Hollywood Underworld: A Hollywood Alphabet Series Thriller (The Hollywood Alphabet Series Book 21)

by M. Z. Kelly

  “Morning, Miss Muffet,” Nathan Caine wheezed.

  The terrorist was in northern Colorado, not far from where he’d left Lindsay. He was here to tie up loose ends. Anyone who might remotely tie him to the events in Washington had to die. The girl wasn’t a threat, but she, along with her father, were on his hit list. He could take no chances.

  As the girl’s brown eyes found him, Caine heard the monitor begin beeping faster. He glanced at the screen, seeing the girl’s pulse and respiration were rapidly increasing.

  “Relax, little one,” Caine said, moving a hand into his coat pocket. He glanced into the corridor, seeing that the nurses were busy with their routines. “Your uncle is here to take care of you.”

  Caine removed the 9mm Glock, twisting the silencer onto its barrel. He then moved to her side, holding the gun up, watching her eyes widen as she took in the weapon. She began to twist and strain against the electrodes and tubes attached to her body.

  Caine smiled and breathed heavily. “It’s not so bad, really. Death will be a release. He moved the gun up to her head. “Just a little pain, and then nothing.” His smile grew wider, his finger tensing on the trigger.

  The man who came through the doorway startled Caine. He raised the gun, stopping him in his tracks.

  “Come for the show?” Caine asked Captain Phillip Allen.

  “I did exactly what you demanded,” Allen said. “There’s no need for this.”

  “I do appreciate the use of the drone, but, unfortunately, there were complications. You failed to mention the drone was subject to being disabled by a laser. As you know, other things didn’t go as I’d hoped.” He glanced at the girl. “It’s time to pay the piper.”

  Despite Allen being a big man who had seen his share of death in both Iraq and Afghanistan, he began to tremble. Caine saw that he was fighting his fear, moving closer to try and protect his daughter. Only the gun that he brought up and leveled at the captain’s head stopped him.

  Caine decided to play a little game. His voice was deep and menacing. “Who’s it going to be, Captain? Who is going to pay the price of failure?” Caine saw that Allen’s daughter was even more distraught now, the electronic monitors beeping faster. “You? Or your daughter? It’s your decision.”

  Tears streamed down the military man’s face. He controlled himself enough to say, “Take me. But not here, not in front of my daughter.”

  Caine used his gun to motion toward the girl. “Say your goodbyes then. And make it quick.”

  Allen moved to his daughter’s bed. The girl was still trembling and struggling against the tubes of the mechanical ventilator that breathed life into her lungs.

  “Daddy has to go away,” Allen said. “I want you to be very brave for me.” He kissed his daughter’s cheek. “We’ll be together again soon.” He brushed the tears from his cheeks as he looked back at Caine and nodded.

  “I’ll be behind you,” Caine said, motioning for Allen to leave the room and move down the hallway. “Don’t do anything stupid, or I’ll kill you and come back for the girl.”

  Allen left the room and moved down the hallway, with Caine following, the gun beneath his coat trained on the Air Force captain. Once they’d left the hospital, Caine took him to a place behind the hospital, near some trash bins. He then took Allen’s arm, turning him around in the frigid morning air.

  “Nice place to die,” Caine said. He watched the trembling man for a moment, enjoying the performance.

  “Please wait,” Allen said. “I have an idea.”

  “Your ideas no longer interest me.” Caine moved the gun up to Allen’s head.

  “Please! Let me explain. It’s a way for you to still get what you want.”

  The terrorist paused, deciding to hear him out. “Go on.”

  Allen began to speak with more resolve, pushing down his fear. “There’s a nuclear missile silo. It’s called K-09. It’s just across the state line, near Cheyenne. I’ll be overseeing the installation of the new computer targeting systems in the silo. I think I can get you inside.”

  “Do I look like a fool to you, Captain?”

  Allen stammered. “N...no, there’s a...a way to get what you want. I...I’m sure of it.”

  Caine snorted. “You’re telling me that there’s a way to get inside one of the most closely guarded military installations on the planet?”

  “I know it sounds impossible. But I’ve been thinking about this since what happened in Washington. It is possible to get you inside. I’m sure of it.”

  Caine scoffed. “How is getting inside the silo going to get me more plutonium?”

  Allen’s eyes narrowed on Caine. “You don’t understand.” Despite the cold weather, the military officer brushed a sheen of perspiration off his forehead. “I can put you inside, in control of the missile.”

  Caine’s pulse quickened. What he was proposing seemed preposterous, but he had nothing to lose by hearing what he had to say. “Tell me what you have in mind.”

  “The missile is an LGM-118A. It has ten mk-21 MIRV’s.”

  Caine was annoyed. “Speak English or you’re dead.”

  “Ten independently targetable reentry vehicles. In layman’s terms, warheads.”

  Caine wheezed as he spoke, his interest in the conversation growing. “You mean to tell me that you can put me into the silo and in control of ten warheads?”

  Allen hesitated, nodded. “I’ve been working with a civilian contractor. His name is James Randolph. He’s a nuclear weapons specialist, a computer expert. He’s just been reassigned and has only been in the K-09 silo once. He’s about your height, maybe a little heavier. If you can assume his identity, modify his credentials, you could take his place.” Allen paused, his voice trembling. “There’s just one other thing. You would need his half of the activation codes. The ‘hot’ codes.”

  Caine moved his weapon back under his coat. He paced a half circle in front of Allen. “And just how do you propose we obtain these hot codes?”

  Allen’s smile was thin. “You are a very persuasive man, Mr. Caine.”

  Caine considered the proposal. “Let’s suppose you do manage to get me inside the silo. How do I launch the missile?”

  Allen was back in control of his emotions. He spoke evenly. “In order to launch an ICBM, a hot time has to be entered into its computer system. It’s essentially a window that allows the missile to be enabled. Entering that information is not a problem since I will be replacing the REACT system. You just need to obtain the other half of the activation codes.”

  “REACT?”

  “It stands for Rapid Execution And Combat Targeting. It’s a computer upgrade that will tie together all the systems inside the missile. I can enter the pre-programmed hot time, using Randolph’s activation codes that you obtain. That would allow the missile to be enabled, bypassing all other necessary codes and verifications that would normally be sent by the President. Randolph will be completing his work on another installation tonight. I can have him enter a computer virus into the launch control sequence and divert it to the K-09 installation. He won’t even realize what’s happening.”

  “Supposing I had an interest in this, where would I find this Mr. Randolph?”

  “I can give you his contact information. He lives here in town.”

  Caine continued to pace, considering the proposal. He stopped. “What’s the launch procedure once the missile is enabled with the hot codes?”

  “Normally, the protocol calls for four people, two inside the silo and two others in a designated launch control center to turn keys within two seconds of one another. The missile will be offline during the installation of the REACT system. During that time, the launch sequence requirements can be changed using the computer virus. That modification will enable the launch to be initiated with the turn of only two keys from the K-09 installation. The only caveat is, once the REACT system goes back on line, everyone is going to know that you’ve enabled the missile.”

  “And who has the
launch keys?”

  “There are two keys in every Launch Control Facility. They’re accessed by the launch crew, once the hot codes have been entered. You would need to convince one of the crew members to give up a key.” The captain hesitated, then added, “You would then need to convince the other crew member to turn his key at precisely the same time you turn yours.”

  Caine smiled and removed his glasses. He tried to control the excitement in his voice. “What about targets? How do we control who we aim the missiles at?”

  “ICBMs have a range of thousands of miles. You name the targets, and I’ll program the computer.”

  “Suppose the targets were in the United States?”

  Allen exhaled. “I want my daughter safe and sound. As long as the targets aren’t anywhere near her, I’ll do what you want.”

  Caine went back to pacing. There were several weaknesses in the plan the captain was proposing. He would have to obtain the hot launch codes from Randolph, then he would have to obtain a launch key from one of the crew members. There was also no guarantee that he could convince the other crew member to turn his key once the system was activated. Then there was the question of Captain Allen actually targeting the cities he chose.

  “The cities that would be targeted,” Caine said. “Tell me how you do the targeting.”

  “It’s just a matter of entering the GPS coordinates. It’s not complicated.”

  Caine fixed his gray eyes on his adversary for a long moment. “You may have just saved your life, and that of your daughter, Captain Allen.” He took a step closer to the military officer and lied. “And, just so you know, I have someone on the inside of the hospital. If anything goes wrong with your plan, your daughter will die first.”

  “Understood.”

  “How soon can we proceed?”

  “I’m scheduled to begin work at the K-09 silo in forty-eight hours. Providing you’ve convinced Mr. Randolph to give you the hot codes, you obtain his identification papers, and you’re ready to assume his identity, you can come with me.”

  “Give me Randolph’s contact information, and I’ll be ready.” Caine felt a surge of adrenaline rushing through his body. He could barely contain his excitement as he said, “I don’t want any mistakes. If there are problems, your daughter will pay dearly.”

  Captain Allen’s voice didn’t waver. “In forty-eight hours, you will be in possession of a weapon that, with the turn of a switch, will unleash enough killing power to make you the most powerful man on Earth.”

  FIFTY-NINE

  I spent most of the day at the Garth Spence crime scene, working with SID staff and Brie Henner. Late in the day, Olivia and Leo returned after arresting the subject in their pending case. We gathered in the Spences’ small back yard, where Bernie sniffed a nearby patch of grass, and I asked for an update on the findings.

  Jules Haywood, a long-time supervisor in charge of the crime scene unit, went first.

  “I wish I had something more to tell you, but my guess is this was a professional hit, or, at the very least, was done by someone who was thorough and meticulous,” Haywood said, pushing bushy gray hair off his forehead. “The round went through the body and was embedded in the dining room wall. It’s a 9mm. We did a rush with ballistics and got a match to the unregistered weapon used to kill our victim’s wife and John McVey. Nothing in the way of a casing was found.”

  “Prints?” Leo asked.

  Haywood shook his head. “Just those of the victim, his deceased wife, and the cleaning lady.”

  “Anything else?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “Sorry, nothing.”

  I looked at Brie. “Your turn.”

  My friend looked tired as she said, “The fatal wound was a single shot to the back. It pierced the heart, killing our victim almost instantly.”

  “Range and TOD?” Olivia asked.

  “I’d estimate the shooter was in the same room as the victim, probably six to ten feet away. The time of death looks to be about four or five hours before the body was found, making it sometime between six and seven this morning.”

  “He saw it coming?” I asked, referencing the shooter’s close range.

  “Probably,” Brie said, tugging on the covering that concealed her bald head from chemo treatments. “If our shooter knew the victim, it might be that he let him into the house and was killed when his back was turned. If he didn’t know the victim, there’s a possibility it was a surprise attack, maybe after the victim arrived home.”

  I looked at Haywood. “I’m assuming you didn’t find any signs of forced entry.”

  The SID supervisor shook his head. “No, but the back door was unlocked. No prints there.”

  After Haywood and Olivia gave us a few final thoughts and left, I asked Olivia and Leo for their opinions.

  “The phantom killer,” Olivia said, tongue-in-cheek. “He materializes and kills at will, leaving no trace behind.”

  “There is something he did leave behind,” Leo said, obviously fatigued and ignoring her attempt at humor. “Our Phantom left behind slugs that show he killed all three victims with the same unregistered weapon. We’ve got a killer with ties to McVey and the Spences. We just don’t know what those ties are.”

  “My thoughts exactly,” I said. I paused, thinking about McVey’s ex and his daughter. I mentioned them, adding, “Let’s have Jenny and Molly get the whereabouts of Stephanie and Danica, then regroup on this in the morning.”

  “You think one of them might be good for this?” Leo said.

  I sighed. “I don’t know what to think, other than I have a major league headache. I’ll see you both in the morning.”

  As I pulled away from the curb with Bernie, I started to head home, but thought better of it. My conversation with Lieutenant Byrd came to mind again.

  Bronson wants you gone. I’m not talking about a transfer.

  I pulled to the curb and got Pearl Kramer on the line. “Just wondering if you’d like to have dinner. I’ve got some things on my mind that I need to discuss.”

  Pearl’s deep baritone came back to me. “I haven’t had a better offer all day, or, I should say, in months. See you when you get here.”

  I dropped Bernie at home, took something for my headache, then made the drive to the Biltmore in downtown Los Angeles. The traffic into the city was congested, and I didn’t knock on Pearl’s door until just after seven.

  “Sorry it took me so long,” I said, when he answered the door. “Bad traffic.”

  He smiled and got his coat. “Sounds like a good name for a rock band.”

  We went downstairs, where Pearl had a reservation at Smeraldi’s, an Italian restaurant that, I was told, got its name from the artist whose frescoes lined the walls of the lavish hotel.

  After ordering drinks, we glanced at menus, and I said, “Any word on how long the feds are going to keep you here?”

  “Given recent events, and the deaths of the Rylands, I got word today that I’ll probably be returning home sometime in the next week. To tell you the truth, I’m ready. The hotel is great, but it’s not home.”

  “I understand.” I took a moment to gather my thoughts, then told him why I was there. “Bronson wants me out, according to Lieutenant Byrd.”

  Pearl regarded me. “Out, as in…?”

  “He wants me gone, terminated from my employment.”

  “I guess it’s no surprise.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “We both know that Bronson had issues with your adoptive dad before he was murdered. Those issues have obviously carried over to you.”

  The server came over. After we placed our orders, and he left, I told Pearl, “Bronson’s made his feelings about my father perfectly clear to me in the past, including wanting to remove his name from the memorial plaque at police headquarters. He’s made vague statements in the past about my dad cooperating with the Rylands and being dirty with regard to their drug dealing, something I don’t believe is true. But I think his issues with
me could be more than that.”

  Pearl was immaculately dressed in a blue blazer and matching tie, which he straightened. “Tell me what’s on your mind.”

  “My bio-dad. Do you think Bronson might have known my bio-dad and had issues with him?”

  The server came over with a glass of wine for Pearl. I’d abstained because I had to drive home.

  “Back in the day, David Bronson had a reputation for being a tough, aggressive cop,” Pearl said. “Some of the other officers called him the Intimidator.”

  “It sounds like some things haven’t changed.”

  Pearl sipped his wine, nodded. “There were rumors that he sometimes crossed the line, using physical persuasion to obtain confessions. There were some other rumors, as well.”

  “Tell me about those.”

  “They were mostly gossip, whispered rumors that Bronson could have been on the take.”

  Lightbulbs suddenly went off in my head. “Do you think he could have been working with the Rylands? Taking kickbacks to remain quiet about their drug dealing?”

  “The thought has crossed my mind. If he was, it might explain his enthusiasm for tarnishing your father’s image.”

  “He used my father as cover for his own illegal actions.” I had another thought. “Do you think Bronson could have remained in contact with the Rylands all these years, maybe even continuing to get a cut of their action?”

  Pearl smiled. “We’re on the same wavelength. I’ve heard that your chief has an estate in Brentwood worth upwards of ten million.”

  “If he was on the take, it would also explain his desire to see me gone. He can’t risk me dredging up something that would tie him to the Rylands.”

  “With both Harlee and her grandfather dead, he would probably feel like he has closure to whatever happened in the past, except for you. He knows you’re determined to find the truth and your bio-dad, if he is still alive.”

  “Do you think he really might know who my bio-dad is?”

  “I can’t say for sure, but, if things went as we’ve speculated, it’s entirely possible.” He held on my eyes, seeing that I was deep in thought. “Of course, all this is conjecture, unless we can definitively tie Bronson to the Rylands.”