The Sin Keeper

by Gary Winston Brown

  The agents approached the receptionist, whose nameplate on the corner of her desk identified her as Elena and presented their credentials. In the boardroom a man looked at the visitors, walked across the room, then touched a small panel on the divider. Instantly the glass transformed into a mirror-wall and reflected the reception area.

  “May I help you?” Elena asked.

  “My name is Special Agent Jordan Quest. This is Special Agent Chris Hanover,” Jordan said. “We’re with the FBI. We’d like to speak with Mr. Taras Verenich, please.”

  “Certainly.” Elena pressed a button on the phone and spoke quietly. While they waited, Chris walked to the display cabinet and admired the impressive collection of gifts and awards.

  The receptionist smiled. “Mr. Verenich will see you now. Right this way, please.”

  Elena escorted the agents down the hall to Verenich’ office.

  Taras rose from his desk, smiled and shook their hands. “A visit from the FBI,” he said. “I’m honored. How can my firm be of assistance to the Bureau?” He pointed to a small conference table in the corner of his office. “Please, make yourselves comfortable.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Verenich,” Jordan said. “I hope this isn’t too much of an intrusion.”

  “Not at all,” the lawyer answered, “Just as long as you’re not here to tell me that I’m in some sort of trouble!” Taras laughed. “Perhaps I should call my attorney?”

  Jordan smiled. “No sir, that won’t be necessary. We were hoping you might be able to help us with a case we’re working on.”

  Verenich leaned forward and folded his hands together. “I’m happy to help in any way that I can. Ask away.”

  “Perhaps we could start by learning a little about your practice,” Chris asked.

  “Of course,” the attorney said. “We specialize in immigration law. I own the practice and have for ten years now. There are seven junior partners whom I’ll admit do the majority of the work around here these days which permits the time to play a little golf now and then. I also employ three clerks who take care of the more mundane tasks, plus two administrators and my right hand, Elena, whom you’ve already met, and without whom this place would most certainly fall to pieces.” Taras laughed.

  “Your clientele,” Jordan asked. “Where are they coming from?”

  “Russia, for the most part,” Verenich answered. “But we also represent individuals from other countries such as Guatemala, Honduras, and Argentina.”

  “And the emigration side of the practice?”

  “College graduates, mostly. You know what today’s young people are like. They’re restless. They want to travel, see the world, experience different cultures. Fortunately for them, as long as their skills are in demand they can work in pretty much any country of their choice. Japan and the United Arab Emirates are popular choices today.”

  “And what skills might those be?” Chris asked.

  “Teaching. English mostly, plus math and science.” Verenich hesitated. “But you asked me how I could help you with your case. Perhaps in the interest of time we can address that matter?”

  “Of course,” Jordan said. “We’re interested in learning more about a particular individual.”

  “And whom might that be?” Verenich asked.

  Judging by the abrupt change in the agent’s body language was apparent that the conversation was about to take a different turn, one Taras sensed he might not be entirely comfortable with. He suddenly felt as if he was being backed into a corner. He felt his face flush.

  “Itzhak Rosenfeld,” Jordan said.

  Verenich shifted in his chair. “I’m sorry, Agent. Am I supposed to know this man?”

  “Do you?” Chris asked.

  Verenich ignored Hanover and directed his reply to Jordan. “Who is this Mr. Rosenfeld?”

  “Dr. Rosenfeld,” Chris corrected.

  Verenich glanced at Chris. “Very well,” he replied curtly, “Dr. Rosenfeld.” To Jordan, he said, “I’m not familiar with the man. Is he a client of my firm?”

  “We were hoping you could tell us that,” Jordan said.

  Verenich stood. “I’ll be happy to check into that for you.”

  “Thank you,” Jordan said. “That would be greatly appreciated.”

  “As soon as you return with a warrant,” Taras answered.

  “And I thought this was going so well,” Chris said.

  Verenich stood. “I’m sorry, Agents,” he said. “I’m afraid I don’t know your Dr. Rosenfeld. Unless you think it would be wise for me to make that call to my attorney I’d like to suggest we draw this meeting to a close.”

  Jordan stood and shook Verenich’ hand. The psychic connection was immediate and powerful: Rosenfeld and Verenich… arguing… the lobby of the mansion…

  Chris recognized Jordan’s reaction.

  “Thank you, Mr. Verenich,” Jordan said. “We appreciate your time. It was…”

  “Stimulating…” Chris finished.

  “You’re most welcome,” Verenich said. He walked to his desk and pressed the reception call button on his phone. The click of high heels on granite was followed by muted footsteps on the carpeted hallway. Elena entered Taras’ office.

  “My secretary will see you out,” Verenich said. “Enjoy the rest of your day.”

  The attorney waited for the agents to leave then picked up his phone. “Avel,” he said. “Where is the package I ordered?”

  At the front desk, Elena excused herself and wished the agents well. All incoming phone lines were lit up. She attended to the calls.

  Chris whispered to Jordan. “You made a connection back there, didn’t you?”

  Jordan nodded. “He and Rosenfeld know one another,” she said. “No doubt about it.”

  The elevator call button rang. The doors parted. Chris stopped Jordan from entering the car. “Hold on a second,” he said. He walked over to the glass awards cabinets.

  “Well, hello. Take a look at this.”

  He pointed to an engraved plaque:

  Presented to Verenich Law

  In Appreciation of Your Financial Support

  FreeSurge International

  “I think we need to take Mr. Verenich up on his suggestion,” Jordan said.

  “You mean to apply for that warrant?” Chris replied.

  “Precisely.”

  “You’ve got to give the guy credit,” Chris said. “He’s staying true to the stereotype.”

  “Meaning?”

  “It’s always easy to tell when a lawyer is lying.”

  “How’s that?”

  “His lips are moving.”

  CHAPTER 32

  MERRICK EXPLORED the souvenir stalls, casual shops, fashion boutiques and surf shacks along Laguna Beach. A group of seniors walked past, laden with purchases from the local vendors. On the ocean, a surfer executed a perfect aerial off the crest of an ill-tempered wave and flew through the air, only to be forced to bail into the churning backwash. On the beachfront basketball court, competitive tempers flared. What had started out as a friendly game of three-on-three had escalated into an all-out shoving match.

  Merrick was confident that whatever matter Commander Egan was attending to in the factory was of minor concern and no cause for alarm. The mind-to-mind neural connection provided by Channeler was complete, and the assignment understood.

  The boardwalk leading back to the Chevy Suburban was busy with pedestrian and bicycle traffic. Merrick watched a police cruiser enter the parking lot, cruise past the truck, stop, back up, idle and park. Two LAPD officers stepped out of the squad car. One of the cops was talking into his microphone as he walked to the front of the Suburban while his partner cupped his hands against the tinted window and peered inside. Merrick stepped off the pathway and stood behind a large palm tree, observing the officers. Their extreme interest in the Suburban told him his Porsche had been found. New transportation would be necessary. Having found the vehicle, they would probably assume there was a good chance t
hat he was still in Laguna Beach. Merrick looked around. There were too many cops for his liking occupying the beach. And this was not the place for a showdown with the authorities.

  There was still so much to be done.

  The cop Merrick had earlier seen chatting up the young women on the beach now pedaled his bike toward the officers who were investigating the stolen truck. One of the policemen pointed down the walkway in Merrick’s direction. The bike cop nodded and began to ride along the path, scrutinizing the crowd. They were looking for him. They would have his DMV photo on their computers and phones. Which meant more police could be arriving soon. He needed to leave the area as quickly as possible.

  He walked back in the direction of the shops, cognizant of his pace, being careful not to draw unnecessary attention to himself. A crowd of exuberant gray-haired tourists stopped on the boardwalk to mingle and chat. Merrick eased his way into the group as the bike cop rode past. He turned as the cop looked in his direction, then watched him as he went on his way, exiting the path and heading down to the beach. A second cruiser had pulled into the parking lot and turned on its service lights. One of the officers exited the vehicle and walked the parking lot while his partner hustled down the beachfront steps to the path. It was apparent by their actions that they knew who they were looking for. The response to the morning’s events at Dynamic Life Sciences had been swift, though it seemed odd to Merrick that DARPA would enlist the services of the LAPD to find him. He figured they would have preferred to handle the incident internally. If he were to have encountered anyone in the field he assumed it would have been highly-trained DARPA operatives, not the local police. In the greater scheme of things, it didn’t matter. It would still be their mistake. Any effort to stop him would only result in sending good men to their death.

  The afternoon traffic was light and moved along Pacific Coast Highway at a comfortable pace. Merrick jostled his way out of the group of seniors, strode toward the shops and stepped inside Ellie’s Floral Boutique.

  The wind chimes above the doorway of the flower shop jingled, announcing his entrance. From the back of the shop a voice called out. “Be right with you!”

  Merrick peered between the intricate floral arrangements and looked out the front window. A third police car sped into the parking lot. Two officers jumped out of the vehicle and walked toward the Suburban. To Merrick, their actions were clear; a full-scale manhunt was now underway, and he was their person of interest.

  Ellie walked out from the back of the shop. She was a stout Chinese woman in her mid-thirties. Her thick black hair was held neatly in place with two decorative chopsticks.

  “Sorry to hold you up, hon,” Ellie said. Her voice was devoid of even the slightest trace of a foreign accent. “Something I can help you with?”

  “I’m not quite sure,” Merrick said. “Mind if I take a minute and look around?”

  “Take as much time as you need,” Ellie said. “Holler as soon as you’re ready.”

  “I’ll do that,” Merrick replied. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome, love,” Ellie said. She disappeared into the back room.

  In the parking lot, the police officers had organized themselves into two-man search teams. The first team was headed away from him, in the direction of the ice cream and fast food vendors. The second was walking toward Ellie’s, whose store happened to be the first of the retail shops along the esplanade.

  Merrick activated Channeler. Blue light emanated from the device around his wrist and reflected in the window of the boutique. He raised his hand and focused the energy toward the road.

  Alerted to the sound of screeching brakes, crashing metal and breaking glass, the officers spun around and watched a car as it left the road, took flight over the embankment, and headed toward the crowd, its engine roaring. The panicked look on the face of the young driver told them the car was not operating under his control; a jammed accelerator perhaps. The man was wrestling with the steering wheel to no avail. The car lurched to the left, then right, then left again, until finally it slammed into a concrete bench and rolled onto its side.

  As the officers instinctively ran to the aid of the driver they stopped suddenly, watching in horror as a second vehicle left the road, following the first, then slammed into it and burst into flames.

  Police and passersby ran to the cars to assist the screaming, trapped occupants.

  Ellie walked out from the back room as Merrick opened the front door. She stepped out of the shop. Merrick heard her gasp, “My God!”

  The commotion caused by the bizarre accident brought the traffic to a standstill. Motorists stood outside of their vehicles, unsure what to make of the sudden catastrophe.

  Ellie stood beside Merrick. Together they watched the catastrophic scene unfold.

  In the distance could be heard the rising wail of sirens.

  “Those poor people!” Ellie said.

  Merrick nodded. “You have to be so careful on the road these days,” he said. “Anything can happen.”

  CHAPTER 33

  “DID YOU see that?” Chris Hanover said, climbing into the sedan and slamming the door. “The bastard lied right to our faces.”

  “Maybe we should go back,” Jordan said. “Play good cop, bad cop. Press him harder. You be the bad cop.”

  “What do you mean? That was my bad cop.”

  “Seriously?”

  “You’re saying my bad cop isn’t very convincing?”

  “My son could have been more intimidating than you were. Besides, Verenich is right. We don’t have anything on him that connects him directly to Rosenfeld. Which means we don’t have grounds to request a warrant.”

  “Your son, huh?” Chris said. “Okay, then here’s a thought. We go back, and you use some of your psychic stuff on him. Maybe put your fingertips on his temples and suck the salt out of his body until he starts to scream, or dies, whichever comes first. I’m rather partial to the latter.”

  “I get the reference,” Jordan said. “The original Star Trek series… big-ass, salt-sucking vampire. I saw that episode. Loved it.”

  “You don’t even have to use your fingertip tentacles if you don’t want to.”

  “I’m a psychic. I don’t have tentacles. Nor can I suck the salt out of people.”

  “So you say.”

  “But if I did, and could, I can think of someone I’d use them on right now.”

  Chris smiled. “Okay, tentacles are out. How about using the FreeSurge plaque as our in?”

  Jordan shook her head. “There are dozens of awards in those display cases. Any one of Verenich’ associates could have put the plaque in the case without him even knowing about it.”

  “Still, it would be nice to put a little pressure on the worm. Watch him squirm on the hook.”

  “After our visit I’m sure he’s doing quite a bit of squirming.”

  Jordan’s phone rang. She answered the call through the car’s speaker system. Agent Hawkins was on the line. “Tell me you’ve got something good for us, Hawk.”

  “I heard back from Cyber,” Hawkins said. “The contents of the flash drive are account numbers just like I thought they were.”

  “Any ID on the account holders?” Chris asked.

  “They’re still working on it. As soon as I hear more I’ll get back to you. How’s it going on your end?”

  “Apparently I make a really crappy bad cop,” Chris said.

  “Huh?”

  Jordan looked at Chris and shook her head. “Never mind, Hawk. Chris is just upset because I wouldn’t suck the salt out of Verenich’s body.”

  “You two need a vacation,” Hawkins replied.

  Jordan’s call waiting sounded. The display read RIDGEWAY.

  “A.D.’s calling, Hawk,” she said. “Gotta go.”

  “Later,” Hawkins said. He hung up.

  Jordan answered. “Assistant Director.”

  “Where are you now, Jordan?” Ann Ridgeway asked.

  “Just leaving L.
A., ma’am.”

  “I assume Agent Hanover is with you?”

  “Yes. We’re working the Rosenfeld murder in Hollywood. We’re headed back to the scene now.”

  “Turn around. I need both of you to meet me in Corona as soon as possible. Highest priority.”

  Jordan glanced at Chris. What could be going down in Corona that was so important the Assistant Director would pull them away from an active murder investigation, much less one as high profile as the Rosenfeld case? Chris shrugged and pointed in the opposite direction as if to say, let’s go.

  “We’re on our way.”

  “I’m sending the details to your phones now. As soon as possible, Agents.” Ridgeway repeated. She hung up.

  “What was that all about?” Chris asked. “Since when does Ridgeway get called out to the field?”

  “Someone’s putting pressure on her.”

  “So we’re just supposed to drop the Rosenfeld case and let it get cold?”

  “If the boss lady wants us in Corona, we go to Corona.”

  “Something’s up.”

  “What a deductive mind you have.”

  “Very funny,” Chris said.

  “And to be clear, my abilities don’t extend to being able to suck the salt out of bodies. Nor can I speak Klingon or shape-shift for that matter.”

  “Too bad. That would have been cool. But you can mind meld.”

  “Well… that’s sort of true.”

  “So you know what that makes you, right?”

  “I’m almost afraid to ask,” Jordan said.

  “Half-Vulcan.”

  “You’re impossible.”

  Chris raised his hand and splayed his fingers into a V, Spock-style. “Live long and prosper, my friend.”