Incriminating Evidence

by Rachel Grant

  “He must have set up cameras in town,” he said to Nicole and Keith. “He had to be working some of these dates and times.” He closed his eyes. This was worse than bad. Isabel had claimed—several times—that in addition to someone shooting off bear bangers on her property, she was being monitored by Raptor personnel. Of course the claim made her look like a nutcase or a liar. This was proof she was neither, and the fact that one of his employees had been stalking the woman who’d been on a crusade to shut down the compound wouldn’t look good, no matter what his relationship with her was now.

  His campaign could well fall apart. He was already slipping in the polls. His opponent had raised questions about his missing hours, and voters were echoing them to the pollsters. Stimson had cast suspicion on the silence from the campaign on the subject, and it didn’t help that Alec was still in Alaska, and not in Maryland working damage control. A full seven percent of the registered voters who’d been firmly in the Ravissant camp had moved to the undecided column.

  Alec had no illusions they’d maintain the fiction that he’d hit a moose and wandered the woods until Isabel found him—for starters, that would mean letting the bastards who’d abducted him get away with their crime—and when the truth came out, voters would have even more doubts. If his employees were behind the abduction, there would undoubtedly be whispers of cover-ups and Alec’s involvement in dirty deals.

  Prior to seeking out Isabel in the firing range, he’d been on the phone with his campaign manager, who had not so subtly hinted that the only certain way to salvage the mess was if the FBI charged Isabel with his abduction. Carey asserted a crackpot with a baseless vendetta would be far easier for voters to accept and move on from than anything involving Raptor.

  Alec had made it clear to Carey that any attempt to characterize Isabel as a crackpot wouldn’t be tolerated. He’d rather lose than allow anyone associated with him to smear her.

  Aside from finding the idea of pinning everything on Isabel abhorrent, it was now clear she’d been right about her stalker. She’d been right about so many things.

  Had Chase stalked her because he was obsessed with her? Or did his reasons have to do with Raptor and infrasound?

  A team of operatives had entered the basement from the south stairwell and searched for Chase’s assailant—assuming he’d been zapped with infrasound—even as Isabel and Ethan performed CPR. But they’d found no one in the shadows of the vast basement. Security was going through all the basement camera footage, including the stairs and elevators in hopes of identifying a suspect, but any number of employees could have a legitimate reason to enter the basement, and Alec was certain the assault on Chase had been an inside job.

  The deeper they looked, the more tangled the situation became. All he knew as he stared at the journal was that he was glad Isabel was safe in his quarters, because if she saw this proof Johnston had her under surveillance, she would rightly freak out.

  Would she regret administering CPR to her stalker? He doubted it. After all, she’d saved Alec’s ass, taking good care of him even after she knew exactly who he was.

  Chapter Twenty

  Isabel stared at the screen of Alec’s laptop, methodically picking through the results of Internet searches on infrasound and cardiac death. She rubbed her eyes and stretched her neck. Information on infrasound remained scant, and she’d learned the odds weren’t in Chase’s favor.

  A knock on the door startled her. She heard Nicole shout, “It’s Nic. I bring food and files.”

  Isabel slid back the dead bolt Alec had installed while they were hiking yesterday. The bolt couldn’t be unlocked from the outside, ensuring she’d feel safe in his suite. It was strangely comforting to have a simple, mechanical lock in a building in which everything was controlled by electronic key codes. If the power went out, and the backup generator failed, this door would remain locked.

  She swung open the door to see Nicole holding a plastic file box. Behind her stood Hans, carrying a cafeteria tray laden with food and a basket with an assortment of drinks and the necessary accoutrements. Nicole breezed past Isabel and set the file box next to the computer desk in the corner.

  Hans followed her in and set the tray the table. “Do you need anything else?”

  “No. Thanks, Hans. Call when the FBI is ready for Isabel, and I’ll escort her to the conference room.”

  He nodded and left.

  Isabel eyed the food, realizing she was hungry. The events of the last two days had suppressed her appetite, but the smell of steak revived it. “Aren’t you a little high up in the hierarchy to be saddled with babysitting duty?” she asked.

  Nicole grinned and started dealing plates and silverware. “Yes, but it’s been a craptastic few days, and I wanted an hour off so I can vent about my new boss, so I volunteered.”

  Isabel smiled and dropped into a seat at the table, snitching a slice of garlic bread from the basket as she did so. It had been a few weeks since she and Nicole had hung out and she’d missed her. “You don’t like Keith Hatcher?”

  “Hatcher is fine. He might even be easier to work for than Rav. He seems open to some of my ideas that Rav has repeatedly shot down. I’m just annoyed that I have a new boss. I wanted the job.”

  Nicole had made no secret of her wish to take over as Raptor CEO if Alec won the election, but she’d also admitted it was a long shot given the difficulty she was having retaining employees at the compound.

  “I heard Godfrey quit on Thursday,” Isabel said, then licked garlic butter from her fingers.

  Nicole made a low growling sound in the back of her throat. “I begged Godfrey to stay. Quitting without notice when the CEO was about to arrive was shitty as hell. I can’t blame him for my not getting the promotion, though. Hatcher, apparently, was hired weeks ago, right after he passed the background check.” She pulled a bottle of cabernet sauvignon from the basket along with two glasses. “But I can get my petty revenge against the company by drinking one of the best wines from the cellar.”

  “The compound has a wine cellar?” Isabel asked incredulously.

  “It was Beck’s.” She waved an arm around the overdecorated room. “I think Beck intended to move here permanently, maybe right before he’d planned to set off an epidemic in the lower forty-eight, making Alaska a safe haven. The CEO suites at all the other compounds aren’t nearly this gaudy, and Hawaii doesn’t have a wine cellar or tennis courts. Beck’s passions were wine and tennis.” She twisted the corkscrew into the top of the bottle. “My revenge is feeble, though, since Rav instructed me to pick out a good bottle to go with our dinner.” She gave Isabel a knowing smile. “It appears he’s wining and dining you even when he’s not here.”

  “More like he’s placating you.”

  “That too. Rav is nothing if not a brilliant strategist.” She pulled out the cork. “And, sadly, I can only have one glass. With everything that’s going on, more would be foolish.”

  “Just one for me too. I’ve got to talk to the FBI.” Isabel loaded her baked potato with butter, cheese, and sour cream, but her attention was on something else Nicole had said about Robert Beck. “What do you mean ‘start an epidemic’?”

  “I only know what came out in the pretrial filings. Beck hemorrhaged money building this place—the Alaska compound ended up costing three times the estimates. He was at risk of defaulting on far too many loans, and his scheme to turn things around was to freak out the American people by committing terrorist acts that would scare the government into contracting more security work to him. There was a bill in Congress at the time that would have designated private security firms as first responders. There was some speculation that biological agents and an epidemic were involved, but none of that was presented as evidence in the filings.”

  Isabel knew most of that but hadn’t heard the part about biological agents, but then, that had probably been kept out of the media, for good reason. “Do you think Beck was experimenting? With infrasound, among other things?”


  “It’s possible. With Beck, it’s hard to rule anything out. But I’ve searched this place top to bottom. Hell, I’ve even paced and measured. While it’s a crazy maze, there are no unaccounted-for spaces. No hidden chambers or laboratories. I always heard that if there was a lab, it was in the Virginia compound.”

  Isabel sliced a bite of steak—medium rare, just the way she liked it—and chewed the perfect cut slowly while considering the pieces of the elaborate puzzle. It was easy to imagine Beck had been experimenting with infrasound if he’d been dabbling in biological agents. Anyone working on that research for him would have been more than eager to cover it up to save themselves from jail. Then, six months or a year after Beck plea-bargained for a life sentence to avoid the death penalty for a vast array of crimes that included murder-for-hire and treason, whoever had been experimenting with infrasound could have resumed their research.

  She nodded to the file box as she cut another bite. “What’s in the box?”

  “Everything we have on the search for Vin and the investigation into his death.”

  That fast, Isabel’s eyes teared. “Everything?”

  Nicole squeezed her hand. “Yes. Everything. Rav gave me permission to give it to you.”

  It wasn’t wine, food, or a trip to Paris, and it proved Alec was, indeed, a brilliant strategist.

  Isabel met with the two FBI agents in a small conference room on the third floor. She told them everything, starting with Vin’s first email about passing out while hiking on Raptor land and ending with performing CPR on Chase Johnston. In between, she confessed to encroaching on Raptor property to find the lynx cave, her fears of being stalked by Raptor operatives, and her vague memories of being hit with infrasound and Airwave in her cabin.

  In short, she finally got the FBI to listen to her, after ten months of begging them to investigate her brother’s death, only to sound utterly paranoid and insane with the bizarre list of events that had occurred since finding Alec in the woods on Thursday afternoon.

  She could only hope that Alec’s version of events matched hers.

  For their part, the agents—a white man named Upton, and an African American woman named Crews—kept their faces blank, never once indicating whether or not they thought she was nuts.

  Interview complete, she shook hands with both agents and stepped into the hall. No one waited to escort her back to Alec’s suite, but then, they hadn’t known how long the interview would take, and everyone here was busy prepping for the training.

  She went to the elevator and hit the down button. As she waited, she realized this was the same bank of elevators that went to the basement where she’d encountered Chase. The medical clinic was just down the hall, but Chase wasn’t there. He’d been airlifted to Fairbanks within thirty minutes of his collapse.

  Odds of surviving cardiac arrest outside a hospital were slim, but she’d started CPR immediately, and a doctor had arrived with a defibrillator within minutes. Plus, he was young, and cardiac arrest had likely been caused by infrasound or something like it.

  Restarting his heart and getting it to stay beating was the first hurdle, which had been cleared. The second hurdle—getting to the hospital—had also been cleared. He had a chance, better than most.

  She needed to ask him what the hell he’d meant by, “I’m sorry, boss! I can’t do it. I won’t!”

  Do what? And who did he mean when he said “boss”?

  Alec? Nicole? Or someone else?

  The basement had been searched, and Keith and Alec had identified the spot where they suspected Chase’s assailant had stood. In all probability, the acoustic weapon hadn’t affected Isabel because a section of wall had blocked her from the weapon’s line of sight, and only a direct hit by the sound wave was harmful.

  The elevator door opened, and she stepped inside and pressed the button for the ground floor, where Alec’s suite was located.

  But the elevator skipped the ground floor and went straight to the basement. The doors opened.

  A shiver of fear swept through her.

  She was certain she hadn’t hit the wrong button.

  She told herself the prickles of fright were due to the basement being built into permafrost and a few hours ago she’d helped bring a man back from the dead just three feet away.

  She hit the button for the ground floor again, but nothing happened. She jabbed at it three times before giving up. With a sigh, she stepped from the elevator. She’d seen a stairway sign on the third-floor corridor. It couldn’t be far.

  Unfortunately, the basement layout didn’t match the upper floors, but she guessed she’d find the staircase to the left about fifty feet. She glanced that way, but the lit corridor faded into a dark, distant void. No convenient exit sign.

  She headed that direction anyway. There had to be a sign; a short section of wall was probably blocking it from view.

  Tinny musical notes—sounding just like her mother’s old record player—carried from the void.

  The notes took shape into a familiar tune. Shock jolted through her. The music was the opening notes to “I Am The Very Model Of A Modern Major-General”—the song she’d been singing in the forest right before she found Alec. Her heart hammered as terror rooted her to the spot.

  Lights came on in a row—as if the motion sensors had been triggered—and in the distance, she saw a man. Or at least she thought it was a man. A black mask covered his face, and something—like a gas mask?—covered his nose and mouth.

  Nausea hit, breaking her fear-induced paralysis. Pain exploded along her occipital nerve. She turned and launched herself toward the elevator but feared her gait was more stagger than run. Behind her, she heard footsteps. The pain in her head ratcheted higher.

  The elevator door remained open, and she pitched herself inside. As if drunk, she slapped a hand against the panel of buttons, praying she’d hit one that would close the door and this time the elevator would work.

  She tucked herself to the side to get out of the sound wave’s path and braced both hands flat against the wall. She focused on the panel, trying to decipher the blurred controls. She remembered reading that the fluid in the eyes expanded and vibrated with the high frequency, causing pain and interrupting vision. She couldn’t read but saw something red on the panel. Emergency call button? She slapped it.

  An alarm sounded.

  The rapid lyrics from “Modern Major-General” pummeled her, causing a spike in pressure on her brain with every note.

  She was trapped in a house of horrors.

  She covered her ears and screamed as the world faded to nothing around her.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Alec paused in the stairwell and listened at the door. Every cell in his body wanted to burst into the corridor, but he couldn’t be stupid about this. He had no idea what was on the other side of that door. The sound of Isabel’s scream through the elevator emergency intercom still rang in his ears.

  He nodded to Keith, who flanked the door to the right, and they both pointed their pistols at the ceiling in a ready position. Alec kicked open the door.

  In smooth choreography, they slipped through the opening, Alec first, Keith at his back. Just like they’d done in Yemen a lifetime ago.

  Also like Yemen, the basement appeared empty of Tangos.

  This section of basement was dark—too dark—and he glanced up at the lights. Both the corridor lights and the exit sign were out.

  The elevator alarm continued to wail. Isabel lay slumped in the opening, one leg protruding, preventing the door from closing. Only years of training stopped him from diving to her side. He had to ensure the area was clear first.

  Keith checked the corridor while Alec cleared the elevators. Empty. He dropped to Isabel’s side. Her chest rose in a regular cadence. She was breathing.

  Thank God.

  “Isabel?” he said, gently tapping her cheek. He ran his hands down her body, searching for wounds, knowing he wouldn’t find any. This had all the earmarks of infrasound,
which meant she’d likely come to but would feel sick and disoriented. Would she remember what happened?

  The alarm shut off abruptly. Alec looked up to see Keith at the controls, resetting the system. “Thanks.”

  Isabel groaned and rolled to her side. A good sign.

  “Let’s get her to the clinic,” Keith said.

  Alec scooped her up and stood. She lay slack in his arms as the doors slid closed.

  Keith used the intercom to instruct security to send in the team waiting to search the basement. This search would likely be as fruitless as the last, and the person who’d assaulted Isabel could well be on the team, but they had to try.

  Alec shifted her weight, cradling her against him. Her eyes fluttered open. She whimpered and tucked her head into his chest. “The light hurts,” she muttered.

  “Do you remember what happened?” he asked.

  She nodded into his shirt and whispered something.

  “What is it, honey?”

  “Take me out of here.” Her words were faint, a dry rasp.

  “I’m taking you to Dr. Larson.”

  “No. I can’t stay in the compound.” Her voice rose, gaining strength. “They attacked my cabin so you’d bring me here. They want me here. I need to leave.”

  Alec wanted to deny her point, but she could be right. Why had they attacked her cabin? To steal her laptop? That made no sense. The information on her computer—evidence she’d been sneaking onto Raptor land for months—was moot now. Harmless, given that Alec couldn’t press charges for the restraining order violation even if he wanted to. And he didn’t want to.

  “You need to see Doc Larson,” he said.

  “We can’t trust him. We can’t trust anyone. I’ll be fine. I just need to sleep. Then I’ll feel better.”

  “My quarters,” Alec said to Keith. “Ground floor.”

  “No. Alec. I have to leave.”

  “I trust Keith and Ethan, but I can’t spare them to guard you outside the compound. I have soldiers arriving in a few days. We need to be ready. You aren’t safe alone in your cabin.”