Drake’s phone rang once, then silenced. He made no move to answer it, which Hester liked. He could focus.
“You sound like you don’t believe in this theory.”
“I don’t.”
“How about ghosts? Believe in them?”
“Ghosts? No.”
“And McPatrick did?”
“I have no idea. Why?”
Drake placed a file at the end of his desk, facing her. The word CONFIDENTIAL stamped across its cover in bright red made her pause. Drake waved at her.
“That’s for you. Go ahead. It’s not going to be confidential in exactly ten minutes when the local papers report.”
“Okay,” Hester said.
She opened to the first page: a grainy black-and-white photo of Lake Michigan at night, taken by someone on shore. The moon cast a line of light along the water and the camera’s lens registered an eerie white glow. Within the glow and hovering above the water was a man. Shadows covered his face, and though his eyes were shrouded one got the sense that he was staring at the camera in fear, or hate. He held his arms out to the photographer, as if beseeching the viewer to come forward. The man’s body was transparent. Hester could see right through him. If she didn’t know better, she would have thought she was staring at a ghost. She glanced up at Drake.
“Double exposure? Misfiring camera?”
“Both possibilities ruled out by our labs.”
“Photoshop?”
“That was our first thought. But look at the others.”
Hester moved aside the page to find another nighttime photo. This one faced south and depicted the curving lakefront along Oak Street beach with a view all the way to Navy Pier. Hester could see the bright lights of the Ferris wheel in the distance. In the foreground, though, over the water, hovered the same man. This time his mouth was open in a scream, hideously contorting his features. The image sent a chill through Hester, and she could feel the hairs on her arms rise. She leafed through three more photos, all from different locations along Chicago’s lakefront, all at night, and all featuring the same figure. In the last one his arms were spread wide and he stared malevolently at the camera. To Hester it seemed that she was gazing upon the face of evil. She turned the photo over so as not to have to see it, surprised at how rattled she was by the images.
“Any idea who the deranged man is?”
Drake shook his head. “Face recognition software came up empty.”
“How many photos in total?”
“Nine. Taken by nine different people.”
“Are they connected in any way? Family members? Coworkers?”
“Not that we can find. One was a fisherman headed to his usual spot to cast a line, another was a man who jogs nightly along Oak Street beach, and a third was a father of three playing some evening soccer with his kids up at the Lawrence Avenue soccer fields. It goes on like that. No real connections.”
“Did you find any projection equipment at the site?”
“None. And no holographic equipment either. But we do know that aerial 3-D technology exists in its experimental phase that would enable an image to project without a screen. The ghost photos began right around time of McPatrick’s disappearance. You know if he had any equipment like that?”
“Not sure, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he did. You think these came from some of the equipment stolen from his house?”
She picked up a random image and peered more closely at it.
“Why are they all in black and white?”
“Aerial 3-D images are hard to create in color. You would need several lasers and I would think one of the witnesses would have seen the equipment. Also, all of the witnesses claimed to hear a scream right before the image disappeared.”
“A scream,” Hester said.
Drake waved at the file. “Read the quote in the statement about picture number six. The deranged one with the Ferris wheel in the background and his evilness in the foreground.”
Hester turned over the photo. “You don’t like this one either.”
Drake exhaled. “That’s the one I can’t get out of my head at night. I’m not sure why.”
Hester found the statement. “He screamed. A hideous, high-pitched sound of rage. I’ve never heard something like that before and I never want to hear it again.” She held up the document. “Which one was this?”
“The fisherman.”
“So how does any of this relate to McPatrick?”
Drake waved at the file again. “In the separate envelope. That photo was from two nights ago.”
Hester fished out a small manila mailing envelope and slid out yet another picture, facedown. She took a deep breath to brace herself. If this one outdid the others she wasn’t sure she wanted to let it reside in her brain. She flipped the picture over. Once again a black-and-white photo with a ghostly image hovering. But this time the ghost was someone new—and this one’s face twisted not in rage, but in fear.
George McPatrick stared back at her.
Hester held the photo up. “Who took this one?”
“A social worker who trolls the lakefront at night, searching down the homeless to try to get them into a shelter. That’s Fullerton Avenue, and he’s floating against the wall of the theater there.”
“Did McPatrick scream like the other guy?”
An emotion passed over Drake’s face that might have been sadness, Hester wasn’t sure.
“He said, ‘I believe’ and then disappeared.”
“Hmm,” Hester said.
“I have some additional bad news for you. Two of these images were taken at the exact spots that the two recent bombs detonated.”
“Coincidence?”
“Could be. But we’re cordoning off every photo location to sweep it. The bomb squad’s been working night and day. They’ve cleared five of the nine sites.” Drake rubbed his face. “In light of the Virgin Mary image and the Satan rumors, we’ve been trying hard to keep the ghost photos contained so as not to create any more panic. We lost that battle this morning when a member of the press located one of the photographers.”
“Where’d the reporter find him?”
“At church. Praying. He’s the one that snapped the evil picture.”
“Taking that one might have driven me to church as well,” Hester said.
“I hear you,” Drake said. His phone buzzed and this time he picked it up. He listened a moment and then set it down.
“That was the Chicago police. They’re having a problem at the latest site. Let’s go.”
Hester followed Drake back down the hallway, and as she passed Marta, the woman turned from the phone banks.
“Ms. Regine, here’s your temporary FBI card identifying you as Agent Percy.” She placed a slim wallet on the desk.
Drake put his hands on his hips and smiled down at his shoes as Hester picked up the ID.
Twenty minutes later Drake drove into the area bordering the theater, but was blocked from getting close by an assortment of news vans, their roofs cluttered with satellite equipment. He wedged the car in between two and waved her out.
“Looks like the news hit,” he said. “Let’s go.” Hester followed him as he wound his way toward the wooden theater building. A large group of people with press credentials on lanyards around their necks and some holding microphones grappled for position in front of a line of yellow barricades.
Farther away and toward the water an even larger crowd gathered and a man stood six feet above them, on the stone abutment that blocked the waves from splashing over the sea wall. He held a megaphone and waved a Bible in the air.
“You have seen it for yourselves. The famous skeptic felled by his lack of faith. Repent your sins now and tithe so that your prayers will be heard!” He waved at an open box at his feet that was rapidly filling with cash.
“This is a real circus,” Drake said.
Hester followed Drake as he pushed his way through the crowd, flashed his badge and was allowed past it into the pro
tected area. They headed toward two uniformed officers who looked perplexed as they stared at the theater. As Hester neared the scene, she saw the source of the officers’ consternation.
A tall, slender man dressed in black pants, dark ankle boots, and a black trench coat crept along the perimeter of the old theater. His body curled downward as he bent to examine the walls. The wind blew his dark hair about his head and his hawkish nose was red at the tip. He’d been out in the wind a while. Drake strode up to the first officer.
“Is the bomb squad here?”
The officer shook his head. “Not yet.”
“Then we need to increase this perimeter to get all of these people farther away.” Drake pointed at the man prowling by the theater. “And you can start with that one. Who is that, and what’s he doing so close to an unsecured site?”
“Guy named Holmes. We told him to back off, but he said he’s working with the FBI and licensed in bomb detection and not to worry. Is he?”
“Is that the famed Sherlock Holmes?” Hester asked.
“I guess so,” Drake said. “I got a call from the international crime unit saying he’d been brought in on our side. You know him?”
Hester shook her head. “By reputation, sure, but I’ve never met him. I thought he was a myth. He’s discussed at just about every security conference I’ve ever attended, but I’ve never met anyone who admitted to a personal encounter.”
“The guys said he was a recluse. Only accepts the weirdest cases and demands payment in crypto currency.”
“Bitcoin?”
“Yes. You probably know this, but Bitcoin is the favored currency for drug and arms sales worldwide. Wonder what he’s got to hide. Then again, at least he’s been introducing himself by his real name.” Drake shot her a look.
“But I accept cash, so there’s that.”
Drake snorted.
“And Bitcoin is gaining mainstream acceptance. My travel site now takes them to book flights.”
“Wonder what they have to hide.”
“You are a suspicious man, Mr. Drake.”
Drake nodded. “That I am. Let’s go meet the famous Sherlock Holmes, but not too close, because I’m not risking getting blown up even for him.” Drake headed toward the theater, striding with authority. Holmes straightened up from his building inspection to watch him approach. His gaze shot to Hester and she thought she saw speculation in the other man’s eyes, quickly masked. Drake stopped well away from the theater and waved Holmes to approach.
“Mr. Holmes? I’m Agent Drake and this is Agent Percy from our New York office.” Holmes stepped up, shook Drake’s hand, and turned to Hester.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Dr. Regine. I read your treatise on the ethics of biochemical warfare,” Holmes said. Hester kept her face impassive, thinking, Show-off.
“This undercover thing is going well, don’t you think?” Drake said to Hester.
She shot him a quelling glance as she reached out to grasp Holmes’ hand.
His long fingers wrapped around hers and she felt a tiny callus on one of his fingertips.
“I’m surprised you know of it. It wasn’t disseminated widely.”
Holmes raised an eyebrow. “Just to the entire upper echelons of the intelligence community.” He looked at Drake.
“I came straight here to view where McPatrick appeared.”
“I understand, but you shouldn’t disturb a crime scene,” Drake said.
“I in no way sullied the scene, you can be sure,” Holmes said, and Hester thought she detected a hint of pique in his voice.
The man with the megaphone yelled, “Nonbelievers, repent. You see what happened to the scientist! Disappeared!”
“That man’s been bellowing doomsday prophecies for the last thirty minutes. One wishes he would disappear,” Holmes said.
“What did you find?” Drake asked.
“No footprints that indicated he stood against the wall, or any other marks indicating projection equipment placed in the area. And your officer mentioned that you were concerned about a possible bomb, but I saw no evidence of that either.”
“I’m going to have to ask you next time to wait until after the bomb squad clears the area,” Drake said. Holmes nodded and headed past the officers to the water’s edge. Hester followed.
“Nice vault over my fence, Mr. Holmes. Perhaps you can explain why you tried to burglarize my house last night?”
Holmes turned away from the lake to look at her.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
She waved at his shoe. “My hedge seems to have scoured the side of your boot.”
He turned back to face the water with a slight smile on his face.
“It’s against the law to protect your home by lethal methods. At least it is in London. I’m not so sure about Chicago, what with its gun violence.”
“Chicago is the same. The gun doesn’t have real bullets and is programmed to avoid hitting anyone. It’s security theater. Designed to frighten, not injure. You know that as well as I do,” Hester said.
“And how would I know that?”
“Because you weren’t frightened at all. So tell me why you were there.”
Holmes stopped smiling, and though she’d only just met him, she had enough insight into the man to realize that what he would say next would be disturbing.
“Dr. Mary Carleton, an engineer involved in a secret project involving the manufacture of a new type of missile, disappeared from her London town house a week ago. She worked on a highly confidential joint project with the United States. The same project that McPatrick was assigned to here in Chicago. When British intelligence learned that McPatrick, too, had gone missing, they became alarmed and immediately contacted your FBI and sent me here to investigate. They believe that whoever kidnapped Carleton has also kidnapped McPatrick. They think it’s a splinter group from a terrorist organization working in Europe. Two of whom entered the United States last week, and promptly disappeared.”
“Were there ghostly sightings in London?”
Holmes shook his head. “Not at all. And I am not convinced that the two are connected.”
“You still haven’t explained why you tried to breach my security last night.”
“I wanted to assure myself of your safety.”
Hester didn’t bother to hide her surprise. “My safety? Why?”
“The name of their joint project is ‘Attila.’”
“Oh no,” Hester said.
Holmes held her gaze. “You see the problem. You’re the final participant in the project. I’m told you’re working on a biochemical angle.”
“I am, but we’re not privy to the others. Complete confidentiality is an NCTA rule. Mostly for our own security.”
Holmes nodded. “And so you must understand that the next logical one to be taken is you.”
Nothing like an honest man to ruin your day, Hester thought.
Hester turned and walked along the water, trying to collect her thoughts. Holmes fell into step with her.
“Does Beatrix Walker know about this?” she asked him.
“She does. We asked to have you placed under protective security, but she said you’d never agree, and that confidentiality rules required they not tell you about the fact that two other Atilla participants have gone missing. Apparently she found a way to add you to the investigation. I’m not bound by those rules and thought you should know.”
“She’s right, I wouldn’t have agreed. And you’re right, I should know. Thank you.”
“We need to solve this, and quickly. For your sake as well as the others. With each passing hour, the chances of finding either alive diminishes.”
Drake jogged up to them.
“Another bomb just detonated on the south side. Let’s go,” he said.
They climbed into Drake’s official vehicle and he placed a siren on the hood as he spun the car around to follow the police SUV. As they hurtled down Lake Shore Drive, Hester filled H
olmes in on the possible links between the ghost sightings and the recent bombs.
“Was this one near a sighting?” Holmes asked.
“Yes,” Drake said. “At Northerly Island. A venue for concerts, things like that. It’s from the third sighting.”
“And the other two? What numbers were they, and in what order?” Holmes asked.
“The first bomb coincided with the fifth sighting, the second with the sixth, and this is from the third.”
“No real sequence,” Hester said.
Holmes merely nodded. She could almost see him turning the facts around in his head.
“Do you have a map showing the locations of all nine?” Hester asked. Drake waved at the back of the car.
“In the file. Last sheet.”
They reached the bomb site, tumbled out of the car, and were stopped immediately by a cordon of Chicago police. Drake showed his badge.
“They’re with me,” he said. “Keys are in the car if you need to move it.” The cop nodded and waved them past. Holmes marched forward, his long coat flapping in the wind. Hester had to admire his ramrod straight posture and air of command. While not as tall as Drake, the two of them together made a formidable sight. Hester kept back a bit to get an overview. She found that distance was often needed for perspective. After a few minutes she headed back to the car to consult the map showing the ghost photo locations.
They spanned the entire lakefront, none far away from the lake, and none in the suburbs. She looked for similarities beyond their lakefront locations. After a few moments the car’s back door opened and Holmes slid in next to her.
“Nothing worthwhile to learn. The bomb obliterated most of the evidence.”
Hester held up the open map.
“I’ve been trying to see if there is any logic to the ghost sites. They hug the coastline, and some are at Chicago landmarks,” Hester said. “But they’re at interesting distances and different locations. I don’t see a logical sequence.”
“What type of landmarks?” Holmes asked.
Hester pointed to a spot near the curve of LaSalle drive as it headed to the lake. “This is a bizarre thing. The public park is built on a former cemetery. There remains a small mausoleum with the name Couch on it. No one’s really sure why it’s still there.”
For the Sake of the Game Page 22