Cracks in Reality (Seams in Reality Book 2) (23 page)

"Sloppy. Now we have an idea what he's up to."

They looked around for another few minutes but didn't see anything else of interest.

Eventually, Andrew, Charley, Dan, and Tungsten gathered in the living room to talk.

"What now?" Andrew said.

"Forensic technicians will be here soon," Dan said. "Hopefully, they'll find a clue. In the meantime, we can theorize. Blake intends to destroy something with a bomb. What?"

"We know he wants revenge for being sent to prison by the Tribunal," Charley said. "Tonya, Richard, and Keene are on Blake's hit list. Using a bomb makes sense. He probably can't beat any of them in a traditional sorcerer's battle."

"I don't know," Tungsten said. "A bullet would make a lot more sense. Shooting a rifle is a lot easier than building a bomb. You have to worry about construction, delivery, timing, and detonation. It's a big project no matter how you slice it."

"And Blake doesn't strike me as the bomber type anyway," Andrew said.

"You barely know him," Charley said.

"I know enough. A bomb is a crude tool. Ammonium nitrate is basically fertilizer. A proud intellectual like Blake would find a more interesting way to dispatch his hated foes. Killing isn't enough. He has to prove he's smarter than his enemies, too."

"That's your opinion."

"Regardless," Dan said, "this discussion isn't moving the investigation along. We have to work with the evidence in hand, and right now, that evidence points towards a bomb. Blake will need large quantities of powder to do any real damage. I expect he'll buy it on the black market from a local supplier. The computer geeks back at headquarters can check bank accounts for financial irregularities. They can try to figure out who might be selling to Blake."

"Whose bank accounts?" Andrew said.

"Everybody who lives around here."

"That's hundreds of thousands of people."

Dan shrugged. "It's just a computer search, and computers are very fast."

"It seems like an invasion of privacy. Don't you need a court order or something?"

"Not in cases like this."

Andrew waited for further explanation, but Dan appeared satisfied with his response.

"OK," Charley said. "I suggest we find a place to sleep. It could be a busy day tomorrow. If we have to fight Blake, we'll want to be well rested."

"Yes, but let's find a hotel in another town," Andrew said. "Blake is around here somewhere. We don't want to be attacked while we're asleep. I can't guarantee we'll wake up in time."

She nodded. "That's a good point."

Dan frowned at the other agents in the room. "All of us are in danger. Blake might pick off any stragglers. We have to stick together."

"True," Andrew said. "Which means you might want to hold off the forensics team. It's not safe for them to be here without Charley and me standing guard."

Dan ground his teeth together. "This is a bad way to run an investigation," he grumbled.

"We can come back in the morning with the whole crew."

Dan nodded and sighed. "Guys!" he yelled to everybody in the room. "We're leaving
now
. Don't touch a thing. We'll examine the evidence in the morning."

* * *

A big plate of eggs, bacon, and pancakes was placed in front of Andrew. He eagerly began to eat.

He, Charley, Dan, Tungsten, and three other BPI agents were crowded around a table in a restaurant. Andrew hadn't slept very well, and he was hoping a big breakfast would rejuvenate him. Worrying about Blake had kept Andrew from relaxing.

The federal agents were swapping war stories about prior missions. Andrew and Charley were implicitly excluded from the conversation which was fine by him. He was more interested in food anyway. He wondered if Dan or Tungsten would ever treat him as a respected, trusted equal. Sometimes the agents feared Andrew, and sometimes they disdained him, and he wasn't sure which was worse.

He glanced at Charley who was sitting next to him. Bags under her eyes indicated she also hadn't slept well. She was wearing a black sweater with a pink heart embroidered on the front. A black scrunchie held her hair in a loose ponytail. She had a pensive expression.

"We'll get Blake," Andrew said. "Don't worry."

"I'm thinking about Phillip," Charley said. "God knows what that poor kid is going through, and none of it is his fault. He's had a cursed life just because of his talent for sorcery."

"Yeah. I guess we were lucky. We had good parents and nobody tried to exploit us."

"Do you think it would've been different if your parents had known the truth about you?"

Andrew considered that question. His parents knew he had a secret life involving government agents, but they didn't know he was a sorcerer. Federal law required he keep that secret from them, but they probably wouldn't understand anyway. Even the BPI agents didn't quite get it. The feeling of power and
connectedness
was indescribable to a normal person.

"I don't know," Andrew said. "I hope they would've loved me the same."

Dan's phone rang, and he answered the call immediately.

He listened for a moment. "OK. Got it. Text me all the details. Bye."

He hung up.

Andrew looked at Dan expectantly. Intense green eyes stared out from a well-proportioned face. His short brown hair was thick and perfect.

"That was HQ," Dan said. "They discovered a police report about some stolen aluminum powder. Two hundred pounds went missing from a paint factory."

"Is it close?" Andrew said.

"Ten miles away. Eat quickly. We're going there next."

* * *

Blake was watching the activity inside the barn through an open door.

Some of Dean's anti-sorcerer friends were working on a truck. They had acquired an old dairy truck with a green and yellow paintjob. A big cargo section and doubled tires in the back promised plenty of carrying capacity. The ton of ammonium nitrate wouldn't be a problem. It was almost a shame the truck would never get out of the barn.

The men and women were struggling to install a remote control steering system. None of them had an electrical engineering background. All they had to work with were instructions from the internet, several boxes full of odd parts, battery-powered tools, and colorful language.

The activity on the other side of the barn was less amusing. The rest of Dean's group was mixing the ammonium nitrate and aluminum powder in 50 gallon drums. The granules of ammonium nitrate were too large, so one man was grinding the material into dust using an antique, hand-cranked coffee grinder. It would take him hours to finish the job. Theoretically, there was little chance of detonation, but Blake was standing back anyway.

"We're running out of time," Phillip said. "Our guests might be here soon."

"I know." Blake checked his watch. "I'd better place the phone."

He took a phone out of his pocket. It was the one he had used for buying aluminum powder from Kuperman. Blake verified the phone had a full charge.

He turned it on and enabled the GPS tracking. The wireless provider would know his exact location now. He went into the barn and looked until he found a good hiding spot in a dark corner. After making sure nobody was watching, he tucked the phone under some cobwebs and loose straw.

The sound of a car approaching made Blake jog to a window and peek outside. He recognized two of his bodyguards in the front seat of a black sedan.
Finally,
Blake thought.

His men parked the car, went around to the back, opened the trunk, and pulled out green metal boxes.

"In the barn!" Blake yelled through the open window.

Dean and his people stopped what they were doing and gathered around.

The boxes were brought in and opened. One contained a dozen brand-new assault rifles still wrapped in plastic and lubricated with factory grease. A second box was full of bullets and magazines.

"Damn!" Dean said.

"I want everybody to take a gun," Blake said. "Shoot it a few times so you know how it works. We got plenty of ammo to play with."

"Where did you get them?"

"You don't want to know." Blake turned to his men. "Get the rest."

The assassins went back to the car and returned with more boxes. These contained Kevlar vests, military radios, binoculars, utility belts, and other accessories.

Blake and his men made sure everybody was properly equipped. Blake wasn't an expert in such matters, but his assassins certainly were.

"I'm worried the government might attack," Blake said. "Let's put four sentries in the woods: north, south, east, and west of the barn. Find good hiding spots and stay in them. If you see movement, use your radio, and if the enemy gets too close, shoot them."

"You seem very paranoid all of a sudden," Dean said.

"With very good reason, and I have a special assignment just for you."

Blake took Dean aside. The Russian Eye was in a leather pouch against Blake's chest, and he tapped into its power. It took only a few seconds to gain control of Dean's mind.

"Stay in the barn," Blake ordered. "If the federal agents get in here, shoot that." He pointed to one of the drums full of explosive.

"But it will explode, and I'll die."

"Along with the enemy. Do you understand your instructions? You're my suicide bomber. Don't leave your post. Don't fail me."

Dean nodded.

Blake smiled. "Good." He patted Dean on the shoulder.

Blake walked back to Phillip. Blake took the pouch from under his shirt and handed it over. The boy gripped the giant gem tightly.

"Go to the rendezvous point," Blake said. "Wait for me."

Phillip nodded. "When do I get to assume you're dead?"

"If I'm not there by nightfall, carry on without me."

Phillip's face showed no emotion as he left with the two assassins. They went to the car and drove off.

After Phillip was safely gone, Blake stopped squelching his energy. He was now detectable to any sorcerers in the area. He hoped it was an invitation Andrew and Charley couldn't refuse.

* * *

The BPI cars parked in front of a paint factory, and everybody got out.

Andrew took a moment to examine the factory. It had an exposed concrete frame with red brick walls filling in the spaces. An assortment of chimney's poked up from a flat roof, some very tall. A cluster of tanks and pipes was also on the roof. He detected a faint odor of turpentine even though the cold winter air was dulling his sense of smell.

Dan gave everybody assignments. He, Andrew, and Charley would talk to the factory manager. The other agents split into two teams of two with orders to "watch the exits in case somebody runs."

Dan took the apprentices inside. The interior of the factory was a plumber's nightmare of pipes, pumps, valves, and tanks. Shelves in the back held bags of dyes and drums of solvents. Workers wearing facemasks and white bodysuits were making adjustments to the equipment. Forklifts carried wooden pallets loaded with materials.

Dan asked for directions to the manager and was sent to an office off to the side.

Dan entered first. "Mr. Harris?" he said.

"Yes," a man replied. "Can I help you?"

Andrew followed Dan into the office. It was a white room with just one small window, but the lighting was very bright. An amazing variety of color charts decorated the walls. Technical manuals filled shelves behind Mr. Harris.

He was a middle-aged man with pale, freckled skin. He had no hair, but a nasty scar marked his scalp. It looked like the result of a chemical burn. He was wearing a nice, white dress shirt.

Dan took out his badge. "We're federal agents. We came to investigate your missing aluminum powder."

"Huh?" Harris raised his eyebrows. "Since when did petty theft become a federal crime?"

"Just describe what happened, please."

"Two hundred pounds of aluminum powder went missing from inventory. That's all I know."

"You use it in paint?" Dan said.

"All the time. It creates a metallic sheen, but the stuff is cheap. It's hardly worth stealing. We're talking about maybe three hundred dollars of powder. I don't even know what a thief would do with it."

"It's a component in a binary explosive. You can make a bomb with it."

The color drained from Harris' face. "Oh."

"Now you understand our interest. Do you have any idea who might've stolen it? Is there surveillance video we can look at?"

"No video. This isn't a bank. We'll have to talk to the employees until somebody confesses."

Dan frowned, and Andrew understood his displeasure. Harris' plan could take all day and still fail.

"Can we talk outside, just the three of us?" Andrew said.

Dan nodded. He, Andrew, and Charley stepped outside the office.

"What?" Dan said.

"You could requisition a portable seam," Andrew whispered.

"What good would that do?"

"It would let me read the minds of the workers."

Dan's eyes widened. "That's grossly illegal. It's an unacceptable invasion of privacy. I'm going to forget I heard that."

"You don't seem to have a problem with searching private bank accounts."

"That's different."

"How?" Andrew said.

"It's
legal
for one thing. We need a plan that doesn't rely on sorcery."

Andrew looked at the workers in the factory and guessed there was at least a hundred of them. "Interrogating everybody one at a time and hoping for a confession won't work either."

Charley pursed her lips. "I have an idea."

"What?"

"Dan can threaten to close down the factory in front of the whole staff. An explosive material was stolen after all. You and I can watch the crowd to see who looks guilty."

"That's not a great plan," Andrew said.

"It has as good a chance as anything else. Dan?"

"I'm up for it," Dan said. "Find a good place to observe."

Andrew and Charley wandered off on their own. They found a raised platform which provided a view of most of the factory. They pretended to have a sudden interest in the maze of pipes.

A minute later, Dan came storming out of Harris' office. The factory manager trailed behind with an anxious expression.