by Dom Testa
“Good one. What else?”
“Said she hadn’t talked to him in years. Which we know is a lie. But there’s still a problem with her.”
“She doesn’t work in Mesa,” I said. “Does she ever go there?”
“I called the manager of operations in Mesa. He’s never heard of her.”
I rubbed my forehead. “That’s strange. She behaves like she’s involved, but she doesn’t appear to be. At least not in this particular operation.”
“So you think she might be working on some other operation? Something down the road?”
“God, I don’t know.” I wanted another drink, but couldn’t chance that. Too much at stake right now.
We sat in silence for a few minutes, watching the other hotel guests at the bar, some of them loud, some of them shy and reserved. Maybe some of them dead within a few hours. The thought was sobering.
Kowalczyk finished her club soda and pushed the glass toward the bartender. “We’re watching Oosterhaus until Thresh leaves town. There’s an agent following her wherever she goes. If she heads toward Mesa we’ll know right away.”
All I could do was nod. It still seemed fruitless. Parks wasn’t doing what we expected of him. He couldn’t be. And that meant Allison Oosterhaus wouldn’t be going to Mesa to poison anyone.
But maybe it was as simple as just striking down Thresh. Parks had made it clear to me that his goal was to hurt her. Those were his words: I have a special interest in hurting Ms. Thresh.
So what if our security measures were misguided? What if his plan wasn’t to knock off the congresswoman at her fundraiser? What if he planned on doing it somewhere else while she was in town? Or maybe even on her flight to Arizona? Or . . .
It pissed me off. I wanted a simple answer to a complex question; and revenge, while often a basic human reaction, could also become remarkably complex.
I shared my thoughts about Thresh with Kat. She pondered it for a moment, then shook her head.
“I don’t know, Eric. She’s being guarded around the clock, and no one is serving her who isn’t on her staff. And those people have been vetted beyond question. The only way Parks could possibly get to her is maybe with a sniper’s bullet. I don’t think that’s his plan, do you?”
No. I didn’t. Parks wanted his punishment to fit the perceived crime. He was obstinate, if nothing else. To him, I was sure, the crime was meant to be poetic in its sick, demented application.
I changed the subject and brought up the Arcetri. Kowalczyk was fascinated by the concept while also terrified of the implications. She asked me how many scientists might be involved.
“Around the world? It’s probably like any other organization; it’ll start small and pick up followers. My fear is that some big score, at least a score in their eyes, will encourage hundreds who otherwise would never imagine themselves participating in something like that.”
I tapped a finger on the bar and relived my phone call with Parks. He’d said, We’ve only just begun.
It may cost me my man license, but I liked that song.
We were 24 hours away from the fundraising dinner. Something was going down, one way or another. I sat in my hotel room, pondering everything that had happened, all of the conversations, the chases, the charades, the killings. More people would die in the next day. Would it be one, two, three, or death on a massive scale?
I hoped that Christina would be available to talk, and I got lucky. She was still at the restaurant, but picked up after three rings.
“What’s the special tonight?” I asked.
“Um . . . chicken with Asian beans and a plum relish.”
“Is that one a challenge or easy?”
“So easy. What did you have?”
“Not hungry.”
She clucked her tongue. “I know what that means. It’s not going well. I’m sorry, babe. Everything gonna be okay?”
I had a tendency to do this: to call Christina when things sucked. I’d often find myself alone like this, usually in a hotel room, staring at the walls and wondering why things so often went through the shit stage before rounding the home stretch and — sometimes — working out just fine. Or not.
Christina was my best friend, my confidant, and my therapist, all rolled into one. She was sweet and supportive, but at the same time tolerated only a limited amount of whining. When my quota was up, she shut off the sympathy tap and applied a solid kick to the ass. Through the years I’d learned to gauge for myself when that time was approaching and dialed it back.
“It’s a bitch at the moment,” I said. “But there’s always hope.”
“Sure. And meditation,” she said. “Supplication to the universe for divine intervention. Don’t forget that one.”
“I’ll try anything. Never been too good at supplication, though. Is there an app for that?”
“Wouldn’t be surprised.”
I chuckled. “All right, pity party over. Tell me something to take my mind off things. It might clear my neural pathways by listening to you talk about your day.”
She had to pull the phone away and direct someone to remove something from the flame. Perhaps the Asian beans. This was part of her job: being a food conductor, holding the baton and leading an orchestra of cooks, sous chefs, and servers. And she was damned good at it.
Then she was back with me. “What? Oh, my day. Uh, I almost got a cat.”
“Almost? What stopped you?”
“Litter boxes disgust me. I still might do it. Just tabling the idea for now.”
I said, “We could put a kitty door between our units and the little guy could wander back and forth. Get a diverse upbringing. When he was tired of your neat and tidy world he could come over and piss on my carpet.”
She laughed, a generous laugh if I’d ever heard one. I decided to return to one of our previous topics.
“Any more talk with Antonio about being a surrogate?”
“Yes. They’re excited that I’m even open to the idea.”
“Which way are you leaning?” I asked.
“Still 50-50. But I did meet with them at their doctor’s office, to find out more about it. Swan, it’s such a remarkable process, and couldn’t be more beautiful. If you could’ve seen the look on Antonio’s face, and the way Marissa just hung on every word. They would make wonderful parents. God, I was practically balling at one point.”
In normal circumstances this is where I might throw in a snarky comment — and she’d fire back with one. But I was getting a little misty-eyed myself, just listening to her talk about it.
“Is there a timetable?” I asked.
“The doctor says it could be done at any time, and I agreed to meet with him again tomorrow. So they’re just waiting on my answer. The fact that you’re supportive might nudge me into doing it. They’re really the sweetest couple you’ve ever seen.”
I shifted the phone to my other ear. “I know I could say Wait and let’s talk about it, but it’s not a permanent change for us. I mean, if I lived an ordinary life and was home every day things might be different. But I think this is a personal decision for you. Thank you for bringing me into the discussion, but yeah, I’ll support you whichever way you go, babe.”
She was quiet, so I let that drape over us a minute. Then there was a commotion in the background and she told me she had to go. She was at work, after all. I gave a mushy goodbye and lay back on my bed.
The thought of Christina pregnant was interesting. She wouldn’t walk away from the experience as a traditional parent in the family sense. She’d relinquish the child right away.
But she’d be a parent in some respects, nonetheless. I found that to be a beautiful thing, and I couldn’t imagine a better person to bring a new life into the world for another couple. She hadn’t even agreed to do it yet, and I still felt a rush of pride and admiration for her. I was a lucky guy, and I knew it.
She deserved better than what I could do for her. For some reason she’d hitched her wagon to me and my ridiculous life. Lives, ac
tually.
A moment later my brain connected the concept of her ushering in a new life while I was 2,300 miles away, dealing with the extinction of life. My calling. My lot in life. My area of expertise.
As I’d done so many times, I tried to convince myself that somebody had to do it.
At this particular moment in time it disgusted me.
I shut off the light and watched the advance of twilight through my window, wondering how many people would be dead by the time the sun set again.
Chapter Twenty-Six
A garbage truck, making the rounds early, awoke me before sunrise. I checked the time on my phone. 6:55.
I’d managed a solid nine hours of sleep, and that was unusual for me. Well, unless I inhabited a body that agreed with a normal sleep cycle, and then I had the pleasure a little more often. This body most certainly did.
I was also famished, and that might’ve contributed to the wake signal. I’d skipped dinner, opting for my one cocktail and then a bottled water. It was bound to be a helluva day, and I needed protein.
Without bothering to shower I put on a baseball cap and went down to the hotel restaurant, where I destroyed six eggs, bacon, an English muffin, and lots of coffee. I was back in my room by eight, rejuvenated and in a much better head space. The mindset was triggered by a feeling of resignation, the knowledge that shit was going down today whether I was ready for it or not. I chose to be ready. Steffan Parks didn’t deserve a hall pass.
I used the next two hours to upload, making sure everything was saved for posterity and any future Eric Swan. I was so dialed in to the case and the impending climax that I couldn’t even get into my Us Weekly. This time, though, I just couldn’t muster any interest in the reality stars and pop singers. The Bachelorette would have to get along without me.
That was followed by a long run, then a shower, and before noon I was ready to take on the day and any calamity it might deliver.
In a succession of calls I spoke with Quanta, Poole, and Kowalczyk. We all agreed to the following schedule for the day:
I’d head over to the conference center where Thresh would be speaking. Her plane was scheduled to touch down at 4:15. That gave me a few hours to meet with the staff, the security personnel, and two of the congresswoman’s advance staff.
Although Thresh had refused to postpone the dinner — no politician ever turns down tens of thousands of dollars — she’d at least agreed to the heightened security and a meeting with me, which would take place around 5 o’clock. My cover was that of a special consultant to the FBI.
Kowalczyk would monitor the comings and goings of Oosterhaus. At the moment, the agent parked outside her house reported all quiet. Oosterhaus had not gone to work. That concerned me, but could also be completely innocent. She was, after all, stationed far from the action.
Just for safety’s sake, another agent was tailing Franks. He’d been at his Phoenix office since 8:30.
More than three dozen people, including Phoenix and Mesa police, conference center security, and eight additional FBI agents had pictures of Steffan Parks and Jayanti Pradesh. Unless they were not only scientists but masters of disguise, too, they weren’t getting into the building.
And yet, with all of that, I was still bothered by the utter lack of concern shown by Parks. Something was wrong.
For the moment there was nothing I could do about it.
I pulled up in my stylish minivan and eyed the conference center, which was not what I expected. Although clean and functional, it lacked the pizazz one would normally associate with a big-shot dinner. I was introduced to one of Representative Thresh’s aides, and she politely explained that the congresswoman rotated her attention throughout the state. Scottsdale gleamed with celebrities and big money, Phoenix and Tucson sported big business, and the rural communities injected the necessary dose of pure middle America. A politician’s job required that they connect with all of their donors at some point. Tonight, the aide said, it was Mesa’s turn.
Kowalczyk introduced me to another FBI agent, a man named Tahoma who’d been raised on Navajo land in the state. A local. His firm handshake and piercing eyes were almost intimidating. It was good to have him on the team.
Together the three of us made two loops around the banquet room and adjoining corridors. Everything seemed to be secure, but I didn’t know exactly what we were looking for. Kowalczyk said the water in the building was being checked every 30 minutes. Special care was being paid to the catering service. Not counting the over-the-top precautions, everything was normal.
Next we went over the guest list. Tahoma said every name had been background-checked, and security at the door would be intense but not overbearing. The idea was to make sure of the identity of each person entering, but not to alarm anyone. Security checks would be done with a smile.
Kowalczyk was notified that the plane carrying Thresh had landed and she was in a limo convoy headed straight to the center. I nodded and went off to a quiet office to check in one more time with Quanta and Poole.
“Are you happy with the level of security?” Quanta asked.
“It’s impressive. No one’s getting in here with a rocket launcher, that’s for sure. I don’t think anyone could even sneak a tennis racquet past the door. But is that what we’re guarding against?”
“Mesa Water is on full alert,” Poole said. “Phoenix and Scottsdale report the same. All the others in the area have added extra security to make sure only employees can enter and exit.”
“All right. I meet with Ms. Thresh in—” I looked at my phone’s screen. “—in about 25 minutes. I’m told she’s appreciative of the extra security and grateful for the concern. She just doesn’t want to spook her constituents.”
Quanta acknowledged this, then said, “As a last minute precaution we’re sending a helicopter to park outside the conference center. Just in case we need to evacuate someone quickly.”
I grunted. “Someone, meaning Thresh.”
She ignored this. “There’s also a full medical team coming. In fact, they should be there any minute. After that, I can’t think of any other precaution. You?”
“No. Let’s hope we don’t need it.”
It only took a few minutes to brief the emergency medical people. They’d been hand-picked because of their background training in poison control and treatment. I spent a few minutes letting them know the specifics of this tabun-based threat.
What I didn’t say was that, once it was in a person’s system, there wasn’t much that could be done. I still felt better about having them on premises.
Minutes later the bustle of activity at the back entrance told me that Representative Thresh had arrived, later than planned. It was 5:15 and the hoopla was scheduled to begin when she took the stage at six. In the meantime, according to her aides, she’d meet with the VIPs who’d ponied up mega-dollars. It was like Taylor Swift meeting radio and record executives backstage before a concert. Those people got special treatment before the ordinary fans because they’d helped make success possible.
What irked me was the fact that I was not at the front of that line. In fact, I hadn’t even seen the congresswoman yet.
“She’s going to talk with you in just a few minutes,” her main handler said to me.
“What’s a few minutes?” I asked with a tone that displayed my irritation. “This is very important.”
In reply I got one of the most condescending smiles of all time. “I’m sure within 10 minutes,” the assistant said. “She needs to have a quick chat with the people who paid to have her in Washington. That, too, is very important, as I’m sure you understand.”
I opened my mouth to pull real rank, but instead simply nodded. I made eye contact with Kowalczyk, who shook her head as if to say Idiots.
It wasn’t 10 minutes. It was 25. When I was taken back to her posh private reception room at 5:45, Thresh turned on the professional smile that had helped her defeat a popular incumbent. She used the politician’s two-handed hand
shake and gave me a look that said she was here to solve all of my problems.
Eleanor Thresh was in her late-40s, medium height, and in remarkably good shape. Her hair was short and professional, her clothing perfect, the jewelry just this side of ostentatious. Working in Washington, D.C. I understood that the best officials learned how to dress and accessorize based on the audience. This would be a room full of muckety-mucks, and Thresh made sure that her clothes and jewelry — the necklace, diamond earrings, and sparkly bracelets — were in just the right price range: not the most expensive in the room, which could offend, but enough to let her sit at the table.
She spoke first. “I want you to know how much I appreciate all that you and your team have done to make sure everything is safe and secure for our guests tonight.”
“We’re doing our best,” I said, then nodded to the small group of helpers gathered around her. “If it’s okay with you, Congresswoman, I’d like a moment to visit with you privately.”
Her first reaction was to look at her aide, who shook her head. I put on my most severe face.
“It’s of vital importance, and could mean the safety of not just the people here tonight, but across your entire constituency.”
Those were the magic words. She led the way to a far corner of the room. Kowalczyk joined us.
“By now you’ve heard about the potential threats from a scientist you’ve had interaction with,” I said. “Have you, or anyone on your staff, had any contact from Steffan Parks in the last few days or weeks?”
She shook her head slowly. “No. Nothing. I recall how upset he was at the loss of his funding, but that wasn’t entirely my doing.”
“I understand that. But he does hold you personally responsible. In fact, Mr. Parks holds several people responsible for the unfortunate turns that his career has taken. Which is why Agent Kowalczyk and I are here tonight, along with a few dozen others. What you saw as a matter of duty to the taxpayers, he saw as a personal attack. And, unfortunately, he’s on a mission to right what he feels are wrongs.”