Nameless (30 page)
Pierce had Agent Pratt on speakerphone.
“Any historic buildings recently abandoned for a new construction?” McBride inquired. Time was running out fast and they had nothing.
“We found three,” Pratt reported. “An old military plane hanger that was deemed unsafe and beyond restoration. A piece of residential property that was supposedly used in the Underground Railroad during the Civil War. And the old
Birmingham News
building. But that last one is still up in the air. The Preservation Committee is lobbying hard to save the old
News
building.”
“Which ones are brick and mortar?” McBride was reasonably sure he could count on that part of the e-mail as literal.
“The residence that might be part of the Underground Railroad and the
Birmingham News.”
“In the end, it is only the truth that really matters, not the story at all. Not even a century of stories.”
“Wait.” McBride mentally chewed on that a moment. “Is the
Birmingham News
still in operation?”
“Definitely,” Pratt said. “They built a new building and want to demo the old one for a parking lot.”
“But you say that’s not scheduled,” Pierce reiterated.
“No, the Preservation Committee is trying to save it.”
“Amid a cloud of controversy the old sometimes falls …”
“How many floors is the old building?” McBride was itching to get moving. The tension was churning inside him. This had to be it.
“Five plus a mezzanine.”
Definitely a lethal fall.
“They misspelled his son’s name.”
McBride’s attention swiveled to Grace, who was reading another of the articles plastered on the wall. “Show me.” He moved to her side, looked at the line in the
Birmingham
News
article about the bodies found at the construction site. “Daniel Fitcher,” he muttered as he shook his head. “Looks as if they focused more ink to showing how Byrne employed hundreds of Birmingham citizens in his construction companies than on covering the murder of two young boys.”
McBride touched the misspelled name. “That’s the place. He’ll be waiting somewhere close by, watching for our arrival.”
Grace nodded her agreement. “Just the two of us this time.”
Pierce put his hands up in a hold-it gesture. “No way am I letting the two of you go into this without backup.”
“Then we might as well all go back home,” McBride warned, “because if we don’t follow the rules, Worth is a dead man.”
5:50 A.M.
Twenty-second Street, Fourth Avenue
Two hours, ten minutes
remaining
…
“It’s damned quiet.” Vivian shivered as she stared out the window of her SUV. They had parked across the street, near the new
Birmingham News
building.
She could only imagine how Worth felt. Fear for his life had banished her worries over having her past revealed. She would just have to live with it.
Worth could die … they had no idea what kind of challenge waited for them inside that five-story building. Whatever it was, it could very well be capable of bringing down the century-old brick-and-limestone structure. So far Devoted Fan hadn’t made a single claim he hadn’t backed up.
“Birmingham PD, Pierce, and the team are only three blocks away if we need them,” McBride reminded her.
Yeah, and emergency personnel were close by as well. In case of a fire or explosion or whatever the hell this sicko had in mind. The memory of his dead wife made her shudder again. The chief tech from the forensics unit had called McBride five minutes ago to pass along preliminary details. They had found Mrs. Fincher’s organs preserved in spice-filled jars in the crawl space beneath the house.
If, as the tech suspected, a quasi-Egyptian mummification method had been used, the body would have been cleansed, rubbed in salt, and then filled with spices. Instead of wrapping her with cloth, it appeared he had varnished her. Original, but truly sick.
The guy definitely had done his research. That went hand in hand with what they had learned about his occupation, an aerospace engineer retired from NASA. If the certificates and plaques hanging in his house were any indication, a brilliant engineer.
An APB had been put out on Martin Fincher and his blue Volvo wagon, the same vehicle he’d had since his son was born. He had probably researched just the kind of car to buy to keep his child safe. The Finchers had been in their early forties before having their first and only child. Losing him certainly would have pushed them toward the edge Martin had eventually fallen over, perhaps with the death of his wife.
“Grace.”
She snapped out of the disturbing thoughts. “Sorry. What did you say?”
“Let’s get in there and find out what the hell we’re up against.”
They had two hours, but there was no way to know what obstacles might stand between them and rescuing Worth. Scanning the building’s dark windows, she emerged from her Explorer and then pushed the door shut. She reached into the back seat for her backpack. She had brought along flashlights, a box-cutter-style knife, screwdrivers, pry bar, scissors, and a hammer, just in case. The trip to Sloss Furnace had taught her a lesson about being prepared.
“We’ll start with the top floor.” McBride met her at the front of the vehicle and took the bag. “Work our way down.”
“You’re the boss.”
His gaze met hers in the moonlight. “I’m not so sure trusting me that much is a good thing, Grace.”
Maybe not, but it was too late. She already did. She just hoped she wouldn’t regret it.
“Don’t give yourself so much credit, McBride,” she argued, lied actually. “Worth told us all to follow your orders. I’m just doing my job.”
That one corner of McBride’s mouth kicked up, telling her that she wasn’t fooling him one bit.
“Let’s get this done.”
He crossed the street, his attention on the front entrance. She stayed a couple of steps behind, monitoring left and right to ensure nothing unexpected got the jump on them. Birmingham PD’s SWAT unit had scouts prowling the alleys and side streets. They all knew that Fincher would be here somewhere.
She took a last look around. Lots of places to hide.
A slow walk around the building revealed that Worth wasn’t hanging from the rooftop or any of the windows. Since there was no roof access, they could assume he wasn’t up there.
Pierce had suggested the use of wireless communications since they were going inside without any backup, but McBride had declined. What was the point? If anyone else entered the premises the game was over. So far no one had died, but they couldn’t take the risk. Martin Fincher was not playing with a full deck, which provided the ammo Pierce needed to push for a compromise. Vivian was to check in every half hour or Pierce would send in a tactical team. McBride didn’t like it, but he had left it at that.
The
Birmingham News
CEO had been rousted from bed for the necessary keys. The man had insisted on staying close to the scene with Birmingham PD. Vivian couldn’t blame him, he was responsible for the building. Considering the ongoing war with the Preservation Committee, he was probably hoping it would blow so he wouldn’t have to fight them anymore.
“I guess we won’t be needing the keys,” McBride commented as he opened the door.
Anticipation sent goose bumps scattering across Grace’s skin. Time to face the last challenge. After this it would be over. All they had to do was make it happen one more time.
Her attention settled on McBride. He could do it.
Whatever the challenge, he could handle it.
She didn’t know all the details about his career, but the one thing she knew for certain was that the Bureau had been wrong to allow such a talented agent to get away.
Inside Vivian paused while he took care of the lights. For security and insurance purposes the building’s utilities remained active. She checked her weapon, then they climbed the few steps to the lobby. The building’s two elevators were at the top of those steps.
“You want the stairs or the elevator?” She was fine with either one.
McBride hefted the backpack onto his shoulder. “I’ll take the stairs.”
Vivian hit the elevator’s call button as he walked away. When he was out of sight, she turned back to the elevator but the call button hadn’t lit up as it should have. She pressed it again and waited just in case the problem was only a faulty light. The stairwell door closing behind McBride echoed in the deserted lobby. She rested her right hand on the butt of her weapon as she waited another minute for the elevator to respond.
She pressed the button a third time. What was wrong with this thing?
Still no light and no bump and slide sound in the shaft.
Okay, that was it. She wasn’t waiting any longer. Taking separate routes to ensure Fincher didn’t come down one way while they went up another had been a good plan, but time was wasting.
Watching for the slightest movement anywhere in the lobby, she took the same route as McBride. The idea that Fincher could be in here somewhere watching his cracked plan play out had her just the slightest bit unnerved. So far there was every indication that this man didn’t actually want to hurt anyone, but he was a nutcase—his motivation and goal could change any time without notice.
Once she was in the stairwell, McBride’s footsteps overhead allowed her to breathe again. She hustled to catch up. It wouldn’t have been possible if he hadn’t heard her and slowed the pace of his climb to wait for her.
“Elevator isn’t functioning,” she said between gasps for air. She hadn’t worked out in five days and her body was revolting against the abrupt extra exertion.
“Could be a safety precaution in case of a break-in,” he offered.
Possibly. If vandals broke in there was no reason to make their work easier. But then it could be Fincher’s doing.
“Top floor,” he announced as they arrived on five.
Slowly, methodically, they searched each floor, turning on lights as they went. Every office. Every closet. That the rooms were empty helped speed up the process.
The room where the printing press had once produced the city’s news still housed equipment that required additional time. Then there was the shipping area. Any place Worth might be hidden had to be examined. They didn’t bother calling his name since the rest of the victims had been sedated. Chances were he had been as well.
They found zilch.
No planted explosives. No fire traps. No Worth.
“How much time do we have left?” McBride asked.
She checked her cell. “One hour twenty minutes.”
“He’s gotta be here. The door was open. The clues add up.” McBride walked around the lobby as they started back at square one. They surveyed the area, double-checked every nook and cranny.
“We’ll have to call in soon or Pierce will be sending in the troops.” She wasn’t anywhere near ready to give up. Keeping Pierce and Birmingham PD out of here was essential. They didn’t want Fincher making good on his promise.
McBride stopped in the middle of the lobby, dropped the backpack and bracketed his hands on his hips. “If we don’t find him first, he’s to take a fall,” he said, repeating the threat in the e-mail. “He’s not hanging by a thread anywhere outside. Not in the stairwell. Not from any of the ceilings.”
His gaze landed on hers as the only other possibility took shape in her head.
“That’s why the elevator isn’t working,” she said, giving voice to their shared epiphany.
“Back to the top.” He grabbed the backpack and rushed toward the stairwell door.
By the time they reached five again, she was glad he was carrying the backpack. Her heart was racing. Her adrenaline was pumping hard, preparing her to face difficulty.
Once they reached the elevators on the top floor, McBride dug out the pry bar and dropped the bag onto the floor. “Make sure no one sneaks up on us, Grace.”
He didn’t have to worry, she wasn’t taking her eyes off that corridor. If anything moved, she was drawing her weapon.
She did have to glance McBride’s way a couple of times when it sounded like he was wrecking the elevator doors. When he got them pried apart he peered down into the shaft.
“Car’s down on the first floor.”
She nodded her understanding. Dead end. Dammit. Her stomach threatened to embarrass her. She swallowed, took a few deep breaths.
McBride moved to the second elevator. Pried, pulled, and pried some more until the doors slid apart. The elevator car waited as if they had summoned it for a ride down.
McBride stepped inside for a look while she kept up her surveillance on the corridor when what she really wanted to do was take a look for herself.
“Looks like the engineer has been at work.” McBride motioned for her to join him. “Check this out.”
The control panel had been removed from the wall and a black box had taken its place. On the black box was a timer, counting down from fifty-six minutes.
Their gazes collided. Oh Jesus. She suddenly understood what that timer meant. “The only reason he would have a timer on this elevator—”
“Was if he wanted it to start moving at a certain time,” McBride finished. “We need to go down one floor.”
He carried the pry bar but she snagged the backpack he’d forgotten as they rushed for the stairwell again. Every step down she reminded herself that they had time to get the job done. No need to worry yet. But the idea that the elevator could jolt into action in advance of the specified time had her stomach twisting into knots. McBride had told her how the timer on the Trenton explosive had reacted to his movements. And though the C-4 hadn’t been real, there had been danger all the same.
On four, McBride began the same process of prying the doors apart. She served as lookout.
Her pulse started that frantic rhythm she had come to recognize as her ready-for-action mode. They had to find Worth. Had to get him to safety. And then the scary part would finally be over. Then they could focus on getting the bad guy. Considering what they had found in his house he would most likely be spending the rest of his life in an institution.