Island of Thieves

by Glen Erik Hamilton

  “Yeah. Mellie’s going too. And maybe Bryce.”

  “Bryce? The camp’s coed?”

  “What’s that?”

  “Boys and girls together. I guess anyone who’s in between, too. Everybody gets to sleep over?”

  “Sure.”

  Shaw thought back to when he’d had his first real encounters with girls. Around the same age as Cyndra. Seemed young as hell, looking at it now.

  “Don’t get any piercings while I’m gone, okay?” he said.

  “No promises,” Cyndra said.

  “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  “Will you have to go to jail?”

  Her eyes were shining. But she didn’t look away. Guts.

  Shaw hesitated. Whatever else, he shouldn’t lie to the kid. Adults had been unreliable or apathetic or abusive to Cyndra her whole damn life until Addy came into the picture. Shaw was no kind of role model, but at least he could be straight with her.

  “I don’t know, Cyn,” he said. “I’m fighting really hard not to. I didn’t commit the crimes they suspect me of. It’s important you know that much.”

  “Then why do they think you did?”

  “The whole story is too long for a video chat,” he said. “I’ll have to explain it later. It’s a thrilling adventure of thieves and mysterious islands and magic potions.”

  “The polymer isn’t magic, Van. It’s chemistry.”

  “My last science class was biology. We dissected prawns. I got a C-plus. Chemistry’s magic to me.”

  Cyndra laughed. Finally.

  “Look after Addy for me,” said Shaw.

  “Okay.”

  “I love you. Go make Addy buy you a huge dessert. Tell her I said so.”

  Cyndra ended the call. The window closed, leaving the black wallpaper image of the computer. The upper reaches of the sky and the vast expanse of land outside nearly matched its ebon hue, with a swath of brilliant crimson splitting the difference. As Shaw watched, the ruby horizon narrowed and grew deeper.

  More of the picture was becoming clear. Bao, the Chinese agent, had ripped off Avizda for their innovation on infinite recycling. But not completely successfully. There were parts of the molecule that had remained a mystery despite their attempts at reverse-engineering the stolen sample. Chen, Bao’s handler, had needed more information on the polymer’s structure.

  Rohner’s company, Droma, controlled resource placement at Avizda. Chen knew that Rohner craved entry into the huge Chinese market. So they’d reached an agreement, and Droma had placed Kelvin Welch in Dallas. An IT expert who could steal the final pieces of that molecule puzzle.

  And Hargreaves? Guessing by the papers Shaw had stolen from Chiarra’s office at Paragon, the PI firm either had discovered that Linda Edgemont was taking bribes or were bribing her themselves through a shell company. Edgemont might have given Hargreaves inside information on exactly why Chen and Rohner wanted Avizda hacked. Maybe James Hargreaves had cut himself in on their billion-dollar deal. That didn’t fully explain why he’d required the Bridgetrust cover, but it was a theory.

  Bao was dead. Linda Edgemont was dead. Who else?

  Shaw’s gut turned over. He took the laptop off the dashboard and began a search for Kelvin Welch. He found what he was looking for on the first page of results. A news brief from the Times-Picayune in New Orleans, from the tenth of May.

  TOURIST, 26, SHOT IN FRENCH QUARTER ROBBERY

  A Florida tourist in New Orleans’ French Quarter was shot and killed Saturday night during an apparent robbery, police have reported.

  The victim, Kelvin Welch of Dade County, Florida, was found shortly before 1:00 a.m. by a server at Lanie’s Bayou in the alley behind the bar, according to a statement by the New Orleans Police Department. The robber made off with the victim’s wallet and cell phone. The alley gate leading to St. Ann Street was found broken, and police suspect that the unidentified robber might have fled the scene through the gate.

  Police Superintendent Renee Jeffcoat urged anyone with additional information to contact NOPD Eighth District detectives or call anonymously to Crimestoppers of Greater New Orleans.

  Bao and Edgemont and now Welch. Or Welch first. He had been killed more than a month ago. Shot to death, like Edgemont.

  Bao, employed at Avizda. Welch, placed at Avizda by Droma. Edgemont, part of Droma’s inner circle. All three stealing or selling secrets. All three dead.

  Hargreaves was closing up shop. Was Karla Haiden another loose end the former government agent would cut? Or was Karla helping to wield the shears?

  FIFTY-THREE

  “Denver,” Louis Paolo said to Hargreaves over the phone. “She’s taking the early Frontier flight. Plane lands at eight-thirty.”

  “You’re certain?”

  “That’s their only flight leaving out of Concourse A in the next hour. I saw her at the ticketing counter and again in line for security. No luggage, just a purse and a shoulder bag. Moving fast.”

  Hargreaves nodded. Karla had used a prepaid debit card from First Citizens Bank instead of her primary accounts. Hargreaves had learned of her card application a year before, during one of his regular scourings of key employees’ financial records. Since Karla met with Shaw, Hargreaves had set his trace programs to notify him of any transactions. His phone had pinged last night when she bought the ticket. Louis had been waiting at the airport this morning when she’d arrived.

  “You’re sure she didn’t make you?” he said to Louis.

  “Didn’t give her a chance. I kept my distance. And it’s crowded here.”

  “Shaw was driving west,” Hargreaves said. He sat with Tucker in his rental BMW. “He could have made it to Denver by now, if he was determined.”

  “Karla told you he’d called her,” said Tucker. “Why would she say anything if she was going to meet him?”

  Because she’s not a fool, Hargreaves thought. She suspects she’s under watch.

  She’d bought the ticket under her own name. So far as Hargreaves was aware, Karla didn’t hold any false IDs good enough to allow her to board another flight out of Colorado under an assumed name. That would limit her options. And perhaps Shaw’s, if she were joining him.

  Hargreaves considered the scenario for a moment before turning to make sure Tucker understood that his instructions were for both him and Louis. “Denver can’t be his final stop. He might keep driving whatever vehicle he has now. But if Karla’s going with him out of Colorado, that might be his time to switch transport. Start with trains. If Shaw’s been driving as much as I suspect, he’s going to want to sleep. Buses next. Planes last.”

  Tucker agreed. He was skilled at pretending to be a federal officer over the phone. He had a list of legitimate credentials, and Louis would back him up, fronting as the local FBI or Homeland field office if required. “I’ll describe the dirtbag we’re after. Somebody at Amtrak or Greyhound might give up the name Shaw’s using.”

  “Don’t assume they’re returning to Seattle. That’s probable—he’s been heading west for three days—but he could have changed his mind.”

  “If Shaw doesn’t have the chemical shit, why’s Karla throwing in with him?” said Louis.

  Hargreaves didn’t have a definite answer for that. He might have misjudged, and Shaw truly was in possession of the sample. Or if Hargreaves was right about Chen still holding it, perhaps Shaw had somehow discovered where Chen had the sample hidden. If so, Shaw would try to steal it. The man was nothing if not aggressive.

  They could warn Chen that Shaw was coming. Maybe cut a deal, team up with the Chinese agent to catch Shaw when he made his run. Worth thinking about. The best case would be finding Shaw and that bitch themselves and forcing them to surrender the sample. Second place would be Chen’s bodyguard, Zhang, putting a bullet between Shaw’s eyes. Threat eliminated.

  “We’ll have to ask Karla face-to-face.”

  “And then?” said Tucker.

  “She’s made her choice.” Hargreaves inclined his
head, a token shrug. “Her percentage is the same as yours. Yours to split, if you deliver.”

  “Hell,” said Tucker. “I’ll run after them on foot for that kind of money.” He took out his phone and opened the car door. “Give us an hour to play federales with these Denver fools. If anyone’s so much as caught a glimpse of Shaw’s shadow, we’ll know it.”

  FIFTY-FOUR

  At ten minutes to nine in the morning, Shaw called Information Assistance at Denver International and explained that his sister had left her cell phone in the car before boarding her plane earlier that morning, and could she please be paged? He waited while the call went out over the airport speakers.

  “Hello?” Karla said when she came on the line.

  “It’s me. Go out through Terminal West baggage claim. West Garage. Row K. Got that?” She did. “There’s a woman there, standing by a red Impreza and wearing a Colorado Avalanche baseball cap. She knows where to go.”

  Shaw hung up. From the middle of the baggage terminal, he could see every exit. Karla would be coming off the train, taking the fastest route outside to the garage. That would put her on his left. The airport was in the middle of the morning rush, the first commuter flights landing and the second or maybe third wave of departures already lifting off. It was easy to fade in with the crowd, holding a discarded claim tag like he was waiting for the carousel to start spitting out luggage.

  Five minutes later he spotted the sweep of Karla’s red hair as she strode toward the exit, half a step faster than anyone around her. She had brought only a brown leather shoulder bag and a purse. He made a parallel path out the nearest sliding door and watched as Karla waited for the light and crossed the lanes to the short-term-parking structure. No one followed her. He watched for another two minutes before crossing the road to a different section of the garage and the truck.

  He drove out of the airport toward the center of town. No need to follow the rideshare driver closely. He’d paid the fare and set the destination. Better to keep out of sight, in case Karla had been told to watch for a black Ford pickup. A team from Paragon might not be trailing her directly, but if Karla was acting as bait, she could summon reinforcements at any time.

  The weekday morning traffic turned I-70 into a sluggish flow. Shaw got off the freeway and zigzagged through downtown streets until he reached a twenty-four-hour parking garage off Wewatta Street. He took his rucksack—clothes and gear already packed—and left the truck. He wouldn’t be needing it again.

  A juice bar occupied the corner of an office building in the middle of the block on Chestnut Place. The bar was airy and brightly lit. Its windows allowed views in multiple directions, one reason that Shaw had chosen it as the drop-off point for Karla’s rideshare. He saw her inside, collecting a green-colored drink from the counter and moving to a stool where she’d be able to watch the street.

  Shaw crossed to walk around the block to enter the building from the back side. The juice bar had a rear entrance for employees to take out the trash. Shaw popped the latch with a bump key and walked through the bar to occupy the stool next to Karla. She looked at him.

  “Should have guessed you wouldn’t use the front door,” she said.

  “Who knows you’re here?” said Shaw.

  “Hello to you, too. You look exhausted. I haven’t told anyone I was leaving Seattle. I came alone.”

  Shaw didn’t say anything.

  Karla moved her drink to place her purse and shoulder bag on the narrow shelf in front of her. She unzipped them both and put her cell phone in front of Shaw. “Be my guest.”

  He left the bags where they were. “If you were setting me up, you’re too smart to bring a tracker. Or to leave a trail on your phone.”

  “True.”

  “I can’t trust you completely either. Not yet.”

  “You’re the one who’s a murder suspect, pal.”

  He watched the street as he talked. “You asked me if I had anything to do with Nelson Bao or Linda Edgemont. The only way for me to prove I didn’t, to you or to the cops, is to find out who did and why. I have a pretty good idea. I have some evidence to back it up. Not enough to clear my name yet.”

  “Start with me.”

  He nodded. “That’s the idea. And maybe if I persuade you, you’ll be able to fill in some gaps in what I know.”

  “Which would show you I’m on your side,” she said. “All right. Where do we start?”

  “By leaving out the back,” said Shaw, shouldering his duffel, “and catching a train.”

  FIFTY-FIVE

  Union Station lay one block west of the juice bar. Shaw followed the signs under the white, wavelike roof to the designated platform. His electronic ticket noted the westbound Zephyr passenger train and car number. Karla seemed amused.

  “I could have taken a train straight here from the airport,” she said, “but then I wouldn’t have enjoyed that matcha tea.”

  Inside the Superliner car, they walked upstairs to follow the narrow passage along the left side of the train. Theirs was the last compartment of five in the rear half of the car. A tag on the door noted the ticket holder and the final destination of Seattle.

  Karla read the tag. “Who’s Steven Ingram?”

  “A guy taking an unexpected tour of the continental U.S.” Shaw slid the compartment door open.

  “Two passengers, three days and two nights to Seattle.” She eyed the bunk bed, folded up and locked in place on the wall, as Shaw tossed his ruck onto the bedroom’s settee. “You’re sure of yourself.”

  “Options. If you’d said no, Ingram would have missed his train and I’d already be back on the road.”

  They spent a minute examining the tiny accommodations. The settee under the upper bunk. One chair by the window. A combination toilet and shower, and a slim hanging locker for clothes. Every piece built in and unadorned, just like on a ship.

  “At least you picked a room with separate beds,” Karla said. “A gentleman.” She took the single seat and cracked open one of the complimentary plastic bottles of water. Shaw closed the door.

  “Okay,” she said. “Lay it out for me. What happened to Nelson Bao?”

  “We’ll get to that. Let’s start with a game of true or false. Your name is Karla Lokosh.”

  She stared. “Why?”

  “Not why. Yes or no.”

  He waited.

  “False,” she said.

  “You work for Bridgetrust Group.”

  “False.”

  “Your boss is Bill Flynn.”

  “False.”

  “Your boss is James Hargreaves.”

  She frowned. “True.”

  “What’s your job?”

  “That’s not a binary question. But let’s bend the rules. I work in business intelligence.”

  “A private investigator.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “A few more questions and it’ll be your turn.”

  “Okay.” She inhaled. “I was a PI. What I do now . . . is more variable, depending on the client.”

  “Assumed identities. Cover stories to gain information.”

  “Sometimes.”

  “Corporate espionage.”

  She hesitated. “We guard secrets, too.”

  “But spying is what this is about, with Droma. And Jiangsu Manufacturing.”

  Karla closed her eyes for a second. Guilt. Or just an acknowledgment of being cornered.

  “Yes.”

  “Your target was Avizda, in Dallas.”

  “God. How do you know these things?”

  They were interrupted by the conductor, tapping on the door for Shaw’s ticket. Shaw held out his phone with the QR code for the conductor to scan and drew the navy-blue privacy curtain before sitting back down.

  “I’ll cover the what before the how,” he said to Karla. “Nelson Bao worked as a chemist for Avizda before he went to work for Chen Li. Or maybe he was already secretly working for Chen. The chemical sample that you told me was Jiangsu�
�s great innovation isn’t actually theirs. Bao stole it from Avizda. Right?”

  “I haven’t been told directly that Bao stole it, but it’s implicit.”

  “And for some reason, Bao’s sample wasn’t enough on its own. Chen needed more.”

  He waited, until Karla picked up the thread.

  “Avizda is very careful about intellectual property,” she said. “The chemical’s structure and the different stages of the process are split across different dedicated computers, accessible only within the company property. Even the teams that create and test the physical samples are kept separate to reduce the chance that one employee might learn every facet. The polymer sample Bao stole couldn’t be reverse-engineered, not entirely.”

  “Which is why Chen needed Droma. And Paragon.”

  “You know about Paragon, too.”

  “I’ve been in your office. Your mom and her husband make a nice couple. A little stiff in the studio portrait, though.”

  “Lord.”

  “Keep going.”

  “Droma was in charge of resourcing for Avizda. They could place anyone there, claiming that all background and criminal-record checks came back clean. What they needed was someone skilled in hacking to break into the internal servers without leaving a trail and obtain the portion of the molecular structure Chen needed to complete the polymer.”

  Shaw drummed his fingers on the window. “Skilled like an IT principal consultant. Kelvin Welch.”

  “You have to stop that. It’s scary. Am I telling you anything you don’t already know?”

  “You are. And what I’ve already guessed, you’re confirming. Rohner needed a hacker. Paragon had one. Welch.”

  “Yes. Sebastien Rohner has hired Paragon before. For business intelligence research and to gather ammunition for his divorce from his former wife.”