But as he stood in the back hallway, giving the crowd a moment to stew in their own indignation of rights stolen and responsibilities surrendered, he realized this meeting violated all his preconceptions. The din from beyond the curtain was deafening, the calls for reform fervent. He peeked through the cloth, finding a scene that was simultaneously humbling and chilling. At this moment, the mob could do anything. The story of Sister Constance and the Crusaders was working out better than he had ever imagined.
Tuesday, May 7
11:14 AM – The Biomedical Engineering Associates Building
Nicole Veles stared at the open journal in front of her, not sure who she was trying to fool. She hadn’t read a word of it in the last 30 minutes. She was too nervous. But it made little difference she wasn’t reading; she had studied this particular paper so many times, she had it memorized. Her gaze drifted to a book lying face down at her elbow. A woman’s piercing, dark brown eyes looked back at her from behind wire-rimmed glasses. Her lightly tanned face was framed by short, black hair with just the first touches of gray. In this picture, a slight smile played at the corners of the woman’s mouth, like she knew something Nicole didn’t. Of course, of that fact, Nicole was certain.
The woman on the cover was Nicole’s next client, a medical researcher who stood on the cusp of greatness. She had turned her back on a life of wealth and privilege to study and treat the maladies that accompanied premature birth, working in some of the world’s most beautiful and exotic locations. She had also toiled in some of its harshest and most unforgiving.
Nicole picked up the book and placed it on the shelf above her desk. Although she admired the woman greatly, it was best not to come across as a starry-eyed schoolgirl, even if that bore some resemblance to how she was feeling. And in fact, “schoolgirl” would have been appropriate only a couple of years ago, but not now. Now, she was a biomedical engineer with all the responsibilities the title implied.
The sound of footfalls reached Nicole—a man and a woman by their gait. Then, she heard the light tenor that could only be her supervisor’s voice. It was time. She stood, rubbing her hands over the knees of her pants as she did, not sure if her palms were actually sweaty or if it had been an unconscious reaction. Her boss and the woman entered. He had a sheaf of papers in his hand. She was carrying a large, well-worn, leather briefcase.
“I’d like to introduce Ms. Nicole Veles, one of our up-and-coming biomedical engineers,” her boss said to the woman. “And Nicole, this is—”
“I know,” said Nicole, before thinking about the fact she was interrupting the man who evaluated her job performance. “Dr. Laura Greenwood, renowned cellular biologist. It’s a great honor to meet you.”
Greenwood’s eyes twinkled as a soft laugh escaped her lips. “You have the occupation correct, but renown? I’m not so sure about that. It’s nice to meet you, Ms. Veles.” The women shook hands.
Nicole thought about telling her why, in her estimation, the adjective fit perfectly, but that would only increase the gap between them. Instead, she said, “Please, call me Nicole.” Easy familiarity among collaborators was the better stance.
“I’d be pleased to, if you’ll call me Laura.”
Nicole nodded, warming in the woman’s smile and easy manner.
As her boss spoke, covering the final details on building hours, parking, and the like, Nicole had a chance to observe Greenwood. The eyes that were piercing on a book cover now radiated intelligence and confidence. She had a presence as if anything she sought was now within their collective reach. She was also tall—probably a half-foot or more over Nicole’s five-foot, six-inch frame—and broad. She wasn’t obese; she was just … big.
Her supervisor paused in his welcoming spiel, checking the papers he carried. Nicole’s eyes were naturally drawn to the shuffling pages, but after a moment, she glanced back at Greenwood, finding the biologist studying her surroundings. Her surveillance, however, appeared anything but casual. There was an intensity in the woman’s stare as if she was cataloging every item in sight for its worth to her research. But the look vanished when her boss spoke, making Nicole wonder if she had imagined it.
“Nicole, I have A27 reserved for the two of you.” Then, turning to Greenwood, he added, “It’s just a small office, but it’ll give you two some privacy for discussing the specifications. Nicole said it best when she said it’s an honor for us to be working with you. I’ll leave you two to get acquainted.” He shook Greenwood’s hand, nodded at Nicole, and left.
“So, shall we check out our new home for the next few days?” asked Nicole.
“Absolutely,” replied Greenwood. “Lead the way.” Nicole scooped up her laptop and the women left.
“I was surprised and, frankly, thrilled to hear I’d be working with a female biomedical engineer,” Greenwood said, glancing sideways as they walked down the hall. “I’d have to check the numbers to be sure, but women in your field may be even rarer than female cellular biologists.”
Nicole laughed softly, saying, “Maybe so.”
“Something funny in that?” Greenwood asked.
Nicole felt her face warm, now realizing her amusement must have been louder than she thought. “It’s just that … well, that comment sounds like something my fiancé would say. He’s always checking the statistics.”
“You’re getting married? Congratulations. Set a date yet?”
“Not yet. We just got engaged less than three weeks ago. Told our parents this weekend.”
“That’s wonderful. How’d you meet?”
“At his work, actually. I was there on loan—just for a day—but within 15 minutes, I knew I was interested. He, on the other hand, hardly noticed me. But when I was summarizing my thoughts on the project at the end of the day, it was like he saw me for the first time. Maybe it’s my imagination, but he started rummaging around on his desk and I could swear, he was looking for my resume.”
“And the rest is history, as they say?”
Nicole hid a laugh behind a hand. “Well, sort of. It took a second project, and then we ended up apart for a couple of months when he was on a work assignment. But yeah, after that, it all clicked. He’s the sweetest guy with this quiet, intense curiosity. It encompasses about everything … including me and what I do. Makes me feel like we’re partners both emotionally and intellectually.” She paused, feeling her face screw up in a wince. “Oh, god, did I just say that out loud?”
“Why? Isn’t it true?” asked Greenwood.
“It is, absolutely. But that was the same phrase I used when I described him to my sister and she broke out laughing.”
“Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me. So, he’s a biomedical engineer, too?”
“Oh, no. He’s a cognitive psychologist, at Ruger-Phillips. In broad terms, he studies learning, memory, and training technologies.” Greenwood stopped, Nicole continuing another two steps before she realized she had left her companion behind. She turned back to look at Greenwood.
“Really?” said the woman, her eyes widening. “A cognitive psychologist and a biomedical engineer? That must make for some interesting talks around the dinner table.”
Nicole didn’t try to contain her amusement this time. “I’m not sure that’s the most common reaction. Even my family’s eyes glaze over whenever either one of us starts talking about work. They just wave a hand, then ask about the weather in St. Louis. So, interesting table talk? Can’t say I’ve heard that comment often.”
“Well, that’s your family’s loss, in my opinion,” she replied, as the two women started down the hall again. “It’s not so much the nuts and bolts of either of your jobs, but the promise of the combination of them. He knows where skills get stored in the brain and how. You develop the mechanism to implant them there. Voila. Instant aircraft pilot or brain surgeon from the team of Veles and …. I don’t think you mentioned his name.”
“Sam. Dr. Sam Price.”
“Instant skill from the team of Veles and Price. And
by the way, don’t let him have top billing when you reach that pinnacle.” She grinned and Nicole returned the expression.
Greenwood rubbed her chin with a hand. “I only know Ruger-Phillips by reputation and theirs is a good one. How’s he getting along there?”
“Great,” replied Nicole. “He likes the work, and they keep him really busy—research, proposals to customers, conference papers, that kind of thing.”
“Conferences?” she said, raising an eyebrow. “He likes giving papers?”
“Likes might be too strong of a word, but I understand he’s pretty good at it,” Nicole said. “Sometimes I worry …. Sorry, I’m getting way off topic—again.”
“That’s OK. We’re just walking. What were you going to say?”
Nicole paused to choose her words, knowing she was biased when it came to Sam. “He’s fairly quiet. But when he talks, he can make the complex sound simple. And if you ask a question, he’ll ramp up the technical until you’re satisfied. It’s a style his company values, which is what bothers me. I’m a little worried they might want to keep him on the road all the time, giving talks, meeting with potential customers, things like that. I’ve met a couple of people there who do that, and it doesn’t seem like much of a life.”
Nicole stopped almost mid-stride. “I’m sorry. I just criticized how you’ve lived much of your life.”
“No need to apologize, Nicole, because you’re right.” The women started down the hall again. “A business life on the road is almost no life at all. But when you’re just starting out and trying to make a reputation without aligning yourself with a company like Ruger-Phillips, there’s no alternative. Fortunately, now I have the credentials to do almost everything online or with email. Funding and regulatory agencies don’t need to shake my hand anymore.”
“Sounds like you’re in a good place in your career,” replied Nicole.
“I am,” said Greenwood brightly. “But I do have one disappointment in how things are going here.”
Nicole was fairly sure Greenwood was joking, but apparently, she wasn’t certain enough to keep the worried look from her face. Greenwood smiled, put a hand on her shoulder, and squeezed softly. “I’m worried I won’t get to see Dr. Price give one of these famous explanations of his.”
Nicole chuckled, mostly from the teasing but a bit from relief. She also wondered if her client’s joke had been a hint. “Would you be interested in getting together, the three of us, maybe for lunch or dinner?”
“If it’s not too much trouble, dinner would be great.”
Nicole ran through the logistics in her mind. They’d be finishing up their work on Friday. But since Greenwood would have about a 70-mile drive home, she wouldn’t want to delay her departure.
“How about Thursday night? I’ll have to check with Sam to be sure, but I know he’s free.”
“Wednesday?” Greenwood asked, raising her eyebrows. “I have another commitment on Thursday.”
“Same caveat, but I’m sure Wednesday will be OK, too. Any idea where you’d like to go?”
Nicole glanced at her companion who was grimacing in an overly dramatic way. “After this chat, you’re probably going to find your boss and ask for a less whiny customer. But to be truthful, I’m pretty sick of eating at restaurants. It’s gotten so bad that I look for hotels with mini-fridges so I can make sandwiches in my room.”
“Ouch,” Nicole replied. “Dining on bologna sandwiches sitting on your hotel bed? You’re destroying my fantasies about being a world-class, medical researcher. But I can cook … well, at least a little.”
“Thank you, thank you. Make it something simple. Something you and Sam would eat if I wasn’t there. And I’ll bring the wine. Any thoughts as to the menu so I know what to get? Or am I rushing things?”
Well, there goes Mexican food. At least, Nicole didn’t think wine and tacos went together. That left a half-dozen other dishes she could manage with lasagna topping the list. “Italian?”
“Perfect,” said Greenwood. “And I promise, no more favors not related to work for the rest of the project. Cross my heart.”
The women arrived at the room they’d been assigned, Nicole announcing the fact by saying, “Here we are.” She opened the door, and the two walked in.
“Everything I’ll need,” said Greenwood after looking around for a moment. “I know it’s a bit early, but I got up at the crack of dawn to drive in. Breakfast was a long time ago. Lunch? Or should I go alone and let you find your boss to file that complaint?”
Nicole smiled. “There’ll be no complaints from me. Lunch it is. You can leave your briefcase here. I’ll lock the door.”
“Great,” said Greenwood. “We can take my rental car. All right if we run by your place while we’re out? That way, I won’t be more than fashionably late on Wednesday.”
“Absolutely,” replied Nicole, thinking she might end up with a friend as well as a client from this job.
12:32 PM – The St. Louis FBI Field Office
Special Agent Rebecca Marte focused on the sound of her footfalls on the sidewalk, pushing thoughts of Sister Constance and the Crusaders for Common Sense from her mind. That there was a case-breaking clue hiding somewhere in the evidence was unlikely, but like many, she had found that insights often came when her mind was elsewhere. So far, it hadn’t wandered. The lunch that was to free her thoughts had been spent reflecting on Constance’s last known movements: the place she had hidden on the university campus, the wall she had scaled, the halls she had trod, the man she had killed. Rebecca hardly tasted the sandwich that had disappeared from her plate.
She slowed her pace back to the FBI field office and let her gaze wander over the roads and buildings, cars and signs in the area. The Drury Inn had trimmed their lawn, that fact revealed by the telltale, green clippings against the light gray of the sidewalk and the scent of freshly cut grass. It seemed early to be mowing, but the appearance of an adjoining lot changed Rebecca’s mind. It had a ragged look, as thick clumps of grass blessed with a little extra nourishment were scattered across an area slowly making the transition from brown to green. The sun fell on her back, the warmth of its rays penetrating the dark blue blazer and white shirt she wore. Some of the tension in her neck and shoulders dissolved. She ran a hand through her short, blond hair and took a deep breath, recording the details of the day in her memory. She did so lest the next time she noticed the world, it was due to the onslaught from heat and humidity in the middle of July.
A man in shirtsleeves approached on the sidewalk, no doubt enjoying the mild spring day as well. Although Rebecca couldn’t see it, he was apparently wearing a headset; either that, or he was laughing at the jokes of an imaginary friend. He looked mid to late twenties. He was an inch or two taller than her five feet, eleven inches, with brown hair and a light complexion. There was certainly nothing objectionable in his appearance, although Rebecca had stopped thinking of men as “attractive” based solely on looks. What men were beneath the shell was so much more important, a fact she had discovered in high school, relearned at college, and had reinforced nearly every day on the job.
Rebecca watched the man approach, and from a distance, he returned her gaze. Her interest was piqued. After a moment, she heard, “OK, talk to you later.” The call was over, and he wasn’t starting another. She stopped, now adjacent to the employee entrance to her building, waiting for the man to pass. And if he was the quiet type? Rebecca decided on, ‘Nice day, isn’t it?’ It was casual but nearly demanded a reply, and then, she’d see what happened.
But as the gap closed, the man glanced at the FBI building, then her. His eyes narrowed. He stepped from the sidewalk and started angling across the street. She’d seen guys flee before, but it usually came after she mentioned her career. But loitering in front of her place of employment apparently had the same effect.
“You know, there are laws against jaywalking,” she called out. He glanced back, his frown deepening. He hurried on without a word. She knew she
shouldn’t hassle him, but her flicker of interest had become annoyance. He had it coming.
Rebecca entered the building and climbed the stairs to the Criminal, Cyber, Response, and Services Branch on the second floor. She wound the way to her small, interior cubicle and dropped into the chair behind her desk. Now in her work environment, her mental gears shifted. Gone were the thoughts of spring and the chance of finding a friend who was neither in law enforcement nor wary of it. But also missing was any insight about Sister Constance. Perhaps it would come in her dreams … that is, if she ever got more than three hours of sleep at a time.
She started her computer, brought up a video file, and then fast-forwarded to the part she wanted to see. She had watched this section of the clip at least a half-dozen times, and she still found it difficult to believe. But as she positioned the mouse over the command that would show it a seventh time, a voice came from the opening to her cube.
“We’re gonna be in bigger digs real soon.”
“And when that happens, the Crusader case won’t be mine,” Rebecca said, turning to face Clements. “All over the news?”
“Yeah, still the lead at noon. And the trailers for the evening news. The two failed attempts barely caught anyone’s attention but with blood in the water ….” Clements didn’t finish; he didn’t need to. Rebecca knew the phrase “serial hate killer” and “domestic terrorism” would be on everyone’s lips, even if technically, serial didn’t fit yet. But there was no denying that the Sister’s messages reflected that intent.
“Here, watch this,” said Rebecca. Clements moved to look over her shoulder.
Clements snorted. “Watch what? Can’t you lighten the picture?”
“It just grays out and gets fuzzy if you do,” Rebecca replied, looking back at her mentor. “She’s in the shadow of a building. You’ll see her when she moves.”
Clements leaned forward, squinting at the screen. Rebecca turned back to the monitor just as Constance started moving. At first, she was little more than a somewhat darker spot moving across a wall that was uniformly black. But as the spot neared a passageway between two buildings, the feeble rays from a roof-mounted light revealed a dark, human form. The figure paused.
Mind in Chains Page 5