The Adamas Blueprint (2 page)

Another shot rang out, and the gun dropped to the floor.

Bern stepped back to retrieve the weapon. Ward ignored him, his face contorted with agony.

A red stain grew on his right shoulder. But instead of reaching for that shoulder, he put his hand to the other one. The pain was excruciating, spreading to Ward’s chest. His eyes cast downward, searching for the source of the pain, but the only obvious wound was from the gunshot. Then he understood. The heart attack Irene had always predicted. The smoking, the greasy foods, the lack of exercise. She’d nagged him for years. Now it was going to keep Tarnwell from getting what he wanted. He tried to laugh, but the sound came out as only a weak gargle. He staggered forward a step and fell to his knees. Bern stood aside as Ward pitched over.

Ward looked up, his vision tunneling. Through the tunnel, he could see Lobec’s eyes hovering only a foot from his face. Lobec shook Ward and spoke. Although his voice was only a muddy jumble, Ward felt himself responding, not really understanding what he was saying. He saw Lobec’s face turn and start searching, stopping when he came to the computer screen. He followed Lobec’s gaze there. The last thing Ward ever saw was the phrase
Message sent to: N.

Kevin Hamilton.

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CHAPTER 2

Slamming the apartment door behind him, Kevin Hamilton sprinted to his car. As he ran, he pulled a Rockets cap over his wet, tangled hair and shoved his wallet into the front pocket of his shorts. One of his shoes was still untied, and the laces slapped against his bare ankles. He didn’t dare stop to tie it. If he didn’t get to the South Texas University campus in 20 minutes, his life would be over.

Kevin had just finished toweling off from a late afternoon shower when he’d begun to read the letters from his South Texas University mailbox. The first one had stopped him cold, and it felt like shaved ice had poured into his stomach. He’d read the letter twice to make sure he’d understood it correctly, then frantically called the number at the top of the letter. Getting a busy signal, he scrambled into the first clothes he could find. The long-sleeved button-downed shirt he’d ripped from a closet hanger was wildly incongruous with the workout shorts and tennis shoes, but he didn’t care. Besides, he’d seen a lot worse on other graduate students.

He jumped into his Mustang and tossed the letter onto the front seat. As he inserted the ignition key, Kevin rested his other hand on the steering wheel, then immediately pulled it back with a gasp. Even this late in the day, the September sun was still strong enough to heat the MORRISON/THE ADAMAS BLUEPRINT

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steering wheel to scorching temperatures. Gripping the cooler lower part of the steering wheel, he turned the key.

The Mustang wheezed for a few seconds, then nothing. Kevin swore under his breath. He’d had the car for nine years, won it in a radio contest when he was still in high school. His parents had let him keep it as long as he could make the insurance premiums. He’d gladly agreed and for the first two years lived the teenage male’s dream of owning a flaming red V8 hot rod. But since then, it had started to slowly fall apart. The rear hatch release, the gas gauge, and the right window switch were all broken. The latest frustration was its difficulty starting. Probably a bad solenoid. He’d been meaning to get it fixed, but money had been tight lately.

He tried again, mouthing a silent prayer. The car roared to life.

“Yes,” Kevin said. He tore out of the parking space and headed for the exit.

The Mustang roared down the straightaway lining the Sycamore apartment complex until Kevin had to brake for the closed security gate. The ten-foot-high gate slid sideways on a track.

The gate always seemed to move slower when he was in a hurry, but it still probably took no more than eight seconds to open fully.

As soon as the opening was wide enough, Kevin accelerated, looked quickly to the left for cars, and turned right onto Gulfton.

A stop sign loomed a quarter mile ahead as he approached Chimney Rock, a major four-lane road split by a median. He’d have to turn left to go north to the Southwest Freeway, the quickest route to the university. As he braked, Kevin glanced at the dashboard clock. 4:43. He wasn’t going to make it. Not unless he took some chances.

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The Mustang squealed to a halt. Kevin rested his foot on the accelerator, revving the engine to 3000 rpm. Seconds later, a minuscule hole opened in the southbound traffic, one he thought would be just big enough. He popped the clutch.

The Mustang launched forward, and horns blared from his left. He could feel the back tires losing traction. He lifted his foot slightly, sliding the car gracefully into the northbound traffic, narrowly missing a minivan that had begun to change lanes.

The heavy traffic didn’t leave much room for maneuvering, so he was stuck with the traffic’s plodding pace, changing lanes over and over, looking for any opening he could exploit. Finally, he reached the traffic light at the Southwest Freeway feeder road and turned right to get onto the entrance ramp.

Once on the freeway, he was able to dodge the traffic at speeds 10 mph faster than the 70 mph flow. Thirteen minutes later, he was on the STU campus, amazed that he hadn’t hit any freeway snarls or been stopped by the police. The dashboard clock read 4:59.

Kevin found an empty spot marked “Reserved” right in front of Braden Hall. He took the letter from the front seat and bounded up the steps into the granite administration building and up a flight of stairs to the second floor where he reached a glass door with “Office of Financial Aid and Student Affairs” etched on the front. He had the door halfway open when a woman on the other side of the door reached out to stop him.

“The office is closed,” she said. He recognized the woman immediately. Her name was Teri Linley. She was an undergraduate, maybe seven or eight years younger than he was, with curly, brown hair piled high in front and too much makeup for Kevin’s taste. He knew her because he MORRISON/THE ADAMAS BLUEPRINT

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had graded a first-year chemistry course over a year ago, and she had been the biggest pain in the class, complaining about every little point he took off her exams.

She didn’t give Kevin a second glance and tried closing the door. He held the handle firmly.

“Teri, I have to see Dean Baker,” he said.

Teri examined her watch dramatically. “It’s after 5. We are closed.” Her expression was annoyance mixed with impatience. She wanted to be out of here.

“I know it’s late, but I have an urgent matter to discuss with her.”

She shook her head. “You’ll have to come back Monday.”

“I can’t.” Kevin waved the letter at her. “This says I have to see her before the end of today.”

“As far as this office is concerned,” she said, “the day has ended.”

Kevin pointed toward the office hallway. “I know Dean Baker’s still here. Her light’s on.”

“I didn’t say she wasn’t here. I said we were closed.” Teri pulled on the door again. Kevin wouldn’t let it budge.

“What are you doing?” she said. “Let go.”

Kevin knew that if he got upset with her, it would only make the situation worse. He had to try another tack.

“I meant it when I said my business was urgent.” He smiled. “I’m not letting go of this door until I get to see Dean Baker.”

Teri hesitated, turning her head to look down the hallway.

“I promise you’ll get out of here a lot faster if you let me in.”

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She turned back and held his eyes for a couple of seconds with a look of disgusted resignation. She let go of the door and threw up her hands. “Fine. Come on.”

The woman went back to the front desk, and Kevin walked down to the dean’s office.

He rapped lightly on the open door. “Dean Baker?”

Julia Baker, Dean of Financial Aid was younger than Kevin had expected, probably in her thirties, but when she looked up, her eyes peered over reading glasses with the unmistakable gaze of authority. She had straight red hair, an angular face with a dash of freckles, and was dressed in an expensive-looking gray dress accented by a turquoise scarf. He suddenly felt self-conscious about his own appearance but didn’t take off his cap, knowing his hair would look even worse.

“Sorry to bother you so late...” he began.

“Not at all,” Dean Baker said with a smile. “Please have a seat.” She gestured to one of the chairs in front of the desk and Kevin sat. “I’ve been expecting you, Kevin.”

“You know who I am?” he said incredulously.

“Of course.” She ran her fingers along a pile of folders on her desk, then pulled one out, opened it and tapped one of the pages. “I recognize you from your application photo. You’re not the first student at South Texas with perfect GRE scores, but we haven’t had many.” She nodded at the paper in his hand. “That’s why I sent you that letter. I like to make sure our best students get every chance to succeed, no matter what problems they’ve had.”

“About the letter,” Kevin said, waving it. “I came over as soon as I read it.”

“I sent that letter out August 25th. That was almost two weeks ago.”

“I don’t get to my STU mailbox very often. I didn’t take any classes this summer and I work off-campus.”

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“Off campus?” She flipped to another page in the folder. “It says here that you were offered a research assistantship with Michael Ward and that you accepted.”

“I did have one with Dr. Ward. Until four months ago. He fired me.”

“Why?”

“There was an accident in the lab. Some equipment got destroyed. Some expensive equipment. He thought it was my fault.”

“Was it?”

“I can’t say for sure. Both of us were in the lab at the time, but I was the one who set up the equipment, so I got the blame. He fired me right after the accident. I didn’t get a chance to inspect the equipment closely.”

“Would you like me to speak to Dr. Ward for you?”

Kevin shook his head. Even if she could do it, he wouldn’t go back to work for the Arrogant Asshole. “No, thanks. After I was fired, I checked with all of the other chemistry professors.

None of them had any open positions until the fall semester, so I found a job at Hermann Hospital in the biochemistry lab.”

“You like the job?”

Kevin shrugged. “It’s good experience. And it pays the rent.”

“But not your tuition.”

“I’d need a lot better job to pay $15,000 a year in tuition. That’s why I need those school loans.”

“And that’s why you lied on your financial aid forms about your father?”

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The reason for her letter. The reason Kevin had raced over to justify his actions. He shifted uncomfortably in the chair. “No, I didn’t lie to get more money. I did it for personal reasons.”

“Kevin, giving false information about your financial aid status is a serious offense. I could have rescinded your student loans and required you to pay them back immediately. I sent that letter to give you a chance to explain before I acted, which should have been by the end of today.”

Kevin began to speak, but Dean Baker held up her hand. “Unfortunately, I have to finish preparing for a speech I’m to give at 5:30. We’ll have to discuss this further on Monday.”

“But without those loans...”

“Kevin, you’re an outstanding student. I haven’t heard your story, but I don’t think kicking you out of South Texas is the answer. As I said, we’ll talk about this on Monday. The office opens at eight. Now, please close my door on your way out.” She went back to reading the papers on her desk.

Kevin tried not to let her see him sigh with relief. “Thank you,” he said, gently closing the door behind him.

Teri was waiting by the door as he entered the main office. She was talking to a huge body-builder type, no doubt her boyfriend. When she saw Kevin, the disgusted look returned to her face, accompanied by a scowl from the body builder. She nodded in his direction and whispered

“Finally.”

Kevin pretended to ignore them. He smiled, pushed the door open, and strolled down the hall, feeling much better than when he had run through it ten minutes before.

His life wasn’t over after all. He had just dodged a bullet.

* * *

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David Lobec closed the bedroom curtains in case someone happened to drive by on the otherwise deserted suburban street outside. Their car was on the other side of the house where it couldn’t be seen from the street.

Richard Bern spoke from behind him. “So did Ward say anything important?”

He turned to see Bern carefully place Michael Ward on the bed next to his wife. Ward had already been stripped and put into his pajamas. Irene Ward, dressed in a negligee, looked as if she were sleeping peacefully next to him, belying the fact that Lobec had smothered her with a pillow.

“What do you mean?” he said.

“When he was whispering right before he died, it looked like he was telling you something.”

Lobec’s expression didn’t change. “No, he was babbling.” He took an unopened switchblade out of his pocket and threw it to Bern, who caught it with ease.

“I thought you were kidding about this,” Bern said, his eyes wide.

“It’s your bullet,” Lobec said. “Therefore, you will take it out. Would you like to explain to Mr. Tarnwell that there is incriminating evidence linking us to Dr. Ward’s murder?”

Bern’s slowly shook his head, pondering the thought. Tarnwell was a bear of a man, a stout six foot six, and still every inch the football player he used to be. Everyone in his employ feared him. Everyone except Lobec. He had his own reasons for obeying Tarnwell.

Lobec handed Bern a pair of thin rubber gloves and put a pair on himself.

“I didn’t think so,” he said. “When you’re through, wipe down everything in the room that we might have touched. Then come down and remove the slug from the office ceiling.”

Lobec left the bedroom and stopped at the upstairs smoke detector. He took the battery out and slipped it into his pocket. He would do the same to the others. It wasn’t uncommon for MORRISON/THE ADAMAS BLUEPRINT

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firemen to find brand new houses burnt to the ground with the occupants still inside because they had forgotten to install batteries in their smoke detectors. The Wards would be another sad story the firemen would use to warn second graders and their parents.

It was possible that the coroner would be able to determine that the victims’ lungs contained no smoke from the fire, but Lobec thought the likelihood was minimal. Once Lobec and Bern were through searching the house and Ward’s computer for anything associated with Adamas or the missing $10 million, flames would consume the entire building long before the fire department could arrive on the scene. Fortunately, the Wards had elected to use gas in their kitchen appliances. Two smokers in a house with a gas line and smoke detectors missing batteries was a recipe for tragedy.

Lobec smiled at his luck. With the gas fueling a raging inferno, the bodies might not even be identifiable, let alone capable of providing a definitive cause of death. Unless, of course, the coroner found a bullet in one of the corpses. And Bern was taking care of that.

Several issues still troubled Lobec, and he stopped smiling at the thought. Who was N. Kevin Hamilton? And what was the message Ward sent to him? He’d noticed Ward surreptitiously press a key as they walked into his office, but Lobec had thought little of it at the time. Now it could be a severe problem. He had checked the computer, but the message hadn’t been saved when it was sent. Of course, the message may have been incomplete, but it was bothersome nonetheless.