Spectrum

by Ethan Cross

  Seeing the ground-penetrating radar and other scanning tools reminded Nic of the days following his grandfather’s funeral. Angelo Juliano, known in certain circles as the “Grand Executioner” owned a two-acre estate across the Hudson in Fort Lee, New Jersey. The thirty-four room mansion had been passed down to Nic’s father, Thomas, and the rumors were that Grandpa Angelo had hidden millions in gold inside the house, but not even Angelo’s closest advisors knew where.

  Tommy had brought in experts with ground-penetrating radar, sonic-imaging scanners, and cutting-edge metal detectors, but in his typical fashion, Tommy grew impatient and then angry. He set to work with a jackhammer in the basement and gave Nic and his older brother sledgehammers to tear into the walls. Nic’s mother had watched the destruction with tears in her eyes, but she knew better than to question Tommy Jewels.

  It was one of Nic’s fondest memories from his childhood. They made a game of the destruction. But after a week, Tommy had finally given up on finding the gold.

  Nic could still hear his father standing in the yard, screaming at the heavens, “You think this is funny, you old bastard? I wish I could bring you back and stick another ice pick in your eye!”

  Checking his watch and his phone for messages, Nic was about to ask Burke what he was doing, but one of the two technicians in the room spoke first.

  Nic could see Asian features behind the mask of her jumpsuit. “We already checked the signals coming from over there,” she said. “There’s no hidden wall. The blueprints show that it’s most likely just the wiring for the main terminals.”

  Burke laughed, and without looking up from the iPad, he said, “That’s what they want you to think. Just like the government isn’t suppressing knowledge of extraterrestrials.”

  The tech cocked her head at Burke and then went back to work.

  “What are you looking for?” Nic finally asked.

  “I’m not looking for anything. I’ve already found it.”

  “Found what?”

  “The source of the NFC signals, at least one of the sources. There’s also one at the opposite end of the wall.”

  Nic scratched his head, and Carter said, “What exactly is an NFC signal?”

  Burke kept his eyes on his work but explained, “Near Field Communication. It’s a set of communication protocols enabling two devices to establish communication by bringing them within about two inches of each other. NFC operates within the globally available unlicensed radio frequency ISM band of 13.56 MHz on ISO/IEC 18000-3 air interface at rates ranging from 106 to 424 kbit/s.”

  “Cleared things right up for me, buddy,” Nic said.

  “It’s the same tech you would use to pay for a Starbucks coffee with your cell phone. The odd thing is that when I was examining the vault room at the North Vegas location, I detected some type of highly encrypted NFC within the back corners of the room. And as I suspected, the signal is present here as well.”

  Carter walked over and examined the tiled wall more closely. “So the manager’s missing watch is like a key that unlocks a secret door?”

  “I don’t think so. More like it lets you access the keyhole. One sec. I think I almost have it.”

  Burke tapped on his iPad for a few more moments and something happened. Nic’s hand instinctively went to his holstered sidearm as he heard the small click and whirring of a tile popping out of the wall and folding down into a small access terminal. On its face rested a keypad containing both numbers and letters, a thumbprint scanner, and what Nic guessed to be a retinal scanner.

  “That’s why they took out the manager’s eye,” Nic said. “But why not just make him come in here to open it?”

  “I thought about that too,” Burke said. “My guess is there’s an additional security checkpoint once you reach the bottom, and so they didn’t want to drag him along. Or maybe they needed the retinal scan to access computers in the lab. Or maybe they’re just really mean people.”

  Nic shook his head. “Back up. You lost me. What lab? What are we looking at here?”

  Burke smiled. He had everyone’s attention now, including the two techs who had earlier dismissed whatever signal Burke had discovered. “It’s pretty slick really. What’s the problem with having a secure facility that you don’t want anyone to know about?”

  Carter, examining the panel, replied, “Security and detection. If the place is guarded, someone obviously knows there is something important there. So you conceal the entrance, leave it unguarded, in plain sight.”

  “Yes, but there is a long list of other issues. Equipment going in and out. Personnel entering and exiting. Power consumption. Sure, if you’re just wanting to interrogate a suspect, you can do it in a basement or an abandoned warehouse. But what if you wanted to set up a secured research facility or long-term prisoner holding or hidden safe house? How do you build something like that and keep the entrance secure without anyone ever knowing it’s there?”

  Nic nodded, starting to follow Burke’s line of thinking. “Right. You hide it within another legitimate business. And what better place to hide something like that, than within a place that’s already locked up tight with armed guards and a ton of security.”

  “But then how do you access the lab or whatever it is?” Carter asked.

  “My guess,” Burke said, “is that you start with the watches that emit an almost undetectable NFC signal when they’re close to the wall. The presence of two panels is indicative of a double-keyed interface, like launching a nuke. You have to have two people with a watch, an approved thumbprint, retinal scan, and a security code, which judging by the keypad is quite complicated. Then once the proper verifications have been made, a transport is sent up from the vault to this room.”

  “What do you mean ‘transport’?”

  “My thought is a specially designed version of a GoBox meant to hold a person, then that person locks his or her self inside a space about the size of a coffin. Only this coffin has a built-in oxygen supply.”

  Carter scratched at his goatee and started pacing the floor. “If that’s the case, then our two suspects went down the rabbit hole and are under our feet right now.”

  “A distinct possibility.”

  “Can you break through their security to get us in?”

  “Highly unlikely. If that were possible, then our thieves wouldn’t have needed to go to such elaborate measures.”

  “Then what do we do?”

  “I was thinking that we could try to speak with the manager and—”

  Armed men in all black tactical gear cut Burke’s sentence short as they burst into the vault room with Yoshida and Ty Loria following close behind them. Yoshida now wore a dark suit with a red silk tie. The CIA agent immediately took charge of the room, ordering everyone out. The two technicians obeyed, but Nic, Burke, and Carter remained rooted in place.

  “I guess your luggage came in?” Nic said to Yoshida.

  “No, actually, I had to break down and buy a suit. Couldn’t stand the tourist clothes any longer.”

  “I don’t blame you. Before, you looked like an accountant from Kansas here on vacation.”

  “How do I look now?”

  Nic looked Yoshida up and down. “Like a piece of shit rolled up in an expensive suit.”

  Yoshida smiled, but his eyes showed the kind of intensity Nic had seen many times before. A certain cold indifference displayed by psychopaths and men who made a business out of death.

  Loria blinked rapidly and said in his booming, arrogant voice, “Your work here is finished, gentlemen. We’ll be handling the investigation inside the building from here on out.”

  “You can’t do that,” Carter said.

  Yoshida chuckled. “In the name of national security, you bet I can. This was an act of terrorism perpetrated by a foreign national. The agency will be taking point.”

  Carter stepped forward and said, “It’s obviously FBI and police jurisdiction. We’re not going anywhere. But we’re willing to work with you on this.”


  Yoshida looked at his watch, checked his phone, and maintained his half-smile. Loria puffed out his chest and said, “This is my building, and I want—”

  Carter said, “With all due respect, Mr. Loria, this is an active crime scene. You’re the one that shouldn’t be here. And your friend from the agency has no jurisdiction to operate on US soil.”

  Yoshida walked over to one of the metal sorting tables and hopped up onto it like a kid jumping onto a kitchen counter to watch his mother prepare dinner. “Actually,” he said, “this is part of a foreign intelligence investigation, so I’m perfectly within the boundaries of the law.”

  And again, Yoshida looked down at his watch.

  “Are you late for something?” Nic said. “Don’t let us keep you.”

  Yoshida didn’t say a word. He just kept toying around with his phone.

  Nic felt the Juliano temper flaring up. He suddenly didn’t feel like a cop. He felt like Nicky Jewels, escalation management issues and all. He stomped over to where the CIA agent sat. Yoshida was probably eight inches shorter and sixty pounds lighter than him, but the agent didn’t even flinch when Nic slammed his hands down on each side of the metal table and looked Yoshida right in the eyes.

  “I don’t care about jurisdiction or politics,” he said. “One of my brothers died today, and there’s a group of people wasting away in agony just across the parking lot as you sit there with that smug little grin on your face. It’s time to start talking. Is the CIA using this place to develop chemical or biological weapons?”

  Yoshida tilted his head. He seemed amused by Nic’s threatening demeanor. “Off the record?”

  “Screw the record. I could care less about all this cloak-and-dagger nonsense. All I care about is helping those people and catching the bastards who killed my friend. I’m going to do that by whatever means are necessary, and I wear a size-fifteen boot, which is not going to feel good stuck up the ass of whoever gets in my way.”

  “The Central Intelligence Agency is not in the business of creating weapons of mass destruction. We’re the good guys who stop people from doing such things. And we also take our jobs very seriously. However you think the agency is involved here, I’ll tell you this, it has nothing to do with biological or chemical weapons. And don’t ever threaten me again. I know all about your background, and so you may think that growing up rough and tumble makes you a force to be reckoned with. But you see, while your kind may come to the house of an enemy and threaten to break their knee caps with a baseball bat, my kind plays by entirely different rules of engagement. In my world, I would simply put a bullet between that enemy’s eyes from a thousand yards. No bravado. No threats. You don’t want to make enemies like me, Officer Juliano.”

  Nic continued to stare into the agent’s eyes, only a few inches from his face. He seethed with anger, but he knew better than to engage. Taking a step back, he said, “Fine. Let’s not be enemies. Help us save those people.”

  “Those people are already dead.”

  “If you’re not the one developing the weapons, then you don’t know that. There could be an anti-virus or a treatment.”

  “I’ve seen enough designer bugs to know. There’s nothing you or anyone can do for those people,” Yoshida said before checking his watch, again.

  Nic balled up his fists and locked his jaw, but he turned away from the smaller man before he did something even worse than striking him, something like biting the little prick’s nose off.

  He turned back to Carter, who seemed to be calculating their options. The armed agents with Yoshida hadn’t tried to escort them out. What were they waiting for? Nic imagined Carter was wondering the same thing.

  Burke had melted into a corner, as if trying to completely separate himself from the conflict. Nic watched Burke inching closer to the door, nose buried in the iPad, ignoring the armed men. But before he reached the door, he bumped into one of the CIA commandos and nearly fell.

  “Sorry. My bad,” Burke said. “I’m clumsy sometimes.” The man in the tactical gear didn’t respond, as if he were a robot awaiting orders.

  Then someone’s phone started to vibrate. Nic listened for the source. It was coming from Carter’s pocket. Nic closed his eyes, and his heart dropped into his stomach, as he realized that this was exactly what Yoshida was waiting for.

  The CIA agent smiled and said, “You’re going to want to take that call, Carter. It’s your deputy director.”

  Chapter 68

  Gabi felt as if she was trapped in a nightmare that refused to end. Over the course of the day, she had survived against men with machine guns, bombs, and some kind of poison or virus that made people bleed out of every orifice. She wasn’t about to allow a small blonde woman be the end of her. But she was also so shocked by what she had just witnessed that she wondered if it was all a hallucination. Or perhaps she really had died back there in the manager’s office and everything that had come after had simply been the last few pulses of activity before her brain died.

  The blonde reached behind her and locked the door.

  Gabi saw the gun on the dead officer’s belt and lunged forward, knocking over her chair. She was able to get a hand on the gun, but the blonde spun on a heel and drove a foot into Gabi’s chest, pushing the air from her lungs and her body away from the gun.

  Gabi stumbled back against a fallen chair, almost losing her feet from beneath her. But then, changing tactics, she snatched up the chair and hurled it at the small blonde woman. The blonde side-stepped the flying object, but that was fine. It had only been meant as a distraction to give Gabi another chance at the gun.

  This time, the blonde grabbed Gabi’s wrist, twisted the arm nearly to the point of breaking. Gabi locked gazes with her attacker, who wore a small smile and had a strange glee in her eyes. The blonde cocked her head to the side in an almost alien gesture, like some giant praying mantis from a sci-fi movie seeing a human for the first time.

  Then the blonde drove her heel down onto Gabi’s knee and shifted her entire weight into the blow. The leg buckled, and Gabi dropped, screaming in agony. The pain shot all the way up through her body and was so intense it made her vision grow dim and her stomach heave as if she were about to vomit.

  From the floor, Gabi sobbed and yelled for help.

  The blonde typed a message onto her wrist, and the voice said, “There are a lot of walls and distance between here and anyone who can help you.”

  She knew the woman was probably right. They were on the far opposite end of the massive store from the garden center, where the police had set up their triage unit. Plus, they were down a long hallway beside a loudly humming room that probably provided air conditioning or heat for the store.

  And even if someone did hear her screams, would they make it in time?

  If she was going to survive this, she would have to fight her way out, just like she had done her whole life. She hadn’t let her brother kill her, which he would have certainly attempted in time. She hadn’t allowed the giant or his young patsy to punch her clock. And she wouldn’t let this little bitch be the end of her either.

  Then Gabi remembered Deb. Where had she been during all this?

  Pushing herself up on her forearms and twisting on her hip, she looked farther back into the shadows of the manager’s office. Deb was hiding beneath one of the desks, crying, and begging for her life. The blonde seemed to have a spring in her step, almost skipping, as she approached Deb. She reached under the desk and grabbed Deb by the foot.

  “No! No!” Deb screamed and kicked her legs, but the thin blonde woman was much stronger than she appeared. She caught both of Deb’s feet and dragged the screaming woman out into the open. Then she aimed the officer’s gun down at Deb.

  Gabi’s eyes went wide, knowing she was about to witness another murder. She and Deb had never exactly been friends, and Deb had a way of getting under her skin. Still, they were coworkers, and she liked the woman on a personal level. Not to mention that Deb had two children and
five grandchildren, who seemed to be the center of her world.

  Gabi had to help her, but every time she made even the slightest movement, her leg protested with a spike of fire. She pulled herself up enough to see her leg and nearly fainted when she saw the white bone protruding from the side of her calf. She dry-heaved a bit but managed to fight off the wave of dizziness.

  “Please, don’t kill me,” Deb pleaded. “I won’t help the police. I barely even saw anyone’s face. I won’t help them at all. I swear.”

  The blonde flipped the gun in the air and caught it by the barrel. Then she swung the weapon down on Deb like a hammer. Deb screamed and raised her arms, but the blonde continued to pound her arms and face with the weapon.

  Gabi saw blood splattering over the floor. The arc and motion of the blonde’s arm seemed relaxed, slow, and rhythmic, as if she were taking her time with each blow, savoring it in a strange way, like a child skipping stones across a lake and trying to achieve a higher number of skips with each throw.

  Deb was still sobbing and shrieking, but Gabi knew she wouldn’t be able to survive much more.

  Maybe the cop had another weapon or a radio she could use to call for help?

  On her elbows and forearms, she dragged herself toward the fallen officer. He was still slumped in a desk chair, his body slowly sliding toward the floor. She ignored the obscene angle of his head and neck.

  Deb’s screams became gurgled grunts and moans.

  Gabi felt his ankles first, but there was no gun. Of course not, she thought, he was a sketch artist, not someone who expected to be in a lot of gun battles. Pulling herself up onto her left knee, she felt around on his utility belt. There were some extra magazines, a set of handcuffs, a key ring, a loop that may have been for a night stick, a few other small pouches that were probably of little use to her—latex gloves or something of that nature—but she did feel two items of importance: the cop’s radio and a Taser with a pistol grip.

  Another thwack from behind her, and the sound of liquid splattering across tile. Deb wasn’t making noise any longer, so she was either unconscious or dead.