Dead End

by Jeramy Gates

  “I spent the whole day waiting for you,” the man said to him. “I guess the hotel screwed up our reservations. This room -your room- was supposed to be mine. They refused to swap, even when I offered to pay double. It really was an unnecessary complication.”

  The man pulled away. He had propped open the door dividing the adjoining rooms, and he continued to talk as he wandered into the next room. “The thing is, it really had to be this room. I had to hang out in the lobby all day long, waiting for someone to claim it. You know, it’s a good thing I have a large bladder. I almost gave up. I figured I’d have to break in.”

  He returned carrying a large cardboard box. He placed it on the bed and started pulling out thick rectangular sheets of clear plastic. “But I don’t mind improvising. I’ve been doing it for a long time.”

  He shot Al a smile that sent shivers crawling down the big man’s spine. There was something about the killer’s facial features. He looked impish… almost demonic. Al’s senses were beginning to creep back, and the bizarre reality of his situation had begun to settle on him. He couldn’t tell anymore if he was drunk. The alcohol seemed to be sweating out through his pores like perspiration, and his heart was beating at twice the normal speed.

  Calm down, he thought. This guy’s small. You can take him…

  But there was more to it than that. And it wasn’t just that Al was tied up. There was something about his captor -something methodic about the way the man worked, about the way he viewed the situation. It was almost as if he’d done this a thousand times before… like it was just another day on the job. That was terrifying.

  Al watched the man arrange the plastic sheets into boxes. After he had all the boxes assembled, he returned to the other room and came back with a large suitcase. Al could do nothing but stare in disbelief as his captor quietly removed and meticulously sorted timers, a dozen explosive primers, and an equal number of bricks of plastic explosive.

  That is what they had to be, Al decided. He had seen enough movies to know that much. The maniac was using Al’s room to build bombs.

  His captor spent two hours assembling the components into the clear plastic boxes. When he was done, he brought out a set of blueprints, which he spread out on the bed. He strategically placed the devices by measuring the distance across the room in footsteps.

  It finally occurred to Al what the man was doing, and why. This wasn’t personal. It was something else. Al didn’t know much about architecture, but he was pretty sure the man was trying to place the bombs in such a way that they’d collapse the whole end of the building.

  The Blackstar conference!, Al realized. This guy’s going to kill everyone! It was like 9/11 all over again. This guy wasn’t an Arab though, Al thought. He didn’t look like a terrorist and he sure didn’t look Muslim. So what was he doing? Why Blackstar Fusion? Al’s head swam.

  “There,” his captor finally said as he stood back with his hands on his hips to survey his work. He checked his watch. “Night’s almost over… I guess we have a couple hours, though.”

  He turned to face Al, sized him up like a butcher sizing up a side of beef. Al felt the sudden urge to run. He twisted in the chair, fighting against his bonds. The killer disappeared into the next room and returned a moment later with a black-handled, very sharp looking knife. Al twisted his wrists behind his back, struggling to break the zip ties. They held fast. It was impossible to believe that such tiny strips of plastic could make such a formidable bond.

  The knife turned, the bright steel flashing with the reflection of the overhead lights. “We don’t have long,” his captor said. “So, we’ll have to make the most of it. Do you want to see it all, or just feel it?”

  Al screamed, but the muffled sound of his voice barely disturbed the silence of the room. The man came forward, knife twisting in his grip, a maniacal grin contorting his features. He pulled close, their faces inches apart. “Let’s start with your feet,” he said, grinning.

  Al screamed again, but no one heard.

  Chapter 17

  Matt located a file on Blackstar’s servers that provided many helpful details about the convention. He also found the invitation file, which he used to print invites for Val and Carver. This was precautionary. They didn’t expect any security at the event, but there might be a host at the door checking invitations. Better to go prepared than to be caught with their pants down.

  Carver meanwhile, had been studying the blueprints. The mercenary determined that the best place for someone to put a bomb was at the south end of the large conference room. The concrete exterior wall would channel the explosion inward to cause maximum damage. It would not only contain the pressure of the blast, it would also weaken the entire structure of the outer wall, probably causing a collapse.

  There were other places to check, too: the conference room next door, the bathrooms across the hall, the basement, as well as the suites located on the second floor. The practicality of each scenario depended on a great number of variables, not the least of which was the nature of the explosive device itself. This was something they couldn’t even guess at. They could only assume that when the Collector said he’d be building a bomb, he had meant it, and that he knew how to do it. This wasn’t hard to believe, considering his intelligence background.

  Armed with this information, the group laid out their plans carefully. Val and Carver would enter the venue at the appointed time. They would split up to search the building, with Matt monitoring their progress using the com system he had created. The moment they located the bomb, they would either disable it or clear the building, depending on the weapon’s complexity. If all went well, they could be in and out in less than half an hour. If they happened to find the Collector on site, they would deal with him as necessary. Neither Val nor Carver had any particular interest in keeping the man alive, but they agreed not to kill him in cold blood. How sincere they were in this promise, at least in Matt’s mind, was doubtful.

  At two a.m., Valkyrie finally got back to her hotel. Tired as she was, sleep didn’t come right away. She couldn’t seem to get comfortable, and every sound seemed to disturb her. She tossed and turned, and eventually decided to read for a while. She scanned a few passages from the King James Version on her Kindle Paperwhite, and then finally drifted into a light, fitful sleep.

  When the alarm went off at seven a.m., Val felt like she hadn’t slept at all, which was close to the truth. She couldn’t possibly have had more than four hours of sleep. She bought breakfast on the way to Matt’s place again. It was the least she could do, considering she was still using his car. Val had offered to pick up a rental again, but Matt told her not to bother. Considering how busy Valkyrie had been, it was probably for the best. She hadn’t had a moment to waste since the plane landed.

  After breakfast, Val took Carver into town to pick up his suit. He tried it on at the shop, and thankfully, the fit was perfect. Carver wore it out of the building. As they climbed back into Matt’s Charger, Carver gave Val the once-over.

  “What about you?” he said.

  “What?”

  “Is that what you’re wearing?”

  “What’s wrong with it?”

  “I don’t know… seems a little casual.”

  “It’s a suit.”

  “Yeah, but look what I’m wearing.”

  She cocked an eyebrow. “You’re wearing a suit. Like mine.”

  “Maybe, but you wear that every day.”

  “Yes Carver, that’s a funny thing about me: I don’t dress like a hobo.”

  He snorted. “Hobos don’t wear Hawaiian shirts.”

  “This is the twenty-first century, Carver. Nobody wears Hawaiian shirts.”

  “Hawaiians do.”

  Val ceded the point.

  At four p.m., they pulled into the parking lot at the Bayside Hotel. Being a Saturday afternoon, they had little difficulty with traffic. Val parked across the street. The guests who had already arrived were streaming in through the front entrance. It
was an hour until sunset, but the shadows of the surrounding buildings were already growing long.

  Val took the miniature speaker Matt had given her from its case, and pressed it into her ear canal. It felt cold, metallic, and uncomfortable. She worked her jaw, trying to get used to the sensation. She checked her phone, making sure the app was active.

  “Matt, can you hear me? Is this thing working?”

  “Loud and clear,” he said in her ear. “Is Carver listening?”

  Val glanced at her companion. “Turn your com on,” she said to him. Carver lifted his hips, raising himself far enough off the seat to dig it out of his pocket. He produced the tiny ear bud and the accompanying microphone clip.

  “Do you know how it works?” Val said.

  “I was there for the briefing.” He tucked the device into his ear canal where it was entirely invisible, and attached the microphone to the inside of his shirt, next to his throat.

  “…and I don’t understand why you had to dress up anyway,” Matt was saying. “You’re not party guests. You’re looking for a bomb.”

  “We still need to get into the party,” Val said. “We need to be inconspicuous; to blend in.”

  “Inconspicuous? Your date is a pirate in a three-piece suit.”

  Val laughed.

  “I can hear you,” Carver grunted.

  Matt went silent.

  “All right, we’re going in,” said Valkyrie. “Matt, keep monitoring us.”

  “Will do. And remember, the com’s relay will only work as long as you have a cell signal. If you lose your signal, it should automatically reconnect as soon as you reestablish a network.”

  “We got it after the first ten times,” Carver grumbled.

  They crossed the street and joined the steady stream of people moving through the grand entrance. Passing under the arch, Val had a clear view of the terrace overlooking the cruise ships in Boston Harbor. They turned right, following the crowd into a luxuriously appointed lobby with inlaid marble floors, wainscoting, and crown molding. The walls were painted a dull ivory color, trimmed in gold to match the veins in the marble. The inlays in the floor were a darker, mahogany-red marble.

  A sign indicated the way to the venue down the hall. Here, the marble gave way to carpet. Hardwood benches and furnishings lined the walls. Classical music streamed out through the open double doors, and guests mingled in the hall, sipping champagne and talking.

  “This is quite a place,” Carver said, admiring the décor.

  “Like a Roman palace,” said Val. “I wonder how much the suites cost.”

  “Oh?” said Carver, raising his eyebrows.

  “I meant a suite for one,” she said. “I think it’s time we should split up. You start in the basement, while-”

  “Carver?” a woman’s voice said. “John Carver, is that you?”

  They turned to see a pretty blonde weaving through the crowd. She was thin with short-cropped hair, her swept bangs just touching her right cheekbone. She wore a form-hugging midnight blue dress with matching pumps. A diamond pendant on her necklace resembled a seahorse in shape, and matched her tiny diamond-studded earrings. To Val’s eye, the woman’s appearance seemed calculated to the last note: wealthy but not extravagant, classy without being pretentious, and sexy, but not slutty. Her clothes looked designer, but Val really couldn’t be sure. She’d never paid much attention to such things. Regardless, the woman knew how to dress her best and she oozed confidence and beauty in a way seldom seen outside of Hollywood.

  “Senator Booker,” Carver said. “How are you? This is my good friend, Valkyrie Smith. Val, this is Shawna Booker.”

  She’s a senator, Val thought. That explains everything. “Pleased to meet you,” Valkyrie said, shaking her hand. “I didn’t know we’d be meeting any famous people today.”

  “Don’t worry, I’m not campaigning,” Shawna gave her a wink. “I’m just here to give a speech.” She turned to Carver, giving him a look. “So what brings you here today? Are you back with Blackstar?”

  “Not a chance. I did my time.”

  “Oh?” she cocked an eyebrow. “Don’t be so sure. I hear no one every truly escapes.”

  “Do you work with Blackstar?” Val said to the senator.

  “I had better,” Shawna said with a smile. “They are my state’s biggest employer… And what kind of work do you do, Valkyrie?”

  “FBI,” Valkyrie said without blinking an eye. Next to her, Carver shifted uncomfortably.

  “Really,” said Shawna. “How fascinating! I’d love to hear some of your stories.”

  Carver cleared his throat. “Well, we really don’t have time for that,” he said. “We were just looking for someone.”

  “So,” Val interjected, “how did the two of you meet?”

  “It was almost eight years ago,” said Shawna. “Right after I won my seat. I went to Afghanistan on an inspection tour, and Carver was on my security detail. Talk about a miserable place.”

  “We had another word for it,” Carver said. “At least we found something to drink.”

  “I don’t really remember,” said Shawna. “The whole thing’s rather foggy. Who came up with the idea of fermenting Gatorade in the first place? I almost went blind.”

  “Seriously?” Valkyrie said.

  “Actually, it wasn’t bad,” said Carver. “Sort of like lemon-lime vodka, with electrolytes.”

  “Don’t listen to him,” said Shawna. “The stuff tasted like fermented horse urine. Kicked like a horse, too.”

  Val was confused. “Why would anyone do such a thing? Why would you drink that?”

  “Not a lot of booze in Afghanistan,” said Carver. “It’s illegal there. Sixty lashes, if you’re caught.”

  “No one in Afghanistan drinks alcohol?”

  “He didn’t say that,” the senator giggled. “There’s a thriving black market. You just have to know where to get it.”

  “Making it illegal doesn’t make it go away,” Carver said. “If that worked, there’d be no such thing as murder.”

  “Good point. Well, it was nice to meet you,” Valkyrie said to the senator. “Maybe we’ll see you later.”

  Shawna accepted this in stride. She had many hands to shake yet. Val and Carver edged closer to the entrance. Once they were out of earshot, Carver turned on Val and said, “Are you nuts?”

  “Just mingling,” Val said with a teasing smile.

  “Impersonating a Fed… To a Senator? That’s not what I call mingling.”

  “Relax. She has no way of knowing.”

  He shook his head. “There’s no time for this. We need to find that bomb.”

  “Okay, let’s split up.”

  “Fine. I’ll check the basement-”

  “Maybe you should take the party,” Val interrupted. “I don’t know anyone here, and since you do, you’ll seem less suspicious. And maybe you’ll meet some more of your old girlfriends.”

  “Very funny. Whatever. What are you going to do?”

  “I’ll start with the other conference rooms. If I don’t find anything there, I’ll work my way to the basement. You’ll have to take the men’s room.”

  “Sounds good. I’ll catch up with you.”

  Valkyrie wandered down the hall, weaving a path through the crowd as she made her way to the conference room. She could tell from the darkened windows that it was empty. Without so much as a sideways glance, she pulled the door open and slipped inside. Val had learned long ago that the best way to get into a place she didn’t belong was to appear like she did.

  She circled the long conference table, making her way to the back of the room. Concealed in the shadows there, she knelt to check under the table.

  “Find anything?” Matt’s voice said.

  Val flinched at the sudden sound of his voice. She’d already forgotten he was listening. “Matt!” she said. “Don’t do that. You almost gave me a heart attack.”

  “Sorry.”

  “I’m in the conference room. The
re’s nothing under the table, but… hang on.”

  She pulled open the sliding doors on the back wall. This was a closet space filled with rows of shelves and filing cabinets. She scanned the area and checked a few drawers. “I’m not seeing anything in here,” she said quietly. “I’ve checked all of the storage areas.”

  “What kind of ceiling does it have?” Matt said.

  Val glanced up. “Perfect,” she said. “It’s a false ceiling. Anybody have a ladder handy?”

  “Give me a minute,” Carver said through the com.

  “Don’t worry about it. I think I can use a chair.”

  Val pulled one of the chairs away from the table, but found that it had wheels attached to the base. They all did, she realized. She didn’t dare try to stand on one of those things -not with her back. One slip, and she would end up in the hospital. She turned, looking for a less hazardous solution. Under the row of windows on the exterior wall, she saw a large wooden filing cabinet.

  Resting her cane against the wall, Val climbed up onto the cabinet. She pushed to her feet, straining a little with the effort as a knot or ten started up in her back.

  “Everything okay?” Matt said.

  “I’m fine. Just not used to climbing on furniture.”

  Valkyrie stifled the pain as she reached up to push a ceiling tile out of place. There was a considerable amount of space between the false ceiling and real one -about four feet- and it was dusty up there and smelled like old insulation and mice. The only indication that anyone had been up there in the last fifty years were the network cables strung along the roof. She could hear the low rumble of music and hundreds of voices drifting through the air duct just overhead.