Ruthless (12 page)

CHAPTER 41

Mallory approached the cubicle belonging to Brent Tanaka. The camera on her lapel button rolled up and down with her gait, causing Alton to experience a mild wave of queasiness as he viewed the bobbing scene on his tablet computer.

Like Mallory herself, Brent’s mixed heritage resulted in a pleasing appearance. His Japanese and Hawaiian features blended to produce a young man of delicate good looks and a thoughtful expression. In fact, he seemed to be thinking deeply as Mallory approached.

“Brent Tanaka?”

“Yes,” said Brent, standing.

“Hi, I’m Mallory Wilson with the FBI.” She explained the nature of her investigation. Brent listened intently as she spoke, nodding occasionally.

“Were you aware Chelsea received an anonymous e-mail message two days ago?”

“Anonymous? Not for long—not in this company.”

“That’s what we thought, but our…consultant, who is one of your employees, couldn’t track down the source. Given the sophistication of the message-protection technique, and the fact that the sender said he was a friend of Chelsea’s, our conclusion was that the sender was probably a Kruptos employee.”

“And you’re wondering if it was me,” inferred Brent. “Otherwise, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

“Yes,” said Mallory. “Mr. Tanaka, you are one of only a few people here who knew of Chelsea’s connection to Jay Mancini and Louise Sinclair. Of those people, there are even fewer who have the technical chops to send such a message in a company like Kruptos without being identified.”

“May I ask what was in the note? Was it threatening?” His voice had a soft, melodic quality, the kind women seemed to like. Alton could understand why Chelsea had been attracted to him.

“No, quite the opposite, actually,” said Mallory. “It warned her of potential danger and said to not let her guard down.”

“Agent Wilson, for the record, I didn’t send the note. But if I
did
know Chelsea was in danger, I wouldn’t hesitate to warn her. I don’t see the need for the convoluted way of sending the message, though.”

“Our guess is that the sender didn’t want to be in danger himself and was afraid that would be the case if he revealed his identity.”

“That could be.” He shook his head. “How good a friend can he be if he’s not willing to share specific details that might help Chelsea guard against this danger?”

Mallory was silent for a moment. “Do you still care for her?”

Brent produced a self-deprecating smile. “I guess I can’t lie to the FBI, huh? Yeah, I kinda do.” He sighed and continued. “It’s weird, though. I miss her, yet I understand why we aren’t together. My introspective nature isn’t a good fit with Chelsea’s extroverted personality. She always wants to go out…see friends… mingle. I like that up to a point, but not as much as she does. I think she found me a little boring,” he concluded with a self-conscious shrug.

As Alton listened, he realized Brent’s words described a relationship uncomfortably similar to his and Mallory’s. He felt a sudden pang of concern. Was he—a person who enjoyed his solitude and downtime—too boring for his life-of-the-party girlfriend? Was he himself too introverted for his gregarious companion? The conversation between Mallory and Brent continued to flow, however, and Alton forced himself to concentrate on it once again.

“How did you come to be at Kruptos, Mr. Tanaka?” asked Mallory, clearly searching to learn more about this enigmatic suspect.

“I moved here from Oahu a few years ago to take this job.”

“And have you adapted to your new city? Do you like it here?”

“Yes. For me, one of the best things about this area is the history and the chance to see new things. When I visit any area, I love seeking out historic and educational locations, and Atlanta has them in abundance…the MLK Museum, the Atlanta History Museum, all that kind of stuff.”

Mallory turned to survey Brent’s desk. The Smithsonian postcards and plastic dinosaur from Atlanta’s own Fernbank Science Museum attested to his love of history and learning.

“I can spend hours walking through the exhibits, learning something new,” continued Brent. “That was okay with Chelsea to a point, but she’d rather get that over with so she can get on to her next social gathering.” He seemed rather lost in retrospection.

“Would you get back together with her, if she were interested?” asked Mallory.

“Sure,” exclaimed Brent. He checked himself and added in a lower voice, “Yes, I would, but she seems to be interested in other guys right now.” For the first time, a glint of steel showed in his expression.

Through the camera, Alton studied Brent’s face, which quickly resumed its placid appearance. It was difficult to read. “Thanks for your time, Mr. Tanaka,” said Mallory as she handed him a business card. “If you think of anything or come across any new information, I’d appreciate a call.”

That evening, Mallory and Alton discussed the interrogations of Winston Lewis and Brent Tanaka.

“They both deny any knowledge of the message. Yet we know
someone
sent it,” said Mallory.

“There are two options,” said Alton. “Either they’re both telling the truth and someone else sent it, or one of them is lying. If one of them
is
lying, there are two plausible reasons. The first reason is our original supposition: that the sender didn’t want to get dragged into any danger himself. The second is that the sender isn’t as benevolent as he seems and is trying to guide Chelsea’s movements to facilitate some nefarious strike against her.”

“Are you thinking one of them may actually be behind the homicides?”

“It’s a possibility. One of these two men may be responsible for Worley’s death, just based on the fact that one of them probably sent the message but is denying it. It’s harder to make the connection to the first two homicides, I admit. But I keep coming back to the fact that someone had to send that e-mail to Chelsea, and we don’t know for a fact that the sender’s purpose was benign.”

“It seems like a long shot,” said Mallory, “but I’ll ask Agent McElroy to look into their whereabouts on the night of Worley’s murder and the night Monica Shaffer died. We might end up screening them out as suspects if they have good alibis. If they don’t, perhaps we’ll have a reason to dig a little deeper.”

CHAPTER 42

Hoodie was vexed. The damn investigators wouldn’t leave the matter alone. Why couldn’t they just go home?

Thoughts of annoyance soon gave way to those of strategic planning.

“Okay,” mumbled Hoodie to the empty room while pacing. “What’s the best course of action: continue to lay low or make a preemptive strike?”

On one hand, there were solid arguments for laying low. The investigators were unlikely to ever learn the truth. Plus, taking action against them created the possibility of leaving some type of forensic evidence that could be traced back.

On the other hand, beginning
now
on a plan to strike at them would provide more time to create the perfect approach. The investigators were very tenacious, and the opportunities for striking at them might improve if Hoodie didn’t wait until the investigators were on the cusp of discovering key evidence. Having weighed the options, Hoodie decided such preemptive planning would be the best strategy.

Several days of initial research revealed a promising method, and a few more days of investigation were needed to confirm the approach could be pulled off.

Hoodie bought the necessary materials through four different web sites, once again using the forged identity documents. Hoodie had the orders sent to vacant houses in downtown Atlanta, and to avoid witnesses, waited until nighttime to pick up the deliveries.

Within five days, everything was ready.

Hoodie smirked.
“The investigation is going to end much sooner than they realize.”

On the weekends, Alton usually liked to sleep in, and that Saturday proved to be no exception. He arose mid-morning and enjoyed a late breakfast with Mallory, Chelsea, and Pam, who had just arrived as usual on the weekends. Mallory had offered to bring David and Fahima with her to Chelsea’s apartment, but they had declined in favor of their own tête-à-tête.

“I need to take the Explorer in to the shop,” said Alton to the group as he munched on a piece of toast. “Something’s up with the transmission. Have you noticed how it winds up to unusually-high RPM’s before it shifts? I need to get that looked at.” He turned to Mallory, “Can you stay here until I return?”

“Sure. I’ll run my errands after you get back. Just let me know when you’re on the way.”

Alton popped the last corner of toast into his mouth and said his goodbyes. He walked into the crisp sunshine and began climbing into the driver’s seat. Since he normally kept his vehicle spotless, he immediately noticed the sugar Chelsea had spilled on the passenger seat.

“That’s the third time,” he grumbled to himself. “I wish she’d just drink her coffee black.”

He reached for the glove box to pull out one of the wet wipes stored there for just such an occasion. As he leaned over, a strong acrid odor met his nose.

For a moment Alton puzzled over the vaguely-familiar aroma, then his eyes widened.

Inside the house, Chelsea and Mallory set about cleaning the breakfast dishes. As Mallory delicately placed a stack of dirty plates into the sink, the morning’s calm was broken by a terrific explosion which rattled the pictures on the walls and caused the glasses in the adjoining sink to ring out as they settled.

“Alton!” cried Mallory. She raced outside in time to see the plume of a black mushroom cloud dissipate as it rose in the air. An intense blaze consumed the fragmented remains of the Explorer, and occasional pops heralded explosions of the SUV’s few remaining structures.

CHAPTER 43

Mallory instinctively ran toward the inferno. As she approached, the intense heat forced her back.

“Alton!” she sobbed, overwhelmed by the surreal nature of the scene.

“Huh?” grunted someone from behind a charred Cavalier two stalls over. Alton’s head popped up from behind the hood. Mallory rushed to his side and wrapped him in a vice-like embrace. He laid his smudged cheek against her hair.

“It’s okay. I’m safe,” Alton reassured her, staggering.

Chelsea and Pam exited the apartment. The former had a look of astonishment, the latter one of terror. Chelsea approached as if in a trance, while Pam hung back.

“What happened?” asked Chelsea.

“TATP. In Afghanistan they called it ‘Mother of Slave.’ It’s an ingredient of choice in IEDs.”

“IEDs?” asked Chelsea.

“‘Improvised Explosive Devices.’ Homemade bombs,” explained Alton. “TATP-based bombs were pretty common in the field in Afghanistan, and they have a distinct smell. Whoever booby-trapped my car spilled a little in the front seat. At first I thought it was sugar, but I recognized the odor in time to dive behind that car over there—what’s left of it, at least.”

Alton had instinctively hurled himself over the nearby Cavalier, aided in the moment of crisis by a surge of adrenaline. But the effort had exacted a price. Now that the surge of hormones was wearing off, his left leg began to throb painfully from the exertion. He shook his head at the thought of his leg injury—the result of a bombing in Afghanistan—being exacerbated by a yet another explosion. Yet at the same time, he felt grateful to have survived both blasts. He leaned gingerly on Mallory’s shoulder.

“Let’s go inside,” he said. “We can’t search for evidence until the flames recede. Someone is bound to have called the fire department by now, but we need to get the local FBI out here to search for any fragments of the bomb itself.”

“I’ll call Agent McElroy,” said Mallory. “He might know an arson investigator who can help us make sense of the evidence. I’ll also ask him to notify the Alpharetta PD since this car bombing was in their jurisdiction.”

Alton turned for a moment to examine the blaze, the corners of his mouth forming a grim line. “We must be getting close to the truth or such a bold murder attempt wouldn’t have been worth the risk. I guess I’ll be riding with you for the next few days, Mallory.”

As he turned and began once again to limp back towards Chelsea’s apartment, Alton began to slide into a bout of self-pity but soon checked himself. Not only had he survived, but he had a beautiful, intelligent woman by his side—literally. And he was still in a position to help Chelsea.

He grinned ruefully. “On the bright side, I guess I don’t have to worry about getting that transmission fixed after all.”

Several days later, Alton and Mallory met with Agent McElroy and Ned Alderman, an arson investigator from the Georgia Bureau of Investigation. The fragments of the bomb lay on a stainless-steel table in front of them.

“This is one of the most curious devices I’ve ever come across,” admitted McElroy. “The bomb canister is pretty rudimentary. It’s just an old Folgers can filled with TATP. It has holes drilled in the sides to allow access for the detonators. That’s where the TATP spilled out. The remote activator, on the other hand, is unlike anything we’ve ever seen.”

“How so?” asked Alton.

“Usually the detonator is activated by sound or motion, controlled remotely by a radio signal, or employs a simple timer. This device used none of those techniques.”

“How does it work?” asked Mallory.

“We’re not sure,” said McElroy. “It has several pieces of electronics, but they’re pretty cooked.  We haven’t had a chance to send them in for analysis yet.”

“Can I take a look?” asked Alton.

“That’s evidence,” said Alderman, the arson investigator. “I’m sorry you experienced this…event, but that doesn’t give you jurisdiction to examine it.”

“Do you know what these parts are?” McElroy asked Alderman. Upon seeing the arson investigator shake his head, McElroy continued, “Neither do I. Let’s give the man a chance to take a look. He works for a tech firm. Maybe he can figure this out.”

Alton studied the charred remains for several minutes. Eventually, he laid them out in a pattern.

“I think I see how this works, but we’ll want to confirm my hypothesis with an electrical engineer. See this component? It’s in pretty good shape and is the key. It’s the CPU from a smart phone or tablet device. This crispy, black thing over here to the right is a modem, I think. It’s pretty melted so we’ll have to confirm that. This last tall, skinny device up top here is a miniature motion detector. There were probably wires connecting all this, but they’ve been obliterated.”

“So how do they work together?” asked McElroy.

Mallory put a hand over her mouth to cover a smile. In the past, she had told Alton she found it “cute” when he warmed up to technical subjects, and this seemed to be one of those occasions.

“Remember I said the CPU was the key?” answered Alton. “That’s because it’s of a type that was just released. It’s specifically designed to facilitate ‘cloud’ computing, where applications run on remote servers instead of on your phone or laptop and the data can be accessed from anywhere. Well, this CPU device is specifically designed to carry data from cloud networks, so it’s hard-wired with communication programs that enable remote monitoring and managing of information. The bottom line is that this configuration of components would allow someone with a corresponding app on their smart phone to detonate the bomb remotely.”

“I see,” said McElroy, “but doesn’t that imply that the would-be assassin would need to be within line of sight of the car to see when you got in it? That seems pretty risky for the killer.”

“That’s what the motion detector was for. It sent a signal indicating that someone was in the Explorer but didn’t detonate the bomb itself. Once the perpetrator knew someone was in the car, he’d use an app to trigger the bomb. That’s probably why I had time to escape. The few seconds required to go through those steps bought me just enough time to duck behind the Cavalier.”

“Not to ask a dumb question,” said McElroy, “but why didn’t the perpetrator just use an old-fashioned detonator? Wouldn’t that have been more effective?”

“Probably,” said Alton. “I’m not sure why myself. Perhaps he wanted to be sure that a certain person was in the car before he set it off. Did you find any type of miniature camera equipment? It could have been used to confirm the car’s occupant before activating the bomb.”

“No,” replied Alderman, “but it could have been consumed in the flames. We were able to find the other components, though, so I doubt there was a camera.”

“Is it possible that the perpetrator is more familiar with this type of equipment than with the older bomb-making techniques?” asked Mallory. She turned to Alton, “A tech-savvy person might be more familiar with these newer chips than with old-school motion detectors. Perhaps he simply incorporated the technology with which he’s most comfortable.”

The others nodded in assent. 

“That would explain why the bomb container was pretty basic,” said McElroy. “He might not have been as familiar with constructing that part of the bomb.”

“A tech-savvy person,” repeated Alton, lost in thought. “There are lots of tech-savvy people at Kruptos. We just spoke with two of them recently.”

“That makes a stronger case for a Kruptos person being behind the car bomb,” said Mallory, “but I still don’t see how—or if—it ties back to the first two murders. Those still seem to be mob-related.”

“They may be,” replied Alton. “Until we get to the bottom of this, we won’t know whether or not all of the murders are connected.”

“What about Victor Durov and Eddie Delvecchio? Could they have been involved in the bombing? Were your men tailing them last night?” Mallory asked McElroy.

“Yes,” he replied. “My guys confirmed that Durov went to his apartment straight after work and stayed there all night. Delvecchio delivered pizzas until one a.m. and then retired for the night. They’re not involved—not in planting the bomb, at least.”

“Do you remember what Agent Stewart said about the mob’s reach?” asked Mallory. “Stuart said the mob usually recruits a lot of different thugs to carry out their misdeeds. Perhaps the Mancini family hired someone with more technical bomb-making expertise for this job than either Durov or Delvecchio possess. Neither of them strikes me as eligible for Mensa membership.”

“The right person for the right job,” mused Alton. “That makes sense. We need to keep our minds open to all possibilities.”