The Nightfall Billionaire: Serial Installment #1 (Scarlet McRae)

by Vanessa Blackstone

  She left his side and soon returned with Rick. She quietly instructed him to begin scanning for gravitational anomalies. Rick knelt by the girl’s footprints and began scanning the surrounding soil.

  “Gravitational waves often leave subtle but unmistakable changes in the subatomic properties of things,” he said, “but I’m not picking up on anything.” He stared hard at the device in his hand for a moment, then looked up at Scarlet and Rodrigo. “As for gravitational bubbles, those have been observed only in space. I wouldn’t bank on the girl’s weight being due to gravitational shifts or blips. Instruments say these prints were made with earth’s natural gravity.”

  Rodrigo glared momentarily at Scarlet but said nothing. Beth then regrouped with the other three agents.

  “And the chainlink fence?” Scarlet asked Rick. “What do you make of it?”

  He stood. “If I hadn’t known it was a young girl who ripped it, I’d say there’s nothing physically or chemically abnormal here. No signs of extreme heat or cold. No signs of acid or other corrosive agents. It looks exactly like what the Air Force guys were telling us: It was just… ripped open.” He shrugged.

  “Ripped?” asked Scarlet, whispering so the military personnel couldn’t hear her. “That’s one hell of a way for a little girl to breach a pair of chainlink fences. What about her DNA?”

  “None,” Rick replied, his voice softer than Scarlet’s, as though he couldn’t bring himself to believe his instrument’s readings.

  “None?” asked Scarlet. “How is that possible? She wasn’t wearing gloves, not according to the footage we saw. There must have been skin cells still on that fence where she grabbed it, maybe traces of blood. Something.”

  “I… I don’t know.” Watanabe looked worried. “The scanner doesn’t seem to be malfunctioning. It’s just… not picking up any living tissue on these fences. Sorry, McRae, but that’s all I’ve got. There is no DNA on this fence.”

  Beth stood with her arms crossed over her chest, looking uncomfortable. “So we rule out organic life?” she offered, careful to keep her voice low.

  “Not yet,” Scarlet said. She rubbed the bridge of her nose, trying to think. “DNA could have been purged from the fences if the Air Force wanted it purged.”

  “But why would they do that?” Rodrigo asked, careful to keep his voice low, too. He waved away a lone fly buzzing around his face.

  “I don’t know,” Scarlet whispered. “But it’s pretty clear that they’re hiding a hell of a lot from us. I think it’s time we talked to ‘the boss.’”

  Beth was biting her lip. “Pedone’s not going to like this.”

  “Tough. He’ll get over it,” Scarlet said.

  “Yeah, but how do we get past him?” Rick asked. “He’s like a bulldog. It’s not like he’s just going to let us walk right in to speak with his superior.”

  A mischievous smile crossed Scarlet’s face. “You’re right. He might not let us walk right in. He’ll probably drive us there himself.”

  “What?” Rodrigo said as quietly as he could manage.

  “A bit of diplomacy is called for here,” Scarlet said. “Give me a few minutes.”

  With that, she put in a call to their sister PIR Unit back at the NSB’s headquarters.

  When the call was finished, she eyed Pedone and thought, Gotcha.

  Chapter Eight

  There is one thing I want most of all: to live while I am alive. Nowadays, it’s far too easy to be dead on your feet; just going through the motions is how the common man plays life. How is that different from being dead?

  —Mac Stone

  Scarlet asked to be taken to see the OIC, but Pedone was having none of it.

  “You goddamned civvies act like you can just come onto our base and tell us what to do. It’s fucking disgusting how entitled you little pricks are,” Pedone said, his face warped in anger. “I oughta throw you the hell out right now!”

  “Well,” said Scarlet, cool as the wind around them, “That might not be the best idea. You know, for you.”

  “Oh? You wanna tell me what sort of genius thinking you did to arrive at that stupid conclusion?”

  “I’m glad you think it’s genius,” she replied. “I do, too. Really. Let me show you. What’s your number?”

  “Hey, listen. I don’t give my number to any bitch!”

  Then, slowly, gently, she walked closer to him and whispered in his ear like an old friend, “It’d be a shame if your wife found out about that sexy, sexy Lola you’ve been seeing on the side. You know: that leggy blonde. The one who wears that red, see-through lingerie you like so much.” She gave him a pat on the back, nodded her head apologetically, and stepped away from him.

  Pedone’s jaw dropped. He blinked for several seconds in her direction, speechless.

  “How the hell did you—?” he began.

  Scarlet shrugged, then nodded again. “A little bird told me. Those birds. Ohhh, those damned little birds. Sometimes they just can’t keep their beaks shut.”

  “Ahhh, um… the boss is in his office. Westmore’s his name. He’s, um… I’ll… we’ll take you to him.” He then addressed his subordinates. “Won’t we, boys?” The suddenly cooperative officer looked around at his men, grinning sheepishly.

  Colonel Westmore’s office sat at the end of a long, musty-smelling hallway lined with lockers and motivational posters. A tinge of body odor lingered in the indoor air, together with the colonel’s minty aftershave. The fluorescent lights in his office buzzed in a soft, hypnotic drone, barely audible, while old music played in tinny resignation from a small radio hidden somewhere within the clutter of his office.

  “You’ll have to forgive my colleague,” Westmore said mildly, his accent that of a perfect southern gentleman. “Colonel Pedone is often rather enthusiastic about his duties.” He reached behind a disorderly stack of books and papers, and the radio clicked off.

  Scarlet guessed Westmore’s accent was Georgian. The old colonel had a very pale, kindly face with a short, pointed nose and a head of silvery white hair, slightly unkempt. He sat hunched behind his desk while the four NSB agents were seated in front of it.

  Beth looked around the office. “Nice place you have here.”

  “Thank you,” said the colonel. “You’ll have to pardon the smell. I like to stay near our barracks for the new recruits. I like to get to know ‘em. I like to know about their families and their lives. We train ‘em hard, and we’re real proud of ‘em, our boys.”

  “We’re proud of them, too, Colonel,” Scarlet said.

  “But you all didn’t come here to discuss the Air Force’s recruits,” Westmore said. “You’re here about the break-in from this morning. I understand. Time is critical and in such short supply. Let’s get you started. What did you need?”

  “Information, Colonel, to be blunt,” Scarlet answered. “There’s a whole lot we don’t know about what happened. We have some questions we hope you could answer for us.”

  “Naturally. Go ahead.” He nodded, then started twisting the ends of a pencil in his fingers a few times as he awaited their questions.

  “We weren’t able to find any DNA on the fence around the holes. Does the Air Force have any explanation for the lack of DNA at the entry-point? Did you destroy or otherwise clear away any DNA from the fence?” Scarlet asked.

  Westmore’s eyebrows rose. He scratched his forehead and appeared to be thinking. “No, ma’am, I don’t imagine we had any incentive to do that.”

  “Do you have any explanation for why it might not be there?” Rick asked him.

  “No, sir. I do not. We left the breach as we found it. I didn’t want that site contaminated. There was important evidence there, no doubt about it. My orders from top brass were to leave it untouched, and I did exactly that.”

  “Can we have a copy of the footage the security cameras took of her?” Scarlet asked.

  “I wish you could,” he said wearily, “but the generals were quite clear that it must not be given to an
yone who didn’t have the proper security clearance for it. They’re awfully spooked. And, if I may be perfectly frank with you all, they don’t trust any civilian agency with it. I don’t think they ever would, either. They didn’t even trust me with it, and I’ve been with the Air Force since I was 17. It’s a miracle you’re even allowed to be here, and I mean that in the best possible way.”

  Fantastic, Scarlet thought, suddenly wishing she had had a photographic memory for at least those precious few moments when she had been viewing the footage. It was just this morning, but it seems like ages ago.

  Rick spoke again. “Can you tell us about what was stolen from the base?”

  “Sure, if you mean I can tell you that I don’t know,” Westmore replied wryly. “I was authorized to keep it at my base, but I was not authorized to know what it was or what it would be used for. I might not even have the technical background to understand it, to be honest with you all. It was some technical, hush-hush project they called ‘Red Bird.’ That’s all I know. That, and that it’s now gone from our hangar, whatever it was.” He again began to twist the pencil he was holding, and his head was slightly bowed.

  Via inner-phone, Scarlet mentally sent a text to their sister unit at the NSB. Request info: Project Red Bird, American Federal Air Force.

  “What about the tracks of that little girl?” Rodrigo asked. “Do you know where they lead? Where they came from?”

  “Our men followed them out to a creek, where the trail went cold. We assume she got through most of the forest by walking in that creek. It comes up to within just a few dozen yards from the fence-line.”

  “Aerial satellite imagery? Anything unusual there? Or signals intelligence?” Scarlet asked, her senses becoming involuntarily sharper at the new information she was getting.

  “She’d be well hidden by the trees,” he said, again sounding weary. “Our satellites are good, but none of them were designed to x-ray a forest. She had good cover from that canopy. And as for signals intelligence: None. I mean not a squeak. Not a squawk. If she was communicating over the airwaves, we couldn’t detect it. All communications were normal.”

  Rodrigo asked, “Do you have any idea who might be behind this attack? I just can’t believe it’s this little niña who just walked in.” He was leaning sideways in his chair, and gesturing with an arm, searching for words. “She had to have had help in getting in here. Someone was helping her. Some state or some corporation. Right? She had to have had some inside-guy she was working with, someone she was counting on for intel or just… just an opening.” His brow furrowed, and his gestures slowed to a stop. He eyed Westmore for answers.

  “With all due respect, Agent, does she look to you like someone who needed help breaking in here?” the colonel asked as tactfully and gently as he could. “To answer your question, no, we don’t know who might have been behind this, assuming someone was. The Chinese, the Russians, the United European Caliphate, the Egyptian Liberation Front Al Ha’dab—any of them might be behind this, but I don’t think they were.”

  “Why do you think that?” Scarlet asked.

  Westmore chuckled good-naturedly. “Young lady, don’t think that military intelligence is behind you civilians. We have our own channels and methods. Based on what intel we have available, I can say with a rather high degree of certainty that our enemies have no knowledge of this girl at present. They will shortly, though. It’s only a matter of time before someone sniffs out something fishy going on. I doubt we’ve seen the last of her. She may show up elsewhere, maybe within the Empire, maybe outside of it. Canada, for example. We are not too far from the Canadian border.”

  God, if she crosses the border… Scarlet thought. And we still don’t have a clear motive for this girl. Nor a means-of-entry we can explain, for that matter.

  “Sir, could we inspect the security cameras damaged during her break-in?” she asked. “As well as the bodies of the deceased?”

  “That sounds reasonable to me. You may.” With that, he pressed and held down a button on his desk. “Scott, get Dr. Straub for me, will you?”

  A moment passed while the group waited for a Dr. Straub to appear, but it was not long before Westmore produced a bottle of whiskey from his desk.

  “Whiskey, anyone?” he asked. “I don’t ordinarily drink. Gave it up a long time ago… for my wife’s sake. I was saving this bottle for a special occasion. I’ve been waiting years to do this. If these are our last days, as our generals have suggested they might be, we would do well to enjoy them. I choose fine spirits for my reverie.”

  He put on a minuscule pair of bifocals and inspected the label on the bottle. “From Maine. Aged. 2058. Good year. And a fine brand.”

  “I’ll pass, thank you,” Scarlet said, turning her head away just slightly, and wanting this “Straub” to hurry.

  The other agents also declined.

  “Suit yourself,” Westmore said, and poured himself a glass of whiskey. He tipped it into his mouth, swished it around, then swallowed it in a single gulp. He set the empty glass down on his desk with a hard knock. “Ahhh. Good. 2058 was a good year indeed. I’ve lived a long time. It was a good life. I have no regrets.”

  “Colonel, we’ll find her,” Scarlet said. “The world won’t end. Not yet. Not on our watch.” She balled up a fist.

  “It ends for everyone, young lady. For some, it’s sooner than for others, but everyone comes to a time when they can no longer go on. That’s a real time for everyone, a time everyone meets, without exception.” His sad eyes, humid with age, peered over his bifocals at Scarlet.

  “It’s too soon to give up, sir,” Scarlet said. “You’ve got to pull yourself together. We’ve barely even started, and you’re already throwing in the fucking towel. We have not yet failed this investigation. Don’t treat us like we have.” Why does he think this investigation is futile?

  Rick and Beth looked at each other, uncertain how to react. Scarlet and Rodrigo, meanwhile, glared at Westmore.

  But the colonel leaned back comfortably in his chair, let his head lean into one of his hands, and just gazed at the beautiful woman in front of him in the same way he might admire a fine painting at an art gallery. After a moment, he smiled serenely and gently at Scarlet, yet his smile was not without sadness. “You’re very young.”

  He then went back to his whiskey.

  I may be young, compared to him, thought Scarlet, but I’ll be damned if I give up so easily.

  Chapter Nine

  A few more uncomfortable minutes passed, and then a short, thin man with a sparse mustache entered Westmore’s office. He was wearing a dark blue lab coat, but his name, rank, and ribbons were still partially visible beneath it.

  Col. Westmore rose to greet him, then addressed Scarlet’s unit. “Agents McRae, Perez, Summers, and Watanabe, this is Major Straub, our chief medical officer. He’s been in charge of overseeing the investigation into the airmen’s deaths. I believe he will be of assistance to you.”

  “Good afternoon, everyone,” Straub said. His hands were in his lab coat pockets, but he took them out and extended one to shake the hands of the agents.

  “Right this way, please.” He gestured toward the door.

  Scarlet thanked the colonel on behalf of her group. The major then led the group out of the room, while she took up the rear.

  Just as she had come to the end of the locker-lined hallway, she turned its corner and accidentally bumped into a very tall, broad-chested man in a suit. She had instinctively put her arms out to avoid colliding with him, but it was too late.

  They were already on his chest.

  Startled, she looked up at him. Her feet wanted to step away from the man, but his eyes locked with hers.

  She saw his face: suffused with dominance and maturity, and with eyes the color and depth of the sea.

  She fought to keep herself from running from this sudden, unexpected jolt to her senses. The cells of her body quietly hummed in animal-like satisfaction and aliveness while she stood n
ext to him. She found herself unable to move, which both frustrated and frightened her.

  She wanted to say something, but nothing came to mind.

  They looked into each others’ eyes for what must have been only a few seconds, but which, to her, felt like a full minute, one that was a mingling of surprise, nervousness, elation—and guilt.

  His coat felt like velvet to her fingertips, but beneath the velvet was something like iron.

  “I’m a good catch, but you’d better let me go,” the man said. He looked down at her hands, which were still lain on his chest.

  “I—I’m sorry. So sorry. Pardon me,” Scarlet replied, blinking, then quickly dropped her hands to her side.

  “Don’t mention it, ma’am,” the man said by way of farewell, his voice a deep, rich bass that sent tingles down her spine. He continued down the hallway, toward Col. Westmore’s office.

  Scarlet could barely help herself. Inwardly still trembling from what she had just experienced, she dared to look down the hallway at him.

  So tall and muscular. He must be six-five. Maybe a little more. Finely dressed. Clearly a civilian. Who was that? And what was he doing on this base, and at a time like this?

  She paused for a moment to gaze at him.

  What’s wrong with me? Bureau agents shouldn’t get involved with people that way. Especially not at a time like this.

  Besides, Jake… I can never forget you.

  She shook her head in annoyance at herself and turned away from where the man had gone. She walked briskly to catch up with the rest of her group, feeling every beat of her pounding heart.

  “We took photographs and swept the area for clues, but they’re exactly the way we found them,” Straub said, pointing to one of the dead bodies. He lifted the red-and-yellow striped tape that had been used to section-off the crime scene, then carefully stepped under it. The others followed him.