Curse (Blur Trilogy Book 3) (15 page)

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

I ask Senator Amundsen’s driver if he can tell us anything, but he just explains that the senator will fill us in when we get there.

Now, as he maneuvers us through the hectic city traffic, I explore Malcolm’s phone, but most of the apps, including the address book and email, are locked or password protected.

The camera works, though.

It makes me think of Kyle’s hypothesis about being able to use photos to tell what’s real and what isn’t—but since I’m not having a blur at the moment, it’s not exactly the ideal time to put things to the test.

I briefly consider calling my friends or my parents to tell them what’s going on, but then I realize that wouldn’t be a good idea—for all sorts of reasons.

After all, Malcolm remotely monitored our phones. Who’s to say that someone couldn’t do it with his as well? And not that long ago, a man was trying to kill us. The people he worked with could go after whoever I might call.

Also, it’s possible that getting more people involved will put Petra’s life at even greater risk, especiall
y
if her kidnappers were to suspect that someone had called the cop
s—a
nd calling m
y
dad would definitel
y
fall into that categor
y.

Yeah, best to hold off from calling anyone, at least for the time being.

“What are you thinking?” Alysha asks me.

“That we have a lot more questions now than we did earlier.”

“Go on.”

“Well, why the mathematical equations in the hallways and the video monitors? How long was Malcolm planning on keeping us down there? Who was shooting at us, and how did he and his buddy find that place?”

“And what happened to Malcolm?”

“Yeah. That’s the big one. What happened to Malcolm.”

I’m not sure how much I want to get into everything here with the driver listening to us, but I figure that if the senator can trust him, so can we.

Tane turns toward Alysha and me. “Let’s talk this through. Malcolm tracks us down from all over the country and brings us to this secret, I don’t know, base or whatever, hidden in downtown Atlanta. He tells us he wants us to save someone else who has blurs, that she was kidnapped.”

“Petra Amundsen,” Alysha says.

“Right. And we only have until nine o’clock tonight to do it.”

“Okay. And?”

“And, wh
y
is all this happening right now? I mean, Malcolm first contacted me in November. Wh
y
wait until June to bring all of us together? Not to mention that suddenl
y,
when he does, Petra goes missing. Doesn’t that seem a little too convenient to
yo
u? Like too much of a coincidence?”

“Maybe.” I consider that. “But I think it’s safe to say that whatever’s going on here, it’s bigger than just us. Remember, Malcolm mentioned Dr. Waxford doing tests on prisoners. Why would he have brought that up unless it was related to everything else?”

“Yeah, what was all that about, anyway? He said you knew about him?”

I explain about Dr. Waxford and the chronobiolog
y
research. I also tell them that I recognized Detective Poehlman on the video monitor and that he’d showed up in Wisconsin around the same time Dr. Waxford disappeared.

Tane looks confused. “But how does that relate to Malcolm?”

“Last winter when I first met him, Malcolm told me his agency was trying to stop Waxford.”

“And what agency is that?”

“Maybe the same one that built that maze of hallways under that parking garage.”

Back at Sue Ellen’s place, K
yl
e finished his shower, got
dressed, and met up with the girls in the kitchen.

Mia’s aunt had left some eggplant parmesan, watermelon, and fresh strawberries for them on the counter.

“All the fixin’s are there,” she told them pleasantly. “It’s a do-it-yourself lunch. Go ahead and fill yerselves up, now.”

They thanked her, heaped some food onto the china that she insisted they use, and moved to the dining room to do some research while they ate.

“When you were showering,” Mia said to him, “Nikki and I looked up the Marly Weathers Foundation. Mainly they give scholarships, help with academic after-school programs, that sort of thing. It all looks pretty innocent and legit. There wasn’t any mention of a Malcolm Zacharias in the staff directory on their website.”

As they ate, they picked up the research where Nicole and Mia had left off, surfing on their phones and poring over the Marly Weathers Foundation website. When they were about halfway through with lunch, Nicole said, “Kyle, do you still have Daniel’s wallet?”

“Sure. Why?”

“What about that debit card? The one from whoever was paying for the travel costs to get him down here?”

“What about it?”

“Could we use it to find out who he is? I mean, the person who preloaded the card?”

“How?”

“There’s usually a phone number on the back for you to call if there’s an emergency or if the card gets stolen or lost.”

“Yeah, now there’s a brilliant idea.” Mia took a bite of watermelon. “Include a number on the back of a card for you to call when you longer have the card. Am I the only one who sees the flawed logic in that one?”

“But it might just help us this time, though.” Nicole turned to Kyle again. “Zacharias is a guy so it’ll probably be best if you make the call—in case it’s his card. Pretend you lost it or something’s wrong with it. See what you can find out.”

“It’s upstairs. Let me go grab it.”

Dr. Adrian Waxford was at his desk studying the transcriptions of what subject #832145, the serial killer from Wisconsin, had been muttering to himself over the last few weeks, when Henrik called on the satellite phone.

Adrian picked up. “Yes?”

“We have him.”

“Who? Zacharias?”

“Yes. He put up a bit of a fight, but we got him.”

“How did you find him?”

“Tracked the SUV he was driving. It was purchased through Gatlinburg Holdings, which has connections to the foundation in Philly that we were looking into.”

“Good work.”

“The kids got away, though.”

“Kids?”

“The video footage we found showed three of ’em. Byers, a blind girl, and an islander kid. Sergei confirmed it. He took a few shots at ’em, but they made it to the elevator.”

“He shot at them?”

“If we have Zacharias and Petra, we have all we need, right? Wouldn’t it be best to just get rid of any loose ends?”

“Perhaps. Hmm. I’ll need to think that over. For now, bring Zacharias here to the Estoria. It’ll give us a chance to get some answers before General Gibbons arrives.”

“The general is coming down?”

“She wants to see the facility for herself in preparation for the oversight committee meeting.”

A slight pause. “Do you think that’s a good idea?”

“I’m afraid it’s out of our hands. If the situation becomes unmanageable we can always move our base of operation. The renovations we made allow us that option.”

“You mean use the rapid oxidation system. Burn down the Estoria.”

“Only if necessary. We’ve had to start over before. It’s not ideal, but I’ll do whatever I have to do to keep this research going. Justice depends on it.”

As he spoke, he made sure that the 9mm handgun in his desk drawer was loaded and had a bullet in the chamber.

“But the research depends on funding.”

“True enough,” Adrian acknowledged, sliding the drawer shut again.

“However, we probably won’t have too much trouble finding other governments who would pay through the nose for your findings.”

“That is true as well.”

“Alright, I’m going to drop Sergei off at the house in Knoxville, but I should still be able to get to the Estoria by around five o’clock.”

“We’ll have a room waiting for Mr. Zacharias on the fourth floor.”

After ending the call, Adrian looked at the bone-carved camel figurines on his desk and the vial of Telpatine that sat beside them.

Think outside the box.

Burn down the Estoria? Really?

Well, if necessary. Yes.

Sometimes unorthodox measures were required in the pursuit of doing what is right.

Kyle called the number on the back of the debit card and navigated his way past a series of automated prompts. When he finally got through to a real person, he said, in his best irritated adult bank-card-user-voice, “Yes, I’d like to report a problem with my card. It keeps getting declined but I think it should still have money on it.”

“Alright.” The woman didn’t sound a whole lot more personable than the prerecorded messages he’d just finished listening to. “May I have the card number, please?”

He read it off.

“And the security code.”

He gave it to her.

“And what’s the billing address for the card’s account?”

“The billing address?”

“Yes. To confirm the card’s ownership.”

“Oh, right. Hold on. We have, um . . . a couple different addresses we use. Let me just check which one this gets billed to.”

He lowered the phone and said to the girls, “They need a mailing address. What should I tell ’em?”

“Here.” Nicole used her cell to pull up the photo of the receptionist’s computer screen and zoomed in on the address of where the receipt had been sent. “Try this.”

Back on the line again, Kyle said, “Yeah, okay. Here’s the one we have on file.”

He told it to her and waited while she entered it.

“Is this Marly Weathers?”

“Yes.”

“Ms. Weathers?”

“Mister.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. It wasn’t entered correctly here. Let me just fix that . . .” She typed. “There. All set. So, now, Mr. Weathers, how may I help you?”

“Right. Can you check the amount on the card?”

“According to our records, you still have $49,911 on that card. Will that be enough, or do you need to transfer more funds from one of your corporate accounts?”

He tried not to let his shock over the dollar amount come through in his voice. “Um,
ye
ah. Ma
yb
e transfer some?”

“From which account?”

“How about the biggest one.”

Yeah, okay, that was a stupid thing to say.

“The biggest one?” the woman asked curiously.

“Yes.” He tried to regroup and sound confident again. “Precisely. And which one would that be, actually?”

“I’m afraid I’ll need the email address associated with it to give you any additional information.”

Maybe she was onto him.

“Just a sec.”

He consulted Nicole’s cell and read off the email address of the place in Philadelphia.

“So, Gatlinburg Holdings?” the woman on the phone said.

“Oh. Yes. Of course. Okay. Thanks.”

“Did you still want to transfer any funds?”

“Naw. I changed my mind. Okay, have a good day, then.”

“But you said the card wasn’t working?”

“Um. Yeah. It started to.”

“It started to—?”

“Just now, here—”

Okay, that’s enough.

He hung up.

“Well?” Nicole asked.

“The card was issued to Marly. There’s almost fifty thousand dollars left on it. And there’s a company called Gatlinburg Holdings that’s related to it somehow—I don’t know how. It’s another corporate account he has.”