Longevity

by S J Hunter

  “We need some time to find Josephson, the doctor with the dangerous skills, and to connect your father to him. If we can get Josephson alone, we may be able to give him a deal to testify against your father on LLE conspiracy charges. It’s even possible that it can all be managed quietly, if we can get enough proof to threaten your father with exposure and make him understand that he is being watched. But we need time.”

  Paula thought a while. “I’ll call Mickey and offer my family’s Italian villa, my mother’s family, that is. It’s well fortified and there is a tremendous amount of security, a lot of it geared to preventing kidnapping. The guards have worked for my mother’s family for generations, and can be trusted, I believe. Family and tradition matter. Jesse was there with Joshua a few times as a child and he loved it. He’ll go. At least that puts an ocean in the way. You realize that won’t stop my father, don’t you? Just slow him down while he alters his plans.”

  “That’s all we can expect,” Chris said.

  “You’ll go, too?” Livvy asked Paula.

  After a few moments Paula dropped her hands back into her lap and said, ”Yes. It’s about time I got to know my nephew and sister-in-law a little better. And I think I can watch for gaps in the security better than Jesse’s mother. What will you do?”

  “If you will call to introduce us, please, I’ll go to talk to Micaela. Tonight. Yes. I don’t think we can wait,” Chris said. “Then we can only try to get enough evidence to get a record of him in the system as an offender. If we watch and wait long enough, time will take care of it.’

  After that, there was nothing more that Paula could tell them that wasn’t public record. When the man in the formal suit led them to the door to show them out, Paula came with them.

  “Thank you. I’ll call Mickey. You’ll be careful, please. He is absolutely ruthless,” she said, shifting her gaze between Livvy and Chris.

  “We can be ruthless, too,” Chris said.

  On the way down in the elevator Livvy said, “When you told me about Sara Ann, I thought I’d heard the worst. Bedford wants to steal Jesse’s identity, doesn’t he, for his allotment? What will he do with Jesse?”

  “Someone has to die as John Bedford. My guess is that Jesse, as John, would go into a stroke-induced vegetative state, making pre-reset scans and resets pointless, although in a corruptible system, it isn’t that hard to get all of the records altered to obliterate all evidence of the switch. Eventually Jesse, as John, could die in seclusion without ever waking up.

  “And don’t forget. Micaela has to die, probably during the kidnapping,” Chris added.

  “You figured all this out?” Livvy asked. “From the fact that Josephson and Bedford know each other, and the timing?”

  “And what Brian Clifford, the lab tech, told me he had learned about Josephsons’ research. But it was a theory only, until Paula Bedford accepted it so readily. She knows her father, and how little he values his children relative to his own life.”

  “You’re right. Bedford is truly a monster. It all plays into his hands: the rich man’s grandson is kidnapped. Josephson throws in some tricks and maybe even facial trauma, if they need it. All of the records that can prove identity are switched. Jesse is recovered and John, under severe stress, still in seclusion, dies. It’s brilliant, in a diabolically twisted way. To think of him waiting all of these years for his grandson to grow up… ”

  “Look, it may not have even started that way. Think of it this way: this is a man with a pathological fear of death. Because he has unlimited resources and he resents interference and knows he will want to cheat, he destroys records as he goes. All the time, as his allotment dwindles, he tries to think of ways to avoid dying. Meanwhile, there is his healthy young grandson, with a whole life ahead of him, and John’s envy of him turns poisonous. Why should Jesse live, and he die? Either Joshua suspected something, or John just planned that far ahead. Jesse’s parents both have to die for it to work.”

  They reached ground level and were soon back out on the busy street. It felt like they had gotten back to reality, but having confirmation of their suspicions of Bedford lent them both a new sense of urgency. Ignoring the glares of their fellow pedestrians, they ran to the subway.

  “Titans of industry. I know that reference, but there is something about the origins of that…” Livvy said as their subway train pulled out. They swayed slightly from the change in motion. “I think it’s even more apt somehow, but I can’t place it.”

  “Yes, I do think Paula was referring to its original meaning,” Chris said musingly. “In Greek mythology, the Titans were a group of old gods. Cronus, their king, eats his offspring as soon as they are born. To preserve his own life. It’s classic stuff.”

  “A precedent. Already in our psyches,” Livvy said. “Why, despite my years in Homicide, do I still think there are limits?”

  “Give it some more time,” Chris said with no discernable weariness.

  They reached the High Speed station and found their train.

  Chp. 10 Pincer Movement (Thursday)

  Chris held out his hand. “Your comu, please.”

  They’d sprung for a High Speed compartment, figuring they’d want the extra privacy for discussing the case and making calls.

  “What are you doing?” Livvy asked, watching him set their paired comus into visual communication mode.

  “Yours goes into the corridor, hanging at one end of the car. I chose a center compartment for a reason. This way we can watch people coming into the car at either end, and we’ll have some warning,” Chris explained.

  “I thought you said we’d be safe on the High Speed,” Livvy said when he’d gotten back to the car.

  “I think I lied. It’s a death trap if someone finds us without warning,” Chris said. He sat opposite her in the small compartment, his eyes on the linked comu. “Bedford has been ahead of us the whole way. I suspect he still is. From now on we’re not safe, anywhere, anytime.”

  “I understand that Bedford has gone into high gear: the bomb, Maas, Josephson and his notes, but I still can’t imagine why now?” Livvy asked.

  A woman came down the corridor, moving steadily and ignoring the windows in the upper part of the doors into the compartments. Chris watched her traverse the length of the corridor and turn the corner that lead to the next vestibule.

  “I don’t know why it’s happening now. Perhaps Josephson made some break-through discovery and his excitement overcame him. Or it’s something to do with Jesse. Something unexpected. I’m going to talk to Micaela next, to warn her. Perhaps she can tell us. Something has stressed Bedford’s timetable.

  “In terms of getting leverage on Bedford, though, we need to know if Josephson has limits. Is Josephson’s cooperation with Bedford totally voluntary, or is there some coercion there? Either way, does he know enough at this point to give us some evidence on Bedford?” Chris asked.

  “Paula didn’t need much time to figure it out. Once you started talking about Jesse, she knew,” Livvy said. “She didn’t even think about it that long, she just knew. Josephson knows. He’s been doing the research. He just doesn’t care. Maybe it’s too tantalizing an experiment for him, the creep. And of course, the money.”

  Chris was watching a short, stocky man with a pleasant 21-year-old face turn the corner from the short corridor at the end of the car. The man advanced slowly down the corridor, glancing into each compartment or, if the blinds were closed, knocking and making an inquiry, all the while smiling apologetically as though he were looking for someone. There was a vaguely unnatural rigidity to his right arm and the angle of his right index finger.

  Placing a finger on his lips briefly and then pointing towards the corridor, Chris took Livvy’s arm and guided her towards the compartment door. He crouched under the window that formed the upper half and then pulled her down in front of him, spoon-fashion, so that they were both pressed tightly against the door and jammed against each other in the narrow space. They hadn’t been so close
since Livvy had almost landed in his lap during their encounter with the last gunman, and this time the contact was longer, but both of them were as tense as coiled springs.

  Chris had had just enough space to pull his Stinger after they’d gotten into position, but Stinger darts didn’t cut all the way through doors. High caliber palm pistol bullets, if they were the right kind, might.

  On the linked comu Chris held in front of them both, they watched the gunman advance to their compartment and stop to scan the interior. On the comu, it looked distant and unreal, but they detected a slight change in the light above them, then it was gone.

  “As soon as he reaches the end of the car, I’ll be going out after him,” Chris said softly. He was still watching the man’s progress on the comu.

  “Wait,” Livvy said quickly, trying to instill urgency while being as quiet as possible. “What if he’s smart enough to be suspicious of an empty compartment? He’ll be waiting in the next car, or turn back and catch you in the corridor.”

  “I know,” Chris said. “But he’s a pro and we have to take him now. If we don’t, he’ll come back when we don’t expect him or catch us when we leave the train and he’ll control the situation.”

  “Now,” he said, giving her a boost she didn’t need. “And wait here.”

  She grimaced but didn’t protest. After checking the comu one last time, Chris dropped it onto one of the seats, opened the door, and stepped out into the corridor.

  *****

  By the time Chris got into the small twin-doored vestibule occupying the space between their car and the next, the gunman was near the end of the corridor in the next car. It was Chris’ goal to catch up to him while he was still in the next vestibule. The timing was crucial and intolerant of hesitation. Chris ducked out of sight, counted to 5, then opened the vestibule door and sprinted down the length of the corridor. It had worked. The gunman stood alone in the vestibule, his back to Chris, reaching for the far door leading to the next car.

  Chris touched the sensor to open the door in front of him. As it began to slide open, he aimed through the gap and fired twice. It was unavoidable that the gunman was alerted at the first sound of the door opening behind him and turned and fired as well, shattering the glass and hitting Chris twice in the chest. Chris fell back against the wall of the compartment immediately behind him and, breathless, started a slow slide to the floor.

  The barbed darts from Chris’ Stinger sliced through the gunman’s clothing and found flesh. As the gunman was raising his arm to make a head shot, the darts advanced until they sensed the correct subdermal layer, then released their miniscule load of potent anesthetic. He was a pro, and aware of what was happening. As he lost strength in his arm, he barely had time to grimace, then he hit the floor and went out.

  They were both on the floor in ungainly sprawls amid the shattered glass when Livvy ’s momentum carried her into the wall at the end of the corridor. She hit it with her side and successfully kept her Stinger aimed at the point where Chris had been standing just a few moments before.

  “McGregor, oh my God,” she said when she saw the holes in his shirt, then registered the absence of blood simultaneously with Chris’ painful gasp as he drew breath.

  “Get him cuffed,” Chris whispered. He drew another shallow breath. “He may have auto…reversal implant. I’m just going to… sit here a minute.”

  “Got it,” Livvy said, pulling her cuffs out of her bag. She was a little bit breathless herself, but she took some satisfaction in securing their captive’s arms and legs as tightly as the cuffs allowed. She found two other small pistols, one at each ankle, when she searched him for backup weapons, and impatiently jammed them and the palm pistol into her bag. Then she sat down next to Chris.

  “That was masterly, except for getting shot, McGregor. As soon as you left I started worrying that maybe you only had the one vest and had given it to me this morning. I was already coming after you when I heard the glass shatter. I am going to clock you, as soon as your ribs heal.”

  Chris wasted a painful breath on a short, soft chuckle.

  “I want to know where you got this ruthless streak,” Livvy said.

  “These are… really bad guys. You have to be proactive.”

  “No. I mean ruthless, as in how you treat your partner,” Livvy replied, making Chris laugh painfully again.

  They heard the sound of converging footsteps.

  “Got your credentials… handy?” Chris asked. “I don’t care to reach for mine… at the moment.”

  Their prisoner awakened fully and glared at them as High Speed Security personnel moved cautiously in from both directions.

  “Yeah,” Livvy said, searching her bag. “Wouldn’t want to be mistaken for the really bad guys.”

  *****

  “What now?” Livvy asked.

  There’d been a brief discussion with High Speed Security, which had converged on the scene heated and ready for a fight. After an exercise of some tact and matter-of-fact civility and charm, almost exclusively by Livvy, the LLE officers had handed their bound and disarmed prisoner over to the High Speed people. That seemed to mollify them more than a little. In fact, the security lugs actually seemed pleased to have a real-life professional assassin safely in custody. They had a nice little cell they didn’t get to use that often.

  After Livvy and Chris moved out of the corridor and back into the relative comfort of their compartment, they’d called the Chief with a brief report, and he’d arranged to have uniforms collect their prisoner at the D.C. terminal. He’d also ordered them to come in and bring him up to date on everything they’d done to investigate Josephson’s disappearance, including why they’d gone to Manhattan that morning, and how it was related to the fact that someone was suddenly desperate to see them dead. They were going to have to tell him their theory about Bedford.

  “And you’re both staying in WitSec rooms for the next few nights. You have to work the case, but at least you can get some sleep,” the Chief had added just before signing off.

  “Now,” Chris said, “if I’m Bedford, and I’m a preemptory sort, and I’ve tried to have two LLE detectives killed this afternoon… if I’ve decided the time has come to aggressively search out… and destroy every possible bit of evidence I can find that links me… to a particularly horrible fraud I’m determined to perpetuate… and I especially want to figure out how LLE detectives… found out about the connection between me and my tame Frankenstein… what else would I be doing today?

  “What I’d be doing,” Chris continued, “is arranging a search of the apartment of the LLE detective who’s been leading the investigation. The Chief is right, we need to go to WitSec for tonight and until this is over. But I need to go home now.”

  “I’ll go,” Livvy said. “He may have failed to have us killed to a certain extent, but that doesn’t mean you don’t need to get some medical attention for some probable broken ribs. I’ll get Louie and your notes.”

  “Bedford is still ahead of us. We’ll both go. I need back up.”

  “Nope,” Livvy said. Chris turned to her in surprise.

  “Call it,” she said. She was holding an antique coin, a quarter. She flipped it into the air with a practiced toss, caught it out of the air and slapped it onto the back of her hand in a seamless sequence.

  “Imagine for a moment an alternate universe in which we are actual partners. Heads or tails?”

  If Chris did recognize the archaic exercise, he wasn’t in the mood.

  “It’s my apartment.”

  “Undoubtedly you’re senior and I absolutely respect that, especially when we’re dealing with LLE matters. In the squad room and interviews I listen and defer and learn. Just now, when you went after that gunman, there wasn’t time, so I let it go. But in a situation like this, in the field, we have to trust each other. That means sharing the risks, like real partners, even if only for the next week. If it was my apartment, and I had just had my ribs kicked in by a couple of 45s, I’d b
e saying the same. And a whole lot more quickly,” she added.

  Chris hesitated, and then said, “All right. Heads.”

  Livvy peeked at the back of her hand and slipped the coin back into her bag. “Beginner’s luck. This time I’m lead, you’re backup.” The fact that he didn’t call her on the cheat told Livvy he’d accepted her argument. Either that or he was just too painful or too worried to care.

  *****

  They parked a block away on the quiet street. It was still only 3 PM and since the neighborhood supplied apartments for mainly middle-class singles and couples most people were still at work.

  Livvy pulled out her Stinger and climbed out of the car. “You coming? I’ll go in first, but I want to stick together on this.”

  Nursing his ribs, Chris followed more slowly.

  “It must hurt to even breathe,” she said on their way up in the elevator.

  “You don’t have to sound so pleased,” Chris said. “You’ve made your point.”

  They stopped one floor up and then walked down, and Livvy went braced through the stairwell door into Chris’ hallway. She kept her position against the opposite wall, sighting down the hall towards Chris’ door, while Chris came through a second later and checked out the opposite end. For nothing; they were already too late. The first thing they saw in the hallway outside Chris’ apartment was a long rod that looked to Chris like part of the towel rack from his bathroom. It had been broken to produce a sharp angle at one end, and there was blood on it. There was no effort at concealment. There was more blood on Chris’ doorjamb and some drops on the hallway floor. The door to his apartment was closed.

  The silence was complete. Chris looked at the broken rod and said very quietly, “Not much of a weapon. I guess they didn’t want to keep it.”