Dead in a Week

by Andrea Kane

  “Good to hear your voice, prijatelj.” Aidan hadn’t talked to Danijel Horvat in months—not since he and his wife had visited Aidan and Abby in New York last summer. Abby was already excited about the prospect of returning the visit and traveling to Croatia.

  The two men went way back, having served together in the War in Kosovo. Aidan had been there doing Marine intel work during active combat. Danijel had also been doing intel work, in his case for the Croatian army. Aidan had received classified information saying that Danijel’s base was in a target zone about to be bombed by the enemy. He’d gotten in touch with Danijel instantly. The base had been evacuated. Danijel was firm in his belief that Aidan had saved his life. He’d never forgotten. He never would.

  Aidan shrugged off the rescue. But he never let Danijel forget the other time he’d saved his life. Danijel had gotten romantically involved with a beautiful Serbian woman who, unbeknownst to him, was married—and to a high-level politician. The politician had learned his wife was being unfaithful and was on his way to the hotel where a liaison was taking place to kill her lover. Aidan had gotten wind of that and had managed to whisk Danijel out of the hotel mere minutes before the shit hit the fan.

  For that rescue, Aidan would forever rib Danijel.

  “I’m in the middle of an investigation,” he told Danijel now. “Two of my men are in Croatia. I need you to meet with them and help them. We’re racing the clock to save a kidnapped young woman we believe is being held somewhere in your country.”

  “Then I’ll be ready for them. I assume the details you’ll be providing me will be only need-to-know?”

  “They will be, yes,” Aidan confirmed. “But I’ll give you everything you require to make this rescue happen. My guys on the ground will add whatever’s necessary.”

  “Fine. I’m listening.”

  * * *

  As soon as Aidan had finished up with Danijel and emailed him photos and background information on Philip and Marc, he called Terri.

  “Sorry it’s the middle of the night there,” he began. “But I need you to provide a way to transfer confidential digital files out of NanoUSA and to the kidnappers.”

  “It can’t be done,” Terri replied, clearly wide awake and working. “I’ve explored the NanoUSA systems. They’re impenetrable.”

  “Get creative.”

  “I’ve tried. It would have to be done from the inside by someone who knows what they’re doing. Even then, it would be next to impossible.”

  Aidan’s mind was racing. “Can’t you develop something that Simone can take in with her to use?”

  “Simone has no knowledge of complex hardware and software security. And what do you mean by ‘develop something’? I doubt C3PO is available, and he’d be far from invisible.”

  “It would have to be something more subtle.”

  Terri gave an exasperated sigh. “Aidan, I’m the best there is at big systems, complex programs, and firewalls. This would require a physical component to get around their format-variant systems. I don’t do electronic gizmos.”

  A slow smile spread across Aidan’s face. “You’re right,” he said. “But we both know someone who does.”

  Farmhouse

  Slavonia, Croatia

  Tuesday, 8:45 a.m. local time

  Same endless acres of land. Same cramped room. Same praying to be rescued.

  Lauren had moved past tears and terror and into a faraway, surreal place where only a hollow ache remained. She lay, curled up on the bed in her assigned quarters, staring off into nothingness, unaware if it was day or night and not really caring. She was aware that nearly a week had passed since she’d been taken. And she had no idea what that meant. Did they plan to return her or kill her? Had they contacted her father? Were there some kind of negotiations going on?

  Did she dare to even hope anymore?

  She’d fallen into a routine. Showering in the closet-sized hall bathroom and changing into some of the new clothes she’d been provided with. Forcing herself to go to the kitchen to eat—or try to eat. She couldn’t choke down much, but she swallowed enough to sustain her. Twice, when the men who were holding her were locked away in another bedroom that was their meeting place, she’d tentatively walked around the small, starkly furnished farmhouse—with Bashkim keeping a close eye on her—and casually gazed out the windows, willing there to be some so-far-unseen landmark she could memorize to aid in her rescue.

  If there ever was a rescue.

  Eventually, she’d return to her room and crawl back into bed, lying there for hours. Solitude, which she normally despised, seemed to be her only friend. Any voices she heard made her heart start to pound and her body to shake. And when those voices moved away, she sagged with relief.

  The lack of intrusion meant she wasn’t going to be violated or worse.

  Every evening before Bashkim turned in for the night, he’d respectfully knock on the door, coming in to make sure she was well and to see if there was anything she needed to make her stay here more comfortable.

  Her stay? She’d almost laughed out loud. It sounded as if she were in a quaint bed-and-breakfast, free as a bird, backpacking her way through Europe. The truth was she was a prisoner and quite possibly a soon-to-be corpse.

  Last night she’d asked him about Marko. She still had nightmares about him barging in and raping her. Bashkim’s jaw had set and he’d said she didn’t need to worry, that Marko wouldn’t be back. He’d reached into his pocket, pulled out an all-too-familiar gold chain, and tossed it on the nightstand.

  The message was clear. Marko was dead.

  Relief flooded Lauren. She knew she should feel sickened by the fact that a man had been killed, probably brutally. She felt nothing but thankful. All she wanted was to never have to see Marko’s smug, predatory face again.

  Oh God, what were they asking for that her father couldn’t—or wouldn’t—give? Would he possibly be willing to play Russian roulette with her life?

  No. Never.

  She couldn’t let thoughts like that creep into her head and sever the fragile threads of her prayers.

  Please, Dad, she begged silently. Please find a way. I want to come home.

  I don’t want to die.

  10

  Four days left…

  Four Seasons Hotel, Palo Alto

  27 February

  Tuesday, 6:15 a.m. local time

  Aidan rolled onto his back and slowly opened his eyes.

  The hotel room was cast in shadows, dimly lit only by the streetlamp just outside the curtained windows and the LED display of the clock on the nightstand. The sun wasn’t ready to give way to dawn, so the skies were dark. And Aidan had only gotten an hour and a half of sleep. But his bio clock normally went off every morning at five thirty. It had since his military days.

  Today he’d slept late.

  He blinked away the final vestiges of sleep and pushed himself to a sitting position, trying not to disturb the sleeping woman beside him.

  “No need to be chivalrous. I’m awake.” Simone turned to face him, her dark hair disheveled and a soft smile touching her lips. “I’m flattered I tired you out enough to take even a cat nap.”

  Aidan returned her smile, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “You did. I’m almost sorry. That’s ninety minutes of a reunion missed.”

  “To be continued,” Simone promised, propping herself on her elbow and leaning up to give Aidan a long, melting kiss. “But for now, we have much work to do. Do we have time to share a cup of coffee? Before I head into NanoUSA today, I need to know Vance Pennington’s current state of mind. I must hear how your meeting with him and his wife went last night.”

  “I guess you and I didn’t do much talking once I got here, did we?”

  “None.” Simone sat up and stretched like a contented cat. “I have no complaints.”

  Aidan kissed her bare shoulder. “I’ll order us coffee and a light breakfast. Ladies first in the shower.”

  “Firs
t, yes—while you call room service.” Simone climbed out of bed, letting the sheet drop seductively behind her. “Alone, no.” She shot Aidan a teasing look over her shoulder. “In Europe, we conserve water. You Americans are so wasteful. Would you consider trying it my way?”

  Aidan was already reaching for the hotel phone. “I’ll be there before the water gets hot.”

  47th Street, Diamond District, Manhattan, New York

  27 February

  Tuesday, 9:20 a.m. local time

  Ryan McKay shoved his hands into the pockets of his parka as he turned the corner and made his way down the sidewalk of the perpetually under-construction street. People were either striding rapidly along or halted at a dead standstill, ogling glittering diamonds in showcase windows. The result was sidewalk gridlock and a pedestrian collision course. The patches of snow from last night’s two-inch accumulation didn’t help.

  The congestion and chaos were just what Ryan had counted on. Getting lost in the crowd would be a snap. Although, on the flip side, he’d made this trek in the middle of the night many times before, when his contact deemed the cloak of darkness necessary. Ryan didn’t ask questions. He just followed directions. Henry wasn’t the chatting type.

  Ryan had been stoked when Terri called and asked him to run this part of the show—stoked enough so that he hadn’t even minded giving up half a night’s sleep doing prep work. The fact that Aidan and Terri had entrusted this part of their investigation to him, labeling him the expert, had fed his ego and kicked up his adrenaline level. Didn’t matter that he wasn’t privy to the why. He was part of the process, and that was good enough for him.

  Ideas had erupted in his head like Mount Etna. The result was a solid go. Now all he needed was to meet up with the right person. Together, they’d get the job done.

  Sloshing through a patch of wet snow, Ryan walked about halfway down the street and then stopped at the lackluster building that was lost amid the skyscrapers surrounding it. Clearly, this particular structure was an “original” and pre-dated World War II with only the most bare-bones of renovations. And what was waiting for Ryan inside was a real shithole.

  He nodded at the security guard, giving him a fuck-you look that said, I belong here.

  No questions were asked.

  Ryan then took the elevator to the fourteenth floor, exited, and walked purposefully down the narrow hallway, stopping when he reached 1407.

  He glanced up at the security camera and pressed the buzzer.

  He got his return buzz, pushed open the door, and stepped inside. The outer door closed behind him, leaving him wedged between it and an inner door. A second buzzer went off. Ryan leaned against the inner door, gaining entry into the small dungeon that served as the jewelry maker’s workshop. Given the value of the merchandise he handled, the owner made sure that no one was allowed in without him knowing them by sight.

  Ryan was greeted by the usual stench of cigarette smoke, stale air, and the acrid smell of solder and flux. Piles of clutter were everywhere, and in the middle of the chaos stood a big, broken-down piece of furniture that resembled a cobbler’s workbench. Behind the workbench sat the scariest-looking motherfucker Ryan had ever met. He was built like a brick shithouse, tattooed in every visible spot, with arms the size of tree trunks and a scarred face that would scare a kid at Halloween.

  “Yeah, Ryan, what’s so urgent that you woke me up at four in the morning? What do you need now?” Henry Lago didn’t look up. He was peering at a large diamond through a jeweler’s loupe.

  “Hi to you, too, Lago,” Ryan replied. “And I need a ring.”

  Henry sneered. “Getting engaged?”

  “Nope. Getting creative.”

  That piqued Henry’s interest. He glanced up, levelling his bloodshot stare at Ryan. “I’m listening.”

  “Thought you might be.” Ryan warmed to his subject. He and Henry were dead alike in that they both loved a challenge. “I need a man’s school ring, size nine.”

  “Any school in particular? Going straight for the top ten? Been there, done that. So have you. Not worth the money or the bullshit.”

  Ryan nodded. Another thing he and Henry had in common. Ryan had spent a couple of years at MIT before he decided he needed the freedom to fly on his own. Henry had spent less than a year there, realizing right away that his level of electronic genius was wasted in school.

  The two guys had briefly crossed paths. It was enough to make Henry one of Ryan’s favorite contacts when his role at Forensic Instincts required it. Henry was equally charged by their alliance—although his favorite jab was that he was the real deal, and that Ryan’s success was rooted in the fact that he came across as a chick magnet. Ryan countered that Henry’s claim to fame was that he came off like a mass murderer.

  Two egotistical geniuses. It was a partnership made in heaven.

  “Let’s flip the bird to the Ivies and the Little Ivies,” Ryan replied. “Actually, I don’t really care what school you choose, as long as it doesn’t have a diamond or anything else transparent as its gemstone. Because a dark stone is what I need in the center of the ring.”

  Henry yawned. “Uh-huh. What goes with it?”

  “A camera, for starters. I need you to plant one behind the stone. Also, somewhere in the ring you need to bury a flash memory. And there needs to be a capacitor that’s charged by induction. We’ll be using a wireless cell phone charger. I need the image capture to be triggered by a finger placed across two spots on the ring. And since the user has no way to frame the picture, I need control logic inside to detect the edges of the paper and capture the content within. It has to capture a full-size engineering drawing from a distance of three feet.” Ryan raised his brows, although he knew his answer even as he asked the question. “Can you do it?”

  “If you can think of it, I can do it—only better.”

  “I need it in four hours.”

  “Then it’ll cost you four times the usual.”

  “Done.” Ryan didn’t flinch. Hey, it was Aidan’s money. And Terri had given him carte blanche. “I’ll be back at one thirty.”

  “Bring the cash.”

  “Do the job.”

  NanoUSA

  27 February

  Tuesday, 7:35 a.m. local time

  Simone began her one-on-one morning meetings even before Vance’s plane had landed from Lake Tahoe. Per her request, she’d been set up in a small meeting room, with only a round cherrywood table and a few matching chairs set up beside it, together with a sideboard containing a Keurig brewing station, a tray of fruit, and the appropriate plates and silverware. This setup had to be as non-threatening an environment as possible, given the delicacy of the situation. Despite Vance’s reassurance, most of these employees would be geared up to protect their jobs. And Simone needed them to relax so she could accomplish what she was really here to do.

  She crossed one leg over the other and read through her material for the fourth time. This wasn’t just about preparedness. It was about insight, touching on just the right questions in the subtlest of ways, and gathering information without the interviewee realizing he or she was supplying it.

  Simone was very pleased that Vance had set up her first morning of interviews with the VPs of other key departments, followed by meetings with his own area heads. Even Robert Maxwell had offered to give her a short time slot just before noon. All in all, this schedule meant she’d come away with a big-picture view of the Nano senior management team.

  Her 7:45 interview—the first of the day—was with Lawrence Blockman, who was the VP of Engineering and, in her estimation, Vance’s key competitor for the soon-to-be-named CEO position. According to what Vance had told Aidan in their initial meeting, no one in the company was aware that Robert Maxwell had already made his final decision as to his successor. Therefore, Blockman would still view himself as a fierce competitor, which would make him a prime suspect as the Chinese perpetrator’s inside mole. Not only could Blockman keep an eye on Vance but—should
Vance provide the kidnappers with any material whatsoever—Blockman could pin the crime of industrial espionage on Vance. It was a win-win for Blockman—if he turned out to be guilty.

  Tapping her pen thoughtfully on the table, Simone did a once-over on the paper summary of Blockman. He was well-educated, highly qualified, and had twenty years of stellar performance reviews. In Vance’s talk with Simone, he’d said that he and Blockman got along very well, although they didn’t always see eye to eye on product designs. Not a red flag, given one engineering perspective and one manufacturing one.

  Still, she planned on being extremely thorough with this man.

  She re-scanned the list of today’s interviewees, noting who had met the challenge head-on—signing up for the earliest slots—and who had dallied and delayed their meetings until the next day at the latest possible times. Those employees weren’t just ostriching. They were waiting to pump info out of those who had preceded them, to be as prepared as possible, and probably to try calming their nerves.

  Both Ethan Gallagher and Zoe Pearson, Vance’s PA and Robert Maxwell’s PA respectively, were scheduled for later today—Ethan at two thirty and Zoe at three thirty. Excellent. Each of them would be a fountain of information—the public and the not-so-public. The faster she spoke with them and won them over the better. She’d be interviewing Ethan right here in this meeting room and Zoe in her office—as requested. She’d made that request diplomatically, explaining to Simone that, given the rapid fire of phone calls and meetings that were leading up to Nano’s huge announcement, she simply couldn’t be away from her desk. Simone was fine with the arrangement. This way she could not only do her job, she could also scope out Zoe’s work home.

  A knock on the door interrupted her musings.

  “Come in,” she called out.

  A tall man in his mid-fifties with a receding hairline, angular features, and a build like a blade of grass walked in. Contrary to his Poindexter appearance, he was wearing an expensive suit and tie, not to mention a stunning pair of gold cufflinks. Definitely a sense of style. Not the usual MO for an engineer. And definitely not the informal dress code she’d viewed thus far at Nano.