Nightcrawler (7 page)

“Bree, honey, the other girls are feeling real good about the project,” Rita assured her as they chatted on the phone that evening. “Almost every one of them were considering abortion, but after the Pastor and the other sisters counseled them, they started thinking twice about taking the lives of their own children. Now that they know there's an option of having them adopted so the fathers aren't bearing the burden, it's opened their eyes to a new reality.”

“I'm so glad,” Sabrina gushed, though hoping she had not bit off more than she could chew. “I think if we just keep them prayed up and remind them that we're gonna be there for them, everything'll work out just fine.”

“Let's just remember that God is in control,” Rita reminded her, as if sensing Sabrina's concerns. “If things don't work out, then it wasn't meant to be. We can't blame ourselves, we can only do our best, then let go and let God.”

Thursday morning she decided to get Ryan back into the game, appointing him to take charge of the Jersey Shore project while Rick Alfonso was given charge of the Brooklyn Bridge overhaul. Though she realized that she and Jon would be doing most of the heavy lifting in the long run and making the crucial decisions, giving Ryan and Rick the responsibility and the credit would go a long way in building morale and team spirit. It also freed Jon up in case she needed his input as the deadline set by the Octagon drew near.

She had decided not to attempt to reach out to Hoyt as the Nightcrawler. It would compromise what she considered one of her most important relationships. She knew that she and Hoyt were bonding so that he would be able to see right through her uniform if she wore it before him once more. She would take advantage of this next encounter with the Octagon to take them down. If she did not succeed then she would get enough evidence to hand over to the police to finish the job.

“I think you're making a wise decision,” Jon assured her. “You may have a good thing going with Hoyt. He's got his own career, he won't feel resentful of your success. Plus, as time goes by, I think you'll be getting a vicarious satisfaction from his achievements in law enforcement. We both know that your gift for chemistry might come in useful as a resource for him. The police often solve cases by referring to outside sources in analyzing clues and forensics evidence.”

It was not long after Jon left for the evening when she got her last helping hand from Nat Osprey. He called her on her cell phone and seemed nervous in providing the information, apparently concerned by the possibility that either the police or the Octagon might have gotten wise to Sabrina.

“I nearly cut to the chase and almost cut my own throat in the process,” Nat grew hoarse at the thought. “Homeland Security had already confiscated our records to trace all the calls to the terrorists' hideout. If I would've gone in behind them they would've caught me red-handed. I took a different approach and started looking at oil companies. They would be the least likely to compromise their favored trade status. I hit lightning in a bottle with the Chammoun Petroleum Company. They made dozens of calls to a Mexican company in El Paso that was also acting as a switch for a satellite hookup in Havana, Cuba.”

“Omigosh,” she remembered that the Octagon's Monday night video transmission had been sent from a switch in Cuba.

“I'm done here, Sabrina,” Osprey said before hanging up. “I wish you the best of luck.”

She next went into her father's contact database and the company's business records, searching for contracts and bids with companies in the South Texas area. She found a Laredo Oil and Gas Resources with offices in El Paso, and decided to take a chance.

“Hi, this is Sabrina Brooks, Vern's daughter,” she began calling at eight AM on Friday morning, which was seven AM in Texas. She was transferred and placed on hold innumerable times, and finally got Rod Ramirez on his cell phone. “I'm trying to get some information about the Chammoun Petroleum Company out of Damascus, and I was wondering if you could help me.”

“I'll do the best I can. Sabrina, I sure was sorry to hear about your Dad. He was a great man and it was always a pleasure doing business with him.”

“He always spoke highly of you, and that's why I thought I might be able to come to you. I was even thinking that if this deal with Chammoun Petroleum didn't work out, maybe you and I could do business.”

“I'm all ears.”

“Well, we were doing work with polymers in another project with a New York construction company. Word of mouth got back to Chammoun, and they approached us with an offer to develop a polymer-based dispersant in the event that the rebels in Syria begin sabotaging their off-shore facilities. The numbers looked good, but when we started checking their references things got murky. I'm thinking they might be a dummy corporation for some operation that might leave us high and dry on the back end of the deal. What I'm trying to find out is if they have any of their freighters or tankers taking a detour to New York from El Paso on the way back to the Middle East. If they're rerouting deliveries to circumvent the embargo, I don't want anything to do with them.”

“Very interesting,” Ramirez mused. “I would be very interested in investing in chemical dispersant research. I wouldn't want to profit from the misfortune of a competitor, but illegal activity in our industry works to the detriment of one and all. Now, obviously if the Chammouns are operating here in El Paso, they must have some connections in Juarez. And, of course, so do I. I can have some people do some deep digging for you, but of course there will be a service fee involved. We can exchange e-mails and I will send you the details.”

“I'm sure you'll give me a fair price. All I ask is that you can have your people check this out at their earliest convenience. They're giving us a take-it-or-leave-it deadline, and I would've dropped it flat if I wasn't trying to keep the company moving ahead, you know, with my father's passing.”

“I understand, my dear. Let me see what I can put together, and we will find out whether or not these Chammouns would honor their end of the deal with BCC.”

By Thursday afternoon, Ramirez paid $5,000 in advance on Sabrina's behalf to a Mexican company who had arranged to purchase a shipment of oil on a Panamax tanker carrying 500,000 barrels from Bantas, Syria that would be sold to American companies as Mexican oil. As she suspected, the tanker was taking a circular rout past Florida towards New York en route to the UK. Although it was cutting heavily into the inheritance left by her mother, she gladly paid Ramirez for the information that would help her develop a game plan.

Sabrina next contacted a local yacht and boat charter service, renting a boat for sightseeing purposes for a one-person trip. The boat operator was somewhat suspicious when the female passenger arrived in Muslim attire with a veiled face. He was even more anxious when the woman produced a modified GPS and asked that the operator sail according to its coordinates. A hundred-dollar tip assuaged him temporarily until they began nearing an oil tanker that was veering suspiciously close to Manhattan Beach at Coney Island.

She explained that she was doing a news expose and needed to get close enough to photograph the ship's markings. When he got her within ten yards, he was astonished to see that her tripod case actually contained a modified harpoon. She fired the weapon at the side of the ship and used the rappelling gear beneath her robes to pull her onto the tanker after she dived off the ship.

The operator, aghast at the thought of being involved in a terror attack, immediately notified the police and the Coast Guard. By the time they arrived, the Nightcrawler had subdued the twelve-man crew and used her DATKO nerve gas to learn of Pressley and De Lorean's role in the plot. She called 911 and told them she spotted two bogus lifeguards unloading suspicious equipment at the stations near Manhattan Beach Park. The NYPD was already on the scene, and arrested the Octagon terrorists before they were able to activate the shrapnel bombs.

She finally returned home that evening and found her answering machine and cell phone jammed with voicemails. She saw that a large number of them came from Hoyt Wexford and Jon Aeppli, and she knew that she was going to have to call them before going to bed. She had smashed her knee into the side of the tanker when she boarded it, and was hit across the head and face with a pole by one of the tanker crew. She had also taken a couple of solid head and body shots while subduing the other crew members, but it was a far cry from falling from the height of the Statue of Liberty.

She collapsed in her bed in a state of utter exhaustion, promising herself she would recompose herself in a few minutes and make her calls to Hoyt and Jon. Only the extreme fatigue hit her like a ton of bricks, and she slipped into a deep, dreamless sleep which only reality would crash through on the following morning.

“This City has made a terrible blunder in refusing to pay the just tribute we deserve in sparing its people from devastation,” the blurred figure of the Reaper was again broadcast around the world that Monday at noon on Eastern Standard Time. This time the video was uploaded onto You Tube, and a DVD copy sent by courier to City Hall. “Even worse is its pitiful recourse in turning to this Nightcrawler for protection. For these mistakes, the City of New York will be required to pay us ten times as much as we previously requested. We will now require one hundred million dollars to be paid as specified in order for us not to carry out our next attack. Twice you have seen how close you have come to unspeakable disaster. Twice you have narrowly escaped horrors unlike any ever known in the history of this nation. This time we will not fail to bring down a firestorm that will bring the State of New York to its knees. If we are not contacted with an offer to pay our fee, the people of New York will pay the ultimate price. We also intend to make a gruesome example of this Nightcrawler should he dare cross our paths again!”

“I thought we agreed you were not going back out, Bree,” Jon Aeppli was exasperated when they met at the office Sunday morning. Jon told his wife he was meeting someone at the golf course, and Sabrina was forced to miss church once again. “That's a real beauty you picked up on your eye there. Are you gonna wear that balaclava of yours to meet Hoyt?”

“That's not funny, Jon,” she scowled. She had a purple welt on her eye which had darkened her cheekbone from the pole that was smashed across her face on the previous day.

“Oh, I agree,” he sat on the thick leather armchair by the plate glass window in her office. “So you say you took out twelve men? Did you gas them with the DATKO you agreed not to use anymore?”

“Gosh, I don't know, Jon, it all happened so fast,” she laid back in her swivel chair behind her executive desk, staring at the ceiling, feeling as if she had been flattened by a steamroller. “I guess they heard the spear hit the side of the ship, and when I came over the side they all saw me. The one guy popped me with that pole and nearly knocked me out but I hit him with the gas. I tried to use as little as possible because of what you told me, and plus I didn't bring that much. I kinda used the gas gun as a weapon and took out a couple with that. I guess I was real lucky that they couldn't fight. Besides, they'd been drinking, and I really got the impression they weren't dead set on unloading the Agent BZ into the water. They saw all the people on the beach, and they must've known they would've been doing a terrible thing.”

“And, of course, this wasn't anything the Coast Guard might've handled more efficiently.”

“I'm sure you'd have to agree that the police would've never gotten to Pressley and De Lorean in time!” Sabrina insisted. “And I would've never got the information without the DATKO. You've got to realize that Al Qaeda, or whoever's backing the Octagon, must've paid them a ton of money. Maybe they didn't want to poison the water, but they sure as heck didn't want to give up their friends or associates either.”

“So you're going to continue to take the risk of permanently disabling someone with the DATKO gas?”

“That's why I need your help, Jon. I can't do this all by myself, and everyone's turning their backs on me!” a tear ran down her cheek.

“I just want you to understand the ramifications of what you may be doing here,” Jon said tautly. “The chemical weapons project was cancelled by the Government before your father died. If the product is ever traced back to our labs, we are going to be held liable on Federal charges. You stand to lose everything and might even be facing jail time, and that's not withstanding whatever they're willing to throw at you for your Nightcrawler routine. Are you still planning to continue with this?”

“I swear to you that if any of this comes back, I will never give you up and I will take full responsibility,” she insisted. “You heard that maniac on the TV, he's planning to kill people. If they didn't give him ten million, he'll never get a hundred million, even if he learns how to bring fire from the sky. Just help me modify the DATKO and make it less toxic, that's all I ask.”

“I suppose you'll need me to cover for you with Rod Ramirez as well. He called me to see whether that story of yours was on the up and up. I winged it the best I could, and it looks like he might be interested in picking up on that bogus dispersal agent deal you ran by him. I'll give you credit for one thing, you've got some imagination.”

“I'm thinking if we can develop a compound that reduces the benzene toxicity in the weathered oil spill, we might be able to help Ramirez get a jump on the competition,” she surmised. “He can bring that to the table with him when he negotiates his deals with the Mexican government, and that should help defray the cost of our research.”

“Have you considered substituting toluene for the benzene in the dispersal compound?” Jon mused. “Toluene has a wider liquid range, plus there's less toxicity to have to deal with in the cleanup process.”

“I'll give Ramirez a call and see what he thinks,” she replied. “I just hope he hasn't put two and two together with that tanker bust.”

“I think it would take a simpleton not to have figured that out, and I'm sure you've learned enough about Ramirez not to put him in that category,” Jon rose to leave. “Now you've got me lying to my wife. Have fun explaining that shiner to Hoyt.”

“Uh…I'll tell him you got mad about having to come in Sunday morning for no reason?”

“See you Monday,” Jon walked out.

Sabrina took out her makeup kit and began studying her purple swelling while speed-dialing Hoyt on her cell phone.

“Bree,” he sounded like he was outdoors. “I was just on my way to your house. I'm sure you heard the news by now. You know I got called out to help with the crowd control? I just can't believe what's happening. Are you okay? I've been trying to call you since yesterday afternoon.”

“I'm so sorry,” she did her best to sound apologetic, wincing as she daubed some foundation on her swollen temple. “I got all caught up in researching that asphalt compound we were working on, and I started looking at that fertilizer project, and the time just blew right by. I started driving around and by the time I got home I was just exhausted. I just met with Jon here at the office, and he was mad because he couldn't reach me yesterday. I hope you're not mad at me too.”

“Someone with a voice as cute as yours is just too hard to get mad at. Can I meet you somewhere?”

“Sure can. Let's plan on an hour from now. I kinda got up on the wrong side of the bed this morning.”

Sabrina came to work Monday morning with issues spilling off her plate. Tom Durham called back, saying the figures were solid and wanted to meet with Jon and Sabrina at Club 21 for lunch to sign the contracts and celebrate the deal. Her lawyer and CPA both called back and let her know that things were looking good with the adoption project. They suggested that Pastor Mitchell's own attorney and accountant give them a call to make sure no one missed anything. Rita Hunt had also called to let her know the pregnant girls were planning to meet at the church on Wednesday at the prayer service, and were looking forward to seeing Sabrina there.

CNN and the local news stations were reporting a rash of forest fires in the upstate New York area, rivaling that of the Manorville outbreak which consumed over a thousand acres in 2012. The fires had erupted in and around the Catskill Mountain range, and Homeland Security was concerned that this was not related to the Octagon terror threats. Sabrina also suspected that the Reaper may have launched this attack well ahead of time, setting it up in the secluded wilderness regions in case his attempts at the Statue of Liberty and Manhattan Beach failed.

Once again she was faced with the prospect of working this out without getting herself arrested in the process. In all likelihood, the chemically-proficient Octagon was using its expertise to initiate the brushfires. If she had a way to determine what kind of chemicals they were using, she might be able to obtain information as to who might have recently purchased similar items. Certainly the Reaper would not be so careless as to have a shipment of napalm or a related chemical weapon brought into the country. Yet he would more than likely have the means of mass-producing a hybrid fuel for an incendiary device.

As Sabrina began researching napalm products, she suddenly broke into a cold sweat in realizing that the benzene that she and Jon would be researching for Ramirez was an active ingredient in the napalm formula. She also saw that the polystyrene ingredient was a polymer derivative, which was also something they would be ordering for the Brooklyn Bridge project. Anyone in law enforcement who would be investigating chemical companies for possible involvement in the Octagon conspiracy would see red flags all over BCC's list of products to be ordered.

At once she was horrified to think that Ryan Hoffman might have something to do with it. If the Octagon was continuing to pressure him to assist them with their plans, he might easily have acted as the middle man in setting up a deal with a chemical supply company for the Reaper. She had been concerned with his sudden change in personality, even though he indicated he was dealing with the trauma of the failed blackmail attempt. It was highly possible that the Octagon was continuing to pressure him, and he might be up to his neck in whatever they were plotting now.

She decided to play her Hoyt card and give him a call. She was running out of people she could confide in without paying thousands of dollars for the privilege.

“I feel like I just hit the Lotto,” Hoyt greeted her, the sound of outdoors coming over his cell phone. “Am I actually getting to talk to my little princess two days in a row?”

“I had something I needed to talk to you about. Do you think I could meet you at the River Café under the Brooklyn Bridge on the Brooklyn side? I've never been there. Dinner's on me.”

“Maybe if it falls in your lap,” he scoffed. “After work about four-thirty?”

“Kewl beans. See you then.”

She next got Rita Hunt on the line, and both women were happy to hear from each other. She determined that she would set up some time to go out and socialize with Rita. She was pretty sure they would hit it off on a personal basis, and if she ever needed a friend it was now.

“Hey, Rita, my accountant's telling me I can get a $12,970 tax credit for helping out with this. The Pastor's not going to get anything out of it tax-wise since he's already has a tax-exempt status. Even so, that knocks the cost to a prospective couple down to around $17k. Maybe if you can do some surfing around the Internet and see if anyone's good with that price, I can try and set this up on my end.”

“Gee, this sounds great,” Rita was enthused. “If we can get Lindsay taken care of, maybe we can get a website going and get some donations for the other girls. If people read about Lindsay's story, they'll see how they can actually save a life through our program.”

“That'd be wonderful. Say, I was wondering if you were busy tomorrow evening. I was thinking maybe I could come out and meet you, and we could grab a bite to eat. My friend Hoyt's a cop, and you can guess what weird hours he has. I get tired of eating by myself all the time, you know how that goes.”

“Hey, I've been doing so much tuna fish I'm growing cat whiskers,” Rita's laugh tinkled. “I'll cruise by the Church about five-ish tomorrow, sound okay?”

“See you then.”

She realized she was going to have to deal with this situation with Ryan, but the worst thing would be to confront him directly. She decided that there had to be an indirect strategy in handling this, so her next move was to call Rick Alfonso in for a chit-chat.

“Hey, Sabrina, I hope you're not having boy trouble,” Rick tried to be humorous, making a reference to the fading purple splotch over her right eye. He was a blond surfer type, a Brad Pitt lookalike with blue bedroom eyes and a captivating smile enhancing his slender, athletic build.

“Nah, nothing I can't handle,” she replied cheerily. “I was just wondering where we were at with the Hunt proposal. Do we have any estimated figures yet?”

“I've got about three good bids coming in,” he replied. “I'm just running through some red tape issues with the ammonium nitrate. With all the paranoia going around over those Octagon nut jobs, Homeland Security's checking out large orders everywhere. I was figuring I could expedite the arrangement by settling on a vendor, and then seeing if they could clear the order on their end before they ship to keep HS from crawling around over here.”

“Darn it,” Sabrina frowned. “Is Ryan having problems with the polymer? Are you guys ordering from the same places?”

“I'm not sure what he's got going. He hasn't been very talkative lately. I think he may be having some problems at home. It's kind of weird because normally he tells me everything. Let me touch bases with him and see what I can find out.”

“Sounds good. If it's anything I need to know right away, you can call me on my cell.”

“Is there something
I
should know?” Rick wondered. “This just sounds like run-of-the-mill red tape malarkey to me.”

“I just wouldn't want them poking around here just when we're getting things back on track with these big contracts,” she reassured him. “You know that if some of our prospects think we may be experiencing delays they might take their business elsewhere.”

“Gotcha,” Rick stood up to leave. “You better tell that guy of yours to lighten up on my sweetheart.”

“Oh, I got him covered, don't worry about it,” she giggled as Rick sashayed off.

She next sent an e-mail to Jon, Rick and Ryan congratulating them for the Company's achievement in landing the Durham contract. She also encouraged them to help her get the necessary estimates and overviews ready by Friday for her follow-up meeting with Durham. That would be a subtle nudge for Ryan so she could see what he was up to without prying into his activities. She then called the River Café to make reservations for her and Hoyt before getting ready to ride over the Club 21 with Jon to meet with Tom Durham for the contract signing.