“Those are just my notes,” she told him. “Dr. Lemberger has the originals. He’s trying to get more for us with some high-tech method.”
“‘2007 Afghanistan,’” Jonah read. “Looks like abbreviations for different spec-ops groups: Army Rangers, U.S. Navy SEALs, Recon Marines.”
He glanced up, and everyone was staring at him.
“How the hell’d you get that?” Sean demanded.
“Years in the military.” He handed back the notebook. “Place is a fucking alphabet soup.” He glanced at Allison. “Sorry.”
Another eye roll. “Yeah, apologize for swearing as you break open our goddamn case. Jesus, Macon. We should have had you in the interview with Maxwell. This whole thing has to do with some military project—I’d bet my life on it.”
“I knew that guy was dirty,” Sean said. “Everything out of his mouth was a fucking lie.”
“Back up a sec.” Jonah leaned against the door frame. “Someone wanna explain why any of this is a break in the case? So Eric worked for D-Systems. And they were working on some defense department project. You think that’s what got him killed?”
“We think it’s possible,” Allison said. “What I’d really like to know is what this Project Shadow Tracker thing is about. Any chance one of your army contacts might know?”
“I wasn’t exactly on the Joint Chiefs, but I can poke around.” Jonah looked at Sean. “I don’t much like all these leads pointing to some off-the-grid spec-ops stuff. Shadow Tracker. Shadow Warriors. We have any actual names?”
“Mia’s still working on that DNA from the Beetle,” Ric said, tossing a half-eaten doughnut in the trash. “No hits yet. Our best hope right now is that suspect sketch.”
“What about Himmel’s ex?” Jonah looked at Sean.
“I left her a message to call me so I can fax her the suspect sketch. No answer.”
“Convert it to digital, then e-mail it,” Jonah suggested. “She might get it faster. Where is she, anyway?”
“Laying low with her sister and her children.”
Ric’s eyebrows tipped up. “She’s worried about her children?”
“Wouldn’t you be?” Sean asked. “So far, whoever’s doing this has killed a grandfather, two college kids, and a pregnant woman, and tried to blow up a receptionist. Looks to me like the gloves are off.”
“You tell him about the teddy bear blanket?” Ric looked at Jonah.
“What teddy bear blanket?” Sean asked.
“It was a rabbit,” Jonah said. “Looked like a kid’s security blanket. We found it in Himmel’s motel room. Someone cut the ears off it.”
“A veiled threat against Himmel’s kids if he didn’t complete the mission?” Allison suggested.
“Veiled?” Sean looked at her like she was crazy. “Ears cut off is veiled? Fuck, these witnesses need to be in lockdown!”
Jonah understood Sean’s frustration, but it wasn’t getting them anywhere. He looked at Allison. “Speaking of motel rooms, what’s the sheriff’s update on that surveillance cam at the fire scene?”
“No go,” she said. “They had one pointed at the parking lot but—you’re going to love this—the motel manager said it’s a ‘decoy.’ Thing conked out years ago, they never bothered to get it fixed.”
“There goes our chance of getting a look at whoever Dorion was out there meeting,” Jonah said.
“How do we know he was meeting someone?” Ric asked.
“He told a friend he had a meeting Friday evening with a ‘source’ for some big story he was working on.” Allison gave Jonah a somber look. “And Kelsey just called, by the way. Tyler dorion’s identity has been confirmed.”
Silence settled over the room.
“We need motive,” Jonah said. “That’s what will tell us who’s doing this. I’ll see what I can find out about Shadow Tracker. Allison, see if you can get an update on those interview notes.”
“I’ll work the motel fire angle,” Ric said. “Got a buddy over there who’s a sheriff’s deputy. Maybe there’s some stuff they haven’t tried or some employees over there who could use another interview.”
“Sean?” Jonah gave him a hard look. “You want to come with me?”
Understanding passed between them. Maxwell needed leaning on, and Sean looked more than game.
“I’m in,” he answered. “Let’s go.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold up.” Allison stood. “You two are going to what, show up at Maxwell’s house and play Good Cop Bad Cop? Which one of you’s Good Cop? You look like a pair of raging bulls.”
Sean sneered. “What are you planning to do, have a tea party with him?”
She shot him a glare, and Jonah knew she didn’t like being discounted because she was a woman. Allison doyle was tougher than she looked, he was discovering.
“Jonah, you focus on the military angle,” she said firmly. “I’ll go with Sean.”
“Why?” Sean asked.
“Because he likes me,” she said. “I’ll disarm him with my charming smile.”
Allison rode shotgun and navigated as Sean wove through the posh neighborhood just west of Austin.
“Hang a right here.”
Sean cut her a glance as he pulled into a driveway lined with cars. It looked like a luxury auto show.
Allison whistled. “Nice party. Too bad I forgot my engraved invitation.”
They pulled past a pair of young guys in matching golf shirts—the valets, presumably—and slid into a space beside a red Porsche Carrera. Allison smiled. If waterboarding was out as a means of getting information, they could at least use plain old embarrassment. They walked, badges visible, straight up to the front door.
“Mr. Maxwell around?” Sean asked, flashing his ID at the maid who answered the door.
“One moment, please.” She gave his sidearm a nervous look, then directed them into a small sitting room off the foyer. They remained in the hallway as she hurried away, and Allison’s gaze came to rest on the giant canvas that dominated the far wall. It was a Warhol-like silkscreen print of a pretty brunette. Allison stepped closer and examined the green and orange dots.
“Think it’s real?” she asked.
Sean gave the picture a dismissive look. “Real what?”
Allison shook her head and turned away. More modern paintings, several abstract sculptures. Every piece of furniture she could see was made of leather, glass, or steel.
A very tense-looking Maxwell strode into the hallway. He wore taupe slacks and a trendy sports shirt that would have looked at home on the clay at the French Open.
“What are you doing here?”
Allison stepped forward. “Mr. Maxwell, good to see you again.”
A young couple walked in, and he pasted a smile on his face as he greeted them. They cast curious glances at Allison and Sean, and Maxwell shuttled them to the back of the house. He reappeared, clearly rattled.
“This way.” With a jerk of his head, he led them down a long tile hallway to an office. More modern furniture and abstract art. A large window looked out over the pool and patio, where the Fourth of July bash was in full swing.
The door clicked shut behind them.
“What is the meaning of this?”
Allison smiled. “Sorry to interrupt the party, Mr. Maxwell. We just had a few follow-up questions.”
“Can’t it wait? This is a private function.”
Sean’s eyebrows tipped up. “You want, we can take it down to the station. Nice and public there.” He turned to Allison. “Think we got room in the back of the car, you don’t mind moving all those case files.”
Maxwell’s face hardened. “What are your questions?”
Allison pulled out a notebook and made a production of leafing through the pages. She glanced up to see Sean taking a spot beside the window, much like he’d done last time. She knew he hadn’t missed the security cam mounted in the corner. There had been one in the hallway, too, making her wonder again about that painting.
“Yo
u may recall, we were asking about Eric Emrick’s internship over at D-Systems?”
“What about it?” Maxwell cut a glance at the window, probably worried about whether Sean’s badge was visible to the guests milling around the negative-edge pool.
“We wondered if he might have been working on something called Project Shadow Tracker.”
Maxwell stiffened. His gaze went from Allison to Sean, then back to Allison.
“I don’t know of any such project.”
Allison tipped her head to the side. “Are you sure?”
“Eric was an intern,” Maxwell said. “He worked on applications for our cellular phone clients. I already told you this.”
“You didn’t answer her question,” Sean said mildly.
“What was it?”
“Are you sure you’ve never heard of Project Shadow Tracker?”
Maxwell tucked his hands into his pockets and looked defiant. “No, I haven’t.”
Allison didn’t like his glib tone. And his attitude was getting on her nerves. “We have a source that says otherwise.”
“Who?” Disdainful now.
“Fella by the name of Tyler Dorion?” Sean folded his arms over his chest. “Newspaper reporter? Turned up dead yesterday morning in his motel room, by the way. Homicide.”
“We’re going through all his files right now,” Allison added. “Lots of detailed information about you, your company, Eric Emrick.”
“Yeah, we told the D.A. about it,” Sean lied. “She thinks it’s going to make some interesting reading for the grand jury.”
Maxwell blanched.
“Sure you want to stick with that story you’ve been shoveling?” Sean asked. “We might be able to help you out if you can explain what your name was doing all over this reporter’s files.”
“I never heard of him.” He jabbed a finger at Sean. “And if you tell the media I had something to do with some pissant reporter getting killed, I’ll sue both of you into next week.”
Sean drew back in mock surprise. “Is that right?”
“Don’t push me, Detective. You have no idea who you’re dealing with. I’ve put up with enough of these slanderous allegations.”
“It’s not slander if it’s true.”
“I’ve had enough of this.” Maxwell moved for a door on the other side of the room.
“Going to call your lawyer?”
He shot him a venomous look and disappeared behind the door.
“Fucking prick,” Sean muttered.
“You think he’s lying?”
He looked at her as if she were slow. “Are you kidding?”
Allison strode across the room and pulled open the door. It was a bathroom. Maxwell was backed up against the black granite counter, dialing a number on his cell phone. She closed the door behind her, then pulled the phone from his hand and ended the call.
“Excuse me!”
“Listen, Ryan.” She grabbed his crotch and twisted, hard. His mouth dropped open, and he let out a gasp. “You seem to be missing something. Tyler Dorion is dead.” She twisted harder. “Four other people are dead, too, and I think you know something about it.” His eyes rolled back and he made a choking sound. “Now, I need you to answer some very simple questions, or I’m going to get very pissed off very soon, all right?” He made another noise, and she squeezed again. “All right?”
A slight nod.
“All right, then.” She let go and opened the door. She resumed her place in the other room and avoided Sean’s gaze.
A few moments later, Maxwell shuffled from the bathroom and collapsed into his desk chair. Sean shot her a what-the-fuck look.
“Ask your questions,” she said.
Maxwell was slumped forward, clutching his groin. His face was colorless and his haughty attitude had disappeared.
“Ask him.”
Sean stepped up to the desk. “Have you ever heard of a Project Shadow Tracker?”
He nodded.
“Did Eric Emrick know about it?”
“Yes,” he wheezed.
“Is that why he’s dead?”
Maxwell glanced up at Sean. He looked at Allison. He squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed his forehead. “Yes.”
“I never told him to hurt anybody,” Maxwell said. “He did that on his own.”
“Who did?” Sean stepped closer and towered over him.
Maxwell glanced up. He looked pale and clammy, and Sean could smell the fear on him. He was screwed, and he knew it. Now it was just a matter of degree.
“Our security guy. I don’t know his name.”
Allison shook her head. “You’re going to have to do better than that.”
He shot her a hateful look. “I don’t know, all right? He uses an alias.”
Sean stepped closer, crowding him back in his chair. “You expect me to believe some security guy your company uses—whose name you don’t even know—went off and arranged for these murders, all on his own?”
“I don’t know what he arranged to do.”
Sean planted a palm on the desk and got right in his grille. “I’m not buying it.”
Maxwell scooted back in his chair and glanced miserably around the room. “I didn’t do this, all right? I swear. All I did was call someone in to deal with a security issue, and things started happening.”
Sean straightened and looked him over. He could tell Maxwell was lying. But he also got the impression that there was some truth mixed in.
“You need to explain that,” Allison said.
Maxwell rubbed his forehead. “Eric was a security problem. He’d hacked into our secure storage area and started downloading files about some of our top-secret projects.”
“Like Shadow Tracker,” Sean said.
“Like that, yeah. But that one was shut down.” Maxwell shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “The government pulled the plug on it two years ago, but all the specs are still sitting there, in encrypted files, and Eric hacked into them. Threatened to sell them on the black market.”
“Shadow Tracker,” Allison said. “Explain what that is.”
“I can’t.” He looked at her guiltily. “I signed a contract with the Defense Department. There could be sanctions.”
Sean sneered. “You expect us to believe a college kid’s going to know where to market top-secret military plans?”
“He was threatening to. It was probably a bluff, but he wanted money.” Maxwell looked at Allison. “He was out of control! Everything was a game to him! I called our security guy in to go talk him out of whatever he was planning.”
“You mean torture him.” Allison said.
“No, talk to him. That’s all. We needed him to be reminded of the gravity of what he was doing.”
“Why didn’t you report this to the police or the FBI?” Sean asked.
“I should have. I realize that now. But we do a lot of sensitive work here, and I didn’t want it leaking out that some student hacker had compromised our security.”
“I want a name,” Sean said.
“I told you, I don’t know. Just an alias.”
“What is it?”
“Sharpe. That’s all I have. That and a phone number.”
Allison flipped open her notepad and tossed it on the desk in front of him. “Let’s see it.”
Maxwell hesitated. She tossed him a pen, and he started writing. When he was done, she picked up the pad.
“I’m going to call this in,” she told Sean. “See what we get.”
She slipped out of the room, leaving Sean alone with Maxwell and a very inconvenient security camera.
“Who’s this guy work for?” Sean demanded.
“I don’t know.”
“Where’d you get his name?”
He sighed. “My predecessor gave it to me. Said if I ever had anything really sensitive come up, I should call this consultant.”
“A consultant.” Sean edged closer. “He’s orchestrated the deaths of at least five people. Who paid him?”
This seemed to catch Maxwell off guard.
Follow the money. It was one of the first things he’d learned as a homicide cop.
“Well?” Sean pressed. “Five hits? Six, if you include having Himmel off himself to cover the tracks? Sounds like an expensive job.”
“I didn’t tell him to kill anyone! He was just supposed to handle a difficult employee.”
“Sounds like he handled it. How much did you pay him?”
Maxwell hesitated, and Sean waited for the lie. “He wanted up-front payment. In full. That’s how he did business, he said.”
“How much?”
“Five thousand dollars to talk to Eric and find out how much hacking he’d done, how much damage control we needed to implement.”
The room grew quiet except for the sounds of music and conversation coming up from the patio.
Much of this was bullshit. Sean knew it. But it gave him a direction.
It also gave him a renewed sense of urgency.
He stepped forward and leaned a palm on the desk again. He got up in Maxwell’s face and felt a fresh wave of fear rolling off him. The man smelled like vinegar and cowardice.
“Let me tell you something, Maxwell. A lot of innocent people have been sucked into this thing that you created. You know what that means?”
Maxwell leaned back.
“Means I don’t like you.” Sean eased forward and lowered his voice. “If anyone else gets hurt in this, I will personally track you down, to a place where there aren’t any cameras. And I will rip your goddamn head off.”
The Rolling Hills Motel sat twelve miles outside of town on a state highway. The one-story building was old, rundown, and concealed from the road by a grove of oak trees. Jonah could see why someone might choose it as a place for a covert meeting and a deadly “electrical” fire.
Ric stood outside the smoke-blackened door of Room 119, which had been sealed shut by investigators. He was interviewing a Spanish-speaking maid whose statement sheriff’s deputies had somehow failed to include in their report. Ric had been talking to her for a while now, and Jonah hoped he was having some luck.
Jonah sure wasn’t having any. He’d been trying for over an hour to reach Wolchansky at Fort Benning, but the man was in the midst of a training exercise, and the woman who’d answered the phone at the base had been unable to track him down.
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