Authors: Boyd Morrison
"Good. Once we have it back in our possession, destroy it. Then, they will have nothing to suggest what our ultimate plans are."
Cutter nodded, again studiously avoiding Svetlana's stare, and exited.
"I like him," she said. "He's a tough guy. Like a Rambo. So is it really true what I've heard about him?"
"About his injury?" Even though Cutter had been his security chief for years, this was the first time she'd asked.
She nodded.
"It is," Garrett said. "That's one reason he's such a valued asset. Why do you ask?"
She arched an eyebrow and rose from the chair. She slinked over to Garrett and settled on his lap. "You don't have to worry about the competition." She kissed him lightly on the cheek, then the forehead. "Now, tell me about your plans for this evening." She kissed him on the lips.
Garrett knew he had perfectly chosen the woman to accompany him into the New World.
Julia Coleman sat in the Starbucks at the base of the building where Coleman Engineering's offices were located. Her shift at Harborview Medical Center had just ended, and she still wore scrubs. Locke knew she was a medical resident, but little else. As he entered the store, he could see her bloodshot eyes behind her tortoise-shell glasses, and her hair was tied back in a pony tail. Her expressionless face told him everything he needed to know about the long hours she'd just pulled.
When Locke called her, she had agreed to meet with them, but she wanted to hear why they wanted access to her father's records before she gave permission to go through them. Locke suggested they discuss it over coffee near Coleman's office so he could get into the files as soon as he had her agreement.
The two guards from the security firm observed Locke and Dilara from a car parked outside. Locke felt sure that another attack wouldn't be coming tonight, but their presence calmed Dilara.
Locke introduced himself and Dilara to Julia Coleman, but the doctor didn't stand as she wearily shook their hands. They took seats opposite her.
"Thank you for meeting us," Locke said. "I know you must be exhausted."
"You got my attention when you said this was about my father."
"Yes, I'm very sorry for your loss. We have come across some information that may shed new light on your father's death."
"Are you with the ATF?"
"No, I'm an engineer with Gordian Engineering. I knew your father, but I never worked with him."
"That's right. I remember now. My father spoke highly of you, even though you were a competitor." That surprised Locke. Gordian and Coleman had always had a friendly competition for contracts, but he didn't know Coleman had talked about him to Julia. "Are you with Gordian, too?" she asked Dilara.
"No, I'm an archaeologist."
"Why would an archaeologist know anything about my father's death? Did you know him?"
"No," Dilara said, "but I may have known someone who did. Do you know a man named Sam Watson?"
Julia shook her head. "Doesn't sound familiar. Did he have something to do with the accident?"
"We don't think it was an accident," Locke said.
"But the ATF investigation said that they had improperly connected the wiring for the explosives. It was triggered prematurely. Are you saying it was done deliberately?"
"Was your father the kind of man who would make that kind of mistake?" Locke knew that working with explosives was not something you played around with. If you got careless, you got killed. John Coleman had been in the business for a long time.
"He was a perfectionist," Julia said. "That's why I always assumed it was one of the other engineers who made the mistake."
"Do you know what sort of project he was working on at the time?"
"It was a new tunnel in the Cascades. They were going through the placement of the explosives the night before the first blast was to be made. Then the accident...It was horrible. All of the top engineers in his firm were killed."
"Who's operating the company now?"
"No one. I'm not an engineer, and I certainly don't have time to run a business. It was a consulting firm, so nobody wanted to buy it. I didn't want to go through years of litigation from the other engineers' families, so I just settled wrongful death suits with all of them and shut it down. I haven't had time to figure out what to do with everything in the office. It's still there, but I was going to close it down next month."
"What was he working on before the tunnel?"
"Some huge project for the government. Top secret. Worked on it for three years. He couldn't tell me anything about it." Julia looked at both of them. "Are you saying my father was murdered?"
"That's a possibility."
"Why? Who would want to kill him?"
"That's what we're trying to find out, and we need your help."
Julia sat back and stared into space as the idea that her father had been murdered sunk in.
"My mother died when I was 20," she finally said. "He was the only family I had left. I'll let you have anything in his office if you can tell me who killed him."
They threw away their coffees and followed Julia into the building. The offices were on the third floor. Julia unlocked the door and took them inside. A typical cubical farm greeted them.
"My dad's cube is in the corner," Julia said.
"Would it be all right if I turned on your server so that my computer staff can download your company data and analyze it for any clues?" Locke asked. "I know his company probably had contracts prohibiting disclosure of information..."
"I'll consider you a subcontractor. If some company wants to sue later, they can take it up with the firm's lawyers."
Locke fired up the computers and called Aiden MacKenna, who walked him through opening a port in the security system to allow remote access to the files. He told Aiden to look for any files about Project Oasis. While Aiden began his search, Locke went through John Coleman's desk and file cabinet.
As he expected, the majority of Coleman's files were electronic. Most engineering firms drew up their project plans on computers and communicated by phone and email, but there was always a need to print out blueprints, schematics, and presentations. There should be some paper trail for Oasis if he really worked on it. Coleman's file folders were meticulously labeled by date.
Two cabinets were stuffed until there was almost no room in them, and Dilara went through each of the files looking for a reference to Oasis. A third, the one closest to his desk, was also full in the bottom drawer, but the top drawer was almost completely empty. Locke looked at the dates on the folders more carefully. There was a steady stream of projects up until three years ago, and then suddenly only a smattering of projects were listed in the files.
"Dr. Coleman," Locke said, "have any files been removed from the office?"
"Not that I'm aware of. Why?"
"Some files seem to be missing. Do you know what the name of the project your father was working on for the past three years?"
"He wasn't supposed to tell me anything, but once when he was very tired, he let the project name slip out by mistake. He actually seemed scared when he realized what he'd done and told me not to say a word about it to anyone. The project was called Oasis."
Locke exchanged glances with Dilara. "Dr. Coleman, can you recall anything else about Oasis?"
"All I know is that he was traveling to the San Juan Islands constantly during that time. He must have made a lot of money on the project. After his death, I found out his firm had deposited more than thirty million dollars recently. That's what allowed me to settle the lawsuits and keep the office open while I decided what to do with it." She registered the look of surprise on Locke's face and went on. "My father would have been disappointed if I abandoned my medical career."
Locke nodded, but he couldn't get over the contract size. Coleman's firm was talented, but small. Thirty million dollars would be a huge amount of money for them.
"Dr. Locke," Julia Coleman said, "I need to go home and get some sleep." She held out the office key. "Just lock the door on your way out."
"That's very generous of you," Locke said, taking the key from her.
"I just want to know one thing. Are you going to catch the person who did this to my father?"
"We'll do our best."
"Good. I may be a doctor, but I would happily see the person responsible for his death fry."
She let herself out, leaving Dilara and Locke alone in the office.
"I know how she feels," Dilara said. "So you think someone took the files on Oasis?"
"This stinks of a cover-up," Locke said. "First, all of the top engineers in the firm who worked on Oasis are killed in a tragic mishap that someone as skilled as Coleman should never have let happen. Then all of the files mysteriously disappear. And to top it off, his firm was paid an exorbitant fee, probably in the hopes that the survivors would be mollified by the money. Someone came in here and stole every single piece of paper about Oasis, and I'm guessing the only reason they didn't torch the place to cover their tracks is because it would have raised questions they didn't want asked."
"What about the computer files?"
"If there's anything left, Aiden will find it."
They looked through the paper files for another hour, but found nothing about Oasis. Whoever had cleansed the files was thorough. Their only hope now was something overlooked in the electronic databases. Locke was disheartened when Aiden called with his results.
"These guys were good, Tyler. Absolutely no references to Oasis in any of the files. Powerpoint, Word, email. All wiped clean of any traces. And yet they left a lot of other stuff. Probably because a straight wipe of the files would have been too obvious."
Locke felt like Aiden told him that last bit for a reason.
"But you found something anyway," Locke said, suddenly hopeful.
"I said they were good. But I'm better. I decided to do some peripheral searches. Since this Watson guy mentioned you by name, I used it as one of the search parameters. I found a few general emails between you and Coleman. A couple of requests for references, things like that. But there was one email that particularly intrigued me."
"From me or to me?"
"Neither. It was
about
you."
"Read it to me."
"It's from Coleman to one of his other engineers. Quote, 'Jim, this new project is going to make us all rich. I can't believe Locke turned it down. Sounds right up his alley. His loss is our gain. Project was called Whirlwind. Goofy, huh? These military types love their code words. The client is changing the project name, but hasn't sent it yet. I'll let you know when I get it, and then we can crank it up. Give me your picks for our team to work on this. Remember, this is a black project. No one else can know about it. John.' End quote. Am I right? Does that have anything to do with all this?"
For a moment, Locke was speechless. Whirlwind. He hadn't heard that word in the three years since he'd signed up for the project and then been dropped by the client two months later.
"Tyler? You still there?"
Locke swallowed. "Yeah, Aiden. See if you can find any more references to Whirlwind, and I'll get back to you."
Locke hung up. The shock on his face must have been apparent because Dilara asked him, "What's wrong?"
He told her about the email.
"So you think Whirlwind was the same project as Oasis?" she said.
"I hope to God it isn't."
"Why?"
"Because whoever is behind Whirlwind is preparing for the end of the world."
After Locke's pronouncement about the end of the world, all Dilara could get out of him was that he needed to think. She got the sense that it was how he puzzled through problems, drawing into himself. She went back to searching through the files in silence. As they expected, there was nothing about Oasis or Whirlwind.
Dilara agreed with the email from John Coleman. Why did projects--particularly military operations--always have to have some mysterious name? Must be something about control and power. Men who were into that liked secret clubs, and what better way to be exclusive than to have a code name?
But something about Whirlwind had spooked Locke. He wasn't the sort who made such bold statements without reason. The thought of the way he said it sent a shiver down her back, as if she were privy to some clairvoyance of a seer peering into a crystal ball. If he
was
a psychic, whatever was coming was too horrible to contemplate.
With Coleman's files exhausted, they silently turned to the files of the other engineers who had been killed. They were equally unsuccessful with those. The organization that had cleansed the files knew exactly what they were looking for.
By the time she and Locke realized that nothing would be gained by further searching, it was 9:45.
"Are you hungry?" Locke asked.
Dilara had been so caught up in the search that she hadn't even thought of food. But as soon as he mentioned it, hunger pangs thudded in her stomach.
"Starving."
"We're done here. Do you like seafood?"
"Anything cooked. Sushi makes me gag."
"And I'm allergic to shellfish, but we'll figure something out." They locked up the office and found one of the bodyguards waiting in the lobby. The three of them got in the car with the other one.
After a stop at the grocery store, it only took ten minutes to reach his home in the Magnolia neighborhood of Seattle. She had been expecting a bachelor pad apartment in a high rise. Instead, they stopped outside a Mediterranean-style mansion that was perched on a cliff overlooking Puget Sound.
The bodyguards took up a post on the street outside. After Locke disabled the alarm and made sure no one had tampered with it, he let Dilara inside. The lights inside the house were off, but moonlight flooded through floor-to-ceiling windows at the back of the house. Then he switched on the lights, and she saw a home that looked like it could have been featured in
Architectural Digest
.
Bamboo flooring extended as far as she could see. The living and dining rooms featured highly polished antiques, and an immense kitchen showed off shiny granite countertops and stainless steel appliances. The effect was sleek without being sterile, the decorations and wall hangings chosen to give the house a comfortable feeling. It certainly didn't look like the home of a single guy who was never home. The only thing that marred the effect was one white living room wall that was painted with five two-foot by two-foot squares, all various shades of yellow. Then it hit her. His deceased wife must be responsible for the interior decor, and the unfinished wall had been her project.