The Target

by L. J. Sellers

  A silence while they processed the complexities.

  Finally, River looked at Kohl. “Do you have anything new on Palmer’s case?”

  Kohl hesitated. “He might not have been murdered. He could have accidentally come into contact with the bacteria, which infected the wound on his hand. Then it led to his death because he had a weakened immune system.”

  River accepted the possibility. “And Michael Pence could have had personal problems, got drunk, and committed suicide. But we still have corporate sabotage and theft going on, with billions in profit at stake.”

  “We need a search warrant,” King said. “Let’s start tailing these people after hours and see if they lead us anywhere.” He looked at River. “You take Max Grissom, and Dallas can follow Cheryl Decker. I’ll watch Jonas Brickman.” He turned to Agent Kohl. “You watch the director of DigiPro. Let’s not forget that the subsidiary produced the patch Palmer had in his pocket.”

  River thought they needed more. “I’ll sign a probable-cause affidavit and see if a judge will let us put ears in Decker’s office.”

  King stood, signaling the meeting was over. “I’ll try to get another agent on the case. This corporate war is escalating, and I get the feeling it could come to a head soon.”

  Chapter 18

  Sunday, July 13, 8:40 p.m.

  As Dallas walked into the San Diego airport, both her cell phones started beeping, indicating a bunch of texts had come in. A rush of panic washed over her tired body. River was trying to contact her, but who else? Had her dad died? She stopped, leaned against a wall, and checked her personal phone. A text from Cameron: I miss you already. I was serious last night. I’m moving to Phoenix as soon as I can sell the business.

  Sweet, but scary. They’d had several rounds of crazy-intense sex, but what had been just as good was the laughter. She’d forgotten how attentive and funny he was. Or maybe he’d become that person in the decade since high school. But either way, it had been a terrific night, and she’d been thinking about him since she left Flagstaff.

  The second text was from him as well: Don’t worry. I’m not asking for a commitment. I just want to be a part of your life.

  A nice thought. But not practical.

  She dug out the BioTech phone, and River had messaged her twice as well: We have a development. Call me as soon as you get in. Followed by: Let’s meet in person at Charlie’s Cafe. It’s close to both of us. Text when you arrive. I can be there in 5.

  What the hell had gone down? She’d only been gone for thirty-four hours over the weekend. Now she felt guilty about going to Flagstaff, but she didn’t regret it.

  Dallas looked for the cafe on her way to the condo, not wanting to go back out again. Unless she had to do field work. If that was the case, she’d suck down some coffee and slap herself awake. She’d done back-to-back all nighters before.

  Charlie’s was tucked into a little corner mall not far from the beach boardwalk where she’d gone running Friday night. The window sign said it served comfort food from both sides of the border. Inside, the place was colorful and aromatic, but nearly empty. Dallas sat in a booth away from the window, and the server trotted over, no menu in hand. “We close at ten.”

  “I just want coffee. Black, please.” An older couple still occupied another booth, so the cafe couldn’t lock up anyway.

  While she waited for River, Dallas reread Cameron’s texts. If any other guy had said he loved her the way Cameron had last night, she would have dropped him as fast as she could hit Send. But it was Cameron, her first real boyfriend, and they’d already said the dreaded “I love you” long ago. Those feelings had always been part of her.

  But now she realized it had been a mistake to hook up with him. She didn’t want a relationship that would make her feel guilty for leaving town to take undercover assignments. Now they would both hurt when she walked away. She might as well blame her father for this predicament too. The thought made her laugh.

  “You look happy.” River walked up and scooted into the booth.

  “I just had a funny thought.” Dallas slipped her phone into her pocket. “What’s the development?”

  “Let’s get a drink first.” River signaled the server, then glanced back at Dallas. “Don’t worry. It’s nothing you could have prevented by being here. We’re not even sure what it means.”

  That failed to reassure her. “Am I doing fieldwork tonight?”

  “No, but it’s coming.”

  When the server came over, River ordered a glass of wine. Dallas sent back her coffee and asked for a bottle of beer. The server barely contained her irritation.

  “How was your trip?” River asked.

  “About what I expected. It made my dad happy…whether he deserved it or not.”

  River nodded, then looked away. “My father’s in prison. And you’re the only person in the bureau I’ve said that to. Except the agent I interviewed with to get the job.”

  River had her attention. “His crime?”

  “Serial killer.”

  “No shit?” Dallas shook her head. “Okay, you win. I’m done being ashamed and frustrated with my loser-addict parents.”

  River laughed, and Dallas realized this would not be her first glass of wine.

  “There’s more.” The other agent leaned forward and said softly, “I used to be Carl River.”

  Dallas stared, speechless. River had a pleasant face and stocky body that could have gone either way, but Dallas would have never known. She wanted to say the right thing. “Congratulations for having the courage to be who you are. Especially in the bureau. That must have been rough.”

  “I took some grief from a few assholes, then I transferred to a new office for a fresh start.” River finally met her eyes again.

  That explained the special agent’s move to Eugene. “I’m glad you told me. I appreciate your trust.” Dallas wanted to ask more questions but didn’t.

  “When this assignment is over, I’ll probably never see you again. And who are you going to tell?”

  They both laughed.

  After the server brought their drinks, River told her a scientist at ProtoCell was dead, possibly a suicide. Dallas assumed the worst. “Someone killed him. The weight-loss market is worth billions, and both TecLife executives are intense in their own way.” An ugly thought came to mind. “I told both Grissom and Decker about the intruder downloading files. What if they knew who it was and went after him?” Damn. She hadn’t considered that might endanger his life.

  “There’s no match. The dead man is taller.” River lowered her voice. “If they killed him, it was probably to hinder their competitor’s research.”

  “Who knew this industry was so ruthless?”

  “It’s still all speculation. We need you to get something solid. And fast. This corporate war is escalating.”

  Dallas took a long pull of cold beer. “What did you mean about field work?”

  “It’s time to start tailing Decker for a few hours after work and see where she goes. I’ll be on Grissom.”

  “I need to access their texts and emails. I have a hacker friend—”

  River cut her off. “Don’t tell me. One of us has to play by the book.”

  “Three people are dead. Fuck the rules.”

  “Please be careful,” River said, the wine softening her voice. “I’ll be near the TecLife building during the day, so if you need backup, I can be there in a few minutes.”

  A few minutes could be too late, Dallas knew. But in most of her undercover roles, she was typically even more alone. “I can bullshit my way out of anything.”

  River gave her a half smile. “Maybe you should stay late tomorrow and visit the lab. We’re looking for a bacteria related to MRSA.”

  That was the key to getting a warrant. As an employee, she could take a legal sample. “I should have gone into the lab this weekend instead of placating my father.”

  “You made the right decision.” River held up her glass for sincerity.
“You’ve only worked there a single day. But our timetable is compressing now, and we need something tangible.”

  “I’ll get it tomorrow.”

  “Oh, and I just remembered something I learned from Jonas Brickman, the CEO of ProtoCell.” River finished her wine, then continued. “We knew Cheryl Decker had worked for him years ago, but I think they were lovers too. So this feud between the companies could be personal.”

  As if a billion dollars wasn’t enough motivation. “We can’t assume Decker is the mastermind. I still haven’t met Curtis Santera, the head of R&D. He has so much stock in the company that he might benefit the most from the new product launch.”

  “We have some busy days coming up. Let’s get out of here.”

  Dallas was already devising ways to get a look at Decker’s phone. But how would she find the right bacteria sample in the lab and smuggle it out?

  At home, she changed into shorts, tucked a pepper-spray canister into her pocket, and headed out for another run on the beach. The sound of the ocean was intense and soothing at the same time, and she couldn’t get enough of it. She jogged six blocks to the boardwalk and headed south. Some of the restaurants were still open, but the tourist shops selling T-shirts and sunglasses were closed. Every couple of blocks, music spilled out of a bar, and people of all ages strolled the path, enjoying the evening air as it finally cooled down. After she passed the pier, she went another half mile on the paved boardwalk, then headed down to the beach to run back in the sand. The scent and sound of the ocean were intoxicating. If she ever decided to transfer out of Phoenix, San Diego would go on her list.

  Chapter 19

  Sunday, July 13, 7:15 p.m.

  Kiya finished a crossword puzzle, surprised at how challenging it still was. But her command of extended English was getting better all the time. She made a cup of espresso, then meditated while she waited for the caffeine to kick in. The meditation had replaced the morning prayers she could no longer say. She would rather chant to nobody than pray to a god that didn’t care. When it was finally time, she called her contact in southern Uzbekistan.

  He greeted her by her old family name, using a formal tone. Warlords could be polite to your face, then stab you to death a moment later.

  “I have the money,” Kiya said, cutting to the chase. “Is everything ready?”

  “Except the final transaction. Do you still plan to bring the cash in person?”

  “It seems wise.” She didn’t trust him to follow through with sending her father to prison unless she was present.

  Abdul was silent for a moment, making her nervous. Finally he said, “I know you said you didn’t want to hear about the rest of your family, but I have to inform you. You have a younger sister.”

  No! She especially didn’t want to hear this. Kiya’s throat closed and she couldn’t speak.

  Abdul continued. “She’s eight now, and will soon be married to Farid Asa Samidi, a friend—”

  Kiya cut him off. “I know who Farid is. But I don’t want to know about the girl. I have a new life.”

  “Then why are you willing to spend so much money to take revenge on your father?”

  “Because the bastard deserves it. Once he loses his freedom, I’ll finally have mine.”

  “But your sister will still be a slave to a cruel old man. You could buy—”

  “Silence!” Kiya had to block out the images. “I’ll get a flight out this week and see you by Friday.” She hung up before he could respond. The young girl was not her responsibility. Her father could keep siring children for another twenty years—‌unless she sent him to prison. She would use the money for revenge. It was the wisest decision.

  Kiya dressed in dark pants and a reversible T-shirt; black on the outside but yellow if she turned it inside out. Her backpack was ready to go, except for the vial of bacteria her client had supplied. She wrapped the contaminant in a thick washcloth and zipped it into an outer pocket. This would be her last job for TecLife, for the whole medical device industry. Product sabotage made her uncomfortable. In the future, she would stick to data theft, financial manipulation, and character assassination. And someday, she’d walk away from the freelance life and retire in Greece or Southern Italy, so she could paint landscapes in pretty colors and feel at peace.

  Twenty minutes later, she parked on a side street near the ProtoCell factory and climbed off her motorcycle. She would have preferred to wait until it was fully dark, but the night watchman took a smoke break at eight-thirty, and she needed to be in place before he stepped out of the building. Her reconnaissance over the past few days had required her to sit for hours, watching the building, in addition to accessing the blueprints online. But she’d learned patience and stillness at a young age and could channel her mind into a long pause while focusing on a single thing, such as the factory’s back door.

  Cloaked in a bandanna and sunglasses, she hurried around the block, then scaled the chain link fence behind the factory. She ran to the first outbuilding and hid behind it, not visible from the street or the factory. The structure lacked windows except for the front office and a second story corner office, but it might have cameras in the back. She didn’t think so, but caution had kept her from getting caught for fifteen years. That, plus creativity and agility—‌and maybe a little luck. Another quick sprint and she reached the housing for the backup generators that jutted out from the rear wall. Kiya ducked in between the two small structures and wedged herself flat against the building. From there, she couldn’t see the back door, but she would hear it open and smell the cigarette. The watchman wouldn’t see her approaching until it was too late.

  After ten minutes, she checked her cell phone: 8:03. Was he coming? She pulled on gloves and chewed a piece of Juicy Fruit while she waited—‌always careful to take the wrapper with her.

  Two minutes passed. The door hinges squeaked. Kiya pulled off the bandana and replaced it with a nylon facemask. She dumped chloroform on the bandanna, then raced around the structure. The guard, an older man with hunched shoulders, dropped his cigarette in surprise. She rushed him, shoving the bandanna against his nose and mouth before he could call out or reach for his gun. Pressing hard, she pushed him back against the door, holding firm until his eyes rolled and his body sagged. She caught him under his arms and propped him in a sitting position against the wall by the door. He didn’t look quite natural, but it was better than leaving him prone. She would be in and out in seven minutes, before he recovered consciousness. Kiya grabbed his employee badge and entered the factory.

  Once inside, she sprinted for the production area to her left, passing a series of swinging doors with upper windows. The rooms contained equipment that looked like giant kitchen bowls and mixers. Decker had said to target the hopper, where the peptides were mixed with fillers, right before entering the capsulation area. Through the window of the fourth door, Kiya spotted the machine and pushed inside. She strode to the side of the V-shaped machine and found the black valve that opened, just as Decker had described. Kiya slipped off her pack, pulled out the vial, and unscrewed the lid. Holding her breath, she tipped the little glass container and dumped a large blob of the thick cloudy substance. She quickly screwed the cap back on, noticing that she’d dumped nearly all of the contents instead of the tablespoon she’d been instructed. Oh well. Decker had said the contaminant would only make people sick and feverish and that only a small batch would be made in the first run.

  Kiya wrapped the vial in the washcloth again, shoved it back into the zippered pocket, and ran from the room. The guard could wake from the chloroform at any moment, and she wanted to be outside the building when that happened. Tomorrow, she would collect the second half of her payment and move on with her life.

  Chapter 20

  Monday, July 14, 8:45 a.m.

  Cortez waited in his car for ProLabs to open, optimistic this lead would break open the case. He hoped Hawthorne would give him some of the credit. If he did, when someone wrote James Avery’s biogr
aphy, the murder investigation would be the finale chapter, and Cortez might be mentioned. He loved the idea that he would be forever connected with the late, great actor. Sipping his latte, he added to his list of questions.

  At nine sharp, he entered the single-story building, located on a large corner lot off Skyline Drive, east of where they’d found the car and the body. The interior was bright and monotone, with minimal decor or seating. The woman behind the counter looked up and greeted him. She was young and pretty, and Cortez felt tongue-tied already. He smiled, showed his badge, and cleared his throat. “Detective Cortez, SDPD. I’m investigating a homicide, and I need to talk to everyone who was on staff last Tuesday.”

  Her mouth opened in a started O-shape, then clamped shut.

  “Were you here on July eighth?”

  “Yes, but I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “James Avery had his blood drawn that day. What time was he here?”

  She blinked and stammered, “Umm, I’ll have to look.”

  While she found the appointment, a client came in. Avery turned and showed his badge. “Will you wait outside for a moment?”

  The young man started to ask a question, then changed his mind and stepped back out.

  The receptionist said, “James Avery’s appointment was at four-thirty, the last one of the day.”

  Was that significant? “Do you remember him? He’s fifty-seven with gray at his temples, but otherwise looks much younger. In fact, he’s a famous actor.”

  She blinked again. “He is? I’ve never heard of him.”

  Cortez held back a sigh. “But do you remember the client?”

  “Yes. He seemed nice.” The receptionist looked at her monitor. “He was here for a DNA analysis.”

  “What time did he leave?”