Catalyst

by Steve Winshel

Josh got up, keeping his weight on the good leg. He was getting dizzy from blood loss. “But how’d you…where did you – “ Rigas kicked Murello’s gun far enough away from his body that if he pulled a Fatal Attraction and suddenly sat up he wouldn’t be able to reach it. She put a foot on his back and holstered her gun, then pulled her phone out of its clip on her belt.

  “You didn’t think I was just going to let you run around on your own, did you? I had a tracking device on your car. I woke up when the guy delivered the Wall Street Journal and came looking for you. Saw you were gone and tracked you on this. See? You’re not the only one who knows how to use a little technology.”

  Allison looked confused about last night’s sleeping arrangement and gave Josh a look with a raised eyebrow. But she was more concerned with how pale he was looking. The last thing Josh remembered before passing out was Allison pulling off her belt to wrap around his leg. Rigas caught Josh as he slipped to the ground.

  “Some guy, “ said Rigas.

  “You don’t know the half of it,” said Allison. Josh didn’t get to hear any of this. They hauled him into the back of the beemer and Allison called George using the cell Josh had given her and told him everything was okay.

  Chapter Thirty-six

  Josh had lost a lot of blood. He woke up two days later in the hospital, Allison sitting by the bed reading People magazine. The worst headache Josh ever imagined was screaming in his skull, but he couldn’t have been happier.

  “Hey.”

  Allison looked up from the magazine and gave him a smile. “Did you know Brad Pitt is marrying Angelina Jolie?” He’d missed a lot while out, apparently.

  When they were done reviewing current events, Allison recounted the last half hour at the cabin since Josh was still a little fuzzy headed. Murello was dead. Rigas had done some checking and it looked like he was the one behind all this. No bigger fish to catch. More important, no one left to give orders to threaten them. Josh still wasn’t focused enough to really understand they were out of danger, but he trusted her confidence.

  “The doctor says you can go home tomorrow if you feel okay.”

  “I’m ready now – I just want to get back to my life.”

  Allison smiled. “Another day of rest, then you’ll be ready.” The smile stopped. “You know that things aren’t going to just go back to normal. I don’t know if post traumatic stress disorder applies here, but you’ve been through a hell of a lot. ‘course, now we’re even, since this is what my divorce felt like…” The smile was back.

  “And there’s one other thing. Cardient isn’t too happy that you stole the design. They understand, of course, but…” Josh had expected as much. He wouldn’t be able to work there any longer. Maybe that was okay. Maybe it was time for a change. He felt a shift, but couldn’t exactly put his finger on it. The world was different now. He understood he couldn’t control his life by following the rules, by being a straight arrow. It was confusing. He drifted back to sleep, Allison turning back to her magazine.

  * * *

  Josh had been home for a week and was walking pretty well. He had even been able to lift a little weight in his home gym, though when he tried to get on the bike it popped a suture and started to bleed. Maybe a few days off wouldn’t be so bad. The doorbell rang as he sat in the office; he reached for his cane to go answer it. For the first few days he’d been home, Allison had waited on him hand and foot. But that was long over and no one was running in to ask if he wanted anything to drink or maybe a little sandwich. And no one was racing to get the door so he didn’t have to get up. Before he could get moving though, he heard the front door open and Allison warmly greet someone. They were still a little cautious when anyone came to the house, but that would pass. A minute or so later he heard one set of footsteps coming down the hall to the office. Rigas hit the room at full stride, beer at her lips and another in her other hand for Josh. He took it from across the desk and with her newly freed hand she punched him in the shoulder. This time he was ready for it.

  “Good to see you, Rigas.”

  “Yeah, you too, Barnes. How’s the leg?”

  He started to answer when she interrupted. “Okay, I don’t really wanna hear about it. Let’s talk about something else.” Josh didn’t care – he was glad to see her. In fact, he was kind of surprised how good it was to have her standing there. Not sure what to do with that, he just kept smiling.

  Rigas sat down on the couch and threw something on his desk. A clear plastic case a couple inches wide skittered across the desk and landed in lap. Inside was a very small computer chip.

  Josh held it up. “Where’s this from?”

  She laughed, “Okay, you’re gonna love this. We autopsied Murello and pulled this out of a fake molar. The tooth pulled out easily, so we know it was made to be removed and replaced whenever needed.” She paused for dramatic effect. “We looked into Murello. He had no records, no computers, no phones, nothing. I think he’s been running this thing for years and there’s a lot of money and a lot of scams out there, but there isn’t a scrap of evidence.”

  Josh nodded. “Have your people tried to open this?” She shook her head and gave him one of the Rigas looks he’d gotten accustomed to. “Coroner’s a friend of mine. He’s gonna keep it quiet until I’ve had a chance to check it out.”

  “First female captain in the Valley? Okay, I’ll take a look.” He opened the case and used a pair of tweezers to take out the tiny chip. Rummaging around in a desk drawer, he pulled out a series of flat, ribbon-like cables and two small machines. Connecting the chip to one of the cables and plugging the two devices into his computer, he started typing. The screen filled with a jumble of letters and numbers. He fiddled around for a few minutes while Rigas watched.

  “Okay, it’s encrypted but nothing too spectacular. He must’ve figured no one would ever get this, and if they did he would be dead and it wouldn’t matter. I need a couple of hours.”

  Rigas got up without a word and headed out. Josh figured nothing she did was too unexpected and that she’d be back that afternoon. Two minutes later she plopped back down on the couch, a lemonade in one hand and a bag of pretzels in the other. She wrangled the remote control and flipped on the television. A raised eyebrow in his direction, a “well, get to work” and she turned back to the T.V. He focused on the computer. But not until he sneaked a couple of looks at her. He noticed that the cop outfit she usually wore – slightly tapered pants and an off-the-shelf solid color button down shirt – had subtly morphed. She had on a thin sweater and the pants were well-fitted with some styling in the waist. The shoes looked less workmanlike than the black crepe-soled utilitarian pair she usually wore. Not heels or anything, but a slightly stylish pump. The difference was subtle but the effect much stronger. Josh felt distracted, not just because there was an attractive woman stretched out on his couch, one whom he had kissed about as passionately as he could remember in recent memory, but because he knew this one was smart, tough, confident, and not afraid to speak her mind. He still didn’t know what to do with that thought, since this was Rigas, after all, and he got back to work.

  Three hours, one bathroom break, and two episodes of Star Trek later, he leaned back. He took a couple swallows of warm beer and was ready. “Here, take a look at this.” She was behind him and looking over his shoulder instantly. Despite the excitement of what he had found, Josh caught himself thinking more closely about the couple inches between him and Rigas. He forced himself to focus on what was on the screen.

  “These are names, addresses, and what appear to be company names and their key projects. There’s another list that looks like bank accounts, passwords, and routing numbers. There’s a bunch of other stuff, like copies of product designs from other industries, but only a couple. I just skimmed it, but I’m guessing the details are about the money and the list of names – probably people who worked for him. For an awfully careful guy, he was pretty confident no one would ever get this.”

  Rigas’ eyes were
wide as she read over his shoulder. “He was right – no one was ever going to see this unless he was dead. And there isn’t a single shred of evidence anywhere to tie him to any of this except for what’s right in front of us.”

  Josh made a readable copy of everything and burned it onto a DVD. Disconnecting the chip from the setup, he handed it to Rigas along with the DVD. She was smiling so broadly he thought she was going to strain a muscle.

  “This is gonna tie up the murders we know about, and probably a bunch of others. The white collar stuff will be huge. I’m guessing we’re talking about billions of dollars here. Damn, Barnes, you made my day!” Her excitement was infectious and Josh was glad for her. It meant this was over for him, the danger at least. But what it had done to Josh was more complicated.

  Those thoughts were pushed out of the way when Rigas leaned in and gave him a kiss. Right on the lips and no holding back. It was spur of the moment, and it didn’t have the weight and intensity of the other night, but that only made it all the more exciting. Josh’s smile probably looked more like a teenage grin at that moment. Rigas looked at him from a couple inches away, still beaming with the DVD in her hand. She seemed to suddenly understand the impact of what she had just done, that it wasn’t so casual. She grabbed her purse and headed for the door. Josh understood she had work to do, but also thought there was something more to it. The cop attitude, the protective façade, was about to come slamming down. But she stopped, turned around, and gave him a long look. Josh already knew she could read his mind, had done so half a dozen times in the last week. She did it again this time. The stern look she’d been about to give him faded, replaced by the half-smile, half-smirk he had seen several times also.

  “Yeah, Allison was right. You’re something, all right. Heal your leg and we’ll talk all about it over dinner. You’re cooking.” And she was gone.

  Josh felt a little warmer than he had a moment ago. He planned on exercising the leg immediately and getting it in shape as quickly as possible.

  After dinner that night, just Josh and Allison, he let her do the dishes and went back to the office. He pulled up the emails from earlier that week, the ones from Helen and from Murello. Looking at them, he thought about the conversation he’d had with the CEO at Cardient a couple days earlier. She had been very sympathetic and wanted to know how Josh was and how his sister was. But she pressed him on the details of how he had obtained the Ventrica and made clear this couldn’t be overlooked. She didn’t want to come out and say it, since the story was still in the papers and it wouldn’t look good to fire Josh after all that had happened, but he understood clearly. After his recovery and extended vacation (at their suggestion), he would be resigning from the company. He should have been thinking about a new job, something he hadn’t done in a long time. But he wasn’t. Josh had always known there was a darker side to the world, a side he didn’t have to deal with in his everyday life. That had changed the minute he met Helen.

  Josh re-read the emails and the logs from Helen’s computer and then opened up a new window on his computer. He bounced the IP address through half a dozen servers around the world before entering the particular web site he was after. He set up a new user account, generated a unique and unbreakable encrypted password, then logged in to a second, already existing account. He sat for ten minutes looking at the two open windows on his computer. Only when he felt completely comfortable, no static interfering with his moral compass, did Josh hit the “Transfer” button. He watched as the progress bar, which showed the percentage complete of the transaction, went from 0% to 50%, and in less than a minute reached 100%. It was done. His new off-shore bank account showed $20,000,000 and Helen’s was empty.

  Sitting back, he thought about Helen. And he thought about Rigas. Josh didn’t know if Helen changed him or if she was just a catalyst for something that needed to happen anyway. But things were different now.

  If you liked Catalyst, then you should check out Steve Winshel’s other action-packed novel, Dead East. A brief sample of Dead East follows this page. The full novel, as well as Steve’s other novels—Murder in Mind and A Twisted Path—are available for purchase at all major ebook retailers.

  Please check out Steve’s blog for updates or Like us on facebook!

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  Chapter One

  November 24, 2001

  Kandahar Province, Afghanistan

  Brilliantly white walls surrounded a dozen children playing in the courtyard. Quiet men hand-scrubbed them each evening. Now they reflected the late afternoon sun, echoing the slap of a hard rubber ball each time it banged against a wall and into the hands of a little girl playing in one corner. A puff of dirt swirled and then resettled with each bounce. Two teen boys kicked a worn soccer ball at the other end of the courtyard, navigating between the legs of the swarm of children. Voices called to one another to come play a jumping game, or to wrangle over who would get to eat the first cookie when they went home. The sounds ricocheted off the walls and were like notes from a choir. Beyond the wide north wall was the school building, not much larger than the courtyard. On the other side, the south wall separated the children from the packed dirt road that split Sharzi into two tiny villages. The road ran straight for a hundred yards before resuming its winding path for another quarter mile and then emerging into desert that appeared like a mirage and went to infinity. Looking up into the glare of the sun, one saw the tops of three-story buildings and escarpments made of hand-molded clay and ancient cement.

  Over the cacophony of the youngsters playing and mothers chattering as they entered the courtyard to pick up their charges and walk them home for the afternoon meal, no one heard the rumble of approaching vehicles.

  The lead Humvee came around the bend at the beginning of the stretch of road. The grinding of an engine fighting too much sand and not enough oil caught the attention of a woman in full Burkha about to step into the school entrance. Only her eyes were visible, but they conveyed fear and contempt with clarity. An armored car following a few feet behind the Humvee cleared the curve and both vehicles began to cover the fifty yards of straightaway to the school.

  From an open window above and next to the school a large, rough stone arced over the balcony. It lazily tumbled, seeming to waft like a leaf, picking up speed as it descended to the empty road. The space beneath it filled with the front of the Humvee just as the stone seemed ready to fall harmlessly to the dirt. The loud crack startled the driver as the glass in front of him shattered into a thousand spidery strands. Breaks squealed and metal strained against inertia to bring the driver and soldier next to him slamming forward, the vehicle sharply turning to the right and ramming into a low wall in front of a home on the main street. The armored car cut left to avoid hitting the side of the Humvee, now blocking most of the street. All movement stopped and for several heartbeats, the only sound was of cursing and motors running. The woman entering the school froze; the children and other parents inside the courtyard and those scattered throughout the small structure were still unaware of the tableau just yards from them.

  Jarvis stepped out from the passenger’s side of the armored car, M-16 angled down but balanced in his arm to quickly raise and point in any direction. He moved to the Humvee, using it as a shield while looking inside. He took in the rock, the windshield, and the empty street.

  “Rock from up there.” He spoke to the two men in the Humvee, but loudly enough for the sergeant in the driver’s seat of the armored vehicle behind him and the two soldiers in the back seat to hear. He pointed to the open balcony to his left with the muzzle of his rifle.

  “God dammit!” The Humvee driver pushed open his door and stomped into the center of the road.

  “Stay near your vehicle until we secure the area!” Jarvis barked.

  “Shit, Jarvis, it’s just some god damned kid.” The Humvee driver wore his helmet askew and had a plastic water bottle in one hand. He started around the fr
ont to pull out the rock that was embedded in the windshield.

  “I said get back…” Jarvis’ next words were cut off by a single shot from behind and to his right, the side of the street opposite the school. The bullet tore out the driver’s throat. A geyser of blood shot upward before the dead man could crumple to the ground. His knees hit the dirt the same time a burst of automatic fire began to strafe the Humvee from the same direction as the rifle shot. Jarvis was already rolling on the ground, backwards to the relative safety of the armored vehicle.

  “Down, down, down!” He returned fire in the direction of the burst that was tearing up the side of the Humvee, cutting through the metal doors. Jarvis could hear the dying groans of the soldier on the passenger side. He looked across the street, where the rock had come from, the trigger for the ambush. New gunfire would come from there any second. The enemy did not disappoint. Just as Jarvis rolled under the armored car, half a dozen shots struck the side of the vehicle above him. Unlike the Humvee, they did not penetrate.

  Shouts from inside the armored vehicle. Instructions to one another, and the sergeant’s voice over it all.

  “Jarvis! Get in, get in!”

  Under the armored car, the still-running motor almost drowned out all sound. Jarvis dragged himself in a half-circle against the rough dirt road to look at the spot where the first shots had come, killing the Humvee driver. No one was visible. He spun back to see the other side of the street, banging his helmet against the oil pan on the undercarriage. Sweat poured onto his face. A burst of automatic gunfire from the direction of the school raked the driver’s door just above Jarvis’ head. He ducked and waited for it to stop.

  The Humvee blocked any forward progress for the armored car. They’d have to move it or back away. Neither option was promising. Jarvis heard the door on the other side of the armored vehicle open. Automatic fire spat out, this time coming from one of his guys. Jarvis could see the boots of the soldier. Muddy, torn, brown canvas. Legs of camouflage pants covered in dirt. Their passenger, Brin, had spent three weeks alone, hidden in the desert, half-buried in berms, moving slowly from rock to crevice. Stopping for hours, sometimes for an entire day. Chameleon, patient and inexorable. He’d scouted, alone, gathering information. Sometimes taking a single shot, set up days in advance. Jarvis’ team had picked him up this morning to bring him back to civilization for a couple days.