Red Tide

by Peg Brantley

  “Sígueme, por favor.” She motioned for him to follow her. “Aquí. Oprimes.”

  Nick pushed the button the maid indicated and watched as the floor fell away. This was significant. They would have found it eventually, but this woman might have just cut hours off of their search.

  “Gracias.”

  He glanced down at the steps winding down to a lower level and listened carefully, then descended the stairs.

  Winding. Sterile. Unlike the rest of the house. Everywhere he looked was stainless steel and white tile. Abutments and corners were curved to minimize any accumulation of human debris. The flooring provided a nonporous solid mass with drains spaced every twelve feet. Efficient. Clean. Glass cabinets held an array of equipment. Three high-powered microscopes stood like sentinels on the pristine countertop. Nick had been in a lot of labs in his time. This one had to be in the top five as far as apparatuses were concerned.

  An enormous tank of water and algae commanded the attention of anyone who entered. A bio-suit hung on the wall next to the glass doors that sealed the tank off from the rest of the room.

  Nick moved closer for a better view. Looks like the vet was right. Even before tests were run, Nick was certain the tank contained deadly saxitoxin.

  He pulled out his cell to call for samples to be taken, but before the connection could be made someone cleared his throat behind him. With the phone in his hand, he couldn’t go for his weapon.

  “Don’t move.”

  Chapter Sixty-Four

  “Hands on your head, slow.”

  Nick did as told, his cell phone still in his right hand.

  “Drop the phone. Clasp your fingers.”

  This guy knows what he’s doing. Nick loosened his grip on his phone and it clattered to the ground. He intertwined his fingers and stood perfectly still.

  “Turn around. Slow.”

  Nick shuffled his feet in a circle and turned. The man was not Blanton. Older. All muscle with intensity.

  “We need to talk, ASAC Grant.” The words were civil, but the gun didn’t waver.

  “Who are you? How do you know my name?”

  “We’re after the same person, Agent.” The man standing in front of him, filled with obvious intent, didn’t give up any more information.

  “How did you get in here?”

  “I was with an international security company for a long time. I’ve kept up with the tools of the trade. It took you long enough to get here.”

  Nick figured that was as good an answer as he was going to get, at least for the moment. “You know I’m FBI. You must also know this entire property is crawling with law enforcement, federal and local.”

  “You’re the only fed on site. But yes, I’m aware you’ve put different pieces of the puzzle together to come to the same conclusion I have.” The man squared his shoulders. “Teague Blanton is a murderer.”

  “He’s more than that.”

  “Speak.”

  Nick looked at the man. Instinct told him he could be trusted. The situation told him different.

  “Two things are making it hard for me to speak.” Nick had the man’s attention. “First, when a gun is pointed at me, it tends to consume my thoughts to the point of distraction.”

  Nick watched as the man lowered the gun to the ground, but he didn’t move his trigger finger. Nothing to lose by waiting him out. Eventually, the man met Nick’s eyes and moved his finger off the firing mechanism.

  “The second thing?”

  “I need to know who I’m talking to.”

  “Before I answer you, can we agree that Teague Blanton needs to be caught?”

  Nick nodded. Who the hell is this guy?

  “Can we agree that he’s the bad guy, and that anyone looking for him must automatically be on the side of good?”

  Nick squinted. “Depends.”

  The man pushed out a deep exhale. “Whatever you’re after him for now, you can add at least one more count. The murder of my wife.”

  Nick relaxed. The man isn’t a killer. “Your wife?” Even though he no longer felt threatened, he also felt the need to keep the guy talking, at least long enough to figure out what came next.

  “Star. My wife’s name was Star. Blanton took her to get back at me. He buried her alive.” The words spread into the air without emotion, sorrow or hatred. The man had lived with those words and emotions for so long, thought about them for so long, that the agony had long since left his consciousness. He was acting out of rote, the kind of thing a soldier does after months in the war zone.

  But it didn’t make sense, considering what they’d uncovered. “Buried her alive? When?” Could this man be connected with one of the bodies we just unearthed? ID was coming together on all of them. Maybe the guy could help them with at least one.

  “Ten years ago.”

  No way. Ten years ago was Bonzer, not Blanton. Any current identification was moot, but Nick suspected there might be more.

  “Why do you think Teague Blanton killed your wife?”

  “Because my security firm had been hired to look into some improprieties for an international bio-tech company almost twelve years ago. We discovered some questionable protocol in our investigation, and it implicated Blanton. Rather than face criminal prosecution, he elected to resign. No one else would touch him. He’d become a pariah in his own profession, and he blamed me. Teague Blanton kidnapped my wife and buried her alive to get back at me, or so it seemed at the time. Apparently, he had some other needs as well.” The man gestured to some devices chained to a nearby wall, a drain in the floor near them.

  Nick wanted to get the techs to that drain right away. But first, he had to deal with this guy. “And so, I go back to my earlier question. Who are you?”

  “My name is Bryce Taylor.”

  Taylor? Crap. This is getting way too complicated. “You’re related to Jamie and Jacqueline Taylor?”

  Bryce nodded. “My daughters.”

  “Do they know you’re here?”

  “I left a message for both of them, but Jamie would be the one to eventually connect everything... and she and I have talked.”

  “Why Jamie?” Nick realized it wasn’t pertinent to the moment, but he couldn’t help himself.

  Nick and Bryce Taylor locked eyes. A weird current of knowledge passed between them, and a kind of vague understanding Nick wasn’t ready to examine too closely. To his surprise, the man had a lot to say on the subject.

  “Jamie is both my dreamer and my investigator. It’s why she’s so good with her dogs, and why she brings closure to so many families. And, by the way, it’s why she also finds so many people lost in the Rocky Mountains on a regular basis. Her sister, Jax, knows how to dig into bodies. She knows the science of death and is one of the smartest MEs working in the country today. Jamie knows how to dig deep into the psyches of both the two-legged and four-legged variety, except she’s not so good with men in the romantic sense.”

  “And you’re here now because...?”

  “I’m here because I finally found the bastard, and I’m ready to kill him.”

  Nick’s cell rang.

  “May I?”

  Bryce Taylor nodded, set the safety and slipped the gun into his waistband.

  “Grant.”

  “Sheriff wants you upstairs. We might have a situation.”

  You don’t know the half of it, Nick thought. “On my way. Send two crime scene techs down here to collect samples. I also need a deputy to search here and the rest of the house for lab notebooks.” Maybe they’d get lucky and discover a clue as to what the ultimate target might be.

  Chapter Sixty-Five

  Nick looked at Bryce Taylor. “Come with me.”

  The two men walked up the winding staircase without talking. A group of three people, two men and a woman, were waiting at the top. Nick noted with satisfaction that they were all booted and capped.

  Sheriff Coble began to talk but stiffened when he saw another man with Nick.

 
“This is Bryce Taylor.” Nick motioned toward Bryce and watched the sheriff’s reaction.

  “I know who he is.” Not exactly cold, but a long way from warm.

  Taylor nodded to the sheriff. “Coble.”

  “Mr. Taylor has apparently been tracking his wife’s killer for—”

  “Ten years. I know.”

  Nick realized the kidnapping and murder of Star Taylor happened on the sheriff’s watch.

  “Turns out Mrs. Taylor’s killer is Teague Blanton.”

  Coble looked at Bryce Taylor. “You sure about that, Taylor?”

  “Dead sure.”

  The sheriff looked at Nick. “A moment, Agent?” Jerry Coble turned and walked away. Nick followed him to the kitchen.

  “We found something,” Coble said when they were out of earshot. He handed a scarf to Nick.

  “So? A scarf.”

  “It belongs to Jamie Taylor.”

  “How do you know?” Nick asked.

  “Well, aside from the fact it’s covered with dogs and has a label attached that says Property of Jamie Taylor, I know it’s hers because I gave it to her at the Secret Santa gift exchange last Christmas.”

  “So?”

  “We can’t reach her. I sent a deputy to check out her house. Her car’s there, but she’s not around and neither are her dogs.”

  “Maybe she’s on a walk?”

  “Could be, but right after Ellen’s murder? I don’t think so.”

  “Maybe she went somewhere with her sister.”

  “Also could be, but we haven’t been able to get hold of Dr. Taylor either. I don’t like it.”

  “Is the deputy still at Jamie’s house?”

  “He is.”

  “Tell him to enter, see if he can find anything.”

  “But—”

  “It’s my ass,” Nick promised.

  Less than ten minutes later, Sheriff Coble approached Nick. “Jamie left a note for Jax. Said she was coming here. Said to not go to bed without them talking.”

  Nick shook his head. Not good. “We’ve gotta get something on this guy. Find out where he might be since he’s not here. Are we into his computer yet?”

  A deputy sitting behind the enormous desk said, “I’m in... but what am I looking for?”

  “A calendar, a journal, a Facebook page—anything.” Nick walked up behind the young woman. “Check for any online banking.”

  The deputy pulled up a credit card statement. There were multiple charges over a two-month period to Elway’s and the Ritz-Carlton in Denver. “Here are records of some recent trades our subject made in the commodities markets.”

  Nick looked at the screen. “Print this out for me now, and then I want a copy of the credit card statement.”

  The sheriff waited for Nick to process the new information. It didn’t take long.

  “We need to get to Denver,” Nick said. “But we need to do it without calling out all the troops. If we move too hard and too fast, we’re likely to set him off, or worse, make him change his target. I’ll contact Homeland Security and let them know we’re moving on this. Sheriff, do you know who to call in Denver?”

  “I’ve met the chief at a couple of conferences. I’ll call him now.”

  “Make sure he understands we don’t yet have a target, but his department needs to be on alert,” Nick said. He turned to the deputy on the computer. “We need more information, and we need it fast. Keep looking. Tear this place up, and contact me the minute you find anything. I’m heading to Denver.” He needed to be in the field, not phoning in from the sidelines.

  Bryce Taylor moved into their tight communication circle. “I’m in, and we need Jamie’s dogs.”

  “This operation—”

  “I’m in, Agent. You’re going to need those dogs, and you and I both know you need me to help handle them. Plus, I’ve been tracking Blanton for ten years. I know how he thinks.”

  Nick nodded and felt his guts twist. “Sheriff Coble, please have someone call the woman who has Jamie’s dogs. Tell her to meet us at Jamie’s house with the two dogs that know how to track.”

  Chapter Sixty-Six

  A tear crawled down Jamie’s cheek and she cursed her body’s betrayal. The coarse rope that bound her raw wrists afforded no give, no hope. Raw fear vibrated in her head.

  Blanton hadn’t blindfolded her, but the gag cut deep into the corners of her mouth. She sucked in some oil-stained air and twisted to look at her sister. Jax was bound in similar style, her eyes wild. Jamie willed her sister to look at her, and in a moment, she did. Jamie forced herself to blink slow and measured. After a few seconds, she was rewarded with two purposeful blinks back. Jax was okay, at least as under control as one could expect given their current situation.

  “I do have plans for you, you know.” The voice was smooth, softer even than when she’d met him at E-lev 2.

  Jamie arched an eyebrow. What the hell?

  “Yes, yes, yes. The plans I have for you are rather new, but I’ve been able to ad lib my entire life, so this is nothing new to me. I had a choice to make. If you were free, you could derail my plans. If I killed you too soon, in the wrong place, there could be some nasty questions. My timing is carefully planned, so if there was even a chance you could achieve freedom, and then be able to convince someone of what most would consider lunatic ranting... well, I couldn’t risk that. My ultimate goal is too powerful, too personal and filled with purpose. I can’t risk discovery until I’m ready.”

  She cocked her head, trying to get him to continue. Go on. Keep talking, you son of a bitch.

  Blanton bent to look closely at her. “I wonder which one of you loves the other one more? Do you know?” If she could, she would have spat on him. “No? I didn’t think so. Maybe we’ll find out. We’ll learn which of you has the highest tolerance for pain. It should be interesting. I’m more interested in your emotional pain though. Is one preferable over the other, especially when someone you love is being tortured?”

  He began to pry open some of the wooden crates. He removed the filler from one, and then pulled out a strange hunk of metal as if it were the Holy Grail. More pieces followed.

  Jamie considered the steel configuration. Clearly, it was something meant to be airborne, a main body with wings extending from either side. But something told her it wasn’t complete. More needed to be added. Blanton looked like he was waiting for something.

  He also looked like a man who needed to talk. Please God, let it happen now. Let him spill his guts. Information was her best and only hope.

  Without any preamble, Blanton approached Jamie.

  Is this it? Am I going to die now? She closed her eyes and waited.

  With a bite, the gag constricting her mouth tugged hard, then fell away. She slid her tongue to explore the corners of her mouth.

  “You know, I really did enjoy our conversations. You’re more intelligent than most of the idiot bitches out there. You think for yourself.”

  “What are you—”

  “Don’t disappoint me, Jamie. You know more than that asinine question begs. Just pay attention.”

  Blanton laid out the pieces of metal with the touch of a lover. After a few minutes, he looked at her.

  “Can you describe for me your feelings about Ellen? And her death?”

  “Death? You bastard! You mean her torture!”

  “If that’s what trips it for you.”

  “Why the hell should I tell you anything?”

  “Because if you don’t, I’ll look elsewhere for information, for interest. You’re physically scarred, but your sister isn’t.”

  Stall. Keep him talking. Learn things.

  “What do you mean, my feelings? Of course I was sad.”

  “Sad? What does sad feel like?”

  “Sad... sad feels like something came along and pinched a little bit of your heart.”

  “That’s all?”

  “When I found out about Ellen, it was like something pinched my heart, ripped a bit off,
and squeezed.”

  “Could you breathe?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “Did you hate her killer?”

  “Not in the first seconds. The first seconds were for Ellen.”

  “And then?”

  “And then I hated him.”

  He began working with the pieces of metal. He assembled the parts, focusing on their precise attachment. When he finished, he set his creation to the side, then stood up and stretched. What looked like a large model airplane sat on the cart.

  “What are you going to do with a model airplane?”

  “It’s a drone.”

  “Okay, fine. What are you going to do with a drone?”

  “Well, to most of the world, I’ll make history. The infamous kind. But to me, for me, the plan is to experience personally the profound emotions of thousands.”

  What? Infamous? Emotions of thousands?

  “Are you making a bomb?” If the people on Flight 93 could sacrifice their lives to prevent a terrorist from taking a plane into a building full of hundreds of people, she could do the same thing here, if she could come up with a plan.

  He shook his head. “Not the kind of bomb you think. With a regular bomb, everything would happen too fast. And with all of the debris, it would be next to impossible to have a visual. I need the visual.”

  Blanton stopped and walked over to the open edge of the incomplete building.

  What’s he watching? The unmistakable sounds of a huge crowd of people drifted up to Jamie. Today’s Sunday. The Broncos are playing at home.

  Chapter Sixty-Seven

  It was up to him—an FBI agent on leave because of an oxy habit—to save two women and who-knew-who-else from a madman. He was flying down I-70 with two canines and an aging security guy with a vendetta who refused to fly as passengers. Sheriff Coble, the third man in the team, would join them in Denver.

  Nick wiped his hands on his jeans, hoping Bryce Taylor didn’t notice.

  “Don’t worry, Son. I’ve dealt with my share of dogs.”