Deadly Agenda Page 7

  An agent stepped out. Older than them, probably late forties. Dark hair and eyes, Hispanic coloring. He glanced from her to Adrian and recognition flared in his eyes. “Walker, right?”

  Adrian nodded. “This is my associate, Megan Perkins.”

  She shook the guy’s hand.

  “Agent Ramirez.”

  “Nice to meet you.” She smiled as much as she could through the exhaustion.

  Adrian said, “Can we assist?”

  Ramirez said, “There isn’t much to do here, but I do have a job if you’re willing to lend a hand.”

  Adrian nodded. “I can put you in touch with the SAC at my office, and you can verify. This is connected to a case I’m working on, so we could use insight into what happened and why.”

  “I’m happy to brief you,” Ramirez said. “And the job is interviewing Terrence Almonde, the man who’s the money behind the think tank itself. That might help you get what you need.”

  Megan figured it would also get them out from under the feet of the team here, a group probably accustomed to working with each other. They didn’t need agents they didn’t know, verified or not, adding themselves to the mix and muddying things up. Procedure had to be followed. And when unknown elements were brought in, that gave the potential for things to be missed.

  No one wanted that when there was a killer—a possible terrorist—to find.

  He showed them inside the RV, and they sat on the couch across from a couple of padded chairs. No one asked for coffee, even though Megan could have seriously used a cup. Those two people who’d died would never get to enjoy simple things like that again. So now wasn’t the time to worry about her stomach.

  Ramirez pulled a tablet computer off a cluttered table top and swiped the screen. “One man carrying a bulky thing the witness said looked like some kind of sci-fi movie weapon fired at the building. Seconds later it began to disintegrate.”

  Megan felt her eyebrows raise. “It disintegrated?”

  Ramirez nodded.

  Adrian said, “The sonic weapon is tuned to the frequency specific to the material the building is made out of. In this case, the concrete on the exterior walls. The steel likely remained intact, but when the walls fell, the rest of it was compromised.”

  “Much of it is still intact, as you said, but the roof was concrete. It fell in, crushing everything. One of the men inside managed to call out. He was trapped.” Ramirez paused. “He died before emergency services could dig their way to him. Ran out of air. The second deceased man was in the lobby.”

  Megan shook her head. “So it’s specific to the building material.”

  Adrian nodded. “Which means he has to know how to recalibrate, or he’ll have to carefully pick targets.”

  “Wouldn’t a bomb have been so much easier?”

  Ramirez shrugged. “This is destruction to a very specific target. The buildings around it were unaffected and still standing. They weren’t damaged at all apart from debris and dust. If you want to be precise, then it’s a good weapon to use.”

  “But it was experimental,” she said. “So the blackmailer had to know it existed back when it was in a secret research lab.”

  “My office is looking at who knew about that facility,” Adrian said. “But its more people than you’d think, given the government. Oversight committees. The Pentagon. Admin staff. It wasn’t top secret. It was auditory research.”

  “But the weapon was high level clearance stuff, right?”

  Adrian nodded. “The security guards even knew what was in there. Cleaning staff. There are a lot of people to interview, and we won’t know if they’re connected until we find another place in which their name comes up. There have to be multiple points of contact.”

  She knew that. Why he needed to explain it, she didn’t know. Megan had gone through FBI training. She’d investigated crimes. She knew that someone could only be considered a suspect if their name came up more than once, and they were connected in more than one way to a crime. That was the kind of person who warranted more than basic scrutiny.

  Someone with something to lose.

  Adrian wrapped it up with Ramirez, getting the timeline of exactly how things had gone down.

  Ramirez said, “I’ll send you everything we have on the two victims.”

  They gave him their email addresses, and Megan pulled it up on her phone. She debated whether to send the information on to Steve. Was the blackmailer that deep in their system? He could have someone able to get past any kind of encryption they used working for him, even the kind the FBI employed. This whole thing was a delicate balance. Not letting the blackmailer know where they were at with the case, but keeping everyone in the loop.

  She scrolled through the information on the two dead men—one on the janitorial staff, and the other was a former Army general, retired now. He had been part of the think tank’s project.

  “Do you know what they were working on?” she asked Ramirez.

  The agent shook his head. “Maybe you guys can find that out when you speak to Almonde. Apparently, he’s some kind of genius in biological research.” Ramirez paused. “We have agents locating everyone else who was part of the think tank, including the staff. Trying to find out what we can from them. Why most of them weren’t here this morning, and what they were working on.”

  Megan nodded. It was always a long process, unpacking a tragedy after the fact. Trying to understand who had perpetrated such an act—and why. If they knew who the target was, then they would be one step closer to figuring out the blackmailer’s end game.

  Because she didn’t think the target had been concrete walls and a roof.

  There was more going on here.

  **

  Adrian went first into the lobby of the building in downtown Chicago. The company was only two years old, a start-up that’d come almost out of nowhere to become the leading edge in technology with a biology interface. Literally, plugging people into computers. Though, much of it was still research.

  He didn’t think there would ever be a day where that was a good thing, no matter the applications for medical science. It mattered who was in charge and what their priorities were. And the man behind the think tank, the man who had started this business, was supposed to be a young free-thinker. A visionary.

  Was he also someone who would push the boundaries of morality?

  The receptionist looked up, still talking on her headset. “Yes, I will.”

  Adrian flashed his badge. Beside him, Megan did the same. They’d stopped for food and a fresh change of clothes. Megan had secured her hair in a ponytail, but still wore Converse sneakers with her skinny black pants and blouse. She looked like an office worker who’d left for the day and had to walk ten blocks home, so she’d changed her shoes to do so.

  Or she’d forgotten dress shoes today.

  Everything about her lived outside the tiny box he spent his life in. He was starting to enjoy the feeling of being challenged on literally everything he thought and did. Maybe she didn’t even realize she was doing it. Still, he kind of admired that about her—the fact she was who she was, and she wasn’t going to change or apologize for it.

  Strength born out of a fire that had burned almost her entire life. A trial she may have yet to move past. One that made her who she was—a woman who wasn’t about to back down.

  A woman who might be scared, but still wanted to find a way to get those ghosts of the past out of her life. Once and for all.

  The receptionist hung up. “Yes?”

  He said, “Mr. Almonde is expecting us.”

  “If you’ll come with me.” The voice came out of right field, from a young man in a suit that only highlighted exactly how skinny he was. Tight haircut. Thin-framed glasses. He clutched an iPad to his tie. “It’s this way.”

  His gaze brushed over both of them, dismissing them as irrelevant in one sweep. Then he turned and headed for the elevator.

  Megan glanced at Adrian as they followed. She made a face, wh
ich threatened to make him laugh. He held it in.

  They stepped into the elevator. The assistant jabbed the button for the penthouse and then jerked. Adrian realized he’d noticed Megan’s shoes.

  She grinned. “I have sixteen pairs, all different colors and designs. My nieces drew all over my white pair in colored marker. Permanent. Those are on my mantel at home.” She motioned to her shoes. “These are my dress pair.”

  Adrian bit his lips together to keep from laughing.

  The assistant huffed, then turned away from them. The doors beeped and slid open. He strode out into a luxurious hallway. Marble. Impressive paintings lined the halls. Tiny tables with vases and statues on them.

  “I’m scared to swing my arms. What if I knock something over,” Megan whispered. “Do you think they’ll make me buy it?”

  The assistant threw a set of double doors wide and said, “Two FBI agents are here to see you.”

  Seconds later he was gone, and they were standing alone in the foyer of the penthouse apartment. The entire wall opposite them was made up of floor to ceiling windows.

  A young man wearing bicycle shorts and a tiny tank top strode in, a white towel over his shoulder. Curly hair was matted to his forehead with sweat that dampened his whole torso.

  Adrian should have held out his hand, but didn’t really want to.

  Thankfully the man was undoing the Velcro on his bicycle gloves. He didn’t offer a handshake either, but he clearly noticed Megan. His attention swept down to her shoes and then back up with far more appreciation than the assistant. And not in a way Adrian was all right with.

  “I’m Special Agent Walker. This is Special Agent Perkins. We’re here about what happened at the think tank building.”

  Terrence Almonde nodded, his face displaying appropriate empathy. And a smidge of respect at discovering she was in FBI agent.

  Megan figured Adrian had introduced her that way purely for this reason.

  “Terrible thing.” Terrence moved to a row of cabinets on one wall and opened the one at the end. The inside housed a refrigerator. He pulled out a bottle of sparkling water and held it out. “Drink?”

  They both shook their heads.

  “I’d ask you to sit, but my housekeeper will tan my hide if I get sweat on the fabric.” He paused, then lifted his eyebrows. “On second thought.” He moved to the couch with a slight gallop in his step and sat down. Like a little kid who was going to eat that forbidden cookie out of the jar because the punishment was worth it.

  Adrian just wanted to move this conversation along. “What was the think tank working on?”

  “Ah, yes.” He addressed Megan, who had perched on the edge of an armchair. Adrian stood beside the back corner of the seat. Almonde said, “Fantastically interesting. Genetic research.” He shrugged. “It’s what we do.”

  Okay, so that wasn’t even a complete answer. “And what specifically was the think tank working on?” Adrian assumed they were solving some kind of problem. Get a bunch of people from different backgrounds together, all of them brilliant, to figure out a solution.

  “Well, the science is still very cutting edge. But using DNA research, we’ve isolated genes specific to people groups around the world. They’re working on the viability of using that to…aid the government in their fight against terrorism.”

  Megan chuckled, totally fake. “I’m afraid I got a C in biology. You’re going to have to explain that a little more.”

  Adrian could see the guy was hedging. “I can assure you, we have the necessary security clearance.”

  Almonde waved his hand. “No, no. That’s not it. Well, it’s just all very unsavory really. Talking about,” his voice shifted to a whisper and he leaned forward. “Terrorism.” He made a blech sound and then said, “But one does what one can to fight that good fight, as it were.”

  “So they were using genetic research to target terrorists.”

  “Establishing the scientific basis, and moral implications, of targeting people groups who are known combatants.”

  “Like genocide?” Adrian said, very carefully. “But of our enemies.”

  Almonde blanched. “The effects would be contained and incredibly specific.”

  “But you’re basically talking about killing people, wiping them out.” Regardless of their intentions. They would end life purely due to DNA markers.

  He said, “Enemies of America.” Like Adrian was the one who didn’t understand. “Anyway, it’s only an idea. That’s where the think tank came in.”

  The rest of the conversation didn’t go much better. By the time they reached the elevator, Megan looked even more exhausted. Adrian knew how that felt. “That guy is a piece of work.”

  She nodded. “Okay, because I get that we’re at war with ISIS, and we should use every method available—but that was nuts, right?”

  He nodded as well. “So does the blackmailer want to end the research, hurt Almonde’s business, or was he after one of the people who were killed today?”

  Megan shrugged. They headed through the lobby and out to where he’d parked his car at the curb.

  Seconds later, shots rang out.

  The car windshield shattered. Megan screamed and fell to the ground.

  Chapter 9

  Megan grunted as she landed on the sidewalk, thankfully on her good side. Her hip was going to be bruised tomorrow. Another to add to the list of the injuries she’d gained over the past few weeks. She’d been doing pretty well so far. Healing.

  She lifted her arm. Red and wet. Her head swam. She tried to sit up, but all she could do was lean awkwardly against the dirty car wheel. Two gunshot wounds? And both on the same side.

  “Adrian.” Her voice was barely audible.

  Shots continued. Adrian was to her right, hunkered down. He lifted up. Fired three shots. Back down, behind cover. He looked at her then, his eyes full of thunder. Not happy. She understood that.

  She should help.

  Megan pulled her gun from the holster, thankful it was her left arm that had been injured. She started to shift around so she could fire. Pain ripped through her arm. She hissed out a breath, swallowing back bile.

  “Stay down!” His voice was absolute command.

  But he needed help.

  She tried to shift again but only ended up with her back to Adrian and facing the street. People were hunkered down. Good. Her head swam, her vision blurring. She couldn’t see a thing, let alone focus enough to figure out where the threat was and aim with any kind of precision. She blew out a breath and tried to steady herself. She was the wrong way around. If she leaned against the car now, she’d be leaning on her injured arm. That wouldn’t do any good.

  You’ve been shot again.

  She pushed aside that unhelpful thought and got her legs bent under her so she could at least try to stand.

  “I said, stay down!”

  She gritted her teeth. Sirens could be heard in the distance. There was something to be said for being downtown, where police response was fast. She prayed no innocents had been hurt. They didn’t need more deaths because of this guy’s selfishness.

  A car engine revved and then tires squealed as it sped away. A few more shots slammed against the building behind her. Megan ducked her head, even behind the cover of the car.

  The sound dissipated, and she blew out a breath.

  “Who’s hurt?” Adrian’s voice boomed over the near-silence of the aftermath. Like everyone was afraid to breathe.

  A woman screamed a man’s name, over and over.

  Megan shut her eyes against the flood of wet. Her arm burned. She was alive and Adrian was okay.

  Police showed up. EMTs. Megan waited while they treated those who’d been injured more badly than her.

  Adrian didn’t like it. “I’ll drive you to the hospital.”

  She sucked in a clean breath of air. Enough to say, “I’ll get blood all over the car seat. Again.”

  “I don’t care.”

  She kind of didn�
�t know why she was arguing. She did need to get to the hospital, and the ambulances were being loaded up. “Give me a jacket or something, to wrap it with.”

  When he pulled one from the trunk, she shifted her elbow away from her body. Swayed. Everything went dark for a second, and then Adrian’s arm was around her waist.

  “Okay?”

  Megan nodded, unable to do anything else. “Wind it around my arm.”

  He frowned the entire time. And went way too slow.

  “I’m fine.” Liar.

  He didn’t even react, just finished up and pulled the door open. Helped her to the seat like she was an invalid. He even lifted her legs in.

  She watched him talk to one of the officers and hand over his business card, and then he got in the driver’s seat. She shut her eyes on the way to the hospital, not wanting to talk. Adrenaline just made her mad, and her heart was still racing. Her brain rushed to process the conversation with Almonde, everything at the think tank, and what had just happened in the parking lot. All past the pain in her arm.

  The doctor jabbed her with a needle, and then it got better. She felt the pull of stitches. The slide of thread through her skin. Her brain snagged on that detail. As though it was important in the grand scheme. Or simpler to ponder over than everything else in her life. An interesting detail she wouldn’t have otherwise paid attention to.

  Adrian stood by the bed the whole time, hands on his hips. Jacket splayed wide. Fury on his face. She honestly hadn’t known a man to do that before, but evidently extreme circumstances brought out reactions like that. Everyone knew putting hands on your hips was serious.

  His gaze shifted to her face. “You’re staring at me.”

  “You’re stareworthy.”

  Adrian blinked. Beside her the doctor huffed out a quick laugh. Like he wasn’t sure if he should think that was funny.

  She glanced at the doctor. “Not that you’re not. It’s just…” She didn’t even know what she was saying.

  He shook his head. “Don’t worry about me.” Then aimed his bushy gray eyebrows at her wound again and twisted his mouth as he concentrated on the stitches.