The Adamas Blueprint

by Boyd Morrison

“So, when do you graduate?” he said.

  “I just started last semester. There’s no way to advance at the bank I work for unless you have an MBA, so I thought night school-”

  “Heather!” A brunette ran up to Heather and began talking to her, looking at Kevin several times, but he couldn’t hear them over the stereo. He breathed a sigh of relief and was about to excuse himself when Heather spoke.

  “This is Darcy. We were going to Cody’s and wondered if you wanted to join us. Do you like jazz?”

  Kevin loved jazz. One of his favorite local bands was playing at Cody’s.

  “It’s not really my thing.” He looked down at his shorts. “Besides, I’m not dressed for it.”

  “Sure you are. I think you look great.”

  “Maybe some other time.”

  “Well, if you ever want to go, you can reach me at this number.” She produced a card from her purse. “It was nice to meet you. Hope to see you again.” She put the card in his hand. Her finger trailed down his arm as she moved away.

  Kevin let out a sigh as he watched the two leave the apartment, then walked into the kitchen. He crumpled the card without reading it and threw it in the wastebasket.

  Nigel was standing by the keg. He spotted Kevin and came over.

  “Where’s Heather?” he said. “I thought you two were hitting it off.”

  “I guess I wasn’t her type.”

  “Wasn’t her type? She was hanging all over you like drapes on a curtain rod.”

  “What can I say? She had to go.”

  Nigel frowned. “I thought you and Erica were just friends.”

  “We are.”

  “Really.”

  “Yes,” Kevin said, then gulped his beer. He handed the empty cup to Nigel. “Now shut up and pour me another one.”

  CHAPTER 3

  “That son of a bitch!” Clayton Tarnwell stabbed a finger down on the limousine’s intercom button. “Get Senders on the phone now.” His deep voice boomed, revealing just a hint of Texas twang. David Lobec, who was sitting across from Tarnwell, didn’t flinch.

  Tarnwell’s personal secretary was in the front seat, hidden by the opaque glass partition. “Sir, Senders is still in Yosemite camping with his family. He’ll be out of pocket until tomorrow night.”

  Tarnwell looked outside in time to see a sign saying “Welcome to Houston” whiz by. It was 7:00 on a Saturday morning and traffic out of the airport was light. “Didn’t he take his satellite phone with him?”

  “It’s in his office.”

  Christ, he thought, I’ve got some morons working for me. First, the problem with Stein, now this. “When does ZurBank open?”

  “Two thirty Monday morning, Houston time.”

  “Then call that idiot’s house and leave a message that if he isn’t in my office by two thirty Monday morning, he can kiss his ass good-bye.”

  “Yes, sir. Will you be needing the Gulfstream Tuesday as planned?”

  “No. Cancel the trip to Wyoming. Murphy can take care of that. But I’ve got to be back in DC Thursday for the meeting with the National Mining Institute. Tell them we fly out Wednesday night, 8 o’clock. And get another pilot. I almost lost a filling on that landing.”

  He released the button and looked back at Lobec. “That’s all Ward said? Nothing about the money?”

  Tarnwell had called ahead to have Lobec meet him when he arrived to provide him an update of the situation with Ward. He had too much to do to waste the 45 minute drive to his office. As the owner and CEO of Tarnwell Mining and Chemical, he spent a substantial amount of his time in Washington conferring with his lobbyists on the latest legislation that might affect TMC and, more importantly, its growth and profits. He had made most of his money taking advantage of loopholes in US mining laws, buying land from the government at ridiculously low prices and then stripping every last precious mineral from it, leaving the residue to be disposed of at taxpayer expense.

  Lately, he had diversified into the chemical industry, relying on his mining interests to provide the raw material. And the only way to make the most of his investments was to ensure that his presence was felt on Capitol Hill. Usually, he took Lobec with him to Washington for special operations which he didn’t want to be directly associated with, but he had stayed behind to take care of Ward.

  Ward was a special case. Probably once in a lifetime.

  Lobec shook his head. “He died before I could get anything further from him. It must have been a heart attack. The wound was in the shoulder, not nearly severe enough to cause immediate death.”

  “And you’re sure he didn’t have the account number hidden somewhere in the house?”

  “We took several hours to search it. There was a safe, but nothing was in it besides some insurance documents and jewelry. The computer also looked fruitless, but I copied all of the files and gave them to Mitch Hornung to see if anything is there.”

  Tarnwell nodded. Hornung was his resident computer genius and hacker. If anything was there, Mitch would find it.

  “We were quite thorough,” Lobec continued, “but it’s very possible that something as small as a piece of paper with a number on it could have been overlooked.”

  “What about his university office? On the computer there, maybe?” Tarnwell opened the coffee maker, poured himself a cup, and offered one to Lobec.

  Lobec shook his head. “No, thank you. I checked the campus office, the lab, and the office computer after we were finished with his house. I could see nothing about Adamas or the Swiss account. Of course, Hornung has those files as well, so we won’t be certain until later today. I believe, however, that Ward must have memorized the account information.”

  “Damn! I told Senders this was going to happen. That dumbshit is going to work twenty-four hours a day until he gets my money back.”

  “I was under the impression that the money could not be transferred without our knowledge.”

  Tarnwell threw his hands up. “That’s what I thought! That moron!”

  Milton Senders, Tarnwell’s chief financial officer, had been responsible for transferring the $10 million to an account he set up for Ward in Switzerland. Tarnwell had no intention of letting Ward keep the money, but Ward was no dummy, so Tarnwell needed to make the transaction look legitimate to get Ward to give him the notebook. Senders assured Tarnwell that the risk of losing the money was minimal. Because they knew the banker and Tarnwell was one of his biggest depositors, they could simply let Ward withdraw small amounts to maintain the illusion that Ward had control of the money, giving up maybe a few thousand for the sake of appearances. Large transactions had to be approved by Tarnwell, and Ward hadn’t made any. But last night they found that the account was virtually empty. Ward somehow slipped $10 million past Senders’ security measures.

  “We don’t even know how he did it,” Tarnwell said. “It’s almost as if he had help.” Then his huge frame suddenly went rigid, and he narrowed his eyes at Lobec. “David, you have told me everything, haven’t you? I mean, I can trust you. I know I can. But I just want to hear it from you.”

  Lobec looked him in the eye. “Mr. Tarnwell, I owe you my life. What more can I say?”

  “You’re damn right you owe me. If it weren’t for me, you’d still be rotting in La Mesa.” Tarnwell smiled to himself when he saw Lobec’s mouth twitch at the mention of the Mexican prison that had been Lobec’s home for two years. The only reason Tarnwell had gotten him out was because he’d needed a good security man, one who wasn’t afraid to get his hands dirty. Through some contacts he’d heard Lobec was the best mercenary money could buy. The situation was also attractive to Tarnwell because he knew where to find Lobec’s brother. He rarely let Lobec forget that.

  “You are very generous, Mr. Tarnwell. I would never betray that generosity.”

  “That’s what I like to hear. You’re the best man I’ve got, David. I think you know that. You’ve certainly lived up to your reputation. You know how to get things done, and I appreciate that
.” Tarnwell leaned forward and lowered his voice. “But if I ever so much as have an inkling that you’re not being straight with me, you’ll be on the next truck to Guadalajara. Then I’ll have someone pay a visit to California.” He smiled. “Your brother’s insurance business is still in Encino, isn’t it? I hope it’s going well. It’s hard to support a wife and five kids these days.”

  Lobec narrowed his eyes. “I understand.”

  “Good,” Tarnwell said. “Now, tell me about how you took care of the house. Everything went as planned, I assume?”

  “It should look like the fire started with a smoldering cigarette. I extinguished the stove’s pilot light and left the gas slightly on. As I understand from the initial police reports, the entire house was consumed. The bodies were so charred the police haven’t even positively identified them yet.”

  “Do you think it’ll be enough to cover Ward’s gunshot wound?”

  “Definitely for the next week. Fortunately, the county coroner’s office is swamped with bodies from the Baytown gas leak. Ward’s autopsy won’t even begin until that’s finished. With the bodies burned so badly, they may never know what really happened.”

  “It doesn’t matter anyway. They have no way to link me with him. And at least we have the notebook.”

  “Right before his scuffle with Bern, Ward did mention something about a videotape,” Lobec said. “He also said that you don’t really have the notebook.”

  Tarnwell waved his hand. “He was bluffing. I would in his situation. Don’t worry about it. The lab should have Adamas up and running any time now. And the lawyers started the patent ball rolling yesterday.” A smile spread across Tarnwell’s face, and a set of perfect teeth showed through. “Despite Senders’ fuck up, I’m in a pretty good mood.” Tarnwell leaned his head back and closed his eyes, stretching his long legs onto the seat next to Lobec.

  Lobec cleared his throat. “There is one detail that remains.”

  Except for his mouth, Tarnwell didn’t move. “Then take care of it.”

  “I will. But I thought you should know. It seems that Ward sent an electronic mail message before we arrived.”

  Tarnwell’s head jerked up. “What?”

  “We know he didn’t phone anybody. And he had virtually no time to see anyone between the time Stein’s murder was reported and the time he got home. But we never considered electronic mail. It was the only way he could have contacted anyone without our knowledge.”

  “Do you know who it went to?”

  “It was sent to an N. Kevin Hamilton.”

  “Who is he?”

  “We found a number of references to him in Ward’s files. He’s in his third-year of graduate school at South Texas University. He worked with Ward until last May. Of course, Bern and I searched his apartment as soon as we were finished with Ward.” Lobec passed a picture to Tarnwell. “This is from his apartment. He won’t miss it.”

  It showed a smiling man in his twenties with thick brown hair. He was wearing a Texas A&M T-shirt and jeans and was standing next to a tall brunette with long tan legs extending from a pair of white shorts.

  “Who’s the model?” Tarnwell said, handing the photo back.

  “We don’t know yet, but we’re looking into it. Her first name is Erica. He had several photos like it in his bathroom mirror, and one of them had their names written on the back.”

  “Do you think Ward sent him the Swiss account information?”

  “No, I believe that information died with him. Ward was scared, but I don’t think he was planning on relinquishing the money. Most likely, he was sending a message about the process or something incriminating toward you. Possibly both, but we can’t be sure. Hornung hasn’t been able to locate the correct file yet.”

  “It doesn’t sound like you’ve talked to this Hamilton yet.”

  “He wasn’t there when we arrived last night, which is why we are trying to find this girl. He could be at her place. Bern is watching his apartment and we have a tap under way. I will join him after we reach your office. Do you have any specific instructions?”

  “Find out what Hamilton knows. I mean anything. And videotape the interrogation for me. I can’t be there, but I want to see it. Then get rid of him.”

  “It is possible that Hamilton knows nothing,” Lobec said.

  Tarnwell took a sip of coffee and leaned his head back again. “Nobody ever said life was fair.”

  CHAPTER 4

  Kevin Hamilton’s eyes fluttered, and the pounding in his head left no doubt that he was conscious. The sun was up; no other source of light could be as excruciatingly painful. He made a half-hearted attempt to turn over, but his stomach argued and won. Besides, it didn’t feel like his muscles would respond.

  He lay in the same position for an hour, awake the entire time, his brain seemingly three sizes too big for his skull. Suddenly, a chainsaw started in the next room and he sat bolt upright. He pried his eyes open enough to see Nigel in the kitchen standing over a coffee grinder.

  Looking around, he realized that he had slept on Nigel’s couch the entire night. He wondered how he’d squeezed his six foot two length into the tiny area between the armrests. He was bare from the waist up and a blanket was balled up at the end of the couch. Various cups and bottles littered the floor around him. He also noticed the stale smell of beer for the first time. The pounding in his head returned to full strength and nausea gripped him. He ran to the bathroom.

  After emptying the contents of his stomach and then bladder into the toilet, Kevin turned to the mirror and found just about what he was expecting. His face was unusually pale and his hair looked rather comical. On one side, it stood straight out in all directions, on the other it was matted from sleep. Thick red lines extended from his hazel irises. He hadn’t bothered to remove his contacts.

  He felt slightly better after vomiting and thought some milk might soothe his stomach. He rifled through the cabinet, found some aspirin, and carried the bottle into the kitchen.

  The television came on in the living room as he poured the milk into a tall glass. He put two tablets into his hand, thought about it, added another, then popped all three into his mouth and took a small sip of the milk. He held the cool glass to his forehead as he walked back to the living room.

  Nigel was sitting on the couch with a cup of coffee, surfing the channels with the remote. Kevin had never known him to look anything but impeccable, even early in the morning, and today was no exception. He was already showered and fully dressed, as if he hadn’t had a sip of alcohol the previous night.

  With a slight grunt, Kevin immersed himself in the Lazy Boy.

  “Good morning, beautiful,” Nigel said with a smile.

  Kevin turned toward him and gave him a dirty look. “I hate you.”

  “I told you the Jello shots were strong, but you didn’t want to listen.”

  “You had just as many as I did.”

  “I also drink more often than every six months.”

  “So do I. But now I’m thinking about quitting all together.”

  “Aren’t you supposed to be at the gym at nine?”

  “Yeah, that’s the only time I can get into the pool to swim laps.” Kevin sat up. “Why? What time is it?”

  Nigel looked at his watch. “9:01.”

  Kevin sank back into the chair. “Damn! This is the first time I’ve missed in two years.”

  Nigel shook his head. “Two years? You’re weirder than you look.” He continued clicking the remote.

  Kevin watched TV and brooded quietly. Conversation was not generally part of his morning routine, and he had not yet had his requisite Diet Coke. As Kevin sipped his milk, Nigel flipped past a face on the screen that Kevin immediately recognized.

  He almost spit out the milk. After swallowing, he sputtered, “Wait! Turn it back!”

  “What?” Nigel said, as he reversed directions on the remote.

  Four channels down, Kevin saw it. “There! Stop!”

  Nigel st
opped on what was apparently a local TV news broadcast, and looked over at him with a puzzled expression. “What…”

  “Shhh! Turn it up.” Kevin stared incredulously at the screen. To the right of the anchorwoman’s head was a small photo of Dr. Michael Ward. The picture had been taken when Ward still had a beard, but it was definitely him.

  Nigel thumbed the remote, and the program became audible.

  “…where we take you live to Lisa Hernandez. Lisa, what can you tell us?”

  The image shifted to a woman standing in front of the blackened ruins of what used to be a house. Wisps of smoke could still be seen rising in the calm air. The only things left standing were a crumbling chimney and the scorched remains of a large tree. Police and firefighters mingled in the background, and yellow crime tape was visible circling the property.

  “Joan, at two o’clock this morning, residents of this usually quiet north Houston community were awakened by a huge explosion. When firefighters arrived on the scene, they found the home of Michael Ward, a South Texas University chemistry professor, burning out of control. As you can see, the fire is now contained, but not before two firefighters succumbed to heat exhaustion in this morning’s sweltering conditions. When the heat of the fire had subsided enough for a search, the charred remains of two people were found among the rubble.”

  The TV cut to a clip of two black plastic bags lying behind a van marked “Harris County Coroner.” Kevin’s grip on the milk glass tightened.

  “The police haven’t issued a statement as yet, but sources close to the investigation believe they could only be the bodies of Dr. Ward and his wife, Irene.”

  Kevin continued silently watching, shaking his head slowly.

  Joan interrupted. “Has the cause of the fire been determined, Lisa?”

  “The cause of the fire has not yet been determined, Joan, but arson investigators are on the premises and foul play has not been ruled out. Speculation now is that the fire was started by a cigarette and spread to the gas lines, which then caused the explosion. The house is in a relatively new development and is the first on the block to be occupied, which may explain why the fire was not reported soon enough to prevent this horrible tragedy. This is Lisa Hernandez reporting live from Spring for H News. Joan.”