The Sword of Light, page 28
Prologue
Now
SHE COULD SEE everything that was happening.
She could hear any little bit of noise around her.
She could smell day-old food, chemicals in air-conditioning, and almost taste every little nuance of the air.
She could even feel the floor beneath her.
Her senses were vibrantly alive.
What she couldn’t do was move.
She didn’t know if she did or didn’t blink; she could only feel the heaviness of her own body, as if she was frozen in time and space.
But she knew everything that was going on; she could see the horror of what was happening around her.
Watch.
Watch and wait.
Because now, the horror that had claimed others, the terror that haunted those on shipboard, would eventually come to her.
And she couldn’t even open her mouth to scream.
All she could do was hope, pray, and believe that she and Wesley had followed the right steps . . .
And that there just might be a miracle.
Step by step. Her mind was active; she had to think back, back to the very beginning, and determine just how she had gotten to be where she was . . .
And how the hell she was going to get out of the situation.
Chapter 1
“FROM EVERY ANGLE, we’re extremely concerned. But . . . we’re hoping that what we have is a lead. Something is going on, and we believe that your investigation on this ship can fathom what it is and, perhaps even more importantly, why. Dead people. Suicide. Murder and suicide. Ridiculous and extreme coincidences? No. Two cars at an intersection at the same time may be a coincidence. But things happening like this? No. It’s gone too far. So, what is happening? Simple greed, and a perpetrator with a personal agenda? Or something far worse? We don’t know. And we’re hoping to God that the two of you can sneak in and find out. All we do know is that every victim of this rash of suicides and murder-suicides has been associated with computers and IT in a big way.”
Chloe McMurray stood quietly, listening as Assistant Director Alonzo spoke.
She wasn’t sure what she was doing there since Alonzo was federal and she was an agent with state law enforcement—and she’d received the message to pack for a cruise ship.
A cruise ship?
On the surface, it didn’t sound like a bad gig!
But she was savvy on cruise ships out of the Port of Miami—they usually sailed to other-country locations, ports in the Caribbean, perhaps Mexico and even South America. Maybe they were just heading a wee bit to the north and east, heading for the Bahama Islands, Bermuda—still foreign countries—or maybe Puerto Rico, an American territory?
So, why was she, an agent of the state, involved?
Well, she might be local, but apparently, she was being joined by a federal agent who was with Central and South American bureau “legat” offices. He had a strangely coincidental name for his vocation in law enforcement—that being Wesley Law.
He wasn’t any kind of gigantic bruiser, but decent enough and probably very well trained. The man was tall enough—six-two or -three, she estimated—and yes, with what appeared to be a lean, wiry strength.
Having come into the federal office straight from work himself, she found him strangely dressed on a workday. He was wearing jeans and a T-shirt and a light blue windbreaker. His hair, a dirty blond or light brown, was barely brushed.
Then again, apparently, she was the one off-base in her pantsuit; they had said cruise. Well, she had enough in her go-bag for a cruise. Shorts, halter dresses, T-shirts. She just wished she had a slightly better bathing suit, but that could probably be obtained on the ship. She did love sitting high above the water at the pool of a cruise ship. Generally, she loved cruising.
But she would be “cruising” with a strange federal operative—on an even stranger case.
Coming here, she’d been given brief information from her own supervising agent, but she still knew so little. She had been told she’d been specifically requested for the case by higher echelons at the federal and local levels because of her knowledge of and affiliation with cruise ships in general, and she’d done research on the man—he had been born with the surname and his ancestors went way back to the Revolutionary War. And as was often the case with those who came into law enforcement, his father had been a cop.
She didn’t know much more because many of the cases he had worked on had been classified as confidential.
And so . . .
There they were, she and the man she had just met in person, in Assistant Director Glen Alonzo’s office in Miami, learning about the strange and convoluted case they’d be working on.
Alonzo was right. In all his musings.
It was strange. Was it even really a case? Yes, in the minds of those above their pay grades, there was definitely a case, or they wouldn’t be there. From what she was learning, when things that were that strange happened, something was going on.
And it all had to do with computer systems, the internet, gaming, and, of course, AI. But the world grew savvier day by day when it came to such tech, so if someone was trying to eliminate all tech and brilliant techies, they had a long, long way to go.
“The ever-human hunt for more and more,” Alonzo said. “Greed. Power. I’m not seeing any kind of personal vendetta. Assuming, as our best minds seem to believe, people are dying because of what they do, not who they are. But, when you put all the puzzle pieces together, they’ve all attended the same meetings, workshops or conventions around the country at one time or another.”
“They might have met,” Wesley said. “But from what I’m hearing so far, I agree with our ‘best minds.’ This sounds like a power play—since it is unlikely that this kind of situation could simply occur in what appears to be exactly the same way in different places.”
“There have been many ways to look at this. While our best minds seem to agree on a course of action, an opportunity to filter into the community, we certainly can’t guarantee that we know what is going on. The first few episodes initially went unnoticed because they occurred in different jurisdictions—in three different states—and then we were notified by a survivor who read about another death, got frustrated at the local level, and asked us in, and thus our current involvement while it remains a task force with many agencies involved. As we started putting the events together, we saw that there appeared to be a pattern in which people had suddenly started committing suicide or killing others before committing suicide—in the same way. And . . . and while it escaped national attention at first, it beats the odds of chance. Naturally, before I spoke to the two of you and your supervising directors—and the director himself—we did the necessary deep dives and research on those involved. It’s unbelievable. We know why it took a while. When the suicides started, it appeared to be more than possible that some of those who died were in a state of depression or had a self-perceived reason, but . . .”
Assistant Director Glen Alonzo stared at Chloe and Wesley, shaking his head.
“Am I making any sense yet?” Alonso asked.
“Of course. Sadly,” Chloe said, “people do commit suicide. And I understand with the crime scenes they found, local law enforcement assumed that to be the case.”
“Well, we’re not sending you out blind. You’ve a few hours here to read everything that we’ve got. You must be on the ship by four-thirty. It’s just noon now,” he added.
“Um, sir, pardon me,” Chloe said. “I’m still a little blind. I don’t know what cruise we’re going on and why you’re convinced that going on a cruise can help solve—”
He smiled at that. “And you’re right to be curious, eh? Right. Once you’ve studied the situation, I hope you’ll understand—and that our suspicions are on the money. Though, honestly, in my younger days, I’d have just said, hell, yeah, a cruise, instead of a back alley behind a crack den. And we’ve all had a few of those.”
She smiled. “Trust me, sir, I’ve nothing against cruises—” Chloe began.
“Of course not!” Alonzo said. He managed to smile. “Special Agent McMurray, I’ve naturally read your service files frontward and backward. We’re well aware you and your last partner, Agent Rodriguez, played it all out and captured the boatyard killer. You know this state. You know this city. You’ve also been on cruise ships since you were a kid.”
The man who would be her partner on the upcoming voyage was studying her.
Had he investigated her background, as well? Of course. Who wouldn’t have done so? When you were suddenly thrown on a case you knew nothing about with a partner who wasn’t even from the same agency, you did your homework.
“Nothing against a cruise,” she repeated.
“All right, then. We’ll start with the bad,” Alonzo said. He pointed across his desk to the large video screen in his office and hit keys on his computer, indicating to them that they needed to take the seats in front of his desk and watch.
They did so.
And Alonzo began, flicking keys on his computer to change the screen images as he spoke.
“Jesup, Georgia. Frank Adams, forty, husband and father, technician for the Adler Screen Company. They claim to make the best screens for everything, movies, gaming—easy, easy, easy controls and computing. His wife found him with a shotgun between his hands and still in his mouth. No note. But the gun was in his hands. At first accepted as a suicide; case closed. A month later, Cassandra Little and her husband, Hank. Hank shot dead; Cassandra was found with the Smith and Wesson that killed him—and her—in her hands. They were in Palatka, Florida. Obvious. Murder-slash-suicide. Oh, they both worked for Brandon Solutions, another tech company, one that’s huge in online protection apps. Third instance. Randy Templeton, Montgomery, Alabama, found in his bathtub, electrocuted, his electric shaver in the water with him. He worked for the local city government, online data. No note, but neighbors heard him and his wife, Myra, argue frequently, so they thought that his wife had threatened to walk out on him and his depression had caught up with him. The wife denied she’d ever said that she was leaving. She said they had fought, yes. All married couples did. She didn’t accept his death as a suicide. But the police became suspicious, through their friendly neighbors, that she might look to be as sweet as candy but have evil inside. Their suspicion—no solid clues, no proof—was that she had murdered him. Not possible. She can be seen on a security video all day at a symposium on mental health. The woman is a therapist. Now, she’s the first who came to the Feds when the local police ignored her—and suspected her. She’d found references to the other events in the news. Then! And the major ‘then,’ we have what happened in Broward County last week. A meeting of enlisted personnel and civilians who worked for the military, a party of six. Five were shot and killed and, you guessed it, as I’m sure you already saw in the news, the sixth person, a young woman, was found with her gun—a six-shooter—in her mouth. All planned out so well! And every shot straight through the heart. Was she ever in the military? No, she was a civilian working with the others. Motive? Jealousy of those higher up, was she maybe a home-grown terrorist? Her parents denied it fervently, came to us, too, and we were ready since we’d already started looking into the other odd deaths. Now, we’re pulling legal strategies and exhuming corpses, trying to determine if something had been missed in the autopsies on the deceased that might help us. As you are aware, only certain drugs are tested in such victims in a customary autopsy. Oh, yeah, one more interesting fact, the weapons involved were tested for fingerprints. None whatsoever were there except for those of the person left with the weapon. Our firearms experts say that—especially since a few of the prints appear to be backwards—the condition they were discovered in is, once again, more than ‘questionable.’”
“I can easily see why these are suspicious occurrences, and yes, it does appear that there is, beyond a doubt, something going on, though on what level, who knows at this point,” Wesley Law said, speaking up. “But. These were all on land. So—”
“Milestones,” Alonzo told them.
“Milestones?” Chloe murmured.
“Oh, come on. I know you are field agents, but you do know how to use computers! Milestones is a huge corporation. The company is the next massive step in user-friendly computing and in computers doing just about everything for you, including, according to one ad—truth or a way to intrigue people—brushing your teeth. At any rate, the company is having an employee gratitude group to celebrate their tenth anniversary on the ship Silver and Sapphire Seas, the newest luxury offering from Surf of the Seven Seas.”
“That’s the company that has luxury restaurants in every state—all offering several different surf-and-turf options, right?” Wesley asked. “In the cruise business, they’re young, only being around about a decade or so.”
Alonzo smiled. “That is true. And if nothing else, you’ll eat well.”
“So, you believe this killer is specifically after those who are exceptionally talented with computing, or those who—”
“Those who have the money or the management skills to keep the right people working, yes,” Alonzo said. “And why this ship? you ask. Not just the fact that it will be hosting so many computer nerds, but then there was this.”
He clicked a key on the computer.
On the screen, they saw two of the bodies from the multi-death incident again, more closely pictured than they had been before.
Near one was a briefcase.
And sticking out of the briefcase was a folder.
Chloe couldn’t see the entire folder, but she could see enough.
It advertised the free computer sessions that would be held on board, offering classes to other passengers for those who were newbies to more experienced nerds.
Proof. Proof was what they needed.
How many people were supposed to die in this—and yes, the big question, why?
“The conference room is empty. You may take your computers and read everything we have in the police reports, from witnesses, and from Myra Templeton—we have her on video when she first came into the local field office. You have a couple of hours. There’s a blue sedan out there for you to take to the cruise port—no official drop-offs or the like. You’re on the cruise as Chloe and Wesley Douglas. You’re on vacation from your specialized tutoring jobs in NYC—the bigger the city, the harder for anyone to discover you’re not who you say you are.”
“And two hours to remember our names and our histories,” Wesley said.
“Sorry, this all came up quickly,” Alonzo said. “And you’ll be given ‘ghost’ guns, no metal so that they’ll pass through any metal-detecting security, though there are bureau members and offices where your purpose is known—as you know, Wes, there are sixty-two legal attaché offices around the world with another thirty-six sub offices. There are those in each port that you can contact, numbers are in your burner phone under assumed names, but the names won’t matter—emergency only. Got it? No, not yet—you’ve only got a few hours. Go study your identities—as always, info was kept as close to what’s real so that you’re natural in any conversation—and study up on what you’re looking for.”
Study up?
People were dead. They were all involved in computer and Internet expertise in one way or another.
But they all had been made to appear to be the work of suicide, murder-suicide, or someone having just gone lethally crazy.
Chloe looked at her just-met new partner, Wesley Law. He looked at her in turn, grimacing and arching a brow in question.
She nodded. “Oh, hell, yeah. We should go study up.”
“Well, once we know about ourselves and what has been discovered regarding the victims, we should be fine. I know how to make contact if needed, though it’s easy. Then I’ll follow you. You’ll know what we should and shouldn’t do as just folks out on a cruise having a good time, where we should hang out. You are the cruise expert,” he reminded her.
She wasn’t sure why she needed to defend the fact that she was as familiar as she was with cruising—she just did.
“I grew up here—there were always specials out of Miami or Ft. Lauderdale. My parents loved the water, my dad was once a Navy Seal. He loved any place where one could go diving and he made sure that his kids could swim—Florida, water everywhere.”
“And alligators.”
“Yeah, well, he taught us not to swim in canals and to always watch out—waterways connect, and the creatures can run faster than most humans, too. But I don’t think that the abilities of alligators are going to be our problem. The ‘creatures’ we’re looking for will be of the human variety. But! Cruises offer cool cities, history, and lots of great dives and snorkel trips—though whether we’ll be following anyone suspicious around such places or events remains to be seen, I imagine. Then again,” she said, and paused, looking at Alonzo, “I still don’t even know where we’re going. I’ve never been on this ship.”
“Go find out about your ports of call—but don’t forget that you’re pleased as can be you’ve chosen a cruise with computer classes,” Alonzo said, indicating that they should head on to work with the few hours they had to get up to speed on the case.
As they headed out of Alonzo’s office and into their workroom, Wesley murmured, “So, we’re undercover but almost as ourselves. I had a number of cases as different people, but it’s been a while now since I’ve worked undercover. I looked you up—I know you’ve done a lot of really good work.”
She smiled. “Only undercover once, so I’ll know cruising—and you can help me out with the undercover.”
“Keep it easy and natural and—”
“And just remember my background,” Chloe finished. “I worked with our local experts, some who went under for a few years! Of course, we need to study all the events Alonzo has just told us about. The people—”
“Yeah, honestly, I wish we had been able to be in from the start, but it is what it is. You do know you are free to refuse this kind of a case, right?” he asked her.
