Against the Clock (16 page)

He picked up the phone and dialed the direct extension to his secretary. She picked up promptly as always.

"Lucy, have you had any calls come through from a Katie Jones?"

"Not that I'm aware, Mr. Maier. What would you like me to do if she does call?"

Gerald thought about it for a moment before replying, "Patch her through to my cell phone. I'm leaving the office early today."

"Yes, of course."

"Actually, Lucy, can you reschedule my appointments tomorrow? I have a personal appointment tomorrow, and I'm thinking it will run most of the day."

"No problem, sir."

"Thanks, Lucy. Once you've done that, turn the answering machine on, I can check it remotely. You can head on home."

"Thank you, Mr. Maier.".

Gerald returned his thoughts to the wretched USB sitting on his desk. It looked harmless. but understanding the knowledge of what was hiding inside the drive, Gerald felt disgusted looking at it.

How had this woman gotten these files? Did she know what was inside them?

He tried to call her again.

16:54:49

Gerald Maier was a good boss. He was rigid, uptight even, but he was consistent, fair and, underneath his gentle arrogance, he was caring. Lucy liked him.

She finished updating his online calendar with the changes to his schedule before closing down her computer. This would be the first dinner with her husband in almost a week. It was the hardest part of him being a fireman―the rotating rosters meant four days out of eight they passed each other like ships in the night.

Walking to the lifts in a hurry, she wondered what she could pick up for dinner on the way home. Maybe they could skip dinner…thoughts of her bent over the couch, half dressed, for a quickie made her smile. She trotted faster in her high heels.

On the ground floor, she skipped out of the elevator, her cheeks surely flushed in anticipation of surprising her husband. She'd be home in eighteen minutes if she hurried. Having sex in twenty, spent, laughing and hungry in forty.

She paid little attention to the two men walking toward her, then past her, and then entering the lift.

17:01:36

Shirin and Barratt arrived at the office suite above Glorietta Shopping Plaza. They hadn't spoken much during their circuitous route. The silence was a welcome reprieve from the chaos of Kitchener Park and Belmont Police Station.

Getting to Zelig wouldn't be easy. He was a master spy, well protected. Shirin had to rest and plan, and then execute. She had reached equally difficult targets before. It just took time and careful planning. Zelig would be no different.

Years had passed since her husband had been killed. She still mourned him. Still felt the pain of his loss, and still felt the anger and hatred deep in her blood for those who had taken him from her. She had given so much to find his killers. Had invested so much of herself to track down each and every one of them that now, she felt hollow inside. She couldn't remember the good times with Harry, only the moment he died. Only the pain of seeing him die. These people had taken even that from her.

And now, after all the events over the last day, she was certain without doubt Zelig was behind it. But why? And was there anyone else?

It wouldn't be enough to kill him. No. She would abduct him, torture him. Punish him. And she would make sure every single person to blame was held accountable. This vendetta was all she knew now. All she was.

"Having your office above a shopping plaza has its advantages," Barratt said, unpacking freshly purchased clothes from one of the stores below. Taking the new clothes with him, he headed for the executive en suite. A moment later, Shirin heard the shower running.

Changing back into black cargos, a dark shirt, and her black boots, Shirin camped at her computer, logged on, and caught up with missed calls and emails.

There were three voice messages on her cell from Gerald Maier. She played them.

"Ms. Jones, this is Gerald Maier. It's important that we speak as soon as possible. Please contact me as soon as you get this message."

He sounded clearly concerned. She saved it and moved to the next message.

"Ms. Jones, this is Gerald Maier again. It is very important that you call me as soon as you get this message."

His voice had grown audibly more stressed. He must have looked at the contents of the USB. Something must have spooked him. He sounded scared.

The next message from him was blank. He'd hung up without saying a word.

Shirin looked at the time stamp for his last call: 16:53, only eight minutes ago. He was probably still there. She picked up the handset connected to the computer and initiated the bounced call to Gerald's office. Anyone tracing the call would be bounced from tower to tower, country to country. She had ninety seconds on the line before even the best equipment could track her true location.

The line rang. No answer. She tried the cell number attached to his business card. No answer.

"What's happening?" Barratt asked, toweling his hair dry. He was clean-shaven now, wearing blue jeans and a black polo, un-tucked.

"Our accountant, Gerald Maier, tried calling me a few times. He didn't sound right. Now he's not answering his phones." She swapped to another screen on her computer. She activated the tracker web app and followed the prompts, logging in the search criteria for the bug assigned to Gerald Maier.

"You bugged him," Barratt said knowingly.

"I attached a tracking device to the Flash drive." Her fingers danced over the keyboard. A satellite image came up on the screen. It was blurred, unintelligible. But, as Shirin input distance parameters, it flashed into focus incrementally.

Barratt came closer to the screen, watching in awe as Shirin worked the data. "This is military grade. Where did you get this?"

"I know people who know people," she said absently as she zoomed into the beacon attached to the USB. "If he's got the drive with him, he's still in his building."

"Too bad you don't have audio on that thing," Barratt commented with wry sarcasm.

"I don't," she said, not picking up on the quip. "But maybe I can hack into his cell phone and triangulate a location…"

"Yeah, well, I'm making us a coffee while you do that."

17:06:03

Smith walked into Gerald Maier's office. He walked with confidence, still wearing the disguise from his meeting with Patch; there was no need for Zelig's two agents to see his real appearance. They were expecting him―that was enough.

On his way, he had deposited the package at a pre-determined drop site for the old man. It had taken longer than he had liked, but this distraction with the accountant had inadvertently provided an opportunity. for the old man and his team to spend more time on investigations into what the package contained before he had to pick it up again and deliver it to Minister Jordan.

Turning his attention to the accountant, he carefully placed a leather doctor's bag on the table and looked curiously at the man he was about to interrogate.

Gerald was seated in his executive chair, his shirtsleeves pulled up high, his forearms strapped to the armrests of the oversized chair with wide Velcro-padded strips. His chest, waist, and legs were also secured. A gag was fixed over his mouth. His eyes were open wide with fear as he fought pointlessly against his restraints. This man had spirit, Smith thought. It was almost a shame to break it.

Without looking at the two agents in the room, he spoke to them as though they were invisible.

"You two can leave now." They looked at each other, and Smith continued, "Be sure to walk out of the lifts with your heads upright. There's a surveillance camera there, and we want a clear timeline of when the two of you left the building."

Smith sat on the corner of Gerald's desk. He propped one leg up and leaned in a little to get a closer look into the man's eyes. Satisfied, he leaned back, turned his head to the two agents who still hadn't left the office.

"I said for you two to leave. So leave!" he said more forcefully.

They hesitated, then left without a word.

17:07:34

"I'm in!" Shirin said as her fingers continued to tap away at the keyboard in front of her. Hacking into the provider for Gerald Maier's cell phone had been remarkably easy; expensive and illegal software had facilitated that. But triangulating his location had taken longer than she thought. Given the high density of cell towers in that region of the city, she was able to narrow the field to the size of one block.

"And?"

"And…it says his cell phone is in the building, too…"That he had left the USB behind at the office was reasonable, but not his cell phone. Not a man like Gerald. She didn't like the feel of it.

"What are the chances?" Barratt asked, thinking the same thoughts as Shirin.

"Not good."

"Agreed."

"Something's not right," Shirin said. Her gut was never wrong. She looked at Barratt, the fresh coffee in his hand half gone, and said, "Do you want to finish your coffee or come with me? I'm going to check this out. He called for a reason. And I'm thinking he's not answering for a reason, too."

"I'm with you."

Shirin shut down the PCs, grabbed two packed assault bags from a locked compartment hidden within the wardrobe, and tossed one to Barratt. Ten seconds later, they were out of the office and on their way to Gerald Maier's building.

17:07:42

Smith carefully, slowly removed the wig from his head and placed it gingerly on the desk beside his bag. He made a show to be slow, precise, not in any hurry. He had all night. And he wanted Gerald to know this.

Gerald's eyes darted with an alertness born of pure fear. He watched every movement Smith made. He needed to see everything but wanted to see nothing. It was nature's way.

Next came the cheek in-fills, the prosthetic nose, the fake dental caps, and then, finally, the colored contact lenses.

"I think it's important, Gerald, that there are no secrets between us. No illusions." Smith spoke calmly, with a warmth that was neither genuine nor artificial. "I think the sooner you can appreciate that, the sooner this will all be over." He paused for effect. "I'm going to ask you some questions, you are going to answer them truthfully, holding nothing back. Do you agree, Gerald?"

Gerald nodded his head quickly.

"Very good," Smith said, pleased. Deliberately, Smith unzipped his doctor's bag. His movements were slow and meticulous. The sound of the zipper disengaging seemed unbearably loud in the silence of pure fear. Gerald stared, transfixed as each tooth passed through the metal mechanism.

Smith withdrew medical grade surgical latex gloves from the bag and carefully pulled them over his hands, snuggling them tight around his flesh until there were no air bubbles, no slack. They were like a second skin.

Gerald reacted instantly at the sight of the gloves. He fought vigorously against his restraints and screamed desperately through his gag. The veins on his throat threatened to burst. His face turned a deep purple as he tried with all he could muster to break free.

Smith brought his finger to his mouth, motioning for Gerald to be quiet. "Shhh. Gerald, you should know I don't like noisy people. If you can't be quiet, I'll have to hurt you."

Without warning, Smith pounced forward, delivered a quick left-cross punch deep into Gerald's sternum. Hard enough to knock the wind out of him, but not enough to break or bruise anything.

Snot flew out of Gerald's nose from the force of the blow. He stilled, slumped in fits of furious sucking, trying on reflex to fill his lungs with air. Smith reached forward, removed the gag around his mouth, then spoke intimately into his ear.

"Nice slow breaths, Gerald. Calm down. Your breathing will be back to normal soon. That's it…nice slow breathing."

Gerald fought to control his fear, control his breathing, but the trembling and the racking of his body was primal; he couldn't stop it.

"I would prefer to keep the gag off, Gerald. If I leave it off, will you keep your voice down?"

Still struggling for breath, he nodded vigorously. His eyes were watering so badly he could barely make out the man in front of him.

"Very good," Smith said. "The whole floor is empty now. There's no one here to come and help you. So yelling is futile. But I just don't like it. If you yell again, I'll hurt you again. Deal?"

Again, Gerald nodded.

"Good."

Smith carefully removed a wooden box from his bag. It resembled a fine cigar box. He placed it, still closed, at the edge of the desk.

"Gerald, I think you know why I'm here" Smith ignored the frightened man shaking his head. "You accessed some files. I'm going to need those files, Gerald, and I'm going to need to know where you got them."

A steeliness rose in Gerald's eyes. Smith knew it well. The spirit of a good man, trying to be strong. It was futile. Without warning, Smith jumped forward again and punched him in the gut before he could finish his denial.

Gerald buckled as far as the restraints would allow him, coughing, spluttering, wheezing.

"Holding out on me is useless, Gerald. To be honest, it offends me that you would try."

Smith sat on the edge of the desk again and waited for Gerald to catch his breath.

"Gerald, I need you to understand something." Smith moved forward, picked up the gag, and placed it firmly around his mouth again. Gerald tried to shake it off, but Smith was too strong. He continued, "Let me explain something for you."

Smith opened the polished wood box. Inside, Gerald saw a large, ornate syringe―hospital grade, surgical steel and glass―and beside it, a vial of clear liquid. Smith picked up the vial and showed it to Gerald. He swirled the liquid around. It was viscous, like syrup, but completely clear.

"This is morphine. Enough to kill three men your size." Smith replaced the vial carefully. "Gerald, I think it's important to understand that you will not leave this room alive. You will die of a tragic morphine overdose."

Gerald burst into fits of, anger, fear, desperation. Smith questioned briefly if the bindings would hold. They did. He waited for Gerald to settle down before continuing.

"You may have noticed, the bindings holding you in place are padded. There will be no immediate bruising." Smith withdrew a rubber tourniquet from the black medical bag. "I believe you're left-handed…" He moved toward Gerald's right arm. "They will find you in the morning," Smith said softly, as though having a quiet dinner-table discussion.

Gerald fought all he could to stop Smith from wrapping the rubber tourniquet around his right biceps and pulling it taut. His efforts were wasted. His veins started to swell instantly.

"Gerald, there is nothing you can do to stop this from happening." Smith returned to his medical bag. He pulled out a white USB, inserted it into Gerald's computer, and with a deep and calming voice said, "There are worse things than dying, Gerald."

He opened the file from the USB. There were hundreds of images. Without opening the images, he transferred them to Gerald's hard drive. "You seem like a good man. An honorable person. A person who values reputation, pride, being remembered for doing good in this world."

The files completed transferring to Gerald's hard drive. Smith asked him, "How do you want to be remembered when they find your body tomorrow, Gerald? A man who mysteriously committed suicide, or…" Smith opened the first image, "or a pedophile who got caught and couldn't' live with the shame?"

Gerald bucked wildly in the chair, almost knocking it over. He fought the restraints, his eyes bulging, his veins throbbing and threatening to explode under the pressure. Tears ran down his face; a rage beyond his reckoning racked his body. He sobbed.

"Gerald, tell me everything I need to know, honestly, and I will make sure you die with dignity, with pride," Smith said sincerely. "If not, the world will never know the truth. Will never know how you suffered or how hard you fought. They will just know what I leave on your computer."

Smith stood from the edge of the table, knelt in front of the broken man, and asked, "Gerald, will you help me?"

Crying, emotionally destroyed, Gerald nodded his head.

17:18:41

The old man stood in the darkness. The makeshift laboratory was housed inside the back storage compartment of a large Scania double axle truck. It was one of several mobile tech laboratories he had commissioned to roam the continent in key locations.

The package secured by Smith had found its way to him quickly, and now his team of scientists analyzed it without delay.

So far, X-rays had been inconclusive. A CT scan was next. It was clear the contents of the package were, in fact, documents. And while that information was useful, it was also useless until they understood what was on those documents. The science was beyond the old man, and while his technicians talked mumbo-jumbo, his wily mind was already jumping three steps ahead.

According to Smith, he needed to re-collect the package by 17:30 and take it to its intended destination, Minister Jordan. Any later, Smith would miss his window―and Zelig would know. They had fewer than fifteen minutes remaining.

It was an intriguing puzzle, thought the old man. What was Zelig up to?

17:18:48

Not wanting to rely on public transportation, Shirin and Barratt procured a car from the underground parking lot of a nearby hotel.

Shirin drove. Fast. She pulled up one block east of Gerald Maier's office building and was out and moving before Barratt undid the seatbelt.

17:19:09

Smith withdrew the large needle from Gerald's arm. He'd stopped thrashing gradually, in slow motion, like drifting off to sleep, until finally, he grew peaceful and still. Smith watched the man's chest rise and fall for the last time. He watched a minute longer, then got to work removing the padded bindings that kept Gerald secured to the chair.

17:20:27

Shirin arrived at the lobby doors first. Barratt was close behind. She had been there earlier in the day, and from memory knew there were no security cameras at the front of the lobby. They were all positioned toward the rear of the foyer area, covering the lift, the reception area, and the hall leading to corporate offices on the ground floor.

Pulling open the doors, Shirin skirted the edge of the large space, Barratt followed two feet behind. The entrance was empty, but still, they moved quickly and quietly, headed for the emergency stairwell door. Sliding to one knee, Shirin applied a worn set of lock picks to the mechanism, while Barratt shielded her from office workers and clients of neighboring office suites who may have entered the foyer on their way home.

Shirin unlocked the door fast; no one had entered the lobby, no one had seen them. They were in the stairwell within moments, running up two and three steps at a time. Gerald Maier's office was on the eighteenth floor.

17:21:39

Smith stared at the scene. It looked like a sad and pathetic suicide. The letter he had crafted, then typed into Gerald's computer, would add credence to the state of mind behind such an action. A cursory search of his hard drive would reveal the abhorrent and deviant cravings of a man who, once caught, could no longer live with himself.

Smith left the office, dialing Zelig's number on the way toward the stairwell door. Zelig picked up after two rings.

"I have two names," Smith said. "Katie Jones, she made contact with him. Fits a rough description of Reyes. And a Robyn Mills, who had apparently referred Ms. Jones―"

"Hold," Zelig muted the line.

Smith held his ear to the stairwell door before opening it. He could hear something. Faint, but unambiguous. Hurried footsteps. Several floors below, but moving fast. He turned around without hesitating. He trusted his instincts. Walking briskly to the other side of the floor, he turned right at the end of the corridor, went to the far end, turned right again, and stopped at the rear emergency egress stairwell. He stood quietly, listened at the door, heard nothing, and then silently slipped in behind it.

17:22:51

Shirin and Barratt passed the landing for the sixteenth floor. Understanding each other well, they both slowed down, caught their breath, moved closer to the door leading to the eighteenth floor, then listened. Lowering herself to the tile, Shirin tried to peer under the frame of the door but could see nothing.

Something in her gut told her she was too late. But to listen to it would undermine her hope. With the silenced pistol in her right hand and her left gripping on the stairwell doorknob, she turned it slowly, silently, until the rotation reached its full movement, nodded to Barratt, swung the door to half open, raised her gun to a firing position and searched the scenery for a target.

Barratt went in through the open door low and fast. Sweeping his gun left, then right, he kept moving forward.

17:23:25

Zelig came back on the line. "Katie Jones is a cover. A good one. But she doesn't exist. It
has
to be Shirin Reyes! Robyn Mills does exist. She lives in Dover. No known affiliations with Reyes. She has a daughter and a brother. No other family."

Smith padded down the stairwell as quickly and quietly as he could.

"Have you still got the package?"

"Yes," Smith lied.

"Deliver it as planned, then I want you to visit Robyn Mills. Make her talk. I don't care what you have to do. I'll send another team to pick up her brother and bring him to you. Chop him up in front of her if you have to. Torture her daughter, I don't care! Just make her talk! Understood?"

"Understood,” Smith said as he reached the street level of the building. After Zelig gave him the address, he closed the phone, withdrew his second cell phone, and called the old man's team. Regardless of their progress, or lack of, their time with the package was over.

17:24:02

The sign on the door simply said "Maier" in bold italics. It was Gerald's office. The door was locked, but yielded under Shirin's lock pick set quickly.

The large external office anteroom was decorated sparsely, and noticeably lacked a feminine touch. It was utilitarian in design, layout, and furnishings. Shirin and Barratt covered the space between the front entrance and the door to Gerald's private office door within seconds.

There was a smell in the air, a scent of fear, of terror, of death. A look of understanding passed between them. Without seeing inside, Shirin and Barratt knew what they would find. They were too late.

17:42:19

They had spent almost twenty minutes carefully searching Gerald's belongings. He had left behind no clues and no information about what he had found on the USB files Shirin had given him. Or, if he had, his killer had taken it.

They left him drooped in his chair, untouched. It was an eerie feeling lost on neither Shirin nor Barratt that as they rooted through his belongings, the last of the warmth from his body slowly ebbed away, leaving behind a cold, inanimate corpse. Death held no mystery or curiosity for them. At times like this, where an innocent paid the price, silent contemplation and regret punctuated their body language.

Kneeling at the computer desktop, Shirin tapped hurriedly across the worn keyboard. She found the suicide note quickly, and then the photos. She flinched instinctively as the first image appeared on the screen. They were grotesque. Abhorrent. Shocking.

She understood the killer's plan instantly. She deleted the photos and the suicide note and wiped them completely from the PC's internal, backup, and recovery memories. It was the only thing they could do for Gerald now―preserve his legacy.

He had been an honest man, from their understanding, an honorable man. That someone had killed him to cover up what he had found was a great tragedy, that he was likely tortured was maddening, but that his killer had planned to destroy his legacy and his reputation was beyond the scope of Shirin's moral compass. It was unforgiveable. She added another person to her list of those who would die before all this was over. She would find the person who had done this. Then she would destroy him.

"Shirin," Barratt slid the last filing cabinet drawer closed, "we have to assume that he told them everything before he died."

Shirin didn't respond verbally, but her face recognized the question in Barratt's statement.