Auld licht idylls, p.2
Untraceable Evidence, page 2
Spinning on his heel, Ace walked to his adjacent office and sank onto his desk chair, head in his hands. “Lord, I never meant for it to happen this way.”
Did God listen to murderers? Doubtful. What did it matter, anyway? He’d never be forgiven.
“Who’re you talking to?” Fritz flipped on the overhead light and strolled in. The man’s modern fashion sense was juxtaposed with Ace’s boxy black-rimmed glasses and scraggly hair in desperate need of a trim.
“Shut the door.”
“Wow, what’s up with you?”
“Well, aside from agreeing to develop a weapon I never wanted to be a part of, I was attacked in the parking garage. If Randee hadn’t been there—”
“Who?”
“The new accountant.”
“He helped save you?” Fritz grinned.
“She, who by the way, possesses exceptional battle skills. Someone’s out to steal the briefcase and might end up killing me in the process.”
“Maybe it was just a mugging.”
“Seriously?” Ace growled, lifting his briefcase onto the desk.
“I mean, there’s a huge difference between a mugging and someone trying to murder you.”
“This isn’t good. I don’t feel right about developing the prototype.”
“Not this again.” Fritz flopped on the chair opposite Ace’s desk, bordering on the threat of a file folder avalanche. So much for a paperless system. “You’ve got to change your perception of this project. You’re providing a service benefiting thousands.”
“Today proved my fears. If the plans end up in the wrong hands, think of the devastation.” Ace leaned forward and met Fritz’s annoyed gaze. “Tell them you made a mistake, and the prototype is a flop.”
Fritz shook his head, not a hair shifting from its gel-plastered place. “It’s a done deal. PrimeRight’s reputation is on the line.”
“The gun’s illegal.”
“Nothing contracted and ordered by the government is illegal. Everything regarding Ghost belongs to the ATF. The only difference is your brilliance in eliminating the gun’s metal components. Your development gives the ATF a heads-up. What they do with the weapon isn’t our problem. And for the record, deadly disintegrating ammunition already exists, so it’s not like you’re some nefarious scientist trying to overtake the world with an evil invention.”
“Frangible ammunition—”
Fritz lifted his hands. “Don’t use technical terms on me. Remember, I’m just the PR guy.”
“Frangible ammunition is the correct term for disintegrating bullets. It was created for training purposes with the promise of low-impact damage at close range. I’m charged with creating the exact opposite. Disintegrating with high-impact damage at close range.” Ace lowered his voice. “If criminals get a hold of Ghost, think of the unspeakable damage they’d possess. The gun’s undetectable. If they smuggle it into airports, schools or courtrooms, the carnage will be on me!”
“You’re delusional if you don’t believe crooks are working on weapons exactly like this right now. We’re giving our government an advantage by developing it first. We’re protecting the public. You’re the best, and you can do this. When it’s finished, you’ll be a hero.”
“As if that matters one iota to me.”
“Our employees need this contract. PrimeRight needs the money and recognition.” Ace didn’t miss the hint of desperation in Fritz’s tone and his dramatic sigh.
Ace’s plea had fallen on deaf and unwavering ears. They’d had this conversation a hundred different ways and gained no ground. Fritz only spoke in dollar signs.
A long moment passed between them. Would his partner finally surrender? A microscopic portion of hope hovered in Ace’s mind.
Fritz planted his expensive black leather shoes on the linoleum floor and rested his hands on his knees. “I didn’t want to mention this, but the agreement you signed stipulates if we fail to deliver, the ATF will prosecute us for violating the law. They’ll deny any involvement, and they won’t pay us.”
Ace pushed up from his chair, thrusting the seat back so fast it slammed against the wall. “What? You never told me any of that. I’d never have agreed to the project!”
“Actually, I did. It’s in the contract.”
Ace paced around his office. “You tricked me.”
Fritz snorted. “Hardly. You signed the same documents I did.”
“I trusted you.”
“And I trust you to do what’s right.” His friend’s tone deepened and took on a hardness Ace didn’t recognize. “Without this contract, PrimeRight will go under, and we’ll be forced to lay off all our employees. They’ll lose their health insurance.” Fritz paused.
His words sank in; Ace was being manipulated by his friend, again. He turned and caught a glimpse of Yolanda and Randee through the small window in his door. The women’s timed appearance emphasized PrimeRight’s predicament. Yolanda smiled and gave Ace a slight wave, which he returned.
“Diego’s treatment is going well,” Fritz said, tone softening.
Yolanda’s seven-year-old son, Diego, had a myriad of medical issues that had kept him hospitalized most of his young life. As a single parent, she worked hard to provide for them, and her insurance benefits were essential. Dread swarmed Ace. He pinched the bridge of his nose.
“I understand your reservations, but we owe our employees to do everything possible to keep our doors open.”
Ace shuffled to his chair, slumped onto the seat and held his head in his hands.
“You’re not just my business partner, you’re my best friend. Think of all the great things you’ll be able to do for women like Cara. By keeping guns away from the criminals, you’re saving innocent lives.”
Once again, Fritz’s precise aim bull’s-eyed Ace’s guilt right in the jugular.
Frustrated at himself for relenting, Ace studied his friend. Everything about Fritz was etched out of a fashion magazine. Not an out-of-place strand in his perfect haircut framing his blemish-free face. Why had he chosen this man to befriend? Fritz was nothing but trouble, from their childhood antics to this project nightmare. He was also the closest person to a brother Ace had ever known, and their thirty-five-year history spoke for itself.
Ace groaned. “Fine. But for the record, Ghost isn’t complete. I need an extension.”
“Everything looks great on paper.”
“Paper and invention are two different things. Once I’ve got the prototype completed, I’ll let you know.”
“How much time are we talking?”
“Weeks. Maybe a month.”
Fritz shook his head. “Negative.”
“I can’t make it come together any faster than I already am. I need to eliminate the bugs.”
“Like?”
“The bullets haven’t passed testing yet, and the removal of metals like tin or copper for the binding agent to the nylon 6 polymer—”
“Whoa, you’re talking way over my head.”
Ace sighed. “There’s no proof Ghost will sustain firing. My experimental tests explode the frame after the first shot. That’s unacceptable.”
“I’ve seen the gun and the bullets. They all work.”
“I won’t release Ghost until I’m sure it’s the best product I can create. Do not rush me.”
Fritz held up his hands in mock surrender. “Fine. But the delivery date is scheduled, and we’ll celebrate at the anniversary event tomorrow night. I don’t want to disappoint. This invention will put us on the map. You’re going to be a rich man.”
As if he cared about money. “I’ll do my best.”
“There you go, thinking like the innovator you are.” Fritz pushed up from the chair. “Guess I’d better meet this ninja-fighting Randee accountant. And you’ll have to give a report to the cops.” He moved toward the door, then paused. “Thanks, Ace.”
“For what? Giving in to you all the time?”
“For having my back. You’re the best.” Fritz gave a quick slap to the wall, emphasizing his words, before exiting.
Ace removed the thumb drive from the briefcase, booted up his laptop and inserted the device, pulling up the specs for Ghost.
The gun defied the Undetectable Firearms Act by mere existence because it was developed entirely out of plastic. Even the bullets were made from a specially formulated nonmetallic powder binding agent that disintegrated into tiny fragments upon impact. It was impossible to locate via a metal detector.
Innovative in the ATF’s hands.
Mass destruction in the hands of criminals.
TWO
Randee forced patience into her response to Officer Paulson’s repetitive questions. Ace’s irritated expression reflected his equally tedious conversation with the second cop on the other side of the room. Maybe it was wrong to criticize the officers’ methods, but their interview process had lagged to an excruciating level of ridiculous and once more, she repeated her rote replies.
No, she didn’t know who the men were.
Yes, she’d defended herself.
No, she didn’t know why they were attacked.
Three assailants failed to take the briefcase. Did that speak to their inexperience?
Randee glanced at her watch, anxious to talk to Sergio. The morning’s ambush only solidified the need to protect both Project Ghost and the scientist from Titus Malte and his cronies. And that meant Steele might be in more danger than they’d anticipated. “I guess that’s all I need for now,” Paulson announced. “We’ll be in touch if we find anything.”
The cops sauntered out the door, and Randee heaved a sigh of relief before excusing herself to the restroom at the far end of the building.
She cringed at her reflection in the mirror, then finger-combed her chestnut curls and attempted to repair her ripped skirt with the safety pin Yolanda had provided. Snatching her cell from her tote, she called Sergio twenty minutes past her check-in time.
“I was about to drive down there and storm the gates. You’re late. What’s going on?” Sergio barked in greeting.
“Sorry, had to do a report with the local PD.” Randee launched into an abbreviated version of the morning’s events, concluding with, “I believe the assailants work for Malte. There were no license plates on the van, and the men were masked. Doubtful we’ll get any leads.”
Sergio dived into command mode. “Ishi will get the security camera tapes.”
Given the opportunity, Ishi Haramoto, the ATF’s technology expert, could’ve found the lost city of Atlantis. If there were clues on the footage, she’d uncover it.
Sergio continued, “Zimmer and I will handle protection detail for Steele outside his apartment tonight.”
“I’ll swing by on my way home.”
They disconnected, and Randee exited the restroom. She passed through the double doors separating the smaller lab from the main area and noted the setup.
Floor-to-ceiling windows served as the external walls for the two-story PrimeRight building, filtering in natural light from every direction. The laboratory was centered among the surrounding offices in the restricted access section.
Yolanda glanced up as Randee entered the accounting office. Overflowing file boxes lined the walls and floor, and the modest desk held piles of folders.
“I’ve tried balancing Barry’s job and mine. As you can see—” she gestured toward the massive mounds of paper “—he lacked organizational skills.”
The accountant’s recent resignation due to his illness had created the perfect undercover position for Randee. Yolanda’s comment opened the topic for discussion.
“What happened to Barry?” Randee busied herself straightening the files before they cascaded off the desk.
“He had many medical issues and an ongoing debilitating disease, but he was such a trouper and a hard worker. The last round of treatments really did him in. He kept to himself a lot. Such a nice man—it was awful to see him miserable. Barry moved to Phoenix to be closer to a specialist there. I saw him just before he was transferred from the University of Nebraska Medical Center.”
“Had you visited him often?”
Yolanda shrugged. “My son Diego’s in the same hospital, so I’d stop by Barry’s room, too.” A hitch in her voice captured Randee’s attention.
The office manager waved her hand. “Sorry, I’m too emotional for my own good sometimes. Especially when I talk about my baby boy.” She chuckled. “Oh, he’d be embarrassed if he heard me call him that. He’s almost seven and very mature.” She withdrew her cell phone, swiped the screen and passed the device to Randee.
Though she was aware of the child’s medical issues, the sight of oxygen tubes trailing from his nose caught her off guard. Nothing dissuaded his sweet smile. So much like his mother’s.
“Diego has a rare form of leukemia. A name I can barely pronounce, with expensive and unpredictable treatments. He’s a fighter, though.”
“I’m so sorry.” Randee passed the phone back. “He’s handsome, certainly gets his good looks from you.”
Yolanda’s low ponytail accentuated her high cheekbones. Pride and joy filled her large brown eyes, tainted by a hint of sadness. “He’s my everything.”
Randee’s heart squeezed, and a pause hung between them.
“Are you married? Do you have children?”
And there it was. The words Randee hated most in the getting-to-know-you conversation. She shook her head and steadied her voice before responding. “Not yet.” More likely, never. Randee’s chance for a family was dwindling, as her mother often reminded her.
Yolanda took the hint. “Forgive me. I’m a talker and too nosy. It’s nice to have another woman to connect with. I’ll help you get started, then leave you to this treasure trove.”
Grateful for the change of subject, Randee attempted to gain additional information. Did Yolanda know anything about the attackers? “Thanks again for the safety pin. I’m not sure it’ll save the skirt, but I appreciate it.”
“I am so sorry you had to endure that horrible incident this morning.”
“Has anything like that ever happened here before?”
“No.” The talkative woman grew quiet. “This pile is a good place to begin.”
A knock on the open door interrupted the conversation, and Fritz Nelson strolled in wearing a Cheshire grin and an expensive tailor-fitted suit. “Randee, glad to see you’re settling in. I apologize again for your awful first encounter with PrimeRight.”
“It was an interesting way to start the day,” she agreed. “Is the area high crime?”
Fritz shook his head. “No, I’m sure it was an isolated incident. I see Yolanda is getting you acclimated to your new digs.” He leaned against the wall, brushing off Randee’s question.
“Actually, we were just getting started. Thought I’d show Randee the computer system first,” Yolanda said, moving around to the laptop.
Fritz’s smile broadened. “Our brilliant Yolanda is a storehouse of wisdom.” He stepped toward her and placed his hand on her shoulder.
The woman glowed from his praise. “I was confessing my lack of accounting experience. I’ve only done the basics, paying the regular bills and payroll.”
“She’s too modest. Yolanda keeps this place running smooth as corn silk. Whatever questions you have, she’s got answers.”
“You’re too kind.” Yolanda practically beamed. Turning to Randee, she said, “I feel guilty leaving you with such a mess.”
Randee grabbed a stack off the desk. “No problem. I’m up for the challenge.”
Fritz turned on his heel and headed for the door. “I’ll let you ladies work. Welcome to the PrimeRight family, Randee.”
“Thank you, Mr. Nelson,” Randee responded.
“No mister, just Fritz.” He drifted out, whistling, and his pungent cologne lingered in the air.
Randee dived in for more information. “You have a tight community here. Not sure I’ll get used to calling the partners by their first names.”
Yolanda shrugged. “PrimeRight is a family. Formalities aren’t a big deal.”
“It’s nice. Do Ace and Fritz work a lot of hours, too?”
“They’re the perfect pairing. Fritz is the face of PrimeRight, gifted in public relations and negotiations.” The woman’s voice dripped with admiration. “Ace is the brains of the operation. Quiet. Kind and keeps to himself. But the guy might as well live here. He’s single and has no children. A total workaholic.” As if sensing the power of her words, Yolanda’s cheeks reddened, and she looked away.
The comment stung Randee’s heart afresh. She had no relationships outside the ATF, either. Her career was her entire life, and she wondered if it was possible to change that trajectory. Not that it mattered. In her mother’s judgmental view, Randee chose selfish ambitions and ridiculous dreams of being promoted to bureau chief over a family.
Randee shook off the thoughts and focused on Yolanda’s directions in accessing the accounting system. After an extensive morning of training, she left Randee to excavate the mess.
Within a few hours, she had the hang of the software and was digging through the bank reconciliations and payroll records. Yolanda appeared to have several large transactions marked as bonuses. Not unusual, but interesting the other employees didn’t have similar payments.
Yolanda entered, purse in hand. “How’s it going?”
Randee glanced up, startled. The clock on her desk read seven o’clock. “The day flew by.”
“Everyone except Ace has left. Thought you might need rescuing, and we could walk out together.”
The mound of paperwork Randee had delved into was still insurmountable. “Who do I ask for approval to work a little longer?”
“Approved. I have few areas of authority, but I can grant your request.” Yolanda placed a Chinese takeout menu on the edge of Randee’s desk. “Best place to order from if you decide to get dinner. Number three’s my favorite.”
