Project Northwest (23 page)

“Well?” Shelly insisted.

James talked as they walked. “During an
epidemic of black diphtheria that hit the northwest region in the
1880s, Edgar Butterworth, a city mayor and a member of the state
legislature, built ready-made coffins from his furniture shop and
eventually had a controlling interest in Cross & Co.
Undertakers on the northeast corner of Second Avenue and Pike
street.

“Diphtheria, in general, is especially
aggressive towards children, slowly suffocating them as a black,
tough, fibrous bacterial covering assaults the throat. Once
infected, the bacteria releases toxins into the bloodstream and the
host dies a slow agonizing death.

“The children cried for their parents, for
anyone to help them, but most died and were transported into the
basement of Butterworth’s mortuary through the entrance on Post
Alley, the exact same alley you and I are heading to.”

James ended his recollection with, “They say
the phantoms of the mortuary pour out of the basement at night,
trying to escape the coffins and death.”

“You’re messing with me, right?” Shelly said
as they arrived at the corner of University and Post Alley.

“Can’t make this stuff up, they’re just ghost
stories. Bridget and I took a ghost tour last Halloween—I think
it’s this way.”

James turned right onto Post and began making
his way into the dark alleyway. It was paved, but the concrete was
old and worn, giving the impression that even the city workers
didn’t dare tread there.

Shelly didn’t move.

“Are you coming?” His question echoed off the
tall buildings on both sides of the alley and boomed to her like a
ghostly voodoo priest rolling bones.

“Yeah, I’m coming, don’t rush me.”

Her heart rate jumped as she placed one foot
onto the old concrete, felt its chill, thought of the hundreds or
thousands of children that were carted to and from the mortuary,
maybe over the very spot she was standing. She placed her second
foot onto the concrete and rushed to catch up with James, grabbing
his arm.

The sound of a door chime welcomed them as
they entered Lady Sylvia’s Mystic House. The reception room was
small and contained nothing like the office furniture that they
were used to seeing in reception rooms. It had three posh chairs,
two along one wall and one along another wall. Each chair was
covered with a rust colored, silver highlighted chair throw, and on
the center table burned three candles in candle lanterns decorated
with cutouts of half-moons and stars.

“Welcome! Hello, Sam. Who is your friend? You
are stunning,” Sylvia said as she entered the room from the doorway
to the left and focused on Shelly. “Beautiful eyes. Are you an
albino?”

Shelly studied the remains of her
frappuccino, wanting to somehow crawl into the cup and hide. It
wasn’t that she was afraid. She had an unnerving feeling that
Sylvia could read her mind, had access to her deep dark secrets.
She could see right through her.

“Not a full albino. I do have some
pigmentation,” Shelly finally managed to say.

“Well, you are gorgeous, please have a seat.
You will let me read you afterwards, correct?”

She motioned to James. “You, follow me.”

James followed Lady Sylvia into a reading
room off the main hallway. The room wasn’t anything like he
expected. There were no door beads or sitar music, not a single
lava lamp, and the crystal ball he expected to find wasn’t anywhere
to be seen. There wasn’t even the psychic staple of spooky
chicken’s feet hanging from the ceiling. None of his stereotypes
were affirmed.

Instead, it was small room, with a single
round table big enough for four people, skirted with a red
tablecloth, and supporting a couple of candles. One object seemed
out of place. A mobile radio of some sort was in the center of the
table.

Sylvia locked the door and moved with smooth
strides, as if she were on roller skates. One got the sense she was
moving through the membranes of two worlds. She really played the
part.

“Please have a seat,” she said as she pointed
to the note on the table.

James read the note.

James, it’s Mark. Strip down to your boxers.
Leave your cell phone on the table about a foot away from the
radio. Go to the room in the back of this room. Bring this note
with you.

James glanced at Sylvia and she nodded her
head in confirmation, then pointed to the door behind her
chair.

He undressed and, with only his boxers on,
inched toward the door, note in hand. He opened the door and could
barely make out Mark in the middle of a narrow hallway that ran
perpendicular to all the reading rooms. The hallway exited out to
the street at the far end and was lit by a single red light
bulb.

“Mark, thank God you’re here. This was a
clever way to meet.”

“I’d hug you, man, but you know, you’re in
your boxers. It would be kind of weird and Sylvia already thinks
were gay. But listen, we’re really short on time.”

Mark handed James a mobile radio. “While I
tell you what you’re up against, you will need to focus on Sylvia
because she will still be conducting the reading. When you speak,
press this button. Do not touch this button, as it will cause the
radio to squeal, understand?”

“Yes, I think so.”

Mark opened a folder and pointed at the
picture in the top right corner. “Is this the guy?”

“Yes, that’s Mr. Wright.” James said in
amazement. He quickly scoured the first page and for the first time
had a name to put to the face. William Paul Wright, Major,
USAF.

“He’s a bad guy, James. Iraq, Syria, Yemen,
he did financial espionage against many enemies of the United
States. Not sure what department he was with and his trail gets
cold, quickly. The last couple of years are completely blank.”

“So he’s military, US Air Force? That doesn’t
make any sense.”

“Was, he was dishonorably discharged after he
caused some trouble with his family.” Mark flipped a couple of
sheets of paper, looking for the names. “Wife Doris and son David,
were killed in Iraq. They weren’t killed by enemy fire or anything.
They were kidnapped on the border of Bahrain and murdered in some
ransom plot by the Iraqi mafia. Don’t have all the details, but our
government apparently didn’t back Wright and when the ransom wasn’t
paid ... well, you can guess how it ended. From what I could
gather, they left him hanging.”

The radio came to life. “What is your
birthday, day and month?”

“Answer her,” Mark said.

James pressed the button. “Seventeenth of
December.” His response travelled from the radio on the reading
table toward the bugged cell phone.

Mark continued, “These military types take
betrayal hard. The military is their life, their livelihood. No
other career mixes and combines the two like a military career. A
dishonorable discharge takes it all away with a single pen
stroke.”

The radio again. “Sagittarius, the archer.
What would you like me to focus on today?”

James didn’t know what to say, so he said the
first thing that came to mind, “I’d like to get a reading on my
love life.” He immediately regretted his answer. What if she saw or
said something bad?

Mark raised his eyebrows at James’s request.
“So, he lost everything he knew in a matter of months. Some
ex-military, those with combat experience, become
soldier-of-fortune types. Some never recover and William Wright has
taken another path. He’s angry, well-connected, well-educated, and
knows how to operate in the shadows. Do you know what he has in
mind for you, why he’s targeting you?”

“I think he’s providing numbers, inside
numbers, to a competitor of the bank. My guess is he’s working as
an agent for some large bank or institution who wants to do a
hostile takeover of Washington Common Bank. I’m not sure how they
would do it, it would take billions to purchase the bank and no one
has that type of cash right now. My true guess is they are
preparing for a bank run or some type of stock manipulation to
devalue the bank. A bank run brings in a whole host of scrutiny
that no bank wants.”

“So we’re talking of a lot of data
transfer?”

“Absolutely. I’d say they have in their
possession thousands of pieces of data, certainly enough to do
damage if misrepresented. And we’re supposed to do this for months.
Why?”

“I’m just thinking, it has to be stored
somewhere, right? That’s a lot of data. Think about it James, you
have to think like I do, like they do. Not in the Boy Scout way you
normally do. What could I do with that same information as a single
investor?”

“Not much.”

“How about, as you said, a large bank or
institution?”

“Well, that’s a whole ‘nother story, they
have resources to—I see your point, they’re storing the data
somewhere, they have to be.”

Sylvia’s reading had dropped into the aural
background until James and Mark heard the distinctive sound of the
door chime through the radio.

“Someone entered the reception area, Sylvia
doesn’t have any appointments, I checked. Stay here and listen on
the radio, okay,” Mark said.

Sylvia was opening the reading room door in
preparation to make her way to the reception room when Mark stopped
her and whispered, “Sylvia, use your instinct, if it’s a guy, try
to intimidate him. I need like ten more minutes.”

“Sure,” she readily agreed.

He pushed his back to the hallway wall and
listened as Sylvia interacted with the new visitor.

Mr. Wrong was 6 foot 2 inches, 220 pounds. He
towered over the 5 foot 3 inch psychic, but she controlled the
interaction from the start.

“Hello, do you have an appointment?” Sylvia
asked when she entered the reception room.

Mr. Wrong didn’t answer right away, he was
obviously restless and Sylvia took advantage.

“If not, I can see you in about fifteen
minutes. You have an old soul, a dark aura, and you must stay for a
reading. I fear you may be in dire danger. Please have a seat.”

Mark peeked around the corner and saw the big
man making his way around the coffee table. He got a quick view of
a rather remarkable looking lady sitting in a chair and his mind
skimmed the possibilities.

Shelly recognized Mr. Wrong and watched as he
sank into the chair next to hers. She instinctively pulled the
throw over her lap as a type of security barrier.

“Karma, Mr. Wrong, karma. She sees right
through you, you know.”

“Don’t start, don’t say anything to me, not
here,” Mr. Wrong warned. He shifted in the chair, unable to get
comfortable.

“I’m just saying,” jabbed Shelly.

Mark doubled back to James in the back
hallway and Sylvia returned to the reading room and continued her
reading, “Sorry for the interruption. Shall we continue?”

“Yes,” said James into the radio. He got
Mark’s attention. “I heard Shelly through your radio. That was Mr.
Wrong. He’s Mr. Wright’s muscle. I need to get back in there and
get dressed.”

“No, it’s fine. You don’t know Sylvia. She
can handle it. Getting back to the point, okay, so Mr. Wright is
pinching you and we know they’re storing the data somewhere. And
you said you’re bugged at your condo and office?”

“And car. And with cameras, too.”

“Hmmm, do you know where they are
located?”

“What do you mean? The cameras? Yes, but he’s
made it clear that I can’t tamper with them.”

“No, I mean the team. They have to be nearby
for the devices to work. They’re obviously radio devices and they
have a limited range. If you haven’t seen any wires, let me put it
this way—has he warned you to not lose him, to stay close?”

“Yes.”

“That’s why. They have to be in range. How
many devices have you seen?”

“I don’t know, at least six and there’s at
least a couple at the office.”

Sylvia set out on the last stages of the
reading. Apparently, James and Bridget were going to have a great
life together, but there was something pending that had to be
resolved.
No shit,
thought James.

Shelly was still jabbing Mr. Wrong with short
comments of guilt and karma. She could hear yelling coming from his
earpiece and watched as he squirmed in the chair. She took some
dark pleasure in the fact they were upset about something. Mr.
Wrong was becoming more and more restless. Shelly could hear the
earpiece voices getting louder and louder. They were now
screaming.

“And they have your computer, phones, and
Bridget’s apartment bugged?”

“Yes, they have eyes and ears on me and her
everywhere.”

“Then they are nearby, they are hard tapping
your house phone and are on your ISP network. That’s a ton of data.
My guess is they are in your building. Are the people in your
building professional types, nine to five types?”

“Yes, most of them are.”

“Perfect, I’ll check the power meters at
around two today. The one spinning fastest will be the one. I’m
sure they are there. I’ll also look in the communications closets,
but they probably have motion sensors so I will be careful.”

“I would’ve never thought of any of this.
Thanks for your help, Mark. But what does it get me? I mean, I now
know who the guy is, but it doesn’t give me any power.”

Mark placed his hand on James shoulder. “It
gets us knowledge. I want to see if I can do to them what they are
doing to you.”

“You mean bug them?”

“Something like that. You wouldn’t believe
the devious things I’ve done to find cheating spouses. Okay, the
personals are just too slow. I’ll leave you notes in the bathroom
of the bottom floor in your building. The note will be in the last
stall, in the locked toilet paper dispenser, there is a magnetic
cover with rivets—it looks like part of the dispenser, the notes
will be under it. Check it each day in the morning and before you
leave. Here is the key for the dispenser. If the coast is clear,
open it, read the note, and flush it. If not, leave it, okay? You
can also leave me notes.”