Chapter 40: Chapter thirty-nine

Present day

 

Mike stood in the apartment of one Gwendolyn Summers eying a shot-out window.

“Run me through it again,” he asked the detective who had originally caught the case before it had come to light that a man looking like their suspect in the Lance Bryson case had been seen there. Once that had come out, he, Alesha, and several Feds had shown up to take it over.

“Multiple witnesses report hearing gunfire at roughly two-forty. Just after that, witness saw your guy dropping down the building from balcony to balcony.”

“This apartment doesn’t have a balcony,” a Fed said. Mike didn’t know him, but he clearly hadn’t been paying attention the first time this story was told.

“I know,” the detective said, his brow furrowing at having to explain his theories for what had to be at least the fifth time that day. “Window is ripped out in the bathroom. It’s on the right side and our CSI boys seem to think the jump is possible, just. We think he went from there to the balcony and then dropped down from there.”

Mike made a ‘please continue’ motion, slightly annoyed at the Fed for interrupting.

“Anyway,” the detective said. “He got down to street level and entered the building across the street. No witnesses to what happened next, but that’s where we found the body of one Mr. Johnson.”

Armitage Johnson, ex-special forces sniper, had been found with a sniper rifle and a broken neck.

“Uh-huh,” Mike said.

“Next thing we know, your boy drives off in a car reported stolen earlier that day. We found it dumped not far away so we think he switched vehicles.”

“Hmm,” Mike said, wandering off to where Alesha was looking over the computer setup. “What do you think?”

He arrived just in time to see Alesha slip something under the desk and was appalled to see what appeared to be a wad of chewed gum stuck to its bottom. That was completely unprofessional behaviour.

She saw that he’d seen and went as red as her complexion would allow. “I wasn’t thinking,” she said immediately. I just…”

“Later,” Mike said gruffly. He’d chew her out about it later, when there weren’t Feds everywhere and it wouldn’t have to go in an official file. “Right now, just tell me what you think?”

“Oh, well, I think there was more to this Gwendolyn Summers person than meets the eye.”

“Given that our guy seemed to have gone to great lengths to either protect her or kidnap her, I’d say you’re right. Anything more specific?”

“Yeah,” she said. “The tech boys are practically drooling over her computer set-up. One of them said it was the best he’d seen in private hands. What’s weirder is that apparently they can’t get it back to the lab without destroying it. Some sort of failsafe that I didn’t really understand.”

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“Hacker you think?” Mike asked.

Alesha shrugged. “I’m not sure, but she was definitely doing something interesting if she needed that kind of hardware. What did you get on our guy?”

“Looks like he pulled the bathroom window out by hand,” Mike said, “so he’s definitely strong. For him to avoid a trained sniper he must have seen him across the street before he got a shot off, so he’s definitely observant. And, he jumped out a window and down a bunch of balconies to get to the ground, so he’s definitely crazy too."

Alesha nodded. “He—”

She was interrupted by Agent Branson entering the crime scene and doing his best to take it over.

“Might be time for coffee,” Mike grumbled.

Alesha nodded and they moved to leave. Her phone rang and she answered it as she was walking out the door.

“Hello,” she said.

A moment later she froze mid-step and turned around to face Mike.

“It’s him,” she mouthed.

Mike’s eyes went wide and he gesticulated furiously, telling the Feds to shut up and gather round. Alesha put the phone on speaker.

“I trust I have everyone’s attention,” said the voice on the other end of the line. It was chillingly empty, and Mike was sure that this was no prank.

Alesha looked to Mike and he nodded his head. “Yes,” she said. “We’re all listening.”

“Good,” the voice said. “On Tuesday I am going to be attending an auction called the Night Market held at the Catacombs of Washington at ten pm. The items up for sale at this auction will include a key component in the production of a WMD being made by a domestic criminal organization. If you wish to prevent this sale, I suggest putting someone undercover as a buyer. That will require a false identity and a hundred-million dollars held in an escrow account, but I trust that the federal government can manage this in order to stop the sale of such a device. If you wish to apprehend me personally, I suggest your undercover operative be Detective Price here, as if it is anyone else, I will know, and I will not attend. Further, if Special Agent Branson is within a hundred miles of the event, I will not attend and will instead kill all of you in your sleep. Details to follow.”

With that, he hung up.

Everyone gawped at Alesha. She stared back, clearly as dumbstruck as everyone else.

A text came through and broke the silence. She stared at it, stricken, then held it up for everyone to see. It contained the details needed to set up a cover for the auction, and a list of the home addresses of everyone on the taskforce.

“Fuck,” Mike breathed. There was nothing more to be said.

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