The Devil's Interval

by Kevin Tumlinson

  “I want you to tell me why one of your men tried to kill me this morning.”

  Holden piped in. “And what his connection is with Ashton Mink’s murder.”

  Peters shook his head. “I don’t know. But I’m going to find out. I already have my team pulling everything in our database on both Partano brothers.”

  “And what about the guy who left?” Holden asked. “What was his name?”

  “Jack Harris,” Peters said. “He left about a week ago. He was good at his job, but kind of hard to work with. He was too intense. I have a folder full of complaints about him. Truth is, if he hadn’t resigned, I was planning to fire him.”

  “Why did you hire him in the first place?” Holden asked.

  Peters shook his head. “I inherited him, actually. He was onboard as Head of Security when I got there. When I replaced him, I thought there might be trouble. But he took it well. Said he was tired of the responsibility of running the whole thing. He stepped down voluntarily.”

  “Just stepped down? Like that?” Holden asked. “No fuss? What was his new role?”

  “Senior Security Technician,” Peters said. “He had a background in IT.”

  Denzel made a disgusted noise and turned on Peters, glaring. “For ex-CIA, you’re kind of dense, aren’t you, Peters?”

  “Denzel …” Holden said, cautioning, trying to calm him.

  “You have a guy who knows tech,” Roland said, clenching his teeth. “Who isn’t well liked and has an attitude problem, but for some reason steps down from director role with no problem. And who leaves just before Ashton Mink’s murder. When did you figure it would be a good time to mention any of this?”

  Peters’ expression was hard now. He stepped forward, not close enough to be in Denzel’s face, but certainly not backing down. “My entire database is open to you, Agent. My people will talk to you. I have the clearance to give you any information you want, and I’m going to do exactly that. Harris was a problem child in my classroom, and when he left I didn’t think about him again until just this minute. I’ve been dealing with a shit storm of problems since Mink was killed, and I had no reason to suspect Harris of anything. It was an oversight, not an omission. I’m not holding a single fact back. And I will do everything I possibly can to help you get your man back.”

  Peters was stern, and his voice had an edge, but to his credit he didn’t respond out of emotion. And at the mention of Kotler, Denzel knew he was aiming his frustration and worry in the wrong direction.

  For certain, there were still questions that Peters would need to answer. He would need to be cleared. Holden and Denzel could do that first, to ensure that whatever they got from the man was the truth, and was relevant to the case. But Denzel trusted his own gut in these things, and his gut was telling him that Peters was clean.

  He decided that, for now, he would roll with that gut feeling.

  “Someone in your company is behind this,” Denzel said, his tone more relaxed than before. “Or they’re deep into it. I need to know everything there is to know about Jack Harris. And I need access to everything that was locked down when Dr. Bristol died. Plus, a list of who had access to that data.”

  “It’s already being pulled,” Peters said.

  Denzel nodded, then turned to Holden. “I’ve set up coordination between you and my office at the Bureau.”

  “I’ve already gotten a report and some security cam footage,” Holden said. “I have it queued up at my desk.”

  “What about him?” Denzel asked, nodding to Jared Partano, on the other side of a glass wall.

  “He’ll get his attorney,” Holden said. “I have 48 hours to track the guy down.”

  They sat at Holden’s desk and reviewed footage from several local security cameras, including the one in Kotler’s lobby. The man who took him had attacked just as Kotler had used his key fob on the door. He was quick, and Kotler was clearly taken by surprise. But there was no real violence, and Denzel was grateful for that.

  Holden stopped the footage on a frame that showed the man’s face. “Anybody we recognize?” he asked.

  Peters swore. “That’s him,” he said. “That’s Jack Harris.”

  “So not the smartest guy,” Holden said. “He’s not making any attempt to hide who he is.”

  “He might not care if we know,” Denzel said. “He knows I saw his face, in London. He knows Kotler saw him, too. And forensics from Scotland Yard have verified that the rounds fired from his weapon match those that killed Ashton Mink. He’s our guy. He may have been counting on me being killed by Partano, which would have distracted everyone from Kotler’s disappearance. Kotler travels all the time—it would have been weeks, maybe months before anyone other than me wondered about where he’d gotten to.”

  “That seems kind of dangerous to me,” Holden said.

  Denzel realized, for the first time, that Holden was right. And it was a shock. Because Kotler was well-known—even famous, in some circles. And he was well-liked, particularly by women. For the first time, however, Denzel was starting to realize that Kotler didn’t keep close acquaintances. He knew everyone, but wasn’t quite known by anyone. Except, of course, for Denzel. And that did put Kotler in a dangerous position—one where he could go missing for long stretches, and might not be noticed.

  And something else bothered Denzel about this. It was dangerous for Kotler, for sure. But it also meant something about Kotler's life that Denzel hadn't put together until now.

  Kotler was alone.

  He didn't show any signs of that bothering him, of course. He had his trysts, and he attended all sorts of high society events. But some of his more meaningful romantic relationships hadn't worked out so well, in the time that he and Denzel had known each other and worked together. Evelyn Horelica had left Kotler long before she was kidnapped, during the whole scenario in Pueblo. And Gail McCarthy had turned out to be behind all the trouble surrounding the Atlantis discovery. Kotler didn't talk about it, but Denzel suspect that Gail's betrayal had hit harder than Kotler was willing to admit.

  Kotler always came across as happy, and in a good humor. He was always making jokes or wry observations. He was always channeling his energy into doing something good. But all of that was hiding the fact that Kotler was as isolated as anyone could be, and still be out living in the world.

  That was a discussion for a different day, though. And most of it wasn’t any of Denzel’s business. He would talk to Kotler about what they could do to make him a little less vulnerable to abduction. Kotler, being the epitome of a free spirit, would object to anything that might limit his movements.

  Tough, Denzel thought. Something had to change, or Kotler would become a liability more than an asset. Or worse. Though Denzel wasn't entirely sure his motivation for pushing this on Kotler was really about liability.

  Right now, he was just worried about his friend.

  They cycled through more footage, and saw Kotler being shoved into the back of an SUV. “I’ll run those plates,” Holden said, “but I’d bet it’s stolen.”

  “No ID on the driver,” Denzel said. “He’s not visible from any of these angles. We don’t even know how many people are in that vehicle.”

  After several minutes of scrubbing footage, making notes, and putting in requests for information from various departments, there was simply nothing useful emerging. Nothing except a positive ID on Jack Harris.

  Hours later, after Nick Peters had returned to AMSL and Jared Partano’s lawyer had been given a heads up, Denzel was reviewing the report again, along with all the information his people at the Bureau could give him. There was a team on this now, and they were reporting to Denzel. Kotler might be just a consultant with the FBI, but he was still one of theirs. He was not going to be left behind.

  Holden, to his credit, was also piling on resources. But his priority was the murder investigation. “I think we can bump Mr. Harris up to the top of the board,” Holden said, taking Harris’ photo from the large murder board ne
ar his desk, and putting it at the top of the suspect pool.

  There were multiple investigations tacked to that board. Unlike in the movies or on television, Detectives rarely had just one case to work on. Resources were too thin for that, and the case load was too heavy for one-at-a-time. Even as they sat reviewing Kotler’s kidnapping, Holden had taken several calls and answered a deluge of emails about other open cases. Mink’s murder was high profile, and so it was getting high profile treatment, but his wasn’t the only death crying for justice in the city.

  Considering the near existential crisis Denzel had been having of late, he was seeing the bullpen of the precinct in a new light. He had never been a cop, but he’d now worked in law enforcement for the bigger part of his career. And he knew, even if he’d forgotten briefly, that there really are no small cases. Every case has its impact on the lives of others. And the work his department could do, solving crimes tied to misplaced history, could have a big impact on a lot of lives. It was important. He was doing good work. Worthy work. It eased something in his chest and stomach, coming to that conclusion.

  Right now, though, he needed to focus on finding Kotler and the people behind all of this. In all the shuffle and all the chaos, there was a fact being lost, or at least put aside, though it might outweigh the lives of both Ashton Mink and Dan Kotler, in terms of importance.

  The technology these people were after could do a lot of damage in the world.

  Mind control. That was maybe the most dangerous weapon Denzel could think of. Turning someone from their own will, enslaving them, making them into a living weapon, subverting everything that made them human—Denzel shivered from the idea of it.

  These are the people who have Kotler, he thought. He would do whatever it took to bring these people down.

  Chapter 13

  As kidnappings go, Kotler thought, this one isn't so bad.

  The gunman from London was sitting in the seat next to him, in the back of a black SUV. Up front was a driver, wearing a hood and glasses that obscured his face. The three of them were the only ones in the vehicle.

  "Phone," the gunman said, pointing his weapon at Kotler's stomach.

  Kotler obliged, handing over his phone. He tried to tick off, in his head, the number of phones he'd had to replace over the past couple of years. Since starting his work with Agent Denzel, Kotler had put his phone insurance through its paces.

  The gunman rolled down his window and tossed the phone out as they passed by a collection of trash cans.

  If Kotler survived this, he would need to think of some way to supplement the phone as a tracking device. He knew that Roland would immediately ping the phone's location, but that didn't do Kotler much good if it was lying in a busted pile on a random sidewalk.

  The SUV made several turns, seemingly at random. This was probably meant to complicate any search from video cameras, to break a pattern so it would be more difficult for the FBI or the police to keep track of where they went.

  Kotler, on the other hand, knew exactly where they were in the city, and the gunman had made no effort to cover his eyes. A bad sign.

  He didn't bother speaking during the ride. He already knew he'd be told to shut his mouth, probably with some colorful profanity in the mix. Instead of talking, then, he decided to spend the time running through everything he knew about the case, to see what new connections he could make.

  With the murder of Ashton Mink, a whole series of events had tumbled into motion. At first, the murder seemed to be the starting point. But they had new information now. Patel’s discovery of the Newton chamber. Dr. Lawny Bristol’s death, and the locking of her records. The evidence that someone else had discovered and used the Newton chamber, long before Patel’s arrival, but had apparently ceased operations sometime in the 70s. The as-yet-unnamed security guard who left AMSL just a week prior to Ashton’s murder.

  And, lest he forget the most intriguing and dangerous aspect of this case, there was the research and technology that could give someone the power to control the minds of others. Not a pleasant prospect.

  Two new facts emerged for Kotler, however, as he ran through all of this.

  First, it was clear that the London gunman was the former AMSL security team member. He was likely the one who killed Ashton Mink, and was equally likely to be the one who killed Lawny Bristol. His murder of Ashton, though, showed that he knew about the data card—something he’d only know about if he somehow had access to the AMSL servers.

  The second emerging fact was that the gunman had someone else helping him. Someone on the inside. The security measures that Peters had in place were too next-level for someone like the gunman to hack into. He may have had some technical chops, but he didn't strike Kotler as being that level of hacker. He had to have help.

  And Kotler's present situation proved that. Up to now, the gunman had operated alone, as far as Kotler could see. There was no evidence that anyone else had been in Ashton Mink's apartment, the night of his murder. And in London, the gunman had been alone with Patel, and alone when on the run.

  But now he had a driver. Someone who knew how to remain anonymous. A professional, in other words. Far more professional than the gunman, though he showed at least some acumen for this business.

  Kotler figured the gunman to be ex-military. That was an assumption based on his role with AMSL, which seemed to employ a lot of ex-military for security. He had training, then. He knew weapons, he had some hand-to-hand skills, and he could run within the parameters of an operation. But he showed no sign of being able to organize an op himself. He was too clumsy for that.

  So, the driver was a hired pro, who probably had no idea who the gunman was, or even who Kotler was, for that matter. He was doing a job, he'd collect his pay, and he'd be gone, likely dumping the SUV in a river somewhere.

  Or maybe not.

  After a long stretch of random turns, the SUV finally pulled off the streets of Manhattan, into a parking garage with no attendant on duty. Probably pre-arranged, Kotler thought.

  The garage was dark, and as the SUV pulled into an empty spot, the gunman shoved the nose of his weapon into Kotler’s side. “Out.”

  Kotler got out, and was directed to climb into another vehicle—a generic looking tan sedan that had dark tinted windows and spinners on its wheel hubs. It smelled like pot and booze, and Kotler decided that it had been stolen as well, and meant to be as opposite to the SUV as possible.

  The gunman joined him in the back, and the driver resumed his positon.

  This time, almost to his relief, a bag was pulled over his head, obscuring his view. The engine started, and they were moving.

  They drove for perhaps another 30 minutes, not taking many turns, until the sedan they were riding in stopped. Kotler was dragged out, into an elevator, and when he was finally forced into a chair and the bag taken off, he blinked at a series of bright lights. His hands were cuffed to the arms of the metal chair he was sitting in. A smart move, Kotler thought, since it made it doubly difficult for him to attempt an escape.

  He couldn’t quite make out where he was. The room was large, unfurnished, but very dark. The bright lights were spots, aimed directly into his eyes. Three lights—no … there were four lights. A detail Kotler wasn’t sure mattered, but it seemed important at the time.

  “Dr. Kotler,” a voice said. It was distorted, playing through a speaker. Whoever was behind it didn’t want to be recognized. Which told Kotler, immediately, that this was someone he knew. It could be a man or woman, thanks to the voice masking. He might be able to work out the person's gender by listening for certain affects, but that was tricky at the best of times.

  “Hi,” Kotler said, simply, forcing a relaxed affect.

  There was a pause, which was what Kotler had hoped for. He needed to play for time, and to get as many details as he could, if he hoped to get out of this. He’d been grabbed after Denzel dropped him off, so it would be hours before anyone knew he was gone. If they knew at all.

&nbs
p; "You have created some difficulty for us, Dr. Kotler," the voice said. "We needed Dr. Patel to complete the research."

  "He's in London, but he should be back in a few days," Kotler said. "Maybe you can swing by and chat with Detective Holden. Scotland Yard will deliver Patel into his custody directly."

  "I see you think this is a game," the voice said. "You may be overestimating your value to me."

  "Right now, I figure you're planning to use me as leverage to get your hands on Patel," Kotler said, calmly. "But it won't work."

  "And why is that?" the voice asked.

  "Because Agent Denzel will find you first. And he won’t let you use me as a bargaining chip. That isn’t how he operates.”

  “Agent Denzel will be dead soon. I’ve already made arrangements.”

  Kotler felt his blood chill. “You really don’t get how this leverage thing works, do you? If you kill Denzel, there’s no way I’ll ever cooperate with you.”

  “I don’t need your cooperation, Dr. Kotler. Your value to me is as an item of trade.”

  “Trade?” Kotler asked.

  “Someone has offered me an item I want, in exchange for you. It’s a bargain, really. The only downside is they want you alive. But before you get it in your head that you’re under some sort of protection, you should know that if you cause me any trouble I’ll kill you anyway, and find some other way to get what I need.”

  “That doesn’t sound all that efficient,” Kotler said. “I mean, a bird in hand, and all that.”

  “I admit it will be easier if I can just trade you for what I want, but my timetable is flexible.”

  “What are you trying to do, anyway?” Kotler asked. “This technology you’re after—you get that just trying to build it makes you kind of a super villain, right? Mind control is disturbing on every level.”

  “Do you know what it’s like to be powerless, Dr. Kotler?” the voice asked.