Authors: Jon Land
Fires of Midnight (5 page)
“Psychiatric reports and evaluations. Recommended treatments and therapy.”
“What gives, boss?”
“I just left Crazy Harry in a bar down here in Key West. Told me somebody stole his kid, the one he had with his wife, Maggie. Said he hadn’t seen me since the funeral.”
“So?”
“So, Sal, there was no funeral. There couldn’t have been a kidnapping. Harry Lime’s never been married and he doesn’t have any kids.”
“I
think I got this nailed,” Alan Killebrew reported Tuesday morning when Susan stepped into the trailer that had become Firewatch’s on-scene command center, parked in Charles Park across from the Cambridgeside Galleria.
think I got this nailed,” Alan Killebrew reported Tuesday morning when Susan stepped into the trailer that had become Firewatch’s on-scene command center, parked in Charles Park across from the Cambridgeside Galleria.
Killebrew was Susan’s lead technician on the Firewatch team. He had arrived here just hours after her on Sunday and hadn’t left since. Nor would he until their leads, clues and theories began to firm into fact.
Killebrew backed his wheelchair up and aimed it for the computer monitor; his mussed hair and tired voice indicated he had spent Monday night working behind it. “I’m talking about the way our organism made its way through the mall. I think I got it figured.” He paused. “That and how it got in to begin with.”
Before Susan could prod him further, Killebrew worked the keyboard and a computer-generated, animated graphic of the Galleria appeared in simulated 3-D. It was not unlike a video game; he controlled the flow of action by manipulating the computer’s mouse.
“By analyzing the pictures from the mall’s security cameras and studying the placement of the bodies on all three levels, we were able to determine that not all the victims were affected at once. Whatever killed them had to travel, the time difference minor but present and crucial. What you are about to see is a model of the progression.”
The action began on the third level, the mall patrons denoted by flashing white dots. As the cursor swept past them, they stopped flashing and turned to red. The sequence was repeated on the second floor and then the first.
“Third to first floor, traveling downward, with a slight lag,” Killebrew elaborated. “Then there’s the dog. That storeroom he was locked in wasn’t in the original plans for the mall. The temperature inside it was over a hundred and ten degrees, while the air temperature outside at the time of the event was ninety-four. Now, doors
must
have been open at some points after the organism’s release. So it’s virtually inconceivable that at least some of the contagion would not have slipped out, and yet all those afflicted were confined solely to the interior of the mall. Because something stopped it, literally, at the door.”
must
have been open at some points after the organism’s release. So it’s virtually inconceivable that at least some of the contagion would not have slipped out, and yet all those afflicted were confined solely to the interior of the mall. Because something stopped it, literally, at the door.”
“Temperature,” Susan said, realizing. “My God …”
“The mall was a comfortable seventy-two degrees,” Killebrew acknowledged, looking up at her from his chair, “thanks to the air-conditioning system. My computer-generated model of the invading organism’s spread conforms perfectly with the flow of air through the Galleria’s air ducts. Since the storeroom the dog escaped from wasn’t built at the same time as the rest of the mall, it possessed no duct work for air-conditioning.”
“Good work.”
“There’s more. The compressors which power the system are located in the mall’s boiler room, which can be found here.” Killebrew scrolled down his computerized schema of the Galleria until he came to the basement and a small square that was flashing red. “That’s where the organism gained entry.”
“Then let’s go take a look at it.”
M
cCracken had arranged to meet Harry Lime first thing Tuesday morning, which for Harry meant nine A.M. He lived in a first-floor apartment inside one of Southpark Condominium’s six buildings. The buildings were similar to many others in the area, pseudo Spanish Colonial, and they had the advantage of being only three blocks from the ocean. Blaine figured Harry found the sounds and breezes calming.
cCracken had arranged to meet Harry Lime first thing Tuesday morning, which for Harry meant nine A.M. He lived in a first-floor apartment inside one of Southpark Condominium’s six buildings. The buildings were similar to many others in the area, pseudo Spanish Colonial, and they had the advantage of being only three blocks from the ocean. Blaine figured Harry found the sounds and breezes calming.
When Harry’s buzzer brought no response, McCracken hit two others and, as expected, was buzzed in without inquiry. He was carrying his SIG-Sauer under a baggy linen shirt worn out at the waist; not his preferred method of concealment, but a compromise to Key West’s expected nearhundred-degree temperatures.
Once inside Blaine tried the doorbell and then knocked repeatedly with no response. He could picture Harry inside Apartment 1A, passed out drunk or lost in the earphones of some video game. Blaine sighed and
went to work on the locks with the picks he always carried with him. The dead bolt took thirty seconds to work open, the knob lock barely half that. Both Schlage—top of the line—though requiring a mere few additional seconds’ inconvenience for the professional.
went to work on the locks with the picks he always carried with him. The dead bolt took thirty seconds to work open, the knob lock barely half that. Both Schlage—top of the line—though requiring a mere few additional seconds’ inconvenience for the professional.
“Harry,” McCracken called, stepping in. “Harry?”
No response came and Blaine moved farther forward. The living room was neat and well kept, a surprise considering Harry’s typically unkempt appearance. More surprising was the stark nakedness of the walls. McCracken had expected them to be cluttered with various posters, pictures and memorabilia, just as Harry Lime’s mind always seemed so cluttered.
The kitchen yielded no sign of Harry, and Blaine checked the fax machine resting on the counter. Not surprisingly, it was out of paper. He moved on to the apartment’s two bedrooms. He came to Harry’s first and gazed at the neatly made, unslept-in bed. The room was plain and traditional, again not what he had expected. The drawers were neatly packed and arrayed, the twin closets leaving plenty of room after Harry’s meager supply of clothes—floral shirts and baggy trousers, mostly—were hung.
McCracken checked the bathroom and then moved on to the second bedroom. Save for a few stray pieces of miscellaneous furniture, it was empty. If Harry really had a son, this would have been his room. There would be posters plastering the walls, a kid’s bedroom set and workstation. Place for a computer.
There was nothing. Just the excess furniture and boxes Harry had never gotten around to unpacking. How long had he been down here in the Keys flying for Air America’s offspring? That question had not come up last night.
Blaine retraced his steps through the apartment, something edgy scratching at his spine. He didn’t like the feeling in the rooms, found it too sterile. Even the carpets were neatly vacuumed, the lines against the grain still obvious.
To wipe out the telltale wash of footprints and signs of a struggle, perhaps.
Why am I thinking that?
There was clearly no reason to; probably many nights when Crazy Harry Lime didn’t quite make it home no matter where home was.
McCracken sat down on the white couch in the living room and pulled from his pocket the four-page psych report on Harry Sal Belamo had faxed to Blaine’s hotel that morning. It said pretty much what he had assumed: Harry Lime was crazy as a loon, except when he was flying. His grasp on reality seldom extended beyond the cockpit, where he was still as good a pilot as there was.
Blaine read on but that was the nuts and bolts of it. They probably would have put Harry away if his flying hadn’t been such a damnable asset.
That made him the ideal patsy for the new Air America. Skillful and unfalteringly reliable when working. Easily denounceable and forgettable if caught.
That made him the ideal patsy for the new Air America. Skillful and unfalteringly reliable when working. Easily denounceable and forgettable if caught.
Then again, McCracken also knew the door swung both ways. They weren’t asking Harry to do anything he didn’t want to. Flying was all he had, the only thing in his life that provided some measure of reality and balance.
That brought him to Harry’s latest government file. Up until a decade before, 1985 say, the information jibed pretty much with what Blaine knew or expected. For the decade following, though, the information on the lines was strictly boilerplate, detailing Harry’s reassignment to details and venues he couldn’t have stomached for more than an hour. Humdrum stuff and transport missions. Some resupply to the Special Forces active behind enemy lines in the Gulf War. Advance missions to Panama and Grenada. Everything you’d expect.
And none of it in keeping with Harry’s style. It wasn’t that he wouldn’t take on the more regular stuff; it was that the brass didn’t trust him with it. He was too prone to turn creative on them, make things up as he went along. Just tell him where, when and what and he’d handle the rest. Anything that came down through official channels was jobbed to someone else.
Blaine grabbed a phone from a nearby end table and dialed Sal Belamo.
“Fax come through, okay, boss?”
“Better than Harry, Sal.”
“Trouble?”
“He’s gone and someone went through a lot of trouble to cover it up. Walls were wiped clean and everything but the wool got sucked out of the carpets.”
“Keeping someone like you from seeing something, maybe. Christ, you think Harry really did have a kid who got snatched?”
“If he did, there’d be phone calls.”
“Records easily obtained.”
“I’ll call you in an hour.”
E
ven though all tests indicated that nothing was unsafe about the air inside the Galleria, procedure dictated that Susan and Killebrew don Recal II space suits before entering. For her the feeling brought on an eerie sense of déjà vu, even though the remains of the dead had been removed from the premises and transported to the CDC containment facility in the Ozark Mountains.
ven though all tests indicated that nothing was unsafe about the air inside the Galleria, procedure dictated that Susan and Killebrew don Recal II space suits before entering. For her the feeling brought on an eerie sense of déjà vu, even though the remains of the dead had been removed from the premises and transported to the CDC containment facility in the Ozark Mountains.
A service elevator brought them to the basement level and Killebrew wheeled himself along even with Susan down the corridor, sliding ahead of her when they reached the boiler room.
“Were any bodies found in here?” Susan asked him when they were both inside.
“No. We’ve managed to identify the three on-duty physical plant personnel among the remains in the mall and that’s an anomaly in itself.”
Each was able to hear the other thanks to the microphones built into the helmets’ frames beneath their faceplates. Tuned properly they could talk to each other instead of to Firewatch, though precaution dictated that their conversation be recorded back at the mobile command center. The only thing technology could not manage was to make their voices sound less raspy and guttural when relayed through a miniature earpiece.
“Why?”
“Because according to procedure one of them was supposed to be inside at all times.”
Killebrew pushed the door open and led the way in. The boiler room was a high-tech affair, hardly fitting its mundane title. There was no “boiler” per se visible, just the main heating elements, pump stations and air-conditioning compressors, which were shut off now, raising the mall temperature to just under one hundred degrees. None of this interested Susan so much as a wall that was composed from ceiling to desk level of built-in, twelve-inch-square black and white security monitors.
“Doesn’t seem like these belong in a boiler room,” she noted.
“This was originally supposed to have been the main security station. The developers decided to move it to the top floor after all but the finish work was complicated.”
“Are these monitors functional?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Assume they are,” Susan proposed.
“Is that important?”
“I’m beginning to think it might be. What track has your investigation been proceeding on so far?”
“Microbreak of previously unidentified virus or bacteria.”
“Accidental introduction?”
“Inadvertent, anyway.”
“Assume hostile action.”
Susan could see Killebrew’s displeasure through his misting faceplate. “You’re the government liaison here,” he relented. “Not me.”
“Play along. What do we know, what can we prove?”
“Whoever was supposed to be in here during the incident wasn’t. Fact.”
“Unless he himself was the perpetrator. Let’s assume, though, that he was lured away by the actual perpetrator.”
“Hypothesis,” Killebrew said staunchly.
“So whoever that someone might be arranges to have this boiler room to him- or herself.” Susan’s gaze lifted toward the bank of monitors. “He,
she, or they would then be able to watch the results of their handiwork live from a dozen different angles, assuring them of knowing when it was time to flee.” Now she turned her eyes on the air-conditioning registers built into the ceiling. “You said the cooled air spread from the third floor down. That makes this the last place in the mall the organism would have reached. Proceeding with that scenario, how would the perpetrator have fled?”
she, or they would then be able to watch the results of their handiwork live from a dozen different angles, assuring them of knowing when it was time to flee.” Now she turned her eyes on the air-conditioning registers built into the ceiling. “You said the cooled air spread from the third floor down. That makes this the last place in the mall the organism would have reached. Proceeding with that scenario, how would the perpetrator have fled?”
“Continuing down the subbasement corridor we took to get here brings you to an exit leading into the parking garage.” Killebrew seemed to stiffen in his wheelchair. “The same place we found …”
“Found what?”
“I’d better show you.”
M
cCracken took his time working his way back to Captain Hornblower’s to follow up on Harry Lime’s final moves the previous night. He strolled down Duval Street toward Mallory Square past an endless succession of bars, restaurants and clothiers featuring the trendiest of selections. There were any number of sidewalk pitchmen selling art, as well as numerous galleries, and there seemed to be a kiosk on every corner trying to lure tourists to sign up for the various water activities offered.
cCracken took his time working his way back to Captain Hornblower’s to follow up on Harry Lime’s final moves the previous night. He strolled down Duval Street toward Mallory Square past an endless succession of bars, restaurants and clothiers featuring the trendiest of selections. There were any number of sidewalk pitchmen selling art, as well as numerous galleries, and there seemed to be a kiosk on every corner trying to lure tourists to sign up for the various water activities offered.
McCracken watched a collection of canopied cars roll by, dragged by a fake train engine and barely a third full of tourists busy with their cameras. An old-fashioned trolley followed close behind, also only about one-third full. The tourists inside looked bored and listless, as though trying to get all this over with before the day became too hot to stray far from the water.
Captain Hornblower’s had just opened when Blaine got there. Inside, a bartender and a single waitress Blaine recognized from the night before were busy readying the place for whatever business might be coming in. Both remembered Harry leaving several hours after McCracken Monday night, having broken his own record on the video game at the expense of another handful of quarters and his usual number of Rolling Rocks.
McCracken was about to take his leave when he noticed the Key West Irregular Harry had called Sandman leaning up against the same support
beam he had the night before. Could be he hadn’t left, except Blaine was fairly certain this bathrobe was a different color.
beam he had the night before. Could be he hadn’t left, except Blaine was fairly certain this bathrobe was a different color.
“I know you,” Sandman said, as McCracken approached.
“Don’t think we’ve ever met.”
“We haven’t. I know you all the same.”
“I’m looking for Harry.”
“Come back later.”
“I don’t think he’ll be here then, either.”
“Harry moves around a lot.”
“I think this time somebody made that decision for him.”
What was left alive in Sandman’s eyes flashed concern. “You talk to Papa?”
“Where can I find him?”
“Key West Harbor. Hustling charters.”
P
apa’s boat was called the
Bell Tolls
. Seated there on the deck he looked even more like Hemingway than he had in Captain Hornblower’s the night before. He seemed to have no interest at all in hawking his wares for prospective charter customers, preferring to spend his day pouring a pitcher of Cuba Libre into a plastic cup.
apa’s boat was called the
Bell Tolls
. Seated there on the deck he looked even more like Hemingway than he had in Captain Hornblower’s the night before. He seemed to have no interest at all in hawking his wares for prospective charter customers, preferring to spend his day pouring a pitcher of Cuba Libre into a plastic cup.
“Hello, Papa,” Blaine said, stepping on board from the dock without waiting for an invitation.
The grizzled man turned and held back on his drink. “Do I know you?”
“You know Harry.”
Recognition flashed through his bloodshot eyes. “You were in the bar last night.”
“Harry needed me. Now he’s gone.”
“He does that sometimes, usually when there’s something on his mind needs working out.”
“Lately?”
Papa shrugged. “I suppose. He’ll take a boat out late at night. Closest one he can climb into. Drunk, sober—matters not at all. Figures out how much gas he’s got in the tank and goes out as far as he can before he has to turn around. Likes to push things, including his luck. Up till now, though, he always came back.”
“Does he have a favorite boat?”
“Yeah: my dinghy.”
“Can I see it?”
“Sure, if it were here. I showed up this morning and found it gone.”
“W
e found this just outside the exit door on that subbasement level,” Killebrew told Susan as he hovered over a table in the trailer with a number of items cluttered atop it.
e found this just outside the exit door on that subbasement level,” Killebrew told Susan as he hovered over a table in the trailer with a number of items cluttered atop it.
The two of them smelled pungently of soap and powerful disinfectant, courtesy of the portable decontamination shower units contained in an adjacent trailer. Susan’s hair was drying into gnarled, matted strands she paid no heed to whatsoever. Killebrew was seated in a different wheelchair since his regular one was still undergoing “cleaning” procedures. Susan watched as he leaned across the table and grasped a tattered and worn backpack made of blue nylon.
“I’ve catalogued the contents,” Killebrew continued. “They’re right there on the clipboard before you.”
Susan ignored his suggestion and reached inside the backpack for herself. There were four books—tomes, in fact. Susan withdrew the one on top, a thick, tightly bound effort titled
Advanced Organic Chemistry
. The second, almost as thick, was called
Molecular Physics and Quantum Mechanics
. Three and four were both paperbacks masquerading in hardcover size,
Nuclear Physiology and Applied Chemical Engineering
. Susan actually recognized at least two of the books on sight, thanks to earlier editions she’d come across during her years preparing for medical school.
Advanced Organic Chemistry
. The second, almost as thick, was called
Molecular Physics and Quantum Mechanics
. Three and four were both paperbacks masquerading in hardcover size,
Nuclear Physiology and Applied Chemical Engineering
. Susan actually recognized at least two of the books on sight, thanks to earlier editions she’d come across during her years preparing for medical school.
“Textbooks,” she said to Killebrew, feeling about the now flattened backpack’s innards. She fingered the rough blue fabric. “No name on any of the contents?”
“No. I checked.”
She slid her hand inside the bag and it closed on a few stray pieces of paper which she pulled from the darkness.
“Receipts,” she said, as she uncrumpled and spread them out. “Harvard Coop. Since the bag is on this table, I assume you haven’t been able to match it up with any of the early witnesses on the scene we were able to identify.”
Killebrew looked at her. “No match. And there’s only one set of fingerprints present on it. We already ran them through the FBI and drew a blank.”
Susan glanced at the slips she still held before her. “And these are cash receipts, so they’ll be no help to us either. Well, they do have the time and date on them. We might get lucky there.”
“Several weeks ago,” Killebrew reminded, not sounding like he cared very much. “Doubtful we can expect anything. Harvard summer session, though, has a fairly limited enrollment, so following up on those students enrolled in classes requiring these texts shouldn’t be too hard. Probably turn out to be some scared-shitless kid who slipped away instead of lingering like the others we’ve identified.”
“Maybe,” Susan said, turning her attention to a trio of identical eighteen-inch cylindrical shafts attached to rectangular high-tech meters next to the backpack on the table. The meters, both digital and curved, were built into the top of sealed boxlike frames with a number of tiny
holes punched symmetrically across all sides. The objects were freestanding, thanks to tripods set at their bases.
holes punched symmetrically across all sides. The objects were freestanding, thanks to tripods set at their bases.
“We found these late yesterday,” Killebrew said. “Haven’t been able to identify them yet.”
“Don’t bother,” Susan told him. “I’ve seen them before—actually, not exactly like them, but close. They’re air quality testers, left in confined spaces for extended periods of time to measure the levels of potentially toxic gases. Results of studies employing them have been primarily responsible for smoking bans in restaurants and malls to reduce the effects of secondhand smoke.”
“Then we can assume their presence to be routine.”
But Susan’s mind was elsewhere. “Where is your sweep team?” she asked Killebrew, referring to the personnel responsible for collecting onsite data.
“Rechecking the mall for anything we may have missed yesterday.”
“Tell them to get down to the boiler room. I want it swept again now.”
“What exactly are they looking for?”
“Something I think they missed.”
“H
ere’s the way it plays, boss,” Sal Belamo reported when Blaine reached him minutes after leaving Papa’s charter boat.”Looks like your friend Harry liked to keep to himself. We got almost no calls going out, and only a few coming in.”
ere’s the way it plays, boss,” Sal Belamo reported when Blaine reached him minutes after leaving Papa’s charter boat.”Looks like your friend Harry liked to keep to himself. We got almost no calls going out, and only a few coming in.”
“Any overlap?”
“Nope. But almost all the incomings originated from a single line in Cambridge. As in Massachusetts, boss, Harvard specifically.”
“Someone was calling Harry from
Harvard?”
Harvard?”
“A dorm room. Last call was made, let’s see, Sunday afternoon about two. Big one, over twenty minutes in duration. Hey, I was just thinking. Harry have a fax machine?”
“No paper inside.”
“From what you told me, it figures. Thing is, these records can’t differentiate between a regular call and a fax transmission. Mighta meant something if there’d been paper.”
“Means I’ve got to catch the next flight to Boston,” Blaine told him.
“As in Harvard?
Cambridge?”
Cambridge?”
“The tone in your voice just changed, Sal. What gives?”
“Something went down there couple days ago you better know about, boss … .”
T
he man inspecting the original oil paintings stacked along the sidewalk waited until Blaine McCracken was well past him before slipping away and raising the cellular phone to his lips.
he man inspecting the original oil paintings stacked along the sidewalk waited until Blaine McCracken was well past him before slipping away and raising the cellular phone to his lips.
“McCracken’s taken the bait,” the man reported as soon as the party on the other end had answered.
S
usan was reviewing the latest data when the soft beep sounded. She watched as Killebrew lifted a receiver from the communications board connecting him to the sweep team he’d dispatched minutes before to the boiler room. He listened to the report briefly, never taking his eyes off Susan.
usan was reviewing the latest data when the soft beep sounded. She watched as Killebrew lifted a receiver from the communications board connecting him to the sweep team he’d dispatched minutes before to the boiler room. He listened to the report briefly, never taking his eyes off Susan.
“Your hunch was right,” Killebrew said, voice sinking as his gaze fell on the backpack she had hastily repacked. “Fibers of blue nylon fabric were found in the boiler room.”
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