The Sin Keeper

by Gary Winston Brown

  “I’m afraid that’s not possible sir. His bio-locator chip was removed when he was selected for Project Channeler.”

  “What about hemotracking?”

  Hallier shook his head. “No can do, sir, for the same reason. Egan was given a transfusion. His blood’s clean. He's totally free of nanoparticle GPS trackers.”

  “Are you trying to tell me our department’s most valuable asset is… lost?

  “I can’t answer that yet, General.”

  “Jesus Christ, Quentin! Either the horse has bolted the barn, or it hasn't. Which is it?”

  Hallier paused. “Sir, I think we were set up. Merrick not only developed Channeler and LEEDA but also designed the selection criteria and project parameters for the test subjects. He had a hand in every part of the project.”

  “Your point, Colonel?”

  “What if we missed something? What if Merrick had an end game in mind that no one saw coming? If Merrick outsmarted us and now has total control over Channeler and LEEDA, as well as Commander Egan, our citizens are in danger. No one except Merrick knows the full potential of this technology. In my opinion, the message is clear. Merrick plans to deploy Channeler and LEEDA for his own purposes. To what end we don’t yet know.”

  “You need to find and secure Merrick and Egan and reacquire Channeler and LEEDA, Colonel. Do you understand me?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I’ll scramble a black ops team. They’ll be waiting for you when you arrive at JFTB Los Alamitos.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  General Ford slammed the file folder on the boardroom table. “You had complete oversight on this, Quentin. This was your project. I don’t care if Merrick and Egan come back to us horizontally, vertically, or in a million godforsaken pieces. Consider both projects shut down.”

  Hallier’s face was flush, neck rigid, mouth tightly drawn. “Copy that,” he replied.

  General Ford ended the transmission. The screen in the boardroom went black.

  A computer-generated voice spoke: “COMSEC TERMINATED.”

  CHAPTER 10

  MARINA PUZANOVA walked out of the café Le Pain Quotidien in Moscow, dinner in hand; a to-go order of mushroom quiche with fresh green salad, cinnamon dolce latte and blueberry yogurt for dessert.

  Her day was finishing the way it had started: hectic. Taras Verenich, her contact in Los Angeles, had left his second urgent message of the day. He had orders to fill from well-financed buyers with particular demands as he was prone to emphasize; powerful men and women who were accustomed to getting what they wanted when they asked for it and who were becoming impatient. Conversely, he had plenty of girls who were ready to fill Marina’s European and Middle Eastern requests. In addition to being a sun-kissed paradise, Los Angeles had also proven to be a well-stocked hunting ground. There were plenty of beautiful women who had no issue with bedding older men for big money. Taras’ questions for Marina were always the same: How many girls did she need? Had the buyers been confirmed? And most annoyingly, how quickly would he be paid. Russian by birth but raised in the USA, now a hot shot immigration attorney with a bustling practice in L.A., Taras Verenich expressed and carried himself with the typical holier-than-thou attitude of every spoiled American Marina had ever known. Lately he had become a little too demanding for her liking. No matter. Hot shot immigration lawyer or not, he was still the smallest fish in a very big pond. She would remind him how easily he could be replaced. His behavior was typical of players new to The Company and getting their first taste of serious money. Sooner or later they all needed to be put in their place, and she was exactly the person to do it. She would also let him know that his attitude hadn’t gone unnoticed. The message relayed to her by her superiors had been made clear: make sure Verenich knows The Company’s request for compliance is an order, not a request.

  The evening was pleasant and warm. A gentle breeze blew up Novinskiy Boulevard. Marina brushed a wisp of blond hair away from her face. A block away, the gold-gilded parapets of the Kremlin took on a fiery glow in the waning daylight. As she stepped down the stairs of the café, her driver opened the back door of the shiny black town car. A sudden rush of warm air blew open his jacket, briefly exposing the Tokarev pistol secured in his shoulder holster. The driver scanned the street for any sign of sudden or unusual movements that could be interpreted as a threat to Marina’s safety. Satisfied that all was well, he refastened his jacket.

  Marina’s cell phone rang as she stepped into the car. She pressed a button on the center console. With a quiet hum, the soundproof privacy screen raised and locked, dividing the driver and passenger compartments. The phone display read ‘035’. Marina stored her contacts by number only, having committed their corresponding client names to memory. She took the call.

  “I missed you this morning,” Konstantin said. A smile was evident in his gravelly voice.

  “After what you put me through last night I figured you’d had enough,” Marina replied.

  “Of you? Never. I left you a little treat. Did you find it?”

  The tone of her voice was playful. “A treat?” Marina asked. She had learned long ago that it was in her best interest to ensure complete client satisfaction before, during and after her outcalls. Besides, only those who could afford her ten thousand dollars per night fee were given her private cell number. Her phone contained the names of dozens of such men and women.

  “Check your purse,” Konstantin said, “The inside pocket.”

  Marina pulled back the zipper of her Palladino handbag. The compartment bulged.

  “What is this?” Marina said. She held the phone to her chest, lowered the privacy screen, mouthed the word ‘home’ to her bodyguard and motioned for him to drive. The limousine pulled away from the curb as the screen rose and relocked into place.

  Konstantin laughed. “I suppose you’ll just have to open it to find out!”

  Men and their cocks, Marina thought. Though at least in Konstantin’s case he was worth her time.

  From her purse she removed a slim black box tied with a red satin ribbon, its cover embossed in silver with the letters “HW.” Inside the box was the most beautiful watch she had ever seen. She gasped.

  Konstantin heard her reaction. He laughed. “I take it you like it?”

  “It’s absolutely beautiful,” she said. “I’m speechless.”

  “A small token of my appreciation, my love. Just promise me you’ll think of me when you wear it. I bought it in New York. It’s Harry Winston. 18 karat yellow gold. Turn it over.”

  Marina looked at the back. It was numbered ‘1.’

  “Only fifty of these exist in the world. You have number 1.”

  “You didn’t need to do this, Konstantin.”

  “Yes, I did.”

  Marina felt the sincerity in his voice. It was the same sentiment men had bestowed upon her all her life.

  “You are perfection, Marina,” Konstantin said. “A work of art, just like the watch. And a masterpiece deserves a masterpiece.”

  “I’m flattered, Konstantin. Thank you.”

  “You’re most welcome.” The call waiting tone sounded on Konstantin’s line. “I’m sorry, my love. I have to take this call. See you next week. Same time?”

  “Of course.”

  “Enjoy your evening. And the watch. Good night.”

  “And you.”

  Marina ended the call and placed her phone on the passenger seat. She admired the watch for a few seconds then slipped it back into the box. She would have to remember to wear it when she met with Konstantin next week.

  If only he knew how easy this is for me, Marina thought. Konstantin was no more important to her than number ‘34’ or ‘36’ or any of the other contacts in her phone.

  And now, thanks to his call, her quiche was getting cold.

  The smell of the food and the hot latte reminded her of how hungry she was. She was still thirty minutes from home. The latte couldn’t wait. She opened the lid and inhaled its heavenly ar
oma.

  On the seat, her the cell phone vibrated. The screen read UNKNOWN CALLER. Perhaps one of her clients had shared her number with a friend even though this practice was strictly against Company policy. She also changed her number every sixty days. Marina debated whether or not to let the call go to voicemail. She answered the phone.

  “Hello?”

  The line was open, but no one spoke.

  “Who’s calling please?”

  The caller was silent. Seagulls cried in the background.

  “I’m hanging up...”

  “Her name was Paige,” the caller said. He paused. “She was my daughter. You killed her.”

  CHAPTER 11

  DESPITE THE fact that the key card tracking system indicated Jason Merrick had swiped out of Dynamic Life Sciences and left the campus shortly after 8:00 A.M. every nook and cranny of the facility needed to be searched. Sergeant Taylor rallied the members of his security team.

  Hallier pointed to Taylor’s computer tablet. “Can you access DLS personnel records with that?”

  “Yes, sir,” Taylor replied.

  “How detailed are your reports?”

  “Very.”

  “Send me everything you have on Merrick.”

  “I’ll email his file to you.” Taylor tapped the tablet screen several times. “You should have it now, sir.”

  Hallier checked his phone. A copy of Merrick’s personnel file was in his Inbox.

  “Got it. Get back to me if your men turn up anything. Button this place up. When you’re done, join the others at Los Alamitos.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good work, son.”

  The Sergeant saluted. “Thank you, sir.”

  Hallier walked away from the security team and placed a call.

  “Federal Bureau of Investigation, Los Angeles Field Office.”

  “This is Colonel Quentin Hallier with the Department of Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency. I need to speak with your Assistant Director in Charge immediately.”

  “I’m sorry sir, she’s not available to speak…”

  “I’m not asking, young lady,” Hallier demanded. “Find her. Tell her this is a matter of national security.”

  “Right away, sir. Please hold.”

  Hallier’s call was picked up seconds later. “This is Assistant Director Ann Ridgeway. How can I help you, Colonel?”

  “Thank you for taking my call, Assistant Director. I have a missing persons situation that requires the immediate assistance of the Bureau.”

  “Shouldn’t you be speaking to LAPD’s Missing Persons Unit, Colonel?”

  “Not under these circumstances. My subject is a civilian scientist with top secret clearance whose life could be in danger. It’s possible he could be under the control of persons with an interest in extracting military secrets from him. Suffice it to say, we need to find him right away.”

  “When was he last seen?”

  “Shortly after eight this morning.”

  The Assistant Director checked her watch. 1:10 P.M. “Colonel, he’s been gone a little over five hours. Why are you reporting him missing so soon?”

  Hallier knew Ridgeway was at a significant disadvantage in this discussion. He wasn’t able to share with her the full story of the frightening events that had transpired within the last few hours at Dynamic Life Sciences and the potential danger Dr. Jason Merrick posed to the country. That information was Top Secret. She would have to be vetted, her security clearance raised by the Department of Defense before he could reveal the truth; that Merrick's sudden and unexplained disappearance, his actions and probably his theft of the Channeler and LEEDA technologies now placed the lives of every American citizen in danger. Even if he could reveal the information to her she might find it too impossible to believe. But the threat was real, damn real, and he needed her support. Every second spent talking on the phone with her was time lost in the search for Merrick. God knows what plans he might already have executed and the catastrophic fallout those actions could bring. The message scrawled on the back of the family picture, All Will Pay, coupled with the murder of his colleagues, made one thing abundantly clear. Merrick was preparing to carry out a mission of his own with the most powerful military technology known to man at his disposal; a weapon so advanced that not even DARPA understood the full extent of its capabilities.

  “I’m not at liberty to share the specifics of the situation with you at this time, Assistant Director. But suffice it to say this is a matter of the highest priority. I need your full and complete cooperation and I need it now. If it sounds like I’m telling you what to do it’s because I am.”

  Being given an order by someone she had never spoken to before and who had no direct authority over her whatsoever did not sit well with Ann Ridgeway. “Colonel…”

  Hallier didn’t give her an opportunity to speak. He continued. “I also need you to call LAPD and enlist their help in an observe-and-report capacity only. Give me your email address. I’ll send you the targets file now.”

  Target? The Assistant Director took a few seconds to cool off before complying with Hallier’s request.

  “Thank you,” the Colonel said. “The file is on its way. I’m on my way to your office now. Clear your schedule. Be ready for me when I arrive. Give me thirty minutes.”

  “Will anyone else be joining us, Colonel?” Director Ridgeway asked, perturbed by the demanding one-sidedness of the conversation. “CIA? NSA? Maybe the President?”

  Hallier’s reply brought with it a measure of honesty and foreboding that disturbed her. “For everyone’s sake, let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

  En route to the FBI Field Office Hallier placed a call to DARPA. “This is Colonel Quentin Hallier. I need an emergency security approval.”

  “Level?” the voice asked

  “Two.”

  “Contact?”

  “Ridgeway, Ann. Assistant Director in Charge, Federal Bureau of Investigation, Los Angeles Field Office.”

  “Full or restricted permissions?”

  “Restricted.”

  “Stand by.”

  After a few seconds, the caller spoke. “Your request has been approved, Colonel.”

  Hallier ended the call. The general’s words played in his mind: “This was your project. You had oversight on this, Quentin.”

  Over the span of his military career, Hallier had witnessed more than his share of the atrocities that man was capable of dispensing against his fellow man. But that was war, soldier against soldier, controlled circumstances for the most part.

  This was different.

  Though the why of it remained a mystery, Jason Merrick had given every indication that he was about to take the Channeler and LEEDA projects to a whole new level. Was it possible that the most technologically advanced military weapons in the world were now in the hands of a madman? If that was true, the consequences were unfathomable.

  There were only two possible outcomes. The first, Merrick and Egan would have to surrender and be taken into custody. The second was to kill them both. The safe recovery of Channeler and LEEDA was paramount. The lives of the two men would be a small sacrifice in order to ensure the safety of the American people.

  Hallier looked out his window as he traveled along the freeway. In the car beside him a young family laughed and carried on, living their lives as they should, free of fear and worry.

  A little girl smiled and waved at him from the back seat of the car.

  Hallier smiled, waved back.

  If only they knew of the incredible danger in their midst…

  The office of the FBI was now less than twenty minutes away.

  Perhaps in rallying their support this whole ugly mess would be put to rest within the next twenty-four hours.

  Hallier slammed his foot down on the accelerator.

  The government town car lurched ahead and rocketed along the interstate.

  CHAPTER 12

  THE RUSSIAN madam was quiet. The unknown calle
r had gained access to her private line. Considering how frequently she changed her number this was not an easy task. Marina Puzanova listened. Wealthy and powerful men had been sharing their secrets with her all her life, usually after sex. From that she had learned three valuable lessons: say less, listen more, and later make notes of the most intimate and pertinent details of the conversation. The latter could be used to extort vast fortunes from them, in exchange for her silence, at a later point in time, should the need arise. There was tension and hostility in his voice. Which told her he was nervous, therefore not a professional. But why shouldn’t he be nervous? Surely he knew that in dealing with her he was dealing with The Company. Only a fool would be bold enough to reach out to her like this. Any man pitiful enough to attempt to entrap her in a telephone conversation, much less accuse her of murder, was indeed enjoying his last breath. He simply didn’t know it yet.

  Marina removed a U2 mobile phone recording device from her purse, plugged it into the headphone jack of her cell phone, and set the device to RECORD. She would extract from the caller as much information as she could. Later, she would share what she had learned with her superiors. The caller would be found and dealt with in the appropriate manner.

  “I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage,” Marina said. “It seems you know me, but I have no idea who you are.”

  “Who I am is unimportant.”

  “Perhaps not to you.”

  “Yes, I know who you are,” the caller said. “More accurately, I know what you are and what you did.”

  Fear of loss, Marina thought. Press him. Force him to get to the point.

  “I’m sorry,” Marina said. “I’m not prepared to pursue this discussion any further. Goodbye.”

  “Ten years ago…” the caller yelled. His voice had started strong but quickly weakened to a whisper. It broke with the final word.

  It worked. It always did. Marina waited for the caller to speak. His breathing was heavy. In the background waves crashed, seagulls cried.