The Suit - Part 4
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THE SUIT - Part 4
By
LJ
Sara was certain that the overly friendly woman was slowly trying to
drive her insane.
It was the only explanation.
The crazy, old woman kept dragging her to the kitchen. When she wasn't
trying to stick needles of odd, and various shapes and sizes into her
hands. Which she inevitably stuck into her own fingers. The cooking was
worse. Far worse.
Sara might be a genius in some areas, usually scientific ones, but she
didn't know a cookbook from a romance novel, so to speak, and preferred
not to trifle with either. Her life was orderly, rational, and suited
her perfectly.
Until the day she walked into the precinct where Detective James Drake
agreed to field test her new prototype camouflage body suit that proved
to exceed any of the parameters she had originally built and programmed
into the nannite driven software. Somehow, he had ended up incorporating
the nannites into his own body, fusing both the program and the suit
itself with his own body, and literally becoming a human chameleon with
abilities they were still exploring.
The fact James was undeniably female was just one more glitch in a
prototype that had worked all too well.
So well an assassin was now after James, or rather Jamie, and herself,
too.
Because Jamie had helped bring down a corrupt director at Gen-Tech who
had thought to exploit her, and her discoveries. Instead, they had
turned his own game against him, and gotten him arrested on some very
serious charges.
So serious the bastard called in an assassin to get rid of them.
Not that their deaths would save him. Ian Harris was just that petty a
person.
Unfortunately, having that assassin meant going where she would least
likely be found. To Sgt. Drake's mother, according to her.
Who was using her protective custody to drive her crazy.
"Mrs. Drake, I have to warn you.....again....I'm just not that good in
the kitchen."
"Nonsense," the woman told her crisply as she continued to set
ingredients out on the counter. "If you can mix up all those test tubes
and such, you can certainly mix up a decent cake.
"And won't everyone be surprised when you serve up a nice chocolate
cake. Everyone loves chocolate cake," Penelope Drake assured Sara with a
wide smile.
"Now, just come over here, and I'll lead you through it step-by-step.
You'll be amazed at how easy it actually is. And how much fun."
Sara refrained from commenting as she tried to think of a way to escape
this madhouse.
She just wished that call she had made earlier had borne better results.
Allen Harding spent about five seconds wondering at his friend, and
colleague's demeanor, and spun his car around in the first intersection
he reached.
More than one late afternoon driver swore, and gave him fingers before
he remembered the siren halfway through his impromptu u-turn, and used
one hand to shove a blue light in the dash as his other fought the wheel
through the ninety degree slide.
"Damn movies make it look easy," he muttered darkly as he turned
sharply, and finished the spin before flooring the accelerator, and
heading for the Sarge's mother's house. He knew the neighborhood should
be safe enough. That was why it had been chosen to hide the doc, after
all. But it the Sarge was that worried, then he was worried, too.
"Dispatch, this is Charlie Nine-Seven. I need you to get a hold of Mike
Parker, ASAP."
"Roger, detective," the voice he couldn't identity as masculine, or
feminine replied. "I'm ringing his cell now."
"Come on, come on," Allen shouted as he wove in and out of the traffic,
braking only when someone froze rather than get out of his way as he
sped past the slower traffic, and finally reached the freeway that would
take him out of town.
"I'm sorry, detective," the dispatch operator came back all too soon.
"We're not getting a reply from his cell, office, or home phones."
"He's not in the filed," he asked needlessly, knowing that dispatch
would have known if he were in a department vehicle.
"No, detective. I'll keep trying, but it looks like he is just out of
touch for the moment."
"Keep trying, and if you reach him, have him call me, or Sgt. Drake at
once."
"Understood," the voice replied evenly. "Where do you want him to
report?"
Allen frowned. "Dispatch," he asked, a lurking suspicion growing in his
mind. "Is Captain McGowan still at the precinct?"
"Uh, no, detective," the reply came too quickly for him. "He's left for
the day."
"All right," he replied, and slowed down, shutting off his siren and
light.
He pulled over, and stopped on the side of the freeway, thinking.
Dave McGowan had retired three years ago, leaving Captain Douglas in
charge of the department.
He knew, because he had given the speech, and made a memorable roast of
the pudgy, pencil-pushing jerk that was still joked about today. He lost
his trademark smirk as he climbed out of the car, walked away, and
pulled his cell out.
He studied the device, pulled it apart, just in case, but saw nothing
but the usual battery pack, and circuitry. No one had slipped anything
in it as far as he could tell.
He eyed the car, and then opened the phone after he put it back together
to dial Jamie's home number.
"C'mon, Sarge," he grumbled. "Answer. Answer."
The number didn't answer, so he switched to the Sarge's cell.
He still didn't answer, and that was not good. Not good at all.
He eyed the car, and suddenly found it less that trustworthy.
Dialing a number he rarely used, the cheery voice answered almost at
once.
"Hello, Drake residence."
"Mrs. Drake, it's Allen."
"Oh, yes," Penelope replied brightly. "Jamie's friend. What can I do for
you," she asked.
"Mrs. Drake, I need you to stay calm, but something weird is going on.
"Mike and Jamie are both MIA, and that was after I got a weird call from
Jamie warning me the assassin might be onto you.
"I've tried to call him back, but he won't....or can't answer.
"Now, he wanted me to come over there, but I have the feeling I'm being
tracked somehow.
"Can you get the doc, and get out of there someplace safe?"
"Well, I...."
"Mrs. Drake, don't tell me anything. For all I know, this conversation
is being monitored.
"I think this guy bugged my squad for sure, so.....don't tell me
anything.
"Just go someplace you think is safe, and get out now.
"And be careful," he said before hanging up.
"Well, that's odd," Penelope said as she turned to Sara.
"What is it," she asked, staring uncertainly at the oven as the smell of
a baking cake emanated from the over.
"That was one of Jamie's detective friends. He thinks we should get out
of the house, and go someplace else. He thinks something is wrong, and
we could be in danger here."
"Oh. What about Jamie?"
"He couldn't reach him after he called with a warning."
"So....where do you we go," Sara asked, her first attempt at baking
forgotten as she looked around the homey kitchen, and tried to imagine
what could have happened that Jamie felt she couldn't handle.
Ever since he had ended up trapped inside her experimental prototype
some nitwit had labeled Chameleon, she had been proving she was a person
of exceptional drive, and determination. Even being transformed into a
very genuine female thanks to a series of inexplicable mishaps that far
exceeded her original test designs, the detective had proven she was
more than just a typical thug with a badge, as her father used to
describe most police officers.
"Why, we're going to stay right here, of course," Penelope told her.
"But, Mrs. Drake," she rasped uneasily.
"Hush, now. Besides, I told you to call me Penny.
"As to leaving, why....we couldn't just abandon your first cake. Just
think what a fine surprise it will be when the boys do stop by later.
"And as to being safe, well, this house is as safe as you can get in
this world.
"And we have plenty of neighbors who are both conscientious, and police
officers, too.
"No, we're staying right here.
"Not to mention, if the bad guy you are afraid of was listening, he'd
naturally expect us to bolt. Staying right here would be the last thing
he would expect. So we safest right here.
"And," she added. "We can finish your cake, which is starting to smell
quite delicious.
"So, shall we start making the icing?"
Sara groaned. "Making....icing? Don't you have...."
"Oh, no, Sara. No, no, no. A homemade cake cannot be topped by some
stiff, artificial paste you buy off the shelf.
"The frosting has to be made from scratch, too.
"Do you want to get a bowl down from that cabinet," she pointed. "I'm
not as spry as I used to be," the old woman smiled, and Sara Eurilyn
groaned again as she thought of all the woman wanted her try.
Sara was certain now. She was definitely in hell, and there was
definitely no escape. She just hoped that Jamie was doing better than
she was just then.
He smiled as he listened to the detective on the phone.
"Well, detective," he turned to eye the burly man dangling from the
overhead beams by heavy chains. "It seems my little game is paying off.
"I've flushed my quarry from their hidey-hole, and soon, I'll have them
where I want them.
"Since I know now that your friend hid the good doctor with his mother,
I just have to find where she lights, and I'll earned my pay once again.
"Not that you'll live to see it happen.
"Unfortunately, you're going to have a very tragic accident."
"Go to hell," Mike Parker growled through bloody lips.
"Language, detective, language," the man chided him.
"You know, I am impressed.
"You, and your friends are quite the challenge. More of a challenge than
I've had in years.
"Even the FBI doesn't quite measure up compared to you three local
police officers. Quite telling, don't you think?"
Mike glared at him through his one good eye. The other was swollen shut,
and he knew he wouldn't be seeing much out of it for a while. If he
lived long enough for the bruises to heal after the beating this freak-
job had given him.
He just couldn't believe he had been suckered by him.
"We're smarter than you think," Mike grumbled. "Especially the Sarge.
He'll figure you out, and then....."
"By now, your sainted superior is having an identity crisis that would
make Nietzsche seem sane.
"He's going to melt down, and I mean violently so, which leaves only one
question.
"Will he ‘go quietly into that good night,' as the bard queries? Or will
he go out in grand, psychotic fashion, taking as many others with him as
his twisted mind can manage?"
"You are a nut job if you think the Sarge is that kind of person. Man,
or woman, Jamie Drake is the best cop in this city, and would slit his
own wrists before he hurt someone else."
"Good. A nice, tidy suicide would fit right in with my needs," the man
sniggered as he turned back to the laptop that was tied into half the
city's communications somehow.
Mike had to admit, the guy was smart.
He didn't even have to leave this dimly lit dungeon, wherever it was, to
know what was going on. He just sat back pulling strings, and let
hirelings take the risks why he profited from the end results. He didn't
want to admit it, but even the Sarge might be out of his league on this
one.
"Now, as for your last colleague, I shall have to design something
suitable for that buffoon.
"What do you think?
"A bloody, spectacular accident," he asked as he tapped keys in rapid
succession.
"Or a case of mistaken identity that leads to
something.....unfortunate," the man grinned like a bad movie villain.
"This isn't over," Mike said grimly, wishing he believed his own words
as his body ached hellishly from the thorough beating the man had given
him.
To his credit, he had not given him a single answer to any of his
questions.
Not that it mattered.
This guy was proving he was as good as the hype.
And that scared Mike.
A lot.
"What do you mean you came back alone," Ben asked Allen after Allen
dragged him out of his office into the women's bathroom, of all places.
"I had a hunch after I got a weird vibe off the dispatcher.
"Who turned out to be a fake.
"There was a tracking bug in the car, Cap, and someone had wired the
radio so that I was talking to someone besides our dispatcher.
"If I hadn't suckered them on McGowan, I wouldn't have known for sure,
they were that good."
"So, you don't know where the doctor went?"
"I tipped off Mrs. Drake, and warned her, but, no, I don't.
"I figured no sense in taking chances, since I couldn't be sure my cell
wasn't being intercepted."
"Good point," Captain Douglas nodded leaning back in his chair with a
heavy sigh.
"And you haven't heard from Drake, or Parker?"
"No.
"The Sarge's place was a mess, though. Looks like there was one hell of
a fight.
"I went by Mike's place, but it didn't look like he had even been home.
I can't find his car, either."
"What about his GPS?"
"Offline," Allen told him, proving he had thought of that.
"What about his cell GPS?"
"Damn, that's right," Allen slapped his forehead with a palm. "I should
have thought about that one."
"Get on it. And keep me informed.
"Like it, or not, I'm going to have to call in Taylor, and the feds.
This is getting out of hand way too fast."
"I know. Only...."
"I'm worried about them, too, Allen. Just get on it.
"And take a regular squad, and backup with you. No sense taking chances
he bugged all the detective squads."
Allen nodded. "I'll call in the moment I hear anything," he promised,
and headed out of the women's room.
"Wait, why did you bring us in here?"
"Two reasons," Allen paused in the door, ignoring the woman officer
glaring at him from the other side as he stood in the door.
"I figured your office was bugged, too."
"Okay, that's one. And two?"
"I just wanted to see if I could," Allen winked, and left Ben standing
in the woman's room as the officer outside peeked in, asking, "Are you
about done?"
Ben couldn't help but groan, and shake his head as he left the woman's
room, and silently promised that if he lived through this one, Allen
Harding was going to pay. Passing the glaring woman with a faint blush,
he said nothing to the sniggering men and women in the precinct as he
headed back for his office.
All the same, he stopped to pay a trip down to supply before he actually
returned to his office.
Sara looked outside the window, but all she saw was the old woman next
door playing with her garden again. She sighed, and turned back to the
cheerfully, obviously feminine house that was nice enough, even it
wasn't her style.
Nelly would love it, she was sure.
The older woman that was friend, and colleague was a woman with a
frustrated housewife fantasy lurking in her background.
Why, she didn't know. She didn't ask. She just wished she knew what was
going on out there.
"Do you think standing in the window is a good idea when there's a
hitman out there looking for you," Penny asked her brightly as she came
into the living room fresh from folding linen she actually ironed.
By hand.
"This from a woman that jogs every morning," she asked.
"I always change my route. Keeps the young thugs guessing," the older
woman smiled.
"As if anyone would risk Baby's wrath," Sara added, having met the
family dog who was the size of a small pony.
"Oh, pooh. Anyone that knows us will know that Baby is just what she
sounds like. A big baby."
"I know. Her bark is worse than her bite."
Penny cocked her head thoughtfully. "You know, dear, I haven't the
foggiest. I don't think she's ever bitten anyone."
Sara groaned.
It was going to be one of those days. She just knew it.
"So, what do we do today?
"Seal the windows? Barricade doors?"
"I think we should bake bread," Penelope smiled at her. "Everyone loves
fresh baked bread."
"I don't think...."
"Trust me, Sara," she smiled. "Just think how lovely your cake turned
out.
"And how surprised everyone will be when you can offer them freshly
baked bread."
"Surprised won't be the half of it," she muttered as she followed
Penelope Drake to the kitchen. "I'm beginning to see where Jamie gets
her stubbornness."
"Persistence, dear," the old woman smiled at her. "There's a difference.
"You should know that.
"Now, first we have to make sure we have all the ingredients....."
Sara groaned, knowing today was going to be a long day again.
While she followed the woman to the kitchen, she couldn't help but think
there was an easier way to all this baking. Wasn't that why stores sold
bread, and pastries? So people didn't have to spend their whole days in
a kitchen doing what they would rather not be doing.
Especially when their mind was a hundred miles away on something else.
Or someone else.
Allen sifted through the ruin of Jamie's apartment, his attention
focused on every detail as the uni's helped take prints, and bag
evidence.
The black roses had been an obvious tell, but the florist's card had not
told them anything except an online customer had ordered them, and the
purchaser was hidden behind so many firewalls, routers, and double-
blinds they couldn't backtrack him. He was still working on that angle,
though, because the money had to come from someplace that paid the
order. Meanwhile, he was back at the proverbial square one.
Two days, and not one sign of the Sarge, Mike, or the mystery man.
Hopefully, Mrs. Drake had gone to ground, and she and the Doc were safe.
The old woman was a clever one, he knew, and nobody's fool. He would
have liked to call her, but he didn't even know if she even had a cell
phone, or if he would have risked calling her anyway if had the number.
He eyed the remains of the smaller phone, and realized the Sarge had
mangled his, that is, her cell as well as the house phone.
Purposely?
It was hard to tell.
"Detective," a young, wiry uniform called from the bedroom. "You want to
come take a look at this?"
"What is it," he asked, rising from the discarded ruin that had been a
cell phone that looked as if it had been crushed in a vice.
"You have to....
"Well, I'm not sure," the young officer told him honestly as he stood in
the door of Jamie's bedroom, and looked ill at ease.
Allen walked over, eyed the general mayhem of the bedroom that looked
like a professional had tossed it, but good.
Even the small television, the only one in the house, had been smashed.
"Anything in particular?"
"In the closet, Detective Harding," the officer pointed as Allen's eyes
swept over the room, noting nothing had been disturbed since his initial
survey of the place. At least the rookie knew enough to keep his hands
off evidence.
He walked over, noted the walk-in closet's light was on, and looked
inside.
He noted the more masculine clothing still filling the closet had been
shoved aside to make room for a feminine wardrobe. All as conservative,
and prim as the male clothing had been. They had been shoved in the
opposite direction, and he saw at once what drew the rookie's attention.
"Get forensics' in here," he said, looking at the bloody letters drawn
across the back of the closet wall as he read, and reread the words
again as he tried to put things in perspective.
There was no other blood in the apartment. Not that he could see as yet,
but that was why he had called in the lab boys. They could see things
with their toys that he couldn't. This was obvious even to him, though.
Six inch letters written in blood were a little obvious, even when
hidden behind a closet full of clothing.
"What tipped you off," he asked the uni after the man shouted for the
criminalists.
"Well, word is that the sergeant got....well, turned into a chick."
"He did. Just don't call him that to his face unless you want to spend a
month in traction," Allen smiled ruefully.
"Well, detective, if that is true, I was kind of curious as to why all
the women's clothes were shoved back, and only the men's clothes were in
front when I opened the door.
"That was rather.....odd. Considering."
"Good instincts......Hawthorne," he read the rookie's nameplate. "You
might have the makings of a detective if you keep it up."
"I just want to do what I can to help, sir," the young man said in a
sincere tone that told Allen how much of a rookie he actually was yet.
"That's a good attitude," he nodded as two women entered the bedroom.
"You got something, detective," the older one asked as she led the way,
already wearing gloves as she set her kit down in the middle of the
floor, and snapped it open.
"Blood in the closet. I need it tested, and.....check the men's suits.
Thoroughly.
"I think Sgt. Drake might have been trying to leave a message.
"I'll be back at the precinct," he told her as he turned to go. "So if
you come up with something, page me at once."
"Will do, Harding," the older woman nodded as the younger woman took out
a small flashlight, and shone it inside.
Allen left them in the bedroom, walked back through the apartment on his
way to the door now guarded by two older uniforms, and shook his head.
"Damn, Sarge, what happened here," he asked no one in particular before
shaking his head, and heading for his new ride.
He had taken to randomly snatching rides with squads to keep anyone from
guessing where he would go next. He had kept his cell for the time
being, the lab boys' having cleared it as far as any tracking devices,
or spy-chips, but there was still the chance it was being monitored.
These days, any hacker with a cell tower's frequency could listen in on
calls.
"Let's go," he told the officer standing outside the apartment, doing
little more than drawing attention to the fact no less than a half dozen
official vehicles were outside Jamie's apartment by now. Naturally, no
one in the area, or even the building had seen or heard a thing.
"Where to now, detective?"
"Back to the precinct," he told the man. "I have a few things to go
over."
"Will you be long? I still have a patrol....."
"Just drop me off, and you can go. I'll probably be a while on the
paperwork," he told him, preferring not to say anything of his plans out
loud just then. Certainly not when anyone, anywhere might be listening.
"As expected, your colleague is floundering like the fool he is," the
assassin chuckled as he studied the laptop before him. "It's almost
painful watching him overlook the obvious right before his eyes."
Mike said nothing as he glared holes in the man's broad back, knowing
that stocky frame was not soft. The jerk was nothing but hard muscle,
and a lot of it. He had put a few bruises on the bastard's chin when he
jumped him, but even he had not been skilled enough to stop him when he
proved to be all his reputation claimed.
The assassin could have easily killed him, and he knew it.
He had a weakness, though, and he wasn't going to point out that Allen
might look, and act like a fool, but he had not earned his detective's
badge by being a clown. He was a damned smart, and uncannily intuitive
detective who had proven himself more than once in the past few years
since making the grade. If Allen was showing his clownish side, or
bumbling around, it was usually because he thought he was onto
something.
Mike felt no reason to point that out.
He damn sure wasn't going to defend his friend to this asshole.
What confused him, though, was that if the Sarge wasn't with Allen, and
the assassin hadn't nailed him, where was he? Or she?
He had yet to pin down the Doc, either, and it seemed Mrs. Drake had
gone to ground so well the clever bastard still couldn't find her. He
knew, because the man had the tendency to talk to himself, and he was
slowly getting the feeling the man wasn't quite tightly wrapped.
He couldn't deny he was smart, and deadly, but he was definitely one
step from a straitjacket.
"Nothing to say," the man asked with a smirk as he turned in his chair
to eye Mike as he dangled from his chains, his bruised and swollen
features dark with contempt.
"I didn't want to interrupt you," Mike drawled in a raspy voice, wishing
for water, but doubting this bastard would offer any. "You're obviously
a busy man."
"Obstinate to the end," the man drawled. "Well, I'd kill you now, but
you might prove valuable.
"Besides," the man known only as Adam smirked. "I wasn't paid to kill
you.
"Although, there is often collateral damage in any operation."
"Don't go out of your way on my account," Mike muttered crossly.
"Oh, I won't," the man told him, looking back at the laptop, and pushing
a few more buttons that made the screen change images, and flicker
between several images before focusing on one.
It showed Allen hard at work on a file at his desk in their office.
Mike hid his surprise.
You had to tie Allen to his chair to get him to fill out paperwork. Even
then, he almost always ended up doing most of it for him.
That meant, either Allen was playing games, or......
He knew he was being watched.
Mike bit back his chuckle, coughed, guessing at what his colleague was
doing now.
"What would you do if Big Brother did start filming your life," he had
once asked him when Allen ranted against government video surveillance
as a violation of a free, and unhampered life in an allegedly free
Democracy.
Allen had laughed, and in an almost predictable display of mulish humor,
declared, "I'd ensure I gave them so much drivel, that they'd be bored
to tears so they wouldn't be watching by the time I did something
interesting."
He could see his friend and partner's brows waggle at that, and realized
he was doing just as he had claimed. Boring his audience, and making
himself look predictable.
He just hoped he was still around when Allen chose to do something
interesting.
Allen studied the reports given him by the FBI on Adam's known methods,
and past victims. The ones known. They had speculated he might have been
behind quite a few more ‘accidental' deaths, but the evidence was
circumstantial at best, and only speculative.
He was smart, this Adam, but he tended to have a bit of an ego when it
came to certain cases.
Allen knew ego could be exploited. From the lowest dealer, to the
biggest kingpin, or wannabe, ego could trip you up every time. The Sarge
had pointed that out in his first week under James'.....Oops, Jamie's
authority. He noted the assassin liked to rub the feds' nose in it now
and then on certain high-profile cases.
He also tended to work on exploiting the resources at hand.
Less to carry, Allen surmised. Why advertise you're about to kill
someone by carrying bombs, or whatever, when you can just use the
typical household goods, or appliances to do the job for you?
Still, he was using a few extra appliances this time.
Hacking their dispatch, and knowing the location of every city-wide
video camera spoke of a certain familiarity with the system, and the
area.
A native? Or someone with ties to the area?
Either way, that made it harder. The guy could blend in so well he'd
never catch a break.
There had to be something, though. Something obvious that was being
overlooked.
He flipped back through the file, taking care not to glance toward the
vent where he had already found a very cleverly hidden micro camera. He
had started to pull the device out, but chose to exploit it for the time
being. It was video only, not audio, so he wasn't overly worried about
it. Especially since he had already swept for audio transmitters, and
destroyed the five found between the Sarge's, and the captain's offices.
So far, they had yet to find any more of the bugs, but they still
checked regularly.
Odds were, they were planted by a janitor that was on a late shift with
access to the precinct's offices. He was still following that lead, but
the company employed by the city used so many transients that it was
almost impossible to track every particular worker that might have been
employed at any given time. Especially with so many false names, and
borrowed ID's used by the influx of immigrants from all over the world
of late.
He was still running ideas through his head, a vague suspicion of a
pattern starting to rise, when his desk phone rang.
Keeping one eye on the report he was scanning, he snatched up the
receiver, barking, "It's your dime."
"Calls haven't been that cheap in years, detective," a familiar voice
remarked smugly. "I believe I have something for you, if you would like
to come down."
"I'll be right down," he told the city's lead forensics expert.
"First off," Dr. O'Larkin told Allen as he looked up from the microscope
she was looking into as the detective entered the lab. "I am only
assuming this is Sgt. Drake's blood."
"Assuming? You couldn't match....?"
"I'm not even sure it's human," she cut the sandy-haired man off curtly.
"All I know for certain is that it's so full of nannites that it can't
be anyone but the sergeant's from the rumors I've heard."
"Okay, so.....what makes it so weird? I mean, the Sarge is still human.
Isn't she?"
"Like I said, detective, I'm not sure what I've got.
"Can't you decipher the nannite progs, and....."
"That's another part of the puzzle," Sara O'Larken told him. "Most
nannites, once their program is run, simply shut down until either
extracted, or needed again in some future contingency.
"These.....
"Well, look for yourself," she pointed at the scope.
Allen looked into the scope, not even pretending he didn‘t understand
things here in the lab. Too much was at stake for games just then, and
they both knew it. "Are they....?"
"Self destructing on a massive scale. The thinner the blood sample, the
faster the shut down. It's like they somehow known they aren't part of
the host any longer, so they're simply shutting down, and destroying
themselves."
"And that ‘not human' part you were mentioning?"
"The blood plasma appears human, but it's so full of nannites, even if
they are destroying themselves, that there is no room for platelets, or
white blood cells. Nothing like the average human being would be
carrying in their veins," Sara told him. "Frankly, it's like.....the
nannites must be taking over even that aspect of life for him.
"Ah, her.
"Whatever," Allen waved dismissively. "Anything else you can tell me?"
"Yes," Sara told him as she went over to a small, plastic baggies, and
held up two tiny transmitters. "That card from your mystery florists
wasn't exactly stock.
"This little bugger had the usual, if bizarre tune one expects.
"This one self-destructed after delivering a high-frequency message that
lasted approximately two and a half seconds at the most before it burned
itself out."
"How do you know...."
"Logic. There was just enough core memory in the device to allow for
something of that duration. Considering its physical hardware, it was a
high frequency sound with an underlying pulse obviously aimed at
something....."
"The memory progs," Allen surmised.
"That'd be my guess. If not the nannites themselves.
"Still, there is no way of knowing how Sgt. Drake, or the memory
downloads, or even the nannites were affected by the pulse that must
have hit him, or, ah, her at such close range."
"All right. So, someone had to alter the card, and that means someone
had to pick up the flowers personally to get access to that card.
"That's something, Sara," he nodded. "Thanks."
"Anything I can do to help," she told him.
"Thanks. So.....You can't guess how the Sarge might have reacted?"
"Like I said, detective. Without more data, I can't begin to guess.
Whatever this was, though, it was obviously meant to do some serious
harm.
"It's possible that the destruction of the nannites we're seeing is a
result of that sound burst. If it is....."
"With the nannites now part of his metabolism, the Sarge could be
literally going to pieces," he grimaced.
Sara shrugged, shaking her head as her short, dark hair moved around her
plain features. "Sorry I can't give you any better news."
"You gave me at least one clue, Sara. That florist is more than we had,
and now we know they didn't exactly tell the truth when they claimed no
one made, or possibly picked up the order in person."
"Let me know if you find anything else," Allen told him.
"There is one more thing," she told him.
"Yeah?"
"That bug from your car?"
"What about it?"
"It's high-tech stuff. The kind feds use."
"Say what," he frowned.
"And it's still transmitting.
"The thing is....I kind of back-traced it, and the read-out didn't make
any sense."
"What do you mean," he asked, thinking of Carl Taylor, and how he'd like
to put him in an interview room. One without cameras."
"The trace led me to Sgt. Parke's own house."
"Wait. You're telling me, whoever was tracking me.....was doing it from
Mike's place?"
"Yes. I figured it was a dead end, or maybe it had been rerouted, or
something, but....."
"Did you tell anyone else about this?"
"Just you. Frankly, those feds piss me off, too," the woman told him
bluntly.
"Yeah, I can definitely relate.
"Do me a favor, Sara. Keep this between us. I'll owe you one, ‘kay?"
"Don't think I won't call that in, either," she told him with a crooked
grin.
"Anytime," he told her as he left her lab. "After we find the guys."
"Well, well, well," the jerk said as he studied a camera that was on
Mike's upstairs living area. "Someone is being clever."
Mike's good eye focused on the monitor, and watched Allen's skinny, and
slightly out of focus body move across the camera's field, his gun in
hand as he slowly eyed everything around him. He wanted to grin, but his
stiff, swollen face wasn't feeling up to it, and he was just dehydrated
enough that he wasn't up to anything just then except dangling there in
his own basement.
"A shame he still won't find anything by visiting the scene of the
crime, as it were," the bastard asked smugly as he had mocked Allen all
along, watching him retraced his steps through the city, and even
revisiting the Sarge's apartment.
Two officers came behind Allen, and they spread out through his house,
and Mike felt faintly disgruntled as he thought of strangers, even
fellow officers, going through his house.
"I hope you don't have anything you don't want them finding," the man
smirked as he sat easily behind his monitors, watching the three
officers move throughout the house.
Right before one monitor went blank.
Then another.
And another.
Adam cursed, sitting up, and frowning as he lost all eyes on the upper
house, and rose to his feet, staring at the blank monitors.
His smug expression was gone now, and he glanced balefully at Mike as he
pulled a gun, and reached for a switch beside the laptop. "Apparently,
your friend is cleverer than I gave him credit for, detective.
"Too bad for him.
"And you."
He then bolted for the back steps that led into the yard, and the thick
woodlands behind his house.
Meanwhile, Mike couldn't help but stare at the small device that was
steadily counting down from five minutes toward zero.
It was just past three minutes when Allen's voice reached him, calling
to the other officers, "Down here. There's light down here."
"Get out of here," Mike shouted as best he could when he spotted Allen
with his good eye. "Bomb!"
Allen frowned, and ran to his side, seeing the chains, and locked
manacles. He then spotted the timer even as the two uniforms came down
the stairs behind him. He impulsively grabbed the wires between the
timer, and the laptop, and simply pulled them all out. The timer stopped
instantly.
"You're an idiot," Mike hissed, his breath caught in his throat as he
fully expected to die just then as the timer stopped at three seconds.
"A lucky idiot," Allen grinned. "And don't tell me you aren't glad to
see me."
"He just ran out the back," Mike added as Allen started checking the
laptop, seeing what else it might be wire into considering all the
monitors and wires he had unplugged.
"At least you got a good look at him."
"For all the good it will do," he grumbled as one of the uniforms
radioed for backup, and an ambulance. "He uses plasti-masks. I saw him
take off one when he first arrived, and odds are, he has others."
"Well, you saw at least one face," Allen grumbled. "That's something,"
he said, spotting a hacksaw, and discounting it. "Now, let's get you
down," he said, and pulled his pistol.
"Hey, hold on," Mike howled as the pistol went off with a deafening echo
even as his chains came loose, and he slumped into the first officer's
arms.
"Idiot," Mike grumbled, and fell to his knees when the police officer
couldn't hold his weight. "My partner is an idiot."
"You forgot lucky," Allen quipped as he holstered his weapon, hiding his
own concern when he saw how bad off Mike was just then.
"Yeah, you're lucky," Mike grumbled as they levered him into the chair
to rest as Allen sifted through the mess on the workbench to try to find
something to remove the manacles. His tone implied luck had very little
to do with anything Allen did.
"One question," Allen asked. "Was he using gloves in here?"
"I...."
Mike looked up from his bound hands, and frowned. "I don't think so," he
realized. "I don't think he expected this place to be in one piece when
he left."
"Then watch those chains, and this workbench, guys," Allen said as he
studied the laptop. "Prints aside, we might have finally gotten lucky
with this bastard.
"Now, if we could only find Sarge."
"You lost her," Mike frowned.
"I was looking for her when I ran into you," Allen told him curtly.
"He was complaining he wasn't going to be able to see her meltdown
before you showed up," Mike realized as the paramedics arrived with four
plainclothes detectives, and another half dozen uniforms at that point.
"Meltdown," Allen frowned. "Sara found a weird transmitter in a card
sent from a florist to Sarge's house. She thinks it might have affected
the nannite's in her system, and maybe.....well....messed her up
somehow."
"Damn," Mike grumbled as one of the paramedics finally freed his hands
by using a very sharp scalpel to simply slice the leather manacles off
his thick wrists.
"Yeah.
"I'm curious, though," he said as the other detectives began cataloging
things in his basement, and taking prints around them.
The laptop had already been tagged, and was in Allen's possession. He
didn't trust it to anyone else just then.
"Yeah," he asked, turning to watch a detective pull wires from a hidden
block of military grade explosives.
"Government issued transmitters, and military explosives," Allen
commented. He looked at Mike. "Someone has been bullshitting us from the
start."
"I'll bet we know who," Mike spat, and shoved the paramedic aside who
was trying to get him to lay on a gurney.
"Do I look hurt," he demanded of the man.
"You look as ugly as ever," Allen snorted. "Let the man do his job, and
let's pretend you're really hurt."
"Allen," Mike growled.
"You can slip out of the hospital later. After the feds think you're out
of the picture. Capice?"
"What, you're Italian now?"
"Just go along, you stubborn jerk," Allen grunted, knowing Mike was
likely in more pain than he'd ever admit.
"I'll catch up to you later."
He then turned to the other detectives as his partner was carried back
up the stairs, and told them, "Assume this entire place is wired, and
try to find everything you can. Then search again," he told them. "This
guy is good. So don't overlook anything, how innocuous."
"You can count on us, Harding," the lead detective told him. "I'll have
the bomb squad, and our bug boys sweep the property, too, just to be
certain."
"Good idea. And watch your own asses. I don't think this guy cares if he
takes out any bystanders.
"Speaking of which," he turned to a pair of the uniformed officers. "You
guys follow the ambulance."
The craggy officer nodded without comment as his young companion
grumbled about missing the real excitement.
Allen still wanted to check out that florist himself, so he headed back
to his latest ride, and stowed the laptop in the squad's trunk even as
more uniforms beat the brush around the back of Mike's house. He didn't
think they'd have much luck, but he was starting to think Taylor knew a
few things he wasn't sharing, and he would be talking to him, too, very
soon.
First, the florist.
Then the laptop.
Then he was going to see the captain about just whose side the feds were
on.
"See anything," Sara asked Penelope as she stood frowning over the
cookbook, trying to decide what a pinch of seasoning meant, and how it
mattered to a broth for basting a ham that already seemed overly heavy
on salt, salty seasonings, and other salty additions to require it.
"Just Mrs. Anderson walking her new dog.
"I swear, that old woman has a new dog every other year. She can't seem
to hold onto them for some reason."
"They run away?"
"Probably," she grinned as she settled the curtains back in place. "She
can't stand to pen them up, and thinks all living creatures should live
free.
"I remember a few years ago she was actually part of a protest at the
zoo, demanding they send all the penguins back to the Antarctic. I think
she's a closet hippie," the old woman confided in a secretive whisper as
if anyone outside the house would have overheard her since they were
alone.
"My father thought anyone that lived through the sixties was a hippy,"
Sara told her with a grin as she looked up from the cookbook.
"Did he include himself," Penelope asked impudently.
"Well, of course not," she laughed.
"Is he still alive," she asked her after a moment.
"No. It's just me and Donna," she told her with a sigh, naming her
niece.
"How is she doing?"
"Still comatose," she said quietly, her smile fading. "The doctors
think....Well.....She might stay that way."
"You have to have faith, dear," Penelope told her. "As long as there is
life, there is hope."
"Now you sound like Jamie."
"I should hope so. I lectured that boy....ah, girl, now, I suppose.....
"Anyway, I lectured her long enough that she should know exactly how she
should act by now."
"Well, Penny, I do have faith. Sometimes....it is all that keeps me
going."
"As now?"
"Especially now," she nodded. "It's the not knowing that makes me crazy.
"I can't see how you cope with it. First your husband, and now your
son."
"Being a police officer's wife, or mother, is as much a calling as being
a police officer," Penelope told her sagely. "Unfortunately, there are
quite a few that aren't called, but think they're in love only to find
out they were not meant for the life.
"Even more regrettably, they often have children that are dragged
through the mess they make.
"I never would have married Ben if I weren't absolutely certain I was
going stand by him, and our children, come hell or high water.
"Trust me, this is nothing compared to some of the things we've faced in
the past.
"Why, I recall that time Billy upset some Irish gang members," she
reminisced, and Sara knew she was about to go off into one of her very
long stories just by the look on her face she had come to recognize, so
she quickly shoved the cookbook across the counter, asking, "What is
this for," in genuine confusion. "I mean, there is already so much salt
in this recipe, that....."
"Oh, dear, no," Penny smiled. "Trust me, you need the extra seasoning to
help flavor the meat, and the broth for the gravy.
"Gravy," she frowned.
"Naturally. You want the extra broth for gravy."
"But.....you didn't say anything about....."
"Well, what else do you expect to put on the mashed potatoes," Penelope
asked her, and Sara couldn't help but groan.
Allen walked into the precinct, not too surprised to see Mike sitting in
his chair as he looked over a drawing he had in his hand.
"Going to swing by, were you," the big man grumbled, his fact covered in
white bandages, and one eye still badly swollen.
"You shouldn't be here."
"Bullshit. The Sarge is MIA, we have an assassin after Sara, and the
feds are starting to look more than a little culpable in this one. You
think I'm going to just lay around with all that going on?"
"Taylor is making a lot of noise downtown," Allen told him as he pulled
a folded paper out of his own jacket. "But I have one clue he doesn't
have."
"The laptop give you anything?"
"Nada," he cut off Mike's hopeful expression. "Cheap knockoff he
apparently bought just for the job. I guess he never took his gloves
off, either. We couldn't find a single print on it."
"Yeah, he kept his gloves on all the time. So, what did you get?"
"I tracked down the florist who delivered the flowers to Sarge's place."
"So, the bastard did use online delivery? Then how....?"
"To a point.
"He intercepted the delivery van, and this time," Allen smiled. "We got
lucky."
"You got a shot of his face."
"Just as good," Allen said, holding out the picture. "The delivery boy
is a struggling artist. He drew the man's face that took the delivery up
himself."
Mike frowned as he looked at the pudgy features, and the eyes.
Especially the eyes.
"This is my guy," Mike told him, holding up the image created by the
precinct sketch artist for him.
"Maybe we can get some commonalities from these," Allen remarked
thoughtfully as he studied the picture.
"No need," Mike said somberly as he wadded up his picture and tossed it
to the trash, missing the can for the first time in years as he rose to
take Allen's picture. "I know that face."
"What," Allen asked.
"Come on. We gotta find the Sarge. And I know a good place to start."
"Wait. Who is it? What are you talking about," Allen said.
"Too many ears," Mike cut him off. "The feds have been in and out of
here all evening."
"Right," Allen nodded. "Let's go."
Mike showed no signs of weakness as he slid a jacket over a bandaged
left hand, and followed him out of the office as they paid no attention
to the new suits that were looking around the office, spending more time
drinking coffee than doing anything else.
"First, we lose the feds," Mike murmured as they headed for the
elevator. "Then we start finding some answers for ourselves."
"Lead the way, big man.
"I'm getting sick of this guy jerking us around, staying one step ahead
of us."
"Yeah, well, I can't believe no one bothered to check my house when I
disappeared."
"They did.
"Only by the time we figured out the guy was tied into our dispatch, and
giving fake calls, we didn't realize he had also faked the all-clear
from your house.
"Hell, if I hadn't caught him in an outright blunder, I never would have
guessed we were bugged myself."
"Guess you're not as dumb as we think," Mike growled as the suits looked
up only as the doors started to slide shut, and he pushed the top floor
buttons.
"Hey!"
"Confuse, and delay," Mike grinned as they got off the elevator after
pushing a few random buttons, and then led him to the stairs.
"Now," the burly detective growled. "Let's go kick some ass."
"Right behind you, partner," Allen agreed.
TO BE CONTINUED................