“Barb, if Frank Buchannan achieves a breakthrough based on what Pushkin tells us, that’s all the corroborative evidence we need. We can put him away for life. But the most important goal is getting scientific evidence. Prosecuting the guy will be secondary.”
“Rick, there’s something that concerns me. You’re close to this case, closer than you should be. I didn’t take you off the case after the episode with Ellen, but I almost did. In a meeting, I heard you casually say that you wanted to blow somebody’s head off. Your words.”
“Barb, there’s a growing list of people who want to blow somebody’s head off, starting with the President of the United States. Don’t worry. I’m working this like a pro, like I always do.”
“The difference between you and the president is that you carry a gun. Rick, I trust you. Keep your mind focused on the task, not revenge.”
“Barbara, you know me better than that.”
Does she?
Chapter 46
The day after my trip to Washington, I went to the New Horizons Nursing Home to visit Ellen. It was a beautiful day, about 75 degrees with a bright sun. Nancy Langdon, Ellen’s nurse and my good friend, escorted Ellen to meet me in the open courtyard behind the home. Nancy seemed to take personal pride in making sure that Ellen looked her best. She wore a yellow sundress with a light blue sweater. Instead of slippers, she wore penny loafers.
I sat at a café table as Nancy and Ellen approached. Ellen’s face was changing, or was it my imagination? Still pretty, her features were different from what they were just a few weeks ago. It’s hard to describe an emotion on a person’s face, but Ellen looked confused. That’s the only way I can describe it. Confused. The little scar on her cheek that looked like a dimple when she smiles now just looked like a scar.
Nancy made sure that Ellen got plenty of exercise, especially on the treadmill. Nancy also watched Ellen’s diet carefully. As a result, she still had a beautiful figure.
Nancy sat Ellen on the chair next to me. I leaned over and kissed her. Just as the last time I visited, she didn’t pull her face away from me. She didn’t kiss me, but just seemed to ignore me. I love the scent of her skin, so even if my kiss went unanswered, I’d get a whiff of old times. I held her hand and she smiled. She actually smiled, and her dimple appeared. A few weeks ago, she would pull her hand away from me. She wasn’t getting better, but she seemed to be adjusting to her new life.
“Aren’t the flowers beautiful, honey,” I said, pointing to a flower box along the wall.
“My name’s Ellen.” That hadn’t changed. She seemed to want people to get her name right.
“And what’s my name?”
“Who are you?”
“I’m Rick.”
“I’m Ellen. Nice to see you, Jack. Why are you crying?”
“Oh, it’s just allergies. I’m not crying.”
I moved my chair closer to her. Her scent, the heat from her body, her beautiful face, all helped to make me feel better.
“You smell nice, Jack.”
“I’m wearing Stetson, your favorite cologne. Here, I have something for you.”
I handed her a bottle of Chanel No. 5, my favorite perfume. I had cleared this with Nancy, who thought it was a perfectly good idea.
“Can I put a little on your neck?” She didn’t resist, and allowed me put a small amount just under her chin.
“I smell nice, like you.”
I read somewhere that your olfactory sense is where memory lives. Maybe my cologne and Ellen’s Chanel could help bring back some old memories.
She put her head on my shoulder. I thought I’d pass out I was so happy.
“Where’s mommy?”
“She’s not here, Ellen. Maybe later.”
“Dad, please bring mommy here.”
“Sure, honey. I will, later.”
“My name’s Ellen.”
She fell asleep with her head still resting on my shoulder. If she wanted to stay that way until midnight, it was fine by me. I saw Nancy standing over in a corner of the courtyard. She smiled and gave me the thumbs up sign.
Chapter 47
Buster arranged for a stakeout of 128 Walton Street, The Syndrome manufacturing building in Baltimore. For the three FBI agents he assigned, it was a fairly routine operation. The men had a photograph of Pushkin, and it was a simple, if boring, matter of waiting near the building until they saw him. Their orders were to make the arrest outside the building. A raid would come later after we got information from Pushkin. They waited for eight hours with no success. Buster had already arranged for 24-hour video surveillance. Their instructions were to stake the place out and make arrests during daylight. The surveillance cameras could be monitored overnight and they could make the arrest the following day, assuming that Mr. Pushkin showed up.
After a week of round-the-clock stakeout, the team was ordered back to the office.
***
“Rick, it’s Buster. Pushkin never showed up. We’ve staked out the building for a week and he never appeared. I put him on our watch list when I first learned about him, but he hasn’t left the States, not by plane anyway. It’s possible that he’s just not at the factory, but that doesn’t make sense. Here’s what I suggest we do. My guys have placed surveillance cameras around the building. We’ll keep monitoring the place remotely. If we see Pushkin enter, we’ll just stake out the building until he leaves. That’s all we can do at this point.”
“Buster, did you check with the Baltimore police to see if a body matching his description may have showed up?”
“Rick, do you think I’m an amateur? Of course I checked the police records, and not just Baltimore. I sent his photo to the central database. If something happened to him, we should find out any day.”
“Sorry, Buster, I’m just grasping at straws. Where the hell could this guy have gone?”
“And wherever he went, what’s he doing there?”
Chapter 48
On May 21, the cruise ship Ocean Ecstasy left its berth at Port Liberty, New Jersey, and set sail for a week-long cruise to the Caribbean. One of the largest cruise ships afloat, the Ocean Ecstasy was 1,100 feet in length. Its 2,700 staterooms could accommodate 6,200 passengers. On this cruise, the ship was almost booked to capacity with 6,166 people aboard, including 1,150 children.
Jack Logan was a 43-year-old FBI agent from the Philadelphia office. He was head of the local narcotics task force, which also brought him into contact with counterterrorism activities. Jack was 5’10” with blond hair and a muscular build. His 42-year-old wife, Bonnie, was 5’7”, slim and also blond. Bonnie was a homicide detective with the Philadelphia Police. They hadn’t taken a vacation this long in over three years. The Logans had two kids in college, ages 19 and 20. They didn’t bring the kids with them on the cruise, looking forward instead to a long romantic date, a date they both agreed had been postponed for too long. Because they were both detectives, they would often joke that they didn’t talk, they interrogated one another. Their favorite board game was Clue.
Jack and Bonnie stood on the upper promenade deck, sipping their drinks as the ship plied its way out of New York Harbor under the Verrazano Bridge. At 5:20 p.m., the May sun still shone brightly.
After the terrorist attacks on trains and buildings, and the sinking of two cruise ships, security on the Ocean Ecstasy was almost military in its precision. Nobody objected to the extra measures, and, in fact, most welcomed them. Seeing armed Coast Guardsmen walking the decks with assault rifles was a new cruise experience for most, but it was something you just got used to. A small platform on the highest deck used to be one of the most popular spots for passengers because of the beautiful views it afforded. But now it was off limits to passengers because the spot was reserved for a sniper.
As two veteran cops—and Agent Jack thought of himself as a cop—they couldn’t avoid talking shop, although their goal for the cruise was romance and a rekindling of their love.
“Anything new on The Syndrome
investigation, Jack?”
“They’re keeping it under wraps, hon. Thank God my old friend Rick Bellamy is in charge. With a guy like him on the case, I think they’ll eventually crack it. It’s the most barbaric goddam terror plot I’ve ever seen. The idea of spraying young women with a dementia-causing substance is hard to believe. Last report I’ve heard is that almost 900 women have been hit. I can’t believe they even got to my boss, Sarah Watson.”
“I hate to feel antsy, Jack, but have you noticed that every time you turn around you see a crew member with a water bottle in his hand?”
“Hey, hon, remember the safety protocol they’ve been plastering all over TV. If you’re sprayed, hold your breath and find water or any kind of liquid and splash down your face. From what I’ve read, they still don’t know what the crap is, but an immediate rinse down seems the only way to fight it. Apparently, the substance is an aerosol, and it only does damage if ingested or breathed in. And another thing: I like the idea that, with all this crazy security, the cruise ship line actually gave us permission to carry our guns. Hell, they even requested it. I don’t know about you, but having my Glock on my hip makes me feel better.”
“But how will that work with my bikini?”
“I think the idea sounds kind of kinky,” he said as he nuzzled Bonnie’s neck. “You’ll have an interesting tan line.”
He pinched her on the butt.
“Hey, Bonnie, we’re on vacation. Why don’t we stop talking about all this stuff? We’re here to relax and not think about the problems of the world. You and I are gonna just be with each other for a change. As far as the problems of the world, fuck it.”
“Did you say fuck? That’s a wonderful idea.”
“Hey, I’m going to give you a spanking for that, potty-mouth lady.”
“Spank me? Sounds like fun. Got anything else?”
“I’ll think of something. Let’s finish these drinks in our stateroom.”
***
Buster was in my office at 8 a.m. the following morning.
“I’ve put out a nationwide all-points alert on Pushkin, Rick. It’s as if the guy simply disappeared.”
“But we don’t know what he’s up to, Buster. He may not be at the building in Baltimore for a good reason. Maybe he’s in a different part of the country working on something else. Hell, maybe he’s in bed with the flu. But the photo you had of him was pretty clear. He has a distinctive face. I expect we’ll get some kind of lead soon.”
Buster’s phone sounded.
“Hold it, Rick. This may be something.
“Charles Atkins here.”
Buster, the Friendly Spook, often goes by his alias, Charles Atkins.
“It’s the Chicago Police Department,” he whispered to me as he waited for his caller to get on the line.
“Got it. Right, right. He has his real name on his ID? So you have the guy in custody?
“Looks like you and I are going to Chicago, Rick. They have Dmitri Pushkin in custody, and he matches the photo I sent around. He’s even carrying his real ID. We’ll take a private CIA jet. I’ll round up some assistance and we’ll take him to Langley where we can chat.”
“Where did they find the guy?” I asked.
“He was about to give a lecture at the Northwestern University psychology department. The subject, according to the online curriculum, was ‘Early-Onset Dementia.’ I guess he figured nobody would check his immigration status.”
“We should take Bennie with us. Bennie can detect bullshit no matter how thick the accent.”
***
On Sunday, May 22, the Ocean Ecstasy cruised off the coast of South Carolina on its way to its first port, St. Thomas, in the Caribbean.
After they ate, Jack and Bonnie Logan went to an upper deck on the outside for an after-dinner drink. The area was large and included two swimming pools and four hot tubs. They took off their robes and climbed into a hot tub. Trying their best to get into vacation mode, they had left their guns in the stateroom safe and their bulletproof vests in the closet. It was 8 p.m. and the sun had set about 20 minutes earlier. It was “formal night,” something both Jack and Bonnie hated from their previous cruises. Why waste a relaxing time at sea dressed in formal wear? They both agreed.
About 200 other guests walked, reclined, or swam in the area. The evening was quite warm for late May, about 78 degrees, perfect for relaxing on deck.
They heard a roar coming from inside the ship, not a startling roar, just the sound of hundreds of voices reacting to something. Jack got out of the tub and put on his robe, followed by Bonnie. They were both detectives, so why try to resist the irresistible? They both had to know what just happened.
They walked over to a large window and peered inside. It was a strange, somewhat chaotic scene. People stood and were wringing their hands, flicking off water and wiping their faces and hair with napkins.
“This is the captain speaking. Our deepest apologies, ladies and gentlemen, but we have just suffered an obvious malfunction of the ship’s emergency sprinkler system. I’ve received reports that this happened throughout all interior spaces of the ship, including the bridge. I got a good soaking myself. It was a very fine spray, as you know, and perhaps we should be thankful for that. Thank goodness it only lasted for about 30 seconds. I have assigned additional housekeeping personnel to change the sheets in all staterooms. I feel terrible that your beautiful gowns and handsome tuxedos have been rinsed down. Once again, please accept my apologies. For the remainder of the evening, all drinks are courtesy of the ship.”
Jack and Bonnie looked at each other.
“How the hell can an entire sprinkler system just go off?” said Jack. “Aren’t those things supposed to be localized to particular areas of the ship?”
“That’s my understanding, but I’m no naval engineer. I can’t imagine the entire system just opening up.”
“Unless somebody planned it,” said Jack.
“That would be a pretty stupid practical joke. Why hose down a ship full of people?”
“Maybe it was a disgruntled employee, Bon. Who knows? Hey, we’re out on deck having a relaxing time. Why don’t we just continue doing exactly that? I think I’ll take the captain up on a free drink. You?”
As they stood by the bar, they watched people streaming out onto deck still wiping the water off themselves. Some appeared angry, some laughed, but most seemed to just scratch it off for what the captain said: an accident.
***
Despite his gentle calming words to the passengers, Captain Magnus Thorssen was furious. A veteran of 25 years with the Royal Caribbean line, Thorssen, a native of Oslo, Norway, was one of the company’s most valuable captains. He’s known for his charming personality with passengers, but he also has a reputation as a tough, no-nonsense taskmaster with the crew. Raoul Stasi, the ship’s engineering officer, stood before the captain on the bridge.
“Raoul, can you give me an explanation for how this happened?”
“Captain, there is only one possibility,” said Stasi, with the Portuguese accent of his native Brazil. “This was done on purpose. I have assigned a crew member to watch the valves to make sure it can’t be repeated. I have also put a lock on the valves. It’s easily broken, as it must be, but it will slow down any joker who tries this again.”
“And why was it such a fine spray, almost a fog?”
“Again, sir, I’m convinced that the system was tampered with.”
Chapter 49
Bennie, Buster, and I boarded the Gulfstream G600. The CIA knows how to fly in style. Although we didn’t discuss it, I figured it was less likely for the jihadis to waste an expensive rocket on a small jet. It still felt uncomfortable to be in the air.
“All the hell we have on this guy is an immigration violation,” I said. “It’s enough to hold him, but I’m surprised that the Chicago Police Department was so cooperative. They could have looked at it like a simple immigration matter and called the USCIS.”
“Rick,�
�� said Buster, “don’t forget that we have a friend on Pennsylvania Avenue who takes a personal interest in this case. The guy in Chicago mentioned to me that they got a call from the White House.”
“How did the White House find out about Pushkin?”
“I called the president’s office as soon as I found out that Pushkin was in custody in Chicago.”
***
The three of us walked into the Chicago Police Headquarters on South Michigan Avenue. The building was large. It was five stories high, and the first floor had no windows, covered instead by amber colored tiles, presumably for security purposes. On the front were the words, “City of Chicago – Public Safety Headquarters.” A guard escorted us to Commissioner Daryl Yates’ office on the fourth floor.
“I don’t know what you people are up to, but I got a call from the White House advising me that my ass was toast if I didn’t give you my full cooperation. So, in the interest of keeping my butt at room temperature, I’ll do whatever I can to help.”
Yates personally walked us to the cell where Pushkin was being held. Pushkin sat alone in his cell, looking subdued. When we entered, he smiled at us. He actually smiled. I had a quick but unfulfilled fantasy of putting a bullet between the bastard’s eyes. I was looking at the man who was the reason my Ellen resides at a place called the New Horizons Nursing Home.
I held out my FBI badge and said, “We have some questions for you.” I took handcuffs out of my pocket and cuffed him behind his back.
The man spoke perfect English with only a slight accent.
“I can take it from here, fellas,” said Commissioner Yates. “You guys go to the back and wait in your car. I’ll have two officers bring your prisoner to you. I’m sure you understand that it would raise a lot of questions if my people see three plain clothes taking a prisoner away.”
We saw no problem with Yate’s idea, so we just went to wait by our car.
“I have to congratulate you, Rick, for a commendable display of professionalism,” said Buster.
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