Payne & Jones 08 - The Einstein Pursuit, page 16
‘Well, I have one of them on speed-dial. He’s been working on a, um, special project for me over the past year. I seriously doubt he’s responsible, but I can find out easy enough.’
Payne and Jones looked at each other. They both wanted to know what kind of ‘special project’ Kaiser was working on with one of the world’s best gunsmiths. They wondered if he was outfitting a rebel army or stockpiling merchandise for a Christmas sale.
With a man like Kaiser, it could be either.
‘Okay,’ Payne said. ‘Let’s assume for the time being that it’s not your guy. What do you know about the second possibility?’
‘His name is Yannick Holcher, and he lives in the hills of Luxembourg.’
In some ways, the location was ideal. The Grand Duchy of Luxembourg was situated in central Europe. From there, Holcher could take advantage of a broad range of clientele from the surrounding countries. Of course, if he was as talented as Kaiser claimed, his location didn’t matter. Gun enthusiasts would travel the world to possess the perfect weapon. Still, his decision to set up shop in one of the smallest countries in the world was worthy of an explanation.
‘Why Luxembourg?’ Payne wondered. ‘There are other places nearby that would give him much better opportunities. I would have to assume the market in Munich, or Zurich, or Prague would be much, much bigger.’
Kaiser agreed. ‘I’m quite familiar with the numbers, and you’re absolutely correct. He could reach a far bigger audience by moving his operation. In fact, it’s illegal to even own this kind of weapon in Luxembourg. Which means his clientele are mostly foreigners.’
‘Not exactly the best business model,’ Payne said.
‘But that means nothing to him. He’s not a transplant. He’s a Luxembourger, born and raised. From what I hear, he has no intention of leaving.’
‘Hell of a place to make a name for himself,’ Jones stated.
‘He doesn’t care about that either,’ Kaiser replied. ‘Oddly, he has no interest in recognition. In keeping with that, any gun he produces is simply known as a Wiltz, named after the only town in that part of the country. Legend has it that he was born there.’
‘And you think he’s our man? That this is one of his?’
‘The guy might be a little quirky, but he’s still the best in the business when it comes to marrying tried-and-true smithing techniques with modern technological advancements. I once saw a gun he designed that had a laser sight mounted inside the barrel. I’m still trying to figure out how he managed to do it.’
‘Sounds likes you’re envious. Maybe you should have hired him instead.’
‘Trust me, I tried. But he said he was all booked up, and that no amount of money could compete with what he was already being paid.’
Jones knew it was a long shot, but he had to ask. ‘Did he happen to mention a name?’
‘No such luck. He simply said the job would keep him busy for a very long time. Apparently the guy had ordered enough weapons to outfit a private militia.’
Payne and Jones stared at each other. If Kaiser’s information was accurate, it meant that Sahlberg was in a lot more danger than they had originally thought.
And so were they.
32
The Pentagon
Arlington, VA
Randy Raskin didn’t work in Washington DC. He actually worked across the Potomac river inside a windowless office in the sub-basement of the Pentagon, but due to his classified position as a computer researcher for the US military, the data he compiled frequently found its way to the White House and Capitol Hill.
Amazingly, most of his friends thought he was nothing more than a low-level programmer, working a dead-end job in the world’s largest office building – because that was what he was required to tell them. But in reality he was a high-tech maestro, able to track down just about anything in cyberspace. Thanks to the next-generation technology and his high security clearance, Raskin was privy to many of the government’s biggest secrets, a mountain of classified data that was there for the taking if someone knew how to access it. His job was to make sure the latest information got into the right hands at the best possible time.
Over the years, Payne and Jones had used his services on many occasions, which had eventually led to a friendship. Raskin often pretended he didn’t have time for them, or their bi-monthly favors, but the truth was he admired them greatly and would do just about anything to help. In fact, one of his biggest joys in life was living vicariously through them – whether that was during their stint with the MANIACs or their recent adventures around the globe.
That included keeping tabs on them at all times.
He answered his phone on the second ring. ‘Research.’
‘Don’t you ever take a break?’ Payne asked.
‘Yeah,’ Jones said into the speakerphone, ‘it’s five in the morning. Why are you at work?’
‘Some of us do have to earn our paychecks,’ Raskin replied into his headset. ‘Besides, if it’s five a.m. here, it’s one in the afternoon in Fallujah and six in the evening in Beijing. It’s a big world out there, boys, and someone has to keep it safe.’
Jones laughed. ‘Says the guy in the bathrobe.’
Raskin didn’t smile. He was, in fact, wearing a fuzzy blue bathrobe over his normal clothes, but only because they kept his office freezing cold to prevent his computers from overheating. ‘Hold up! Are you sure you want to make fun of me?’
‘We always make fun of you,’ Jones said.
‘True, but you normally wait until after I do what you need.’
Payne nodded. ‘That’s a very good point.’
‘Anyway,’ Raskin said, ‘why are you calling so early? To talk about DJ’s accident – and I use that term loosely – or to discuss the gunmen that Jon put in the morgue?’
‘How do you know about that?’ Jones asked.
‘How do you think? I designed a program that monitors millions of databases around the world. It has one specific goal: to flag the names of special forces personnel whenever they’re logged into a system. Any system. Anywhere. For any reason. If someone uses his real name to make a dinner reservation or a tee time, I know about it.’
‘You really care what my handicap is?’ Payne asked.
‘I know what your handicap is – he’s sitting next to you.’
‘Very funny,’ Jones said.
‘Actually, it was,’ Payne admitted.
Raskin grinned, glad he had gotten in at least one clean shot during their conversation. ‘Obviously I ignore most of the data that comes my way, but I do take an interest when you idiots decide to kill a bunch of people in your hometown. How many times have I told you guys? If you’re feeling a little down and you need to go on a killing spree, stick to hobos and hookers in Third World countries. There’s a lot less paperwork that way.’
‘Pittsburgh PD?’ Payne asked, wondering about his source.
‘Yeah, Pittsburgh PD. They filed multiple homicide reports. But don’t worry: they’re listing it as self-defense. They won’t be asking the district attorney to initiate charges, but you might still get a follow-up call.’
‘Thanks for the heads-up.’
‘No problem,’ Raskin said as he leaned back in his chair. ‘So, out of curiosity, how fast were you going when you hit that guy? Based on the video, I’d say about fifty.’
‘Video? What video?’ Jones demanded.
‘The one where you clobber some son-of-a-bitch with a two-ton truck. That video. I’ve watched the footage about a hundred times.’
‘Where’d you get the footage?’
‘Traffic camera at the intersection just beyond the station. Security feed from Station Square across the street. High-definition satellite imagery from … well, technically I’m not allowed to talk about it. Seriously, take your pick.’
‘How can you access a security feed?’ Payne asked.
‘Nowadays, almost everything is stored on a cloud-based network. The video from every individual camera is uploaded to a central computer. From there it can be accessed from anywhere. You just have to know where to look.’
As he listened to Raskin’s explanation, a thought occurred to Payne: if Raskin was able to watch the Escalade ram the last of the reinforcements, maybe he could track the missing gunman as well. ‘Randy, with all that footage at your disposal, are you able to track a single target?’
‘Of course I can – if I know where to look.’
‘We’ve still got one shooter unaccounted for. Darker skin, probably Arabic. I never got a clean view of his face, but I know where he was. His partner opened fire on me when I tried to leave the lower station. Unless I miss my guess, he’s the leader of the operation. Is there any way you could follow him from the station?’
‘Let me check.’
Payne and Jones waited as Raskin analyzed every angle of the shootout, furiously pounding away on his keyboard and pulling things from screen to screen by means of hand gestures that were detected by motion-capture cameras. It was technology that had only recently debuted in the civilian market. Inside the Pentagon, they had been using it for years. Raskin tried to work his magic, but unfortunately, this time he was unable to pull a rabbit out of his hat.
‘He gets lost under cover,’ he said. ‘Sorry. I have him for half a block, but when he ducks into Station Square, I lose him. There’s no accessible footage from inside the mall. I suppose you could try to hunt down the tapes from the individual stores, but unless he went inside a particular shop and you knew where to look, your chances of finding him are slim.’
Jones agreed with Raskin’s assessment, but he had plenty of manpower at his disposal. He turned toward Payne and said, ‘I’ll send some men to Station Square as soon as the stores open. Who knows? We might get lucky.’
Raskin felt bad he hadn’t come through for them. ‘Sorry, guys. I wish I could do more, but I can’t work with footage that isn’t there.’
‘Do you mean it?’ Jones said.
‘Of course I mean it. If the footage isn’t avail—’
‘No, I was referring to you wanting to do more.’
Raskin groaned. ‘Not really. It’s just a figure of speech.’
‘Too bad. I’m going to hold you to your offer.’
‘Fine! What is it now?’
Jones grabbed the phone from its cradle – which turned off the speakerphone – and lowered his voice to a whisper so Payne couldn’t hear. ‘Do you think you can send me the footage of my, um, accident? I’d like to add it to my personal highlight reel.’
‘No problem,’ Randy said, laughing. ‘Do you also want me to send you surveillance footage from the dentist’s office? That door hit you in the mouth pretty hard.’
Jones flushed with embarrassment. ‘How do you know about that?’
‘Like I said, my system flags everything.’
33
The Swedish National Board of Forensic Medicine – known locally as the Rättsmedicinalverket – was a branch of law enforcement tasked with investigating the cause of death in cases of murder, fatal accidents and other ‘tragic events’. Six facilities scattered across the country handled the workload, but the main facility was located in Stockholm.
Dial marveled at the interior of the lobby as the group waited to meet the coroner. Everything was polished steel, clear glass and fluorescent light. Nothing in there was organic. No wood. No wallpaper. Nothing that could incubate germs or other contaminants. There was an antiseptic feel, to be sure, but the space was actually quite comforting.
It felt safe, as if nothing could harm him there.
Dial wondered if the other lab had felt the same way.
On this field trip, Dial and Eklund had not come alone. They had decided to bring three of the scientists from the institute – Drs Miles and Norling, as well as Hedman, the engineer – to help with the investigation. They hoped that Miles’s knowledge of microbiology and Norling’s knowledge of seemingly everything involved in the human process would help them better understand what the coroner had discovered.
Hedman had been chosen for three reasons. First, they genuinely liked the man and respected his opinions. Second, because of his engineering background he could give them an educated opinion from a different perspective than the others. And third, he was the only one they had met at the institute who spoke in terms they could understand. The rest of the group used jargon and concepts that Dial and Eklund had a hard time deciphering. But Hedman broke the explanations into comprehensible analogies, using common vocabulary that didn’t require a doctorate-level education to follow. He was their de facto translator.
‘I’m sorry to have kept you waiting,’ the coroner said as he appeared from the examination wing of the building. His English was flat and methodical, without inflection of any kind – as if he had learned the language from a robot. ‘I trust you found everything okay?’
‘I was here a few years ago,’ Eklund explained. ‘I knew where to find you.’
‘Very good. Many visitors – not that we have many visitors per se, mainly officers such as yourself – they get confused and wind up in our business offices, which are located in a separate building.’
‘Everyone, this is Björn Zander, the head of the Rättsmedicinalverket here in Stockholm.’ Eklund turned to introduce the makeshift investigatory team. Zander nodded around at them all.
‘Pleased to meet you. If you will follow me, I will show you what you have come to see.’ Without waiting for a response, he swiped his access card through a security reader, unlocking a hallway that led into the bowels of the facility.
After a short walk, they arrived at the laboratory that was handling the victims of the explosion. As Dial entered, he caught the unmistakable scent of processed air.
‘Is it supposed to smell like this?’ Hedman asked.
‘You smell something peculiar?’ Zander replied.
‘Actually, there’s no scent of any kind. That’s what’s peculiar.’
Dial knew what Hedman meant. Air typically smelled of something: floral oils that drifted in from the outside, chemical disinfectant, or one of a thousand other odors. Even scents that couldn’t be distinguished by the nose – such as human pheromones – were still perceptible. But not in this room. The air was different here. Not stale, but empty.
‘Please, forgive me,’ Zander insisted. ‘I am here so much that I think nothing of it. The scent – or lack thereof – is simply a by-product of the air purification system. Most systems rid the air of microbial agents, but in here we must take extra precautions. Our air is treated to remove microbes, spores and other airborne particulates. The treatment leaves the air virtually free from impurities. It can be unsettling at first, but I assure you that everything is fine.’
‘I wasn’t unsettled – just curious,’ Hedman assured him.
‘As you should be. After all, you are a man of science.’
‘So,’ Eklund said, trying to move things along, ‘your assistant told my assistant that you uncovered some startling results in the course of your examination? Something about the resiliency of the cells?’
‘Yes,’ Zander said as he led them to the far side of the room. He stopped in front of a gigantic microscope and began to explain his findings. ‘In ancient times, it was often reported that a body’s hair and fingernails would continue to grow after death, but this has long since been explained as the mere appearance of growth due to shriveling of the tissue in the scalp and fingertips.’
Dial braced himself for a roundabout explanation of things. He couldn’t imagine that any description that began with ‘in ancient times’ would get straight to the heart of the matter. He appreciated the coroner’s attempt to provide them with the necessary background information, but he wouldn’t have any problem cutting him off if he started to ramble.
‘That being said, we have discovered that certain biological functions do not stop immediately upon expiration. There are secondary functions that transpire as a result of the continuing existence of bacteria in the body or the eventual loss of muscle tension. These include the release of excrement and urine, as well as the digestion of any foods retained in the body at the time of death.’
Hanna, the matriarch of the group, leaned close to Hedman and expressed herself in rapid Swedish. Eklund overheard the comment and was forced to bite his tongue to keep from laughing.
‘What’d she say?’ Dial whispered.
Eklund whispered back. ‘She said if we were brought here to learn that people piss and shit themselves when they die, she could have saved us all the trip.’
Dial was forced to bite his tongue as well.
Zander stared at them like they were mischievous schoolboys.
‘Sorry,’ Eklund said to the coroner, ‘police stuff.’
‘Of course,’ Zander replied, shaking off the interruption. ‘There are also more direct continuations that occur after death. The brain, for instance, does not immediately stop functioning. When the circulatory system stops pumping blood, the brain enters a “panic mode” of sorts. Its cells struggle to find the oxygen that a person’s pulse used to deliver. Synapses fire uncontrollably as the brain launches into overdrive in a final effort to survive. Only after this ultimate flurry of activity does the brain eventually succumb to the lack of nutrients.’
‘Are you saying that people are still thinking after they die?’ Hedman asked.
‘No,’ Zander replied. ‘This activity is in no way indicative of consciousness, ability to reason, or even the capability of perceiving the events that are unfolding. Not to sound indifferent to human life, but these are little more than chemical reactions, a by-product of the body shutting down. They are significant only in regard to the timeline, meaning that they occur after the events that precipitate death.’
‘Thank God for that,’ Hedman said.
‘In the same manner, the central nervous system can often radiate impulses from the spinal column to the peripheral muscles. Twitching and spasms in the minutes after death are not uncommon. These do not mean that the individual is in some way still alive.’
