Bringer of Fire (13 page)

“And your point is?” she pressed.

“You’re not investigating a terrorist act, or a kidnapping,” Bernard said. “You’ve delved into the middle of nothing short of a small, clandestine corporate war.”

Something Bernard had thought about earlier popped into my head, so I played a hunch.

“Mr. Bernard, talk to us about Continuance Corporation,” I prompted. “And don’t worry; I think you’ll find I’m pretty good with wars.”

Admittedly, an understatement.

Wars of foreign religions and ideologies, as well as disease. Wars in my head that I’d only begun to reconcile.

I’d already had my fill of both Islamic militants and cancer. Fortunately, I’d survived both.

So far.

Sanders spared me a look of approval that was nothing short of spectacular.

“I’m intrigued to know what you’ve heard about Continuance Corporation, Mr. Bringer,” he replied.

I inclined my head in acknowledgement. “I’m sure you are. However, I think what you have to say would be much more enlightening.”

“Very well,” he said. “Continuance Corporation, or Bestand Gesellschaft as it was known in Germany when it was founded in 1953, was born during the early days of the Cold War in collaboration between the U.S. government, medical researchers, and powerful businessmen with interests in the paranormal.

“However, their ventures were often fruitless, and in 1977 the U.S. government severed its ties with, and subsequent interest in, the company. By 1982, Continuance Corporation had teetered into complete bankruptcy.”

“What does Continuance have to do with your company, Mr. Bernard?”

“An excellent question, Agent Sanders,” he replied with a nod. “Actually, everything. We are Continuance Corporation’s primary worldwide competition.”

I noticed Sanders was frowning. I wondered why until I replayed what Bernard just said. Then it hit me.

“Wait. You just said Continuance went bankrupt in 1982,” I said.

“Officially, the company did,” Bernard replied. “However, that hardly means they ceased operations.”

“I’m a little confused,” Sanders interjected. “How does a bankrupt corporation manage to successfully continue operations? Receivership?”

Bernard’s features hardened. “The company went underground, actually. They’re not listed on any international stock exchange, nor have they filed any operational documents with any nation since 1982.”

“Then how do they compete with Nuclegene?” I asked.

“They steal our research, sabotage our operations, and counter-develop our innovations for sale on the black market, of course,” Bernard said as if he were explaining to children why the grass was green.

Sanders remained silent but I could almost see the wheels turning in her head. My own mental wheels were turning, as well.

“Continuance blew up the Wallace Building just to sabotage Nuclegene’s operations. More to the point, they sabotaged your company’s latest development,” I said.

Except for me.

It was a rather cold epiphany on my part.

“Precisely,” Bernard replied.

“Why didn’t you come forward to the authorities with this already, Mr. Bernard?” Sanders demanded.

“Because it’s not as if the U.S. government would be of any great assistance. Do you believe they could track down a shadow company? How do you expect them to freeze assets or shut down operations of an organization that doesn’t officially exist?” Bernard explained.

He had a point.

“Rather, you wouldn’t want to release information about your company’s interests in research that isn’t sanctioned by the FDA,” Sanders suggested. “More to the point, you’d probably hate to acknowledge the successful achievement of your research until it could be properly marketed.”

Bernard’s expression appeared pleasant yet cool; much like a practiced chess player who’d reluctantly conceded a match.

“You’re a very perceptive investigator, Agent Sanders,” he offered. “And as has just been displayed, it would seem that our research has resulted in a successful development.”

Sanders alternated looking between Bernard and me with an expression of incredulity.

“Do you mean that Nuclegene Corporation is developing a drug to create paranormal abilities in humans?” she asked incredulously.

“What you’re referring to is
psychic
abilities,” Bernard corrected her. “Instead, our company is focused on empathic and telekinetic abilities. We’re not dealing in vampires, werewolves, ghosts, or magic here, Agent Sanders.”

I noticed Sanders’ jaw clench.

“If this is such a secret, why are you telling us this now?” she asked coolly.

Bernard gave a rueful sigh. “Alas, the benefits currently outweigh the risk. Now that I’ve confirmed Mr. Bringer’s abilities, I’m afraid I’m going to need to ask for your, and his, assistance. And I do hope that I can secure your discretion in these matters.”

Sanders and I exchanged curious expressions.

“You do realize that I work for the FBI, Mr. Bernard,” Sanders clarified. “I’m not for hire, and I have an obligation to report any developments related to this case.”

“That’s your purview, Agent Sanders. I’m merely asking that you continue your investigations, and hopefully locate who’s behind the destruction of our facilities and death of our employees and patients, as well as the disappearance of Ms. Edwards,” Bernard equivocated.

“But you’d like for me to leave out the part about Nuclegene’s sensitive research,” Sanders baited. “I’m afraid that’s not entirely possible.”

“Naturally,” he agreed with a shrug. “However, you should carefully consider what you share. You may find there are those within our own government who may have a mutual interest in curtailing that same information, no matter how well-intended or duty bound you consider yourself to be.”

Bernard alluded to something else dark and disturbing.

Were some government officials already aware of what’s going on?

Although it wouldn’t have surprised me in the least if a cover-up might already be in the works. I’d been in the Army, after all, and I recognized how seemingly overt events could suddenly be declared clandestine.

“And what about you, Mr. Bringer?” Bernard asked.

“Right now, my primary concern is finding Maria Edwards,” I replied evenly. “And I don’t give a damn who gets in my way.”

“Admirable,” Bernard replied. “Not that I disagree with you in the least, please understand.”

“Mr. Bernard, I suggest you turn over any additional information that you have at your disposal that might be related to this case,” Sanders said.

“As a matter of fact, I do have some things that may prove helpful,” he said.

Bernard reached over to his phone and activated the intercom.

“Ms. Yalesin, would you please bring me a copy of the list of names that we discussed earlier this morning?”

“Of course, Mr. Bernard,” Yalesin crisply replied.

* * *

By the time we left Nuclegene’s offices, though notably sans any arrestees, we at least had a list of names to investigate. Bernard thought any one of them might be related to our investigation, as they were individuals that his own intelligence assets had associated with Continuance Corporation operations.

Hell, it seemed as if we were tracking a terrorist group rather than some underground corporation.

“Nice work back there,” Sanders complimented as she drove us back to the FBI office.

“Thanks,” I replied. “But tell me something; why is Bernard still sitting up in his office instead of accompanying us to your office?”

“Admittedly, it’s against my better judgment. But something told me that someone in Bernard’s position wouldn’t be in custody long enough for us to ask any questions,” she replied. “At least he’s not openly hostile with us, and that’s something helpful.”

I rubbed my temples with my fingertips. One of my throbbing headaches was coming on. I suppose I’d already expended some efforts with my abilities that morning.

Telekinetic abilities, no less.

It sounded surreal to put a name like that to what I could do.

“Does your head always hurt after you use your abilities?” Sanders asked.

I nodded, which didn’t help the growing throbbing.

“Yeah, but it usually goes away when I hydrate,” I said.

She looked over at me with a concerned expression.

A few minutes later, she pulled in front of a nearby convenience store.

“Fuel up,” she said good-naturedly.

I felt a lot better once I’d consumed about a third of a bottle of sports drink.

Chapter 10

“This changes the dynamic of the investigation considerably,” Chuck Denton said once Sanders and I had briefed him on our visit with Bernard at the Nuclegene offices.

“How so? It hardly changes our overall goal,” I challenged.

“No,” Denton replied. “But it means that we to keep an even tighter lid on all information, just in case Bernard’s correct about competing interests from within our government. Speaking of which, the guys in IT finished downloading the documents from the memory drive that you provided. Sanders, they’re in a folder on the network that only our team has access to.”

“And the private contractor IT support staff who gave you access to it,” I added dryly.

Denton frowned at me. “Yeah. I’ll try not to dwell too much on that.”

“I’ll run these names through our database and see if I can get a hit on any of them,” Sanders said.

“Good,” Denton said as we rose to leave his office. “Keep me in the loop.”

He rose and handed me a small sheet of paper and a plastic badge.

“What’s this?” I asked.

“The VIP badge will get you into the building and our office area. The paper has the names of our team members, including their office and cell phone numbers. Put those in your phone and wallet, and please don’t share them with anyone. I’ve already provided the team with your contact information.”

“Thanks.”

It felt good to be part of something useful again. I just wished the circumstances were better.

“Welcome to our team,” he offered with a quick handshake. “Although you may find that you’ve signed on for more than you expected. Just remember, you’re not on the payroll, and there may be a few circumstances where even being under FBI protective custody might not shield you from scrutiny.”

“I’ll remember that.”

“Now, follow Sanders and get to work.”

I nodded and we returned to Sanders’ desk while I mulled over what Denton had just said. It made me wonder what sort of
circumstances
he meant.

To my surprise, Sanders logged into the FBI’s information database and showed me how to conduct simple searches. Then she asked me to perform a search on all of the names on the list that Bernard had given us.

“But don’t let anyone else except agents in our office see you on my workstation, okay? If anybody asks me, I don’t know anything about it,” she warned before leaving to do some additional information gathering.

I scowled.

Plausible deniability. Gotta’ love it.

To my surprise, the computer searches yielded only two hits, though neither individual had any priors. With the assistance of a cute blonde-haired, blue-eyed agent named Lana Collins, I was able to access their last known addresses. A young lady named Justine Ziska was listed in New York City, and a guy named Thomas Gibbons had a Chicago, Illinois address.

Sanders alerted FBI offices in both cities and made hasty arrangements for us to catch the next flight to Chicago. The New York office would initiate surveillance on Justine Ziska.

Fortunately, Sanders received word that I’d regained use of my home, so we hastily dropped by my place on the way to the airport. At least I’d be able to change into some dress pants and shirt so that I could blend in next to Sanders somewhat authentically.

“You’re actually not hard on the eyes when you’re presentably dressed, Bringer,” she quipped with an appraising expression.

I flashed a charming grin at her, but she merely rolled her eyes. However, the moment quickly faded as my thoughts returned to Maria Edwards.

In actuality, it was a relatively short flight to Chicago but it felt like forever given the urgent nature of our trip. Flight time aside, O’Hare International Airport was something entirely different.

For a guy like me who had done very little traveling in recent years, it felt like a madhouse; barely controlled chaos teeming with people. However, I quietly admired the seamless manner that Sanders negotiated a host of harried airport experiences; chiefly, passenger screening and boarding. Of course, having the full influence of the FBI behind us hadn’t hurt, either.

We were met by two agents from the Chicago office, Buddy Cross and Peter Harker; both of whom sported the textbook dark suits and neatly trimmed haircuts. Both men cordially greeted Agent Sanders, but turned decidedly more guarded when I introduced myself. I couldn’t help wondering if my newfound abilities weren’t somehow subliminally influencing people.