Afterburn by Karen L. Abrahamson
* * *
Jason peered at his office computer screen, but still read nothing. Beside him, the cat mewed plaintively in the cage he’d borrowed from animal control.
“Shh,” he muttered, tapping the top of the box and feeling particularly unsympathetic to the cat at the moment. His scratched hand hurt like a sonofabitch.
And then there was the fact that the cat’s owner still hadn’t called, and something could have happened to her.
“Like Xavier de Varga,” he murmured, scanning yet another screen of information on the man and the multinational company he worked for.
“You want to mutter that a little louder, Slick, or was that just for your own ears?”
Jason looked across the two desks to his partner. Blacklock was the epitome of the buddy-partner this morning. He’d been chatty and helpful and generally trying to humor Jason out of his funk.
“My ears,” he grumbled.
“Then maybe you should remember to use your inside voice.”
Jason tossed him the finger.
Trouble was, he didn’t feel like being happy. Vallon Drake had skipped out on him—to be with someone else, he suspected. And just when he really needed to understand what the heck was going on.
Because there had been changes.
Because the frigging guy from Homeland Security hadn’t even noticed. And if people were changed—well then, there were a heck of a lot of possibilities out there.
He put a stop to the little swell of excitement his ruminations caused. Focus on the computer’s report, or all his speculations were worth absolutely nothing.
Xavier de Varga. Portuguese National. Frequent entry into and egress from the country. Often by direct flight into SeaTac. Other times entering the country via car from Canada. The last time he’d arrived had been six months ago. His visa was current.
So de Varga had been in the area long enough to have set things in motion, and now Vallon was missing. A wave of worry washed through him and he stabbed the scroll button on the computer.
De Varga’s passport described him as a geological consultant. Further checks had shown he had Doctorate degrees in geophysics and—archeology. Weird combination, but then the guy was weird, with talents like Vallon apparently. Well traveled, but mostly through southern Europe—Spain, Italy—long stay there—Turkey and North Africa—Algeria, Tunisia and—Libya.
Jason straightened in his chair, ignoring the scent of wet cat and her soft mew of request.
Terrorist country. He’d bet any money Vallon didn’t know that fact about her new playmate. And she’d given him, a perfectly red-blooded, American fella, the kiss-off for the guy.
So just what would take Senhor de Varga to points unpopular. He touched the mouse and brought up the company documentation. CartosNationele was a Venice-based company with major offices in Istanbul, Lisbon, Singapore, Vancouver, and Hong Kong. So that could explain de Varga’s extensive travel, but it didn’t explain the links to North Africa. The company could just be a front.
He looked up the company profile and read: CartosNationele is devoted to the geophysical sciences and works with governments and independent organizations across the globe on matters of earth tectonics, mineral exploration, oil and gas exploration. Along with our extensive geophysical resources, we give back to the communities we serve through anthropological and archeological exploration and restoration.
Jason sat back and shook his head. “Weirdest company profile I ever read.”
“Knowing you, bet it’s about the only one you’ve ever read.” Blacklock came around the desk. “You should try investing in the stock market for a while. That’d teach you a thing or two.” He leaned over Jason’s shoulder to read. Pursed his lips.
“You know, it is kind of an odd combination. Oil exploration and archeology. But then, oil exploration can take you into some pretty out-of-the-way places and archeologists probably always need patrons. Who the heck knows what you’d find.”
He reached over Jason’s shoulder and scrolled down to financial statements. Whistled. “Whatever they’re doing, they’re doing pretty good. Look at those year-over-year figures.”
He pointed and Jason tried to follow along. As Blacklock kept going, Jason got the sense this was a pretty well-run organization.
Blacklock poked another key and the screen changed. Instead of facts and figures, photos of various worksites came up: oilfield in sand; pit mine somewhere in a vast plain; a deep hole in a ridge that showed ruins under careful excavation.
“Any of those Libya?”
“Libya?”
“De Varga’s passport shows he’s visited there a few times.”
Blacklock shifted the cursor to a search engine and typed in Libya. A news release came up announcing the partnership with Exxon to do exploration in the Libyan desert.
“I guess that explains it. Guy has the skills to work on that type of project?”
“Yeah.” Jason shook his head. “So what’s tall, dark and mysterious doing here? Not too many deserts or mines hereabouts. I just don’t get it.”
He was about to return to de Varga’s information when his cell phone vibrated across the desk. Jason almost leapt for it. Stopped himself when he saw Blacklock’s interest and forced himself to be casual. He flipped open the phone.
“Bryson.”
“Jason? Can you talk?”
He bolted upright in his chair. “What the hell’s going on? Why the heck’d you ditch me like that?” He cast a glance at Blacklock and stood up, walking his cell phone into the coffee area. “I thought we trusted each other. We were working this murder together,” he said quietly.
Through the open door he caught Blacklock’s look of disapproval, but waved him away, all his focus on Vallon. He needed her more than he’d ever needed anyone before. Except Cheryl, and if Vallon were able to change landscapes and people like whoever had changed her house, then just maybe Vallon Drake could bring Cheryl back.
“We are. We have been. Xavier was just concerned about going someplace we couldn’t be traced.”
“So you’re safe?” Blacklock was on the phone.
“Yes.”
“Thank god.” And he meant it. He had to keep Vallon safe.
“Jason, I hate to ask, but I need you to do something for me. Will you help?”
“Of course.” Blacklock was still on the phone, and the disapproval rating on his face was going way up. He kept trying to catch Jason’s eye, tell him something.
“Terrific. And thanks. I owe you.”
Jason nodded.
“I have a lead on a woman I think might be involved in the killings and I was hoping you could help me track her down.”
Blacklock ad settled the phone in its cradle. He shook his head. “Your funeral,” he mouthed.
“What do you need?”
“I’m going to e-mail you a photo. I’d like you to run it through the face-recognition software attached to the city’s street cameras.”
“What the hell are you talking about, Vallon. There’s no such thing….”
“Cut the crap. You forget: I work for part of Homeland Security. Seattle hosted the World Trade Organization and in preparation for the event there were cameras installed at a lot of gathering places in the city. I want you to check footage for the last three months against the photo.”
“Shit, Vallon, that’ll take days. Months.”
“We don’t have days or weeks or months. Something’s coming down, Jason. Something bigger than either you or I imagined, and if we don’t stop it, Seattle might just get written off the map. You get my meaning?”
“You mean….” He couldn’t say it with Blacklock looking at him.
“I mean the clock’s ticking and I don’t know how much time we’ve got, but given what happened last night, I figure it’s going to be sooner rather than later. Now can you do it?”
“I’ll try.”
“Thanks. I’ll call.”
The phone went dead.
“So what’s going down, Slick?”
“Would you fuckin’ quit calling me that?” He met Blacklock’s patient pig-eyes and knew he really didn’t have any choice. There was no way he could meet Vallon’s request in the timeframe she’d set.
“Sorry.” He sighed. “Listen, it was Vallon asking for help. She’s tracking whoever took out that Agent and she wants to access some face-recognition software tied into Seattle street cameras that Homeland Security put in place. Got any idea how we might do that?” Because as far as he knew, no such system existed.
“Interesting. Can’t say I’m familiar with such a system, but I sure as hell know who will be.”
“Don’t tell me. Your connection.”
“He’s like a brother.”
Jason looked down at the pad and thought about the risk he was taking. “You think you can put in a request without saying it came from Vallon or me?”
The hesitation in Blacklock’s response spoke volumes, but finally he nodded. “Let me see what I can do, but Slick, you gotta know I don’t like it when you compromise my principles.”
Jason grinned. “I know it, and just let me say I didn’t think you even had principles.”
“Thanks a bunch.”
“Let’s just keep this between the two of us and see what we find. Okay?”
“Fine.”
Jason stood up and hefted Maggie’s cage. “About time I saw a lady about a cat.” He grabbed his coat and headed for the door.
“Think twice before you do something stupid.”
“Right,” he tossed over his shoulder as he left the squad. “Like that’s going to happen.”
Chapter 22—Rainbow Flesh