Missing Lynx (7 page)

“Except for the ice cube trays, ma’am.”

I took out the three ice cube trays stacked up in the very back. I cork screwed them to release their cubes, dumped them into a bowl, and started running hot water over them.

Striker and Gater came over to the sink to watch me. No one said a word. Soon a plink, plink, plink rang as the diamonds fell to the bottom of the glass bowl. When the ice had all melted, I carefully scooped the diamonds onto a dishtowel, and we counted them.

I grinned at Striker. “All present and accounted for, sir.”

“Now, that there’s crazy.” Gater flashed an endearingly boyish grin.

“Not crazy – methodical. I felt like the kitchen was the place this guy spends most of his time. You saw for yourself. Like I said, he probably eats and sleeps in the house, and that’s probably all.”

“So you focused in on the kitchen?” Gater leaned back against the counter, his arms crossed over his chest.

“Usually people will hide things in the rooms they hang out in the most. The room they feel most comfortable with.”

“Is that how you do it every time, ma’am?”

“I’ve developed different techniques I use. I try one, and if I don’t get anything, I test out another. It’s usually a matter of perseverance. I keep trying until I get something.”

“Say he hadn’t left his freezer open and gotten all that frost. Would you still have ended up looking in the ice?” Striker held a diamond up to the light.

“Yes. Actually that would probably have been one of the first places I would have checked.”

Striker’s eyes were keen on me. “Because…?”

“In the tapes you guys handed me, Omondas used ‘ice’ as a synonym for diamonds. If I used serendipity to find the diamonds, I would check for ice.”

“The discovery of something fortunate? I’m not following.” Striker put the diamond back on the towel and leaned a hip into the counter.

“It’s my puzzling version of Jung. Carl Jung says that serendipity is awareness. If you think about something you kind of prime your brain. Like doing a word search. There are lots of words hidden in a box of letters. Once a word is read off of the list, the brain can search more effectively. Once you think a thought then your brain will find ways to reinforce those thoughts.”

“Can you give me another example?” asked Striker.

“Sure, if you find out your best friend is pregnant, then when you’re out and about you’ll find pregnant women everywhere. Or, if you tell yourself you’re a lucky person then each time you hit a green light you think, ‘Wow, lucky me.’ If you stop at a red light and your phone rings you think, ‘I’m a lucky person. I wanted to get this call and here I had a red light and could answer safely.’ Do you get what I mean?”

“Yes. I understand that. What I don’t understand is how using the synonym ice for diamonds would fit.”

“Omondas was thinking ‘ice.’ He was under a great deal of stress. He would have acted on serendipity, that is, the thing he had primed his brain to reinforce. The thing making his conscious actions reflect his subconscious mind — ‘diamonds are ice.’ Hmm. it’s a little complicated to explain.” I bit at my lip. “Let’s say that words have power and under stress words often become action. The word as action here is taking the ‘ice’ - diamonds and making them ice - in the freezer.”

“Got it. Interesting. I like it.” Striker said.

“Good thing they were in the ice though. I was afraid he might try to bread them.”

“Bread them, ma’am?” Gater had moved to a bar stool next to Striker.

“Yeah, you know, like the women in World War II. When the Jewish women from the ghettos were taken to the concentration camps, they tried to save the family gem stones to use as money if they were to survive. When they knew the Gestapo was coming, they would wrap the stones in bread and swallow them. Later, they’d search for their gems in their feces.”

“Couldn’t that rip a hole in their intestines?” Gater asked.

“Sometimes it did, though I imagine the gems those women swallowed were smaller than the diamonds on the counter.”

“You think Omondas would know about breading?” Striker asked.

“He might have read about someone being a drug mule and swallowing deflated balloons with cocaine in them. Same scenario. He could have made the leap. If he had breaded the diamonds, it would have created issues with the fourth amendment and due process. If we really thought he had breaded them, we’d have to arrest him and hold him long enough for his natural due process to occur. Believe me, that search is no fun.” I grimaced.

“Believe you? You’ve searched someone’s feces before?” Striker’s lips curled in disgust.

I laughed. “Yeah, well, did I ever tell you about my internship at the National Zoo helping with the primates?”

“Nope.” Striker went over to the sink and scrubbed his hands with soap and hot water.

“Let’s just say I’m not willing to do that kind of work ever again. I’d insist on a peon taking over the task. What do we do with the diamonds?”

Striker’s phone buzzed on his hip. “I call over to the client and get an agent over here to collect them as evidence.” Striker grinned. “Then we celebrate our success.”

Striker walked out of the room to take his phone call. When he came back in, a hint of stress hardened the corners of his mouth.

“Who called?” I asked.

“Command. Schumann’s in a body bag.”

“What? Dead?” I spread my arms wide. “This was all for not?”

“We retrieved the diamonds and captured Omondas. Not a complete waste of time. Just not the outcome that’s going to pay the big paycheck. Command says we’re a day late and a dollar short.”

Seven

“I
’ll catch up with you at the office tomorrow.” I gave Striker a quick peck on the cheek. I was disappointed in myself, and sulking. If only I had puzzled out the Omondas thing quicker, we could have arrested Schumann before the killer got to him. We would have won.

Striker grabbed my arm as I got out. He peered at me over the rims of his sunglasses. “Hey, I need you in by six, and I need you to dress corporate. We’ve got an assignment; we’ll be in the field.”

“Okay. How far up the ladder am I? Is this a Chanel suit kind of day?”

“Definitely. You’ll be rubbing elbows with the top execs and probably a board member or two.”

“You going to give me a clue what this is about?”

“Nope. It’s classified until the briefing.” Striker released my arm.

***

I wanted some shut-eye. Well that was my thought, anyway. Anxiety wrung my stomach. I was still fairly new at Iniquus, and I couldn’t go around failing, or I’d be out on my butt. Tomorrow I’d play my A-game and show Command what I was made of. Sleep? Impossible. I thought about Spyder’s health. I thought about the mystery assignment. I thought about how Sylanos could possibly have turned into a Hydra after all the work I did to make sure Iniquus took him down. Surely, Sylanos should be in someone’s prison cell by now. Okay, truth be told, I thought about Striker.

After tossing and turning most of the night, I gave up and threw on a jogging outfit to go run with the girls. I’d let a few days slide since I’d gotten any exercise. It felt good to work some of the tension out of my muscles. I arrived home around three in the morning. Still riled, I headed to the basement to lift weights and de-stress in the steam room before turning on my brewer.

Coffee in hand, I scrounged through my closet for a good disguise. I picked out a power suit - a hand-me-down from my friend Celia - some hose and heels, and a briefcase.

Spyder drilled the refrain into my head:
when out in public, alter your appearance; anonymity is a safety net.
“Yes, sir,” I thought as I went to the bathroom to shower and use temporary coloring to tint my hair strawberry blond. I did my makeup with corals to accentuate the red in my hair, painting myself in a more sophisticated manner than usual. I popped in brown contacts and scrutinized my reflection in the mirror. I wouldn’t recognize myself in a photo. Good.

The slender cut of my skirt had some spandex for easy movement. The boxy jacket hid some of my curves as well as my shoulder holster. I carried a Ruger today. Low profile. I dropped an extra clip into my pocket. The gun served as a precaution and could help me make a point - more for show than action. Though I seriously doubted I would show it to anyone today. I’ve only shot one person in my life, Wilson, and that was really enough for me.

I drank down a breakfast shake, jumped into my car, and headed into the office.

I was idling in front of Missy’s house, where a moving van took up half the street, waiting for the men to negotiate a large, brown, over-stuffed sofa out the back. The sky glowed a soft pink and butter yellow. These guys got an early start.

I decided to take a minute to call up to the hospital and check on Spyder. I heard a woman’s voice. “Suburban Hospital how may I…” Holy cow. As the movers turned the sofa, I saw the white leopard rocked back on her haunches. Still. Glaring. Ready to pounce on her prey. I reflexively reached out my left hand and hit the lock button on my door — the blood drained from my cheeks. The movers must have heard the snap of the locks because they shot scowls in my direction.

Danger is moving in.

Ever since I was little, I had what I called “knowings” — thoughts flashed through my mind, unbidden. These words felt illuminated and special. They were usually silly little things like Johnny was about to fall; it was so-and-so’s anniversary; or my dad had a fever. These thoughts came to me of their own volition and sometimes acted as a heads-up that something of significance was happening, or soon to happen. Right now, the words weren’t just illuminated: they flashed a red warning light. Never have I felt a “knowing” so viscerally. Never did a warning come to me accompanied by a …what? Illusion? Vision? What in the hell was going on? My body convulsed, bringing me back to my senses. The men juggled the sofa’s weight up the new neighbor’s front steps, and I inched my way around the truck.

I sat in my puzzle room, doodling leopards on a pad of paper wondering what I should do with my “knowing.” I decided my best option would be to go over this with Spyder. I’d run by and check on him tonight after work. That thought seemed to settle my apprehensions; I smiled up at the men as they filed into my office.

Jack — dressed for Iniquus right down to his black, Vibram-soled, military-style boots — had deeply chiseled features, making him seem unapproachable, but that would be a wrong impression. Warm, fun, and incredibly loyal were much better descriptors. But if he gave off the impression that he was rugged and formidable? Well, yeah, that one was right.

Today, Deep and Striker were out of uniform and had dressed in impeccably tailored suits with silk ties and Italian leather shoes.

The men sat with me around the table. Striker passed each of us a file with pictures and layouts. Our assignment was to infiltrate Burdock and Associates. The V.P. for International Affairs, Joseph Richy (nicknamed Seph) and two targets had a meeting planned for this afternoon. They needed me to get to the contents of Richy’s briefcase, photograph the documents, and return everything without his knowledge. Meanwhile, Deep would hack into the computer system, and plant spyware to keep an eye on the company’s cash flow. Striker would have eyes and ears on the players. Jack would serve as backup. Striker gave the operation a four hour window, and then we’d need to exit.

We reviewed the photos, names, and titles of different employees whom we’d run into along the way. Next, we studied the floor plans, so we knew who worked in which office, and where the exits were located. While we discussed possible scenarios, this was going to be a seat-of-the-pants operation.

Striker stood. “Rallying point at eleven-hundred.” The men shuffled out. Striker steered me through the door with his hand under my elbow.

“We’re heading to Treasury now?” I asked.

“Yup. We have a client meeting at nine thirty. I have an appointment with a new team this morning, two guys transferring in from New York. They need Iniquus to intervene, and I’m making the initial contact. I want you along to see what you think.”

“Okay, but can we run by Starbucks on the way? I didn’t get to drink my coffee.”

***

I twisted my wedding ring around my finger and stared out the window at a nanny pushing a stroller as we passed down the side street.

“You look like you’re brooding,” Striker said at the stoplight.

I turned to him. “I was thinking about a dream I had last night, again.”

“Again? That’s intriguing. Care to share?”

“I spent the nanosecond of sleep I got last night fighting a ginormous demon rat. Once I finally had it trapped, I called over to animal control to come kill it,” I said.

“But instead they put a tracking collar on it and released it back out to see where it would go.” Striker finished for me.

“I’ve told you this one before.”

“A few times,” Striker said. “Does it mean anything to you? Is this one of your psychic fortune telling things? And why did you only sleep a nanosecond?”

“My psychic what? No. I don’t know. Maybe? Look, I started having this dream right after I showed you the Sylanos-puzzle, when I was at the safe house. I originally puzzled through the Sylanos crime cartel and handed my findings over to Spyder sixteen months ago. Sixteen. Okay, then Spyder goes off-grid the same day I passed his answers to him. Weird huh? And then you never got that file. That’s strange too because this was a huge deal to Spyder. Huge. But no one at Iniquus was acting on my intel — for over a year. Because what? Spyder forgot to hand them the file? That’s crazy. Spyder must have decided to keep the intel to himself.”

“Okay.” The light turned green, and Striker eased his car into traffic.

“Okay? You said you and Spyder were on the same team right?”

“Correct.”

“Spyder left you with nada — left you flapping in the wind. You only got the answers because I happened to be under your protection at the safe house, and you asked me about the case. It didn’t strike me as odd then. It sure strikes me that way now. So I gave you the answer to the puzzle last October and started to dream about rats.”