Nightcrawler (6 page)

Sabrina met Durham out front, and Tom had a big grin on his face. He patted her on the back and shook her hand.

“Well, you sure are Vern Brooks' daughter, that's for damn sure.”

“You've got a great left jab right hook combo,” she said admiringly. “I sure am glad you were taking it easy on me.”

“Let me tell you something, sweetheart. When I started blowing up, I was throwing it in hard to keep you off me. You're a helluva boxer. Don't get any crazy ideas about making money at it, though. You don't wanna mess up that face of yours. You look like a movie star.”

“Gee, thanks,” she blushed.

“Okay, so look,” he mused. “We're looking at some contracting work along the Brooklyn Bridge. They're forever getting potholes and want a crew to bring something to the table to prove it's gonna stay fixed for a reasonable amount of time. They're coming in at $150 million, and if I go with you and bid $140, I can get you fourteen mil on your end. Don't forget, though, this stuff we lay down there needs to last.”

“Sure,” she tried to maintain her composure. “Uh, if you can just e-mail everything over to me, I'll get together with Jon and the guys, and we'll send a proposal over as soon as possible.”

“Sounds good. Keep that right up, watch that kisser.”

“Sure will.”

She had met with Rita Hunt that Saturday evening after her meeting with Nat Osprey. They went together to visit Lindsay White at the Bowery Mission Women's Shelter at Heartsease Home. Lindsay was in her fifth month of pregnancy and hiding out from her boyfriend, who was demanding that she abort to spare him eighteen years of child support. She swore that she would never ask him for a dime, but he assured her that they would come after him regardless of her wishes once they determined he was the father. She went into hiding when he told her that either she would abort or he would do it for her.

Lindsay was a pretty girl with Dutch girl features, flaxen blonde hair with pinkish skin and a cherubic countenance. She had big blue Bette Davis crying eyes, and Sabrina's heart immediately went out to her. The women were checked in at the front desk and a matron escorted Lindsay out to the lobby to meet them.

“I don't want to kill my baby,” Lindsay sobbed as she told her tale to Sabrina. Rita already knew what was going on, and held her hand in consolation. “I understand what he's telling me, that anything can happen in eighteen years, but isn't a human life more important? Is this child never going to see the sun shine, never hear a bird sing, or never have a birthday or a Christmas just because someone can't afford it?”

“No, don't you worry about it,” Sabrina insisted. “I have a business that isn't doing too badly right now. You go ahead and have that baby, and we'll make sure it gets adopted into a good Christian home that is praying to be blessed with a newborn.”

“See, that's the downside,” Rita told her. “It costs about ten thousand dollars to go through the adoption process, with all the paperwork involved. Most Christian families simply don't have that kind of money before taking on the expense of raising a child.”

“Well, we'll see about that,” Sabrina mulled it over. “If someone were to donate the money to a Church that would give the money over for humanitarian purposes, then I would think someone's got some pretty good tax write-offs coming, don't you?”

“Gee, that's an idea,” Rita's eyes lit up.

“The only jam I see might be the Church donating it for the cause, but if the IRS decided to have a go at them, they would have to prove that rescuing a child from an orphanage is not a humanitarian act. And if they went after Pastor Mitchell, they'd have to get through BCC's lawyers. That'd be a pay-per-view matchup, in my book.”

“Well, I'd run it by the Pastor and see what he says,” Rita decided. “I'm pretty sure Lindsay wouldn't have a problem with it.”

“Oh, thank you, thank you!” Lindsay wept with gladness, throwing her arms around Sabrina.

It felt a lot better than singlehandedly beating down two steroid-fueled lesbians at the Statue of Liberty.

Rita and Sabrina went to meet with the Pastor Monday night, and he seemed eager to go provided that all the legal groundwork was tended to beforehand. Sabrina promised that she would meet with her lawyers to ensure that everything would be taken care of. She next called her CPA and asked him to explore the tax shelters available for companies donating to humanitarian causes in NYC. After that, she drove back to the BCC campus to meet with Jon Aeppli.

“Okay, so you're thinking the addition of a heat-resistant hot-melt pressure sensitive adhesive is gonna make this work if we can combine it with the asphalt sealant compound,” Jon looked at the report and worksheets Sabrina had come up with. “So you're thinking of using the styrene sec-butyllithium as the prepolymerized catalyst?”

“Well,” she said tentatively, “if we remove the cyclohexane to give it the ABA type block copolymer, plus with the A dosage and B mixing, I think it might be what Tom's looking for.”

“I'll take this home and kick it around, tweak it up and run it by Rick and Ryan,” Jon exhaled. “Fifteen million, what's he got in mind, paving up through Memorial Park to Borough Hall?”

“I think he's looking at possible trial-and-error, possible setbacks and profit margins,” she shrugged. “I don't see why we can't come up with one hundred and sixteen thousand gallons of this stuff for much more than eight million dollars. That should be enough to coat the Bridge and have enough left over for a couple of miles on the inroads.”

“I think you missed your calling.”

“I agree. I should've been a superhero.”

“I didn't mean that,” Jon frowned at her as his cell phone went off. “You should've went into construction, it's obviously better money—hello, this is Jon.”

Sabrina watched as he walked over to his desk, picked up his remote control, and switched on the rarely-used wide-screen plasma TV dominating the far wall of his office space.

“Barbara called, she says we ought to see this.”

Jon tuned in to CNN at the behest of his wife and saw a replay of a prerecorded tape that had been broadcast via satellite through Cuba from an undisclosed location. The figure of a powerfully-built blond man in a tank-top sat behind a desk before a shadowy backdrop, his face electronically distorted.

“The people of New York City must realize that they are in a war that they cannot win,” the man declared. “Their battle is being fought by cowardly incompetents who do not have the skill or the will to defeat a superior opponent who will never give up before victory is achieved. This is not Boston, where an entire city and state consolidated its resources with that of its citizens to defeat two simple-minded adolescents. Think of the terrible tragedy you endured just a little over a decade ago on 9/11. Stopping us at the Statue of Liberty was merely a minor setback. This time, we are demanding ten million dollars as payment in dissuading us from turning your oceanfront into blood. If our demands are not met within forty-eight hours, we will make good on our promise.”

“Oh my goodness,” Sabrina's eyes widened. “That must be the Reaper.”

The CNN journalist announced that Al-Qaeda denied having any connections to the Octagon and would never solicit or extort money for a military action undertaken in the name of Allah. He also received word that the Cuban government confirmed they had merely acted as a broadcast platform for the Octagon and denied any association with the terrorist group.

“If they developed an anthrax weapon they literally scattered to the four winds to demonstrate their capability, we can only imagine what they're planning next,” Jon was somber as he switched off the TV.

“They've got to be in the chemical business, or know somebody who does,” Sabrina mused.

“They could be getting the weapons from overseas,” Jon pointed out. “It could be Syria, North Korea, Iran, or even Russia.”

“Why would they let them take that kind of chance in dumping the product? Suppose Homeland Security was able to trace some of the compounding agents? If there was an identifiable enzyme characteristic of a foreign manufacturer—“

“The news reports haven't indicated whether or not Homeland Security was able to get any information from whatever must have been left in that briefcase,” Jon surmised. “Chances are they sent it to a police lab. We know they wouldn't do the same quality analysis as a mainstream company.”

“I'll bet I know someone who could get me a sample.”

“You're not afraid of risking your relationship? You might even run the risk of him being obligated to turn you in.”

“He can't arrest what he can't catch. I was thinking Nightcrawler.”

“Did you not promise me—!”

“I didn't say I was jumping off the Statue of Liberty, I'm only wearing a disguise to go visit Hoyt!”

“There's no use in trying,” he waved her off as he headed out the door. “I'll look over your paperwork on the Durham deal and have it ready by tomorrow morning.”

Jon's statement hit Sabrina like a punch in the tummy. She realized she would be taking a major risk in losing the man she was falling in love with. Only the lives of

innocent civilians might be at risk if she did not do so.

She saw no alternative but to turn to Pastor Mitchell and see if God would help her find a way.

One week after the failed attempt to saturate the air above the Wall Street area with anthrax, Tommie Pressley and Kyle De Lorean were arrested on Manhattan Beach for violations of the Anti-Terror Act. Impersonating lifeguards on the crowded beach, they were apprehended before being able to detonate 500-pound shrapnel bombs hidden beneath their tower posts. The Coast Guard intercepted an oil tanker a mile from the beach bearing Syrian insignia and markings that was filled with Agent BZ in a liquid compound.

The City, the nation and the world were horrified at the deviousness of the plot. The casualty rate would have dwarfed that of the Boston Massacre as thousands of bathers had packed the beach to enjoy the perfect spring weather. The explosions were designed to drive the survivors into the water, where they would have waded directly into the waves of Agent BZ being washed upon the shore. The swarms of emergency rescue teams would have clogged the boardwalk, causing more people to be pushed back towards the water to be ravaged by the toxic chemicals. It would have a catastrophe of epic proportions had the terrorists not been thwarted in time.

Sabrina Brooks had visited Pastor Matt Mitchell again after meeting with him and Rita Hunt earlier that week. The Pastor was greatly interested in her proposal to provide financial backing for Christian couples interested in adopting. He agreed to wait for further word from her lawyer and her accountant before making any moves on his end. He expected Sabrina to be coming by the Church with the latest developments, but was astounded to hear of her exploits as the Nightcrawler instead. Just as she told Jon Aeppli, she had been too traumatized by the City Administration's backlash against the Nightcrawler and did not plan on going out again.

Only when she had hacked into the Octagon's computer and downloaded their database, she went to considerable expense to have the encrypted files translated. She hired five of the top computer geniuses in the country to analyze separate files, and the first one who proved successful was awarded the job of cracking the entire database. She paid fifty thousand dollars out of her own savings for the service, though seriously compromising her long-term financial security in having cashed in some of her 401k accounts. Yet now she could see what the Octagon had planned for their next attack, and was able to formulate a plan to cause their downfall.

Pressley and De Lorean suspected that their computer system had been hacked, and fiercely presented their case before the Octagon at their meeting before the attack on Manhattan Beach. The absence of Harper and Harris at the team's nonagonal table in their Catskills Mountain stronghold was as a rebuke and a disgrace to the team. Pressley and De Lorean's angry denouement of the debacle only served to increase tensions at the table.

“There's no way the mission wasn't compromised!” Pressley railed as the other members listened moodily. “How could this guy have known to ambush the girls just before the wind picked up enough for them to dump the powder? We had the whole operation timed for them to be in and out in thirty minutes. They got inside, made it to the top, cleared everyone out of the torch area, and were ready to unload just when this guy shows up. I'm thinking that Ryan Hoffman reached out to him at some point, that's the only possibility. And if that's the case, then how can we not overlook the possibility that our inside contact hasn't been compromised?”

“I can guarantee that our operative is beyond reproach,” the person known as Scorpion spoke up. Both the Scorpion and the Tarantula were the Reaper's top lieutenants, and wore masks and distortion mics to the summit meetings. Like the others, they were the head of their own gangs, but remained part of the Octagon as it continued earning millions of dollars through its underworld ventures. “The contact assured us that Hoffman made no contact with the police. The contact had Hoffman under surveillance the entire time and even had his home phone tapped. Whoever found out about Harris and Harper must have infiltrated their networks somehow. They are the only ones who can provide the answers we seek.”

“Harris and Harper are both in solitary confinement in Attica, so we might as well just forget about any input from them for a long time to come,” Vincent Gargano spoke up. He and his partner, Walt Griffin, were explosives experts with the US Army in Iraq who were discharged long before the American military stood up for gay rights. They eagerly accepted the Reaper's offer when they returned home, and became millionaires within a year of their enrollment with the Octagon. They were both bisexuals, and easily negotiated their way between both worlds as the Octagon's interests dictated.

“I don't like the fact there's a secret contact,” Griffin insisted. “It's been said that we are all equals here, though we have accepted the leadership of the Reaper and his delegates. If that's the case, then we should know who the insider is. Suppose one of the rest of us knows something about him or her that you three don't? And suppose one of us is compromised and we decide to hold back information on the source until it's too late? This is setting a dangerous precedent and it may cause us all to reconsider our positions here. We've got enough to worry about the Government sending Harris and Harper to Guantanamo to force information out of them.”

“Do you question our judgment of character?” the Scorpion demanded.

“What, is that supposed to scare me?” Gargano lisped.

“Gentlemen,” the Reaper raised his voice. “We have not come here to recriminate or second-guess ourselves. This is the first time one of our operations has failed, and the first time any of our people have been apprehended. Divulging the identity of our inside source would serve no purpose whatsoever. If this person were to be compromised, our WMD capability would be seriously impaired. Everyone was aware of the risks involved when we undertook his mission. There is no need to increase the risk by possibly exposing our inside source.”

“Okay, keep your little rat hidden wherever it is,” Pressley waved a hand. “What do you intend to do about the leak? That Nightcrawler found out about our Manhattan hideout the same way he found out about the operation. Ryan Hoffman is the only one who was able to put two and two together. I say we bring him in and make him give up the Nightcrawler.”

“Can't you see it works both ways?” the Reaper insisted. “If the Nightcrawler finds out we've gotten onto Hoffman, he may disappear completely. Right now, the two of them may be the only ones who think they have a chance of stopping us. We know the Nightcrawler is not working with the authorities, they've got a manhunt going for him. If this vigilante has any more information about us, we have to lure him in and finish him off before we reach the advanced stages of our mission.”

“Hoffman is nothing but a stepping stone along our road to destiny!” the Tarantula hissed. “We have already burned the bridge that the Nightcrawler accessed, our tracks have been covered. We have no way of knowing of the relationship between Hoffman and the Nightcrawler. The Reaper is right, if we move against Hoffman, we don't know what the Nightcrawler has on us. If he turns it over to the Government, we don't know if it will be enough to end our mission. I say we bide our time and let this fool make his next move.”

“How can we know if he hasn't notified the Government already!” De Lorean exclaimed.

“Because our stockpile of Agent BZ hasn't been captured, dear friends!” the Reaper retorted. “The video is set to be delivered to City Hall tonight. The entire world will know of our demands. If they do not send the ten million to our Cuban connection, the people of Brooklyn will suffer a devastation unseen since Sodom and Gomorrah!”

“Too bad they won't have as much fun before it happens,” Gargano said slyly, evoking a hearty round of laughter from his partners.

Sabrina Brooks knew she was in a race against time, yet her personal life was in such a state of agitation that she dared not set it aside. Hoyt Wexford called to cancel their dinner date for Wednesday, yet they agreed to meet for lunch near NYU just to spend whatever time they could together. They were both just started to realize how much they missed each other, and suspected this was turning into something more than a close friendship. The electricity that ran through the big embrace they exchanged when they met said it all.

“I don't know what this world's coming to, Bree,” Hoyt picked at his plate desultorily. “You know, neither Al Qaeda nor the Chechens sent advance notice of a second attack. These maniacs obviously aren't afraid of getting caught. Even more obviously they think they're gonna get away with it.”

“It'll be okay,” she said encouragingly. “They stopped them last time without knowing it was coming. This time they'll be ready. They'll put the whole bunch of them away forever. You'll see, you're gonna miss out on all that overtime.”

“They're just trying to figure out how that Nightcrawler knew,” he looked at her oddly. “If only he'd come forward and tell them what he knows.”

“You know, you got this look in your eye—“

“No,” he raised his hand. “No, no, I'm sorry. I know you would've told me if you knew anything. You trained with us at John Jay, you know what all of us are facing out there against these guys. I know you'd never hold back if it could save lives. You're too wonderful a person for anyone to even think otherwise.”

When they parted, they hugged and kissed each other's cheek, and she felt like a schoolgirl wondering what it would be like when he kissed her on the lips. He told her he would call her Saturday, but neither of them dreamed they would be involved in the chaos of Manhattan Beach.

She had reached out once again to Nat Osprey without Ryan Hoffman's knowledge. Ryan had gone through some major changes after the extortion threat by the Octagon. He had begun scheduling vacation time in one-day increments, whereas he had normally taken his full month off around Labor Day to go on a trip with his wife and kids. He also seemed nervous and distracted where he had always been cheerful and energetic. Sabrina had tried to talk to him but he continued to assure her that he just needed time to get back to normal.

Nat was just as uncertain in dealing with Sabrina, but he realized the predicament she had put herself in. If she revealed her secret identity, there was a strong possibility that BCC could be closed down for the manufacture of chemical weapons. Yet if she remained on the sidelines, her failure to act might result in an opening for the Octagon's next move. He was in a similar situation in that his refusal to cooperate could result in the death of innocent victims if the Octagon's attack proved successful.

“If we could just take a look at all the calls from the Middle East to the New York area, we might be able to narrow it down,” Sabrina insisted as they met at Starbucks near NYU once again. “Look, this isn't going to be done in just a couple of calls. They can't be relying entirely on e-mail because of the Homeland Security monitoring. Plus this isn't going to be something in the planning stages. This is a done deal, and what they would be doing at this point is making last-minute confirmations. If we could just get a handle on one call, just one call—!”

“Sabrina, I'm on your side all the way,” Nat cleared his throat. “It's that I'm just as scared as Ryan, and for all the same reasons. If they ever found out, I'd not only lose my job but I could be facing jail time for FCC violations. They'd hang me out to dry and my whole life would be destroyed. If they ever found out about me and Ryan, or any of the guys I've dated, my wife would divorce me and my kids would disown me. There's a difference between your family thinking you might be queer and the whole world finding out for sure. Not to mention the lives of all the other guys.”

“All we need to know is what Middle East shipping firms have made any calls to private numbers here in the States,” she pleaded. “When we confirm calls to family or friends, the list would be narrowed down by seventy-five percent. If we looked at calls that went from land lines to mobile numbers since last Sunday, we'd know that it was because they knew we traced their call back to their hideout, and they wouldn't let it happen again. If we could come up with a short list, all we'd have to do is find out who has ships scheduled to arrive in New York this weekend. Nat, you can help me figure this out, please!”

“This is going to be the last time, this is the end of the line for me,” Nat wiped his brow. “I want you to swear to me you'll never reach out to me again after this. I know you're a church person, that's one of the reasons I agreed with Ryan to help you. Now you need to swear to me that this is the last time. No more, never again. Deal?”

“Deal,” she exhaled tautly.

She was feeling more and more isolated as it seemed everyone was turning their backs on her. Jon Aeppli was finally becoming more understanding, but still insisted she had to give this up at the end of the day. She agreed with Jon that if Hoyt were to find out, it could mean his career if he did not arrest her. Pastor Mitchell believed she had to let it go as well. The only other person who knew her secret was Nat, and she swore that their connection would be ended after this. If she did not take the Octagon down once and for all, she would be all alone against them.

The only source of encouragement she was getting was from her Church family, and ironically she had not been to church in almost a month. She felt a sense of satisfaction in knowing that her tithe of ten percent of her salary had to be paying a lot of bills. Yet she wanted to get more involved, though she knew she was entering uncharted waters in helping set up the adoption service. If everything did not go as planned it would let a lot of people down, not to mention the trauma it would cause in the lives of girls like Lindsay White.

Rita Hunt called that Wednesday and she was as buoyant and optimistic as always. She told Sabrina that Lindsay's ex had agreed to allow her to have the baby provided the adoption was set in stone before the delivery. Everyone was both relieved and exhilarated save for Sabrina, who did not have anything confirmed by the lawyer or CPA yet. She had already given up fifty grand in hiring the hacker to decode the Octagon files, and now she was likely to eat thirty grand in legal fees if they weren't able to divert the expense into a tax shelter. She had some nice money coming in with Tom Durham and James Hunt, but she hadn't even seen the pens that would sign those contracts yet.