Hollywood Prisoner: A Hollywood Alphabet Series Thriller

by M. Z. Kelly

  “Even a small dispersal area would be enough to damage the city for years,” Joe said. “We’re going to need to be sure we use protective equipment at all times.”

  After landing and making our way into Manhattan with a convoy of police vehicles, and past hundreds of people fleeing the city, we set up a base camp a few miles from the blast zone. We suited up in the latest hazmat gear that was supposed to offer protection against radioactive particles and gas. We then caught a break.

  “We just had affirmative contact with our CI,” John Greer told us. “Gerald Meyers said Jenson Moore is in Lower Manhattan, with two members of the Swarm. He said they’re responsible for the bombings and he thinks Moore’s going to plant additional bombs at an investment company.”

  ***

  Joe and I rode with Greer to Lower Manhattan. Greer gave us some background on Trinity-One, the company that had been targeted. “It’s an up-and-coming multinational investment company with a global reach. There’s been talk in recent years that the company is using its influence with various governments, including ours, to further its own financial gains. It’s a global power with a massive economic reach, so it would make sense for the Swarm to want to bring it down.”

  “And, at the same time, create panic and terror in the city,” Joe said.

  Greer agreed. “The economic fallout over what’s happening today will likely last for years. We need to end this now to limit the damage to the nation’s economy.”

  Trinity-One was part of the financial district of Lower Manhattan in Hanover Square, about a five-minute walk from Wall Street, and overlooking a public park. As the small army of police vehicles converged on the building, the street was full of people wandering around, trying to decide how and where to evacuate the city. Many of them appeared headed south, toward the East River, probably hoping they could find transportation there or walk across the Brooklyn Bridge.

  “The corporate offices of Trinity-One are at the top of the building,” Greer told us, after we met up on the sidewalk. “We’re going to have to use the elevator and just hope they haven’t planted any bombs yet.”

  We made our way inside the building, where we divided into teams, taking all the available elevators to the penthouse offices on the ninety-seventh floor. I was standing beside Joe, seeing that we were passing the eighty-seventh floor, when the elevator shook violently, screeched to a halt, and the lights went out.

  Panic and confusion swept over me. We were trapped in total blackness somewhere near the top of a bombed-out building in New York City. My thoughts drifted to my friends and Bernie. They were three thousand miles away and it was possible that I would never see them again.

  FIFTEEN

  Light.

  One of the agents had a small flashlight that he clicked on, shining light into our dark prison.

  He swung the light up, illuminating the roof of the elevator, and said, “Let’s see if we can make our way out through the ceiling. I’ve got a feeling we’re between floors.”

  Joe and I waited as another agent was hoisted up through the small service portal and onto the roof of the elevator. After a moment, he called down to us. “The upper floor is about ten feet up. There’s a ladder for maintenance. I think we can make it up from there.”

  Another agent found his own flashlight, which he turned on as we waited for a couple other agents to move through the small service door. I looked over at Joe. His face looked pale and damp. “You okay?”

  He took a breath. “Dark cramped places aren’t my favorite. I’ll be better when we’re out of here.”

  I remembered that he’d had a similar response once when we’d been in a tunnel, pursuing a killer. He’d also mentioned losing his daughter in an underground channel when she was little and being panicked until he found her.

  It took us about ten minutes, but we all managed to make our way through the service panel, up the ladder, and then hoist ourselves onto the eighty-eighth floor. I’d managed to get my bearings when Greer said, “Let’s move out, using the stairway. Everyone needs to be prepared to meet resistance.”

  Emergency lights had come on, dimly illuminating our way up the stairway. I glanced over at Joe and saw that he’d recovered from his earlier anxiety, barking orders for the other agents to move faster. He was someone who I knew dealt with the unknown by pushing ahead, despite any obstacles. This was a moment when he was pushing with all he had.

  We made our way onto the penthouse floor, where we were immediately met with resistance. We took cover as a couple subjects opened fire with automatic weapons. The shooting was so intense that we had to stay down, unable to see who was firing at us.

  “We need to find a way to flank them,” Joe said to Greer when there was finally a pause in the gunfire.

  “Agreed,” Greer said. He motioned to a couple other agents and told them to move out with Joe, while we provided cover. “Let’s roll on a three count.”

  I hung back with Greer, providing cover, as Joe and the other agents moved forward. The firefight that followed was so intense that I had trouble seeing what was happening in front of us. It was only when Greer gave the order to hold our fire that I realized what had happened.

  Joe Dawson was down.

  SIXTEEN

  By the time I got to Joe’s side, blood was spreading from his right shoulder onto his white shirt. I bent down to him. “You okay?”

  “It’s nothing,” he growled. “Keep moving.”

  Despite his bravado, I could tell he was in pain. I called for an ambulance, over his protests, before he again insisted that we all focus on the task at hand. After one of the agents said he had medical training and would tend to Joe, we all moved down the hall toward what looked like a boardroom. It was there that we found the bodies of our two assailants.

  “No sign of Moore,” Greer said, after we were sure the attack against us had been neutralized. “Let’s stay vigilant.”

  After checking the boardroom and the adjacent offices, we realized there was a terrace on the roof of the building. Greer went up the stairs to the deck, followed by a dozen FBI agents in SWAT gear that had made their way through the bombed out building. I was about to follow them when an electronic door closed, sealing me off from the rest of the agents. A flat screen TV came on at one end of the boardroom wall, and I saw man staring down at me. I recognized him from photographs provided at the FBI’s briefing.

  “Good afternoon, Detective,” Jenson Moore said. The wealthy industrialist was handsome, with piercing blue eyes and dark hair. He reminded me of a young Pierce Brosnan. “Nice of you to drop in.”

  “You need to give yourself up,” I said, walking over to the screen. “The other agents are closing in on you.”

  Moore laughed. “Really? That’s interesting, considering I’m no longer in the building.”

  I glanced around the room, again realizing I was sealed off from the rest of the agents. If Moore was telling the truth, it meant he’d escaped one of the most intensive manhunts in history.

  “What do you want?” I demanded.

  “You.”

  My brows inched together. “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m talking about you, Detective Sexton. Map coordinates are being sent to your phone as we speak. One week from today, I expect you to meet me at the indicated location. You are to come alone. No one, including your FBI friends, are to know about this meeting.”

  I took a step closer to the TV screen, staring up at the arrogant killer. “And what if I refuse?”

  Moore’s eyes remained fixed on me, leaving no doubt that his intent was deadly serious. “I’m going to let someone else explain what will happen if you refuse.”

  I watched as the terrorist left the screen for a moment, then returned. My heart nearly beat out of my chest when I saw that Lindsay was with him. I started to ask her if she was okay, when Moore cut me off.

  “Tell her,” Moore said, looking at Lindsay. “Tell your sister what’s going to happen if she does
n’t show.”

  Lindsay took a breath, holding back her tears, and said, “I’m going to die.”

  SEVENTEEN

  “I still don’t understand how Jenson Moore got away,” Joe said. He was in a room at Lower Manhattan Hospital, recovering from surgery to repair an artery in his shoulder He told everyone he planned to be out of the hospital later that day and back on duty in a couple days.

  It was forty-eight hours after the attacks on Memphis and New York. America’s largest city was trying to cope with the aftermath of the terrorist attacks that had left more than a hundred people dead from explosions.

  “They found the remnants of a parachute on the street,” I said. “A couple witnesses saw a man floating down from the sky. We can only assume Moore jumped off the building and escaped.”

  I hadn’t told Joe or anyone else about my conversation with the terrorist. I had no doubt that Moore would make good on his promise to kill Lindsay if I didn’t agree to his demands. Even so, I had no idea what he wanted from me or how I would deal with him on my own.

  “And the bombs?” Joe asked. “Did they get them all?”

  “They think so. They found a couple additional dirty bombs in the lower portion of the Trinity-One building that didn’t detonate. They’re starting some cleanup work at Times Square and trying to determine how to restore public confidence. Portions of the city will have to be evacuated for months, maybe years.”

  Joe’s gaze had drifted over to the window. He was looking at the New York City skyline. After giving him a moment, I said, “What is it?”

  His pale eyes met me. “I think we missed something.”

  “As in?”

  “We know that the Swarm had seven original members, not including the head guy, whoever that is. We also know that we’ve already taken out five of the seven. Moore makes number six on our wanted list. That leaves somebody he’s working with, along with the top dog.”

  I agreed with him, then walked over to the window. My gaze drifted to the city below, part of me knowing that I should tell him about the conversation I had with Moore. Another part of me was certain that would be a death sentence for Lindsay.

  “You want to tell me what’s on your mind?”

  I turned back to him and lied. “Nothing. I’m just wondering about the two at the top.”

  “Maybe our CI…”

  “He’s dead. Meyers’ body was found on the street near Trinity-One.”

  “Damn.” He took a moment, then added, “Give me a day, then we can work together to track down anyone who’s ever known Moore. There’s got to be a connection to someone he’s been close to.”

  I shook my head. “I’m going home.”

  “Why?”

  I felt guilty about lying again, but saw no way around it. “Greer and the teams from Quantico have taken over. The city is full of agents dedicated exclusively to this case. If there’s anyone close to Moore that’s involved, they’ll find him.”

  “I thought your department wanted you out of the picture.”

  I shrugged. “I’ll take a couple days, make sure the heat’s off, then get back to chasing the local killers.”

  “What about your sister?”

  I took a breath, told another lie. “We’ll just have to hope she’s found a way to separate herself from the group and that she’ll contact us.”

  Joe’s pale eyes bore into me. “You really think that’s going to happen?”

  “One can only hope.” I walked over and hugged him. “I’ll be in touch.”

  Joe reached out and took my hand, preventing me from leaving. “You sure about this, Kate?”

  Was he asking about our relationship, as well as about finding Lindsay? I wasn’t sure.

  I squeezed his hand, then released it. “I’m sure. See you soon, Joe.”

  EIGHTEEN

  I got home after an all-night flight and picked up Bernie from Natalie and Mo’s place. My friends were out doing some PI work, and, since it was a Friday, I made a spontaneous decision to return to Laguna Beach for the long weekend before going back to work on Monday morning.

  I spent the next couple days taking long walks on the beach and thinking about Lindsay and my upcoming meeting with Jenson Moore. The coordinates that Moore had sent to my phone, showing where he wanted to meet, turned out to be Lake of the Shrine. It was a secluded spot, ironically just off Sunset Boulevard in the Pacific Palisades, a few minutes from Hollywood.

  I’d taken walks with Bernie on a couple of occasions around the small lake that was considered a spiritual sanctuary. I had no idea what the terrorist had in mind for our meeting, but I felt trapped, knowing that Lindsay would die if I didn’t keep my word to meet with him.

  On Sunday night, as my long weekend was winding down, I made my way back up Pacific Coast Highway to my brother Robin’s hair salon in the Melrose District of Hollywood. I remembered my friends telling me that I could use a minor makeover as I settled into Robin’s workstation.

  At five-eight, my brother was an inch shorter than me. We had the same color brown hair, but he had a short, spiky do, whereas mine seemed to forever have a mind of its own. It was something that I complained to Robin about for probably the millionth time as Bernie sniffed around the salon.

  “I’m tired of the frizzies, ready to try something new,” I said, after we’d taken a few minutes to talk about what had happened back east.

  Robin walked around my chair, holding out my wayward locks. “New—as in color or cut?”

  “Same color, just something shorter and more manageable.”

  I showed him a hairstyle on my phone that I’d downloaded. It was a few inches short of the model’s shoulders and had that tousled, windblown look that I dreamt about.

  “Instead of mousy and messy,” I said, “I’m aiming for casual and flirty.”

  He took my phone, examining the hairstyle for a moment. “I’ll do my best, but…”

  When he didn’t go on, I said, “What?”

  “It’s just that I can’t make any promises it’s going to stay looking like what’s on your phone.” He glanced at the screen. “This girl has a different hair texture, and…”

  When he seemed lost for words again, I took my phone back. “Just do your best.”

  While he trimmed my hair, he asked me about Lindsay. I didn’t want to think about my upcoming meeting with Jenson Moore and kept my comments short, then added, “We just have to hope she’s still working underground and will surface and come home soon.”

  “You really think she’s working against the Swarm?”

  I shrugged. “Time will tell.” I changed the subject, asking about his new boyfriend. “Are you and Adam still together?”

  He laughed. “Despite our family reunion, he hasn’t given up on me. We’re actually getting along really well.”

  Robin had brought Adam to the reunion my mother had arranged a couple months earlier. We’d all gotten together with my sister, Amanda, and her husband, Geoff. Natalie and Mo had gone with me, and had brought up my brother-in-law’s past indiscretions with an escort. Amanda had a meltdown and had left the party in a huff. I wasn’t sure if we’d ever see her again or if her husband had survived the ordeal.

  “Have you talked to Mom lately?” I asked, after we chatted about the reunion.

  “It’s been a couple of weeks. She’s talking about going on another spiritual retreat. I think it’s somewhere near Big Sur.”

  We spent a few minutes talking about Mom’s prior retreat and finding her meditating in the nude. We made a pledge not to try and rescue her this time, no matter what kind of trouble she got herself into.

  “What’s the latest with the Tauists?” Robin asked. “I heard there was some kind of search at Ryland’s estate, but he ended up dead.”

  I took a moment and filled him in on Harlan Ryland being in a stasis chamber. “His granddaughter, Harlee, has inherited his entire fortune. She’s…” I took a moment, trying to come up with words to describe her. “She’s
not the most pleasant person I’ve ever met.”

  “Harlee?” He took a moment, mulling over her name. “Is she in her thirties? Has dark hair?”

  “Yes. She’s attractive, but has kind of a hard edge to her. Have you met her?”

  He nodded. “She was in here about a year ago.” He stopped working on my hair for a moment and looked at me in the mirror. “It’s funny, but now that I think about it, she was asking lots of personal questions, some about our family.”

  My brows inched together. “What exactly did she say?”

  “I don’t remember exactly. It seemed…” He took another moment. “I think Harlee asked about you, and said something about seeing you on TV, working your cases.”

  I sighed, realizing that she had probably secretly been checking into my background. I’d worked several high profile cases that had been covered by all the media outlets.

  “Anything else?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “Not really. I just remember her because of all the questions.” As he worked some conditioner into my hair, he moved the conversation in a different direction, asking, “Anything new with your investigation?”

  I knew he was asking about the department reopening my adoptive father’s case. “Not really. I have no doubt that both Collin Russell and Harlee’s grandfather were involved in his death, but proving it…” I released a long breath. “I’m just not sure if that’s ever going to happen.”

  “What about Pearl? Have you…”

  “No word. He’s still missing.”

  Robin was quiet for a long moment before saying, “Maybe when he surfaces, you’ll get some answers.”

  “Maybe.”

  I spent another fifteen minutes in silent thought while he finished up and dried my hair. When he was done, I examined my shorter, sassier cut.

  “I love it,” I said. “I look…” I met my brother’s blue eyes in the mirror again. “I think it gives me some attitude.”

  He laughed. “You’ve already got plenty of that, sis.”