Spectrum

by Ethan Cross

  Loria regarded Nic with his arrogant, tilted-back gaze. “It’s easier just to show you. We have a video that will provide more information, but first, you will all have to sign ironclad nondisclosure agreements.”

  For the first time since the conversation began, Burke made a sound, and it startled Nic. He had almost forgotten that the kid was still there.

  The sound Burke made was a little chuckle.

  Both Yoshida and Loria narrowed their eyes at the young doctor. “Is something amusing, Dr. Burke?” Yoshida asked.

  Burke smiled and said, “Yeah, I just find it so funny that you bureaucratic bozos think that there’s such a thing as private information in this day and age.”

  Loria’s lip curled up in a snarl of disgust. Nic prepared himself to step in just in case half the stories he had heard about Tivoli Loria’s temper were true. The executive said, “Young man, I suggest you watch your tone, and around here, we take information security very seriously.”

  Burke nodded and then flipped his iPad around, pulled out the device’s stand, and started playing a video.

  “What the hell is this?” Yoshida said.

  The video showed the GoBox logo and faded from black to an image of Ty Loria himself.

  The digital Loria said, “Potential investors, in this video, I’m going to be showing in detail how our revolutionary vault works …”

  “Son of a bitch,” the real Loria said. “Where did you get this?”

  Burke rolled his eyes. “YouTube. Anyway, you guys watch it. I already saw it earlier, and I need to take a piss before we’re all floating out of here in canoes.” He then headed toward the back door, bumping into Loria as he went and saying, “Sorry, I’m clumsy sometimes.”

  Chapter 32

  Sam Carter supposed that he was just getting ornery in his old age, but he took great pleasure every time he watched August Burke work his magic and put someone in his or her place. Especially when the recipient was an arrogant peacock of a man like Ty Loria.

  The GoBox executive didn’t even try to hide his anger as Burke headed for the bathroom and the video began to play. On the screen, Loria, wearing the same kind of tailored suit but a smile instead of his current scowl, said, “Hello, and welcome to the future. Welcome to GoBox.”

  Carter rolled his eyes as Loria went on to explain a bit about the GoBox concept, all of which he’d heard before. His ears didn’t perk up until Loria said, “But, as an investor or VIP client, we want to give you a peek behind the curtain in order to demonstrate how seriously we take security here at GoBox. Let’s take a look at how our revolutionary vault system works. Forget Fort Knox, for everything from important documents to precious metals and rare antiquities, GoBox is the most secure storage system on the planet.”

  Carter noticed that Loria had stepped away and was tapping furiously on his phone. Probably an angry text to his IT department or lawyer regarding the company’s private video being posted on a very public site.

  The digital Loria continued, “Our vault is completely inaccessible, even by us. In order to show you what I mean by that, we’ve set up a special demonstration model, which you can see behind me.”

  Carter leaned closer to the iPad’s screen, his eyes not as sharp as they had once been. Once upon a time, he had been top of his class at Quantico in marksmanship and could shoot the center out of a quarter. Now, he damn near needed his glasses to hit the toilet when he took a piss, which he seemed to feel the need to do more frequently and with increasing difficulty. Probably an issue with his prostate, which he had been ignoring because a prostate exam required his doctor inserting two fingers into an area of his body that he considered to be exit-only.

  It sucked getting old.

  Nic Juliano—who was young, confident, and probably had the eyes of a hawk—must have noticed his squinting because he said, “Do you want me to hold it up closer, sir?”

  “I thought Taz was the smartass.”

  “Just trying to be helpful.”

  The video showed a massive vault that had been cut in half so that they could see the inner workings. Loria gestured to the demo vault and said, “Every GoBox vault is encased in eight feet of concrete and steel and buried one hundred feet below the ground. And once the vault is placed, it is never again seen or accessed by any person directly. How do we accomplish that? Through cutting-edge robotic technology.”

  With those words, the video changed to a massive machine inside the vault. It looked like the front part of a forklift had been fitted with hydraulics and mounted to a track that ran along the ceiling and floor. The large contraption rotated 180 degrees and slid its prongs beneath one of the large metal boxes, the massive type used to hold gold bullion and the like. It then effortlessly pulled out the large GoBox and placed it atop a conveyer belt.

  Loria stepped back onto the screen, and said, “The system is completely automated and inaccessible without your fingerprint, retinal scan, and eight-digit passcode. Not even the facility’s manager and employees can access the vault and your valuables without you present. When you choose the home delivery option or facility transfer option, our app scans your thumbprint and retina as well. And there’s even a special duress code, in case someone tries to force you to access your GoBox against your will.”

  The digital version of Loria walked away from the demo vault over to an area where a man in a white lab coat stood beside a machine that reminded Carter of a more sophisticated-looking bomb disposal robot.

  Carter glanced over at the CIA agent, Yoshida, in his tourist shirt and flip-flops. The agent had a relaxed posture and a disarming and indifferent look on his face. But he also had the eyes of a man who could kill a person and then join his friends for brunch. Yoshida paid little attention to the video, as if he had seen all this before. Carter wondered, for probably the hundredth time, how the CIA was connected to GoBox. He had some thoughts on the matter, but without further evidence, they all sounded a bit too much like the countless conspiracy theories about the agency and its less than legal activities that one could find plastered across the Internet.

  On the iPad’s display, Loria said, “Meet Robert. He’s one of our robotic engineers, and his friend here is called a Triple R, or a Remote Repair Robot. Our retrieval system is designed to be maintenance free, for security purposes, but if there is an issue in the vault, one of our techs, like Robert, can use a Triple R unit to remotely repair and maintain the vault’s equipment.”

  The real-life Loria had been speaking on the phone in a hushed but angry tone, but then he ended the call and rejoined the group. “That’s pretty much all the relevant bits. Please follow me, and I’ll show you the vault room, where the retrieved boxes are brought up.”

  Carter nodded. “Absolutely, but let me check on Dr. Burke first. He’s been gone awhile.”

  Chapter 33

  August Burke had located the building’s rear fire exit and stepped outside. The door stated the alarm would sound, but he figured that system had yet to be activated, considering the half-finished state of the rest of the building. He wedged the door open with a landscaping rock and lit up a cigarette.

  His hands shook as he felt a panic attack rising. He bent over and dry heaved into the red rock landscaping then dug into a pocket for his pill box. He opened the small white box with the pharmacy’s name on its face and threw one of the small white anti-anxiety pills into his mouth and swallowed it dry.

  Then, after wiping off his face, he took a long drag from his cigarette and stood there for a moment, enjoying the peace of being alone. Feeling his nerves calming, he reached into another pocket of his jeans and pulled out the wallet he had stolen from Ty Loria. He flipped open the worn leather billfold and examined the contents. He found a few items of note and snapped pictures of them with his iPhone. Then he pulled out a couple hundred bucks from what must have been a couple thousand in one hundred dollar bills.

  At his back, Carter said, “Are you okay, son?”

  “I’m not your s
on,” he replied as he shoved the wallet back into his pants and took a long drag off the cigarette.

  “That’s not good for you,” Carter said. “Haven’t you seen those commercials where the girl peels off part of her face as payment for a pack?”

  “Once again, you’re not my father. You’re not even my boss.”

  “If I was, I’d tell you that you’re doing a hell of a job.”

  “Oh yeah, I’m making friends left and right. At this rate, they’ll be breaking out the torches and pitchforks by dinner. Chanting, ‘Get the freak’.”

  “No one is out to get you. And no one thinks you’re a freak.”

  “If they’re around me long enough, they do.”

  Carter laughed, and a bit taken aback by the outburst—people didn’t typically laugh at him right to his face—Burke said, “You think I’m some kind of joke? Some monkey to do a little dance for your amusement?”

  Carter, still chuckling to himself, held up a hand and replied, “Absolutely not. But I did just figure something out about you.”

  “You can keep it to yourself. You’re not my shrink either. Not that I need one.”

  “Nothing like that. I just figured out why you smoke. I’ve noticed a few coughs and hacks, like you’re not always a smoker. You only smoke in social situations, don’t you? You use it as an excuse to step away and be alone.”

  “People get suspicious or think you’re sick if you go to the bathroom too much. They don’t question a smoker needing a fix. See, you’re a good detective, you don’t need me.”

  “You have a gift, and I don’t want to see you waste it under the hood of a car. Neither does your father. He’s struggled at that profession for years and wants better for you. Your mind can make connections and find order and meaning where others only see chaos.”

  “I like working on cars. It’s what makes me happy.”

  “Then why did you feel the need to acquire multiple degrees under a false name?”

  Burke gritted his teeth. He had often asked himself that same question. He simply liked to learn and understand things. He studied psychology to better understand people, but once he was caught, his clandestinely earned degrees had caused him nothing but headaches.

  “I was bored,” he said. “And just because my dad asked you to help clear up all the fraud stuff doesn’t mean that I have to be your indentured servant for the rest of my life.”

  “You’re not my slave. I’m not exactly a believer in that sort of thing. My ancestors were from the South. My great-grandfather picked cotton on the largest plantation in Georgia.”

  “Fascinating. Does that mean I can go home now?”

  Carter sighed. “You can do what you want, but I think that your assistance could help save the lives of those hostages. And I don’t think being a mechanic is what you really want to do with your life.”

  “You don’t know me. Don’t tell me what to think. I can do that for myself.”

  “You’re right. We can never truly know or understand other people. Thinking that you can fully grasp how another person is thinking or feeling is one of the greatest mistakes you can make in life,” Carter said. “But we can always ask. So let me rephrase. Do you really want to waste that beautiful brain of yours changing oil and rotating tires? Or is that just an easy way to hide from the world and all the people in it?”

  Burke kept his calm, indifferent mask in place, but internally, he wanted to scream at Carter, to tell the old man he had no idea how difficult and painful it was to constantly analyze all input and output and fight with every breath to appear normal.

  After a few seconds, Burke replied, “People like me don’t suffer from being on the spectrum. We suffer from other people.”

  “You can’t live your whole life in fear.”

  Burke hated making direct eye contact with anyone, but he forced himself to meet Carter’s gaze. “All I want is to be left in peace. To not have to worry about offending someone every time I open my mouth. To not have to analyze and mimic the behavior of others to blend in. My world is beautiful and fascinating. Yours is broken and terrifying. Which would you choose?”

  Carter seemed to consider that and was about to respond when Nic pushed through the back door. The SWAT officer said, “Been looking for you two. Taz just called. Our bad guys sent us another message. They requested hamburgers for everyone, unwrapped, no packaging of any kind, on two plastic trays.”

  Sam Carter nodded. “Burgers make sense. So does the packaging removal. Pizza or something like that comes in a cardboard box where we could hide audio or video bugs. These days the bugs are small enough that we could even hide them inside the cardboard that a burger like a Big Mac comes in.”

  “Maybe we could bug the trays?” Nic said.

  “They’ll probably throw them back out the front door when they’re done.”

  Burke dropped his cigarette to the pavement and ground it out with the toe of his Vans sneaker.

  “I don’t like the sound of this,” he said. “They’re still stalling for time, but even worse, they’re trying hard to make themselves seem reasonable and make us believe that they care about the well-being of the hostages.”

  “Why is that a bad thing?” Nic asked.

  “Because, in my experience, when someone tries so hard to convince you that they’re one way, they’re probably the exact opposite.”

  Chapter 34

  Nic Juliano needed to get back to Henderson and the hostage situation. Not because that’s where the action was or that he was some kind of adrenaline junkie. He kept thinking about Strom, the rookie, and the incident that morning at the survivalist’s house. It was hard to forget. His chest still hurt, and he figured that some deep bruises would be showing by now.

  But the pain didn’t matter. And neither did the fact that he was nearly killed. What mattered was that he had been there to protect one of his brothers.

  He felt guilty for not being there now. What if they had to breach? What if something went wrong, or the gunmen had more surprises in store for them?

  If he hadn’t been there that morning, Strom would have likely been laying on a slab in the morgue right then. He knew that he couldn’t be there every time, all the time. But he should have been there now instead of wasting his time getting a sales pitch from a shark in a suit.

  He checked his watch and said, “Sir, with all due respect, we really need to get back to Henderson. They’re expecting you to deliver the food they requested.”

  Carter smiled, and maintaining his maddeningly calm, the-world-can’t-touch-me demeanor, he said, “Patience, Nic. Getting ahead of these guys takes precedence over feeding them.”

  With a reluctant nod, Nic said, “Yes, sir.”

  The vault room in which they now stood didn’t seem nearly as complicated as Ty Loria made it sound. It was basically just a room with no windows, which contained some heavy-duty wheeled carts of various sizes, a couple of metal sorting tables, and a pair of massive conveyor belts. The room smelled faintly of rubber and hydraulic fluid. The walls were a drab gray and held no pictures or decorations of any kind. The only aspect of the room that struck him as odd was the wall behind the conveyer belts. It had been set up as some kind of accent wall, and gray and black glass tiles covered it from ceiling to floor. He had seen similar tiles in other parts of the building, but it seemed strange to spend the extra money to decorate a room that was clearly meant only for utilitarian purposes.

  “The automated system is tied remotely to the security checkpoint,” Loria said. “So as soon as the customer verifies his or her identity, then that person’s GoBox is sent up.”

  “What if they have multiple boxes?” Carter asked.

  “Then they have a different passcode to identify the different boxes. One of our technicians receives the box and delivers it to the appropriate private viewing room.”

  Carter rubbed his precisely manicured and graying goatee. “So the boxes obviously go back down after the client is done. What’s to s
top our guys from crawling down the tube and prying open some boxes?”

  Loria laughed. “Our system is very sophisticated, as you can clearly see. Do you honestly think we haven’t thought of every possible scenario? Especially one as mundane as crawling down a tube.”

  “No, I honestly don’t believe you’ve planned for everything.”

  “What have you seen that could possibly make you doubt our security?”

  “Nothing, but shit happens. Everything that’s been created can be broken.”

  “Perhaps,” Loria said, “but I hardly think that some common criminals—”

  Carter raised a hand a said, “There’s nothing common about these men.”

  “And woman,” Burke mumbled.

  “Right, and woman. We need to know everything, Mr. Loria. At this moment, you should be concerned with the lives of your employees and customers, not trade secrets.”

  “The safety of our people is our top priority, of course. In answer to your question, we have several redundant systems in place. Including multiple sensors and scanners within the tunnel. And at the end of the shaft, the box passes through a sealed-off section that we call the hot box. No air. Heated to 400 degrees Fahrenheit. Nothing living can pass through.”

  “Doesn’t that hurt the contents of the box?”

  “All our boxes are airtight and insulated. They also have their own internal scanners to ensure that no unapproved substances are placed within the box. Plus, the moment the alarm was triggered, the vault would have been completely locked down. No one is accessing the vault. Trust me on that.”

  Nic wanted to laugh at that comment. Ty Loria was descended from a powerful mafia family and now ran a company that seemed shady as hell and was inexplicably tied to the CIA. Nic would send his niece on a play date with Charlie Manson or Francis Ackerman before he’d trust her with Ty Loria.