She was glad to have her partner and her boss in her corner, but even they admitted there wasn't much they could do from a legal standpoint. This case was the textbook definition of murky, and even as she wandered along the pier, approaching the roped-off yacht yet again, Jill couldn't help but rack her brain over the possibilities. The serene view of the water and the rest of the city, which normally filled her with calm, did little to assuage her concerns. The stakes were too high for hometown nostalgia to whisk away Jill’s troubles. The sooner she figured out this case, the sooner things could get back to normal.
Then again, short of someone walking into the precinct with a confession, she couldn't see a way in which this ended with someone in jail. If anything, this would probably end with someone sinking to the bottom of the Chesapeake Bay. As long as that someone was the person responsible for Dr. Roberts' death, Jill couldn't be bothered to consider the moral ambiguities.
Combat boots carefully set foot on the yacht, the vessel rocking slightly under the calmer-than-usual waves. Jill was still going to return to Gregor's penthouse to search for the USB drive Freeman had told her about, but she wasn't ready to return to the scene of her near-demise just yet. Not only that, but she had a hunch. But that didn’t mean the USB drive had to wait. Jill pulled a flip phone out of her utility belt, tapping off a quick text before pocketing the device.
The yacht creaked as it rocked, making it hard for Jill to listen for anything that might have clued her in on not being alone. It was nearly three in the morning, and the Inner Harbor was as dead as it would ever be. After her encounter with Freeman at the penthouse, though, Jill was on-edge -- which was ironic, given her penchant for sneaking up on others.
The boat settled as the wind died down. Jill grabbed the hilt of her katana, unsheathing the blade as her eyes danced over her surroundings. A soft thump came from behind, followed by silence. The another thump. Silence. Thump.
Silence.
Thump.
There was no rhythm to the sound, and Jill placed both hands on her weapon, spinning on the balls of her feet just in time to see a man roughly her height standing on the edge of the pier, hand cradled on the back of his left leg -- which was completely straight, even as his right leg buckled slightly at the knee. Jill cocked her head to the side, hair spilling over her right shoulder. She smiled in spite of herself, thankful for the burst of good fortune. Thrilling as the proverbial chase was sometimes, she always liked it better when suspects came to her.
"Nelson Blake."
The man pulled off his black baseball cap, revealing a bushy beard that matched his dirty blond hair and piercing blue eyes.
"Patient Zero."
Really wish people would stop calling me that.
"I know you were here the night of Dr. Roberts' murder." Jill shifted her body weight to her back leg, again tightening her grip on the blade. She watched Blake shift and swallow, his eyes darting. He tried to keep his poker face, but failed. She couldn’t tell if that was because he understood the precarious position he was in, or because he recognized her. "Care to explain that?"
Blake shrugged. He was trying to play it cool. For the time being, Jill was content in letting him think he was succeeding. "You wouldn't believe me."
Jill's infrared eye flared. "Try me."
She watched as Blake's eyes flickered to the right, then back to her. He wanted to bail. Not that he could; with that prosthetic, he would barely have a chance to turn around before she'd be on him. Instead, Blake hoisted his left leg onto the yacht with a grunt before fully limping his way onto the vessel, holding his arms up in the international sign for surrender.
"We were supposed to meet that night," Blake said, cocking his head to the side once he got a better view of Jill's face. She had hoped her eyeplate and the black lipstick would keep her true identity hidden, but the look in Blake's eyes told her that probably wasn't going to happen. "I had some questions for him."
Jill squinted. "Questions."
"Yeah." He shrugged again, and Jill raised the katana over her shoulder. "I wanted to know if he'd reconsider."
"You expect me to believe that?" Jill shook her head. "Project Fusion was dissolved years ago. He couldn't have helped you if he wanted."
"He was starting it up again,” Blake shrugged, acting as if he was revealing something that was general knowledge. “Got the funding and everything."
Jill lowered her weapon, frowning in confusion. Was that why Dr. Roberts had been in Baltimore in the first place? Had he come to the city for meetings with Gregor and Freeman, designed to bring back the project and resume his life's work? If Jill were being honest, she hated that thought; selfishly, she enjoyed being the only one to undergo the procedure and survive. Then again, that was assuming Blake was even telling the truth.
"Did you see Trent?"
Blake shook his head. "By the time I got out here that night, he was nowhere to be found. I waited twenty minutes for him before I split."
That was impossible. Security footage had shown Blake approaching the Inner Harbor and disappearing into the darkness surrounding the pier, but it never showed him leaving. Almost two hours of footage from the night of the murder, and not once did Jill ever see Blake leave. Blake took an awkward step forward, and Jill took a step back to match. He squinted at her again.
"You look familiar," he half-whispered.
Jill swallowed, raising the sword above her head again. "No, I don't."
"Sure you do." Blake reached behind his back, his face contorting into anger as he pulled out a revolver, hoisting the hunk of metal in his palm. "You're Freeman's little pet. Andersen, was it?" He smirked and shook his head. "Wow... so you're Patient Zero."
He approached again, and Jill took another step back -- only to find she was backed up against the wall. For a yacht, this vessel was disturbingly small. Jill glanced over her shoulder, realizing she was trapped; even if she wandered into the cockpit area, she was one wrong move away from flipping over into the water. She glanced back at Blake, the full moon reflected in his eyes.
“Leave any packages for anyone lately?” It was time for Jill to try another tactic. Even if it did nothing but change the subject, that was plenty for her. “You know: a good book, a vase of flowers, the heart plucked out of Dr. Roberts’ chest?”
"I knew Trent was fucking lying,” Blake had ignored the question, craning his neck until Jill heard bones pop. "Telling me his little science project didn't exist, yet here I stand lookin' at his greatest success."
"That why you killed him?" Jill swallowed. "Cause you knew he lied?"
Blake gritted his teeth and lunged at Jill, pushing her against the wall and grabbing her wrists to keep them -- and the katana -- pinned above her head. He pressed his left foot, stiff and metallic, down on her right foot, and Jill was silently glad for her skeletal reinforcements. She was looking at weeks, if not months, in a walking boot otherwise.
"If I was gonna kill Trent,” Blake’s lips curled into a vicious snarl, “I'd have done it a long time ago."
Gritting her teeth, Jill pushed Blake off of her, freeing her arms and swinging her blade at his hands. Blake managed to lunge just out of the way, but the katana clanged against his revolver, sending the weapon careening over the side of the yacht and into the water. Truthfully, Jill was disappointed in how easy disarming him was, rolling her eyes before twirling the blade above her head again.
"We really gonna do this?" Jill scoffed. "You can hardly move, and now you're unarmed."
Blake lunged at her again with a growl, catching her off-guard as his arms wrapped around her waist and their bodies flew past the wall separating the cockpit from the yacht’s main cabin. Jill's back slammed into the steering wheel and she yelped in pain, crumpling onto the floor and losing her grip on her weapon. Blake hobbled to the katana, grabbing and tossing it into the Chesapeake Bay before snatching Jill by the back of her head, yanking on her hair and dragging her onto her knees.
"You were saying?"
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Shifting all of his weight onto his good leg, Blake heaved Jill over the side of the boat, watching as she bounced off the edge and splashed into the bay. The yacht rocked with the resultant waves, and a flock of seagulls cawed in protest as they scurried off into the night because of the commotion. Blake had interrupted their late-night dinner, and the birds wanted to make sure he heard their displeasure.
As soon as she plunged into the water, Jill searched for her blade. The water was still relatively shallow this close to the pier, but the water was cloudy enough that Jill couldn't quite make out anything. She felt a current pushing against her, trying to steel her body against it so she wouldn't be pushed out too far away from the shore. Unfortunately, lung capacity was not one of Jill's many upgrades. She pushed herself back to the surface, gasping loudly when her head poked out of the water. She gasped as many mouthfuls of air as she could, wading in the suddenly choppy waters. While trying to catch her breath, Jill glanced back at the yacht -- but if Blake was still there, she couldn't see him.
Who am I kidding? He's bolted by now.
With one more deep breath, Jill plunged back into the bay, swimming toward the bottom in hopes of finding her weapon. She switched on her infrared vision, because clearly the muddy waters were not doing her human vision any favors. Just as Jill was about to swim to the surface again for another helping of oxygen, she found her blade stuck in the sand at the surface. She grabbed the hilt and tugged, only to find the blade stuck. She then grabbed the weapon with both hands, trying to press her feet into the ground for leverage, but she kept losing her footing against the soft terrain. The katana wouldn't budge.
She needed to get back to the surface for air again. But Jill needed her weapon first. She tugged again, feeling the blade move ever so slightly. She tried again. Nothing.
Again.
Still nothing.
Each tug was weaker than the last, the oxygen she'd stored up in her lungs dissipating. Jill felt lightheaded. She could see stars in front of her right eye.
Another half-hearted tug. Still nothing.
Reluctantly, Jill pushed herself back toward the surface, hoping she'd make it before finally running out of oxygen. She could see the moonlight piercing through the water, though the light actually got dimmer the closer she got to the surface. Her lungs felt like they were on fire. She couldn't feel the hand stretched out in front of her.
Finally, a splash of cold air hit Jill in the face and she gasped. She gasped so hard, in fact, that she sputtered into a violent coughing fit, her arms flapping around in the water in a desperate attempt to keep herself afloat. She gasped in as much air as she could, coughing and thrashing about. At this hour, there was no one around to help, no one around to even signal someone else for help. One more gasp of air, and Jill slipped underwater again.
Chapter 55
Ramon took one last look at the text on his phone as he crouched by the door leading into David Gregor's penthouse.
USB drive - under Gregor’s bar... get it
It had taken Ramon a few months to get used to the bulletproof vest weighing down on his shoulders, but the young detective felt like he had finally gotten the hang of moving around in it. Sure, it was bulky, but it was supposed to be; otherwise, it wouldn't be able to stop a bullet. He clutched his Sig Sauer with both hands, glancing over his shoulder at the tactical team huddled behind him. They nodded once, and he nodded in kind. Turning his attention back to the door, Ramon pounded his right fist against the wooden surface.
"Baltimore police, open up!"
Silence.
Ramon glanced over his shoulder again.
"Police! Open up... now!"
More silence.
Leaping to his feet, Ramon positioned himself in front of the door, casting a sideways glance to the tactical squad before kicking the door down with his right foot. He ran into the penthouse with a team of eight cops decked out in military-grade gear swarming him on either side -- four to the left, four to right -- spreading out throughout the suite, disappearing into separate rooms. Ramon scanned the main area, secretly disappointed that a billionaire's high-rise pad would look so pedestrian. He wasn't sure what he expected, but the lack of opulence was disconcerting.
"Clear!"
"Clear!"
"Clear."
Ramon nodded, placing his gun back in the holster on his hip. "Clear!"
Ignoring the lavish painting on the far side of the penthouse, Ramon crossed to the bar, his heart pounding in anticipation. Ordinary as it appeared, this place still looked like it cost more in rent per month than Ramon made in a year. He dropped to a knee, licking his lips and fighting the urge to smile as he slipped on a pair of blue latex gloves. They were close; he could feel it. If Jill was right about the USB drive -- and he had no reason to believe she wasn't -- then everything else would fall into place. They'd find out who killed Dr. Roberts. Chances were, they'd find out a bunch of other stuff, too. But for Ramon, catching the killer was all that mattered.
Biting his lower lip, Ramon swept his left hand along the underside of the bar’s surface. It was so much different than the bar at O’Shea’s. There, if Ramon rested his arm wrong on the surface, he’d come away with a splinter. This bar was obviously made of a finished wood, the sleek exterior protecting and masking the true beauty of whatever tree died to make it. At first, Ramon didn't find anything; his fingers merely glided along the surface. He frowned, letting his hand once again swipe along the smooth underbelly. At first, he thought he had come up empty again, but then his fingers came across a small irregularity in the wood -- so small, it was no wonder Ramon had missed it the first time around.
"Gomez!" He called out over his shoulder. "Gimme a light!"
Ramon squinted when a flashlight burst to life over his shoulder, but once his eyes adjusted, he noticed a small hatch cut into the wood. He opened it, flinching a little when he noticed something drop to the floor. Picking it up, he smiled and felt his heart skip a beat: it was a black USB drive.
Standing, Ramon placed the small device in an evidence bag before handing it over to Gomez. Wordlessly, the tactical team exited the penthouse, and as Ramon crossed the threshold, he stopped. With a grin, he pulled a folded-up piece of paper from his back pocket. Grabbing a nearby roll of tape, he unfolded the paper and plastered it onto the door. He knew Gregor's lawyers would ask about a warrant, so he wanted to make sure they saw it clear as day when they discovered someone had broken into the suite.
He smiled as he followed the tactical unit out of the building, but even on this high, Ramon couldn't help but wonder: had that been too easy? They were able to haul into the place because Gregor had traveled overnight to New York on business, but the voice of skepticism trained in the back of Ramon’s head couldn’t help but wonder if perhaps Gregor had known such a visit would be coming.
Ramon pulled out his phone once he was back in his car, pressing the device to his ear. He couldn't wait to tell Jill the good news. But he would have to, because his call went straight to her voicemail.
Chapter 56
Hearing the voicemail from Ramon once she got back to dry land filled Jill with such adrenaline, such renewed purpose, that she didn't bother drying off or changing into civilian clothes as she hurriedly made her way to the precinct. Keeping to the shadows and the back alleys, once again taking advantage of her encyclopedic knowledge of the city’s streets, Jill paused to check over her shoulder, in case Blake decided to make a return appearance. She doubted he would, but she hadn't expected him to be at the yacht either.
Her thumbs shook as they sent Ramon a belated reply: Sorry just broke free... break room, laptop - don't be seen.
Slipping into the precinct as quietly as she could, and memorizing the night guards’ routines in an effort to evade them, Jill kept to the shadows still, knowing the security cameras that littered the building would key in on her otherwise. Fortunately, after three years on the force, she knew this building inside and out, and she knew all
of the places where she could go to avoid detection. In some ways, her real-life attempts at stealth were going much smoother than the time her brother tried playing Metal Gear Solid.
She slipped into the break room, brushing damp strands of hair out of her face. There were no cameras in this room, so she finally straightened out her form to stand upright, stretching out her neck until she heard the distinct pop she wanted. With a sigh, she lifted the holster off of her back and placed her weapon in the corner by the door before her eyes scanned the darkened room.
"Ramon?"
A laptop screen illuminated, spilling out into the darkness. Ramon sat at one of the break tables in the far corner, surrounded by an unplugged soda machine and a trash can. He smiled at Jill, but the expression immediately hardened when he saw her wet hair and her newly-hunched posture. His brows scrunched together.
"Jill?"
She shook her head and methodically approached the table, careful to make sure her boots didn't make any noise against the floor. The precinct appeared to be empty at this late hour, but she didn't want to chance a janitor or a detective putting in a late night on a different case spotting them. She sat across from Ramon, water dripping from her hair and onto the table.
"Jill," Ramon's tone was more authoritative this time, leveling a serious gaze at his partner. "What the hell happened?"
"Ran into Blake." She shrugged. "He showed up at the Inner Harbor again. Tossed my weapon into the bay, and then me."
Ramon shook his head, and Jill saw something in his eyes she hadn't seen before. This wasn't just fear -- he'd been afraid plenty of times in the months they had been partners. No, this was something deeper than that -- almost as if it was really registering for him just how dangerous her double life was. She half-expected him to issue a warning, but when Ramon sat up a bit straighter and cleared his throat, he simply turned the monitor to Jill.
She leaned in, squinting at the screen. There were numbers scattered everywhere, no rhyme or reason to them. Charts, schematics, dates. By themselves, they meant nothing, and Jill glanced at her partner in the hope he could provide the proper context.
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