Halon-Seven (15 page)

Reese looked confused by the explanation, but she didn’t ask for clarification. She shook her head as if the confusion hurt physically. Based on the EMT’s report, he was sure that it did.

“Look, Detective?” she said finally. “I think there’s a good chance that even the medic knows more than me about what happened here tonight. Could you stop skirting around the issue, and tell me what’s going on?”

Franklin ground his teeth. He looked around. What had happened? As much as it galled him, everything about Mister Cooper’s story had checked out. The deadbolt on the front door showed signs of tampering. The perp who picked it must’ve had just enough skills to pop the lock but not enough to do it without making a mess of the lock’s finish. Crime scene techs had found a mess inside the apartment, indicating several assailants had laid in wait for an indeterminate amount of time—at least several hours. They had either raided the victim’s junk food stash or brought a copious supply of their own.

Franklin had interviewed the two neighbors who called 911 following the outbreak of gunfire. One of them reported seeing two of the deceased wandering the halls of the tenth floor around noon the previous day. Brawny Hispanics were not common to the neighborhood, so they had stood out.

Then there was the evidence that bothered him most of all. Crime scene tech and medical examiner’s preliminary findings corroborated Cooper’s story. A body found on the beach beneath the balcony had its head smashed in, and the corpse in the apartment had suffered a single gunshot at close range. The ME concluded that the shot had been fired from an extreme low angle, consistent with the shooter hanging from the balcony edge. Gunshot residue was swabbed from the edge of the concrete near the broken rung of the railing. Unless the crime scene techs came up with something inconsistent with Cooper’s story, these two deaths were a clear case of self-defense.

The other two shootings were even more troubling. Cooper’s statement indicated he had pursued the remaining two gunmen in an effort to retrieve Miss Knoland. Who did something like that? He had just narrowly escaped his own death when two men opened fire on him with automatic weapons. To avoid being shot, Cooper had jumped over the railing of a tenth floor balcony. And he still managed to take out the two men attempting to kill him without falling to his death? And after all that—after climbing back to safety—he didn’t stop to dial 911. He’d gone after the pair of remaining armed kidnappers instead.

No. There was no question. Mister Cooper was not who he claimed. An investigative journalist from Chicago wouldn’t react to a situation like this. But a professional operator would. That would make him military? Maybe NSA? Hell, he could be a private contractor. If that was the case, Franklin would grind him under his boot like a bug. He didn’t like the idea of anyone running around his city and shooting it up.

Franklin set that line of thought aside. What did he know? Cooper had the presence of mind to lose his shoes before pursuing the kidnapers down the stairwell. They’d found his shoes outside the apartment on the tenth floor. That meant he was sharp. He could chase down the kidnappers without giving up the element of surprise. But if Cooper’s story was to be believed, the two fleeing men had a head start, and he’d had little hope of catching up. To that end, Cooper had given up his chase when he reached the fourth floor. He’d fired two shots, killing both men as they ran the forty yard stretch between the apartment building and the getaway van parked in the lot.

Really?

It was hard to believe. Two men running away, and at a distance—with a handgun! That only worked in the movies. Normal people simply didn’t make a shot like that. Franklin thought he might be able to, if he dumped the entire contents of his magazine down on the
 
men. But the evidence confirmed that Cooper’s gun was missing a total of six rounds.
Six rounds?
Three of those slugs were lodged in the asphalt of the parking lot, further confirming Cyrus’s claim that he fired on the van’s driver to scare him off. That meant the two previous shots were kill shots, and they likely indicated the young man could’ve taken out the driver of the van had he wanted. The SWAT team boys could shoot like that. But they had rifles. And scopes! And spotters to help range targets! He would have to talk with some of them when he got back to the precinct. He wanted to know what kind of skill was required to make a shot like that. And Cooper had taken the shot at one of the men while he ran with the girl slung over his shoulder.

Was Cooper that good, or that reckless?

Franklin ground his teeth once more and thought about the pair of shoes lying at the top of the stairs. It galled him to admit it, but he was going with skill rather than luck. The man was intelligent and skilled.

The question remained, was this a homicide or an attempted kidnapping? And as much as he wanted to know who the hell Cooper was, the more pertinent question was, what was Miss Knoland’s role in this? The evidence indicated that she’d been the intended kidnapping victim. But why?

Still, he could understand her need for answers. The entire series of events was a blank spot in her memory. He went on to explain to her, in general terms, how they had concluded that the four armed men had lain in wait for her to return to the apartment. Their apparent objective had been to abduct her. He provided the broad strokes of what Cyrus had gone through in being attacked on her balcony, killing the two men, and then pursuing her kidnappers. He explained that Cyrus had shot the two men dead not far from where she now sat.

With each addition to the story, Miss Knoland’s face grew more ashen. As much as Franklin hated to admit it, the idea that someone would wanted to abduct her seemed genuinely shocking. If there were answers to be found, they would come from digging into her past, her financial records, and her known associates.

—————

Franklin told Reese
he had all he needed from her for the moment. He warned that he would be in touch. More questions were sure to follow. She nodded and thanked him. She thanked the EMT and slid cautiously off the gurney. Then she walked over to Cyrus on rubbery legs. The officers on either side of Cyrus watched her with apprehension but said nothing. A glance was exchanged between the two men before they widened their cordon and allowed her a seat on the bench.

“It’s looking like dinner and a drink is turning into breakfast,” she said, giving Cyrus a weary smile. She put her hand on his knee. “Are you okay?”

He returned her smile. “I say we skip breakfast and just go for a drink.”

Something had changed between them. The awkward ‘just having met’ or ‘getting to know you’ stage was subverted by the shared experience. She still wasn’t sure what had happened, but she did know one thing. If it weren’t for Cyrus, she would be in a world of trouble right now.

—————

Cyrus felt Reese
lean against him. Even sitting on the bench with his hands cuffed behind his back, her touch sent a warm rush through his body. It was just what he needed. He was tired. He was banged up. And most of all, he was about to get crabby about the handcuffs. He wasn’t sure what Detective Franklin’s issue was, but the man seemed to be in a foul mood.

“Can I ask you a personal question?” Reese was whispering from where she leaned closely beside him. She didn’t look at him. Her tone was serious.

He was afraid it was going to be the question that he’d been asked before. She would want to know how he felt about killing those men. It was a horrible question. The question ate at him. Not because he felt guilt over what he’d done. Just the opposite. If he was justified in his actions, there was no guilt. He had a clear conscience. No remorse. That was the part that actually bothered him. Somehow it seemed wrong to be ambivalent. Plus, dammit, this was supposed to be behind him. That’s what hurt. How could he explain these things to her when he couldn’t understand them himself?

He needn’t have bothered. “You lost your shoes again?” she asked finally. “Is this going to be an ongoing issue with you?”

He couldn’t help it. He laughed. He laughed out loud. It was unusual for him, and it felt good. Wiggling his toes down in the cold sand, he shook his head. There was something special about this woman.

Cyrus saw a black town car slalom slowly through the parking lot and approach the perimeter defined by police cars. It was a nondescript sedan that had no special markings or plates, but something about it called out to him. When the driver and the passenger stepped from the vehicle at the same time, he knew what it was that had drawn his attention. These people tried so hard to be nondescript that they were actually rather overt. They’d never learn. Even the way they dressed screamed federal. Both men wore crisp dark suits. The passenger scanned the gathered personnel and quickly identified Franklin without hesitation. That stood to reason. They were briefed on things like this before reaching a crime scene. The chip on Franklin’s shoulder was about to grow by two sizes.

The two suited, government men approached Franklin. While Cyrus couldn’t hear what was said, he knew what was being expressed. He could tell by the indignation on Franklin’s face. The three men conversed for several minutes, Franklin doing all the listening. Every word his spoke seemed to come through clamped teeth. Finally, one of the suited men nodded to Franklin. The conversation was over. The two suits turned and headed back to their car.

When Franklin stepped in front of Cyrus, it was clear he was trying to be intimidating. Cyrus wasn’t startled. He didn’t care. He knew Franklin had his marching orders. This was confirmed when Franklin dismissed the two officers standing sentry. The shifting personnel stirred Reese. She had fallen asleep against Cyrus’s shoulder.

“I don’t know who you are,” Franklin growled as he released Cyrus from the handcuffs. “And I don’t know who you know—but this isn’t over. This is my case. And if I find evidence that this didn’t go
exactly
the way you claim, I’ll have you back here so fast it’ll make your head spin!”

“Fair enough, Detective.” Cyrus said quietly. He gave the man a tip of his imaginary hat before he and Reese headed back up to her apartment. It was a crime scene now. She would gather a few things and clear out until the police were done and the landlord had a chance to patch the place back together.

—————

It had been
a hell of a long night, and Reese couldn’t remember an important part of it. That didn’t sit well with her. Nor did the fact that someone had tried to kidnap her. She could only assume that someone was targeting the project, through her. But it was hard to believe that the secret had gotten out. And, if the detective was right, gang members had tried to kidnap her. That didn’t track at all.

Cyrus hit the call button on the elevator. “You have a car, right?” he asked.

“Of course, why?”

“Because we can’t use your platform to go back to the office now. We’ll have to do it the old fashioned way.” He grinned. “You still remember how to drive there, don’t you?”

She laughed. Was it really that easy for him to make jokes after all that had happened? Had he really just fought for his life against four armed men and survived? Is this what Walter was referring to when he’d talked about Cyrus Cooper’s unique skills?

“We need to call your team in for a conference as soon as possible,” Cyrus explained as they stepped into the elevator. “Someone was targeting you. They could be targeting the rest of the Meridian team as well.”

“You just read my mind.” She was already tapping on her cell phone. It took only a moment to send a message to the entire team. It was an emergency code, another one of Walter Meade’s protocols. This one would immediately direct everyone to a fallback location for an emergency meeting.

Suddenly Walter’s paranoid plans weren’t so paranoid after all.

Payton Street, Santa Barbara, California

Wednesday, 8:12 am (9:12 am Colorado Time)

Reese had sent a coded message to every member of the project. According to the protocol, they were to drop everything and meet at a pre-determined location, some distance down the coast. Per the procedure, each member of the team had texted back an acknowledgment. But there was one exception. Alfie Ahmed, a lab technician, hadn’t responded and he couldn’t be reached on his mobile. After Reese was attacked at her apartment, Cyrus admitted concern. They needed to get the entire team into protective custody as quickly as possible. He suggested they visit Ahmed’s home to investigate.

Cyrus turned Reese’s black VW Jetta onto Payton Street, located on the outskirts of Santa Barbara. The car rolled slowly past the evenly spaced, single-family homes. Reese pointed out Ahmed’s residence when she located the correct house number. She explained that she’d never been there, but was pretty sure Ahmed lived alone. A small blue Toyota pickup was parked in the driveway. Rather than pull in behind it, Cyrus continued to drive past. He didn’t say anything, but she could tell his eyes were probing the neighborhood for anything out of the ordinary. Nothing must’ve stood out, because he seemed satisfied.

Cyrus turned the corner and circled the block. When they made it back to Ahmed’s street, he pulled the car to the curb a half dozen houses before reaching Ahmed’s driveway. He turned the engine off and dropped the keys into his jacket pocket.

Before their trip to check on Ahmed, they’d driven back to the office and used the platform to return to his house in Colorado. Cyrus had reloaded his gun and grabbed a couple of additional magazines. He had explained that meeting with Walter’s team was turning out to be much more complicated than anticipated. It was pure chance that he was even armed the night before. He wouldn’t rely on luck again. He’d also taken a lightweight jacket, explaining that, while it would be uncomfortably warm in the California sun come mid-day, the jacket would hide his gun. It wasn’t lost on her that such thinking seemed second nature.

She walked silently up the street at his side. They had no idea what they might be walking into, but it didn’t seem to slow him down.