by Jeramy Gates
“Who’s left?” she said in a quiet voice.
“Left?”
“The drone program… Who hasn’t he killed yet?”
Matt gave a shrug of his narrow shoulders. “Everyone remotely involved with the project is gone, as far as I can tell. I mean, he even killed the families of these people.”
She turned to face them. “Then what is he up to?”
Carver leaned against the island, scratching the five-o’-clock shadow on his jaw. “Maybe he wants to kill the people who funded the program?”
“Or the military,” Matt said helpfully. “Blackstar is just a contractor, after all.”
“He could be going after any of them,” Carver said. “From the board of directors, right up to the congressmen who fund Blackstar.”
“Or all of them,” Val said her voice rising with excitement. “All of them at once!”
The two men stared at her. “What are you talking about?” Carver said.
Valkyrie reached into her pocket and produced the flyer she’d taken from the lobby at Blackstar Fusion’s headquarters. She handed it to him. Carver’s good eye went wide as he looked it over. “This?” he said. “This is what he meant about making a bomb?”
Matt tilted his head. “What is that?” Carver handed the paper over, and a look of disbelief washed over Matt’s features.
“If he’s looking to finish off his bucket list,” Val said, “there’s no better place to do it.”
“Maybe we should warn them,” said Carver.
“Warn who, exactly?”
“I don’t know, the company? The FBI?”
“The same people who let the Collector kill two dozen people rather than risk exposing their connection to him? The feds, who brushed me off for years while the killings continued, and then arrested me for trying to save the Informant? What exactly do you think that will accomplish?”
Matt and Carver stared at one another in silence. Valkyrie spoke: “Matt, get on that computer of yours. Get me all the information you can find on that venue. Blueprints, if you can find them. Find out what kind of security they’ll have.”
“Are you serious?” said Carver. “You want to go in there?”
“Dead serious. We can’t risk alerting the authorities. We don’t even know if this is what the Collector meant when he talked about making a bomb. And if he is in the area, we can’t scare him off. Our best chance of saving those people -and to catch the Collector- is to do it ourselves.”
Carver cocked an eyebrow. “Ourselves?”
Valkyrie shrugged. “If you don’t want to help, you know your way back to the airport.”
“Right, and let you have all the fun? Not a chance.”
She looked him up and down. A frown creased her features. “What?” he said, noting her glare.
“Get cleaned up. We’re going shopping.”
Chapter 15
According to the flyer, the dress code for the party would be business formal. This was no problem for Valkyrie, as her wardrobe consisted entirely of blazers and slacks. Carver on the other hand, was going to be a problem. He needed a complete suit, right down to the Wingtips -something he didn’t even own. Unfortunately, several phone calls later, they still hadn’t found a place to buy a suit after ten p.m. in the city.
Since shopping would have to wait, Val asked to borrow Matt’s car again. She told Carver she’d pick him up first thing in the morning. As she went for her coat by the elevator, Carver said, “Where are you going?”
“To the hotel.”
“Which hotel?”
“Forget it,” she said, reading his mind. “I need to get some sleep. Matt, Carver is crashing on your couch tonight.”
“Great!” Matt said. “I’ll put new batteries in the game controllers.”
Carver wasn’t convinced. “Are you sure? The guy who snuck into my trailer may not be the only one looking for you.”
“You’re sweet,” Val said, giving him a peck on the cheek. “I have an alarm. And a gun. I’ll be fine.” Carver stared after her as she stepped into the elevator. She paused there.
“Matt, when you get a chance, please do a background check on Mr. Hurt. See if there’s anything we’ve overlooked. If this party thing doesn’t pan out, we’ll have a major advantage if we can track down his address and banking information.”
“Sure,” Matt said over his shoulder. He was already on the couch with a controller in hand. A horde of zombies appeared on the television screen as Carver plopped down next to him. The last thing Valkyrie saw was the back of their heads staring up at the screen as the elevator dropped out of sight.
Valkyrie slept well that night, and woke with little pain. She actually felt refreshed for a change. Despite the many hours she’d spent in Matt’s car the previous day, she had only minor tension in her lower back. She supposed there was something to be said for those luxurious leather seats after all. She wondered if it would be possible to update the seats in the Packard with something similar.
Val picked up coffee and bagels on her way to Matt’s place. The boys were still asleep when she arrived. She roused them and then went to work heating the bagels in Matt’s toaster oven. By the time they were ready, Matt had already finished his coffee and was starting a fresh pot. Carver sat on a stool at the island, staring bleary-eyed into space.
“You look hung over,” Val said, noticing the dark circles under his eyes.
“I am,” he said, “and not in the good way.”
“What does that mean?”
“It took us until four in the morning to beat that stupid zombie army.”
“I hope it was worth it,” she said with a wry grin.
“Oh, it was!” Matt chimed in. “I’ve been trying to beat that game for three weeks. Jennifer tried to help, but she doesn’t like FPSs. She’s into MMORPGs, so she’s not very good anyway.”
Val stared at him like he was speaking a different language. She stifled the urge to ask him what it meant, because she was afraid he would tell her. Instead, she looked at Carver and said, “You’d better drink that coffee. We have a long day ahead of us.”
Carver moaned and put the cup to his lips. Val pushed a bagel with cream cheese in his direction, but he held out his hand. “No thanks, I’m not hungry. Besides, I’m lactose intolerant.”
She chuckled. “You’re kidding.”
He glared at her with his good eye. “Something funny about that?”
“Nah, I guess we all get old.”
Carver made a grunting noise. Val couldn’t help giggling quietly to herself. She’d seen the man’s bullet scars. He had at least four of them. Bullets couldn’t kill Carver -heck, even losing an eye had barely slowed him down- but he didn’t dare eat cream cheese.
When they hit the stores a little later, the process of finding a suit for Carver was a bit more challenging than Valkyrie had anticipated. The off-the-rack options didn’t work because of his unusually wide shoulders. The shirts and jackets that fit his shoulders were either long enough for a man seven feet tall, or voluminous enough for a Volkswagen. The manufacturers were all apparently unfamiliar with the concept of a well-built, athletically shaped man.
After they had exhausted their options at the third store in an hour, Valkyrie realized the only way this was going work would be to find a tailor. Unfortunately, locating someone who could do a rush job overnight provided another layer of difficulty -and expense. Tailors were few and far between. After calling several dress shops and dry cleaners, Val finally got the number of a local business that could take on the job. Unfortunately, it was south of town, and traffic was a mess.
By the time Carver had picked out a suit and had been fitted for it, it was almost dinnertime. They had missed lunch entirely. Carver was hungry now, and Val was, too. They discussed going out to dinner, but decided that after rushing around all day, they just wanted a quiet meal and a good night’s rest. They picked up some takeout again, this time Mexican. They returned to Matt’s place at six p.m.
While eating her burrito, Val found herself longing for a real cooked meal, something with red meat and vegetables, maybe a salad. She hadn’t eaten a real meal like that in days. The boys however, were just fine with tacos, burritos, and nachos.
“I have something to show you,” Matt said between bites.
Valkyrie’s face lit up. “Is it about the Collector?”
“Sort of. I came up with some background info on Lester Hurt. During his first tour in Iraq, he was drafted into a special program. After that, all records of him vanish.”
“Told you,” Carver grumbled around a mouthful of nachos. “CIA.”
Val sighed. “I suppose that would explain how he ended up in Syria. I’d still like to know what exactly he was doing there.”
“Impossible,” Matt said. “Even after Blackstar hired him, the details are sparse. His file lists the names of the projects he worked on, and the dates. That’s it.”
This last part caught Carver’s interest. “What projects?”
Matt thought a moment. “One was called Mourning Star.”
“What about the one in Syria?” said Valkyrie.
“Um… That was Project Ravenclaw.”
Val stared at Carver. “Do those names mean anything to you?”
He shook his head. “No, but that’s not surprising. I’ve heard Intelligence will assign multiple names to the same operation, just to add layers of confusion. It sounds like whatever Hurt was up to, it wasn’t all copacetic, either. His own handlers may not have known what he was doing.”
They fell quiet after that, making small talk as they finished their meal. It wasn’t until they were done that Matt remembered something else he’d wanted to show Valkyrie. “Check this out!” he exclaimed, leading her over to his work desk. He lifted a small device, no larger than the size of a pencil eraser, and held it out in the palm of his hand.
“What is that?”
“It’s a wireless earpiece: a com system, for your phone.”
Val gave the thing a skeptical glance. “It’s very small.”
“Yes, it fits inside the ear canal, so no one can see it.”
“We tried something like that in Afghanistan,” Carver said. “How did you overcome the radio interference issue?”
“It doesn’t work that way. It operates on short-wavelength UHF.”
“What does that mean?” said Valkyrie.
“It’s basically Bluetooth.”
Carver spoke up. “It means the earpiece uses our cell phones to communicate. The phones will do all the heavy lifting. Clever.”
“Exactly,” said Matt. “This way, the three of us can communicate discretely while you’re at the party.”
“What happens if we lose the cellular signal?” said Carver. “Calls drop all the time, especially inside a building.”
“I already thought of that,” said Matt. “I wrote an app for your phones. If the call disconnects, it will automatically redial. You won’t even have to touch your phones. And if you’re still out of signal range, it will keep trying until it gets a signal.”
Carver clapped a hand down on Matt’s shoulder. “Good man, I’m impressed. I’m beginning to understand what Valkyrie sees in you.”
Matt’s face flushed with pride.
“Great,” said Val. “Now all we need is a plan.”
“I can help with that, too,” Matt said. He went to the second desk and retrieved a cardboard tube. He opened it, and withdrew a roll of large papers.
“You got the blueprints?”
Matt beamed. “I got the blueprints.”
Chapter 16
“Take me to the Bayside Hotel,” Albert Raldich demanded as he climbed into a cab outside Logan International Airport.
“Yes, sir,” said the cabby, and pulled away from the terminal.
Albert -Al to his friends- had only one bag with him. That was really all he needed for a two-night stay in Boston. He did have a second package on the way to the hotel -shipped, not checked- which would contain his freshly pressed and cleaned suit. It had long been Al’s practice to ship his suits ahead rather than to rely on the notoriously unreliable airlines. They couldn’t seem to get a person’s bags on the right plane even if you stood and watched them.
Not that he’d have such worries much longer. If Al’s company got the contract they had been negotiating with Blackstar Fusion, sharing a plane with hundreds of strangers would be a thing of the past. He’d never fly public again. He’d be flying solo, cruising at forty thousand feet in his own private jet. There would be satellite TV, booze, and of course a pretty young intern eager to prove her worth.
A smile came to his lips. It disappeared as he thought of the bubble-headed flight attendant who’d been bringing him vodka tonics all afternoon. To think the stupid ginger had tried to cut him off after three drinks. And in first class! He’d taken care of that. By the time he was done dressing her down, the woman had been in tears. After that, she had dutifully replenished his drink every twenty minutes for the duration of the flight.
Now that was service. Too bad you couldn’t get it without crushing a few spines first. That was the secret: knowing which spines to crush, and when to do it. Society had this set of rules that everyone agreed to. You don’t lie, steal, or cheat. You always stop for red lights. You don’t abuse women, physically or verbally, because they’re the weaker sex. They can’t take it. They have to be protected and fawned over like helpless infants.
Equal rights, he thought with a snicker. Too bad we’re not all equal.
The fact of the matter was that all those rules were pure BS. In truth, a person could do any of those things, so long as he chose the right time and manner in which to do them. Rules were meant to be broken, plain and simple. Al had found that this philosophy gave him an edge. When everybody else is following the rules, the person who’s not is the one who wins. It worked in real life, and it absolutely dominated in business. Al was headed straight for the top, and he didn’t care about the bloody trail of bankruptcies and broken hearts in his wake. That’s business.
Al stumbled into the hotel lobby twenty minutes later, dragging his bag along behind him. A cheerful young blonde behind the service desk greeted him with a smile. She said, “Good evening. How can I help-”
“Reservation,” Al snapped, cutting her off. “Raldich.”
He glanced at her nametag and muttered her name under his breath, “Mandy. Candy mandy…”
Mandy appeared somewhat startled by his behavior. It made sense when she caught a whiff of the alcoholic vapors rising off him.
“Come on!” he said, smacking his hand on the counter. “I already lost three hours on that frickin’ flight.”
Mandy flinched. She tapped the keys on her computer. “Yes sir,” she said. A machine on the counter spat out a key card. She pushed it across the counter to him. “Here you go, Mr. Raldich. You’ll be staying in room 202. Would you like me to-”
“I’d like you to come up in fifteen minutes,” he said with a grin. “And don’t be wearing anything but a bath robe. And a thong.”
Mandy gave him an uncomfortable look that made him laugh. He continued laughing all the way to the elevator.
As the door slid shut, a man who had been sitting in the corner of the lobby put down the novel he’d been reading. He tucked it into his bag and then walked past the front desk. As he walked by, he shot Mandy a pleasant smile. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I have a feeling that guy will get what’s coming to him.”
Mandy managed a smile, but it was obvious that she was still shaken.
A knock at the door woke Al at two o’clock in the morning. He moaned as the room spun. He shifted, rolling onto his side. Tiny booze bottles from the mini-bar made clinking sounds as they landed on the carpet. The knock came again.
“Go away,” he grumbled into his pillow. It couldn’t be morning yet. Not if he was still this drunk.
Knock, knock.
Al coughed, hacking up something from the bo
ttom of his lungs that he spit onto the bed. He pushed up to a sitting position, blinking into the darkness. Nope. Definitely not morning.
Knock, knock.
Cursing under his breath, Al threw back the blankets. The rest of the empty bottles scattered, crashing into each other and bouncing across the floor. He kicked them out of the way as he stumbled to the door in his underwear. He turned on the light and then fussed with the lock. He threw the door open and found himself facing an empty hallway.
Knock, knock.
“What the…” He turned, and realized the sound was coming not from the main door, but from the adjoining room. He hadn’t realized until that exact moment that there even was an adjoining room. He cursed aloud as he walked over to the door. He opened it, and found himself face to face with a slender middle-aged man, several inches shorter and many pounds lighter than Al. The man smiled up at him.
“What’s your problem-”
Al’s voice became a grunt as the man jabbed the probes of a stun gun into his naked chest. Al felt the cold metal of the probes and the simultaneous shock of a million volts searing through his nerves. His muscles froze, his jaw locked, and his eyes went out of focus. He couldn’t lift a finger, or even scream.
The pain went away and he stumbled back, falling to the floor. The smaller man pounced on him like a tiger. The stun gun hit Al again, this time in the face. His body shook, saliva foaming out of his mouth. Spots swam through his vision. Finally, darkness closed in. Al went still.
Al’s eyes fluttered open. He was in a chair, zip ties binding his hands and feet, a strip of bed sheet tied around his face as a gag. Al blinked, and the man from next door came into focus. He was right up close, staring into Al’s face.
“There you are,” the man said. “I was wondering how long you’d be out.”
Al felt a tremor of fear working through his body. There was something about the man’s face; something about his eyes. They were so black, so dull… almost lifeless, as if there was no light behind them. Al was a large man, used to bullying and pushing people around to get his way. He’d always been large, even as a child. He had never in his life felt genuinely threatened. The closest he’d ever come to real fear was the time he’d gotten stuck upside down in the Zipper ride at the fair. It had broken down, leaving him dangling for more than twenty minutes. That was when he was twelve, and he had never gone on another carnival ride.