Behind the Mask

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Behind the Mask Page 13

by J. D. Cunegan


  Paris was the key. It was also where David Gregor was at the moment, supposedly closing an international green energy deal that promised tens of thousands of jobs to the greater Baltimore area. If Piotr was to be believed, that wasn’t all that was going on there.

  Richards grabbed the nozzle on his gun, gritting his teeth when he tried to straighten it. The metal didn’t budge. Another try, then another, before Richards bit his tongue with the strain.

  “Ugh, fuck it,” he mumbled, pocketing the gun and pulling the hood over his face again. Truth be told, he was getting too old for this shit.

  CHAPTER 28

  IT WAS ALMOST DISTURBING how easily Jill broke into her brother’s office. Brian Andersen was the city’s Assistant District Attorney; his office was on the third floor of City Hall—which was supposed to be one of the most secure buildings in all of Baltimore. But all Jill had to do was learn the security rotation, make sure she wasn’t seen, and employ the lock-pick techniques she had picked up from Ramon a couple years ago. At this late hour, with City Hall engulfed in night, Jill had an easy time slipping past the guards.

  Wearing all black still had its advantages.

  Cringing when the door locked with a click behind her, Jill immediately scanned the ceiling. Her luck, there would be a security camera in the corner and her every move would be digitized for future prosecution. But there was nothing of note up there, save an indiscernible stain in the far left corner. Jill’s body instantly relaxed, and she pushed off the door frame to approach the desk.

  There were probably easier ways to access a computer—and by extension, this flash drive—than breaking into her brother’s office. If Jill put enough time and effort into a disguise, she could probably even waltz into a public library during business hours and no one would be the wiser. If she felt like pushing her luck, she could have even handed the drive to one of her former co-workers and asked them to do the digging for her.

  But Jill had to see the contents of the flash drive for herself. And for all the logistical headaches that came with breaking into a government building, something about being in Brian’s office calmed Jill. It was, in a lot of ways, the closest she could get to him these days, and such familiar surroundings were a balm on her frayed nerves.

  In truth, she had meant to pay more attention to the USB drive Stanley Erikson had given her, but between two dead bodies, being framed for murder, and dealing with Piotr, it had slipped her mind until now. Erikson seemed to think the drive contained information Jill wanted—information that, if it landed on the front page of the Baltimore Sun, would net Erikson a Pulitzer and likely have him looking over his shoulder.

  That was what gave Jill pause when the flatscreen monitor on Brian’s desk came to life. Well, that and the password prompt. Jill chewed on her lip, wishing she had paid more attention during the cyber security portion of her Academy training. She once worked Homicide; what did she need to learn how to hack into people’s computers for?

  Well...

  Jill’s fingers danced over the keyboard, and her frustration built each time the machine beeped at her in rejection. None of the typical guesses were working; whatever Brian’s password was, it had nothing to do with the Orioles or the Ravens—or, surprisingly enough, comic books.

  Glancing to her left, Jill’s heart skipped a beat. On the corner of her brother’s desk sat a framed photograph, one that had faded over the years. Brian and Jill were standing next to each other, grinning ear-to-ear, and Jill had her hand on her younger brother’s shoulder as he used a wiffle ball bat like a cane. They were in their front yard, and even though the image had faded, the memory was clear as day.

  Such happier, simpler times... those were days when their father could do no wrong, when the bad guys got what they deserved, and the Andersen children believed the world could be anything they wanted it to be. Jill grabbed the frame, a watery smile on her face as a finger traced over the glass. For all the problems Jill and Brian had over the years—even now—he still had this picture.

  Jill brushed aside a couple tears that had fallen without her permission. Setting the picture back in its place, Jill sucked in a deep breath and straightened her posture. Once things calmed down a bit, she would reconnect with her brother. Again. For all of their issues, her life was better with Brian in it. Time was, they were inseparable, and if there was a chance they could return to that, then Jill would be a fool not to try.

  She glanced at the monitor again. Scowling at the cursor that mocked her, Jill cracked her knuckles—a devilish sound thanks to the titanium on her bones—before typing again.

  JillAndBrian.

  With a ping, the login screen disappeared and was replaced with her brother’s desktop. Brian was more sentimental than he let on. “That’s right,” Jill muttered with a self-satisfied grin before sliding the USB drive in the correct port.

  A window opened on its own, revealing one file folder titled PF. Jill swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat, and her hand hovered over the mouse. Part of Jill wasn’t sure she wanted to dig any deeper, but she supposed she was at the point of no return now. If she yanked out the USB and tossed it back to Erikson, she would likely spend the rest of her days wondering what was in that folder.

  Now, as scary as the potential truth was, Jill couldn’t in good conscience turn away from it. That wasn’t how she was wired—badge or no.

  With a double-click, Jill opened the folder. The screen flooded with photographs, documents, and video files... and even from the thumbnails, Jill could tell this was likely all of the information Dr. Roberts had ever collected with regards to Project Fusion. That it all fit on one device barely larger than Jill’s thumb was more a testament to the advances of technology than anything. Something told Jill that if she were to study every file on this device, she would still be here when Brian showed up for work the next morning.

  Awkward...

  Without truly knowing where to start, Jill picked the first video she saw. Opening it, she frowned when she was greeted with the sight of Dr. Roberts. He was smiling and his hair was actually under control for once. It was a far cry from the way she had found him over a year ago when his body was fished out of the Chesapeake Bay.

  “This is... extraordinary!” he told the camera, his arms waving the way they always did whenever he was excited. “Patient Zero has successfully undergone the transplant. Twelve hours on that slab, and her vitals are stable. Now, she’s not out of the woods yet—the next twenty-four hours will be key in her recovery. But Patient Zero is the first subject to survive the procedure itself. I’m not sure I can adequately articulate, to the satisfaction of this panel, how big a deal that truly is.”

  Even without the camera panning to the operating table, Jill would have known that Dr. Roberts had been referring to her. She hated the sight of herself on that slab, naked and unconscious as one of the automated machines began stitching the incision on her chest back together. Though she remembered most of what happened before and after the procedure, Jill didn’t care much for seeing the act itself.

  So she closed the video. She already knew all of that anyway. Just as she already knew that David Gregor had been the project’s largest financial supporter—until the Russians got involved and six of their soldiers were found dead following the procedure. To Jill’s knowledge, that had been the end of Project Fusion.

  But Piotr’s existence told her otherwise.

  For that matter... Dr. Roberts’ presence in Baltimore prior to his murder could also have been seen as a sign. Jill hadn’t given that much thought at the time; after all, she was too busy trying to solve his murder. But if Erikson’s intel supported the running theory that Project Fusion wasn’t as dead as previously thought, Jill needed to see the evidence for herself.

  The first file in the folder was the most recent: an audio file, though considering the date on the file, whoever had created was clearly someone other than Dr. Roberts. He had already been dead three weeks when this file was crea
ted.

  With pursed lips, she clicked on the file to open it.

  “August 25, 2016,” the man spoke around scratching and feedback from the microphone. “This is Dr. Lo recording from my laboratory in Paris, France.”

  Wait... Paris?

  “Dr. Roberts’ legacy in the field of cybernetics is unassailable. His work on Project Fusion, and prosthesis in general, should be the envy of the scientific world. Alas, the unfortunate incident in Russia several years ago tarnished that legacy—unfairly, I might add. While it is... unfortunate that Dr. Roberts is no longer among us and cannot see the fruits of his labor, he did a fine job of ensuring his life’s work would continue.”

  The pitch-black screen gave way to a dark and fuzzy video feed. The camera focused on a metal slab, upon which a middle-aged man laid. He was as gray as any murder victim Jill had encountered over the years, and his skin was unblemished aside from black dashes along his forehead and down the center of his chest. When the video feed cut to black again, Dr. Lo cleared his throat.

  “Thanks in large part to Project Fusion’s success, we are close to the next step in prosthesis. Instead of replacing damaged limbs or simply augmenting what the human body is already capable of, I am confident that we will soon be able to achieve reanimation.”

  Jill’s blood ran cold. Dr. Lo couldn’t mean...

  “Specimen three,” Dr. Lo continued, the man on the slab again appearing on-camera, “was in peak physical condition prior to his death. He was a marathon runner, never smoked or drank a day in his life. But at fifty-three, a brain aneurysm did him in. It is my hope that, with the aid of modern technology, we can reverse this tragedy.”

  Jill shook her head and pushed herself away from the desk. This was... madness didn’t feel like a strong enough word, but it was the closest she could think of in the moment. It was one thing to replace a limb or to improve someone’s life in some way... but playing God like this? Giving life back to someone who had lost it? Not only did Jill not think it was possible, she hated to think of the ramifications.

  Sure, there had been instances over the years when she wished a murder victim could have their life back. In fact, she had felt that way about every victim she had ever encountered. But to actually be able to give them life again? That messed with the natural order of things, and though Jill had never been particularly spiritual, the potential left her uneasy in a deeply disturbing way.

  “Of course, none of this would be possible without the generous contributions of our benefactors.” With a grating hiss, the screen went black again; whoever this Dr. Lo was, he was careful to make sure he wasn’t being seen. “Though they prefer to remain anonymous, I want to make sure they understand how much I appreciate their support.”

  Jill closed the file and leaned back in the chair. Her mind went where it always did when something like this popped up, and she hated it, because there was no way David Gregor was behind everything nefarious in the world... right? But he had been involved with Project Fusion before, and he just so happened to be in Paris right now. Jill hoped like hell that she was just being paranoid, but her experience told her that discounting the possibility without concrete proof was a good way to end up in even more trouble.

  Yanking the USB drive from the computer and pocketing it, Jill bolted from her chair. She grabbed the burner phone tucked into her left boot and brought the device to her ear. Pulling the door open with far less stealth than when she first snuck into the office, Jill tucked into a nearby shadow as the call connected.

  “Erikson.”

  “We need to meet.” Jill glanced over her shoulder. “You in your office?”

  There was a beat of silence. Then, “Not here. I know a place.”

  CHAPTER 29

  LORI TAYLOR WAS BORED.

  After all, what was there to do in an interrogation room than just sit there? And wait. There was nothing to read. Her phone had been confiscated upon her arrest at the airport. And she had already studied those god-awful walls and seen her own reflection enough to know the overhead lights did her complexion no favors. There was no telling how long she had been sitting here, either; her flight had taken off hours ago, without her on it, thanks to some overzealous TSA agent.

  This would happen when her billionaire of a boyfriend was halfway around the world. David Gregor was lucky he had so many other fine qualities, because his habit of being elsewhere when she needed something was growing tiresome.

  Truth was, Lori was screwed. Not the kind she liked, where Gregor had her pinned up against the wall with her dress pooled at her ankles, but the kind where she was staring at a future in bright orange and two and a half squares a day. And all because she forgot one simple, Crime 101 step.

  That damn security camera. One she had insisted Gregor install months ago in the first place. Of all the times he decided to listen to her advice, that had to be it.

  The door swung open, Ramon and Detective Watson interrupting Lori’s train of thought. She straightened her posture, watching the cops take their respective seats across from her. Watson clasped his hands together. Ramon thumbed through a manila folder that included autopsy photos of Joel Freeman. Lori forced herself not to look at them.

  “Adam Jonas,” Ramon began.

  Lori frowned, more out of confusion than anything. She locked eyes with the detective, fighting back the sneer that tugged at her lips when she saw the sideways grin on his face.

  And come to think of it... where was her lawyer?

  “See, Freeman appears to be rather open-and-shut,” he explained. “I mean, yeah, we’d like to know how he wound up out of prison, but his actual death? That’s as straightforward as you can get.”

  “But we’ve got another body on our hands,” Watson picked up the thread. “And it just so happens Jonas was an undercover cop... investigating your boytoy.”

  “Not to mention,” Ramon added, “when we apprehended the vigilante, she was wounded. Tells us she was attacked by a mystery woman. You happen to know anything about that?”

  Lori shrugged her shoulders and shook her head. “You’re wasting your time, detectives. I’m not saying anything until my lawyer gets here.”

  Whenever that will be...

  “Oh, you don’t have to say anything,” Ramon grabbed one of Jonas’ autopsy photos, glassy eyes staring straight ahead and a thin red line running along his neck. “See, we don’t need your lawyer to execute a search warrant. As we speak, officers are combing through your apartment, your office... we think we can tie you to Jonas just as easily as we tied you to Freeman.”

  “What’s Gregor got on you?” Watson asked, even though he knew he wouldn’t get an answer. “By all accounts, you’ve had it made most of your life. Law degree from Georgetown, got on with one of D.C.’s biggest firms right after graduating, appeared to be well on your way to partner. What happened?”

  “You’re not the first Gregor’s ever caught in his web.” Ramon shook his head. “If I had my way, though, you’d be one of the last. Hide behind your lawyer all you want, Ms. Taylor. Hell, maybe you really did have nothing to do with Jonas. Even still, your life is over.”

  The two detectives stood and turned for the door. Ramon had left Jonas’ autopsy photo on the table, right in front of Lori. She stared at it with pursed lips, trying to will her heartbeat back into a steady rhythm. Her eyes shot up just in time to see Ramon grab the doorknob.

  “Wait,” she said. “I didn’t have anything to do with Jonas. But I know who did.”

  Watson and Ramon exchanged a look.

  “Piotr Sokolov.”

  Ramon fought the urge to roll his eyes, while Watson pursed his lips and jotted the name into his notepad. With a shake of his head, Ramon pulled the door open. Watson stepped through, and Ramon glared at Lori before pulling the door shut behind her, leaving her completely alone.

  As soon as the door shut, the lights went out.

  CHAPTER 30

  LORI ROLLED HER EYES and shook her head. Yeah, this wa
s real funny. Cops playing a sophomoric prank on her, trying to scare her by locking her in a dark interrogation room while she waited on her lawyer. And this was the precinct with the highest homicide closure rate in the city? Though Lori couldn’t help but wonder if that would change, now that a certain cyborg had turned in her badge. The next round of numbers from the Bishop would be quite interesting. Assuming Lori was still a free woman when that happened...

  A red dot appeared, interrupting the pitch black. With a scoff, Lori shook her head, because of course. No day would be complete without her showing up. Never mind the fact that she was supposedly a fugitive.

  And wounded.

  Wasn’t she?

  “So you went from being a cop to being their mascot,” she said. “Pathetic.”

  “Hello, Lori,” a male voice greeted.

  Lori sucked in a ragged breath. Okay, so it wasn’t Jill. She was trapped in a pitch-black interrogation room with him. But what was he doing here? He couldn’t be in league with the cops, could he? Lori checked over her shoulder, even though she couldn’t even see her own hand if it was hovering in front of her face. There had been no trace of Piotr just seconds earlier, and yet...

  “I have to admit, I thought you were smarter than this.” Piotr’s boots stomped against the cold, hard floor. He was circling Lori as if she were a bit of prey. “Framing Bounty was a nice plan. Too bad you forgot one of the most important steps. You are sloppy when you get impulsive.”

  Lori folded her arms over her chest. As much as she hated knowing her own oversight would likely bring everything crashing down around her, she appreciated being mocked over it even less. “What are you doing here?”

  “To tell the truth?” The chair across from Lori scraped against the floor before Piotr sunk himself down into it. “I came here to kill you. What better welcome home gift for David Gregor than the love of his life sprawled out on his bed, having bled out all over his satin sheets?

 

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