Plot counterplot, p.22
Plot/Counterplot, page 22
Seamus drew himself up, brushed himself off, and then, to the man’s great consternation, smiled. “That’s the one chance you get to touch me. Next time, I take you out.”
Both Mr. Cleans smirked. Karen stood to the side, keeping her distance. Seamus noticed she wasn’t smiling so much. But she had a lot more experience, and probably a lot more smarts, than these two did.
“Up yours, old man.” The Mr. Clean who’d attacked him grunted. “In about two seconds, I’m gonna rip that smile off your face with my teeth.”
Seamus gave Karen a long look. “Really? This is what you travel with now?” He turned back to the large man looming three feet away. “All right, Bluto, you want a fight, you’ve got a fight. Fair and square. No weapons. Just you and me. On the count of three. Got it?”
“Got it,” the man snarled, tossing his gun away.
“One,” Seamus said.
The man bounced up and down on his toes, flexing his muscles, pounding his fists together.
“Two.”
Seamus lunged forward, clapping his palms hard over both sides of the man’s head, shattering his eardrums. The man cried out, and while he was off-balance, Seamus grabbed him by the ears and jerked his head downward till it smashed into the brick mantle of the fireplace. Blood spurted from his forehead. While he was crouched over, Seamus rammed his knee into the man’s gut. He stumbled forward. Seamus grabbed a poker from the stand beside the fireplace and swung it like a golf pro, right into the man’s ribcage. He screamed, teetered, staggered. Seamus brought his foot up between the man’s legs. That dropped him to the floor, face first on the carpet, blood streaming from his mouth and the side of his head.
Seamus pressed his shoe against the side of the man’s head. “If you move, I kick you in the face. You won’t like what that does to your pretty-boy looks.”
He saw the man’s partner hovering indecisively in the background.
“Well, baldie? Are you going for it? Or are you gonna be smart and go make yourself a nice peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich?”
The man continued dancing. He glanced back at Karen.
“Oh, leave already,” Karen said. He did.
Karen marched up to Seamus, arms akimbo. “You cheated!”
“Excuse me?”
“You said you were going to count to three. You never said three!”
“I was never good with math.”
“You’re a goddamn bully.”
“I’m a federal agent,” Seamus replied. “And I’ll do whatever I have to do. Your girlfriend poses a serious threat to the nation. And I think you know it.”
“I don’t! I know nothing!”
“You’re lying through your crooked teeth. She was behind the attack on the Cartwright Institute. I know she was after Dr. Karelis. I know she has the writer. And I know where she is.” He took a breath. “She’s going down, Karen. The only question is whether you’re going with her.”
She turned away, pacing in front of the fireplace. Seamus kept his foot on Mr. Clean’s face.
“I want you out of my house,” Karen said.
“Fine. But I’ll be back. With a subpoena. And this time we’ll take you downtown. As a foreign national and a person of interest, there’s no telling when you’ll get out. If ever.”
“I’m calling my lawyer.”
“I hope your lawyer is more effective than your thugs.”
She opened the door. “Get—out!”
He passed through the door, smiling. “Till we meet again.”
She slammed the door behind him.
Seamus strolled down the sidewalk, adjusting his tie. Nothing like a hearty workout to get your blood pumping. He didn’t mind a little physical activity now and again. But he would’ve been pissed if the cretin had ruined his tie.
Especially since the wire was planted inside it, woven into the silk fibers.
He walked to the van parked halfway down the street and knocked. “Open sesame.”
Leilani opened the door. Behind her, he saw the sound tech working a keyboard, earphones clamped over his head.
“Did you get it?” Seamus asked.
“Every word,” the tech replied.
“Did she pick up the phone?”
“About a second after she slammed the door on your ass.”
“And you’ve got the line tapped?”
“I can hear every beep. It’s a cell phone. Give me two minutes and we’ll have the location.”
Seamus smiled. Perfect.
The sound tech put the audio on the speakers so Seamus and Leilani could hear it in real-time.
“Hello.” The voice was Irish. Seamus winked at Leilani. Bingo.
“This is Karen.”
“Why are you calling me on this number? I told you—”
“I think you’re in trouble. I just had a visit from that bastard McKay. From the CIA.”
“He’s not in the CIA anymore.”
“He’s sure as hell in something, because he knows all about you.”
“Like what?”
“Like he says you were behind the attack on the Cartwright Institute.”
“He’s guessing.”
“And he says you were after some German guy. Weird name. Started with a ‘K.’”
“Krakow?”
“No.”
“Karelis.”
“That was it!”
There was a pause on the other end of the line. “What else?”
“Don’t ask me why, but he thinks you’re involved with some writer.”
Another pause. When the voice returned, it was urgent and forceful. “Karen, hang up the phone.”
“But—”
“Right now. I’m hanging up. Disconnect the line.”
Seamus nodded at the tech. Smart lady.
“But he said—”
“Write me a letter. Post an encrypted message on the bulletin board. But for now, hang up!”
The line disconnected on both ends, making a sharp squealing sound in the van.
“She figured it out,” Leilani said, frowning.
“Yes,” Seamus answered. “But in time?”
The tech was still punching buttons. “I got her position down to a one-mile radius.”
“That’s better than nothing. Where was she?”
“Triangulating now.” Seamus watched as an aerial map appeared on the tech’s laptop screen. The crosshairs gradually zeroed in. “It’s in Honolulu.”
That makes sense. Keep working it...
“She was on a cellphone. But I’m bouncing off three wireless towers...” The tech stroked a few more keys. “That’s weird. It’s coming from somewhere in or near the University of Hawaii campus. What would she be doing there?”
“Not studying Irish literature,” Leilani said. Isn’t that where you met Dr. Scheimer?”
“Yes,” Seamus replied. “Because that’s where he’s conducting his research. Under heavy guard.”
“Then why is she there?”
“I don’t know. But if she’s there, Xavier might be, too. And if we can find them, we might find Dylan.”
Chapter 46
2:10 p.m.
One hour left
Dylan sat in a dull gray minivan parked on the edge of campus just off the south oval. They had sixty minutes to pull this off. If they weren’t done by then, they never would be. The diversion would be over and security would realize they had intruders.
It wasn’t much time. But it would be enough. If the plan worked. If he had anticipated every contingency.
“Stupid holiday,” Xavier grunted. “Why celebrate holiday no one else does?”
Kalifa, a lifelong Hawaiian resident, replied without looking up from his laptop. “Didn’t they have holidays back in Russia?”
“Not like this.”
“I don’t doubt that. PFD—Personal Freedom Day—is a weird little holiday, if that’s the right word. It’s never been embraced by any government. Started right here on this campus. It started with Kuhio Day, a genuine Hawaiian holiday honoring one of the most beloved figures in Hawaiian history. A man who fought for the rights of the people, the homeless, the indigent. To prevent the Hawaiian race from becoming extinct. But on campus, it was too often treated like St. Patrick’s Day and Mardi Gras and other genuine holidays that turn into drunkfests.”
“Well,” Xavier said dryly, “that explains parades and beer and giant bobbleheads.”
“Many thought this was disrespectful and offensive—because it was—and so over time a new holiday was created, something that could be celebrated any way people chose, because after all—it’s Personal Freedom Day. Like Burning Man, only Hawaiian. Flash mob celebrations here and at other Hawaiian universities. A parade here on the main campus, fueled by alcohol and pakalolo. And this is key—with so many events occurring all over the island, the police have limited resources to cover it all.”
Xavier sniffed. “Still don’t like it.”
Tolga pulled clothes—later to be shed—over his nylon body stocking. “I think what bothers you about the big heads is that you have to wear one.”
“Big head looks stupid.”
“Yes,” Dylan said, “but if you don’t wear it, the guards will realize you’re not a college student. Once you put it on”—He glanced out the van window—“you’ll blend in with about six hundred other people out there wearing goofy heads, masks, or costumes.”
Still frowning, Xavier pulled on the enlarged polystyrene head. A grinning face with a big up-curled moustache. “Undignified. Make me long for days in Russian mafia.”
The parade headed their way. “All right, team,” Dylan said, cracking open the rear doors. “Let’s rock and roll.”
* * *
Xavier joined the parade outside Kuykendal Hall, about a block before it reached the new Harrison Elliot Research Lab beside the Physical Sciences building. No one seemed to notice him amidst the floats and marching bands and cheerleaders . The copious quantities of alcohol floating around probably had something to do with that.
Just about the time he reached the front of the lab, Xavier swerved out of the parade line. A security guard posted in front of the entrance immediately moved toward him.
Xavier bobbed and weaved like a pro. Anyone watching Xavier would think he was drunk. At the same time, he was not so over-the-top as to attract unwanted suspicion. It was a nuanced performance, not vaudeville.
Though remaining friendly and casual, the guard intercepted Xavier before he reached the front door. He grabbed Xavier by the big cartoon head and brought him to a stop.
“Wait a minute, brah. I think you’re lost.” He was a tall slender man, wiry. Xavier could take him out effortlessly. But that wasn’t the plan.
Even though the head was frozen plastic, the way Xavier moved suggested extreme disorientation and imminent illness. “My Lizzie dumped me...Dumped me on Personal Freedom Day...”
“Broken heart and heavy drinking. Never a good combination. Where do you live? Athletic dorm?”
A logical guess, given Xavier’s size. Xavier mumbled an incoherent response.
“Let me call someone from Campus Security and they’ll—”
Xavier held up his hands, pantomiming panic. “Not the cops! Not the cops!”
“Don’t worry, nothing’s going to happen to you.” The guard—his badge said his name was Detwiler—placed his hands on Xavier’s shoulders. “They’ll just take you somewhere you can lie down and sleep it—”
“Oh my God!” Xavier doubled over and made a retching sound Dylan could hear a hundred feet away. “I—think I am going to hurl!” He turned suddenly and wrapped himself around the guard’s waist.
“Don’t do that.” Detwiler tried to pull away, but Xavier held fast. “They don’t pay me enough for this. Let me go. I—”
The guard tried to extract himself, without success.
“Please do not—Ohhhhhh!” Xavier pushed a small needle into the plastic bag concealed within his plastic head. He held fast to the guard’s waist as the artificial vomit spewed out of the mouth hole all over the man’s pants. Fake but highly realistic, including the odor.
“Oh, geez, don’t—” Detwiler tried to pull away, but Xavier held fast. The guard turned his head, disgusted, and held up his hands, trying to keep them out of the line of spewage.
And that was their cue. While the guard’s head was turned and his attention was diverted, Dylan,Mikala, and Tolga crept out from behind the hedge and moved quietly toward the door. Tolga had the forged access card they’d created based on the card Xavier extracted from the former assistant head of campus security. He jabbed it into an electronic reader and pushed open the door.
* * *
“We’re inside.”
Dylan could hear the clickety-clack of Felix’s keypad transmitting through the kid’s mouthpiece. “Very good. Were you spotted?”
“I don’t think so. Xavier proved a great distraction. And the people watching the parade are in another world.”
A few more rapid-fire keystrokes. “I’m getting your GPS signal. Smart dust is operational. Coordinating with the schematics for the building. Tolga?”
“I’m here.”
“Your entrance is six feet to the left, then three feet to the north. Then up.”
They paced out the instructions, which led to a corner in the front foyer of the building, just outside the sweep of the security cameras.
He spotted a panel in the ceiling held fast by four screws. At first glance, he might’ve thought it was a ventilation shaft. If he didn’t know better.
“How long have I got?”
There was a slight pause before Felix answered. “Xavier is keeping the guard distracted. Eventually the man will call campus security. But you’re good for now. I can see the guard and I can overhear anything he says into his radio. Nothing’s going to happen fast today.”
Dylan crouched down so Tolga could step onto his back.
“You’ve got about eight-point-two minutes before the security guards arrive to take Xavier away,” Felix informed them. “Once he’s been relieved, Detwiler will return to his station—and if you folks are still hanging around the lobby, he’ll spot you.”
“Already moving.” Standing on Dylan’s back, Tolga rapidly removed the screws using a magnetic induction tool Dylan called a magnasonic screwdriver. It used magnetism and ultrasonic waves to loosen screws and bolts exceptionally fast. In fewer than ten seconds, Tolga had the panel off the ceiling. He shed his outer clothing in five.
Lani peered up into the dark passage. “No way that was meant for humans to slither through.”
“No,” Felix said, “it was designed for cables and wires to serve the geeks’ needs, before the world went wireless. They use robots on a magnetic track to thread the passage. Not humans.”
Tolga pushed off Dylan’s back and pulled himself into the tiny opening. Rippling arm muscles were visible through his tight black clothing. He might be small, but he was all sinewy tendons and strength.
“I don’t think I could even get my face through that opening,” Dylan said.
“Artists do tend to have the swelled head.” Tolga’s shoulders stopped him. With a movement so small that on someone else it might look like a shrug—Tolga dislocated his right shoulder. Then he dislocated the other one. Dylan remembered his struggle to execute a similar maneuver when Leilani was bleeding on the floor. Tolga made it look easy.
“Eeeeewww,”Mikala said, stepping away. “I will never get used to that.”
Tolga slithered into the tiny shaft and launched himself horizontally through it. Even with his shoulders lowered and compressed, he still filled the tiny area. And yet he managed to creep forward incrementally. It was like watching Silly Putty that moved.
“Mr. Fantastic’s got nothing on you,” Dylan commented.
“Well, he’s got a beautiful wife. And a kickass car.”
“Just take the compliment.”
“I don’t mean to interrupt the jocularity,” Felix said, “but the security guards have reached the corner of Hialea. As soon as they figure out how to cut through the parade, they’ll be in front of the building.”
“Understood,” Tolga replied. His feet disappeared up the shaft.
“Good luck, India Rubber Boy,”Mikala whispered.
“Good luck indeed,” Dylan muttered. “If he doesn’t make it, this plan is shot. And we’re finished.”
Chapter 47
2:17 p.m.
53 minutes left
“Tolga needs more time. Stall.”
Xavier rolled his eyes. Fortunately, no one could see what his eyes were doing inside this big bobblehead. Dylan had anticipated this contingenCy, the possible need for delay. Xavier was just sorry to hear he had to extend the drama.
“This the guy?”
Through the nylon screen just under the chin of the big head, Xavier saw two men in campus-security uniforms approaching.
Detwiler nodded. “Think he’s had a little too much party, if you know what I mean. Mixed with some heartache.” He glanced at his stained pants. “And, I think, pepperoni pizza.”
One of the security officers clapped Xavier on the shoulder. “I’m Sergeant Singer. Let’s go to Health Services so you can sleep this off. Then we’ll talk about maybe—”
“Can’t...go...anywhere,” Xavier said, lurching, trying to look drunk or sick, anything to delay the process. He couldn’t stop these men from hauling him off. Well, he could, but not without blowing his cover. “Your badge,” Xavier gasped, wheezing. “So shiny...doing something...”
Xavier flipped onto his back and thrashed back and forth. “I’m...epileptic...” Xavier said hoarsely.
“Seizure!” The two security officers went into immediate action. One knelt beside him. “Can you hear me? Do you have medication on you?”
Xavier kept writhing. “Can’t...talk...”
“Better get this head off,” the security officer said. Xavier felt hands descend upon his polystyrene cover. No, we can’t allow that.
“Oh my God!” Xavier screamed, as he used his teeth to pop open the second bag. “Spitting...blood!”
And then the blood—or corn syrup with food coloring that looked like blood—spewed through the mouth hole toward Sergeant Singer. The security officer let out a yelp and jumped back, looking as if he’d been stung by scorpion venom.
