Point of Control

by L. J. Sellers

  Liar! Bailey leaned toward her. “It’s a crime to lie to a federal agent, punishable by up to six months in prison. Let’s try again.”

  The receptionist blinked rapidly. “He’s in a meeting, but I’ll let him know you’re here.”

  Bailey turned and headed for the elevator.

  The woman came around the counter and trotted after her on noisy high heels. “Please wait here. Mr. Crusher hates to be interrupted. I could get fired.”

  Bailey ignored her and got on the elevator. The woman tried to keep the door from shutting. Bailey shook her head. “Get out of my way. He’s not worth it. Neither is your job.”

  She let go and the door slid shut. What kind of prick was Crusher? He was already a more-likely suspect than the mild-mannered CEO of Celltronics. Except for the flight plan. Bailey got off the elevator at the top floor and glanced in both directions. An office at the end with a wide glass door caught her attention. That was the prime spot in the building. Before she reached the entrance, an attractive man stepped out of the office. Five-eleven with thick dark hair, cut short on the sides but full on top—a style that was currently fashionable with male models. A nice face, but he wouldn’t catch her attention on the street. Dark slacks and an off-white button-up shirt. No tie and no jacket. What did that mean? In DC, it meant you didn’t care about image or power, but here in Silicon Valley, Crusher was probably dressed for success.

  He spotted her coming and smiled stiffly. The receptionist had warned him.

  “Agent Bailey?” He held out a hand, still smiling.

  “Yes.” She shook it, intending to match his phony charm. “Can we sit and talk for a minute?”

  “I’m sorry, but I’m late for an important meeting.” Crusher carried a bulging satchel.

  “I’ll walk with you. I just have a few questions.”

  “Fine.” He walked toward the elevator.

  Bailey matched his stride. “Do you know Nick Bowman?”

  “The metallurgist?” He turned and widened his eyes in surprise.

  Was the reaction real? She suspected not. “Yes. When did you see him last?”

  “We’ve never met, but his research is fascinating.”

  How did he know about it? Bowman’s boss had labeled his work proprietary.

  Crusher glanced at her, but didn’t hold eye contact. “Why are you asking about him?”

  “He was kidnapped and murdered.”

  They stopped in front of the elevator, and Crusher turned to her with a look of shock.

  Only, it wasn’t quite right. She knew from her own personal experience. Bailey’s gut told her Crusher was an accomplished liar. But was he also a killer?

  He reached for the Down button. “Perhaps you should talk to Mark Ziegler, the CEO of Celltronics. He tried to hire Nick Bowman a few months ago.”

  The door opened and Crusher stepped in. Bailey followed. “How do you know?”

  “Competitive intelligence. It’s my job to know.”

  “Did you try to hire him?” The elevator started down, and Bailey shifted closer to Crusher, hoping to make him uncomfortable.

  “No. Bowman is too expensive, and we have a reliable source of materials.”

  His confidence was interesting. “Who’s your supplier? Everyone else is experiencing a shortage.”

  A dark displeasure flashed on his face, then he quickly masked it. “That’s confidential information.”

  “I can easily get a subpoena. Who’s your supplier?”

  “We’re done talking.” The elevator opened again, and he strode off without another look.

  The phony smile and the flash of anger, followed by the mask, were red flags. Was he a sociopath or just a narcissist? Bailey followed him out of the building. “Where are you headed?”

  He ignored her and hurried toward a silver car in the front of the parking lot. As he climbed in, he put in an earpiece and made a call.

  Bailey would have given anything to have a tap on his phone. She jogged to her own rental car and climbed in. She would follow him just for kicks. She put the key in and waited for him to pull out. Instead, the receptionist came out, trotting awkwardly in her high heels. The rattled woman got into a car behind Bailey and started it.

  What the hell? As soon as she realized what was happening, Bailey threw her car into reverse and backed up. But the receptionist continued pulling into the area behind her, and their cars collided with a crunch. The bitch! Rage engulfed her, and she wanted to use the car like a battering ram. But she wouldn’t be able to lie her way out of it, and the consequences would be too significant. She shut off the engine and counted to thirty while Shawn Crusher drove away.

  It didn’t matter. She knew where he lived and worked. She also possessed a variety of skills that would allow her to access his personal information. But first she had to determine if the other company, Celltronics, had really tried to hire Nick Bowman, or whether Crusher had lied to throw her off.

  CHAPTER 10

  Wednesday, March 18, 6:55 p.m., Seattle, Washington

  Dana Thorpe hurried down the backstage hallway, rehearsing her speech. She rounded the corner and passed two men in coveralls. They stood near an electrical panel with their backs to her, but the shorter man glanced over his shoulder, then turned away. Why were they working so late? Because stuff happens. She turned her focus back to her opening statement. This was her last lecture on rare earth metals. She loved sharing her research, but public speaking always terrified her, and her work was too important to take time away from. Now that the global supply had dried up and technology manufacturers were desperate, she, or some metallurgist, needed an immediate breakthrough, or the device and hard-drive markets would collapse. Lasers, metal halide lights, and liquid-fuel injectors would become scarce too.

  Thinking about her colleagues made her glance back over her shoulder at the men in coveralls. They were still there, talking in hushed voices. Milton Thurgood, an extraction specialist she’d met at a conference in Sydney, had disappeared weeks ago. The incident hadn’t made national news, but people in the industry knew and were worried. Then Nick Bowman, who was working on a material similar to hers, had been abducted and murdered. Her heart skipped a beat. Would they come after her next? Dana shook off her paranoid thoughts and walked out onto the stage. She had to convince this group of scientists and analysts that they needed to step up the effort to find replacements for, and new sources of, earth metals before the shortage became a national crisis.

  The lecture went smoothly, with only one rough spot when she projected that without new materials or an increase in rare earth metal production in other countries, cell phone and tablet manufacturing would come to a halt soon. One audience member coughed. Some people still didn’t want to believe how few precious metals were left on the market.

  With the audience still clapping, she scurried off the stage, relieved to be done. She’d done her part. Now she had to get back to her lab and continue working on her latest development—a synthetic dysprosium. She’d mentioned the compound briefly in her lecture but didn’t want to raise false hopes. Her work on the substance was very close to completion, but its shifting properties made it unusable for manufacturing—so far. She was still looking for a way to stabilize it.

  Dana stepped into the backstage hall again, and a cool shiver ran up her spine. The evening’s host congratulated her as she walked by. She nodded and picked up her pace, eager to see her son, who was waiting for her in the lounge. As she passed the electrical panel, she noticed the men in coveralls were gone, and another wave of relief washed over her. There was the door to the waiting room. She stopped and grabbed the knob. Sensing someone behind her, she started to turn, but a man’s body pressed against her from behind. Dana opened her mouth to scream, but a hand clamped over it. A sharp medicinal smell filled her nostrils and her thoughts drifted away on a dark cloud.

&n
bsp; CHAPTER 11

  Garrett Thorpe heard the doorknob turn and closed his Kindle. Good. The lecture was over and they could finally grab some Thai food. He was starving. He shoved his reading into his backpack and looked up. The door had swung open a little, but his mother hadn’t stepped through it. Loud footsteps moving away from the room brought him to his feet. Several people were jogging down the hall. What was going on? Some kind of emergency that made security escort his mother from the building?

  He ran to the door, still awkward on his prosthesis, and peered out. The dark hall was empty. To his right, he could hear the muffled sounds of hundreds of people leaving the lecture hall. Garrett glanced left and caught sight of his mother’s red dress rounding a corner, flanked by men on either side.

  Please let them be security! Leaving his coat and backpack on the couch, he ran down the hall. The damn fake foot slowed him considerably, and he cursed his lack of coordination. He turned at the intersection where he’d seen the three people and spotted an Exit sign, glowing red above a metal door. The short space between him and the exterior wall was empty. He charged forward, yanked open the door, and called out, “Mom!”

  The backstage exit opened into an area filled with huge recycling bins. Beyond the cracked and stained cement, an SUV sat in a narrow alley. His mother was in the backseat, sagging lifelessly against the door. One of the men stretched his arm around her shoulders and rocked her head away from the window. The taller man climbed in the front seat and slammed the door.

  No! They were kidnapping her! Garrett ran toward the vehicle, stumbling and shouting. He didn’t even know what he was saying. But he had to stop them. The engine roared, and the vehicle lurched forward. The man in back turned and stared.

  For a moment, they memorized each other’s faces. Then the vehicle was gone, racing down the alley. Garrett fumbled for his cell phone in his pants pocket and called for help.

  “What is your emergency?”

  “My mother’s been kidnapped! Two men in a dark SUV. From the alley behind the stage at Kane Hall.” He shuffled down the dark alley as he shouted. The taillights of the SUV were still ahead of him.

  “Calm down and tell me what happened.” The dispatcher was female and sedate.

  “I just did! Don’t waste time asking questions. Get the police out here now.”

  She didn’t balk at his tone. “At the UW campus?”

  “Yes, but the vehicle just left the alley and is headed west.” Garrett kept jogging, hoping to reach the street in time to see where the SUV turned next. His heart pounded so violently, he thought it would explode. What the hell did they want with his mother?

  “Are you still on the line?” The dispatcher was so calm he wanted to slap her.

  “Yes.” Garrett reached the end of the alley and stopped. Cars drove by in both directions, and he couldn’t spot the SUV anywhere. Damn! “I don’t see the car anymore. Put out an alert for it!”

  “I already have. What’s your name? And your mother’s?”

  “Garrett Thorpe. My mother is Dana Thorpe.”

  “Can you provide more details about the car?”

  Garrett struggled to come up with anything specific. “It was big, like an Expedition. Maybe jacked up a little. And dark, probably black or blue.” He remembered a brief thought that it looked expensive. “I think it has custom rims too.”

  “Great. That helps.” The dispatcher cleared her throat. “Any idea who would take your mother or why?”

  “No. She’s a scientist, so she’s not rich.” Far from it, thanks to him. His mother never talked about money, but eight years earlier, she’d spent everything she had on a lawyer to get him out of trouble when he’d been wrongfully accused of a crime as a teenager. For that alone, he would’ve owed her everything. But she’d done so much more! Like paying for his ridiculously expensive prosthetic after his accident when the insurance company hadn’t been willing. She was his saint, and he had to save her!

  “Do you need me to stay on the line until the police arrive?” the dispatcher asked.

  “No.”

  “I’m going to disconnect now. Just wait there for an officer.” The voice disappeared, and he was alone on the sidewalk, staring into the dark. Alone. Oh god, what if his mother never came back? He couldn’t imagine his life without her. She was his best friend. His source of emotional support. His backup when things went wrong.

  Man up and form a plan! Her voice echoed in his head.

  Garrett squared his shoulders. His mother had been taken for a reason, and it probably had to do with her research. Nothing else made sense. Glancing at the cell phone still in his hand, Garrett knew what he had to do. He called his father.

  As it rang, he counted back. Five years since they’d spoken. Ten since his father had been in their lives. His parents’ marriage had already been on the edge when Garrett, at age sixteen, had gotten involved with an older woman who turned out to be a criminal. His mother had wanted to do everything possible to help him. But his father, an FBI agent, had argued that he needed to suffer the consequences of his marginal involvement by accepting a plea that included a year in juvenile lockup. His mother won the argument, but lost her husband in the process. Garrett still felt guilty about it. Because of his stupidity, she’d gotten divorced and spent her savings on lawyer fees. But his mother had always insisted it was her choice and she’d wanted out of the marriage anyway.

  “Garrett?” His father’s abrasive voice was suddenly there, sounding surprised. “It’s good to hear from you.”

  “It’s about Mom. She’s been kidnapped.”

  “What?” Total skepticism.

  So typical. “I watched it happen. They took her from backstage at Kane Hall, where she gave a lecture tonight. I need the bureau to help me get her back.”

  “Who took her?”

  As if he knew. “Kidnappers. Two guys in a dark SUV.”

  “What is this really about? Did you get involved with criminals again?”

  “Fuck you.” Garrett hung up and fought the urge to cry. He still needed help, but he couldn’t deal with his father. Hopefully, the jackass would take him seriously and get the bureau involved. Garrett didn’t have much faith in the Seattle police. He didn’t even want to talk to them, and they would be here any moment.

  Limping now because his leg hurt, he backtracked to the lot where his car was parked. He’d driven his mother here tonight because she claimed she was nervous about her speech and wanted time to go over her notes on the way. He knew that was just an excuse to get him behind the wheel, part of her campaign to help him get over his fear of traffic. The accident had been almost two years ago, but it had been a long, slow recovery. He’d lost the bottom part of his left leg, but he had no regrets. The little boy might have been killed if he hadn’t stepped into the street to save him.

  Garrett sat behind the wheel for a long moment. He couldn’t just go home. He had to do something—and right now. Once the police arrived, they would ask him a million questions and not let him leave. They’d probably treat him like a criminal. That’s what his father had thought. He pulled out of the lot.

  For a while, he drove around, cautious as always, looking for the kidnappers’ vehicle, but eventually he accepted that it was pointless. Frustrated and scared, he headed home to his mother’s house, where he’d been staying since the accident. First he would call to see if the police had found her, then he would try to retrace her steps over the last few days. Maybe he’d find a clue in something she’d done or someone she’d met.

  CHAPTER 12

  Thursday, March 19, 5:55 a.m., San Jose, California

  A ringing woke Bailey and she sat up in the dark. What time was it? She grabbed her cell phone off the nightstand. When the screen illuminated the room a little, she remembered she was in a hotel in California. She recognized the number. Her boss. “Bailey here. What have we got?”
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br />   Agent Lennard was wide-awake in a different time zone. “Another scientist has been taken. Dana Thorpe in Seattle.”

  “A metallurgist?”

  “Yes. Thorpe teaches at the University of Washington and conducts research into synthetic metals, much like Nick Bowman.”

  Was she meant to replace the murdered scientist, who hadn’t worked out for the kidnappers? Another piece in a complex puzzle. “When did it happen and what do we know?” Bailey put the phone on speaker and pulled on yesterday’s clothes as Lennard spoke.

  “Thorpe was taken by two men last night behind a lecture hall where she had just given a speech about the rare earth metal crisis.”

  “Any witnesses?”

  “Her son saw her in the vehicle. But no one has questioned him yet.”

  “Are the police watching the airport and train station?”

  “Of course.”

  “I’ll catch a flight to Seattle this morning.” Bailey worked through the possibilities. A scientist from Australia, one from California (now dead), and one from Seattle. Where were they keeping them? It had to be a research facility somewhere. The scientists would need tools and equipment. The abductors had used a plane or helicopter to dump Bowman, but now they were in a vehicle. Was Seattle their home base? Or somewhere nearby in Washington State? Assuming Thurgood was still alive. But he might not be, and Dana Thorpe might be dead soon too. Bailey didn’t think so. If all they wanted was data, they could have stolen it or hacked into computers. She would have to look at a list of every manufacturing company in the Seattle area and see if anything popped up. But she would start with recent transactions and see what facilities had been bought and sold since the metal shutdown, then expand the search from there.

  She would buy a plane ticket, then take a brisk walk, shower, and change. If she handled this assignment well, she’d be next in line to run the Critical Incident Response Group—with the power to give important assignments. She’d been paying her dues for a long time.