Point of Control

by L. J. Sellers

  The SUV hit the next intersection and turned left without stopping. Still riding the accelerator and pushing the car to its limit in a short stretch of residential road, Bailey let off the gas to make the corner but didn’t brake.

  Midway through the turn, the car skidded toward the curb.

  “Oh shit!” Her passenger sounded terrified.

  Bailey braked and held on to the steering wheel. She pulled out of the slide and gassed the engine again. “Don’t worry. I’ve practiced this.” She didn’t dare glance over at Garrett while driving this fast.

  A sports car suddenly darted into her path from a side street. She either had to brake or go around it. Bailey did both. But the driver took her move as a sign of aggression or horseplay and sped up, keeping parallel with her.

  Stupid idiot! She honked and eased toward him.

  “Hey! What are you doing?” Garrett shouted.

  She didn’t have time to explain herself. She honked again, but the driver—probably young and drunk—didn’t let her pass. They were headed in a general downhill direction and gaining speed.

  Her passenger grabbed her arm. “Slow down!”

  Irritated, Bailey let off the gas and pulled back into the lane behind the sports car. At the next intersection, the driver stuck a hand out the window, flipped her off, and turned right. She slowed, realizing she’d lost sight of the SUV. “Did you see where they went?”

  “No. I’m sorry. I was distracted for a minute.”

  Instinct told her the unsubs had probably gone north, rather than toward the downtown area, so she turned left on the main artery along the lake front. Light traffic in both directions forced her to drive more carefully. Still, she passed the car in front as soon as she had an opportunity. The access to the water made her nervous. What if the assailants abandoned their vehicle and escaped by boat?

  A police car with flashing lights drove toward them.

  She glanced in her rearview mirror. More flashing lights behind her. An officer was trying to pull her over. Oh hell.

  “Look!” Garrett pointed at a short turnout along the lake, leading to an old boat ramp.

  Without seeing what he was gesturing at, Bailey slowed and made the sudden turn. In the glow of a halide streetlight, she saw bubbles in the water at the end of the ramp. Something big had gone under.

  “What if they pushed their car in the water?” Garrett asked.

  “To change up the pursuit and get rid of any DNA.” Bailey finished his thought. Garrett was smart as well as sexy.

  She stopped the car and turned off the engine. The police cruiser parked behind her, lights still flashing. Badge in hand, she climbed out, hoping she didn’t have to call her boss. She didn’t have time for this bullshit.

  CHAPTER 16

  Thursday, March 19, 10:55 p.m., Mountain View, California

  Shawn’s phone rang just as he was getting into bed. Harlan, finally! He hurried out to the hall to talk so Jia wouldn’t wake up. “Give me the update,” he demanded.

  “It didn’t go well.” Harlan’s voice was shaky. “A guy came out of the house at the wrong moment, so we had to abandon the plan.”

  Shawn hated obfuscation. “The agent’s still alive?”

  “Yeah. I’m sorry.”

  Damn! “What about the guy who came out?”

  “I may have hit him.”

  Disappointment morphed into anger. “So you failed the mission and left an injured witness.”

  “I’m sure it was too dark for him to get a good look at us. He just came out of nowhere and started shouting. It was unnerving, and I’ve never done anything like this before.” Harlan, who’d always been a scammer, had taken to the criminal enterprise with surprising gusto. The kidnappings had gone well, but Shawn assumed that was attributable to Rocky, who was obviously an old pro or Max wouldn’t have sent him.

  Had Harlan fucked things up? As long as the criminal part never came back to him. He would just have to keep covering his own tracks as well as he could. “What about the stolen vehicle? Where did you leave it?”

  “We pushed it into the water, then ran along the lake’s edge. FBI agents were after us, and cops were coming too, so we had no choice.” Harlan sounded a bit breathless just recounting the event.

  “Was that Rocky’s idea?” He wondered if Rocky had a record. If so, he’d probably wanted to destroy his fingerprints and DNA.

  “Yeah. We hopped on a bus, then stole an Explorer from a dealership. We’re in a hotel now, but we’ll drive Rocky’s Expedition back in the morning when we can blend into traffic.” Harlan chuckled. “We totally smoked ’em.”

  “Except for getting rid of the agent,” Shawn reminded him. “Get back to the mine early and check on our guests.” Uncle Tai was keeping the researchers fed and supplied, but Tai was a simple man and needed some oversight. Rocky and Harlan needed their share of it too. But he trusted all three to never betray him, and that was most important. “I’ll fly up there in the morning. We have another job to plan.” Shawn had meant to leave the day before, but he’d had too many business issues to wrap up before taking an extended leave.

  He went back into the bedroom and spotted his wife’s slender leg sticking out of the covers. The sight aroused him. He climbed into bed, snuggled up behind her, and grabbed her breasts. Jia never denied him sex, just as she rarely argued with him. That was why their relationship worked. She was brilliant, but pliable—a rare combination. Her mixed race worked well for him too. Full-blooded Chinese women reminded him of his mother, but white women didn’t sexually excite him, so Jia was the perfect blend. He hoped she never betrayed him or stood in his way. He loved her, but not enough to give up his dreams. He not only wanted to be rich beyond counting, but he wanted control too. He wanted powerful people—government officials, Hollywood executives, and especially the current tech kingpins—to come to him with their hands out.

  The next morning, Shawn swam his usual laps, slipped on a thick terry-cloth robe, and pulled the cover over his pool. This would be his last swim for at least a few months. He hated the thought of leaving his sunny, luxurious Mountain View home for the small rural house in central Washington—in March—but it seemed critical. He had to monitor the scientists’ progress and push the manager at Palisades to ramp up production. Plus, the mine seemed like a safe, remote place to hide out until things wrapped up. It worried him that the FBI agent was in Seattle. Since Harlan and Rocky had failed to kill her, he might have to take care of the job himself. Another reason to head north.

  Shawn looked around his half-acre property and reminded himself that he would be back. If it didn’t work out to come back here, he would sell this place and buy something better. Once he’d captured the cell phone market, he’d become a billionaire. But if he wanted to stay on top, he either had to develop or produce new manufacturing materials. The key to both was in the mining operation. He was already extracting gallium, indium, and yttrium. As soon as Thorpe finalized the dysprosium replacement, he would rush the formula to his manufacturing team in India, gear up production, and start shipping the new phones. ZoGo would be ramping up production and sales just as his competitors were giving up and closing down their facilities.

  After securing the pool cover, he hurried inside and locked the back French doors. Their personal belongings were packed and loaded into their Escalade, and they’d leave soon. Jia would drop him off at the small airport where he’d arranged for a private flight, then she would drive their vehicle with their things. She hated to fly and refused to leave the car behind, and he couldn’t afford to spend a day and a half on the road.

  Jia saw that he was still wearing only a towel and called from the kitchen, “Let’s get going before the traffic is bad.”

  “I’ll be ready in five.”

  Shawn dressed quickly and made one last latte, then they climbed into the car. “We could still hire a driver
,” he said again as Jia settled in behind the wheel.

  “I’m looking forward to a day or so away from my computer.” Jia turned to him. “Don’t worry. I’ll think about encryption while I’m on the road. It might be just the thing I need to inspire me.”

  Shawn smiled and nodded, but he was no longer counting on her to produce a code that was secure enough to satisfy Max. A North Korean named Lee Nam had supposedly developed the best security algorithm out there—despite being shuttered away in that godforsaken country—and Kim Jong-un was sending him on a PR victory lap to trumpet how technologically advanced his country was. Lee Nam would be in Washington, DC, for a digital-security conference in the next few days, where he would, no doubt, pick up every security innovation he could before being sucked back into the black box. Shawn would send Harlan and Rocky to the conference to grab him. This abduction would be far riskier than the others, but Max wanted the encryption, so it had to be done to keep the money flowing. So far, they’d proven successful at kidnappings. It was the transporting and cleanup tasks that were obviously more challenging.

  They pulled into the parking lot of the small airport, and the pink morning sky looked great for flying. Shawn’s phone rang, and he glanced at the ID: Uncle Tai. Why was he calling? More bad news. He could feel it coming. When they’d been young, Shawn had teased his older, not-very-bright uncle. But Tai was the one person who’d never judged him or expressed disappointment in him. Shawn had come to love the strange, slow-talking man and had given him work as a janitor since the day he’d founded his own company. When Shawn had asked Uncle Tai to do a special job for him in Washington, he had agreed out of gratitude.

  Jia had stopped the car, so Shawn jumped out and walked a few feet away. “Uncle Tai. What’s going on with our guest?”

  His uncle, a man who had to find and choose words carefully, spoke slowly. “Dana has a medical problem.”

  CHAPTER 17

  Friday, March 20, 6:15 a.m., Palisades Mine, Washington

  Dana Thorpe woke early, as always, even though no sunlight entered the small, sparse room. She sat up on the narrow bed, and her lower back cramped in pain. The lumpy mattress was too thin to cushion her body against the plywood underneath. A shiver ran up her spine, and she reached for her sweater. Might as well get moving to get warm.

  She figured she was underground somewhere, god knew where. The chloroform they’d used had knocked her out, and she’d regained consciousness in the backseat of an SUV, hands and wrists bound. She had no idea how long she’d been out, and the blindfold had kept her from seeing where they drove, but she’d still tried to keep track of the time and listen for familiar sounds. Other than tires on a highway, she’d heard almost nothing along the way. The two men in the front had been mostly quiet too, with occasional whispered exchanges.

  Dana stood and stretched, moving slowly to ward off muscle spasms. The cold and the lack of exercise made her vulnerable to cramping. How long would she be here? A month? A year? When it was over—and she’d either accomplished the breakthrough they wanted or completely failed and given up—they would probably kill her. Despair washed over her, and she collapsed back on the hard bed. How was she supposed to do her best work under these conditions?

  The thought of her research gave her strength. If she could stabilize the new material and make it work the way she envisioned, syndyspso, as she called it, would revolutionize digital-product manufacturing, as well as provide an alternative to dysprosium in the manufacture of dozens of other types of high-tech equipment. She wanted the synthetic metal—the product of years of research—to be successful, even if someone else got the credit. When it came onto the market, would her university peers know it was her discovery? Either way, she would leave a legacy. If she was going to die in this bleak research lab, she should at least accomplish something first. And she had an idea she was eager to try.

  Dana dressed and used the small bathroom to brush her teeth. She was grateful to not have a mirror. She didn’t need or wear makeup or care that much about her looks, but she was afraid to see the expression in her eyes. Fear and despair were not normal for her. Poor Garrett had to be feeling the same. The thought of her son almost derailed her. She missed him dearly. The thought of his grief when she didn’t come home nearly crushed her. But she’d raised him to be strong, and he would be fine eventually.

  How would they even begin to search for her? Her ex was an FBI agent, so he was probably involved in her case, but what could they do? She had no idea who’d taken her or where she was, so why would they? Her only hope was to somehow escape, but that seemed unlikely.

  When she was ready, she knocked loudly on the door, as instructed. It took the keeper nearly ten minutes to respond, but finally, a key turned in the lock. For a moment, Dana had a fantasy of assaulting him and running for her life. She’d had the same idea a few times, but always rejected it. At five-three and a slight hundred and ten pounds, she was no match for anyone. Especially without a weapon. No, she would have to be crafty and watch for an opportunity when she was in the lab.

  The man opened the door and shuffled back, keeping his distance. A black bandanna obscured much of his face, and a hoodie covered his hair, but she had memorized what she could—dull brown eyes and tiny pockmarks on his forehead. Five-ten and two hundred pounds, with most of the weight in his chest. His legs were skinny, he had a stiff walk, and he was at least her age. She told herself these details mattered. One day, he would be on trial for keeping her prisoner. It was all she had to keep herself going.

  Dana stepped into the concrete hallway and moved to her left, eager to be in the lab. The keeper, as she thought of him, couldn’t be the person responsible for her abduction. His eyes were too dull to understand the complexity of her research. A hired hand, she suspected, and one without morals. The fact that he hid his identity gave her some hope she might eventually be released. But that was probably the point, to keep her spirits up so she would keep working.

  At the end of the short hallway, the keeper opened another locked door. Dana walked into the lab and clicked on the lights. Constructed of concrete and covered in blond wood paneling, the room was ugly and windowless. But it held all the equipment she needed. More than she had at the university, actually—a small, cheerful fact that gave her an emotional boost. Someone had spent a fortune on this lab, so they expected to make an even bigger fortune.

  “I’ll bring food in a bit.” Her keeper, still in the hall, locked the metal door behind her.

  Dana moved to her workbench, ready to test her idea. The key was in the electrons. She just hadn’t found the exact combination that produced a stable, magnetic-resistant material that didn’t overheat. But she was close.

  A tapping sound on the other side of the wall caught her attention. Her neighbor was up and working early. He usually came in a few hours after her and didn’t seem to stay long. She’d never seen him but assumed he was a man, because most metallurgists were. When she’d asked about him, her keeper had told her to be quiet and mind her own business.

  What was he working on over there? A material compound similar to hers, or something else entirely? Was that why they were keeping them separate? Collaboration might produce what they wanted faster. She’d tried communicating with him once by tapping on the wall, but he’d ignored her. Maybe he’d been instructed to ignore her. Too bad. Together, they might be able to force their way out.

  Dana focused on her work, hoping the keeper would bring coffee soon.

  Two minutes into her experiment, a blue aura of light appeared in her peripheral vision. Oh no. She was having a seizure. She’d known it could happen. Her medication was sitting at home in her bathroom. Would it be a minor one, or would it knock her on her ass? Her eyes blinked uncontrollably and the room started to spin. Dana dropped to the floor just before she blacked out.

  Someone was calling her name and slapping her face. Dana opened her eyes and saw he
r keeper kneeling on the floor next to her. How long had she been out? Her temples ached, but that was typical after a seizure. Or it had been. This was her first in years.

  “What happened? Are you all right?” His eyes looked worried.

  “I had a seizure.” Dana sat up. “It could happen again if I don’t get my prescription.”

  “What is it?”

  “Aptiom.” She’d been taking it for only a few months. Before that had been Topamax. She’d been switching meds every six to nine months since the epilepsy had developed a few years earlier. None of her peers knew about her condition. In fact, no one but Garrett knew, and she’d sworn him to secrecy. She hadn’t even told the professor she’d been dating for a few months. Nor had she told her son about the new man in her life.

  “I need the medication right away. If I had one seizure, I could have many more.” Dana crawled to her knees, thinking the worst. “If I fall and hit my head on this concrete floor, I could become useless to you.”

  “Do you need anything right now?” He spoke slowly, as if challenged. “A cold compress or something?”

  Did she hear real empathy in his voice or just job-security concern? “For now, I need coffee. And eggs, please.” As long as she had caffeine and protein, she could work and be healthy. But the seizures were unpredictable.

  When she’d first been diagnosed, she’d been angry and bitter. She thought she’d never get any significant work done again. But the medication was mostly effective, and she’d kept right on working. At least it wasn’t dementia. As long as her brain could think clearly, she wouldn’t give up her research. She’d always visualized herself at ninety, skinny, wrinkled, and a little hunched over, but still in her lab, curious to see what she could develop or experiment on next. Retirement was for people who hated their jobs, and she loved hers. Even here, in this dungeon prison, her work still excited her. At least for brief moments.