Firestorm

by Iris Johansen

  “How well protected are these people?”

  “Damn well. After the first murders they didn't take any chances. They were being shadowed anyway. The President decided that it wasn't safe to trust anyone connected to the project and set Homeland Security to intimidate them from talking or trying to continue the project. But since the first deaths, their residences have been protected by a jamming barrier and they've all been assigned a battery of Secret Service agents to guard them and their families.”

  “Which doesn't appear to have helped.”

  “It made it more difficult.” He made a face. “But these are smart, savvy professionals who have their own share of ego. They think they can take care of themselves. They're not willing to be stuffed into safe houses until Trask is caught.”

  “I can understand how they feel.”

  He smiled. “Because you're probably more independent and stubborn than they are.”

  “I don't like trusting someone else with my well-being.”

  “Yet you trusted your fellow firefighters.”

  “That was different. Do you have a dossier on Trask?”

  He nodded and handed her a folder. “There's not much here that I haven't told you. He was born and raised in Marionville, West Virginia. Brilliant child, brilliant adolescent. Kind to pets and sucked up to adults. Passed all the psychological tests they threw at him. Earned a Fulbright scholarship. Never made a false step until he took off with Firestorm.”

  “That's hard to believe. But maybe there's something here that will trigger a memory, something I didn't pay any attention to at the time. Besides, I want to see what he looks like.” She flipped open the folder and glanced at the picture inside. A ripple of shock went through her. Trask was fortyish, with a receding hairline. Wide blue eyes stared out of a smooth, unlined face with childlike curiosity. He didn't look like a monster, and somehow that was even more terrible. She quickly closed the folder and put it back on the desk. She found she couldn't take more exposure to Trask at the moment. “Later. We're wasting time.” She glanced at the clock. It wasn't one yet, but that didn't stop her sense of urgency. She handed Silver two of the dossiers, kept the other two for herself, and settled in the leather chair. “Water. We have to try to find some connection or location with water. . . .”

  He sat down at the desk. “Then let's get to work.”

  No egg,” George sighed as he entered the library. “To my intense humiliation and disappointment.”

  George was dressed in black jeans and sweater and looked very unbutlerlike, Kerry thought as she glanced up from the dossier she was reading. “Egg?”

  “On my face,” George said. “There were fresh footprints by the front gate. I took a cast and called in the gendarmes to check it against Trask's shoe size.”

  “It was Trask,” Kerry said.

  “You seem as certain as Brad.” George gazed curiously at her. “How? Did you see him?”

  “No.” She glanced down at the dossier. “Ivan Raztov lives in an apartment in Baltimore. I checked the city map, Silver. Nowhere near any body of water. Joyce Fairchild has a house in the burbs of Fredericksburg. Ditto. No lakes or rivers nearby. But Gary Handel has an apartment overlooking the Potomac.”

  Silver nodded. “And Senator Kimble lives in a plush subdivision in Virginia called Twin Lakes. It's a possible.”

  “What's a possible?” George asked.

  Silver was silent a moment before he said, “I have an informant who told me that the next Trask victim would be connected with water.”

  George's brows lifted. “Indeed? The same informant who told you Trask was here tonight?”

  Silver nodded.

  “Then don't you think it's time to share this informant with me and the authorities?”

  “No,” Kerry said.

  “Oh, a ‘deep-throat' type informant?” George nodded. “I understand perfectly. I'm hurt, but if that's the way—”

  “Knock it off, George,” Silver said. “If you're so hot to share information, why don't you call one of your Secret Service buddies and tell them to put their people on stakeout on the alert? They might want to do some checking to make sure everything's okay.”

  “They'll want to know who your informant is too.”

  “Too bad.”

  “They can get very nasty.” He headed for the door. “But don't worry. I'll save you. I'll tell them I saw this vision in my crystal ball. . . .”

  Kerry looked at Silver, startled, after George had left the room. “I thought you said he didn't know—”

  “He doesn't.” He frowned. “That remark might have been pure coincidence.”

  “Or that wonderful cover you told me about might have been blown and he knows your think tank has nothing to do with hydrostatics.”

  “Possibly.” He smiled slightly. “It's never wise to underestimate George.”

  “I'm not underestimating him. You're the one who did that.” She rubbed her eyes. Lord, she was tired. “So do we go check out the senator's place and Gary Handel's apartment and see if I pick up any trace of Trask?”

  He nodded. “As soon as George checks and makes sure we don't already have a victim.”

  “I think we have time. It's too soon. He wanted it to come quickly, but he had to wait. . . .”

  “But you think it's tonight.”

  She nodded. “I got the impression the setup would take hours. But we can't just sit and wait for a report.” She got to her feet. “George can phone you while we're on our way to check out Handel and the senator.”

  He nodded and headed for the door. “I was just going to suggest that.”

  She smiled caustically as she followed him out of the house. “Maybe I read your mind.”

  “I hope not. Considering the slimeballs you seem to specialize in.” He opened the car door for her. “Why don't you close your eyes and try to rest? You've already had a hell of a night.”

  Yes, she had. And to grab what rest she could would be a smart move. She needed to be fresh for whatever confronted them tonight. “I don't think I can relax. But if I fall asleep, you'll wake me as soon as George gets back to you?”

  “Of course. You know I will. I need you.”

  That's right. How stupid of her. He needed her. . . .

  The water was clear and tumbled over the smooth stones in a crystal flow.

  A deadly flow, Trask thought. Deadly for Firestorm. It was frustrating that all the research he'd done had never brought a solution to this one element that could kill the fire. The only saving grace was that Firestorm burned so hot and so fast that most of the time it had done its work before water could be brought in to kill it. Oh, well, he still had time to work on Firestorm after he turned it over to the North Koreans. He would insist that his services be included in the deal in spite of their reluctance. Damn Asians thought their people were always superior. Yet they hadn't been able to develop anything nearly as sophisticated as Firestorm. They'd relied on nuclear when Firestorm was so much cleaner and just as deadly.

  He climbed the oak tree and made adjustments to the small dish he'd set up a week ago on the third branch. He hadn't had a chance to make any changes in the dish since the failure at the house in Macon, but since it was going to be focused on one person there should be no problem. Then he settled down and made himself comfortable on the tarp he'd folded to cushion the hardness of the branch. Everything was prepared, and all he could do was wait. He could feel the adrenaline coursing through him as he thought about the kill to come. It had been agony to leave the house that now belonged to Silver without being able to touch Kerry Murphy. She was a symbol of failure for him and for the child.

  No matter. The death of this target would ease him, and Kerry Murphy would be a joy all the more complete for the anticipation.

  The moon was going down, but he could still see its bright reflection on the water.

  Deadly, deadly water . . .

  Wake up, Kerry.”

  “I think I've heard you say that before
.” She yawned as she opened her eyes. “I wasn't really sleeping. Where are we?”

  “Twin Lakes.” He got out of the car and came around to open her passenger door. “Senator Kimble's place is just around the corner. I thought you might want to take your time and approach the house gradually.”

  “Whatever works. I'm a complete amateur at this, and I've no idea what will and what won't.” She glanced around her. If this was a subdivision, it was a subdivision of antebellum mansions. “Beautiful. Each of those houses must have at least ten acres surrounding it. I'm not sure that I'd vote for anyone who had this kind of money. I'd wonder where he got it.”

  “Private means. Inherited wealth,” Silver said. “Cam said he was a pretty straight shooter.” He pointed to the west. “See that glint through the trees? That's one of the two lakes. It's right in back of Kimble's property.”

  “And where are the Secret Service men who are supposed to be protecting Kimble?”

  “I'm sure they can see us. I doubt if they'll show themselves unless they think it necessary. We have to hope that George was able to persuade them we're harmless.”

  “Then it would be a lie. You're not harmless.” She stiffened as she saw two men detach themselves from the shadows of the trees. “And evidently they did find it necessary to decide for themselves.”

  “Stay here.” Silver went to meet the two agents. “I'll talk to them.”

  She nodded. She certainly had no desire to deal with the authorities. She didn't even know what she could say to them. I'm here to see if I can pick up bad vibes? Christ, she had been trying to avoid appearing to be a nutcase her entire adult life, and now she'd been hurled in the middle of a situation where she had to be on the alert every minute.

  Silver was smiling at the agents and then turning and coming back to her. “We're okay. They're just not taking any chances. I told them you're an arson expert and checking the grounds for suspicious objects. They'll be keeping an eye on us while they verify your credentials, but they won't interfere.”

  “Interfere with what?” She moved toward the house. “I don't have a clue what I'm doing, blast it.”

  “The first thing to do is not to get stressed out,” Silver said quietly. “We both know this may work and it may not. All you have to do is give it your best shot.”

  She drew a deep breath. “You've dealt with this kind of thing before. What do real psychics do?”

  Silver's lips twitched. “Kerry, you are a real psychic.” He held up his hand. “I know. You don't think of yourself in that way.” He shrugged. “Different strokes for different folks. Some concentrate. Others relax and try to let the impressions flow.”

  “You're a great help.”

  “It's up to you. I never claimed anything else. But, while you're trying to decide, why don't you kneel down and pretend you're looking for wires or something?”

  She fell to her knees, her gaze searching the ground. “I thought you said the houses of all the potential victims were protected by that jamming barrier. Don't these Secret Service men know that?”

  “No. Everything connected to Firestorm is on a need-to-know basis.”

  She looked up at him. “I feel like I'm praying. Hell, maybe that's not a bad idea.” She closed her eyes. “I need all the help I can get.”

  He didn't answer. He probably didn't want to disturb her concentration. Okay, so try to concentrate.

  Where are you, Trask, you son of a bitch?

  Nothing.

  Okay, then open your mind and let him come in. Breathe deep and steady. Relax.

  Five minutes later she opened her eyes.

  “Blank,” she said. “Absolutely blank.”

  “Then maybe he's not here,” Silver said. “Maybe Kimble's not the target.”

  “And maybe he is and I can't sense Trask.” She got jerkily to her feet. “I told you I was no good at this.”

  “Easy.” He took her elbow and nudged her back toward the car. “Are you willing to go and see our wunderkind who lives on the Potomac?”

  “Why not? I can't do any worse. I have to try.” She felt a ripple of panic as her gaze went to the east where the sky was just beginning to lighten. It would be dawn soon, and Trask had meant to make his kill before the night was over. Her pace quickened. “How long is it going to take to get to wunderkind's place?”

  “Thirty minutes maybe.”

  “Let's hurry.”

  “Don't worry.” Silver opened the car door. “I'm not going to waste any time, Kerry.”

  7

  It was almost five-thirty. The target should be on the move by now.

  Trask's gaze narrowed on the highway some distance away. The target's Volkswagen had come to a stop and he could see the Secret Service car pull up a short distance away.

  He smiled in amusement as he saw the agents get out of the car. So serious. So official. So completely inept outside their limited experience. It only made the challenge more exciting to know that they were there.

  The tension was building inside him as he made a final adjustment to the dish.

  Come on. Let's get to it. I'm ready. . . .

  Relax.” Silver glanced sideways at her. “You're tense as a strung wire. Another fifteen minutes.”

  She glanced at the eastern sky. It was brighter, more gray than black now. “You're sure George let everyone know to be on the alert?”

  “What do you think? George isn't someone who makes mistakes. Kimble's bodyguards knew we were coming.”

  He was right. She didn't believe George would be careless or take anything for granted, but it didn't keep her nerves from screaming. Panic had been growing since she had left Kimble's house. Dammit, she felt so helpless. “Maybe I was wrong. Maybe it was the Kimble place.”

  “Do you want to go back?”

  “Yes. No. I don't know. But this doesn't feel . . . right.”

  “What doesn't feel right?”

  “I don't know.” She moistened her lips. “Perhaps I'm just tired.”

  “Are you sensing anything?”

  “No. I'm blank. Maybe that contact with Trask was a fluke. Maybe I interpreted it wrong. Maybe I'll always be blank to him from now on.” She shook her head. “Just hurry up and get there. Okay?”

  “Okay.” He was silent a moment. “But I don't think you should doubt yourself. First impressions are usually the true ones, in my experience.”

  “Well, I don't have any experience to go by,” she said fiercely. “I could only tell you what I felt. He wanted a kill and he was going to get it. He was hurting and furious with me and he was glad he was— Oh, my God.” She sat bolt upright in the seat. “Christ in heaven.”

  “What?”

  “It's a woman. The target is a woman.” Her lips were trembling. “It has to be Joyce Fairchild.”

  “Why?”

  “He wanted me, but it was going to be okay. Substitution. Another woman instead of me. Don't you see? That would please the child.”

  “You're beginning to sound like him. You never mentioned a woman target.”

  “Don't you think I know that? He never consciously thought of her as a woman. She was a target. I only got impressions of water and that it was going to be all right that he couldn't give me to the child to burn. The target wasn't going to be perfect, but it might be close.”

  “Water. Her place isn't on the water.”

  “Dammit. I don't care. Turn around and go to . . .” She tried to remember. “. . . Fredericksburg. Isn't that where she lives?”

  He nodded as he looked for a turnoff. “Get on my cell phone and call George. He's in my directory. Tell him to check with her guards to make sure she's still okay.”

  The target was running down the path toward him.

  She was running fast, smoothly, seemingly covering the ground with no effort. But then, Joyce had always been a runner. He could remember when the rest of them had pulled all-nighters at the lab, she'd insist on breaking for her morning run. She said it cleared her head and increased her
creativity.

  Stupid bitch. She didn't know the meaning of creativity. She'd ridden on his coattails for the entire project. But that wouldn't prevent her from taking credit and whatever else she could steal.

  But he could prevent her from doing it.

  Joyce Fairchild goes for a run in Tyler Park every morning,” George said curtly when he called Kerry back. “She's there now. Agent Ledbruk is in charge of the security arrangements and he's on his way. I've told them you're coming and to tell his men to go after her and bring her back.”

  “Call us when they have her safe,” Kerry said, and hung up. She turned to Silver. “She's in Tyler Park. She's a runner. They're trying to bring her back. How long until we can get there?”

  “Ten minutes.”

  She was beginning to feel the burn, Joyce thought as she increased her pace. In a moment she'd be in that place where running was pure euphoria.

  The burn. Her lips curved in amusement. So many everyday phrases had to do with fire, and this was one she loved. Every muscle of her body felt stretched and alive, and the wind on her cheeks was like a brisk caress. Like a mother's gentle chastisement of a beloved child.

  Child. That was what that nut Trask had always called Firestorm. His child. His creation. No credit to anyone else. Bastard.

  Was someone calling her name?

  It was those Secret Service agents who trailed her. They were probably upset because she was leaving them in the dust. She'd slow and let them catch up soon. But not now. Not yet.

  Her lungs had stopped hurting. Her head was crystal clear.

  Just a few more steps and she'd reach the burn.

  She was there!

  She could feel it explode inside her.

  No. Pain.

  Something was wrong. . . .

  Oh, God,” Kerry whispered.

  The road bordering Tyler Park was jammed with vehicles. Silver pulled in behind an EMT truck and jumped out of the car. Kerry was already out the passenger door and running toward the path, where she could see a cluster of men and women gathered.