by B. V. Larson
The trouble was he wasn’t a sub-driver, he was a killer. His technical knowledge wasn’t up to the task of operating a boat like Vepr.
He found a jar of anti-radiation tablets. He chewed them mechanically, disliking the flavor of potassium iodine.
He turned back toward the director, who lay on the deck where he’d left her. Could she operate a drifting, mortally-wounded sub? She’d been down here long enough, so it was possible.
Maybe it was time for her to earn her high pay.
Chapter 8
Santa Cruz County Correctional Facility, California
Evening
Of all the things Dr. Jackie Linscott might have expected to happen to her today, getting arrested and hauled to jail wasn’t one of them. She knew intellectually that the detective was trying to scare her—but she also knew that it was working.
She sat across from Detective Perez with a small metal table between them. Her hands were clasped in front of her. At least they hadn’t handcuffed her, she wasn’t sure she could handle that.
While repetitive questions poured over her like warm goo she told herself over and over again that she didn’t have anything to worry about. She was innocent, and that would come out in the end.
“Let’s go over this again, shall we?” asked Detective Perez. His eyes were pale green, unblinking and thoughtful. “First, you found a package on your doorstep. Then you carried this package to Tom Mackle’s house, and you delivered the bomb personally into his hands.”
“That’s right,” she said as calmly as she could. “But I didn’t know it was a bomb at the time.”
She’d wanted to lie about her part in the bombing, but she’d decided to go with the truth right from the start. The temptation to lie was very strong, but she’d avoided it sternly. If they found out she was lying about having delivered the package, she knew they’d suspect her—even more than they did now—of having built the device.
Also in the back of her mind were Mackle’s security cameras. If his recording system had somehow survived the explosion, or if the video had been stored offsite, she would be implicated. The truth was the best policy—she hoped.
“Right,” Perez said, making a notation in a notebook she couldn’t see. “And this package was strapped up in strong, thick fibers. You didn’t cut them open when you found the package on your own doorstep. Instead, you noticed the box wasn’t addressed to you, so you delivered it to the correct address next door.”
“Yes, that’s what happened. Then the bomb went off before I could get home. I…I guess he must have cut the fibers. Maybe that was the trigger mechanism. I don’t know.”
Another note was made. Perez’s pale green eyes looked up at her. “Who do you think sent this bomb to you?”
“I have no idea.”
“And who did you say the delivery company was?”
“I didn’t. It was one of those private, contracted delivery people. You know, the type who drive a van, carrying around stuff that people order online. I didn’t see the driver’s face. I didn’t see any insignia on the van, either.”
“And the van was…”
“Gray—maybe silver.”
“Make? Model? License plate?”
She shrugged helplessly.
The detective leaned back, placing his pencil on the table and sighing. “You do realize that you’ve described nothing at all? That your details are so vague they’re useless?”
“I can’t help you there. I can only relate the truth. I can only tell you what happened.”
“A gray van? Really? Are you sure it wasn’t a blue van or a yellow one?”
She wondered if he was making fun of her. She flushed and squirmed in her chair. “It was a gray van.”
Jackie was a person who’d never trusted the government. Her father had instilled that in her from a young age, and even though she’d led her life to this point without having had trouble with people like Perez, she found she didn’t trust him now.
Detective Perez stared at her before speaking again. To her, his eyes seemed cold and unsympathetic. “Miss Linscott, you must understand that I’ve had a very trying day.”
“Doctor Linscott,” she corrected him, “and so have I.”
“Of course. Let’s go over this again.”
“I don’t see the point of that,” she snapped. “We’re wasting time. Why haven’t you tried to find the delivery man?”
He nodded thoughtfully. “Because there weren’t any deliveries scheduled for your house or Tom Mackle’s house today. We’ve checked with every possible organization.”
She blinked. “I…”
“No services,” he continued in a slightly louder voice. “No online orders. No deliveries.”
She wanted to lick her lips but managed to stop herself. She didn’t want to show how nervous she was.
“Then the deliveryman wasn’t a deliveryman,” she said. “He was in on it.”
Perez nodded sagely. “An interesting proposal. Let me give you another. You constructed a bomb in your house—or possibly elsewhere. The dogs didn’t find any explosive residue in your residence, but that may change with a second sweep.”
“Dogs? You let dogs into my house? How could you…?”
He tossed a packet of papers onto the desk. “You weren’t home. We executed the court order in your absence.”
She riffled through the papers angrily.
“Why would you be upset?” he asked mildly. “If you’re innocent, you should welcome this opportunity to clear your name.”
“I don’t like people going through my stuff. Some of it is very sensitive.”
“Ah yes, that brings us to your place of work. First of all, I must state my heartfelt condolences concerning your loss today.”
She froze, looking at him blankly. “My what?”
“Your loss. I regret the fate of your colleagues, your coworkers.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He stared at her. “They were bombed as well, Dr. Linscott. Haven’t you heard?”
Jackie’s tongue dried up in her mouth. “Bombed? Blue-Sky Labs was bombed?”
“Yes. There were a number of fatalities, but it could have been much worse. Unfortunately, the building itself was a total loss. An incendiary device did the job. Your place of work has been erased, just like your next-door neighbor.”
“But you can’t think that…” she sputtered. “You can’t think that I did this! I’d have to be crazy.”
Perez shuffled some papers. He didn’t look at her.
“Look,” she said, “I didn’t do anything.”
“You aren’t the first person who ever wanted to blow up their place of work—or a lawyer,” he said. “But you are unusually qualified for the task. You’re a scientist, are you not, Dr. Linscott?”
“Yes. But I don’t go around bombing people!”
“Haven’t you studied chemistry? What are bombs, anyway, other than chemistry?”
She rolled her eyes. “Of course I’ve studied chemistry.”
“Did you ever hear of a man named Ted Kaczynski?”
“The Unabomber? Yes, I’ve heard of him.”
“He was a scientist too, wasn’t he?”
“No, he was a mathematician—and a lunatic.”
“I see. You know more about him than I do. Are you a fan of his work? Maybe he gave you some ideas.”
“Look, Detective Perez…”
“Call me Victor.”
“Detective,” she said firmly, “I’m not going to confess to anything, because I didn’t do anything. If you are charging me with something, I want to see my lawyer. You have to charge me or let me go.”
Detective Victor Perez smiled tightly at her. He tapped a pen on the metal table, making a ticking sound. She stared back defiantly.
“There’s no reason to get upset,” he said. “It’s my job to ferret out the truth. Some say I’m good at it.”
She cocked her head to one side. “You
don’t think I did this, do you?”
“It’s my job to investigate crimes. I’m pondering several disturbing facts.”
“You have to charge me or release me,” she said firmly.
“Do you really want me to draw up charges? Forever afterward, you’ll have to answer ‘yes’ on employment forms when they ask if you’ve had a felony arrest. Conviction or no, this detail will go on your record.”
She felt a little shock go through her. Was this man threatening her? She didn’t like it. She knew she had rights. She knew that she was innocent, even if things looked bad. But she also knew that once a person was behind these walls and the police began doing their work with an idea firmly planted in their minds, justice wasn’t always served.
“What else can I tell you?” she asked. “I’ve given you everything I know.”
“You can start by describing your relationship with your neighbor. Were you on good terms?”
She stared for a second, thinking. She’d hated Mackle. Somehow, she understood that this detective knew that already. He wanted to catch her in a lie.
“No, we were not on good terms,” she said. “We didn’t get along. But today I thought maybe we had a chance to mend fences. That’s partly why I took the package to his door personally and rang the bell. I…I feel awful about what happened.”
Detective Perez looked thoughtful. She believed she might have given him an answer that he hadn’t expected. Perhaps he’d hoped she would lie and say they went caroling together every Christmas.
“When you say you weren’t on good terms, you were referring to this, I assume?” he asked, tossing another packet of papers at her. It was a copy of the lawsuit Mackle had filed against her two years ago.
“That’s right. We had a property dispute.”
“A dispute which you lost?”
“Yes. Listen, detective, I honestly think you’re wasting your time with me. If my place of work was bombed, then the bomber who came to my house today was probably after me, not Mackle.”
“That thought had occurred to me as well.”
“Well then, why are you questioning me instead of finding the real bomber?”
“Firstly, because you might still be that bomber,” Perez said, his tone of voice shifting slightly. “Secondly, because you’re providing me with information right now—whether you know it or not.”
“You’re a real Sherlock, aren’t you?” she asked, glaring.
He chuckled. “All right,” he said. “Let’s put our cards on the table. No, I don’t think you did this. Mackle sued you unfairly, and you paid the bill. Bombers don’t pay bills under duress. Moreover, antisocial behavior of this magnitude should have shown up by now in your history. You don’t even have any parking tickets.”
She stood up. His pale green eyes followed her.
“Then why are you wasting my time? Let me out of here.”
“Very well. But you should be careful. Whoever is doing this has already killed some people at your place of work. They’ve destroyed a lot of equipment, too. You might still be a target.”
A thrill of fear went through her as she realized he was right. She was asking to go home to an empty house at the end of a dark street with no one nearby. She’d smell the stink of her dead neighbor’s burnt out husk of a house all night long.
But there were things she had to get. Her computer for one. All her work from the lab was on it. If they’d suffered a catastrophic loss at the office, the least she could do was offer her backups.
“Could you possibly drive me home?” she asked.
The detective nodded. A few minutes later, they left the facility and drove back to Aptos.
Chapter 9
The Altstadt District, Munich
Midday
Brandt didn’t look nervous, but he was.
All around him, people were smiling. They had no idea what Brandt was going through—how could they?
The sun was bright in a blue sky. Not a cloud hung in sight, and the cobblestoned streets of Munich’s Altstadt—Old Town—looked as if they’d been laid last week rather than centuries ago.
Brandt stood with his daughter in his arms. He was smiling for her, mostly. She was having a rare moment of peace and happiness. The old clock tower known as Glockenspiel was about to perform its midday show, a tourist favorite. Mechanical dancers, including noblemen and fools alike, were about to dance for the onlookers gathered in the square below.
“Daddy? When is it going to start?”
“See the clock? It’s about to hit noon. They’ll start moving just before that.”
“How long do they move? Do they do anything special?”
“You’ll just have to see, Jenna.”
She turned back to the clock, craning her face up toward the pantheon of motionless figures. They were enclosed in a stage of stone and metal which was green with age.
Brandt stopped watching the crowd for a moment to look at his daughter. She was six, and she was all he had left in the world. Her golden curls tickled his chin as he dared to smile down at her.
“Captain?” asked a voice behind him. It was low but unmistakable.
Brandt heard the voice, but he didn’t react immediately—at least not outwardly.
At last, high above the square, the clock’s bells began to chime. The figures moved. Slowly, sedately—but they were moving.
Jenna giggled happily.
“Captain Brandt?” asked the voice again.
They weren’t going to give him a break. They’d spotted him, and there was no way to pretend he was someone else. Gently, Brandt put Jenna down and whispered into her ear. “Go find a nice lady, honey.”
She stiffened and looked up at him in fear. “Are you sure?”
He nodded.
Jenna trotted away, scanning the crowd. She knew the drill. She was to find a woman with a pleasant face and take her hand. Then she was to explain she was lost and that she needed help.
A figure stepped forward. The man was short of stature, but Brandt wasn’t fooled.
“Nice show,” he said. “Took a long time to find you again after you left Bali.”
Brandt didn’t say anything. His eyes were scanning, looking for support people. There were always support people.
When he spotted one, his heart sank. Jenna was talking to her. The telltale earpiece with the wire down the back of the collar—he should have taught her to spot that sort of thing.
“Now, Brandt. Let’s talk about how this is going to go down. You’re going to walk with me. Don’t worry about Jenna, one of our operatives has already picked her up.”
The man kept talking, but Brandt wasn’t listening. He wasn’t going back. He didn’t want that life again for himself, and he would rather die than force Jenna to replace him.
He turned and placed his strong hands on the man’s chest, feeling for the gun under his clothes.
“Get off me, Brandt,” the man said. “That’s an order.”
“I’m not in the service anymore.”
“You can’t quit. Your country needs you.”
“Sorry.”
The smaller man’s hands were up, silently struggling with Brandt. Around them, the crowd seemed oblivious. They were all watching the mechanical men going around their clock, ticking and chiming ancient bells.
Brandt made his move then. Knowing the operative was armed—that had been the first step. Now he felt justified to use force. He had no choice.
A finger snapped like a dry twig. The operative’s face changed to one of shock. His other hand reached for the gun, but Brandt’s grip around his wrist stopped him.
“That was your trigger finger,” Brandt told the operative. “I’m taking your gun, or I’m snapping your thumb next. That’s a discharge waiting for you. Is it worth it?”
The operative’s face was a mask of pain and rage, but he shook his head.
Brandt reached into his jacket and took the Glock-27 he found there. It was the smallest, lightest handgun th
e Austrian company made, perfect for concealment.
Brandt made the gun disappear into his pocket, then turned away. The operative was already speaking into his sleeve and holding his hand in pain.
“Yes, I’ve made contact. I need backup—”
Brandt walked away. He spotted the female operative, the one who had his daughter.
“Come here, Jenna,” he said gently.
The woman had a smile on her face. Her hair was short and tight, a European style. She had a hand on his daughter’s shoulder. When Jenna tried to pull away, the woman’s hand turned into a claw.
Jenna looked up in surprise, but the woman was watching Brandt now.
“This is the wrong place for this, Brandt,” she said with a slight accent. “Come with us, and we’ll talk.”
“You chose this ground, not me.”
Brandt scanned the crowd for the third operative. There were almost always three in a team, sometimes more. He doubted they’d have a sniper. Their mission was to bring him in alive at all costs. He was probably on camera but not in a rifle’s sights.
When Brandt reached the woman, he was surprised to see her pull a gun out. She pressed it into the small of Jenna’s back and stared at him. There was worry and anger in the woman’s eyes.
“I’m taking you two in,” she snarled.
Jenna squealed. For the first time, people around them seemed to take notice of the quiet drama. All eyes had been on the clock tower, but the show was almost over and a few of the more jaded of them were already bored.
“Threatening my daughter is a mistake,” Brandt told the woman.
“No closer,” she said warily. “No one has to get hurt.”
“All right,” Brandt said, but the moment she relaxed a fraction he shot the woman in the heart. He felt he had to. He couldn’t let someone put a gun muzzle against his little girl’s body.
The crowd around them had already been splitting apart, but now they ran, screaming. Brandt stepped forward, ripped off the dead woman’s headset and forced it into his ear even as he took Jenna’s hand and began walking quickly away with her. Jenna was crying, and he was sorry, but he was also determined.