The Scarab

by Rhine, Scott

  ****

  I still couldn’t reach anyone on the cellular phone on my way down to the lobby, but the concierge solved my cash flow problems when he told me I could charge jewelry from any of the convention center gift shops to my hotel bill. I agonized over ring choices until the noon hour passed me by. Frantically, I had them box up the engagement ring, put it in my shirt pocket, and I rushed to the pizza joint across the street, late. The noon hour break had already begun.

  A congregation of TV trucks in addition to the normal sports coverage clustered in the hotel alley. I grabbed the only pizza they had, green pepper and God knows what, and jogged back over to the hotel. On the way, I asked one of the camera operators who was packing up his gear, “What’s the hoohah?”

  “Suicide,” he said in a bored tone. “We thought it would be a live jumper, some failed pilot. But the fruitcake took off a couple hours ago. The police and hotel security had the stiff chalked off and the case closed before we even got here.”

  I felt an ice ball in the pit of my stomach. “Who?”

  “Huh? The jumper? Dunno. The hotel says he checked in under a fake name.”

  “Playfair,” I said with an eerie certainty. Someone had been listening in on his phone calls to Maryland. If the black hats had his phone tapped, they also had access to his answering machine. Mary Ann was in danger.

  “Yeah... Hey, mister, you dropped your pizza box.”

  I knocked two guys over on the way back to the elevator, and called Mare three times on the way up to the room. Again, with an irritating familiarity, I got no answer. Once the elevator finally got to our floor, I burst into an empty room.

  The place had been ransacked. Our suitcases had been rummaged through, the cushions ripped up, and even the potted plant had spilled three gallons of dirt over the white carpet. The contents of Mary Ann’s purse were scattered over one side of the sofa. The gun was gone, but the badge, cuffs, money, and credit cards were still there.

  The money shot any burglar theory.

  Not taking the purse said she didn’t plan to go far. Either she left against her will, or she went somewhere in the hotel, and the person searching the room took the note to keep me from finding her. According to the terminal, she had logged off from the morning session precisely at noon at the Swiss/Liechtenstein border, and then disappeared. The cryptographic key was still in place and the clock read 12:20.

  The lack of blood said that the black hats only meant to kidnap her for some reason. But the missing gun made me worry what would happen once they got what they wanted. That meant I couldn’t let them get it. I checked the now-empty storage rack beside the pilot chair to confirm my suspicions. All my back-up drives were gone. My hand settled on the disc in my pocket with a dread certainty.

  No clues and no allies, I was more alone than I had ever been. Day three was going to be a bear.

  Chapter 17 – Search

  I had to find Mare. To do that, I needed to make myself mobile without arousing suspicion. First, I made it possible to log in as the Ghedra autopilot from the cellular phone. The portable unit had a relatively small memory, and only a miniscule color LCD display, but I could program a few basic menu-driven controls. Nobody was going to tap my line into the game. I started with simple course correction, information screens, and then moved on to the nasty surprises. I wired speed-dial button number three with the “lead fire hose,” a maneuver where Ghedra sprayed large quantities of ammunition over a ten degree arc of fire.

  Halfway to the post time, I glanced over at the muted television and noticed that the room phone message light was on. I know I hadn’t missed a ring, and the red blinking light hadn’t been on before. Somebody had probably accessed the voice mail account directly. Timidly, I picked up the receiver and asked for message replay.

  “Speak with no one, not even other players. Do not attempt to leave. We’ll contact you soon. Remember, this isn’t your battle, Mr. Hayes. Cooperate and there will be no casualties.”

  The message had been computer generated and only played one time. Once completed, the light deactivated, and I could find no trace of the threat in the voice mail system. After taking a moment to bottle up the rage, I went back to work on my jerry-rigging. Work and the game have always been effective forms of channeling for me. This time, though, there was an undercurrent that made me afraid. Part of me worried what they might do to Mary. The other part was afraid of what I’d do when I found them.

  My father had been leaving on a yacht for a company fishing trip the last time I saw him. It was supposed to be a reward to about seven employees for a job well done. Exotech also used the expedition to lobby two judges and a wealthy local industrialist. I also vaguely recalled a rumor about someone from the International Monetary Fund on board, but the company denied these allegations. That afternoon, the fishing craft was seized by members of what was then called the Committee for Social Justice. The Committee was a collection of masked poor, most of whom had served in the military. Their demands included several worthwhile reforms. Perhaps they would have been better off asking for money. Manifestos were sent to the press, but never published. The government had adopted the policy of no cooperation. The Committee’s empty headquarters were raided a week later. No bodies were ever found.

  Since the assault had been an inside job, charges of terrorism and sedition were filed against all the victims. Should any of them be found, they would be sentenced to death or at least disappeared for the rest of their lives. As the family of an accused terrorist, my mother and I were asked to leave the country immediately. Intellectually I understand it all. A ten year old inside me, though, wanted both the terrorists and the government to pay. Part of me had planned out in frightening detail what I would do to these people. My hands shook at the memory.

  I stopped tinkering only when the launches had begun. Keeping an eye on the TV screen, I hit the launch button when I saw the green light appear for my team. I accelerated full bore for the first two kilometers. Once in cloaking mode, I let the more sedate autopilot program take control, and put away the cell phone.

  Grabbing my nylon travel bag, I loaded up my tools, a small flashlight, the handcuffs and the phone. I hadn’t planned too far past this moment. It was just as well, because when I opened the door, I spotted someone lurking by the elevator, watching. They had a man by the elevators, cameras in the stairwell, and the phones were tapped. How was I going to get out of here?

  I went to the only other exit I had, the balcony. It couldn’t be too hard to climb down to the next floor where nobody was watching. They did it all the time in movies. If the glass door below was locked, I still had the diamond on me. I could cut my way in or something. This rescue could work.

  Outside, the air was brisk. I was glad for the jacket. The metal railing on the balcony was cold to the touch, so I put on my racing gloves. A gust blew through me as I stared over the edge. It was a hell of a long way down. I also noticed that the cement on the balcony perimeter was crumbly with age. It occurred to me in a blinding flash that Playfair might have died under similar circumstances.

  Bad idea.

  I jumped when someone knocked on the hotel room door. The black hats had tracked me down. On my way through the room, I grabbed the nearest weapon I could find—a screwdriver. Unlatching the door, I stood off to the side of the door frame, and shouted, “Come in.”

  A hand sticking out of a gray pin-striped sleeve turned the knob and pushed. I grabbed the attached arm and pulled hard, sending the owner sprawling onto the living room floor. I slammed the door closed again in case there were others. As the man was getting his knees under him, I grabbed him in a half Nelson. In the process, I had knocked off his hat and now recognized our hired detective.

  “Where the hell have you been?” I yelled, shoving him free from my grip. I was shaking from my recent adrenaline rushes.

  “What’s your problem?” He snapped instinctively.

  “I went to get a pizza and somebody kidnapped Mary An
n!”

  His eyebrows went up. He helped me up, and then compulsively checked his suit for rips or tears. “That’s serious. Have you called the police?”

  “No. She’s a federal agent, so the FBI should be contacted. Unfortunately, the last guy to try phoning out about this ended up dead. The lines are tapped, and the hotel is in on it.”

  Even stunned, he stayed level-headed. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea. Somebody made an offer on my company last evening, a big one. The deal was only good if I went downtown this morning and signed the paperwork now. Not to say I doubt you, but these are some serious charges, Mr. Hayes. Do you have any proof?”

  After some hesitation, I replied, “No.”

  “Do you know who is involved?”

  Again, I gave a grudging “No. I have some idea where they might be hiding her, though.”

  “Have they given you a ransom note?”

  “Is this leading somewhere? Her gun has been taken, so has she. Look around you. Isn’t it obvious? There are hundreds of people I could name with a bone to pick with me.”

  “And you’re always so nice to people. I can’t imagine.”

  I deserved that one. “Sorry for tripping you, but I thought someone was coming back for me.”

  “I don’t blame you. But this sort of behavior is only making it worse for you if you’re innocent.”

  “What?”

  Mark Waters leaned forward onto his knees as he gave me some free legal advice. “I know you a little, but she’s the only other one that does here. If she has disappeared, and that’s still an if, your getting thrown in jail won’t help her. Did the two of you have a fight before she left?”

  “How dare you insinuate...”

  He put a hand on my shoulder to calm me. “In 80 percent of the cases, it’s the boyfriend. You look like you’ve been in a fight recently. The cops would spend the day grilling you first.” He meant that they would let the real villains get away.

  “But I was going to propose.”

  Mark shrugged. He was a cynical bastard. “Maybe you already asked. Maybe she said no.”

  “What can I do?”

  “Does she have any friends, friends who will trust you?”

  I thought for a minute. “Her boss in the Patrol.”

  “Good. Report this to him, and you’re covered.”

  I took out the cellular phone, hunted, and hit speed dial for central dispatch in her region. A few transfers later, I got the good captain. After listening patiently and asking many of the same questions as Mr. Waters, he informed me that legally it wasn’t a missing person case for twenty-four hours. “But I’ll call a few friends in the Bureau, and they’ll stop by your hotel. Stay off the line in case someone calls with a ransom demand. And Hayes...”

  “Sir?”

  “If this works out, congratulations.”

  “Thanks, sir.”

  After I hung up, I asked, “Now what?”

  “One of the conditions of sale for my company was that I wouldn’t work for any of their competitors for a year,” Mark began.

  “Who?”

  “I can’t tell you that.”

  “Bloody wonderful. You can’t help, and you can’t tell me who is in on it.” I was ready to have a go with the screwdriver again.

  “I didn’t say I wouldn’t help. I just said I wouldn’t take money for it,” Mark said, smiling. “I do feel partly to blame. Now that the authorities have been notified, I can do anything you want that’s not a felony.”

  “Like?”

  “You mentioned you had an idea where they were holding her?”

  I nodded, and explained the phone system for the game and how the easiest way for someone to control all of it in secret would be from the seventeenth floor. “I figure there would need to be about two technicians per shift to run the equipment, and a couple of thugs. From what I’ve noticed, the monitoring doesn’t seem to be as active after midnight. So I’d say there are three to ten of them there. Closer to three because too many and the secret gets too hard to contain, especially with a murder and kidnapping involved.”

  He nodded. “Not bad for a beginner. Have you double-checked any of these deductions?”

  “I couldn’t scout because the hall is guarded.”

  Mark shook his head. “Reporter. Besides, there are ways around him. I’ll check the conspiracy theory for you.”

  He dialed up room service, claiming to be from the pizza place across the street, and said, “The programmers on the seventeenth floor working on the network ordered a couple of larges. Yeah. Problem is, they get free cokes with the order, and I don’t have a phone number. How many do I bring?” He held up four fingers. “Any diets? Thanks.”

  He handed me back the cell phone with a flourish. “Four on duty at any given time, probably all men.”

  “That’s great. That proves it!” I said.

  “Not quite. You need evidence that she is on the premises against her will to get a warrant. I couldn’t set foot there. But...” I paid close attention to what I wasn’t supposed to do. “If someone were to create a distraction and lure most of them away, someone else could take a quick look around and find out what room she might be in.”

  I nodded. “Of course we would be waiting right here for the FBI, but if I wanted to go downstairs to meet them in the lobby, how would I get past the reporter and cameras?”

  “First, I’d cover up that scar of yours, it’s too distinctive. Did Mary Ann use makeup?” he asked.

  “Last night.” That was another clue that clubbed me in the head too late. I handed him her purse. “But base doesn’t work well on it.”

  Mark shook his head again. “Not base, people can tell it’s makeup. Eye liner will give you a bruise. All people will remember is that you lost a fight. Wear sunglasses, and it’ll work.”

  While Mark demonstrated his bruise drawing technique, I gave him some advice. “Don’t count your money just yet. I’d spend some time investigating your buyer if I were you. Anybody desperate enough to be an accomplice in kidnapping isn’t above reneging on a contract.”

  He seemed doubtful. “It’s a pretty big company.”

  “Then investigate the person and division who made the offer. Not everybody around here is who they seem.”

  He persisted in his conviction. “What could they hope to gain?”

  “Wrong question. What are they trying to hide? Use the phone here to poke around while I’m gone. Just remember who is listening. Calls forward to the cell phone after three rings.”

  “There, your face is done,” he said.

  I looked it over in the bathroom mirror. “Ouch. Now all I need are some clothes to throw off the scent.”

  Reluctantly, he agreed to loan me his jacket and hat as long as I checked in every twenty minutes. To avoid eavesdroppers, the signals would be two rings and a hang up if everything is normal, and one ring if I needed help and wanted him to give me a call. I put on the sunglasses, picked up the nylon bag, and headed for the elevator. When he asked where I was going, I responded, “If you don’t know, you’re not an accomplice.”

  The reporter collared me while I waited for the elevator car to arrive. “You work for Scarab?” He was a skinny, weasel-faced man with a thin mustache who constantly chewed his upper lip.

  I looked both ways. “Nightshift security. I had to wait for my relief.”

  He introduced himself, and I used Mark’s name. As we shook hands, he slipped me a folded fifty and smiled. “So you’ve seen the Scarab at work.”

  “The race,” I said, sounding bored. “Sure, they just sit there like someone at an arcade.”

  He turned his back on my room and spoke in a whisper. “Not the game, the women.”

  What kind of rumors were floating around about me. “What do you mean?”

  “Don’t play coy, Mack. His place has got to be crawling with them. He’s got a bodyguard, a co-pilot, a mascot—all women. There’s a blonde he was with all last night, and a brunette this morni
ng. We can’t find a recent picture of this guy, but from all accounts, he’s no movie star. How does he do it?” asked the weasel.

  “Actually, the brunette’s the reason I got this bruise.”

  The guy activated an obvious recorder in his leisure suit jacket pocket. “You don’t say. The brunette punched you or the Scarab did?”

  “I fell and hit my head on the balcony. That’s the story I’ll stick to, even in court.”

  As the elevator door chimed open, he slid in with me. “But off the record? Come on. Nobody close to this hermit will talk. People have a right to know!”

  “The brunette is his high school sweetheart. None of the others hold a candle to her in his book,” I explained.

  “I’ve seen this blonde. She might get Playboy exposure from this event.”

  “Some technician lied to get laid. The blonde never came near his room. I was there all night.”

  “Does he have any hot deals going? Any important visitors? Any juicy rivalries?”

  I shrugged. “A lot depends on how well he does this afternoon. Everybody loves a winner, but if he loses, even you guys won’t care about him.”

  The weasel was getting impatient. “You’ve got to give me something on this guy,” he said as the elevator stopped at the fifteenth floor.

  “Okay,” I confided. “He’s packing some sort of secret weapon, can wipe out anybody who gets close, but he can only use it once. Said he was saving it to take out the car that kills him. I can’t tell you any more. Ask some of those net guys.”

  He hung back in the elevator as I disembarked and glanced at my watch. It was about the same time that I had seen the maid yesterday. I started looking for open doors or any sign of her little cart laden with cleaning supplies, linens, and towels. My main problem since I discovered the kidnapping was how to get access to the seventeenth floor without exposing myself. Just then, I saw my little bird. “Carmelita!” I exclaimed. I had forgotten just how short she was. She only came up to my navel.

  She seemed surprised that I’d remembered her name.

  “Can I help you, Senor?”