Spectrum

by Ethan Cross

  “What could you two have possibly been thinking?” he asked.

  “That guy was trashed,” LJ signed, “and he attacked me.”

  “Really? It looked to me like you were antagonizing him.” Nic pointed at Burke and, switching from rapid sign language, he said, “And you! We’re law enforcement. We don’t go around attacking people and jamming broken bottles against their necks.”

  Burke sat down nonchalantly in one of the leather chairs in front of Romeo’s desk. Then he calmly laid his iPad on the desk’s surface and said, “Guy was a prick. And I can’t stand bullies.”

  “I don’t care if he pissed in your root beer and insulted your mother. We don’t go around in polite society asking people if they ‘want to die today’.”

  With a big smile on his face, apparently finding the whole situation hilarious, Romeo flopped down in his own chair and said, “Well, some of us do.”

  Nic ignored his uncle, still focused on Burke. “That guy could press charges against you. Maybe even sue the FBI. I’m going to tell ASAC Carter all about this.”

  Burke pulled out a cigarette and lit it up. With the smoking Marlboro dangling from his mouth, Burke said, “I’m shaking. You think he’ll take my next birthday away?”

  Nic shook his head in disgust. “I thought you were a genius.”

  “I never claimed to be anything. I’m just a mechanic who enjoys learning. I didn’t ask for any of this.”

  “You really don’t get it, do you? A lot of people would kill for a chance to work at the FBI for a guy like Carter. I know I would. A lot of people would do anything to have your brains, the gifts that you’ve been given. But you just want to piss on all that. There’s a lot of us out there killing ourselves every day for the knowledge and opportunities that have fallen in your lap, but you just want to turn your nose up and squander it away.”

  Burke blew out a large cloud of smoke in Nic’s direction. “Ignorance is bliss. I would give anything to be left alone, to not have to suffer through a world that makes no sense to me, struggling against a bunch of people whose thoughts, feelings, and reactions I have no way of understanding.”

  Nic grabbed Burke by his shirt and pulled him to his feet, knocking over the leather chair. He leaned down and said, “You want to hide from the world? Fine with me. You want to piss away your God-given gifts and treat people like you need to get them before they get you? I couldn’t care less. But if you ever put my little girl in danger again, I will bust your head in until you’re just as dumb as you think the rest of us are.”

  Burke still held the cigarette between his lips. He took a puff and blew the smoke into Nic’s face. Then in a flash of movement, Burke shoved both his fists up between Nic arms, breaking the hold Nic had on his shirt, and in the same movement, Burke shoved Nic back.

  Gritting his teeth and balling his fists, Nic fought the urge to retaliate.

  “You think just because I’m smart that means that I’m weak and can’t take care of myself?” Burke said. “I’m a second-degree black belt in Krav Maga. That’s a fighting style designed for real-world situations like this by the Israel Defense Forces.”

  “I know what Krav Maga is, but I don’t care if you’re a Shaolin Monk. If one of that guy’s buddies would have pulled a gun, which they probably would have done if Romeo and I hadn’t come to your rescue—”

  “I had everything under control,” Burke said. “I know what I’m doing.”

  “For being a super-genius, you really don’t realize how dumb you are, do you?”

  Romeo, having kept quiet as Nic nearly started another fight in the middle of his office, finally spoke up. “Are you two lovebirds about done trying to figure out whose equipment is bigger yet? Not to say that I’m not finding the show mildly amusing, but here in about a half hour, I’ve got a … thing. So you want to ask your questions or just keep flipping your tails around like a couple of sexually frustrated peacocks?”

  Chapter 51

  Gabi knew that time was against her. The giant wouldn’t allow them to be unsupervised for long, no matter how angry the younger gunman had become. She only had a matter of seconds to search the office.

  She had always hated the black and white vertigo pattern on Yarborough’s floor. Something about it was distracting and disconcerting. Now, it was making her feel nauseated. The room spun, and she felt herself falling into the swirling pit of black and white.

  Fighting back panic, she ripped open the drawers. There had to be something, anything, that she could use as a weapon. She checked the lowest drawers first. If he did have a concealed pistol, it would have to be somewhere easily and quickly accessible. Otherwise, what was the point?

  She started with the right-hand set of drawers first, knowing Yarborough to be right-handed. The bottom drawer held nothing but a cigar box. She opened it and checked to be sure. The next three drawers of his desk held the usual envelopes, paper clips, staplers, and other office supplies. The only item she found that could possibly be of use was a pair of scissors with a red plastic handle. They were new, the kind with round blunted edges to keep kids from impaling themselves.

  Gabi swore under her breath and turned her attention to the left side of the desk. That side only possessed two drawers, large ones designed to hold hanging file folders. She had seen Yarborough pull files on VIP clients and employees from the drawers. He was the type of person who preferred paper over digital, which she found ignorant not only from a practical and environmental standpoint, but she also found it pompous. Not necessarily the act of keeping paper files, but the way he would pull them out, lick his fingers, and page through the contents, making small clicks of disapproval as he went. She held out hope that maybe she’d find a gun inside some kind of quick draw holster mounted to the side of the drawers. No such luck. Nothing useful, unless she intended to give her enemy a nasty papercut.

  The only place left to check was the narrow slide out drawer in the center of the desk. But she didn’t think it was large enough to hold a pistol or really anything more than pens and pads of sticky notes.

  She placed her fingers beneath the lip of dark wood, but then she froze. The door to the vault room had just opened and someone had walked out. She could hear the man’s plodding footsteps against the tile floor of the lounge. She recognized the echo of hard-soled military boots, and she knew that those boots either belonged to the giant or to his young subordinate. She also knew that both men were extremely dangerous at this point — the young man because his fear would make him desperate, like a cornered animal, and the giant because he could kill them all without batting an eye.

  And Gabi suspected that could be his plan.

  She slowly leaned forward over the desk, trying not to cause a sound as her weight left the desk chair. Through the open office door, she saw the younger man. He paced back and forth, mumbling something under his breath. He looked even more agitated, obviously not very happy with whatever had happened in the vault room.

  His eyes were wild, and his body language reminded her of a homeless man she had often witnessed talking to himself in the park near her apartment.

  Whatever had taken place in the vault room may have just pushed the gunman over the edge, beyond rational thought. He kept pacing while holding a fist to his forehead and mumbling to himself. He seemed to be in his own little world.

  The good thing about that was that he had yet to notice her absence.

  The bad thing was that when he did, it could snap the last thread of his sanity. And if that happened, she knew the young gunman would be even more dangerous than his ruthless commander.

  Chapter 52

  Burke had chosen the right-hand brown leather chair, which sat in front of Romeo’s desk. Nic, still visibly upset, sat beside him, while LJ dropped onto one of the room’s couches, put up her feet, and started playing on her phone.

  He took a last drag off his cigarette and said, “May I use your ashtray, Mr. Juliano?”

  Romeo cocked an eyebrow and put o
n what Burke found to be a really good tough guy face. “Two things. Who in the name of Frank Sinatra said you could smoke in my office? Second, what makes you think I even own an ashtray?”

  Burke shrugged. “I guess I just assumed you wouldn’t mind, since you obviously smoke in here. The smell is masked, but still readily detectable. It would then stand to reason that you would have an ashtray.” Burke pointed up at the built-in shelving at Romeo’s back. Pictures and small collectables likely of more sentimental than financial value lined the shelves.

  “I can also see the reflection of the ashtray and a can of Febreze on your top shelf,” Burke continued. “You have them hidden behind one of the pictures, but the angle of the neighboring photo allows them to be seen in its reflection.”

  Romeo’s features softened, and he stood and retrieved the ashtray. As he sat back down and offered the ashtray, he said to Nic, “I kind of like this kid. Maybe I can get him to come over to the dark side.”

  “You would like him. You’re both jackholes,” Nic said. “Now, what do you know about GoBox and Loria?”

  Romeo leaned back in his chair, which creaked under his weight. Burke noticed a worn spot in the leather where Romeo was now leaning his head. He started calculating the variables necessary to determine the chair’s age based upon style and wear, factoring and estimating the number of hours a man like Romeo would be reclined in such a chair and the oily grooming products that Romeo seemed to prefer.

  “I don’t have anything concrete for you,” Romeo said.

  Nic rolled his eyes. “You keep your ears to the ground. What have you heard? Even if it’s just bar bragging or hearsay.”

  “None of this ever comes back to me. Off the record and such. You got that, officer?”

  “Of course. I may be a cop, but I’m not a rat.”

  “That remains to be seen.”

  “I thought you had a ‘thing’ in a half hour. Stop wasting my damn time.”

  Romeo pursed his lips and, after a few seconds, said, “Like you said, nothing but grumblings. But let’s start with facts. The Loria family sold off all their other businesses, both legal and illegal, to start up GoBox.”

  “That seems pretty stupid, putting all their eggs into one basket.”

  “Like I always told you: diversification is key. Not that you ever listened to me. Anyway, that’s a verifiable fact. I also know that they were being bankrolled by a third party.”

  “A private company?” Burke asked. “Another crime syndicate?”

  “That’s where the rumors come in. From what I’ve heard, the Lorias were approached by the CIA to form some kind of partnership.”

  “Why would the CIA want to start GoBox? To hide dirty money?” Nic asked.

  Romeo shrugged. “I’ve heard that it’s deeper than that. You’ve heard that the CIA has ‘black sites’ scattered across the country.”

  “If you believe what you see on TV.”

  “It’s also supposed to tie in somehow to black sites.”

  “So they’re detaining people at GoBox locations?” Burke said.

  “Maybe, but the word is that it’s actually a bit darker and more illegal. We’re talking research and development. Weapons. Chemical and biological.”

  Nic laughed. “Sounds like a conspiracy theory. The same kind of thing posted on the Internet by guys living in bunkers and paranoid schizophrenics. The CIA could never get away with something like that.”

  “Right. Like the CIA doesn’t finance rebels and coups and assassinations. And they’re not in bed with the cartels bankrolling clandestine operations with drug money.”

  Nic shook his head. “I don’t buy it. There’s Senate oversight and checks and balances in place.”

  “Don’t be naïve, kid. I’m not saying the President and Congress and even the higher-ups at the agency are involved. But who knows. And here’s the thing, you have these big government bureaucracies and layers within layers and rabbit holes so deep that the light of day never reaches them. Government’s made up of people. People can be greedy and stupid and evil. Maybe it’s some kind of splinter group coloring outside the lines. I don’t know, but what’s what I’ve heard.”

  “Any kind of chemical or biological weapons development would violate all kinds of international laws and treaties,” Burke added. “The Geneva Protocol, the Biological Weapons Convention, the Chemical Weapons Convention, the Warsaw Pact. It would be a huge international incident if it was ever discovered that our government had developed anything like that for offensive purposes.”

  Romeo chuckled. “Of course, because the government is trustworthy. They’re not the biggest and baddest crooks in the business. But either way, it stands to reason that such laws could motivate anyone wanting to break them to go above and beyond to keep their secrets. A group of such low moral fiber may try to hide said activities under the guise of a legitimate business.”

  “Let’s hope those are only rumors,” Nic said. “Anything else?”

  Romeo drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair and seemed to consider the question. “Not about GoBox, but I’ve heard that Ty Loria swings both ways.”

  Nic rolled his eyes, and Burke said, “I don’t know what that means. Is that a bad thing?”

  Romeo cocked an eyebrow and shrugged. “I don’t think his wife is too happy about it. I’m a pretty open guy. To each his own and all. But you know what they say, you build a thousand bridges and suck one—”

  Nic interrupted and said, “Okay, I think we’re done. We’ll let you get to your ‘thing,’ which I’m sure I don’t want to know anything about.”

  “Maybe I’ll take the kid along?”

  “Good. Then he’ll be out of my hair.”

  “I meant Elisabetta,” Romeo said with a challenge in his eyes. “You were about her age when you started—”

  Nic looked at Romeo with such malice in his eyes that the older man’s words caught in his throat. Burke had never seen such a look. It was like feelings of rage and resentment and a bit of insanity had all balled up into one mass of emotion, and Nic was about to hurl all that fire at Romeo. Burke studied Nic’s featured and catalogued the nuances. He would have to practice that look later. It could be a very useful tool.

  “She’ll never be part of that world,” Nic said. “And if you ever—”

  Romeo raised his hands in surrender and lowered his head. “I know, kid. I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry. But listen, I would like to see her more. And you too … We’re family. I miss you both.”

  Nic’s eyes softened a bit, and he looked over at LJ. “How long is your ‘thing’ going to last?”

  “Half hour. Hour at the most.”

  Nic sighed. “What do you have going on after that?”

  “Nothing. You saying what I think you’re saying?”

  “I’m going to be jammed up with this hostage situation for who knows how long. Maybe we could help each other out. You spend some time with your great niece, and I don’t have to worry about finding someone to stay with her.”

  Romeo’s face broke out into a huge grin. “That sounds great.”

  Nic pointed his index finger at his uncle and said, “But don’t keep her at the damn bar, and no stories.”

  “Forget about it. We’ll go do something fun. This is Vegas. It’s practically Disney World these days.”

  Nic stood up and added, “Don’t make me regret this.” Then he walked over to LJ to explain what was going on.

  Burke smiled awkwardly and said, “Thank you, Mr. Juliano. And by the way, if you get a SmokeBuddy and a dehumidifier, it would really help with the smell.”

  “You’re welcome. And I’ll look into that.”

  Burke pushed himself from his chair, but then added, “One more question.”

  “Ask away.”

  “How long have you had that chair? Based on style and wear patterns, I would estimate eight years and three months. But I may not be accounting for all the variables. Are you the original owner?”


  Chapter 53

  Lamar Franklin had never felt emotions like this before. He didn’t even know what to call the way he felt. It was more than fear. Terror? But he was past that point as well. He was afraid for sure, but he also felt … hollow, abandoned, forsaken, by his partners, his country, everyone.

  He didn’t want to hurt anyone, and he didn’t want to die. But those seemed to be the only two options left.

  As he paced back and forth, he considered suicide. But how would he do it? Step out the front door and start shooting. That would be a blaze of glory in a way, but it would also be extremely painful, and who knew if he would even die quickly. He could unscrew the suppressor from the pistol and jam the gun in his mouth. But he had seen people botch the job like that before. Bullets could ricochet in strange ways, or he could end up a vegetable.

  Then he remembered the C-4 strapped around his midsection. That would be the quickest and least painful way.

  But his gran-mama had taught him that people who committed suicide could never be absolved of his or her sin. He wasn’t sure that he believed that, but then again, eternity was a long time.

  He couldn’t think, couldn’t concentrate. He kept pacing and could do little more than focus on breathing in and out.

  Where could the Doc and Mr. K have gone? They had simply vanished from a locked room.

  He spun on his heels toward the hostages and located one of the two vault room technicians. He jammed the barrel of his M4 in the woman’s face. She was a sturdy-built Hispanic woman, probably in her forties. But all Franklin cared about was the specialized knowledge in her head.

  “Could someone crawl down the shaft to the vault?” he asked.

  She shook her head no.

  “What’s stopping them?”

  She wouldn’t make eye contact with him but said, “There’s no way. There are all kinds of security and detection devices to keep people out.”

  “We broke into your computer systems. Maybe they disabled them.”