Rogue Faction Part 2: A Cyrus Cooper Thriller: Book Three

by Xander Weaver

Crawling across the massive king-size bed, Cyrus dropped onto his back and laid his head on one of several pillows that were stacked against the headboard. He raised the book into the light and was just starting to read when the bed jolted and Natasha landed beside him, lodging herself under his right arm. She slid close and rested her head on his shoulder. With a relieved smile, he wrapped his arm around her and set about reading the journal.

  Chapter 26

  The Voss Compound

  3:22 pm

  Standing at the door to Voss’s office, Cyrus waited to be allowed access. After reading Eleanor Voss’s personal journal that morning, he’d spent hours researching public as well as private databases. The results had proven both illuminating and troubling. They also left him with no choice but to involve Voss directly.

  The double doors parted with a hiss, and Cyrus stepped into the expansive office without a moment’s hesitation. He failed to hide the hitch in his step when his eyes fell upon Dargo standing opposite Voss at the desk. When he’d requested the meeting, Cyrus intended for them to speak privately. Dargo’s presence was unwelcome, and when he took into account the unusually deep scowl on the chief of security’s normally serious face, it became clear that he wasn’t the only one with something to share.

  As he approached Voss’s desk, Cyrus struggled to surmise what Voss might have to say that required Dargo’s presence. Then again, it could just as easily be Dargo who had a matter to discuss. His disposition seemed even more sour than usual. Either way, Cyrus reasoned, he was about to find out. Besides, whatever the two had cooked up for him, it would certainly pale in comparison to what he’d found.

  “I’m sorry for being so vague,” Cyrus began as he reached the front of Voss’s desk. He’d called Voss from Natasha’s room only fifteen minutes earlier, explaining only that it was crucial for them to speak in private. “But this is a delicate matter—exceedingly sensitive.”

  Voss shook his head slowly and waved to one of the two empty chairs opposite his desk. He had a cordial, if slight, smile on his face, but Cyrus had come to know him well enough to recognize that something had him rattled. “No problem,” Voss said. There was an awkward crack in his voice. “A set of lab results have just come back, and I wanted to speak with you about them, anyway.”

  While Cyrus didn’t know what lab results Voss was referring to, he decided against inquiring. He needed to keep the discussion on topic and knew it was about to become an uphill battle. He lowered himself into the chair, taking care not to pull on his freshly redressed stitches. They ached from a thorough antiseptic cleaning, and he was feeling more pain than usual.

  Voss returned to his seat behind the desk and looked across the near empty surface at Cyrus. Cyrus could tell Voss was looking for a place to begin, but that wouldn’t do. Given the nature of what Cyrus had come to discuss, they needed to get rid of Dargo first.

  When Voss opened his mouth to speak, Cyrus held up a cautioning hand. “If it’s all the same with you, Doc, it would be best if we spoke in private.”

  Cyrus’s eyes shifted to Dargo, less than ten feet to his right. Dargo stood station with his hands clasped in front of his belt buckle, his eyes intently focused on Cyrus. If he took offense at the statement, Cyrus couldn’t tell. Dargo seemed to be in a perpetual state of unease—perhaps distrust—whenever Cyrus was in the room. While that level of vigilance was ideal in a bodyguard, it was also apparent that Dargo had the emotional range of a ham sandwich.

  “It’s alright.” Voss offered a forced smile. “Dargo is fully aware of everything that is happening and all that has already happened. You may speak freely in front of him.”

  Cyrus realized Voss was referring to the matter of Natasha’s paternity and Dargo’s less than kosher relationship with Eleanor Voss twenty years earlier. Unfortunately, that had little to do with the matter at hand.

  “Even in regard to Lamplighter?” Cyrus asked.

  There was a momentary twitch of confusion that crossed Voss’s eyes. Cyrus watched as the man’s face paled before him. Voss said nothing; in fact, he made no movement for nearly thirty seconds. When he finally did, it was only to blink twice before leaning back in his chair with a queasy look on his face. Then a new silence began.

  Dargo’s gaze shifted between Cyrus and Voss several times in the resulting communication void. From his expression, it was clear that he, too, was confused by Cyrus’s question. Cyrus watched Dargo. It was also clear that the chief of security didn’t seem entirely surprised by his boss’s response to the question. If anything, Dargo seemed puzzled that Cyrus was asking about Lamplighter.

  After what seemed like an eternity, Voss broke from his trance. He closed his eyes and took a long, slow breath. When his eyes reopened, they fell immediately on Dargo. While Cyrus was certain that Voss was about to order Dargo from the room, he turned out to be wrong.

  “You’d better have a seat,” Voss said to Dargo.

  Slowly, Dargo moved to the chair beside Cyrus. By the set of his jaw, it was more than apparent he was doing so reluctantly.

  “It’s curious that you should mention Lamplighter,” Voss said to Cyrus. His voice was quiet and small as he forced himself into an area of discussion that he clearly found unpleasant. “It’s actually—” Voss’s concentration drifted as a new thought must’ve crossed his mind. “Why do you ask me about this? What do you know about Lamplighter?”

  Cyrus didn’t like the shift he’d just seen in Voss’s eyes. The man’s discomfort had suddenly been replaced by suspicion. And after all that had happened, Cyrus didn’t appreciate the implication.

  “I know it’s the reason that your wife was murdered,” Cyrus said flatly.

  Voss looked as if he’d just been slapped across the face. But rather than anger in his eyes, Cyrus saw pain…and then, confusion.

  After another deep breath, Voss cleared his throat. When he spoke, his voice was quiet once more. “I don’t know where you’ve gotten your information, Cyrus, but you’re wrong. Eleanor was killed in a car bombing. It had nothing to do with Project Lamplighter.”

  While Voss seemed confused, even lost in regard to Cyrus’s statement, Dargo’s guard had been raised. He sat at the edge of his seat, looking ready to spring with even the slightest provocation.

  Time to shake the hornet’s nest.

  “Approximately twenty years ago,” Cyrus began, “you were employed by Onyx Gander, a multinational pharmaceutical conglomerate—among other things. At that same time, your wife, Eleanor Margaret Schroeder Voss, was also employed by Onyx as their lead patent attorney. You were employed by the company for a little over eight years prior to your resignation. Eleanor worked for the company for just over six, right up until the time of her death.”

  Judging by the furrow of Voss’s brow, he didn’t understand the point Cyrus was building toward. Still, he made no effort to interrupt, clearly interested in what he had to say.

  “After Eleanor’s death, you resigned from Onyx Gander,” Cyrus continued. “The last project you worked on was referred to as Lamplighter.”

  Voss responded with a slow nod. But judging by his questing stare, he didn’t see how the events were related. “All true,” Voss said simply. “But what happened to my wife had nothing to do with Lamplighter. It couldn’t. She had no involvement in it. In fact, when I left the company, we were still in the very early stages of development. There was no substantive, tangible IP. At best, we were years away from having something we could patent.” By IP, Voss was referring to ‘intellectual property’, the point where the scientists with whom Rutger Voss worked would then finally begin to interface with the patent lawyers, a team headed by Eleanor Voss.

  Voss shot a questing look to Dargo before once more resting his concerned eyes on Cyrus. “Why do you think Eleanor’s death was related to the Lamplighter project?”

  Pulling himself from the chair, Cyrus turned and began slowly pacing the room. Suddenly he felt less inclined to make his case to the troubled older man. He was st
ill every bit as confident in the facts and his own conclusions, but he was quickly becoming regretful for the pain he was about to bring the man. It was suddenly clear that Voss really didn’t know his wife’s death was connected to Onyx, or his own involvement in the company.

  But in the end, he really didn’t have a choice. Lives were at stake. The only difference being that, this time they knew their lives were in danger.

  Cyrus stopped walking and looked back at Voss from about fifteen feet away. “You and Eleanor were having trouble,” Cyrus explained. “Just as you had earlier in your marriage, you’d become overly engrossed in your work. She wanted you at home—needed you at home, really. Desperately enough that you talked about it repeatedly.”

  Watching carefully, Cyrus saw Voss’s confused glare slip into a faraway stare. Voss was experiencing his own memories of the events recorded in Eleanor Voss’s journal. Cyrus hated to send him down this particular memory lane, but there was no avoiding it.

  “She was worried,” Cyrus continued. “Worried that your relationship was falling apart. Worried that you were losing the connection that you’d once shared.

  “Still, you had a job, and she knew how important it was to you. She tried to make due. She threw herself into her own work as a way to cope. She hoped it would be a way to gain some perspective. But what she found was Ian, a man who she respected, and a man who made her feel safe.”

  Cyrus’s eyes fell on Dargo as he referred to him by his given name, a name he’d never heard used. Dargo’s penetrating stare never shifted, never wavered.

  While Cyrus didn’t have a particular affection for the coldhearted head of security, he couldn’t help seeing the man in a different light after reading Eleanor’s description of her relationship with him.

  “She became pregnant with Natasha,” Cyrus continued. “It was an experience that nearly crushed her,” he said more quietly. Adding more of the woman’s personal thoughts at this juncture only seemed appropriate given the two men he was speaking to.

  “On one hand, Dargo had shown her sensitivity and caring, at a time when she was in desperate need of both. On the other, she held the deep conviction that she’d betrayed her husband in the most unforgivable way. And though she feared for the sanctity of her marriage before all of that, she suddenly found herself in a position of inescapable personal chaos.

  “She realized she was sinking to a personal low, one from which she couldn’t return. It made her decide on a course of action. Despite her own better judgment, she went to you,” he said to Voss, “and told you she was pregnant with your baby. It was a lie she believed would cost her soul.”

  Standing still, Cyrus realized for the first time that both Voss and Dargo watched him with unparalleled focus. But neither had the countenance he’d expected. He had anticipated anger from Dargo and discomfort from Voss. Neither showed any sign of those reactions. Both sets of eyes followed him, intent on the tale he was telling, seeming engaged by the rare, if painful insight into a woman they’d both cared for.

  “I’m sorry to be indelicate,” Cyrus said softly. “And to open old wounds. But this is important. You’ll see why soon.”

  Voss’s sad eyes didn’t even blink. He just offered the slightest bob of his head, a silent bid for him to continue.

  “She knew she was doing something unforgivable,” Cyrus went on. “Even though Dargo had given her his blessing on the matter, she still knew she’d broken his heart. At the same time, she was betraying her husband in a way that put even her affair to shame.”

  Cyrus recognized the negative connotations of his last statement. He quickly looked to Dargo and cringed inwardly. For his part, Dargo’s expression hadn’t changed in the least.

  “Ah, anyway,” Cyrus struggled to regain his train of thought. “For all her personal torment, Eleanor never expected what happened next.”

  Cyrus began pacing once more as he continued to speak. “To her relief, you were elated at the prospect of a child,” he said to Voss. “She suddenly experienced a side of you that she didn’t dream possible. You were happy and attentive, and best of all, as far as she was concerned, you were home every night.

  “No matter how things had started, Eleanor realized that her marriage had been given a fresh start. And once Natasha was born, she was beside herself to find you were every bit the loving and nurturing father that she knew you could be.

  “Not long after, she became pregnant with little Anna and everything she’d been unhappy about was gratefully a thing of the past. You were off to work in the morning and home every night like clockwork.

  “When she became pregnant with Natasha, Eleanor scaled back her duties at the office, frequently working from home. But once Natasha was born, it was obvious that it was no longer an option. She found herself excited to be something she’d never expected—a stay-at-home mom.”

  Cyrus stopped mid-stride with his back to Voss and Dargo. He took a deep breath and steeled himself for the point of the entire story. Pausing a moment longer to gather one more calming breath, he turned.

  “Your sudden shift in priorities left Onyx Gander with a major problem.” Cyrus met Voss’s gaze. “Principals of the company had made commitments in regard to a high priority project that had recently been given the green light: Project Lamplighter.”

  Cyrus knew that at least a portion of the implications were made clear with the last statement. Voss pushed his chair back from the desk and lowered his eyes to his lap. He seemed to whither physically at the revelation.

  For his part, Dargo’s stoic exterior seemed to crack for the first time. He was confused.

  “They pressured you,” Cyrus said. “Didn’t they? Pressured you to come back to work, maybe even wanted you to step up progress? They didn’t like it when you shifted your priorities to home.”

  Voss didn’t say a word. But when he raised his head to look Cyrus in the eye, it was all the confirmation that was necessary in regards to the truth.

  “Did they threaten you?” Cyrus asked.

  Voss shook his head slowly. “Not overtly,” he said. “But there was no subtlety when it came to applying pressure. When I cut back my hours, some of the board members became very upset.”

  “What happened?”

  “They wouldn’t let up,” he shrugged. “After Anna was born, I realized it just wasn’t worth it. I knew what was important. The company certainly wasn’t what mattered to me. About a month after Anna was born, I tendered my resignation.”

  Voss sat there, staring into the distance for some time. Cyrus wasn’t willing to break the silence. And since Dargo almost never spoke, there was little danger of him doing so.

  “I don’t understand,” Voss said suddenly. His voice was more firm and full of conviction than it had ever been. The cast of his eyes made it clear that his focus had fully returned to the conversation. “State your feelings, Cyrus. How is this relevant to Eleanor’s death?”

  Cyrus sighed, knowing that Voss was not about to admit the facts. Either he wouldn’t, or he just couldn’t bring himself to do the math. “You know why, Doc. They killed Eleanor to motivate you to go back to work,” Cyrus spoke, forgoing any effort to soften the blow.

  The sheer absurdity of the logic left Voss’s face contorted. Cyrus allowed him a few moments to find sense in the statement, but he could see by the twist of his face and the pinch of his eyes that there was none to be had. Deep down, Voss knew. It was as if he simply wanted someone to offer up a detailed explanation; an explanation for the nightmares and the guilt he constantly suffered wishing his wife was back by his side.

  “The principals of Onyx Gander—” Cyrus laid out what he knew, “several members of the board of directors—had taken on funding from an outside entity. They’d made promises—big commitments to the project. When you shifted your focus to your personal life, a complete one-eighty from your normal routine, the board knew the company couldn’t meet the goals set by their investor. They got nervous.

  “When you resig
ned from the company, it meant that their problem was taken to an entirely new level. You were the project lead—the brains behind all of the work. Without you, not only could they not meet their deadlines, they were entirely unable to manage their commitment. Forget the deadline—the project was toast.”

  Shaking his head slowly, it was clear that Voss still wasn’t convinced.

  “The people behind the funding for Project Lamplighter were a very serious group who believed you could be manipulated into returning to work. Since your wife and children had swayed you from your work, it was believed that the death of your wife would shake you to the core. They calculated a ninety-six percent probability that, following the death of your wife, you would recede into the safety of your previously preferred world following a manageable period of mourning and subsequent depression. They believed that the death of Eleanor would lead you back to Lamplighter.”

  Sitting back in his chair, Voss suddenly looked a great deal older than he was. Dark bags had suddenly formed under his eyes, and his skin had taken on a pale, ash-like appearance.

  “It’s not possible,” Voss muttered, his voice a hoarse whisper. “It can’t be… How could…?”

  He stammered, mostly to himself, as he processed the horrific revelation, and felt the weight of guilt descend.

  Cyrus felt for him. He couldn’t imagine the pain Voss had endured with the loss of his wife. Having just experienced the very best days of his life, only to have them shattered by tragedy. Voss was a brilliant man; on some level, he must have connected the dots on his own, Cyrus was sure of it. But being unable to admit it to himself or move on had resulted in a self-imposed exile on this island. Voss had taken extreme measures to protect his family, but he was now being forced to confront the facts.

  The one thing that had always been an out, one question that had kept Voss from becoming mired in the possibility of his own work causing his wife’s demise, was the fact that he’d never been certain whether the bomb had been intended for him or Eleanor. At the time of the bombing, Voss’s car had been in the shop for over a week. He and Eleanor had been forced to share her car—him for work and her to run routine errands while at home with the children. With only one car between them, it meant that the bomb could’ve been intended for either Rutger or Eleanor.