“I’m afraid he was killed in a tragic shoot-out. Suicide by cop. Always hate to see that.”
Oh, this could be good. This could be very good. “Okay. Listen. Make sure there’s nothing on his body that could tie him to the project. I’ll contact you later. We’ll need to meet again to clean up this mess.”
“I’m on my way to your place now.”
“What?”
“As a cop. They want someone to interview you. I volunteered.
So let’s practice: You don’t have any connection to this man Hunter, do you, Mr. Drake?”
A slight pause. “No, of course not, Officer.”
“Good. When my partner and I get there, just remember that.”
“Good work, Geoff. Thanks.”
A pause. “I’m putting in a lot of overtime for you this week.”
“I’ll give you an extra fifty grand.”
“One hundred.”
“What?” How did this underling dare to make demands of Victor Drake? “No.”
“I’m not doing this for humanitarian reasons, Drake. I only care about one thing: money. You give me a hundred grand in cash tomorrow and I’ll spend tonight making sure this little problem goes away. Otherwise, I bail.”
Victor felt his teeth grind, his head spin, his heart rate shoot through the roof. He hated himself for saying it, for doing it, for giving in, but at last he said, “All right. A hundred. But only if you can get this cleaned up before the general arrives in the morning.”
“Done.”
Lien-hua and I tried to back-trace any calls that might have been received on or dialed from Austin’s phone, but found that it was brand new. Never been used. The kidnappers must have left it somewhere for Austin. “Let’s hope he was still waiting for their call,” I said. Then a moment later I was startled when my own phone throbbed. I took a quick glance to see a text message from Tessa canceling supper. I was a little disappointed but also a little thankful since I couldn’t really get away right now anyway.
“OK,” I said. “Let’s forget the phone for a minute. It’s no good to us unless they call. What else do we have?”
“Some officers are going to talk to Drake, otherwise . . .” Lien-hua thought for a moment. “Ralph had an agent checking to see if the tank had been shipped to this part of the country. Did we ever hear anything from him?”
I shook my head. “Not that I know of.”
Then the alarm on my watch went off.
“What’s that for?” Lien-hua asked.
“Thirty minutes,” I said. “We only have thirty minutes left until Cassandra dies.”
“I’ll call Ralph.” She stepped away to make the call and while she did, I tried to think of any clues, any clues at all, that I was missing. Anything that could lead us to Cassandra’s location.
Nothing.
Nothing came to mind.
Seconds, minutes passed by.
Nothing, nothing, nothing except the thought of Rickman’s shoe print. The impression patterns—
And that’s when Austin’s phone rang.
I flipped it open, held it to my ear. Waited, waited for whoever was on the other end to speak first. The silence was unsettling; maybe Austin was supposed to initiate the conversation.
Nothing.
I began to fear that the caller might hang up. “It’s done,” I said. I spoke in a low voice and hoped he wouldn’t notice I wasn’t Austin.
“So, Austin.” An electronically altered voice. “You did find the phone.”
The kidnapper . . . and he doesn’t know Austin Hunter is dead.
“Yeah.”
“We weren’t sure you made it. You were supposed to check in over an hour ago.”
He said “we” . . . how many are there?
“Cops all over the place.”
A brief pause. “My name is Shade, and I have some instructions for you.”
Shade? A code name . . . Why is he introducing himself now? . . . He must not have spoken with Austin before. Test it. Find out.
“Let me talk to the guy from before. I don’t know you.”
“He’s busy with Cassandra. I want to thank you for what you did. But now, it’s time for you to deliver the device.”
So, there are at least two of them . . . This one doesn’t know Hunter’s voice, hasn’t spoken with him before . . . And there’s a device . . . What device? I tried to think of something, anything to say in response, but there was too much at stake, and too little information. Too many wrong things I might say.
“Are you there?” Shade said.
“Yeah.”
“The deal was: the building and the device for the girl. So, do you have it?”
What device is he talking about?
“Yeah, I have it.” I had to say something. “Where do you want to make the exchange?”
“Same place you were told before. Be there in ten minutes.”
Oh no. Oh no.
“Can’t. Too many cops around there.”
A pause. Shade must have been considering what I’d said. Maybe he was on to me. For Cassandra’s sake I hoped not.
“I’m there right now,” said the person calling himself Shade. “There aren’t any cops. You just killed Cassandra Lillo, Dr. Bowers.”
56
7:39 p.m.
The line went dead.
No, no, no.
I’d killed her.
How did Shade know my name?
I’d killed Cassandra.
I spun, checked the sight lines. Did he see me? Was Shade here? I saw no curtains quiver shut, no movement, no glint of a scope or binoculars. No one in the crowd of officers was on a cell.
I tried to redial, nothing. Tried Terry’s number for a trace. Busy. Called Angela Knight: she would get on it, but it would take some time—the one thing we didn’t have.
“Pat.” Lien-hua came rushing toward me. “I think we caught a break. A big one.”
“The tank. They found the tank?”
She shook her head. “No.” She was running toward the car now, and I was hurrying to keep up with her. “There’s a woman named Randi who says a guy drove her to a warehouse by the shipyards last night and started talking about how he was supposed to pick up some other woman. That the plans had changed and it was time to get her. Things like that. Then he left Randi there.”
We climbed in. “That’s not enough.” I said. “It could refer to anything.”
Lien-hua started the engine. “Somehow Channel 11 found out about Cassandra’s disappearance, and an unnamed police officer gave them Hunter’s name. A few minutes ago they did a news flash, and listed Austin Hunter and Cassandra Lillo as persons of interest in the terrorist attack at the base—they’re calling it a terrorist attack—and asked for people to call in with any information.” She backed up the car, then pulled into the street.
“I still don’t see the connection.” The nightscape of San Diego flashed past us in swirls of blurred light, street lamps, and restless palm trees.
“Randi phoned the station, and Ralph followed up with her. Apparently, she took the wrong phone and someone named Shade called her this afternoon and mentioned the fire at Building B-14 before she could say a word.”
“What! Where is she?”
“Shade is probably one of the—”
“That’s who I just talked to.”
“Someone called the phone?” she gasped. “Why didn’t you say so?”
“I would have, it’s just—listen, I’ll tell you on the way. Where are we heading?”
“Randi gave Ralph the address. It’s by the shipyards. She’s not there though, she’s scared.”
Maybe, just maybe, we could still save Cassandra. “Drive like you mean it.”
And in reply, she did.
57
7:56 p.m.
Ralph was waiting for us in a neglected parking lot that sprawled between two abandoned warehouses.
“This is the address, but I don’t know which building it is,” he shouted as Lien-hua a
nd I rushed out of the car. “I called SDPD; they’re sending some cars. But we’ve got less than five minutes, there’s no time to wait.” He scanned the buildings. “It could be either building, there’s no way to tell.”
“Yes, there is,” I said. “Remember the video? Natural light. Second-or third-story windows. Shadows appeared on Cassandra’s right side, so based on the sun’s position at the time of day—”
Ralph pointed. “That one’s only got first floor windows.” All three of us turned to the remaining warehouse, saw the rows of third-story windows, and began sprinting across the parking lot.
Ralph drew his gun. “Pat, you take the right side, Lien-hua, go left. I’ll take the front.”
We flared out. I ran along the west end of the building but found only one steel door, and that was chained shut. The graffiti-covered building straddled nearly an entire city block, so there wasn’t time to backtrack. Rusted pipes and gray air ducts stuck out of the warehouse’s side at odd angles, and I had no idea what most of them would ever have been used for. All of the windows high above me were cracked and splintered and reminded me of great, bloodshot eyes.
Time, time, running out of time.
I glanced up at the windows again. They were maybe eight meters up. A few pipes snaked out of the building and then curled around the edge of the warehouse. I saw that one of the air ducts terminated within a meter and a half of the windowsill.
You got it, Pat. It’s the only way in.
I jumped up, snagged a handhold, and heaved myself up.
A small ledge to my left gave me just enough of a foothold so that I was able to stretch across the wall, slide my fingertips between two strips of metal, do an undercling with my left hand, and then swing myself over a thick vent. Hundreds of thousands of pull-ups paying off.
Handhold. Foothold.
Now halfway up to the window, I studied the wall above me, searching for fingerholds, finding my rhythm again. All the time smearing my shoes against the gritty exterior of the building and clinging to ridges in the wall with my fingertips. Smoothing out my moves. Finger jam. Feel the rhythm. Foothold. The vertical dance.
There.
The window.
I looked inside and caught sight of a catwalk that skirted the inside of the warehouse. Most of the window’s broken glass still clung to the frame like great serrated teeth. I punched out some of the knife-like projections, pulled out my SIG, and leapt onto the catwalk.
Looked at my watch.
8:00 p.m.
Apart from the smear of city lights seeping through the windows, the interior of the warehouse was only a dark pool stretching before me. I pulled out my Mini Maglite and swept the cavernous room. My light didn’t reach the far wall, but it did reach a metal staircase about thirty meters away that descended into the black cavity of the warehouse.
In the video there was a concrete floor; the tank is on the first level.
I raced toward the staircase, trying to keep my light steady as I ran.
At the top of the stairs my circle of light glanced across an industrial-sized light switch. We didn’t have any time left for sneaking around. We needed to find Cassandra now. I clicked on the lights as I clanged past the switch and then flew down the steps three at a time. A few stray fluorescent bulbs on the ceiling high above me flickered to life but then winked on and off, creating an eerie strobe-like effect.
Ground floor.
Dust-covered manufacturing machines, tools, and broken conveyer belts littered the main section of the warehouse. I didn’t hear either Lien-hua or Ralph. Maybe they were still outside the building.
Or maybe they’d found Cassandra.
“Hello?” I called. I checked my watch.
8:02.
I heard a thunderous crack and guessed it was the sound of Ralph busting down a door. “Ralph?”
“It’s me!” called Lien-hua. I threw my light toward her. She’d kicked the door down. “Got anything?”
“No.” I swung my flashlight, but the beam hardly made a dent in the darkness. “Wait . . .” The fluorescent lights blinked on, off, on. Dim light washing around me. Off, on. I caught the sight of something, a glint of glass. I started bolting across the void. “Over here.” Yes, yes. I did see something.
The tank.
Off, on. Off, on.
I’d found it.
It lay twenty-five meters ahead of me near the corner of the warehouse. Faintly, in the hesitant light, I saw a body in the tank. Cassandra! I couldn’t tell if she was alive or dead.
58
8:03 p.m.
Time sprinted with me through the warehouse.
“Here!” I yelled. “Over here.”
Alive. Water up to her neck. Reaching, reaching for air.
I stumbled over something, crashed into a piece of abandoned machinery. Slammed onto the concrete.
Back to my feet.
Running again.
Others too. Others running.
Who? I couldn’t see.
“I see her!” Lien-hua yelled.
The echo of footsteps around me.
Flickering light. Flickering light.
I heard the slap of my Nikes. Ralph’s steady, pounding boots. Lien-hua’s fluid stride.
But another set of steps too. A fourth set.
Then something clattered against the floor to my left, and I aimed my light toward the sound. Saw a figure bolting toward the other end of the dark warehouse.
“Stop. On your knees!” I yelled. The lights high above me flickered, flickered. “Now!” Thin light dancing across the interior of the warehouse.
A macabre dance.
“Stop!”
But he didn’t stop. I needed to make a decision.
Chase him or save Cassandra.
Easy choice.
Cassandra.
I heard Ralph and Lien-hua. “There!” I yelled, I pointed. “He’s getting away.”
“He’s mine,” Ralph shouted while Lien-hua leapt with the grace of a doe over a dead conveyor belt and arrived by my side.
Water poured from the pipe that led down the wall of the warehouse and spanned the meter-long gap to the top of the tank. The water wasn’t just dripping anymore. The valves must have been opened all the way.
Cassandra Lillo pounded and slapped against the glass as the churning water reached her chin. She was screaming, still screaming as the water began to cover her mouth.
“Where’s the valve?” I yelled to her, holstering my SIG. “The valve?” But Cassandra was too busy trying to stay alive to answer.
Lien-hua pounded on the glass. “We’re going to get you out. Hold on.”
The water bubbled over Cassandra’s lips.
“Pat.” Desperation rose in Lien-hua’s voice. “You have to stop that water.”
I ran to the back of the tank, pocketed the flashlight, jumped up, and grabbed the water pipe. I swung my weight, hard, trying to jar the pipe loose from the side of the building, but it held firm. I wedged my feet against the wall and twisted with all my strength.
Nothing.
Yanked. Yanked.
Nothing.
Cassandra tugged against the chain, took a gulp of air. The chain looked slack, but she didn’t notice. “Relax!” I yelled. “You’ll be OK!”
But it didn’t help. She was panicking.
“Hurry, Pat.” Lien-hua found a lead pipe and swung it against the glass, but only faint slivers of cracks appeared. “We’re losing her!”
I dropped to the ground, and Maglite in hand, I scanned the area surrounding the tank. My flashlight sent spatters of light across the walls, but I didn’t see any way to release the water.
The valve must be outside the building.
A memory of my river rafting days flashed through my mind. Once a man who’d fallen from a raft got his leg wedged beneath a submerged tree branch. His head was a meter below the surface, but a friend of mine and I kept him alive by swimming down and passing him air, mouth to mouth, until he could g
et rescued twenty minutes later. If I could get into the tank, I could do that for Cassandra.
But when I studied the top of the tank, I saw that the metal bars were held in place with a thick, curved metal pins. I’d never be able to remove them fast enough to save her.
Fluorescent lights on. Then off. Darkness and light.
Darkness and light.
“Relax, Cassandra!” I called. “We’re going to get you out!” But her long struggle had exhausted her. She flattened her hand against the glass and opened her mouth slightly, sending a fresh burst of bubbles to the surface, swallowing, gagging on a mouthful of water. For a moment she beat on the glass with a desperate fist, but then her fist uncurled.
Her fingers drifted back in the water.
Now, Pat. Now. Help her. Save her.
“Lien-hua.” I said. “Step back.” I unholstered my weapon, angled it so I wouldn’t hit Cassandra if my plan actually worked, and began to empty the magazine at the hairline fractures Lien-hua had created. As soon as she saw what I was doing, she followed suit. The bullets ricocheted off the glass and flew into the psychedelic darkness of the warehouse. I hoped the bullets wouldn’t bounce back toward us, but there was no way to tell and no time to worry. Light and sound flashed and echoed, reverberated through the vacant air.
Lien-hua and I fired at least sixteen rounds before the growing web of cracks imploded and water rushed into the room carrying the shattered glass with it. The force of the water slammed into us, knocking both of us off our feet while Cassandra’s limp body dropped to the ground beside us amid a storm of clanging metal pipes.
My flashlight had flown from my hand and skittered across the floor, sending curling beams of light spinning around the room. I looked toward Cassandra and saw that Lien-hua was already at her side. “She’s still alive, Pat. Get an ambulance.”
I yanked out my phone and dialed 911 while Lien-hua leaned over, feeling Cassandra’s pulse, checking her airway. Dispatch told me an ambulance was already en route, but to save them time when they arrived, I relayed as much as I could about Cassandra’s condition and confirmed the warehouse’s address. In the meantime, I retrieved my flashlight and saw that Lien-hua had rolled Cassandra onto her side to help clear her airway. Miraculously, Cassandra seemed to be breathing reasonably well on her own.