Footsteps in the Dark

by Josh Lanyon

  Tom asked, “Why did you choose Skyose for your first launch? Why not SpaceX or another company with a proven rocket?”

  “Obviously, in retrospect, we wish we had. At the time, we wanted to be supportive of another company on their maiden voyage. And Skyose’s requirements were far more favorable than those of other companies.”

  Zach asked, “When was the last time you saw Mr. Shaw?”

  “Glenn and I had dinner with Roy, Cabo Barnes, and Lyle Briggs on Thursday evening.”

  “How did his demeanor seem to you?”

  Boone shrugged. “Quiet, tired, jet-lagged. I believe he’d only arrived from New Mexico that afternoon. He certainly didn’t say anything that would indicate any intention on his part to disappear.”

  Greg asked, “How long have you known Mr. Shaw?”

  “About a year. But we only met in person three times.”

  Greg decided to lead Boone down the missing-person path. “Is there anything you know or suspect about Mr. Shaw’s personal life that would explain a disappearance?”

  Boone shook his head. “I didn’t know him that well. We never discussed anything other than business.”

  Mindy asked, “Where do you think Mr. Shaw is?”

  That seemed to throw Boone. Greg thought, He didn’t plan for that question.

  “Er…I have no idea. I’d assume someone at Skyose might be able to answer that question.”

  Vernon said, “Mr. Boone, how did you hear that Mr. Shaw was missing?”

  “I saw it myself. He was missing from the observation room at launch. I hadn’t heard that he’d been located, so I assumed he was still missing.”

  The agents exchanged glances. Greg said, “All right, Mr. Boone. Thanks for your cooperation. When you see Mr. Pietras, please ask him to contact us.”

  “I will.”

  Tom broke the connection, and Vernon said, “Thoughts?”

  Zach said, “Sounded rehearsed to me.”

  Greg agreed. “Me too. And the appendectomy and family emergency stories were awfully convenient in terms of timing.”

  Vernon agreed. “Check on the details of those.”

  All four of them said, “Yes, sir.”

  ***

  Tom emailed Alan Moroney and Preston Brickman, the Ideodax founders whose emergencies precluded their attendance at the launch. Moroney responded promptly, assuring Tom that yes, he had suffered an emergency appendectomy, and attached his hospital discharge instructions. Brickman didn’t answer.

  Mindy determined that the only Skyose execs in town were Cabo Barnes and Lyle Briggs. She called and left voice mails, and then she and Zach went out to locate them. Greg, tired of playing games with corporate executives, placed a call to the AFOSI detachment at Holloman AFB in New Mexico.

  The voice on the other end of the line stated, “Special Agent McCarthy. How can I help you?”

  “Hi, Special Agent McCarthy, this is Special Agent Greg Marcotte at Patrick.”

  The no-nonsense tone of the other agent’s voice warmed considerably. “Hi there, Special Agent Greg. This is Russell McCarthy. What can I do for you?”

  Greg explained. “So we’d deeply appreciate it if y’all could visit Skyose for us and see if they’ll allow you to search Mr. Shaw’s office, and also ask whoever’s there if they know where Mr. Shaw might be. If they act squirrely about that, lean on ’em.”

  “You mean, if they act like they might know exactly where he is?”

  Greg laughed. “Exactly.”

  “You bet. Sounds fun. Maybe they thought they could hide from AFOSI in New Mexico, huh?”

  “Ha! Show ’em different, Special Agent McCarthy.”

  “With pleasure. I’ll let you know.”

  “Thanks.” Greg signed off, then considered. There wasn’t much else he could do until Zach and Mindy returned or he heard from Russell McCarthy.

  Time for lunch. He smiled to himself and called Justin.

  Chapter Seventeen

  When Justin got to Taco City, Greg was already there, waiting by the door. Justin didn’t think he was imagining the way Greg’s eyes lit up when he spotted Justin. He was pretty confident that his own eyes were equally lit. Greg lifted a fist to bump in greeting, and Justin grinned and bumped fists. “Dead ends, huh?”

  “Oh God. Let’s order, and I’ll tell you about it.”

  They placed their orders and sat, their knees brushing slightly under the table. The sensation shot up Justin’s leg straight to his groin. He shifted to give his dick a bit of room. “No progress at all?”

  Greg glanced around the restaurant casually. “See anyone here you recognize?”

  “Nope.”

  “Good. I wouldn’t say no progress. We talked to Sam Boone, who’s back in California now. He wasn’t able to explain to my satisfaction why his company chose an untested rocket to ferry their first payload to orbit.”

  “What have they found in the debris so far?”

  Greg tipped his head quizzically. “Good question. We turned everything over to the FAA, and they haven’t contacted us since. But there was that one thing…”

  “What thing?”

  “We found a car’s rearview mirror in my sector of the debris field.”

  Justin froze, his drink halfway to his mouth. “What?”

  “I suppose it was already there. Odd, though.”

  “No shit. Where’s the debris?”

  “In a hangar at Canaveral. I’ll drive up there after lunch.”

  “Don’t talk to the Skyose engineers. Only talk to the FAA.”

  Greg raised an eyebrow. “Tellin’ me how to do my job?”

  Justin flushed. “No. Shit. I’m sorry…”

  “Aw, I’m just teasing you.” Greg winked at him. “Guess I’ll have to be careful about that.”

  “No, you don’t. I mean…we’re still getting to know each other, right? I’m not always sure how to interpret you yet.”

  Greg smiled. “Well, then, I’ll have to see that you get more practice.”

  Their food was ready, and they dug in. Greg asked Justin about the Mars article and listened attentively while Justin expounded on the ramifications of finding water on the planet. At one point, when Justin stopped for breath, Greg said, “You love this stuff.”

  “I do. If you want me to shut up about it, just say so.”

  “Not at all. I always liked science in school. Keep talking.”

  “I guess you have to know some forensic science, huh?”

  “Quite a bit, yeah. I don’t use it as much in this job as I did in the police department.”

  Justin tucked the last bite of taco into his mouth, then drained his iced tea. “Do you have to work tonight?”

  “Probably through dinner, unfortunately.”

  “But not all night?”

  Greg lowered his voice. “What are you suggesting, Mr. Harris?”

  “Well, if you wanted to…if you had time…maybe you could stop by for a while? I know it’s in the wrong direction from your house, so if you don’t want to…” Justin mentally kicked himself for the stammering. Why was he acting like a high schooler asking for a prom date?

  Greg held up his hand. “I do want to. Very much. And it’s only a few miles. I figure, if we’re gonna pursue this, we’ll both spend some time familiarizing ourselves with that particular stretch of A1A.”

  Justin relaxed. A bit. “I want to pursue this.”

  “So do I.” Greg wadded his napkin and tossed it onto his plate. “I’ll text you later when I have a better idea of what time I might get loose.”

  “Works for me.”

  As they walked to the parking lot, Justin was hyperaware of his position relative to Greg. Not too close. Just a couple of pals meeting for lunch. He sighed.

  Greg glanced at him. “What?”

  “Sometimes I wish I lived somewhere else.”

  Greg nodded. “I hear that… See ya later.”

  “Yup.” Justin climbed into his own car, then watched as Greg
pulled onto A1A and headed north.

  He wants to pursue this. Don’t fuck it up.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Greg smiled as he drove, remembering Justin’s enthusiasm when explaining the Mars lake to him. He began to daydream. Maybe he could get transferred to Vandenburg. Justin could still do his job from there. Or they could move to California… Except that Justin probably wouldn’t want to leave his mom.

  And…he was rushing it again.

  Dammit, I’m forty years old. I know what I want.

  And what he wanted was Justin Harris.

  He pulled himself back to reality with a sigh.

  At Canaveral’s South Gate, he presented his credentials and then continued north to the hangar where the debris from the explosion had been taken. He texted Vernon, Zach, Mindy, and Tom: At CCAFS looking at debris. He swiped his badge at the entrance and pushed through to the vast space, where a gaggle of workers in white coveralls was sorting the debris into sections. One of the workers spotted him and approached. “Virgil Yates, FAA. Can I help you?”

  Greg introduced himself. “We’re investigating the disappearance of a Skyose employee on the day of the launch.”

  “Ah, right, I heard about that.”

  “Are any of the Skyose people here?”

  “Not at the moment. They’ve been hovering this morning, but they went to lunch a while ago and haven’t come back.”

  “Who’s been hovering?”

  “Barnes. And the other guy, I don’t know his name. Looks like a hamster.”

  Greg laughed. “Where’s the stuff that’s non-rocket?”

  “You mean the supposed payload?”

  “What do you mean, supposed?”

  Yates smirked. “You gotta see this.”

  He led Greg to a locked door, which opened to a smaller room tucked into a corner, where chunks of metal, rubber, and plastic were laid out carefully in a grid. Greg asked, “Why is it locked up?”

  “I didn’t want Skyose to see it until we confirmed what it was. This is messed up.”

  Greg squatted down to get a closer look. Huh. “Does this look like a busted-up satellite to you, Virgil?”

  “Nope.”

  Greg’s phone dinged with a text from Mindy. We found Cabo Barnes in his office. Gonna question him in a few. No sign of Lyle Briggs.

  He asked Virgil for gloves, then picked up a piece of rubber from the nearest grid. “Am I crazy, or is this a chunk of tire tread?”

  “You’re not crazy. Check this out.” Virgil reached into another grid and picked up another chunk of rubber. “What’s that look like to you?”

  Greg barked a laugh, amazed by what he was seeing. “That’s half of a brake pedal.”

  “Yup. You know what I think this is? When we were kids, my brother and I tore down and rebuilt a couple of VW Bugs. The old ones, you know. I spent a lotta time pounding out fenders and hoods and such on those cars. I couldn’t say for sure, but these chunks of metal look awfully automotive to me.”

  Greg pointed. “My team found that rearview mirror. Is it the only bit that’s intact?”

  “Yes. And it’s consistent with a 1960s Bug.”

  “And that car would be about the right size to pass as a satellite.”

  “Yup.”

  “Have the Skyose guys not even asked about this yet?”

  “Nope. They’re looking for it, but they’re acting too cool. I think they’re wondering where the car debris is.”

  “Perfect.” Greg pulled out his phone. “I know Cabo Barnes won’t be back today, because we have him in custody, but if The Hamster shows up, don’t let him in here, and call me.”

  “You bet.”

  Virgil locked the door of the small room, then returned to his work. Greg texted Mindy as he left the building. Payload appears to have been a VW Bug.

  WTF???

  You still talking to Barnes?

  Yup.

  Don’t ask him about it until I get there. On my way.

  She returned a thumbs-up. Greg pocketed his phone and headed back to Patrick.

  ***

  At the office, the rest of the team was in the conference room, waiting. Vernon pounced first. “A Volkswagen?”

  “Seems to be, sir. In addition to the rearview mirror from my sector, there are chunks of tire tread, part of a brake pedal… It’s not a satellite.”

  “Agent Santos, what’s the probable scenario here?”

  “It could be simple. Skyose and Ideodax would have agreed at least a year ago for Skyose to carry Ideodax’s payload. I checked the stock prices for each of the companies, and both soared after the announcement that Ideodax had contracted with Skyose.”

  Zach said, “Then Ideodax couldn’t fulfill the contract?”

  Tom nodded. “That’s my guess. And I’d bet that Ideodax only informed Skyose about this a few weeks ago, at which point Skyose had a decision to make. They’d scheduled time on the launch pad already, and it would cost them too much to delay. The only option that wouldn’t adversely affect their stock value was for them to continue as if nothing was amiss. Ideodax also wouldn’t want it known that they’d missed the deadline, so they were happy to join the charade. Someone at Skyose probably said to someone at Ideodax, ‘Give us something to launch; we don’t care what it is.’ Enter the VW.”

  Mindy said, “But because of the explosion, Skyose’s stock must have tanked anyway on Monday when the markets opened.”

  “It did. But Ideodax’s didn’t.”

  Vernon asked, “Which means what?”

  Tom shrugged. “As long as the nature of the payload remains secret, Ideodax isn’t any worse off than they were before the launch. Eventually they’ll build a satellite, send it up on a Falcon 9, and live happily ever after.”

  Greg said, “So if Roy Shaw had revealed the subterfuge, it would have hurt both companies. There’s our motive.”

  Mindy said, “Yeah, but it doesn’t narrow down our suspects list.”

  Vernon stood. “Greg, why don’t you speak with Mr. Barnes now? See if you can shorten that list.”

  Greg grinned. “Yes, sir.”

  ***

  Cabo Barnes was the picture of calm centeredness when Greg entered the room. He smiled. “Ah, another member of the Air Force constabulary.”

  Greg sat. “Mr. Barnes, I’m Special Agent Marcotte. I’ve just had a look at the debris from the explosion. Anything you want to tell me about the payload on your rocket?”

  Barnes shrugged, all innocence. “Shouldn’t you be asking Ideodax about that?”

  “We will. Right now, I’m asking you.”

  Barnes sighed deeply and held out his hands, wrists together. “You got me, Officer. Lock me up and toss the key.”

  Greg gave Barnes a deadpan stare. “Funny guy. Whose idea was it?”

  “Preston Brickman’s. He had an old VW sitting in a storage shed.”

  “Brickman is the CEO of Ideodax?”

  “No, he’s the president. Alan Moroney is the CEO. Not that it matters.”

  “Who was at the meeting?”

  “Preston, Alan, Lyle, and myself.”

  “Not Roy Shaw?”

  “No.” Barnes was emphatic. “Roy did not know.”

  “We think he did.”

  “If so, he did not hear it from me or Lyle. One of the Ideodax guys must have let it slip.”

  Greg crossed his arms and rocked back in his seat. “Wouldn’t be healthy for your bottom line if the word spread, would it?”

  “It would be equally unhealthy for Ideodax.”

  “Where’s Lyle Briggs?”

  “I haven’t seen him since noon, when we left Canaveral together. I went to my office, where your agents found me. Lyle didn’t say where he was headed.”

  Greg’s phone beeped with a text. Hi, it’s Russell McCarthy at Holloman. Skyose told us to get a search warrant. Want to?

  Greg typed back: Yes, please, thx.

  On it.

  Greg pocketed his phone. “Wher
e’s Mr. Shaw?”

  Barnes shook his head vigorously. “I do not know. What I know is that he’d better show himself soon, or there’ll be hell to pay. We have a major disaster on our hands that needs to be managed, and I need my executive staff to manage it. Roy is my right hand. The other guys will mill around with their thumbs up their asses until he tells them what needs to be done.”

  Greg believed him. “All right, Mr. Barnes, one more thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Find Lyle Briggs for us.”

  Barnes picked up his phone and called. He rolled his eyes and mouthed, “Voice mail,” then said, “Lyle. I’m with the Air Force investigators. They found the VW, and now they’re searching for Roy. You need to contact them now.” He clicked off. “Satisfied?”

  “That’ll do. You’re free to go, but we’d prefer that you stay in town.”

  “That’s fine. I’m not leaving until Roy turns up.”

  Greg stood and escorted Barnes to the door. “Thanks, Mr. Barnes. We’ll be in touch.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  After lunch, Justin spent an hour in his driveway, cleaning out and vacuuming his car. Then he went inside to spend some quality time on Twitter.

  He saw that Skyose had released an official statement about the rocket explosion, but didn’t mention Roy Shaw. He wondered if Gretchen Holt had learned anything, and sent her a text. He noted with a smile that his Mars article had been retweeted 172 times. He checked his email and was pleased to see a response from Valerie DeSoto, the librarian at UCF.

  Hi Justin,

  Good to hear from you again! We felt the explosion all the way over here. Skyose doesn’t have any secrets that I could find.

  Next time you’re in Orlando, stop in!

  Valerie

  Justin responded: Thanks! Next time I’m in Orlando, I’ll take you to lunch. Then he forwarded the email to Greg.

  ***

  He spent the rest of the day puttering around the house. He found a half-can of white semi-gloss paint in the garage and painted the interior doorframes. He was rinsing the brush out in the backyard when Greg texted.

  I should be finishing work at about 6:30, and then I have a couple of errands to run. Okay if I come over around 7:15?