by Mike Maden
48
There was a knock on the open door.
“Dr. Parsons?”
Kate Parsons stopped typing and glanced up from her computer.
“May I help you?” Parsons asked.
An East Asian woman and a Hispanic male stood in the open doorway, both in their mid to late thirties. Off-the-rack suits, store-brand leather shoes, cheap digital watches, Parsons noticed.
The Asian female held a synthetic leather folio in one hand and a leather billfold in the other, flashing her gold FBI badge and identity card with her name and badge number. The Hispanic agent did the same.
“I’m Agent Kang”—she pronounced it Kong—“and this is Agent Silva. Is this a good time?”
Parsons forced a small smile as she stood, extending her hand.
“Sure. Why not?”
“Sorry to disturb you. Dr. Rhodes told us to keep it short. We know how busy you are.” Kang pointed at the open chairs near her desk. “Do you mind?”
“Please,” Parsons said. “Something to drink? Water? Coffee?”
“We’re fine, thanks,” the woman said.
Parsons sat back down behind her desk. “Do you mind if I just finish up this e-mail?”
“No, not at all,” Kang said.
The two agents sat quietly, silently scanning the spartan office as Parsons finished up. No awards, no photos, no mementos, no diplomas. They exchanged a glance.
Parsons expected the visit. Rhodes had warned her they were coming. Okay, not warned, she reminded herself. They were just coming. A friendly visit to talk about Dylan. No doubt they were concerned about him. Nothing for her to worry about. She hadn’t done anything wrong.
Technically.
They would ask her a few questions and leave. This wasn’t her first rodeo with the Feds. She’d been interviewed by them before when she was getting her ANACI and SSBI security clearances, and many times since when they sought information about security clearance applications for other people in her department. She knew the drill. In fact, she probably could conduct this interview herself.
The questions were largely standardized. But there was one red flag to watch for.
When they asked specific and limited questions, it meant they were just tying off a few loose ends. No big deal.
But if they started asking broad and general questions, then they were hostile. Open-ended queries were just opportunities to say the wrong things, betray confidences, and confuse rehearsed stories. That meant they were fishing.
And you were the fish.
She finished the e-mail and hit the send button with a whoosh, then turned back toward her visitors.
“How may I help you?”
“Just a couple of questions,” Kang began. She opened her folio and clicked a pen.
“Of course. Anything.”
“I believe Dr. Rhodes informed you of Dr. Runtso’s death.”
“Yes. He said it was a bomb. He thought it was a coincidence.”
“What do you think?”
That was not a good question. Way too general, Parsons thought.
“I have no idea.”
“Why do you think he was in Barcelona?”
“Again, no idea. I didn’t even know he was in Spain.” Parsons’s gaze turned aside, presumably to hide her grief. “It’s terrible. He was a brilliant guy. So young.”
“Yes, it’s tragic. How long did you know Dr. Runtso?”
That’s better, Parsons thought. It was a very specific and quantitative question. An easy answer. She glanced up at the ceiling, calculating.
“I first met him when he interviewed for a position in my department twenty-eight months ago.”
Agent Silva fought back a smile. What? Not twenty-seven and a half months?
“And you hired him, why?” Kang asked.
Parsons couldn’t decide if that was open-ended or not.
“He first came to my attention because of a paper he presented on quantum computing, his field of expertise. He also came highly recommended by a Princeton faculty member that I trust implicitly.”
Kang poised her pen over her pad. “And that faculty member’s name?”
“Dr. Craig DeBell.”
Kang scratched the name down.
Parsons noticed that Silva never took his eyes off her, like he was conducting a visual lie detector test or something. She smiled at him. He didn’t react.
“Why did Dr. Runtso leave your employ?”
“He said at the time he had a better-paying opportunity in the private sector.”
“And what opportunity was that?”
Parsons felt the heat rise on her neck. There wasn’t any doubt in her mind that Kang already knew the answer to the question.
“I believe he became a private consultant.”
“And who did he consult for?”
“I don’t know. We didn’t talk much after he left. I heard he was freelancing, but I have no idea who his clients were—obviously someone who valued his expertise. Something that took advantage of his top secret clearance, I’m willing to bet.”
“Any guesses as to whom he might have worked with? I mean, it’s kinda weird a guy like that decides to live in Knoxville. I’d think he’d move to Silicon Valley, or even the Triangle.”
“Dylan loved Knoxville, especially the craft beer scene. With his skill set, he could travel anywhere to consult. I’m betting he did a lot of work from home.”
Kang nodded. “Okay, that makes a lot of sense.” She made another note. “When was the last time you saw him?”
Again, Parsons glanced at the ceiling, counting off the days. “Six months ago, give or take a week. I bumped into him at a place in Knoxville. It was just a quick hello. He was with someone.”
“Who?”
“A woman. I don’t know her.”
“What place was that?”
“Myrtle’s Chicken and Beer. The one on Market Square. Best damn chicken and waffles around.”
“Oh, man. I love me some chicken and waffles,” Silva said.
It speaks. Parsons stifled a laugh.
“Can you remember the specific date?”
“Sorry, I wish I could.” Parsons smiled. “Oh, wait. I get it. You want the date so you can check security cameras and stuff. I saw that on TV once. Um, let me think. Yeah. I’m pretty sure it was a Sunday. That’s about the only day we ever get off around here. Eleven-ish if I’m remembering correctly.”
“That’s really helpful,” Kang said, noting it. “And that was the last time you saw him?”
“He called me about two months ago. Wanted to go out for drinks and dinner, catch up. But I turned him down. I was just too busy at the time. But no, I didn’t see him.”
“And you haven’t spoken with him at all since?”
“No.”
“In the time you were still in contact with him, did you keep him apprised of the progress on the RAPTURE project?”
“No.”
“He was intimately involved with it for two years. I’d think he’d be interested.”
“Dylan would know better than to ask me something like that. He was no longer cleared for that kind of information and I take this work too seriously to risk either the project or my own security clearance. Besides, he walked away from RAPTURE. He lost his right to be curious about it.”
“Speaking of walking away, I’m just wondering, in the weeks or months before he left, did he exhibit any odd behavior?”
“You’re in a building full of eccentric, high IQ people. You’ll have to be more specific.”
“Oh, you know. Any kind of behavior that made you think something was bothering him.”
“Bothering?”
Kang shrugged. “Was he acting guilty? Maybe becoming more distant or aloof?”
“Not that I recall.”
“Did he buy an expensive car? Maybe take a big vacation?”
“Vacation? Are you kidding? We’re on a clock around here. Besides, they polygraph the shit out of us—counterintelligence and lifestyle. If he was engaged in any criminal behavior while at ORNL, it would have shown up, I’m sure.”
“So maybe he quit because of a growing sense of anger or frustration? The crappy hours, or lack of promotion?”
“No.”
“Did you see him coming to work late more and more often, or even missing days?”
“No, none of those things. He was a very diligent and conscientious worker.”
“Was he on any kind of prescription meds?” She set her pen down. “Maybe smoked a little weed to take the anxiety off?”
“Not that I was aware of. Dylan was into hot yoga, if that means anything.”
Kang scribbled a few more notes.
“How about his relationships? Did he get along well with the people he worked with?”
“Yes, absolutely. He had a tremendous sense of humor.”
Kang and Silva exchanged another glance.
Parsons’s jaw clenched. She took a deep breath to calm herself.
“And I’m sure you’ve already been through his files at Human Resources.”
“We have, actually.” Kang smiled.
“Then you already know that Dylan and I were . . . friends.”
“Friends with benefits,” Silva said.
It speaks again, Parsons said to herself. She turned toward him. “Fuck buddies, we used to call it in grad school. Nothing romantic. Strictly sexual. But nothing untoward. That’s why we filed the mutual consent forms with HR. Dylan didn’t think it was necessary but I did. It was important for me to do that because I was his supervisor.”
Silva offered a slight smile. “That’s very conscientious of you.”
Parsons wasn’t sure if his grin was supportive or condescending. She had a hard time reading people sometimes. Well, most times.
“Look, we all work really long hours here. There isn’t time for a social life, and we’re told to avoid using apps like Tinder to meet people—that’s where the bad guys hang out, right? Looking for lonely ORNL scientists to compromise?”
“That would be a really dumb idea for all kinds of reasons,” Kang said.
“Biology is primal. The drive to reproduce ourselves is coded in our DNA. We’re all just paramecia, but with bigger brains and opposable thumbs to access Pornhub. Every now and then, we all have to burn off some energy. It’s like a square dance. You pick your partner, you have some fun, get a little sweaty, then it’s over and you get back to work. No harm, no foul.”
Kang nodded, and made more notes.
Parsons saw that neither Kang nor Silva wore wedding rings. “Sort of like the way cops hook up, or so I’ve read,” Parsons added. It was a jab, for sure, but she really had read that.
“Yeah, I’ve read that, too,” Kang said without looking up. “So, just to be clear, you haven’t had any communication with Dr. Runtso in any form in the last six months?”
Oh, shit. Now they’re trying to trip me up, Parsons told herself. Game on.
“No, that’s not accurate. What I said before was that I haven’t seen him in the last six months. We spoke by phone two months ago when he asked me out.”
Parsons thought a moment. “I can request the IT department to get you all of Dylan’s e-mail and computer logs. The contents would be heavily redacted because you don’t have the right security clearances but at least you’d be able to cross-reference the metadata against people, dates, or events you’re concerned about. Would that be useful to you?”
Kang’s eyes widened. “That would be great. Thank you.”
“Saves you from having to get a warrant. Now, I don’t mean to be rude, but I really do have a lot on my plate. Is there anything you need from me today?”
Kang and Silva stood. “No, you’ve been more than cooperative.” She extended her hand. Parsons stood and shook it, and Silva’s, too.
“If you don’t mind my saying, you look tired,” Kang said.
“I’m working too many hours on a project that doesn’t seem to want to end. But I don’t care. I’m totally committed to completing it. I’ve given my life to it. I don’t have any kids, and never will. It will be my legacy.”
“That’s damned impressive,” Silva said.
Parsons smiled. “I appreciate both of you as well, and thank you both for your service.”
Kang politely demurred. “Thank you. It’s our privilege to serve.” She turned to Silva. “Don’t you agree?”
“Oh, yeah. I love my job, and the chance to do the Lord’s work.”
“That’s awesome,” Parsons said, turning away.
“Oh, there is one more thing I forgot to ask,” Kang said.
Parsons forced a smile. “Please.”
“You are willing to take a poly, right? About Dylan?”
“Of course. Anytime. I take them twice a year as it is. They don’t bother me.”
Kang waved a hand. “Yeah, you’re right. Probably not necessary at all. I just wanted that in the record. You know how bosses can be, all up in your shit, micromanaging everything. If I don’t dot my i’s and cross my t’s, I get written up.”
“Bosses. Tell me about it.”
“Okay, well, thanks again for your time.”
“Sure.”
Parsons sat down as Kang and Silva turned to leave.
“Oh, jeez. Where’s my brain?” Kang said, turning back around. “I forgot to tell you that someone broke into Dr. Runtso’s home and ransacked it.”
“What? That’s crazy. You think it’s related to his death?”
“Could have been a couple of tweakers stealing stuff. But my guess is that someone was trying to find whatever top-secret materials he might have had in his possession, or cover some tracks related to his death.”
Parsons’s eyes widened. “That’s awful. Is my team in danger? Am I?”
“I’m sure there isn’t anything for you or your team to worry about. But please do exercise extra precautions for the next few days until we can get to the bottom of all of this, okay?”
“That makes sense. Thanks for the heads-up.”
“And we’ve notified White Mountain Security here at ORNL and asked them to step up their game for a while, too. You know, just in case.”
“Thank you. I appreciate it.” Parsons’s eyes turned to her keyboard.
Kang smiled. “Okay, we’re leaving now. For real.”
Parsons didn’t hear her.
Her mind was somewhere else.
* * *
—
Kang climbed in behind the wheel of their high-mileage, government-issued Crown Vic, one of the last in the FBI’s fleet. Silva rode shotgun.
“What do you make of Parsons?”
“Hard to read.” Silva chuckled. “But judging by the number of mutual consent forms she’s filed with HR over the last five years, I’d say she was one horny little professor.”
Kang turned the key. The eight cylinders coughed into life. She nudged the shifter into reverse and began pulling out. She started laughing so hard she had to hit the brake.
“What’s so funny?” Silva asked.
“‘Fuck buddies’? That’s pretty lame. I was waiting for her to start quoting lines from Friends.”
“I took her for a cold piece of fish, but you can’t always judge a book by its subtextual libido.”
Kang shifted into drive and hit the gas. “Let’s grab some breakfast. I’m starving.”
49
BARCELONA, SPAIN
Brossa woke from a short nap and padded into her kitchen. Her father, Ernesto, handed her a cup of black coffee from the espresso machine. He wore a g
reen woolen sweater and beige chinos, neatly pressed. Every hair on his handsome silver head was in place and his beard closely trimmed. That was a good sign.
“Thank you, Papa.”
“You’re welcome.”
She took a sip. “So good.”
“I pushed a button. You look terrible, by the way.”
She pushed her matted hair out of her eyes. “A rough couple of days.”
“You never told me what happened on the raid.”
“It ended badly.”
“Violence always does.”
She kissed him on the cheek. She loved these rare moments of lucidity, when the father she grew up with appeared out of nowhere. Kind, literate, and thoughtful. He was a gentle soul. No wonder my mama was crazy about him.
He touched his face where she kissed him. “What was that for?”
“Does there have to be a reason?”
“Ex nihilo nihil fit”—Nothing comes from nothing.
That was an even better sign. He’d only been speaking Català for the last seven months.
“Come sit with me on the patio while I drink my coffee and regale me with your Latin witticisms.”
The old man smiled, the crow’s feet narrowing around his dancing eyes.
“Delighted.”
* * *
—
They sat on the patio overlooking the city. The sun glinted silver on the gray-blue Mediterranean.
Brossa laid back in her chaise lounge, her eyes closed, enjoying the warmth of a gentle sunshine.
Her father sat upright in a chair next to her, humming an old tune. She was still exhausted, but supremely happy. Perhaps he was turning a corner after all.
Peña was right, she decided. The Brigada case was closed. It was time to let go.
Her momentary bliss was shattered by the buzz of her silenced phone. Her eyes opened, painfully, as she reached for it.
“I hate those things,” her father said. “Let me throw it away.”
“It’s probably work.”
“I hate your work. I should throw that away, too.”
She smiled and shook her head. Somebody has to pay the bills around here. She could never say that to him, though. He was a proud man, and a good provider for his family while he could work.
