Broken Genius

by Drew Murray

  “Because they didn’t know it was hollow. It looks like a solid statue made of heavy metal, perfectly matching the image from the X-ray machine. So, they let him through.”

  I shift around to face Dana, who is leaning sideways in the driver’s seat. It’s late, but I don’t think either of us is tired. I have the Unicorn back, and Dana’s put another killer behind bars. There have been worse days.

  “What made you go to this contact in Tokyo?” she asks.

  “From his booth, Caplan’s connection to Japan was obvious. All those authentic Japanese market items. Especially the statues. That level of craftsmanship isn’t the kind of thing you see for sale online. So he had to go to Japan himself to get them, giving him an opportunity to buy the Unicorn while he was there. There’s no way he’d ship the Unicorn, so he must have brought it back himself. The Pelican case would have been good protection, but never would have made it past security or customs.”

  “So why switch it to the Pelican case here?” Dana asks.

  “The Pelican case is lighter and stronger.” I run a hand through my hair. “But if I were to bet, I’d say it was because he needed to sell the statue to Webb, to avoid a confrontation.”

  “Well that didn’t work well, did it?” she says.

  “It could have, until something spooked Caplan into moving the Unicorn in the middle of the night. He needed to hide it. The only other radiation-safe container available would have been the one he used to get it out of Japan. Figure out how he did that, and we’d know what we were looking for.”

  The valet makes a half-hearted attempt to open Dana’s door before she waves him off. I watch him cross back in front of the car, hands in his pockets.

  “So then Han,” she says, nodding. “You knew that whatever he carried it in would block the X-rays and they’d have to open his bag.”

  “So then Han,” I agree with a smile. “Webb didn’t even know what he had. He thought it was just a statue of Han Solo he really wanted, and Caplan was trying to renege on their deal.”

  “People have been killed for less,” says Dana shaking her head. She pauses, looking out the windshield. “Now that you have the Unicorn, are you going to go back to Silicon Valley?”

  The sudden topic change takes me by surprise. It’s a question I haven’t confronted, too focused on finding the Unicorn to consider what comes next.

  “Do you think I would?” I ask.

  “Maybe.” She shrugs, nodding her head. “You’re a hell of an investigator, but the Unicorn was everything to you. Now that it’s back, how far do you follow it? What about the plans you had for it in 2011? Do you take back the reins or let it go?”

  “I don’t know,” I reply finally as the silence stretches into awkward. Try as I might, it’s too hard to see beyond the image of Amanda bound to a chair.

  “Well, that’s definitely new,” says Dana, lifting one eyebrow.

  “What is?”

  “You look confused,” she says with a laugh. It isn’t the sharp, sarcastic laugh I’m used to. It’s something different, something free, something fun.

  Shaking my head to clear it, I look her in the eyes, saying, “I guess I’m just too wound up still.”

  While her eyes stay locked on mine, she squeezes my hand, sliding a finger across my palm. “I think I can help with that.”

  Yes. Yes. So much, yes.

  Without another word, we get out of the car. Dana tosses the keys to the valet, barely slowing down to take a ticket. Crossing the lobby at a near run, we wait what seems like an eternity for the elevator. When it finally opens, Dana and I dart inside, jabbing at the buttons and clenching our hands, willing the doors to close quickly.

  They slide shut and we turn to face each other in unison. I lean forward, she lifts her chin, and our mouths meet. We aren’t gentle. There’s a nervous, hungry energy in our kiss. Tongues cross and my arms slip around her waist. Her hands on my shoulders, pull me closer. I feel every inch of her body from head to toe.

  Embracing someone wearing body armor is weird. I feel her hips, her waist, and her arms, but in between is a big solid block of nothing, so I reach for what I can. Sliding one hand up, I grab the back of her head, right below her ponytail. She tilts her head further and probes deeper with her tongue. The smell of her hair, the taste of her mouth, and the heat of her body swirl together in a kaleidoscope.

  She pulls away as the elevator doors open, dragging me into the hall.

  “Which way?” she asks, her voice low and urgent.

  Leading her by the hand to my door, I fumble for the access card. She teases the back of my neck, with a touch as light as air, giving me goose bumps. Slamming the card to the reader, the door unlocks and I pull her inside. When I lean forward again, she turns away looking at the room.

  “Holy shit,” she says, her gaze sweeping the suite. “This is a big fucking room.”

  “The bedroom’s over there.” I point a finger, shaking with anticipation.

  “The sofa’s closer,” she says, unbuttoning her shirt.

  An hour later I’m downstairs in the hot, humid parking garage breathing in an odor of oil and garbage. Wearing hastily pulled on jeans, a t-shirt, and my Converse over bare feet, I twirl the key to Dana’s unmarked car in my hand.

  The valet told me where to look for the car, but there’s a lot of them. He offered to bring it up for me, but there’s no way I’m waiting that long. A beautiful woman is lying nude in my bed. One I’m looking forward to still being there in the morning. I can’t remember the last time that happened.

  Where the hell is her car?

  After a few more minutes of impatient searching, I find it parked next to a gray Charger with a license plate dented in the bottom-right corner. Decker’s rental.

  We haven’t told him about the Unicorn. That’s probably what he meant by staying in touch, but whatever. Caplan’s killer is Dana’s win, and the Unicorn is mine. We’ll all share in the victory of finding Amanda Caplan tomorrow.

  Popping the trunk, I find a black gym bag with the Police Department logo and “Lopez” embroidered on it, just as Dana described. Unsurprisingly for someone wearing a Fitbit, she carries workout clothes in her car all the time in case she hits the gym. That’s a lot of fitness, but hey, Kumar will tell you, everyone’s got their obsessions. And if they keep Dana in my bed for the night because they’re comfortable enough to sleep in, who am I to judge?

  You can tell a lot about a person by the contents of their car. In Dana’s trunk, there’s a roadside emergency kit with the department logo on it, a soccer ball, and peeking out from under her gym bag, a menu for a Cuban restaurant. The place must be pretty good to measure up to the home cooking served from her mother’s food truck in Miami. Where we grew up was a topic during the post-coital cuddling I’m eager to get back to.

  After closing the trunk with a thud, Decker’s car in the next row catches my eye again. Shouldering Dana’s gym bag, I hesitate. Something’s bothering me about the rental car, now that I see it again.

  I left LA in the middle of the night. Even with the time difference, it was early morning when I got here. How did Decker beat me here and get a rental car so quickly?

  You can tell a lot about a person by the contents of their car.

  Dana’s waiting for me upstairs.

  This won’t take long.

  As I walk over to Decker’s car, I pull up another handy app on my phone. The lights of the rental flash and the doors unlock. Working as quickly as I can, I search the car starting with the driver’s seat. I cover all the map pockets, the center console, cup holders, and the glove box. The trunk is empty except for a snow brush the rental company must leave there year round.

  All I find are coffee stains around the cup holder, and the rental company contract. I don’t know what I expected. The car is as buttoned up and squared away as Decker himself.

  Flipping open the paperwork, I skim through it, not sure why I’m even doing this. Dana is upstairs. The flawless, smoo
th skin of her thigh leaps to mind, muscles rippling under my hand as I slide it up—wait a minute.

  My brows crash together in a deep frown. Double-checking the time and date on my smartwatch, I work backwards in my head to the date on the contract.

  Son of a bitch.

  Decker picked the car up on Thursday afternoon. Caplan wasn’t murdered until late Thursday night. He told me the FBI got called in by Farber’s connections after Caplan’s body was discovered.

  What the fuck was Decker doing here the day before?

  My thoughts are interrupted by a text message from Kumar’s soon-to-be ex-employee.

  Unknown #: Hey. Got the info you were looking for. Hope this helps.

  Unknown #: file attached

  Me: Thanks. Good luck at the new job.

  Unknown #: :-)

  The attached file is a simple Excel spreadsheet, but it’s bigger than I’d hoped. I expected a smaller number of kinky people in the Midwest. Swiping my thumb, I forward the data off to Bradley. If he gets started now, we could have Amanda’s location by dawn.

  Me: Here’s the data from Kumar.

  Me: file attached

  Me: Do I need to say this is a rush?

  Bradley W: Nope. I’m good to go. How many records?

  Me: A lot.

  Bradley W: OK. I’m on it. Burning the midnight oil. Text you right away. Get some rest.

  My finger hovers over the keyboard. There’s nothing more to say. Bradley knows what to do. All I can do is wait. The larger list is a setback, but it doesn’t mean the plan won’t still work. Even so, my shoulders tighten as uncertainty seeps back in.

  Inside the suite, Dana’s already asleep. I want to let her know the Kumar data came in, but when I see her face calm and relaxed, I can’t bring myself to do it. She needs sleep. So do I. Amanda’s life could depend on me being at my best.

  Assuming Bradley has a location by sunup, we’ll have a couple of hours before the Con opens and the meet is scheduled to take place. Despite my earlier confidence with Burke and Chief Wilmont, I’m not at all convinced that the uniformed officers at the doors will be able to keep the bidders unarmed. There are too many alternate entrances, and not enough time to secure them. The Russians, particularly, are skilled at getting their gunmen where they need to be. Better to find Amanda first and avoid the meet all together.

  Dragoniis is still nearby, watching me. Decker never said how he knew Dragoniis was here, and I never asked, my attention focused on the Unicorn.

  Lying down next to Dana, feeling her nakedness next to mine, it’s easier than I thought it would be to let it all go. The unresolved issues that would normally gnaw at me, keeping me awake, fade into the darkness. Dana shifts in her slumber, burrowing deeper into my embrace with a satisfied sigh. She’s warm. I’m spent. Sleep takes me.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  The sound of a Star Trek transporter energizing cuts through the darkness, and my sleep. Lying there for a moment in that gray area before fully waking, I’m not sure I actually heard it. Rolling over on my back, away from Dana, the fog of sleep dissipates slowly. When the familiar sound of materialization comes again, I throw back the covers, and reach for my phone.

  Bradley W: It’s done. Analysis complete. There’s a problem.

  Me: We didn’t get a location?

  Bradley W: That’s the problem. We got two.

  Me: Two? What do you mean two?

  Bradley W: Two separate locations. Both hitting Google on Firefox for Mac in that minute, and both also on Kumar’s list of bondage porno clients.

  Me: What can we do? We need to know which one.

  Bradley W: Close as I can get you. All the data we have. Sorry, Will.

  Running my hands through my hair, I check the glowing clock next to Dana. There are only a few hours left until the Con opens, and we’re supposed to deliver the Fukushima Unicorn to whatever bidder is holding Amanda hostage. With so many variables—the operating system, browser, time of day, and narrow focus of kink—I was hoping for a single location to come out of Rick’s and Kumar’s lists. Two means we’re not finished, yet.

  “What is it?” asks Dana, sitting up on the bed and rubbing her eyes. She nods at the phone in my hand. “Is that Bradley?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Did he get the location?”

  “Not exactly,” I answer, taking a deep breath. “He got two.”

  “We can work with that,” she says with a yawn, turning on a bedside light. “It’ll be tight, but we can do it.”

  While she hammers out a text message, I admire her silhouette: fit and strong, yet soft and feminine. Her dark, shiny hair spreads out behind her, reaching just past her shoulders.

  Money draws people. It’s something I’ve had to deal with since my first company crossed the million-mark, and continued even after I left the Valley. Men and women both offer their companionship, sexual or otherwise, in exchange for a piece of the lucre. By now I can sniff those people out a mile away.

  That’s not Dana.

  She’s earned every inch of where she’s gotten, and reaped the rewards. In fact, I suspect that I’m one of those rewards, coming on the heels of solving the Caplan murder.

  “How long was I out?” she asks, finishing with the message.

  “Four hours.”

  “Yuck. Well, that’ll have to do.”

  “Yuck?” I ask in concern, earning me a laugh.

  “I mean four hours isn’t a lot. It was nice having you here, though,” she says, leaning over to kiss my cheek.

  “Having me here? This is my room.”

  “You know the customary response is, ‘I liked it too,’” she says, rolling her eyes.

  “Ahh, right. Sorry. Lack of sleep. Foggy. It’s been a while …”

  “Don’t worry, you were great,” she says, magnificently stretching her arms overhead.

  “You were more than great,” I say.

  “I know.”

  Pushing the blankets out of the way, she walks naked over to the mini-bar fridge. My admiration of her form as she bends to look inside is interrupted by a loud ping from her phone.

  “Pre-action briefing in thirty minutes,” she says, glancing at the screen. Producing a tall can of energy drink, she tosses it to me on the bed. “We’ll take one of these and a cold shower. We’ll be alert in no time.”

  I’m already halfway to the bathroom by the time I crack the tab on the can.

  In the still and stifling stairwell, the air is heavy with the scent of gun oil, leather, and sweat. Looking up, a long line of SWAT officers disappears above me.

  Decker’s with Griffon and Nassar in a command vehicle around the corner, shielded from view of the building. They’re wired into the cameras and mics on the SWAT team, seeing what we see, which means they probably see better than I do.

  Nobody says a word, tensely waiting for the go command.

  During the painfully long briefing, the two locations were revealed to be a condo apartment in an affluent part of town and another hotel. In the night a domestic dispute turned into a hostage situation, consuming one of the city’s two SWAT teams. With a single team remaining until the standoff is resolved, we can’t hit two locations simultaneously. A choice had to be made on the most likely of the two. If we have to go to the second, time will be tight.

  The plain white walls in the photo and the absence of visible furniture doesn’t reveal enough about the location to tell us which it could be. The hotel room is registered to a common name on a common credit card. It could be a false identity setup by a PMC, or it could be a guy with a common name. It’ll be hours before the bank gets back to us with more information on the cardholder. Too long. Ultimately, Director Burke let Chief Wilmont make the call, and he chose the hotel, based on the assumption that the kidnappers are from out of town.

  Thanks to Dana, I get to ride along with the entry team. The SWAT team commander is a surly dude with a shaved head and no discernible neck, who didn’t want any “civilian
s” tagging along. But Dana’s SWAT certified, and managed to pull some strings to get me as far as the stairwell. They threw body armor over my t-shirt, slapped a helmet on my head, and told me to wait down here at the tail end of the line.

  It feels to me like we’ve been sitting in this sweltering stairwell for two or three weeks while they try to get eyes inside the room. I would have just gone up and knocked on the door, so it’s probably a good thing I’m not on the FBI’s Hostage Rescue Team.

  The layout of the suite is preventing them from seeing enough of the room using the fiber optic camera inserted under the door. With sunrise breaking across the windows, they can’t see anything from across the street, even using thermal scanners. They’ve got good tech, but the bad circumstances win out.

  The guy in front of me says this happens sometimes, and not to worry. Easy for him to say. He doesn’t see Amanda Caplan, terrified and bound to a chair, every time he closes his eyes. Or Kate Mason, throat slashed open and bleeding out. I do.

  The SWAT commander’s voice comes through the tiny wireless monitor in my ear. “If we wait any longer, people are going to start waking up. We’ve gotta go with the intel we’ve got. Set condition blue.”

  The team in the stairwell rises as one, assuming the hunched-over tactical position, each man with a hand on the shoulder of the man in front of them. Following suit, I reach out and put mine on the shoulder of the guy in front of me, shuffling along behind him. With more than enough guns in the hands of the other twenty cops in front of me, I leave mine holstered. It’s safer for everyone that way.

  Reaching the hall, we crouch-walk, fast and silent, until we’re outside the room in question. A suite. While that’s more than enough space to hold Amanda, all we know for sure is somewhere inside is a Mac that’s been surfing bondage kink. It could be anyone. A kid that clicked on the wrong link on YouTube. A business traveler looking to pass the time. What if Amanda isn’t in there? Worse, what if they kill her before we can get to her?

  “Breech team: green light,” says the SWAT commander.

  The beep of the master key opening the door lock down the hall cuts off my thoughts. Flash-bang grenades go inside, and all hell breaks loose.