Hollywood Quest

by M. Z. Kelly

  Maybe it was divine providence or just dumb luck that averted physical violence. Nana and Boris intervened, making their way through the crowd and greeting us, before Nana introduced Boris to Jessica.

  “I think you and Boris have a lot in common,” Nana said to Jessica. She then smiled and winked at me and my friends.

  “Charmed, I’m sure,” Boris said, in an accent that reminded me of an actor who once played Dracula. He took Jessica’s hand and kissed it.

  “I think he’s gonna suck her blood,” Natalie whispered, then held her breath.

  “Jessica’s a goner,” Mo agreed, lowering her voice.

  It might have taken great restraint, but Boris resisted the urge to bite Jessica. After some small talk and continued death-stares from Wilhelmina toward my friends, he and Jessica made their way to a table, where he poured them some tea and began fawning over her.

  “This is going better than I hoped for,” Nana said, after the other women had wandered off. “Boris is acting like a teenage boy in heat. Next thing you know, he’ll lick Jessica’s makeup off.”

  “That’s gonna take him a while,” Natalie said. “Like maybe a couple weeks.”

  As the evening wore on, I tried to keep my friends away from Boris’s family, while we had tea and scones. It was only after we were on our second cup of tea and had eaten a couple scones that I realized something had changed.

  “These biscuits are the queen’s bees,” Natalie said. “I gotta get the recipe.”

  “Me too,” Mo agreed, working on her third scone. She asked Nana, “What’s in these?”

  Nana giggled. “Just some flour, water, and a little salad.”

  “Salad?” I said, at the same time realizing I was giggling. I suddenly felt lightheaded, and a little dizzy.

  “You put weed in the scones, didn’t you?” Mo said.

  Nana looked over, seeing that Boris’s family members all seemed to be relaxed and happy, like they’d all forgotten about their earlier homicidal thoughts. “How else was I gonna control the zombies?”

  “I guess this is what they mean by ‘high tea’,” Natalie said.

  I glanced over, seeing that Boris and Jessica were holding hands as they walked across the grounds of the estate. Maybe it was the marijuana in my system, but I felt giddy. I laughed and blurted out, “We’re all loaded, the zombies are under control, and love is in the air.”

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  The Sumatran tiger lumbered out of the long shadows of evening, looked in the direction of Monica Linville and the woman known as Aisha, then turned and trotted off. The weather was hot and humid. The usually crowded venue at the National Zoo had only a scattering of people. The director of security for Agrasom and her companion moved off down a pathway.

  “We’re getting closer to finding Aaron Miller,” Aisha told Linville. “We think he’s still in southern California.”

  “Closer isn’t good enough. I need a location.”

  “I might have something more definitive for you in a day or two.”

  “What about the payoff? Has he been contacted?”

  “That’s the angle we’re working on. We told him we’re still in the process of securing the funds. He thinks the money will be wired to his account, but we’re just buying time until we find him.”

  Linville fixed her eyes on Aisha. “I had to tell the inner circle what was happening. They agreed with my decision, so it’s imperative that we find him soon. There’s a lot of paranoia about Bratton talking, so the company wants to be proactive.”

  “I talked to Ramsey this morning. Everything seems to be quiet with her. She’s lying low, probably worried about her daughter.”

  Linville’s dark eyes swept the area for a moment. “Call me when you have a location. Miller has to be eliminated. All other options are off the table.”

  After Aisha was gone, Monica Linville walked along the pathway back toward her car. She lingered near a pond where a group of children were feeding the ducks.

  Fleeting images of children in a village in southern Chile assaulted her senses. A decade earlier, Agrasom had introduced crops, genetically modified with Intersep, in the farms surrounding a village there. The company’s own research study into the insecticide, called Z-91, had revealed an epidemic of birth defects and developmental delays near the fields where the insecticide was used. Many of the older children had developed cancer and had been abandoned to die.

  Linville quickly dismissed the images and moved on, pushing them back into the dark recesses of her mind. There was no absolute proof that Intersep was responsible for what happened, or the thousands of other children similarly affected in other areas. She intended to keep it that way. The company had paid her millions to keep their secrets. She had a job to do, and nothing else mattered.

  Aaron Miller was sending the company his own message—that he would kill Bratton’s family and expose their secrets if they didn’t pay him off. The former director of technology for the company was playing a high stakes blackmail game, one that Linville intended to win.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  After surviving Nana’s high tea, I was grateful that I had Monday off for the Labor Day holiday. I’d never used marijuana before and still felt lethargic after getting out of the shower. My phone rang. It was Joe Dawson.

  “Hey, Buttercup,” Joe said, using the nickname he’d given me when we worked our first case together. “How’s your day going?”

  “Just getting up and thinking about coffee. How are you?”

  “Headed your way. There’s something breaking with the Swarm in your neck of the woods that I thought you should know about.”

  My anxiety spiked at the mention of the terrorist group, along with the pitch of my voice. “What’s going on?”

  “Word has it the group has merged with that cult you’ve been looking into.”

  My apprehension was now through the roof. “The Tauists?”

  “Yeah. According to a CI, that woman who took over the group is now working with the Swarm. They’ve got a compound up in the hills near your area. We’re planning to raid the place this afternoon. I thought you might wanna check with your superiors, see if they’ll let you be involved.”

  “I definitely want in. What time is this happening?”

  “We’re scheduled to meet at FBI headquarters in Los Angeles at two, then head out from there.”

  “I’ll meet you there.”

  After ending the call, I got in touch with Lieutenant Grundy. After waiting over an hour, he got back to me. “Apparently, you’ve got some influence downtown. Chief Miles has authorized you to assist the feds because of your past work with them. She wants a full report after everything is settled.”

  I made arrangements for my brother to watch Bernie, got something to eat, and then headed to FBI headquarters. I met up with Joe Dawson outside a conference room, where their taskforce was gathering.

  “Sorry to ruin your day off,” Joe said.

  My friend was tall, with sandy hair and the palest blue eyes I’d ever seen. Unlike most of his FBI colleagues, he was casually dressed in a sports coat and an open collar shirt.

  “If we can take down both the Swarm and the Tauists, it will be the best day ever,” I said. “What do we know?”

  “I only got the abridged version, so let’s wait for Greer to fill in the details.” His pale eyes held on me. “How was Ojai?”

  I knew it was his way of asking if I was seeing someone. “Nice. Just had lunch with a friend and took a walk.”

  One of the other agents called over to us, saying the meeting was about to start.

  If Joe Dawson didn’t fit the conventional mold of an FBI agent, his boss did. John Greer was in his forties, with the trademark high and tight haircut and a dark suit. His serious demeanor left no doubt about his occupation. There were about thirty agents and profilers gathered around the table as Greer began with some history of the Swarm and then filled us in on their latest activities.

  “We’ve had a
confidential informant working the fringes of the group for several months. As you’re probably aware, the Swarm was last seen in this area a few weeks back when one of their leaders, a man named Jenson Moore, was killed in a shootout. Two days ago, our CI contacted us and said when Moore was in this area, he was in contact with a woman named Harlee Ryland.” Greer looked at me. “I think you know her.”

  I took a couple minutes, giving those agents who weren’t familiar with the Tauists some background on her and the group. After I’d brought them up to speed on their likely connection to the man who murdered my adoptive father, I told them the latest developments.

  “Harlan Ryland started the Tauist religion with his partner, Collin Russell. Russell was murdered a few weeks back. We believe the Rylands may have had a hand in that. We subsequently served a search warrant on the Tauists’ property and learned that Harlan Ryland is dead. His granddaughter, Harlee, has inherited everything and taken control of the cult. It’s my belief that she’s dangerous and will stop at nothing to further her ends.”

  “I’m afraid you received some false information,” Greer said to me.

  “I’m not sure what you’re referring to.”

  “While Harlee Ryland is now active with the group and has merged interests with the Swarm, she’s not in control. Harlan Ryland is alive.”

  TWENTY-NINE

  I felt like I’d been punched in the gut. “How is that possible? The Tauists believe in something called ‘stasis’, that a body can someday be revived after death when medical science advances. I saw Harlan Ryland’s body in one of their stasis chambers.”

  “It was an act,” Joe said, “probably intended to thwart your search of the property and to ensure Harlan Ryland wasn’t questioned. He’s alive, and we’re hoping he’s at the compound in the hills with Harlee.”

  I shook my head in disbelief, trying to come to terms with what they’d said. “Harlee even had his death certificate and will, showing that she’d inherited everything.”

  “Everything was forged,” Greer said. “Our CI has seen him at the compound.”

  I took a moment, still in a state of shock, finding it hard to come to terms with what I’d just heard. My thoughts then went to Pearl’s phone message. If Ryland was my father, the taskforce had a right to know that. But Pearl’s message had been unclear, and it was speculation on my part that Ryland might be my father. I decided that I didn’t want them operating under false assumptions and kept quiet—for now.

  Greer went on. “According to our CI, the group is planning something big on the west coast. It could be similar to what happened in New York.”

  The Swarm had set off a series of dirty bombs in New York City. The authorities were still trying to deal with the cleanup and public hysteria that had followed. It had been the biggest attack on the country since nine-eleven.

  Mason Halsey, who I learned was with Homeland Security, spoke up, giving us his opinion about how to proceed. “I say we go in fast and hard. We move quickly and neutralize whoever is involved. We’re dealing with domestic terrorists, and they won’t negotiate with us. The only thing they respond to is force.”

  Joe disagreed. “As much as I’d like to play this your way, we need to try and take the leaders alive. It could be critical to identifying others involved and stopping whatever they have planned.”

  The discussion moved around the room for half an hour as the merits of various tactics were discussed. After Greer had listened to several opinions, he used an overhead projector to put up photographs of the Swarm and Tauists’ new compound in the Hollywood Hills. He then told us how things would go.

  “As the world’s greatest boxer once said, we’re going to float like a butterfly and sting like a bee. Our SWAT teams will land in the compound’s rear courtyard and neutralize any opposition. Our other teams will then move up the driveway. We will meet any resistance with force, but, given the opportunity, we take those involved alive. This may be the only chance we have to stop a terrorist attack on the west coast of the United States before it begins.”

  THIRTY

  Joe drove us to the Swarm’s compound, following a convoy of over a dozen cars. We planned to stage at Fryman Canyon Park on Mulholland Drive, an area that was less than two miles from our target. We had gotten a late start and had less than an hour of daylight left.

  As we wound our way up into the hills, Joe told me about his week. “I spent three days at a flea-bit motel along the Rio Grande, just north of El Paso, waiting for a guy named Pablo Sanchez to burn his boss. We took the guy down, along with about forty kilos of smack, so it worked out okay in the end.”

  “My week was also busy,” I said, then took a minute and filled him in on the murder of the Bratton family. “All the evidence points to the second wife being involved.”

  “It doesn’t sound like you’re convinced.”

  “It doesn’t add up for me, but I’m worried the department is going to want to move on. If that’s what happens, I’m back in Cold Case.”

  “It sounds like someone is punishing you.”

  “Our former chief transferred me as one of his final acts. He was fired and is probably facing charges for sexual assault.”

  “Saw something in the papers about him. He sounds like a bad dude.”

  “The worst. I think the new chief will be a big improvement.”

  We went on for a moment, talking about Sherry Miles, before Joe asked me about Pearl. I filled him in on his phone message, without mentioning Harlan Ryland. “He’s in Brazil, apparently on the trail of those who were involved in my father’s death.”

  “Brazil? Isn’t that where your sister was raised?”

  I nodded. “I’m not sure what the connection is.”

  “Maybe the people involved have something to do with drugs. Brazil has a big problem with cocaine and other drugs, and a lot of associated violence.”

  I’d never considered that angle, but what he said seemed possible. “I wonder if Ryland and Russell were involved in running illegal drugs, and my adoptive dad found out about it, along with the embezzlement from Wallace Studios. It would explain how the Tauists made their fortune.”

  “When we take Ryland down, that will be one of my first questions.”

  We stopped at a parking lot at Fryman Canyon Park, along with the other cars. We waited there as we got updates on the helicopters approaching the compound from the airport. When they were less than a mile out, we got back in our cars and began heading for the estate. That’s when all hell broke loose.

  “We just got a report of heavy fire coming from the compound,” John Greer told us over the radio. “One of our choppers is down.”

  THIRTY-ONE

  When we got to the compound, the main gate was closed, and there was a fireball on the mountainside where the chopper had gone down.

  “Take the gate out,” we heard Greer say. “We’ve got to get inside. Now.”

  One of the lead cars took a run at the gate, blasting through the entrance as the rest of us followed him up the winding private road toward the residence. When we got to the circular driveway in front of the estate, we encountered automatic weapons fire. Joe turned hard on his wheel, finding partial cover behind a stand of trees. Bullets flew all around us as we scrambled out of the car and got on the ground.

  I heard Greer on the radio calling for reinforcements as we waited there, returning fire with the other agents. The firefight continued unabated for several minutes before the firing from the residence suddenly halted. We then stopped our own fire, waiting for further instructions.

  “What the hell do you think is going on?” I asked Joe.

  “Not sure, but it’s probably some kind of trap.”

  We maintained our positions as Greer ordered the remaining SWAT team from the helicopter to make the initial assault on the residence.

  Fifteen minutes later, we got a radio call from the team leader. “The residence is secure. All parties are deceased.”

  As Joe and
I moved up to the residence, I said, “What do you think happened?”

  “Don’t know, but be alert. It doesn’t make sense they would all be dead.”

  When we got inside the house, Greer explained what had happened. “It looks like about a dozen subjects are dead. Most of them died from self-inflicted gunshot wounds.”

  “They had to be acting under orders to kill themselves,” Joe said.

  “What about Ryland and his granddaughter?” I asked Greer.

  “No sign of them. They must have been tipped off about the assault and got out.”

  “We’ve got something happening,” one of the agents announced.

  We followed him into a media room, where a television was on. The agent used a remote to turn up the volume as a news anchor explained what was happening. “This video was just received by our newsroom. We can’t speak for the veracity of what’s being said, but the involved parties are wanted by the FBI, so we wanted our viewers to see this.”

  The station cut away to a scene of Harlan Ryland and his granddaughter. It looked like the video had been shot in front of their estate. The elderly head of the Tauist religion, now apparently part of the Swarm, looked healthy and pleased with what was happening.

  “Good evening,” Ryland said, his blue eyes intently fixed on the camera. “Something is about to happen that will never be forgotten. A change is coming to this society, one that will overturn the existing order and reestablish the rights of the people. The citizens of this country need to prepare themselves.”

  Ryland looked at his granddaughter. Harlee stepped forward and smiled into the camera. “This is a revolution, and, as you probably know, revolutions begin with violence. So, let the violence begin.”

  Harlee went on for a couple of minutes, spouting rhetoric similar to what her grandfather had said. As soon as the broadcast had ended and the anchor came back on the air, one of the agents assigned to maintain security in front of the estate called to us over the radio. “There’s been an explosion in downtown Los Angeles,” the agent said. “It looks like the city is on fire.”