The cops had already wasted precious time targeting me, but I wasn’t about to give Warren Green a free pass. I remembered that more than once over the past several months, Kris had raised questions about a project Green was spending a lot of time on, one in which he had not involved her at all. Strange, she thought, for an executive secretary to know nothing of a project the boss seemed to be spending an inordinate amount of time on. She’d described a series of circumstantial incidents and whispered conversations that could amount to nothing, but nevertheless had piqued her curiosity. Hushed snippets of what sounded like clandestine meetings, involving advanced medical research, high-tech equipment, and computer purchases. At the end of work one day she chanced upon a massive invoice destined for Green’s estate. The delivery date was several months ago. She had no proof of wrongdoing or impropriety, but when I added her two plus two plus two, not to mention everything that had happened in the last week, it didn’t come to six. And given that the night of the party, Kris said that Green was euphoric over a deal he was about to close, I had to wonder if the deal and Kris’s death were connected.
Had she stumbled onto something that cost her life? Was she seen as a potential whistle blower, a threat to the project, and eliminated? What of Steven Gray—her abusive ex-husband and Green’s former protégé—who may have gone underground years ago? Had he resurfaced at Green’s party? Was it mere coincidence or does a connection remain between Steven and his former boss? If so, and Kris had seen Steven at the party, why did she have to pay for that with her life?
If the cops weren’t going to do anything, I would.
At two a.m., Sunday morning the glimmering moon hung low and fat in the sky until a bank of fast moving clouds rolled in to conceal it. I parked the Solstice in a secluded area a block away from the perimeter of the walled estate and gathered my tools and gloves. I’d scouted the layout of the grounds earlier and decided the southwest corner, farthest from the guard station, offered the best-concealed entry. I’d seen no prior evidence of guard dogs, and hoped like hell none were on the grounds because I’d be at their mercy.
Iron grillwork topped the ten-foot brick wall boundary on this corner of the estate and could not be breached without a ladder. I had made an earlier trip to an arborist supplier and with my new tree-climbing spurs, I scaled the straight trunk of a large pine tree near the wall. A branch that looked heavy enough to support my weight traversed the wall. Immediately above that lowest branch, however, forked several other large and gnarly branches, preventing me from simply walking along the branch to the wall. I’d have to swing hand over hand across the ten feet of thick, knotted branch to reach the iron grilling. From there I planned to maneuver my dangling body over the iron spikes and drop silently like a Ninja inside the security wall. Like a Ninja. I refused to let myself think about how ridiculous the whole thing was.
With my gloves on and a pocket Mag light in my mouth for vision, I easily negotiated the length of the branch and reached the wall. So far, so good. As I prepared to pass directly above the iron headers, noticing that the keen-edged points looked sharp as razor-wire, something crawled up my bare left arm and scared the shit out of me. I shuddered, my left hand slipped from the rough bark, and I nearly impaled myself on the jagged wrought iron as I shook off the daddy longlegs. Beads of sweat trickled into my eyes, and the Mag light slipped out of my mouth, skittered off the top of the wall, plunging me into total darkness. After I regained a two-handed grip and my heart resumed beating, I pressed on. As I traversed the spikes, my shaking hands lost control and the spasms in my arms sapped my remaining strength. Above the iron barbs, I let go. The back of my head scraped iron and I hit the ground hard, tumbling and sliding to a stop inside the estate, completely un-Ninja like. My knee ached from the blind fall and for a minute I saw stars not in the sky. I crawled to where I hoped the flashlight had fallen, although I wasn’t even sure it landed on my side of the wall. My shaking hands grabbed something, but it was a stick. After minutes of fumbling in the blackness I found the light leaning against the brick wall, but it didn’t work. I jiggled the housing in the flashlight base until it finally flickered to life. I gathered my bearings in relation to my three optional exits. My ankle was on fire. I waved the light on it, a deep gash bled above my left ankle, where the climbing spur on my right leg had dug into it during the fall.
Twenty minutes into my break-in and I’d nearly skewered myself, lost my light source, sliced my ankle, and almost broken a leg. It seemed like such a good idea in the daylight.
I inspected several smaller outbuildings. Nothing but lawn and garden tools, mulch, outdoor furniture, or other groundskeeping equipment. Water cascaded in the fountain on the far side of the estate—the sound carrying clearly in the still blackness. When I saw the first lights ahead, I approached with caution, using the cover of trees. Light spilled from below the closed, double stable doors and a bright shaft of light angled from an open window frame. Still no sign of dogs. I crested the last gentle rolling hill south of the barn and crouched behind several giant tufts of pampas grass. I waited five minutes, then began to cross the fifty feet to the barn when I noticed a tiny orange-red arc of light swing briefly in the air six feet off the ground. It fell to the gravel in front of the door, sputtered, and died. Then I saw him. Concealed in the shadows of the front of the barn, a burly man wearing a camouflage hunting jacket had flicked a cigarette butt, crushing it with a boot. He appeared to be standing guard. Why does Green need guards around his stables? He turned sideways and I saw the rifle and scope.
What the hell? What have I gotten myself into?
After some time he opened the door and walked inside. I crept toward the south side of the stables toward the open window. The fat and sassy moon emerged between the clouds to leer at me just as I stepped on a dead branch, cracking in the still air like a snapped bone. I froze in the open expanse of turf, an easy target for someone with a flashlight—or rifle.
Do I go forward or run away?
I ran, nearly tripping over thick tufts of weeds, and pressed up against the east wall of the barn.
This was a really bad idea.
Reminding myself to breathe, I edged along the weathered cedar wall toward the open window frame. A wide wooden trough rimmed the interior walls of the one-story barn and the faint, sweet smell of damp hay filled my nostrils. It looked and smelled like a barn, but a humming, electrical sound came from within. I peered inside. There were no horses anywhere. The only remnant this had once been a stable were the empty stalls and hay in the feeding troughs that lined the inside. Instead, the place was brimming with laboratory equipment. Was this the stuff listed on the invoice Kris found at work? The humming came from a generator and other equipment. A man sat hunched at a long table, his back to me, adjusting a microscope and viewing slides. Computers and racks of test tubes filled the rest of the work area.
The man briefly glanced up at the guard and returned his focus to his work. “Jesus, you guys make me feel like a prisoner. Why does the Nazi have you patrolling the grounds? He says I’m paranoid.”
“You are,” the guard said.
“Shit! Another failure,” the man said to himself. Then to the guard: “No need for the cloak and dagger.”
The muscular guard lit another cigarette, the light from below turning his skull into a scary Jack-o-lantern. “Maybe you’re not the right man for the job.”
The man stretched in his chair, whining. “This fucking thing’s becoming part of my cranium. I’ve been at this for weeks. Cold pizza, Red Bulls, and a shitty radio aren’t enough to keep me going. I need a massage and some good weed, minimum. I gotta get out of this straw dungeon before you burn it down with your cigarettes.”
“Then complete your job.”
“I need more equipment. Faster computers, analyzers, and lab animals. There’s only so much I can do under these conditions.”
I saw a handgun tucked into the guard’s belt buckle as he turned to the doors. He smiled at the man. “Ask him. He’ll be here soon. He’s in a mood; something happened.”
The man at the microscope waited to make sure the guard’s back was turned before he gave him the finger.
The armed lookout left the barn. Would he stand sentry at the door or patrol the perimeter? Was I safe here? This was the dumbest idea I’ve ever had.
The man at the microscope popped a pill from his jeans and washed it down with the dregs of a Red Bull. “I know what you’re up to, motherfucker,” he said to himself.
He wolfed down a slice of pizza, cranked the volume on the small portable radio, and a heavy metal song flooded the converted stable with discordant noise and lyrics promising annihilation. He adjusted the eyepiece, returning his attention to a glass slide.
In the darkness behind me I thought I heard a noise. Was that the guard? An animal?
Then something else. The sound of a car approaching, getting closer. The faint glow of headlights appeared over a gentle rise, growing brighter by the second. A sleek limo crested the hill, heading for the stables. In seconds the ground I stood on would be illuminated once the limo negotiated the winding road and angled back to the barn.
This keeps getting better and better. If I can’t retreat….
Between the roving guard and the oncoming car, I had little choice. I climbed into the wooden trough, praying it would support my weight and hoping the man at the table couldn’t hear me over the apocalyptic music. A warped board creaked loudly under me, but the man with his back to me didn’t seem to notice. I crawled inside the trough, leaving a blood trail on the barn wall, just as the beams lighted the east side of the barn. I frantically covered myself with the sweet-smelling yellow hay and peered over the rim of the trough, fearing the worst. At least my hiding spot was in a darkened corner of the interior. I was a trespasser hiding in a manger and Green certainly wasn’t the Prince of Peace.
I heard the solid thud of car doors shutting and the crunch of approaching footsteps. The guard greeted the four passengers as the barn doors swung open with a creak and everyone stepped inside. The two largest new arrivals appeared to be additional security. The third man was shorter, mid-thirties, had a buzz cut, and the stiff deportment of a military man. The other man I knew. Security focused their attention on the tightly-wound man.
“Status report?” Warren Green asked the man at the table. Green looked GQ dapper in a tailored black evening tuxedo.
“More failures. Two virulent strains that may cause permanent sterility.”
“I want all the findings, even those.” He extended a manicured hand for the man’s work.
Green scanned the work briefly. “Keeping accurate records and documenting everything, John?” The way he said the man’s name made it appear they were privy to an inside joke.
The man at the table snickered at mention of his name. “Each and every study a double blind procedure.”
The military man frowned and a facial tic appeared. He gestured stiffly with his arms. He spoke with an Israeli accent. “This man is an underling laboring in a barn. You let him treat you as an equal. He lacks discipline and character. Plays music at his work station. You make some kind of joke with him. If he doesn’t finish his job soon, he won’t be laughing. The time is now for us to act. Deliver on your promise, and I promise I will be the highest bidder.”
A board beneath me groaned and all heads turned my way. I held my breath, waiting for the guards to investigate and pull me from my hiding spot, but they returned their attention to Green.
Green placed a hand on the visitor’s shoulder. “Patience, my friend. Rome wasn’t destroyed in a day. We must fly below the radar here, which is why we’re in a barn on private property. You insisted on touring the facility—everything is backed by solid science. We’ll be doing business soon. If you’ll return to the limo with my staff, I want to talk to this underling.”
The tense little man glared a final time at the man now spinning test tubes and followed the guards out the door.
Green stepped closer to the man with his back to me. “Hear the news?”
The man with his head buried in the microscope didn’t move a muscle and simply said, “Uh-huh.”
“We don’t need any unnecessary attention,” he said.
“Whose fault is that?” the man answered.
“I wouldn’t know. Would you?” he said, apparently trying to read the man’s face behind the microscope. Green looked like he was seeing the man in a new light for the first time. Sizing him up.
The man kept his face buried in the microscope. “Tragic,” he said, deadpan.
Were they referring to Kris? If so….
Then the man pushed himself away from the table. He walked up to Green. “I need better equipment to complete the job. Tonight a military whack job and last week a towel head. Nocturnal visits under the same heavy guard? I get the feeling that we’re not working on the same project here. This isn’t about a morning after pill. You’re interested in the hot strains. You can’t shut me out. I got clean for this. You could get me killed or life in a federal prison. For that kind of risk, I need a bigger slice of the pie.”
Green flicked a tiny piece of something from his tuxedo lapel and said, “Lose that tone with me. You’re in no position to make deals.” He grinned at the man and added, “You’ll get everything you deserve.”
That caused the man to pause. “Damn right I will,” he said, but with less conviction.
Green smirked and left the barn. The younger man standing at the table turned to me for the first time. Seeing his face confirmed his identity from a picture I’d seen earlier, though he now looked thinner and paler. He paced and cursed, throwing a chair the length of the makeshift lab that banged against my trough, rattling and shaking the boards. He pulled a joint from his boot and sparked it. “Ha!” he said to himself. “They never check the shoes.” He gave the barn door the finger. He settled back at his work table and cranked the volume on the small radio.
I heard the limo slowly back up and turn around.
I turned off the Dictaphone and returned it to my pocket. After five minutes of quiet passed outside, I carefully backed out of the trough. I had to assume the muscular guard still patrolled outside; so I didn’t dare use the flashlight. The moon chose not to help, likely smirking at me while it remained obfuscated by clouds. A pant leg of my black jeans snagged on a protruding nail and that same damn board creaked loudly under my shifting weight as I exited my hiding place. Suddenly the trough sunk an inch, groaning, the chair helping hold its place, tiny puffs of hay flying into the air. The going was painstakingly slow. I could only hope the guard wasn’t standing there ready to put a gun to my head the second I backed out the open window frame.
I never felt so naked in all my life.
I managed to back out the barn window without a gun being pressed against my head. Minutes passed. The driving, nihilistic song on the radio took a back seat to chirping crickets. Not knowing where the guard was scared the shit out of me. I considered my escape routes. The first was too well lighted. On the way to plan B, I passed near the estate. An outdoor floodlight suddenly came on, not thirty feet away. I hid behind the trunk of a wide oak. The security man with the dark sunglasses from Green’s party strode purposefully down the steps, heading straight toward me. His jacket swung open, revealing a handgun at his side in the dim yellow light as he neared. A second man followed, walking straight for my hiding place. His back up.
This was it—I must have tripped some silent alarm and they knew I was here. If what I think is going on really is going on, I won’t be able to talk my way out of this, nor will I be alive much longer.
The first man abruptly stopped short of the tree. I heard a brief grunt followed immediately by the squeal of metal. There were patio chairs I hadn’t seen in the dark that faced the mansion opposite the wide trunk I hid behind. The second man took the other chair and lit a cigarette. From five feet away I heard his inhaling and hoped they couldn’t hear the pounding of my heart.
“Don’t know ’bout you, but I’m ready for this job to end. No smoking inside, no butts on the steps, no TV, and no drinking. Too many rules, man.”
“I hear you,” said the guard with the sunglasses. “It’ll be over soon and you temps’ll be on your way. The man pays well, if you walk the straight and narrow.”
The younger man leaned back and stretched. “Trophy wife arrives any minute from Lambert. Great eye candy. Wonder what she’ll be wearing. I’d love to play Hide the Salami with that.”
“Don’t even think about it. If by some miracle you nailed her, you’d wake up next morning with your pecker in your mouth.”
Great, even Rick Arno wouldn’t get himself into such a ridiculous situation.
I never realized until now how hard it is to stand absolutely quiet while hugging a tree in near darkness for ten minutes. Just enough light came from the porch to let me see the backs of their arms and heads when I peered around the trunk. I couldn’t make any noise or shift my weight for fear of snapping an unseen twig or crushing a dried leaf. I closed my eyes and tried to relax, control my breathing during their smoke break. An acorn fell near me with a loud, hollow plop. I feared the worst.
The guards paid no attention to the sound, as soon another acorn fell. The younger man crushed his cigarette on a chair arm and stood. “I’m goin’ back in. Ain’t no harm looking.”
“Watch your six. He sees everything. He won’t hesitate to call you out.” The metal spring squealed as if in pain when the second man rose and called out, “Wait up.”
They re-entered the estate and the porch light went out. I dropped to my knees and took deep breaths. The pecker image fresh in my mind, I ran for the wall beyond a maintenance building. I grabbed a double ladder. There was no brick wall to scale on this side of the estate, just the tall iron grillwork fence topped with iron spikes. In my panic, I kicked the ladder from the wall with my injured foot after negotiating the iron spikes too quickly. The aluminum ladder clanged and bounced on the concrete walkway running parallel to and just inside the fence, the sound shattering the silence. The Dictaphone slipped from my pocket and tumbled to the grass, inside the property. The porch light flicked back on. The same two armed security men re-appeared on the landing. They fanned out, sweeping the grounds with flashlights. I jumped from the top of the ten-foot high ironwork and reached back through the fence, fumbling blindly for my Dictaphone. The guards methodically worked their way toward the maintenance shed. No time to spare, I flicked on my flashlight and searched for the Dictaphone. It lay just out of reach. I heard someone whistle and looked up while I stretched out in vain. The guard from the party stood on point like a bird dog. He’d spotted my light and sent the younger security man sprinting toward me like Hussein Bolt. The only difference is this bolt of lightning carried a gun instead of a baton. I used a nearby fallen branch and stretched out, sliding the recorder closer. I grabbed it and ran, their flashlight beams tracking me. The man reached the fence, calling into a walkie-talkie for mobile pursuit as he leaned the ladder against the fence and began climbing. I sprinted down the street, turned the corner, and ran flat out toward the Solstice. I jumped in, goosed the engine to 80 mph down Lindbergh. In my rearview I watched one SUV race south on Lindbergh and one follow me north. I hit the open road of Highway 40 going west and floored it, reaching 120. I constantly checked my rearview until I was sure I’d lost them. I doubled back on my route home several times until I was sure I’d lost them. I could only hope they didn’t get close enough to read my license plate.
I fancy my body parts right where they are. I’ve had enough gruesome mental images to deal with lately, I don’t need any more.
I made it home, locked the doors, and shut the drapes. Every time I heard a noise I looked outside. I existed in a thick syrup of anxious dread—expecting to see Green’s armed security force surrounding my townhouse or smug Detective LeMaster at my door carrying handcuffs, a grinning Baker next to him flexing his biceps.
I passed the hallway mirror and caught my reflection. A stranger dressed in black stared back at me. He had convinced me this was a good plan. He grinned at me, gloating that we’d learned Green is a lying criminal. As quickly as he appeared, The Stranger vanished.
Could I use the information I’d overheard? I’d found Steven Gray, reunited with his mentor Warren Green, but were they connected to Kris’ murder? They seemed to suspect each other for involvement in her death. Was Steven burying his head in the microscope a refusal to let Green read his expression or a sign of fear? If Steven’s fears are correct, Green aspires to be a bio-weapons dealer on a global level, but the only proof I have is an audio recording of half-statements with nothing concrete. Had Kris arrived at the same conclusion? Had she shared it with the wrong people? Was she a whistle blower who needed to be silenced? Is this what she meant about not letting anything bad happen to me? Is that why she needed to break up, to cut me loose to protect me?
I decided to rest on it, but sleep came in fitful pockets, filled with dreams of falling, being naked in public, and of losing my teeth. I’d read enough textbooks on dream interpretation to know what those meant.