by Tom Grace
“I’ve been assigned to examine the remains recovered from the Heartland Building, and I wanted to apprise you of my preliminary findings. Do you have a moment?”
“For this, absolutely. What have you found?”
“Of the three sets of remains, we have a positive identification for one—the security guard Burt Dobbin.”
“Dobbin,” Hunley said as he scrawled down a note. “Don’t you get the other guard by process of elimination?”
“That would be an assumption and not a confirmation based on the evidence. In fact, the evidence regarding the second guard is contradictory. I can’t tell you whose body I have here, but I am fairly certain it is not Charles Sparks.”
“Not Sparks? How’d you come to that?”
“The security guards were subjected to a full physical examination as a condition of their employment,” Cooper explained. “We acquired both sets of records to aid our identification, and they proved most helpful with regard to Mr. Dobbin.”
“But less so for Sparks?”
“Unless he grew almost three inches in the past year, the gentleman residing in my morgue is not Sparks.”
“Anything at all on the bomber?” Hunley asked.
“DNA and some partial dentals. We did find a few additional oddities that might interest you.”
“Fire away.”
“Based on the positioning of the bodies and the blast and burn damage, I believe that all three men were already lying on the floor at the time of detonation.”
“They weren’t knocked down by the blast?”
“Typically, a body subject to a bomb detonation suffers blast damage on the side facing the explosion and impact damage from whatever it lands on or against. I found no fresh bone breaks or any sign of impact damage on these bodies.”
“That doesn’t make much sense,” Hunley mused. “We think the guards were running a room-by-room search for an intruder when they discovered the bomber. If you open a door and see a bomb, your first reaction is to pull back, not drop to the floor. If all you see is the perp, you slowly move in to make the arrest. In either case, they should have been standing when the bomb went off.”
“I can only offer conclusions based on the physical evidence provided by the bodies.”
“I understand. You’ve just given me and the crime scene techs something to chew on. What was the other oddity you found?”
“The livers of the two unidentified men show signs of long term substance abuse. That kind of damage would have certainly shown up on Spark’s physical, but his chem panels are those of a normal healthy male.”
“You say both of our unknowns were substance abusers?” Hunley asked as he scanned through his initial scene report on the bombing.
“That is correct.”
Hunley found the notation on his encounter with the homeless man at the scene and his report of two naked, missing comrades. The notation ended with the name and badge number of the NYPD officer who fielded the missing person’s report.
“If I get you the clothes of a couple homeless guys who went missing the same day as the bombing, you think you can extract some DNA for a match?”
“Given the hygienic practices of the average homeless substance abuser, I have no doubt we could recover some usable genetic material.”
“I’ll have the effects of the missing men transferred to your lab. Thanks very much, Dr. Cooper.”
Hunley cradled the handset and jotted down some additional notes.
“So, if our John Does turn out to be the missing winos,” Hunley mused, “the key questions become: who and where is Sparks?”
SIX
BATTLE MOUNTAIN, NEVADA
MONDAY, DECEMBER 15; 1:40 AM
“You okay, kid?”
The man’s voice sounded distant in Jacob Beck’s ears, like his mother’s when she woke him from a deep sleep. He was standing and felt a pair of hands on his shoulders and a cold breeze on his face. Nearby, he heard the low noise of a car engine. He held the purple moose in his right arm and instinctively pulled it tight against his chest as his left hand rubbed the sleep from his eyes.
“Talk to me, kid. You okay?” the man asked again, his voice filled with concern.
Jacob opened his eyes and focused on the man crouched down in front of him. He was outside. It was dark and the man’s face was only half lit by the faint glow of flashing hazard lights and the sliver of moon floating above the horizon. The man’s face was unfamiliar and Jacob shuddered, realizing he was someplace he did not know with a stranger.
“It’s all right,” the man said softly, sensing the boy’s panic. “I’m here to help.”
“Where’s my mom and dad?”
“That’s what I was gonna ask you. How’d you get out here?”
“I d-don’t know. Where am I?” Jacob stammered, barely holding back tears.
“Well, you’re safe now. There’s a town up ahead, but I can’t imagine you just walked, not in this cold. What you say we head in and find the police. They’ll help us find your folks.”
Jacob nodded, the tears now streaming from his eyes. The man carefully scooped the boy up and carried him to the van.
“You are chilled to the bone. I got a blanket and the heater works, but I only got coffee in the thermos. Sorry about that. I’m sure we can find some hot chocolate in town to help warm you up.”
He carefully buckled Jacob into the passenger seat and tucked a fleece blanket around the boy.
“That good?”
Jacob nodded, his purple moose clutched in a two-arm death grip, the plush animal’s bulbous snout peeking out from beneath the boy’s chin. The man closed the door, rounded the front of the van and slipped behind the wheel.
“By the way, my name’s Bob. What’s yours?”
“Jacob.”
“That’s a good name, from the Bible. Jacob found himself in a rough patch, like you, but he came through just fine.”
I-80 was all but empty at this hour—a lone pair of westbound headlights were still a long ways off. Gravel crunched as the van pulled off the shoulder and back onto the highway. The distant glow grew brighter as they neared Exit 229. Jacob’s eyes darted back and forth from the driver to the road ahead. The van slowed as the man steered toward the ramp. A moment later, they were driving down the main street of the isolated mining town once slighted by The Washington Post Magazine as the armpit of America. Most of the businesses were dark, but the bright lights of a twenty-four-hour truck stop promised sanctuary from the inhospitable night.
The driver pulled into a spot along the side of the building—away from the big rigs—and parked. He then came around to Jacob’s side of the van and collected the boy, blanket and all, and carried him inside. The interior of the truck stop featured the usual mix of T-shirts, hats, arcade games, convenience store snacks and beverages, a folksy diner, and other miscellaneous whatnot. A row of one-armed bandits and video poker machines lined the wall just inside the door, offering the promise of easy money.
“You need to use the bathroom?” Bob asked the boy.
“Yes,” Jacob answered, his eyes transfixed by the blinking lights.
The man scanned the main room and quickly found the bright red neon sign over the restroom doors. He carried the boy down an aisle of shelves stocked with a wide selection of snack foods and let him down at the restroom door.
“You go on in and take care of business. I’ll wait for you right here. You want me to hold your moose?”
Jacob thought about the question for a moment, then handed the animal over.
“I’ll take good care of him. And when you’re done, we’ll see about getting you some hot chocolate.”
While waiting outside the men’s room, a wisp of a woman stepped out of the ladies. The quantity of makeup on the woman’s face fell somewhere between geriatric prostitute and Kabuki actress, but the name badge pinned to her denim vest identified her as Nancy the night manager.
“Waiting on your child?” she asked, noti
cing the purple moose in his hand.
“Yes and no. I found a young boy walking along the interstate just outside of town.”
“Oh my,” Nancy gasped.
“I didn’t see any other cars on or off the road,” the man explained, “so I brought him here. My cell phone’s busted, but I think we should call the police.”
The men’s room door squeaked part of the way open, but before Jacob could step through, the blue-haired queen of the truck stop reached down and picked him up. The child’s eyes went wide as Nancy captured him in a tight embrace.
“You poor dear,” Nancy exclaimed, her maternal instincts taking complete control. She kissed his cheek, leaving behind a waxy red reminder. “Are you hungry?”
Jacob nodded.
“What’s your name, child?”
“Jacob Beck,” the boy answered, clearly enunciating each syllable.
Even through the layers of facial spackle, Nancy blanched with recognition. She immediately made a beeline for the restaurant.
“Reed, you back there?” Nancy called out as they stepped up to the counter.
A thin, weathered man stepped out from the kitchen wiping his hands on a towel. “Yes, dear.”
“Call Keith down at the sheriff’s office and tell him we got that missing boy from California here. This young man—what’s your name?”
“Bob.”
“Bob just rescued the boy out on I-80. After you talk to Keith, whip up something for this poor child to eat.”
“You like pancakes and scrambled eggs?” Reed asked the boy locked in his wife’s arms.
Jacob nodded enthusiastically. “And hot chocolate.”
“I sort of promised him some,” Bob said.
“Well, can’t go breakin’ any promises to young Jacob. How about you, Bob? Being the hero of the hour, it’s on the house.”
“Just a cup of coffee will be fine.”
“You want anything else, just say so.” Reed poured a mug from a fresh pot and set it on the counter. Then he handed his wife a napkin. “Honey, your mascara is doing a Tammy Faye.”
Embarrassed, Nancy set the boy on a stool and dabbed at the errant streaks of makeup. “Tears of joy.”
“That’s my mom!” Jacob shouted, pointing at the flat screen TV above the counter.
A reporter on a twenty-four-hour news channel stood outside the Beck home in San Mateo with the distraught parents who pleaded for the safe return of their child. The crawl running across the bottom of the screen noted the active Amber Alert and the toll-free tip line.
Nancy gave Jacob another hug. “Your parents are going to be so happy you’re safe and sound.”
The sheriff arrived just as Jacob tore into his midnight breakfast. After chatting briefly with the boy, he sat Bob at a booth out of earshot from the child.
“I just want to take your statement and ask a few questions,” the sheriff said as he flipped open a small notepad and set a recorder on the table between them. “Do you mind if I record our conversation?”
“Anything to help, officer.”
“I appreciate that.”
The sheriff identified himself and asked Bob to do the same. Bob spelled out his name and provided his address and occupation for the record. He handed the sheriff his driver’s license and a business card.
“How’d you come upon Jacob Beck?”
“I was eastbound on Eighty, heading back home from a job in Reno.”
“What were you doing in Reno?”
“Laser surveying a building.”
“What’s that?”
“I scan existing buildings and structures with a laser and then build 3D CAD models so the architects and engineers that hire me can design the renovations. The job in Reno was an older building, and I was documenting cracks in the exterior that need repair.”
“Learn something new every day. So you were eastbound on I-80 and then what?”
“I’m just outside of town when I see what looks like somebody standing off to the side of the road. I figure my eyes are playing tricks on me, but I slow down and sure enough it’s for real. He was just standing there holding that stuffed animal, lookin’ real out of it. I’m thinking maybe he’s in shock or something, like he’s walked away from an accident, but I don’t see nothing around us but desert. I couldn’t leave him there in this cold, so I brought him here. I haven’t been following the news much lately, so I had no idea he was that boy from the Amber Alert. I hate to think what would’ve happened if I hadn’t spotted him.”
“He’s lucky you found him when you did. So you didn’t see any other cars on the road?”
Bob shook his head. “Nothing in either direction for a long while until I found him. I got a few points on my record, so I lock in the cruise control at the speed limit. I don’t pass too many cars that way. I guess whoever dropped him off must have been heading east as well.”
“You brought him here, then what?”
“Jacob had to take a leak, and then I met up with the folks who run this place. They called you, fixed the boy up with some grub and now I’m here talking with you. Top to bottom, we’re talking about fifteen minutes. He’s come around pretty well since we got here, hard to tell anything happened to him at all.”
“Can you identify the location where you found the boy?”
“I can put you on the exact spot, plus or minus a foot. It’s logged in my GPS.”
Bob fished a handheld device from his coat pocket that was synced to the equipment in his van and read off the coordinates.
“That’s all I have for you now,” the sheriff said as he turned off the recorder. “I need to get some deputies out to where you found Jacob, while I take him over to the hospital for a once-over.”
“You think he might have been molested?”
“I don’t know what to think, or what kind of person we’re dealing with who would take this boy, then leave him out in the cold by the side of the road. I just thank God we found him alive. And I believe you are in line for a reward.”
“For what, doing my Christian duty? I can’t accept.”
“Why?” the sheriff asked. “You earned it.”
“No, the guy who helps you catch the creep who did this, that’s the guy who’ll have earned it. I was just in the right place at the right time. Anyway, if my face gets splashed on the TV and word gets out about some reward, my ex and her lawyer will swoop down and take the whole thing. I’m a bit backed up on my alimony and it would piss me off to have something nice I did benefit them.”
The sheriff smiled knowingly as he pocketed his notepad. “I got an ex too. We’ll keep your name out of the press. I know how to reach you, if need be.”
“Am I good to go?”
“After I get a look at your truck?”
“Sure, but why?”
“Just dotting the i’s and crossing the t’s. That, and you got me curious about this laser scanning. Sounds like something out of Star Trek.”
“It’s pretty cool, and a lot easier than the old-fashioned way.”
Bob gave the sheriff a quick tour of the equipment in the back of his van, and showed him the laser scanner. With the sheriff’s blessing, he was back on the road.
As Battle Mountain’s lights faded behind him, Bob tapped some buttons on his dashboard and the engine rumble disappeared. The van’s exterior shimmered and changed color, now appearing a light tan, and the license plates indicated the vehicle was now from Utah. Bob the surveyor had served his purpose and, like security guard Charlie Sparks, the alias he provided was discarded as Palmer moved on to the next child.
THREE MONTHS LATER . . .
SEVEN
BEIJING, CHINA
MONDAY, MARCH 16; 3:50 PM
Peng Shi arrived in the anteroom of Minister Tian’s office suite ten minutes early for his meeting and identified himself to the minister’s administrative assistant. He was dressed in a dark blue suit with black wingtip shoes, a starched white shirt and a silk tie. He wore his jet-black hair in a
businessman’s cut and he looked the part of a young, middle-management executive.
The last time he visited the executive region of the Ministry for State Security’s office complex, he had just returned from Rome after escorting Nolan Kilkenny from Chinese soil. He had been assigned to assist in the effort to hunt down Kilkenny and his team of co-conspirators and prevent the escape of an important prisoner. That effort failed. And though Peng incurred no official fallout from the escape of the man who eventually became the first Chinese pope, he found his career with the ministry stalled in a bureaucratic limbo.
“The minister will see you now,” Tian’s assistant announced politely.
Peng passed through an ornate wooden door into the minister’s office. Tian sat in a leather chair behind a large desk of black lacquered wood, intently reading a file. In furnishing and objects, the space surrounded its occupant with all the visible trappings of his position and reminded all visitors of the power directed from inside this room. Through a panoramic span of ribbon windows, Peng saw the famed gardens of the Imperial Summer Palace and imagined what the view would be like in a few weeks with the new growth of spring.
“Sit,” Tian ordered as he continued to read.
Peng sat and waited until Tian finished and closed the file. Tian then studied Peng for a moment like an assayer.
“I have an assignment for you,” Tian announced.
“Thank you, minister.”
“Do not thank me yet. This is more a simple errand than a foreign posting.”
“I am ready to serve in any capacity you deem appropriate,” Peng said.
“The job itself is relatively straightforward but politically sensitive. This is why it was tasked to us and not a diplomatic courier.”
“I understand.”
“You are to travel to Hong Kong, where you will receive a small container of biomedical samples. I will not explain the nature or purpose of these samples, other than to inform you that they are not dangerous in any way and their transport across international borders is legal. You will take these samples under diplomatic seal to New York City. Our associates there will take the samples from you and return them when their work is complete. You will then bring the samples back to Hong Kong, again under diplomatic seal. While the samples are in your possession, you are to keep them with you at all times. This assignment should require no more than one week from beginning to end. Questions?”