Phil reached for his door handle. “Here we go.”
When I stepped out of the SUV, he asked, “May I give you some more advice?”
“Most definitely. I’m in way over my head.”
“Before we go in, take a deep breath and try to relax. At least you don’t slouch.”
“Academy training.” I took the breath and forced myself to relax.
He nodded approvingly. “Good. Let’s go”
As soon as we started, he said, “By the way, I’m your body guard, so you’re in charge. Make it look like it. I’ll walk a little behind.”
The owner, a short, gray, balding man with grandfatherly look, met us at the door. “Good morning folks. I’m Hank Mason. How can I help you?” He smiled brightly.
I led it off. “Someone important to me was killed in an explosion recently. The government is whitewashing the murder, calling it an accident, and I want to find the killer. I have reason to believe he was this man.” I showed him Bednarik’s picture on my phone. His eyes widened. I continued, “I believe he was looking for C4 and was seeking out explosive engineers to see if they could help him find where to buy it. I’m trying to confirm that. Did he by any chance come by here?”
Hank swallowed and said, “Could I see that picture again.” I held my phone in front of him once more. He turned pale as he looked at the image. I expected to see perspiration break out on his forehead any second.
I couldn’t help smirking. “You seem to recognize him.”
He said, “Uh … Now that I got a better look, yeah, he did come by a few weeks ago.” Squirming a bit, he added. “He came in here with some lame excuse about blowing up stumps. I told him I don’t sell C4 and he couldn’t buy it from anyone unless he was a licensed engineer and had a legitimate reason for using it. I did give him the name of my supplier, Safety First Explosives Training.”
To my surprise Phil spoke up, using a contrived yet convincing New York City accent, “I don’t know, boss. I think he’s holdin’ back. Should I …?” He took a step toward the owner.
I had to struggle to keep from laughing out loud. Instead I managed to frown and play along. I held up my left hand as a signal for Phil to stop. His menacing act had done its job. I could see Hank was literally trembling. I prompted him. “Well?” I said in my best growl.
“Sorry. I didn’t know.” He continued to look fearful. “He wanted twelve pounds of the stuff. I didn’t know he was going to use it murder anyone.”
I snorted. “Just blowing up some stumps, eh?”
Phil continued his accent. He growled at Hank, “Twelve pounds? No way. That explosion was way too big for just twelve pounds.”
I glared at the man. “And?”
He swallowed again, hard. “Honestly, he said he was looking for twelve blocks of the military grade. I was fresh out, so I sent him to Caldera.”
“Maybe he was tryin’ to keep from callin’ attention to himself, boss. Twelve here, twelve there spread around mighta done it,” Phil said. He menaced the owner again. “Don’t tell nobody about us, you understand? ‘Specially Caldera.” He turned to me. “Maybe I should cap him?”
Maintaining a flat expression, I said quietly. “I don’t think we have to worry about”—I looked at the man’s name tag.—“Hank. Do we Hank?”
He shook his head vigorously.
As we walked out I kept my voice down. “I recorded that, did you?”
◆◆◆
Day 12, 8:15AM
I had already made arrangements to meet with Hiram Quincy at the student union later in the day, so Phil and I had time to look for Caldera on our list of potential black market suppliers.
Phil put down his sheet. “No, I don’t find him either. Seems we may have stumbled onto something Homeland doesn’t know about.”
“Unless he’s working for you. I mean what better way to keep track of illegal explosive purchases than from the inside?”
Phil shook his head. “I don’t see how. We don’t have anyone in deep cover when it comes to selling explosives like C4. An agent’d have to report every customer as a potential terrorist or murderer. It wouldn’t take long for whoever he was working for to put two and two together.”
“So how do we find him? We obviously can’t go back and ask Hank. It would give away our act.” I had to smile when I recalled Phil’s performance.
“Maybe we can look him up on the Internet.” He reached for his phone.
“Since he’s probably not a licensed explosives engineer, what will you search for?”
Phil shrugged. “How about I start looking for his name in the DC area?”
No surprise, that turned out to be a bust. There were a lot of people named Caldera but no way to associate them with C4. “If he does have access to C4, especially in quantity, how come you hadn’t found out about him before?” I asked.
“Some of these guys fly under the radar, although I have to admit I thought we had identified all the players in the area.” He looked thoughtful. “Okay, assuming Hank wasn’t playing us, Caldera must be known to the local hoods. Let me get some of my people looking for him, and we can pick this up when they find him. Meanwhile we should check out some of the other engineers on the list to see if Bednarik contacted them.” He held out his paper with its list of names on it.
I took it. “I’ve got a meeting this afternoon at four with Hiram Quincy, so we have plenty of time. But I don’t see the point of checking them out. We’ve already learned who he got the C4 from, haven’t we?”
He shook his head. “Have we? I’m not so sure. I learned a long time ago that the leads you don’t follow can bite you in the ass.” He smiled. “Besides, we have all that time to kill.”
I shrugged. Why not?
◆◆◆
Day 12, 12:30PM
Phil’s hunch turned out to be right. Bednarik had hit up some of the other engineers on the suspect list in an effort to get C4. By noon it was clear that we wouldn’t finish our interviews until later in the afternoon. We had managed to talk to most of the people on the list. For the most part they were cooperative, although one was downright hostile.
He shook his fist at both of us and yelled, “Out! Out! I won’t have you accusing me of selling C4 on the black market.”
Phil tried to explain that we were just looking for who Bednarik had contacted, but the man wouldn’t listen. Phil commented as we left, “The best defense is a good offense. I say he has a lot to hide. I’ll have to let Bernie”—referring to a section head at Homeland—“know how defensive he was. Could be worth looking into.”
When we finished with him, Phil suggested stopping for lunch. I glanced at my watch. “Lunch sounds good. I can use a break.”
We settled for a burger place near the next candidate. When we sat down, Phil started running down what we had picked up so far. I held up my hands in a timeout signal. “Whoa. I think I need to clear my head before we go after the rest of these guys. Let’s talk about something else.”
He grinned. “Okay.” He paused. “I understand you went to the naval academy.” It was a question.
I cleared my mouth like I would have for an upperclassman when I was a plebe. “I did. Class of 2007. Why do you ask?”
“A couple of reasons: first, you wanted to talk about something else, and second, I’ve been wondering where Lacey, my daughter, might go when she graduates from high school. Do you think Annapolis would be a good place for her?”
“That’s a hard one to answer. I don’t know Lacey. I will say that if she is motivated to serve, it’s a great school, but it takes real determination and commitment to get through it.”
“Did you have any second thoughts when you were there?”
“Not really. … Sure, I was homesick that first year, but I knew I was in the right place. My dad had prepared me well. I knew what I was doing and was ready for how hard it would be.” I couldn’t help but smile as memories of plebe summer flashed through my mind. It was a physical and mental test that
took all we had and a little more. But our company made it through with flying colors.
“What about you?” I asked. “Where’d you go to school?”
“Princeton,” he said it like it wasn’t anything special. “I got my degree in psychology.”
I grinned. “So you’ve been manipulating me all this time.” He could tell I wasn’t serious.
“Just call me Svengali.” He chuckled.
We finished up the list with barely enough time for me to make my meeting with Quincy. Bednarik had talked to three of the engineers on the list. They had all shot him down. “Tree stumps” seemed to be a common euphemism for doing something illegal. The others either hadn’t seen him or wouldn’t admit it. One did report that someone else had come to him with the same story—it was common, after all. But something about the locations of the engineers who hadn’t seen Bednarik gnawed at me. I tucked it away for further examination later. Was someone else involved with Bednarik?
Chapter 29
“Roger McClosky of Homeland Security contacted me today regarding the investigation of the Reid explosion. He told me that the head of Homeland security will make a public announcement about the investigation tomorrow at 11:00 AM. Channel 12 will broadcast his statement live. Stay tuned.”
– Lester “Tex” Houston, Channel 12 News
Day 12, 4:00PM
Phil dropped me off at my car just a little before four o’clock, and I headed for the student union. Quincy was there seated in a chair, waiting for me.
He looked every bit the farm boy. I guessed he was about six two and weighed about 220 pounds and could visualize him wearing coveralls, tossing bales of hay into a loft. I knew better though. He was a math major from Brooklyn. His grade profile didn’t fit with one of Duncan Reid’s clients. I wondered why he knew about Reid’s services.
He stood as I approached.
I smiled at him and offered my hand. “Hiram Quincy I presume. Your descriptions don’t do you justice.”
He eyed me and smiled back. “That’s me. You must be Samantha Pederson. What can I do for you?”
“I’m looking into the death of Duncan Reid. I’d like to ask you a few questions.”
Quincy looked uncomfortable. “What does Duncan’s death have to do with me? I didn’t have anything to do with it.”
“As far as I know, nothing, but you may be able to tell me something that will help me find who did.” I looked around. “Can we sit down?”
Quincy waved at a chair and dropped into the one next to it. “I don’t understand. What information could I have?”
“Some of the other people I’ve talked to suggested that Coach Bednarik had an axe to grind with Reid. Duncan had been tutoring some of the football players, and when he quit suddenly, those players’ grades dropped so much they were no longer eligible for the team. Manny Castillo said you recommended Duncan to Coach Bednarik. I realize it was over a year ago, but could you tell me what you remember of when Coach Bednarik came to you about Manny?”
As soon as I asked the question, he looked more uncomfortable, like he was getting ready to run. “Hey, I told the coach about Duncan, but …”
I interrupted him. “I know Reid was selling tests, but I’m not concerned about whether you knew it. I’m strictly looking for who killed Reid and all those media people.”
Quincy looked a bit relieved. “Why?”
“Let’s just say I have a personal interest.”
“How’s that?”
“I’ve been working with friends on improving teleportal technology, and the government edict is holding up their work.”
He nodded. “I see.” He clearly wasn’t impressed, so I was glad I hadn’t tried to excite him by mentioning Mel.
He paused and looked down in silent thought. When he looked back up, he said, “What do I remember? … I was in the weight room working out when Manny left. Coach came to me and asked if I had the names of any really good tutors. I knew some students Reid had tutored—actually tutored—and they had all done well. I also knew that he was selling tests. When I told the coach that, he swore but then asked me if I thought Reid could help Manny. I told him it was worth a try.”
He continued. “Later I found out second-hand that Coach took Manny to see Reid and signed him up as a tutor on the spot. What I heard was that Coach threatened to expose Reid to get him to ‘tutor’ Manny. I do know that Reid was mad as hell at Coach after that, so I suspect it was true. I also think that was why Reid fed Manny quizzes, so Coach couldn’t expose him without implicating himself.”
Something didn’t feel right about the conversation. Assuming Quincy had told the truth he hadn’t done anything wrong, but he had been surprisingly defensive during our conversation. Yes, he had given the coach Reid’s name, but he had also let him know about the cheating. As far as I was concerned that left him in the clear. I suppose he could have been concerned about knowing Reid was cheating and not reporting it. But that shouldn’t have been a problem, especially since I had clearly stated my reason for interviewing him. I puzzled over it but couldn’t think of any way to ask him about it, and he seemed to have told me all he was going to. I thanked him for his time and watched him leave.
◆◆◆
Day 12, 4:30PM
Still wondering what Quincy’s problem was, I pulled out my phone and called Cheryl Jansen, Gardner’s girlfriend. She said she would be happy to talk to me and told me where to find her dorm.
I was able to walk the short distance in less than five minutes. A short, slightly overweight brunet was waiting when I entered the common room. She came over to me. “Are you Ms. Pederson?”
“I am. You’re Cheryl, right?”
“McKenzie told me to expect you. What can I help you with?” She waved at the couch, and we both sat down.
“You and McKenzie were at Reid’s workshop just before the explosion. Could you tell me what happened after McKenzie came out of the building? Was he angry?”
Cheryl puffed out a small breath and rolled her eyes. “Angry? He was furious. I’ve never seen anyone with a face so red, and he was gnashing his teeth. I was afraid to say anything to him. Don’t get me wrong; he’s never laid a hand on me, but the look on his face was scary.” She seemed pained as she remembered the event.
I pressed her for more. “Did he tell you what was wrong?”
“Not really. He kept saying it was all Duncan’s fault, swearing every time he said Duncan’s name. We had driven for several minutes before he relaxed enough to talk sensibly.”
“Did he say anything then about what had happened?”
“No, by then I felt safe to talk to him, but I couldn’t drag anything out of him. Then he got a phone call from someone and pulled to the side of the road to talk to him.”
“Did you hear anything of the conversation?”
She cocked her. “The only thing I can remember was him saying, ‘I couldn’t talk any sense into him. I guess it’s up to you.’ After that he drove me straight back here.”
I nodded. “You wouldn’t happen to know who he was talking to, would you?”
“I really couldn’t hear very much, but it was a guy, and he had a gravelly voice.”
I got up and gave her my card. “Say, McKenzie mentioned that Reid was doing business with Coach Bednarik. You wouldn’t know anything about that do you?”
She shook her head. “Not directly, but I do remember Bednarik crashing Sharon Collin’s party. I could hear the shouting from the kitchen. I understand Coach went after Duncan like a raging bull.”
That piqued my interest so I sat back down. “Do you remember what the shouting was about?”
“Not really. The party was in Sharon’s basement, so despite the shouting I couldn’t understand what was said. And all I got from Mack was that Coach really tore into Duncan and he might have killed him if there hadn’t been so many witnesses. He gloated about it all the way to my dorm but didn’t give me any details.”
Standing up again, I offere
d my hand and said, “Thanks for your time. If you think of anything else, please give me a call.”
As I walked to my car, I thought about what she had said. She had answered my questions directly and without hesitation. She hadn’t seemed to be delivering a rehearsed response or trying to cover up for Gardner. And her description of the phone call Gardner had received made it likely he had only used his phone to receive a call, not to make any. If that was true, he hadn’t triggered the explosion with it, at least not after he left the warehouse. A timer maybe?
I headed for home.
◆◆◆
Day 12, 7:30PM
Troy had a surprise for me. “The Feds are sending us home. Apparently the North Koreans have all pulled out. The Russians have gone back to Los Angeles. And the Feds don’t need to keep us hidden away any longer.”
Now that was good news! I smiled at him, and he beamed back. “Does that mean you can go back to trying to find a safe way to open a portal to the Alternates?”
“That’s a sticky issue. We’ve been arguing about it since the announcement. The Feds have orders to keep all our equipment for the interim. You know how ‘for the interim’ actually means ‘for the foreseeable future.’ They tell us we’ll have to take it up with their superiors. They even gave us a phone number. Of course we can’t call from here since this is a safe house, and I’ll bet that when we do get to a phone, whoever answers won’t have the authority to deal with the problem.”
He shook his head as if to clear away the annoyance. “At least we now have the microportals to contact the Alternates. The Feds don’t consider them to be teleportals. … Actually, Rod”—the head man for the FBI at the safe house—“says they don’t have any orders that apply to the microportals, and they aren’t asking for any. Naturally, we’ll continue to use them to discuss possible ways to make the connection.” He paused thoughtfully. “I’ve been toying with your idea about finding a safe way to open a portal to their universe, but I don’t want to say anything until I have it worked out.”
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