stop the fatal descent. His grip held, but her momentum slammed him against the railing, shooting a crushing pain through his chest. His arms felt like they were being pulled out of their sockets.
Swinging like a trapeze artist, Walker’s stomach struck the edge of the balcony, the impact knocking her breath away and muffling a scream of terror.
The man had given up waiting. They had only seconds before he would discover them. Braxton looked down and saw Sydney dangling lifeless at the ends of his arms. Her legs were too far below the balcony slab to help him raise her up.
“Sydney!” he called. “I’m going to pull you up. But you have to help. Can you hear me? Sydney!”
“Yes! Please hurry, Adam. Please.” Her voice was weak and gasping.
“Okay. Here we go.”
He willed the pain away, closed his eyes, and pulled.
What happened next, Braxton saw, or imagined, in slow motion. Walker’s head appeared, slowly rising above the slab and up to the railing. Then her body materialized, jumping toward him like an attacking animal, leaping the railing, and knocking him over. When he opened his eyes, he was flat on his back with Walker lying over him. They shared one glance and time returned to normal.
“We’ve got to go,” he whispered. “He’s in your apartment.”
Walker rolled over him and hopped to her feet. Apparently there was nothing seriously damaged. He followed, stepped to the door, and grabbed the handle. Saying a short prayer he yanked and felt it give.
“
Guess they don’t worry about burglars up here,” he said, throwing it open wide. “Let’s get out of here.”
“My bag!” she yelled.
“Go on. I’ll get it.” He pushed her inside and reached down for the duffel.
“Braxton!”
The voice came from across the void. He turned toward the voice, saw a flash of light, and jumped back through the door. No time for the duffel now. They had to get out.
The apartment was a mirror of Walker’s. He followed her in a dash for the door, knocking over an end table and lamp in the darkness. Another scream, this time a woman’s, echoed through the apartment.
When Braxton reached the door, Walker was fumbling with three different locks.
“Hurry, Sydney,” he begged. “Hurry.”
The door finally flew open and they rushed into the hall.
“The stairs,” she cried hoarsely.
“Okay,” Braxton replied and they took off down the hallway. Turning a corner, Braxton saw a figure disappearing into one of the elevators. It was only ten yards away.
“The elevator. We can make it.” His lungs burned with every step, but the attacker would only be seconds behind them.
He ran even harder, grabbed Walker’s jacket, and pulled her through the closing doors.
The doors shut and he collapsed onto the back of the cab. They were safe.
Looking up, he saw an elderly woman pressing herself into a back corner. He couldn’t blame her. Walker was bruised, bloody, soaking wet, and gasping for air. He probably looked worse. His chest and arms screamed with pain. If they could only get away from the building they might have a chance.
“Ahhhhhhhh!” the woman yelled.
The gun appeared like an arrow between the doors. It was the same huge, silver automatic he had seen in Tysons. Their companion shrieked again, and Braxton stood frozen, again staring into the bore of the weapon.
Walker suddenly jumped forward and reached for the weapon, grabbing the top of the slider and slipping her finger in front of the hammer. She jerked her hand down, savagely twisting the pistol. Braxton heard a loud snap, followed by an excruciating scream. The pistol dropped to the floor and the hand disappeared back behind the doors.
