by David Grace
“Was Mr. Brownstein having any problems that you were aware of? Money trouble? Disputes with anyone?”
“No. Our relationship was strictly business.”
Why would she go out of her way to add that? Kane thought. Does that mean she’s trying to cover up the fact that something was going on or that she would be insulted if anyone thought that she had become involved with Brownstein?
“You didn’t socialize?”
“No.” Sandra gave Kane a hard look. OK, Kane thought. You wouldn’t touch him with a ten-foot pole. Got it.
“Has anything unusual happened in the last few weeks? Was Mr. Brownstein upset, nervous, preoccupied, different in any way?”
“No, he was the same as always, but as I said, we didn’t have a personal relationship so I wouldn’t know anything about what was going on in his private life.”
Yeah, I got that loud and clear, Kane thought.
“Did you do anything in response to Mr. Brownstein’s absence?”
“I called Albert’s boss, our boss, the Deputy Assistant Director and I told him that Albert hadn’t come into work.”
“When did you do that?”
Cray glanced at the ceiling as if trying to remember the formula for calculating the circumference of a circle.
“Friday afternoon,” she said finally with a hint of pride. “Well, I didn’t want to get Albert in trouble if he was just, well, I don’t know, enjoying himself a little too much.”
“Did he do that, sometimes miss work because he was enjoying himself too much?”
“Albert? No, never. You could set your watch by him, but, well, there’s always the first time, isn’t there?”
No, there isn’t, Kane thought but just nodded for her to continue. She just stared at him.
“What did the Deputy Assistant Director say when you told him about Mr. Brownstein not coming to work?”
“He checked Albert’s file and said that Albert had six weeks accrued vacation so he was entitled to some time off.” She paused but in response to Kane’s stare finally continued. “He said that I should keep the office going until Albert returned and that I should keep a record of the number of days he missed so that his vacation time could be adjusted when he came back. He told me that if I hadn’t heard from Albert by the close of business today that I should call someone and file a report and to keep him in the loop.”
“So, you’re planning on filing a missing person’s report this afternoon?”
“If Albert hasn’t contacted me by then, yes, well, tomorrow actually. I’ve got a PTA meeting tonight and I won’t have time to sit around some police station filling out forms.”
Sandra glanced at a watercolor of a cat in an overstuffed chair taped to the wall. A juvenile hand had printed “Mr. Bonkers” in purple ink at the bottom.
“Your daughter’s work?” Kane asked, pointing at the picture.
“Olivia. She’s ten.” For the first time Sandra Cray smiled.
Within thirty seconds of entering her office Kane had been frustrated to the point of wanting to strangle Sandra Cray but now his anger melted in the glow of her smile. He hadn’t missed the lack of a ring and the cheap drugstore makeup and her hair going brown at the roots. Sandra Cray was a single mother stuck in a prison cell of an office pushing papers from one side of her desk to the other for forty hours a week all in order to build some kind of a future for her child. Cello lessons and PTA meetings and a boss who called her by a name usually applied to a beach.
Jesus, what’s wrong with me? Kane thought.
“Is that what you want me to do? File a missing person’s report?”
“No,” Kane said, feeling empty inside. “I’ll take care of it. I need Mr. Brownstein’s numbers, his email and his home address.”
Sandra punched a few buttons and a few seconds later handed Kane a page ejected from the printer.
“I’m going to check out Mr. Brownstein’s home. I’ll have some more questions for you after that. Call me if you hear from him.” Kane stood and gave her his card: Agent Gregory Kane, Department of Homeland Security, Office of Special Investigations. Cray gave it a disinterested glance and dropped it face-down on her desk.
“Open or closed?” Kane asked as he maneuvered himself out the door.
“Closed.”
Kane nodded, then took a quick, final glance at Mr. Bonkers before locking Sandra Cray back into her cell.
CHAPTER FOUR
Kane almost made it to Brownstein’s apartment before his boss caught up with him. For a moment Greg considered letting the call go to voice mail. A host of excuses — dead battery, dead zone, heavy traffic — flitted through his mind but they were all stopgap measures at best. Eventually he’d have to deal with Immerson and he figured that he might as well do it now.
“Kane.”
“What do you think you’re doing? You’re not supposed to be in the field without your partner.”
“Useless is attending a seminar on Transformative Political Correctness and Advanced Paper Pushing.”
“His name is Eustace, not Useless! I’ve warned you about creating a hostile work environment, Kane.”
“I guess I confused his name with his job performance. I suppose that’s why he’s taking the Political Correctness seminar. Sorry, it won’t happen again.”
“You know it’s not . . . .” Immerson paused, familiar by now with Kane’s habit of getting the other person so irritated that they lost sight of what they wanted to talk to him about in the first place. “Just get back here until your partner returns.”
“I would but this is an emergency. Lives are at stake.”
“Lives are at stake?”
“The Senior Deputy Director of the HHS Department for the Control of Dangerous Biological Agents and Toxins has gone missing.”
“What?”
“42 USC 351A,” Kane answered knowing that the cryptic reference would raise Immerson’s frustration level another few points.
“What the hell are you babbling about?”
“That’s the Public Health Security and Bioterrorism Preparedness Response Act section that deals with the control of biological agents and toxins. The Department of Health and Human Services oversees the importation of potentially dangerous biological agents and toxins. Albert Brownstein is the HHS administrator who handles importation permits and exemptions. He’s the guy in charge of keeping bio-weapons out of the country and he’s gone missing. Obviously this is a job for Homeland Security.”
“That doesn’t mean it’s a job for you. Come back here, now. You can open a case file and it’ll be assigned to the next team in the rotation.”
“Sure, I could do that but what if at this very moment someone is using Brownstein’s stolen credentials to bring in some kind of a bio-weapon? I mean, how would it look if hundreds of people died and then the press found out that we could have stopped it but that you pulled me out of the field because you were afraid that it was too dangerous for me to be alone on the streets of Washington D.C. without an armed escort?”
Immerson waited five seconds before he trusted himself to speak.
“Kane, I’m giving you a direct order. You have until six o’clock to get back to this office and file the proper paperwork on this supposed case.” The line went dead.
Greg smiled and went looking for Brownstein’s building manager.
* * *
“I have to have keys in case there’s a fire or something,” Henry Appel said defensively as he opened a battered file cabinet.
“It would be irresponsible not to,” Kane agreed.
“Ummm, 506 . . . 506 . . . 506,” Appel muttered as he leafed through a drawer of manila folders. “Yup, here it is, 506, Albert Brownstein. Do you want the lease app?”
“I just need access to the apartment for now.”
Appel toyed with the key.
“I’m not supposed to give these out, you know. Not without a warrant I mean.”
“It’s all right, Mr. Appel. I’
m authorized.” Kane bent forward and lowered his voice. “It’s a matter of National Security.”
Appel stared for half a second then almost forced the key into Kane’s hand.
“I won’t tell anybody,” Appel whispered.
“Good man,” Kane said giving Appel a little nod. Washington was a city obsessed with terrorists.
Warrant? I don’t need no stinkin’ warrant, Kane thought as he moved from Brownstein’s bedroom to what Kane named the “hobby room.” Originally it had been a second bedroom but now it contained a high-end photo printer, a Win 7 computer and a top-of-the line 23-inch high-def monitor.
Brownstein hadn’t bothered to enable password protection and when Kane pressed the “Start” button he saw that Photoshop was the last application that had been used. It didn’t take long to discover that the hard disk was filled with photographs. Kane found a two-thousand dollar DSLR and four extra lenses in the closet. A sampling of the computer’s images — trees, flowers, leaves and waterfalls — boiled down to one word: boring.
An hour later Kane finished his search of Brownstein’s emails, web browser history and address book. He found nothing even remotely interesting. You could set your watch by him, Sandra Cray said and it looked like she had been right. Albert Brownstein was as boring as they came. If there were any clues here about what had happened to him or where he had gone Kane wasn’t going to find them this afternoon.
Greg copied Brownstein’s address book, email folders and his on-line phone bills to a flash drive more out of habit than with any hope they would help him find the missing bureaucrat. Whatever had happened hadn’t had anything to do with this apartment or any of Brownstein’s friends or acquaintances. Kane was sure of that. No, something or someone out of left field had caused Albert Brownstein to go missing and Kane didn’t have the slightest idea of what or who that could have been.
When Greg returned the key to Henry Appel he put a cautionary finger to his lips. Appel gave Kane a little wink and silently closed his door.
CHAPTER FIVE
Kane had quickly learned that the key to successfully dealing with Fred Immerson was knowing how far he could push things before his boss snapped. Kane returned to the office at twenty after five, waved cheerily at Immerson and started the paperwork on Albert Brownstein’s disappearance. Most of the other investigators had already left but Kane noticed Danny Rosewood pounding away on Stan Ewald’s computer.
“Agent Ewald said it was OK to use his machine,” Danny said when he noticed Kane watching him.
“Good.”
“He gave me a tip on interrogation techniques and I wanted to put it in my journal.” Rosewood gave Kane a weak smile.
“Good,” Kane repeated and turned back to his own machine. After a few more seconds of silence he heard Danny’s fingers back on the keys. He wants to talk about being an Agent, Greg thought, then corrected himself. He wants a friend.
Greg had just finished the case-intake notes when he felt a hand on his shoulder.
“Hey, partner, having any fun?”
“Barrels and barrels,” Kane said, refusing to look up.
“Word is,” Grant Eustace grabbed a chair and rolled up next to Kane, “that Dad might be able to get us a piece of the Supremes Case.”
Kane turned away from the monitor and tried to figure out which of Useless’ irritations to respond to first. He wouldn’t have minded Useless calling Immerson “Dad” if he had had the balls to do it to the boss’ face, but, no, whenever Immerson was around Useless was all “Yes, Mr. Immerson” and “No, Mr. Immerson.” As far as Kane was concerned calling Immerson “Dad” only behind his back was the hallmark of a coward and a suck-up.
Useless’ second transgression was referring to the threat on the life of Mr. Justice Hopper as “the Supremes Case” as if it had anything to do with the Office of Special Investigations, which it absolutely did not. Thirdly, it was just plain stupid to think that anyone was going to let the Office anywhere near that investigation.
The Marshals, the Secret Service and the FBI were already engaged in a full-scale turf war over that one. The job of protecting federal courthouses and the judges in them belonged to the U.S. Marshals. The job of protecting high-ranking government officials was historically the province of the Secret Service and the job of investigating attacks on federal judges belonged to the FBI. Since this was still only a threat the Marshals and the Secret Service were claiming jurisdiction. Since it had the potential to become an actual attack the FBI wanted in. It was absolutely idiotic to think that anyone was going to let their little office get involved.
Eustace took Kane’s silence as interest and bent closer, lowering his voice.
“Whoever has a piece of catching the nut-job will get a big gold star on his record,” Eustace said. “I wouldn’t mind getting bumped up to GS 14. We could both use the extra money, right partner?”
Typical magical thinking, Kane thought. Just wanting something badly enough will get if for you. Glory-seeking moron! Greg bit his tongue and started typing.
“You’re a pain in the ass sometimes, Kane,” Eustace said, “but you do good work. I’m thinking that you can do your Sherlock Holmes voodoo while I keep the bosses off your back and together I bet we could break this thing. Division of labor, right?” Eustace gave Kane a friendly slap on the shoulder. Greg had been typing “searched” and scowled when it ended up “swarhed.”
That did it. Kane’s control snapped and he spun around.
“Grant, you’re a moron. And not just an ordinary moron. You’ve raised the bar on moronhood so high that if you got paid for it you’d qualify as a Professional Moron.”
“See, that right there,” Eustace said, laughing and slapping Kane’s shoulder again, “is why we make such a great team. You can get all your grouchy bits exercised on me instead of somebody who’ll take it personally. If you pulled that stuff on some FBI SAC you’d end up investigating people who put Canadian quarters in parking meters, but me, it just rolls off my back like a duck.” Like a duck? Greg thought. Oblivious, Eustace babbled on. “Then, once you’ve gotten it out of your system, you can go back to solving the case while I handle the bosses and type up the paperwork. Well, I won’t personally type it. The girl will handle that. Or, Kid Wannabee over there.” Eustace tilted his head in Danny’s direction.
Kane struggled to unfreeze his brain. So much stupidity, so little time.
“Grant, they’re not going to let us investigate a threat on Justice Hopper. It’s not going to happen.”
“Well, not with that attitude. Me, I prefer to think positive.”
Positively, Kane screamed inside his head. It’s an adverb!
Eustace glanced at Kane’s monitor. “What are you workin’ on? We got a new case?”
“Yes,” Kane answered through clenched lips. “The Administrator in charge of the HHS department that monitors importing potential bioterrorist materials has gone missing.”
“Missing, huh?” Eustace said, peering at the screen. “How long?”
“Since last Thursday morning.”
“Too long for your usual bender or shack-up. Any chance that he drove his car off a cliff or something?”
“There aren’t any cliffs between his apartment and the HHS building.”
“Into the Potomac maybe?”
“Unlikely,” Kane said with an edge that could cut steel.
“OK, well, we’ll find him I guess, sooner or later. Hope it’s sooner in case Dad can get us a piece of the Supremes Case.”
“Grant, go home. Please. Go home.”
“Yeah, good idea. It’s been a long day.”
Eustace smiled, gave Kane a last friendly pat on his shoulder and sauntered toward the door. Kane closed his eyes and took five long, slow breaths, holding each one for a count of two before exhaling, just the way he had been taught in anger management class. When he opened them again he and Danny were alone in the room.
“Is there anything I can help you with, Agent Ka
ne?”
“What?”
“You were in the field all afternoon and now you’re working on your report so I thought that if you needed any records checked or something I could do that for you.”
“I can’t authorize any overtime.”
“That’s OK. I’ll do if off the clock. Maybe I’ll learn something, you know, for when I get to be an agent.”
Greg mentally did the math. Marty Fouchet needed Brownstein found ASAP. Technically he had a partner to help him but there was a reason he called Eustace “Useless.” Then there was Rosewood — no law enforcement experience, average intelligence, but friendly and anxious to please, essentially the human equivalent of a one-year-old Labrador retriever. It was a no-brainer.
“I need all of the surveillance tapes for the block around Albert Brownstein’s apartment for the entire week before he went missing. If that doesn’t get us anything then we’ll have to widen the search to the HHS building. I’m sending you my notes.” Kane pounded a few keys and copied the file to Stan Ewald’s machine.
“What should I look for?” Rosewood asked, apparently unfazed by the huge amount of work that Kane’s request entailed.
“If somebody grabbed Brownstein they probably would have cased his apartment. We’re looking for any person or vehicle that shows up too much, anyone who might be watching the building or Brownstein. He had a car but I followed up with his personal assistant. She told me that he took the bus to work unless the weather was bad so we’re looking for anyone who might have followed him from his building in the morning or from the bus stop back to his building at night. Maybe we’ll get lucky and be able to spot their car and get a plate number.”
Kane waited for questions or an excuse to get out of a job that was a lot bigger than Rosewood had expected but instead Danny said, “That’s a good idea, checking the area for the days before he went missing. I’m going to add that to my journal under ‘Things To Do When Starting A New Case.’ Thanks Agent Kane.”