Blink of an Eye

by Roy Johansen

  He nodded as he took a black leather box from his jacket pocket. “The envoy gave it to Griffin and said he must take care to guard it for you. It’s a dagger given to Lynch by a lama whose life he’d saved, and it’s supposed to be filled with magic. He chose you as temporary custodian until he returns.” He carefully opened the velvet-lined box to reveal the silver dagger. “I got the whole story, and I’m supposed to tell it to you so that you’ll be properly impressed.” He tapped the eight-inch triangular blade with its steel tip. “It’s a Lhasa Tibetan phurba. Its magic comes from the effect that the dagger has on the realm of the spirit. The tantric use of the phurba encompasses the curing of disease, exorcism, killing demons, blessings, meditation, and consecrations; it can even have an effect on the weather.”

  “Is that all?” Kendra asked ironically.

  “No. But the envoy included a wider list that you can study at your leisure.” He paused. “One thing you should know is that some of those phurbas are cheap souvenirs that can be found for sale at a bazaar. This is not one of those phurbas. It’s over two thousand years old, and in order to maintain its magical value it must remain with the owner.”

  “Who is now Lynch,” she said flatly. “I’ll stick it in a bank vault and let him decide what to do with it whenever he comes back.”

  “But you’re the temporary custodian.” Metcalf was now grinning. “How do you know you’re not destroying its power to fight demons?”

  “I’ll take the chance.” She looked down at the dagger. It did look very, very old. “It’s probably a priceless antique and Lynch just sent it to torment me with finding out what to do with it.”

  “Or to protect you from demons. Like he did when he sent that envoy to Griffin.” Metcalf’s smile faded. “I wouldn’t mind giving you a gift like that.”

  And since she was always trying to avoid encouraging Metcalf thinking in that vein, it was even more frustrating to have Lynch do something to trigger this response. “Careful,” she said lightly. “Or I’ll put you in charge of being custodian and you can house-sit that dagger yourself.”

  He shook his head. “Sorry. You’re the designated custodian of the phurba. We can’t even lock it in the vault at the office.”

  She shrugged. “Rats. And right now I don’t have time to find a bank to deposit it in. I-5 heading for L.A. is always a nightmare at this hour. I’d be late meeting Jessie. I guess I’ll just have to lock it in my car and deal with it tomorrow.” She headed for her Toyota. “Security is pretty good at the Hollywood Bowl.”

  “Better take good care of it,” Metcalf called after her. “Maybe that Tibetan lama had a reason to give that dagger to Lynch. Black ops isn’t the safest line of work. He can always use a little luck.”

  “We all can. But Lynch does just great at demon fighting on his own. Though he could probably use the weather app on that dagger with all those avalanches in Tibet.” She didn’t let Metcalf see her expression as she got into the driver’s seat. She didn’t want to think about that idiotic dagger, or black ops, or the fact that Lynch had sent her a message through Griffin instead of contacting her himself. It was all pure Lynch, whimsical, enigmatic, amusing. But she didn’t feel amused right now. So don’t think of him at all. Tomorrow, before she deposited the dagger, she’d take it up to Oceanside and show it to the kids in her class. They’d love all that magic stuff. She’d read them the directions and laugh with them about the weather app on a demon fighting weapon.

  And don’t think about what Lynch was doing on those mountains, and why he’d had to save that lama’s life.

  * * *

  Kendra ran through the crowded plaza to the box-office windows, where after a brief wait in line she was given her ticket. She continued through the turnstiles and climbed another upward stretch to the Garden Box entrance. She stepped through and smiled. The Hollywood Bowl. If there was anything that would make her consider living in L.A., this was it. Nestled in the Hollywood Hills, this beautiful outdoor amphitheater was a hundred-year-old institution that attracted the biggest names in classical, jazz, and rock music year-round. She made it a point to drive down for at least one concert every summer.

  Jessie waved to her from a box just a few yards from the stage. Kendra made her way over as Jessie raised a plastic cup filled with red wine. “You’re late!”

  “Sorry, I underestimated the Bowl traffic.”

  “No skin off my nose. More for me.” Jessie gestured toward a massive basket of food and two carafes of wine on the box’s small foldout table. “A gift from our hostess.”

  Kendra slid into the box and plopped into a canvas chair facing the stage. She selected a fried chicken leg from the basket. “Wow. Dee is spoiling us.”

  “Yep.” Jessie gestured to a large box filled with guests nearby.

  “There’s Matt Dalborne and several of his constituents. He stopped by to say hello and was clearly jealous and trying to impress his super PAC.” Jessie sipped her wine. “But Dee spoils everyone in her orbit. Maybe to a fault. She wants the people in her life to know they’re appreciated.”

  “Exactly how long did you work for her?”

  “A little over two years. She was only sixteen when I started there. She saw me competing on the American Ninja TV show and heard about my military background. So she hired me to be a part of her security detail. I worked with eight guys, and they were almost all useless. Within six months, she made me head of security. I toured with her all over the world. It was quite an experience.”

  “Why did you quit?”

  “I told you before, it’s easy to burn out in that environment. I don’t see how Dee does it. There’s almost nowhere in the world she can go without people hounding her. I was exhausted by the end of my time with her.”

  Kendra grabbed a carafe and poured herself a glass of wine. “She seems grounded, though.”

  “Yes. Amazingly so. Especially since this has been her life since she was fifteen years old.” Jessie shook her head. “She’s had to deal with scumbag record company executives, crazed fans, a string of deadbeat boyfriends, and two parents who seem to care only about themselves. Dee is always surrounded by people, but she’s probably the loneliest person I know.”

  “Is that why she haunts your office so much?”

  Jessie nodded. “And it’s another big reason why I quit her. I thought she needed me as a friend more than as an employee.” She made a face. “Even though hardly a week goes by that she doesn’t try to get me to come back to her organization.”

  Kendra chuckled. “Is that story really true about how she once showed up at your office with a million dollars in cash?”

  Jessie smiled. “Yep. She carried it over in a knapsack and dumped it all over my desk. A million dollars in stacks of hundreds and fifties, all in exchange for heading up security for her ten-month world tour. She thought seeing it all in cash would tempt me.”

  “Did it?”

  Jessie laughed. “A little, especially since I was still trying to get my private investigator business off the ground. It was really good salesmanship on her part.”

  “I’d say so. Hard to resist.”

  “Yeah, until I remembered that it might be good for Dee to have one person in her life who doesn’t want anything from her.”

  Kendra raised her plastic cup and tapped it against Jessie’s. “You’re a good friend.”

  Jessie tapped Kendra’s cup back. “To good friends.”

  The house lights went down, and the stage lights rose on a breathtaking set that Kendra could only describe as part steampunk, part early-twentieth-century industrial. A dozen backup dancers marched onstage, followed by the star attraction herself. The crowd roared.

  For the next two hours, Delilah Winter held the eighteen thousand audience members in her thrall, putting on a spectacular show that was at turns exuberant, heartbreaking, and ultimately triumphant. The songs were catchy, but not simplistic; steeped in heartbreak, but also radiating an optimism for life and love.

&n
bsp; At one point, Dee walked on top of the low wall separating the Pool Circle from the Garden Boxes, pausing to sing to the children in wheelchairs in the handicapped section. What could have been corny and manipulative was, to Kendra, the emotional highlight of the show, carried by the star’s sheer charisma and obvious sincerity.

  At the show’s end, Dee and the backup dancers disappeared backstage while the crowd shouted for the inevitable encore.

  After a full minute, there was still no sign of the performers. The audience’s cheers grew even more frantic.

  Jessie leaned close to Kendra. “Costume change. Wait’ll you see this one.”

  Kendra waited another full minute. Still no sign of Dee and the dancers.

  Jessie wrinkled her brow. She stood up in the box and turned toward the thousands of screaming fans, clamoring for another song. She turned back toward Kendra. “I don’t like it.”

  “Neither do I.” Kendra nodded toward a black-garbed security man standing over the stage right staircase. He tapped his finger over a hidden earpiece as his facial expression registered panic. He suddenly bolted into the concert shell and ran into the wings.

  All over the Garden Box area, security agents mimicked the gesture and ran for the stage.

  “Jessie…”

  “I see it.” Jessie cursed under her breath and jumped out of the box. “I’ve got to see Colin Parks, her head of security. Follow me!”

  Easier said than done, Kendra thought as she and Jessie ran through the exclusive Pool Circle section and used an empty chair as their launch pad onto the stage. Kendra had never tried to keep pace with her friend, but it didn’t surprise her that Jessie’s athleticism put her almost immediately several paces ahead. With the crowd’s roar still pounding in her ears, Kendra followed Jessie through the stage right wings and down the corridor.

  They flew past a row of mirrored dressing rooms and turned left into another short corridor occupied by the stars’ deluxe dressing area. The hallway was lined with flowers and large unused stage speakers, competing for space with a crush of security agents, backup dancers, and members of the stage crew.

  “Where’s Dee?” Jessie shouted.

  A tall black-clad man, obviously in a position of authority, turned. “Get out of here, Mercado. We’re handling it.”

  “You may be her security chief, Colin, but she’s my friend. Are we sure she’s not in the can?”

  A stage manager wearing a headset shook her head no.

  Jessie glanced inside the dressing room. “Her encore costume is still on the rack. That’s it, isn’t it? The yellow one with the wings?”

  One of the backup dancers nodded.

  Outside, the Bowl audience cheered even louder, now chanting “encore” in one thunderous voice.

  “No one’s seen her?” Kendra shouted above the din.

  The stage manager stepped forward. “She came down this hallway for her costume change. No one’s seen her since.”

  Jessie spun back toward the security chief. “Colin, you’re telling me your guys didn’t have eyes on her?”

  “I had two men assigned to this hallway. No one else is permitted in her dressing room during costume changes.”

  “Which men?”

  “Two of my best. Henner and Krabbe.”

  “Where in the hell are they?”

  “Stop firing questions at me. Do you think I’m not searching for them?” He was swearing as she continued to glare at him. “Okay, missing. Just like Delilah Winter.”

  Jessie turned back toward the group. “They couldn’t just vanish. There’s no way three people could step out of this hallway without fifty crew members seeing them.”

  The crowd’s chant had morphed: “Delilah! Delilah! Delilah!”

  Kendra looked down at the floor, the walls, the flowers, traces of glitter from Dee’s sparkly costumes…

  “Delilah! Delilah! Delilah!”

  Kendra closed her eyes.

  Detach. Concentrate.

  The smells. Cologne, perfumes, body odors from the sweaty dancers…

  And something else. Soybeans?

  “Delilah! Delilah! Delilah!”

  Kendra opened her eyes. “Propofol.”

  “What?” Jessie said.

  “Propofol. It’s an anesthetic with a soybean emulsifier. Very distinctive odor. It was used here just in the last few minutes.”

  “Oh, God,” one of the dancers whispered.

  Kendra looked down at the unused stage speakers. Each about four feet tall, they were sprinkled with glitter, spread evenly over their top surfaces.

  Except…

  “Someone’s been handling these since the last costume change.” Kendra crouched by one of the speakers and pulled on its black grille. “Help me with this.”

  Jessie and two of the security agents pried off the front grille.

  As they pulled it away, a body tumbled from the speaker enclosure.

  “Henner!” Colin Parks knelt beside him and felt his agent’s chest. He pulled his hand away. It was covered with blood. “Dead.”

  Kendra was already at work on the other speaker grille. Within seconds she had it off.

  Another body tumbled out. Blood pooled on the concrete floor.

  “Krabbe!” Colin moved to the other body. “Dead. Stabbed or shot, I can’t tell.”

  Jessie’s jaw clenched. “But where’s Dee?”

  Kendra stared at the floor between the two speaker enclosures. “There’s nothing here…”

  “What are you saying?” Jessie crouched next to her.

  “There’s glitter all over the place. But not here. An empty space, the same dimensions as…” She lifted her head sharply. “There was another speaker here.”

  “Delilah! Delilah! Delilah!”

  Jessie cursed. “That’s where Dee is. These speaker enclosures are on casters. She was rolled away.”

  “Rolled away where?” Colin asked.

  Jessie jumped to her feet. “The loading dock. Hurry!”

  The group ran down the long hallway that ran behind the Bowl shell until they reached the loading dock. The small driveway was empty save for Dee’s waiting limo and an eighteen-wheeler that stood ready for the loading of tour stage and lighting equipment.

  Colin spoke to the truck driver as Jessie ran toward a uniformed LAPD officer. She pointed to the tall Hollywood Bowl marquee sign on an island in the middle of Highland Avenue. “There are people in there, aren’t there? Controlling the traffic signals?” Before he could answer, Jessie continued, “Radio them and ask if a truck or van left this driveway in the last couple of minutes. We need to know which direction they’re headed.”

  “Ma’am, I need to know why you’re—”

  Jessie, a good head shorter than the cop, raised her chin and got in his face. “Do it. Now.”

  The cop nodded. He swallowed hard and raised the walkie-talkie to his mouth.

  Colin had turned away from the truck driver and was shouting to the cop on the walkie-talkie. “We’re looking for a black Ford Transit van, no windows. Two men in coveralls loaded a speaker into it. It just left!”

  The cop nodded and repeated the information. Then he listened to his walkie-talkie before nodding to Jessie. “The van got on the 101 heading south toward downtown. Anyone care to tell me what—?”

  “Later.” Jessie grabbed Kendra’s arm. “Come with me.”

  Kendra instinctively obeyed her. “What are we doing?”

  “Stealing that limo over there that was waiting for Dee. Go around and get in.”

  Kendra did as she was told.

  Jessie opened the driver’s side door and pulled out the startled driver. “Sorry about this, but I don’t have time to get my car.”

  The driver, stunned, looked dazedly toward the police officer for help.

  Jessie didn’t wait for him to decide whether or not to make that plea verbal. She climbed in, started the limo, and peeled out of the driveway. She ignored the red traffic light and roared across Highla
nd to the U.S. 101 entrance ramp.

  “Think maybe we should have brought some muscle?” Kendra asked.

  Jessie squinted at the cars ahead of them. “No, I’ll have to be the muscle,” she said absently. “I didn’t want to wait for the cops to get their act together. Every minute we spent back there increased the risk of losing them.”

  “If we haven’t already.”

  Jessie shook her head. “Don’t say that.”

  “One way or another, we’ll find her, Jessie.”

  An ocean of brake lights appeared on the freeway in front of them.

  Jessie drew a relieved breath. “L.A. traffic. This could work for us.” She cut the wheel hard right and sped down the shoulder. “Keep on the lookout for a black Ford van.”

  Kendra had already risen in her seat as she scanned the six lanes of traffic. “I’m on it. So far I’ve only seen two white Toyotas and a Subaru.”

  Jessie cursed. “Damn, I wish I had my motorcycle.”

  Kendra pointed ahead. “See that?”

  Jessie’s gaze flew a few hundred yards in front of them, where a van had abruptly cut into the shoulder. It peeled out and roared into the distance. Jessie jammed hard on the accelerator. “It’s a Ford Transit 250. Call 911 and make sure the police know. Late model, high roof option. Tell them the suspects are taking the Santa Monica Boulevard exit.”

  Kendra was already speaking into the phone before Jessie finished talking. She left the connection open and dropped the phone into the cup holder.

  “Hang on,” Jessie said. She spun the wheel as they swerved down the Santa Monica Boulevard exit ramp. There was no sign of the van. “Shit. Where is it?”

  Kendra leaned forward as they reached the bottom of the ramp. There, less than half a block to their left, were the familiar taillights of the Transit van, frantically weaving in and out of traffic.

  “There!”

  “I see it.” Jessie turned the wheel and gunned the engine, roaring down the street. “Keep your eyes on that van. I need to play some bob and weave here.”

  “Got it.”

  Jessie raced through the cars, at one point even jumping the curb and taking the sidewalk for a half-block stretch.