Murder Inc.: A Sci-fi Thriller: Book 1 (37 page)

Jennings teleported into the office early to ensure his instructions to Grigori Hucker a few days earlier had been followed. There was a daily schedule for dropping the data out to the disaster recovery site, but this was more than that. Jennings wanted to make sure all files were being cleared at the conclusion of each day. He sensed from Chekov that things were about to get intense.

He went through the usual security checks to get into the IT room, and as the last door slid open, Jennings heard voices from within. He hadn’t called ahead because he liked to surprise them, an impromptu visit to see what sort of behavior was happening behind the sealed doors of the server rooms. He expected to find Hucker and a few others to greet him.

But Hucker wasn’t there. His old colleague Sash Palinski was though, and Jennings smiled as the skinny man in his ever-present jeans and blue ski jacket met him.

“Hello, sir,” Palinski said, springing from his seat. He looked nervous, edgy. Jennings eyed him, wondering what had spooked the kid. But the IT guys tended to be like that.

“Where’s Hucker?”

Palinski shrugged. “Just me, sir.

"I thought I heard voices.

"Apparently Hucker has a sick kid.”

“No commitment anymore.” Jennings circled the room. “Did he brief you on the information security protocols?”

“Yes, sir. That’s what I’m working on now.”

“How often are you dumping all the files from this site?”

“Morning and night.”

Jennings said, “I want you to do it every hour. On the hour.”

Palinski’s eyes widened. “Yes, sir. Okay. I can do that.”

“Anything on Fox? I haven’t been getting many updates lately. What’s he been doing?”

“Nothing much, sir. His workload has reduced considerably. Very few messages or calls.” Palinski shook his head in thought. “Strange, actually.”

But it wasn’t strange to Jennings. Fox had run out of options. He was floundering, his time almost up. He didn’t know what Chekov had planned, but Jennings could imagine himself sitting up in the office on level thirty-two. He could almost smell it.

“… sir?”

Jennings snapped from thought, his gaze resting on the computer terminal on which Palinski had been working. A sound file was open on the screen. It looked like the IT man had been watching something when Jennings had arrived. Perhaps that had been the other voices he heard. He walked over to the computer screen. “What’s this?”

“Nothing, sir. Just some audio I was listening to.”

Jennings turned to him. “Of what?” Palinski’s shoulders sagged. “Of what?”

“Mr. Fox. In his vehicle this morning.”

“Talking to whom?”

Palinski’s face folded, knowing his next statement would only bring trouble. “A policeman, sir. A detective.”

Jennings grabbed him by the scruff of the jacket. “Play it back for me.”

Palinski broke free and moved to the terminal where he sat and began swiping at the screen. Jennings pulse had quickened. This could either turn into a major problem or be the break he needed to finish Fox.

The audio came on, muffled and imperceptible. “Turn it up.” Palinski did, giving the voice command for the volume level.

“Morning, Detective. What can I do for you?” It was unmistakably Bryan Fox’s firm, throaty voice.

Jennings froze. “Jesus.” Palinski swiped at the screen, moving the playback position along the bar. “What are you doing?” Jennings snapped.

“There’s a long gap where the wind cuts everything out,” Palinski said. “There’s nothing there but silence.”

Jennings opened his mouth to speak when Fox’s voice sounded again.

“Who?” Fox asked.

The next bit was muffled, and then a second voice—that of a man—said, “Murdered because of it.”

Jennings leaned forward, straining to hear more information. His senses buzzed. He knew that this was somehow important, that it would change the game.

“I think so.”

“Janefield is in our sights. It’s a formality now.”

I think so. Those words came right after the bit about murder. Who were they talking about? Dom Curwood? Bryce Adler? Charlie? There was another long gap where Jennings stood holding his breath, circulating the information through his mind. But he refused to let his mind race on, afraid he might miss the next piece of critical information. And then it came, like a punch in the gut.

“If you help us, it may minimize your prosecution.”

He couldn’t move. From his peripheral vision, he saw Palinski turn and look at him. Jennings put a finger to his lips.

“We’ll see,” Fox said.

A gust of wind buffeted the microphone.

“This is not going to end well for you.”

“I know,” Fox said.

About that, Fox is one hundred percent correct,
Jennings thought.

“That’s the end of the audio,” Palinski said. He wore a sad, despairing look on his face, as though he’d just lost the winning lottery ticket. “There’s nothing after that.”

But Jennings barely heard. He was moving away from the screen and towards the door. It was a bittersweet moment, a mix of fear that the police were somehow involved, but sweeter because Fox had broken his vows and gone against them.
I’ve got you now,
he thought.
Got you like an animal in the corner of the slaughterhouse with nowhere to go.
For this, Jennings promised himself, he would kill Fox. But first, he needed to call Chekov. Chekov would know how to take care of it; he’d know what to do.

Fox parked in the underground car space and lingered a moment, trying to wash away the feeling of imminent peril after this encounter with the detective. How long before the NYPD busted down the door?
Soon,
according to Gutterson. But there was still time for Fox to activate mechanisms within their agreements to stop any sort of investigation. He wondered why their contacts on the force hadn’t picked up on it and shut it down yet. Gutterson, it appeared, had slipped through the cracks. But he would have to be quick and involving Jennings—and maybe even Chekov—was unavoidable. Fox wanted out, but he didn’t want the company to fall apart. It still had a crucial role to play in the ecosystem of the world.

His watch beeped, identifying the caller as Palinski from the IT department. Fox activated his implant and greeted him.

“Sir, you told me several weeks ago to alert you when we were notified the drive used to copy files from the servers in Charlie Billings’ office was activated.”

Fox heard himself say yes. Finally, they’d know. “Where is it coming from?”

“Here,” Palinski said. “In our building.”

The answer dissolved Fox’s immediate ability to respond. Jennings. It had to be Jennings. “Where?” There was a long silence from Palinski. “Where, Sash?”

Palinski’s voice was weak, reluctant. “In your office, sir.”

One startling thought struck him. Jennings was trying to set him up. He would plant the drive around Fox's desk and then call in Chekov or someone higher and have Fox framed. But he wouldn’t let that happen.

“Thank you, Sash. I’ll take care of it.” From a compartment beneath his seat, Fox took a mini-Taser and stuffed it into his pocket. Despite its size, it had a super-charge that could kill a man if administered for long enough. Fox had it specially designed by the techs in the case of a tight situation like this. “Sash?”

“I’m afraid there’s more, sir. Your vehicle audio picked up the conversation with the police detective earlier. I was reviewing it as Mr. Jennings burst into the IT room. I tried to hide it, but he spotted me and insisted on hearing the transaction. I couldn’t stop him.” His voice was full of apology. “I’m sorry.”

“Shit,” Fox muttered. “Can you tell if he’s the one logged into my terminal?”

“No, sir. Whoever did it logged in with your password.”

He ended the call with Palinski and reached into the small pocket on the inside of his jacket. He withdrew a small vial, the one he had collected from Clarence Smith at the Doublewide research facility. Fox flipped the top off with his thumb and swallowed the liquid.
Just in case.

Fox swung out of the vehicle and slammed the door shut. He’d had enough of Jennings scheming ways. He had to end it now, for the sake of the company, the people in it, and those souls left in the world. They were imploding, all their insides exposed and everything they had worked for crumbling. He wouldn’t let that happen. He might be on his knees with enemies coming from every direction, but Fox would not give up. He’d fix the undermining Jennings and deal with the policeman. Then, when it was all bedded down, he would take his leave and enjoy his retirement in solitude. The renewed purpose invigorated him.

He took the elevator to thirty-two, his fingers clutching the handle of the Taser. The moment the doors opened, he leapt out and jogged down the polished tiles of the hallway towards his office. He reached the foyer, and saw that neither of his secretaries were in yet.

He crept up to the office doors and stood, holding the weapon. Jennings would likely still be inside, but the moment Fox scanned the security plate, Jennings would be alerted. But he had no choice. He’d have to be fast. Run directly at the desk before Jennings had a chance to react. Jam the Taser into him and hold down that motherfucking button until he was fried. Chekov and the higher powers couldn’t charge him for it; the evidence was there, Fox was sure of it. Sooner or later, Jennings’ treacherous ways would come out.

Fox touched his wrist to the scanning plate, yanked both handles down, and pushed the double doors open.

Samantha’s implant rang once before her casual tone answered. Jennings fell back into the seat. “Where the fuck are you?”

“Parking. I—”

“Get up to my office now, we’ve got major problems.”

“What is it?”

Jennings leant on the desk. “Fox has talked to the police. IT recorded a conversation this morning, and it sounds like he’s working with them. I don’t know how deep it goes yet.”

“Bastard. What’s the plan?”

“He’s terminated. First I need to speak with Chekov though. I’m about to make the call. Just get up here now.”

He ended the conversation and connected to Chekov’s implant, then began pacing the room with his hands deep in his pockets. He needed to get a handle on it all—Fox, Nightboat, the police. The possibility of success and failure both scared and excited him.

Chekov answered in a sleepy drawl. “Yes?”

“Sir, we have a small problem,” Jennings said, trying to keep the nervous energy from his voice. He explained the audio of the phone call. Chekov was silent for a long time. “Sir?”

“Where is Fox now?”

“Let me check.” Jennings swiped over the screen and found a list of employees who had scanned into the building. “He’s here. On-site.”

“What’s the status of the Nightboat?”

“The drop is scheduled for midday, Rondout Reservoir.”

“Is your team in place?”

“Yes. I was going to send Samantha to supervise, but…”

“Forget it. If you’ve prepped it right, things will happen as they should. You need to focus on the here and now. You need to kill Fox.”

“Kill him? Now?”

“He’s broken the code.”

Chekov was right. Jennings had known this would be the outcome. “What about the other CEO’s?”

“I’ll take care of them.” Jennings lapsed into silence. “You need to make a choice, Mr. Jennings. Like I said, right here and now. Are you in, or out? Do you want the responsibility of the New York division of Janefield Investments, or not?”

It occurred to Jennings right then that Chekov might be setting him up. From where he sat, the situation was balanced on a precarious edge. All along he had gone with Chekov’s suggestion and recommendations. But now, Chekov was asking him to murder a divisional CEO. Surely there would be consequences.

“I know what you’re thinking, but I want you to take a moment to imagine what might happen if Fox talks further to the police. Imagine him giving evidence in a court of law, incriminating all of us. It won’t be twenty-five to life, it will be the death penalty and your wife and children will never live normal lives again because there will be no company to take care of them.” Chekov stopped, letting the idea sink in. “Many have faced this kind of situation, Mr. Jennings, where a rogue employee is intent on making a bad decision. Many have been where you stand now, with the company’s fate in the palm of their hand, and they have been tested. None has yet failed.”

Jennings fell back into his chair. “Yes. I… understand.” He opened the top drawer and saw the remaining vial of HKX Samantha had used on Charlie. “I’ll take care of it.”

“Yes, you will, because if you don’t, we’ll come for your wife and kids, Mr. Jennings, and I’ll send more than two men this time. They’ll all take turns with your wife before putting her and the children to sleep forever.”

There was nothing Jennings could say to that. He was stuck between an enormous rock and the edge of a towering cliff. Take the punishment, or jump. He swore to himself in that moment that he would kill Chekov though. Whatever it came to, he would take care of this man. No compromise. If it was the last thing he did. “I won’t fail.”

“Get Fox, find out what he knows, and then kill him.” The call ended

Jennings took the HKX and a hypodermic from the drawer and slipped them into his pocket. Time to collect Samantha and finish things off.