Element 42 Page 5

  A security man put his hand out when I opened the giant door. I scrutinized the hallway. She was gone. I recognized the security man as a Sabel agent and nodded at him. He nodded back. Sabel Security was everywhere. The place was secure. So I hadn’t actually blown it.

  Mercury said, Dawg, tell me you’re paying attention to your surroundings. Trouble’s coming. Can you feel it?

  I stepped back outside to admire her street-legal race car when I saw a Cadillac cruise by. It rolled too slowly even for a school zone. Two beefy guys inside it stared at me like I was a hot babe. That raised my suspicions. Any hetero American male would be staring at the McLaren. Not that I mind getting checked out by gay guys now and then—it’s flattering, but you don’t expect them to be cruising a girl’s school. So I ruled out gay guys and proceeded down a few steps.

  The Caddy’s passenger looked at something in his hand, then back at me, then his hand, then me. He spoke to the driver. They stopped in the middle of the street and got out and left the car doors open. They were big guys, steroid-gulping gym rats.

  I stopped halfway down the steps.

  The beefy guys had their eyes on me as they crossed the parking lot. I returned the favor. Their suits flapped as they walked, exposing shoulder holsters.

  “Private property, gentlemen.” I held up a hand. “State your business.”

  They kept coming. The gray-haired guy with the craggy face spoke. “You’re Jacob, right? You got something that belongs to me.”

  “Stop right there.”

  They didn’t stop. They crossed onto the sidewalk, five yards away.

  “Give me the test tubes you stole and we won’t hurt you.”

  “Hurt me? A couple of goons from Pittsburgh?”

  They stopped and glanced at each other, trying to figure out how I knew they were from Pittsburgh. Simple—his accent.

  “We’re just asking nicely,” he said. “So give them up and nobody gets hurt.”

  “I never take things from stupid people. Ain’t fair.” I dropped down the last few steps, adrenaline coursing through my veins like ice water. “Even if I had stolen something, you’re the last goons on earth I’d trust to return it. So let’s make a deal: you tell me who sent you and I won’t rip your arms off.”

  Taunting the lesser primates always gets me in trouble. The younger guy’s face scrunched up with anger. He lunged for me. Time slowed down and training kicked in. I waited until his outstretched fingers were within a millimeter of grabbing my shirt. I stepped aside like a matador and let him charge through. I remembered a video of Ms. Sabel in a soccer game. She’d flown past an opponent who stomped on Ms. Sabel’s metatarsals, breaking her stride, and sending her to the ground.

  I tried it.

  Worked like a charm.

  The guy did a face-plant on the steps. His teeth and cheekbones crunched as he collided with the stone.

  Without looking, I instinctively took a step back as Gray-hair’s fist swept past my nose. The momentum of his roundhouse carried him past his balance point. I twisted, smashing my elbow in his lower back, and sent him forward into the hedge.

  The first guy stood up, blood pouring from his face, and pulled his gun.

  Pulling a gun on a veteran is a bad idea on a monumental scale. It really pisses us off and brings out all that pent-up anger we harness to win wars. I dove to the ground, rolled, and came up three yards from where he was busy unloading half his magazine. My dart hit him in the neck.

  Gray-hair thrashed his way out of the bushes and ran behind the stone balustrade along the school’s front steps. My first dart hit the wall behind him, my second hit the banister.

  Gray-hair managed to squeeze off three rounds that shattered two glass windows before I put him down with a dart in his arm.

  CHAPTER 8

  Violet Windsor’s heels clicked on the marble as she strode through Windsor Pharmaceutical’s executive reception area with a coffee in one hand and her Chanel purse in the other. The red handbag matched the red and black enamel of her corporate décor perfectly.

  Ignoring a frightened look from her secretary in the outer office, she hummed a tune, entered her office, and crossed to her desk.

  A shadow by the window startled her. Standing in the unlit room, Chen Zhipeng stared out at the view, hands clasped behind his narrow back. From her office’s perch high above the city, she could see clouds of pollution rolling in from the industrial sector, across the urban landscape, and south to Macau.

  “Such a sunny day,” he said quietly. “A little rain would solve so many problem. It would wash the pollutant out to sea; refill the aquifer; clear the air; sustain our way of life.”

  “Oh yes, climate change is a terrible problem. Rising sea levels, typhoons, that kind of thing are dreadful.”

  “Climate change, yes; but typhoon, no. Everyone talk about monster storm. They make a good story because you see it on TV. No one think sunny sky is a problem. But sunshine is biggest problem for the future.”

  Violet stood still. “That’s not why you came.”

  Chen faced her and examined her head to toe. “You disappoint me.”

  Violet dropped her purse and phone on her desk. She motioned to a meeting table and crossed to it. On the table lay the report she’d given Chen in Beijing two days earlier.

  “I don’t understand, Shifu,” great teacher. “What have I done?”

  “Your report omit several important fact.” Chen stayed at the window, his short, thin frame a silhouette in the morning light behind him.

  “It covered everything of significance.”

  “You cover science only,” Chen said. “Equally important, Pia Sabel visit site. Also, eight kilo of Element 42 is missing. Also, entire production run of Levoxavir, missing.”

  “I understood the drugs were to be destroyed by Anatoly’s people. You insisted we leave no physical evidence. If Mukhtar didn’t get the job done, I’ll speak to Anatoly. What about Wu Fang? Perhaps he took some of—”

  “Wu Fang learned about Borneo from Dr. Chapman. He is in reeducation camp now.”

  “I will look into this matter right away,” Violet said.

  “You were young in 2008 and your mistake easy to forgive. You are old enough to bear responsibility now.”

  “You spared me and I am grateful.” She bowed her head. “I learned my lesson, Shifu. You have always been the most honorable teacher.”

  “Element 42 is very dangerous program. You promised top security and assured me, no discovery. Yet, I learn of these many problem from other people.” Chen moved to her. “Violet, let me be clear—it is important that you fix these problem.” He chopped the air with his hand. “No connection to China. No connection to Wu Fang. No connection to Windsor Pharmaceutical. You understand, your company is expendable, the Party and China are not.”

  Violet watched him stroll out as if he owned the place. A few seconds after he left, she took a deep breath and closed the door. She staggered, steadied herself with a hand on her desk, rounded it to her chair, and fell in. She pulled off her designer prosthesis and massaged her stump. It always throbbed when she lost her temper. She straightened the sock and slipped it back on. Her Marni pump fell off. She cursed the stupid maid and grabbed another double sticky tape. She shoved it in her shoe and pressed it on the leg.

  She leaned forward and pressed the intercom. “Get Verratti and Cummings on a conference call right now.”

  Violet planted her face in her hands until the call came through.

  “It’s one in the morning in Milan,” Verratti said.

  “Chen knows Element 42 is missing.” She waited as the men gasped. “He said Wu Fang is being reeducated.”

  “That’s not good,” Cummings said. “Are they going to kill him?”

  “No. Chen’s rivals would find out and hang him.”

  “That’s a relief. At least we don’t have to make excuses about losing a board member.”

  “That’s not all,” she said. “He knows about P
ia Sabel.”

  “Does he know about the vials?”

  “He didn’t mention them, but if he knows about Sabel, we have to assume he knows.”

  “I’ve engaged Velox Deployment Services, the black-budget contractor I told you about. Should I send them after Chen?”

  Verratti scoffed. “He’s the equivalent of the Treasury Secretary in the US.”

  “Then we have to speed up deployment,” Cummings said. “The sooner Philadelphia happens, the sooner he’ll know who did it, and we’ll be safe.”

  “For god’s sake, Ed,” Violet said. “The man just threatened me. We won’t end up in a reeducation camp. If he figures out what we’re doing, he’ll just kill us.”

  “No,” Verratti said. “Ed’s right. We go ahead with the plan, we’ll make tons of money, and Chen can’t touch us.”

  Cummings chimed in. “If he did, he’d have to acknowledge how he knew. As long as Chen and China are kept out of it, he won’t care. We can still make billions.”

  Violet’s fingers ran over the small jade statue of Wu Zetian, China’s only female ruler.

  “Risky,” Violet said. “But then we definitely need those vials. Where are we on that, Marco?”

  “I’m waiting for my American friends to report. They should be done soon.”

  “What about Velox?” Violet said. “Can we count on them as backup?”

  “They’re Sabel Security’s biggest competitor,” Cummings said. “Their man chomped at the bit when I told him who’s involved.”

  “OK, then we need to move fast. We should deploy more cities than Philadelphia. We’ll need more drones and people to work them.”

  “And more Element 42 and more Levoxavir,” Cummings said. “We can use Velox to supplement Verratti’s men on deployment.”

  “Then we know our assignments,” she said. “I’ll set a follow-up call for tomorrow.”

  When they clicked off, Violet stared out the window for several minutes.

  She picked up her phone and dialed. She ended up in voicemail, so she left a message. “Prince, if I recall correctly, you’re friends with the Sabels. Give me a call some time. It’s been too long.”

  CHAPTER 9

  No one had knocked on my door since my Mormon neighbor brought over a plate full of cookies on moving day. She was young and pretty and newly wed and gave me the feeling she wanted to roll back her church’s century-old ban on plural marriage, only with a whole new gender bias. My newfound longing for marital bliss hadn’t reached that level of desperation, but I didn’t mind investigating any experiments she might have in mind.

  When I opened the door, it wasn’t my Mormon neighbor. The disappointment rolled out in my tone of voice. “Emily. What brings the Post’s ace travel writer to Bethesda? Won’t they spring for Paris?”

  “I’m not on the travel desk anymore,” she said.

  “Let me guess. They assigned you to Sabel Security after you smeared Louisa.”

  She smiled wide and tossed her arms in the air as if she’d jumped naked from a cake. To accentuate her enthusiasm, she twirled around, letting the centrifugal force lift her skirt. But she turned too quickly for her stiletto heels and toppled over. I caught her in a dip that left us nose to nose. She giggled. I glanced around the yard to make sure my Mormon hadn’t seen us.

  “May I come in?”

  “As a reporter?” I asked.

  “If you’d like. But I’d rather do the dominatrix thing like your boss.”

  I dropped her on her butt in the doorway. “Don’t talk like that about Ms. Sabel.”

  She scrambled to her feet and pushed the door open before I could slam it behind me. I made my way to the kitchen, where I’d been experimenting on a new recipe for bacon-wrapped lamb stuffed with feta and sun-dried tomatoes. I glanced over my shoulder. Emily and my puppy were trotting behind me, parallel to each other. The two of them stopped in the doorway and cocked their heads in unison. Then she checked out the dog.

  “What’s his name?” she asked.

  “Anoshni.”

  She scrunched up her nose. “What?”

  “It means something in Navajo. Miguel gave him to me.”

  “Who?”

  “My buddy from the wars.”

  “What kind of dog is he?”

  “He’s an American. Like the rest of us, a mix of everything. What do you want?”

  “Big gunfight at the school this morning. Who were they?”

  “Collection agency wanted to repo my TV.”

  “You don’t have a TV. You’re a reader.” She regarded my cramped kitchen. “At least you used to be.”

  I turned the bacon. Slow cooked, cracked pepper, aromatic, and crispy.

  She slinked over to me and stroked my arm. “Are you mad at me?”

  I slammed the pan on the burner and leaned in close enough to make her step back. “You don’t think an African-American woman has it hard enough in business? Louisa didn’t deserve that.”

  Louisa, a kidnapping victim, had been grateful when I’d rescued her. We’d dated until Emily and the Post ran a tabloid-style article about us.

  I turned to the counter, grabbed the salt grinder, and put a light dusting on the lamb.

  “I report the truth, Jacob. You rescued her, she slept with you.”

  “Sabel Security’s Extra Services—a lurid headline if there ever was one, Emily. I don’t mind you going after me. But the picture of Louisa answering the door was low. Really low.”

  “We weren’t planning on a picture until we saw what she was wearing. Who could take her seriously?”

  “We were serious. You made her sound like a—”

  “And we weren’t serious?” She stomped. “You stood me up, Jacob. Left me at a coffeehouse waiting for my big romantic weekend.”

  I didn’t have a comeback for that one. I’d done my usual screw-up with Emily. A random woman told me her divorce-is-lonely story and I did what I always do—I fell for it. Maybe I didn’t deserve a real marriage. I’d just get shot in the back by a jealous lover anyway.

  I ground some pepper on the lamb, then realized I’d forgotten the olive oil. Getting into tense conversations with formers will always ruin your cooking.

  “I apologized for that once.” I drizzled the olive oil lighter than I’d have liked but I didn’t want to wash off the seasonings. “If that doesn’t work for you, deal with it somewhere else.”

  “What about the shooting?” she asked.

  I turned to her. “Honestly, Emily, I have no idea. Couple goons from Pittsburgh mistook me for someone else.”

  “Did it have anything to do with this?”

  Emily tossed her tablet on the counter next to the lamb. A full-color picture of the trench on Borneo filled her screen. Unlike the last time I’d seen it, it was open, dirt piled to one side. Three men in real Malaysian police uniforms stood with shovels on the right. Second body from the left was Kaya, the girl with the sick brother. Dirt covered part of her dead face. Her corpse wasn’t alone; the pit was full.

  I gagged and staggered back a step. “Where did you get this?”

  “It’s all over the newswires in Malaysia.”

  “How did you—”

  “I have alerts set to ping when your name comes up. And your name came up as the man who reported this mass grave to authorities in Sarawak.”

  I inhaled deeply through my nose and tried to get my churning stomach under control. I’d seen a lot of ugly deaths in war zones, but these were innocent civilians. When I joined the Army all those years ago, it was to protect innocent civilians. “How many?”

  “Seventeen in one pit; twelve in another.”

  “What happened?”

  “You tell me.”

  I sketched enough of a story for her to think I was opening up but not enough for her to write a column. “I’m not sure what’s going on there, but keep this off the record for now.”

  She leaned back, crossed her arms. “You’re headlining a mass grave story that’s
all over Kuala Lumpur and you think the Post is going to suppress it?”

  “I’m not headlining. We stumbled on suspicious guys and reported them to the authorities. That’s all.”

  “And then two men shoot up a private school in Potomac.” She leaned out of the kitchen to glance around the living room. “Over a TV you don’t own?”

  The trouble with being attracted to smart women is that they’re hard to manipulate. So I opted for the direct approach. Clicking through a few options on her tablet, I emailed the picture to myself. When she figured out what I was doing, she turned red and her neck strained as if she would bite me any second.

  Smoke poured from the bacon. I turned off the burner, pushed the skillet away, put my hands on either side of the stove, and fought my urge to pick up the smoking pan and throw it.

  “Anoshni!” Miguel stood with one hand on my doorknob. His hair brushed the top of the frame and his shoulders filled the width. The puppy tackled him. He scooped up the dog and strode straight to us.

  Emily and I kept up our glaring contest.

  Miguel said, “Hey, you a friend of X-ray?”

  Emily squinted at him. “Who?”

  “Second battle of Fallujah,” Miguel said, “Jacob grabbed the squad’s machine gun and fired two hundred rounds into the wall of a house we were about to search. When we went inside, we found six dead hajjis who’d been planning to ambush us. So, we call him X-Ray.”

  Mercury said, And still no credit for my hard work? Why do I bother with you, fool?

  They did one of those long looks into each other’s eyes.

  I took the opportunity to leave. “Emily, Miguel; Miguel, Emily. Lamb is ready for the stuffing, recipe’s on the counter. I gotta go.”

  Tossing my apron at Miguel, I was out the door and driving before either of them could register a protest. It would probably work out for the best. I could get clear of Emily and Miguel could have a girlfriend. She’d go for him. He was bigger, better looking, more charming, and had that Native-American-mystical-earth-spirit-thing going for him.

  My phone rang halfway up River Road. It was FBI Special Agent Verges. “I’ve been permanently assigned to you, Jacob. What did you do to piss off LaRocca?”