Boxing the Octopus, page 29
“I have the item you requested.” Using a cane to balance his gait, the young man moved behind the register as Sally wandered around the store.
Nesting dolls stared at her from every shelf, corner, case, and table. Hundreds of rotund characters sitting in judgment, never blinking, watching to see what would happen next.
Sally returned to the counter as the man handed an item to Cape.
Cape spun it around, then presented it to Sally like a bouquet.
“I got you a present.”
It was a nesting doll as tall as a mason jar with the fierce countenance of a black-clad ninja holding dual katana in its painted hands. Sally noticed that eyelashes had been painted on to suggest the ninja was a girl.
The man behind the counter extended a hand and Sally returned the matryoshka. Over a velvet cloth he proceeded to crack open the big ninja to reveal another ninja. And another. And another still. Each was painted in a different color with exceptional detail and cartoonish flair, and every oval assassin had eyelashes worthy of My Little Pony.
Sally nodded her appreciation to the man behind the counter and then turned a bemused expression toward Cape.
“I hate it,” she said.
Cape beamed. “I knew you would.” Then to the siblings behind the counter, he added, “It’s perfect, thank you.”
Brother and sister glanced at each other and shrugged in unison. The man wrapped the nesting doll in tissue paper and placed it in a bag.
“How much?” asked Cape.
“Nichego takogo,” said the man. “Nothing.”
Cape held the man’s gaze for a moment before nodding his thanks. Taking the bag, he opened the door and let Sally exit first, looking over his shoulder as he crossed the threshold. The sister waved and called out to him.
“Uvidimsya, Cape.”
Cape smiled. “See you around, Eva.”
Sally waited until they descended the stairs before asking, “Why didn’t that cost you anything?”
“Oh, it did,” said Cape.
They walked in silence to the end of the pier, past shops and restaurants that blurred together, passing thousands of people trading money for memories, until the only thing in front of them was the bay.
The Golden Gate Bridge watched stoically as a container ship slipped between its legs, while Alcatraz sat brooding and impatient as always, waiting for the fog to hide its sins. Cape and Sally stared at the water until the sun was low against the horizon.
The tide was coming in.
80
The jet was flying south.
Steve glanced out the window at the California coast and wondered when they would turn west toward Boulder. Probably when they reached cruising altitude.
The corporate jet was a Gulfstream G650ER, capable of flying almost seventy-five hundred nautical miles at Mach .90 and holding up to nineteen passengers, but today it carried the six board members plus the pilot and a single steward, a man named Li.
It had been a week since Hopewell Pharmaceuticals announced the release of a breakthrough new drug in the fight against Alzheimer’s. The company’s stock soared on the news. FDA approval was being fast-tracked and the corporate patent would hold for at least ten years.
They were all going to be rich.
Steve looked around the cabin at his hand-selected board. George and Elaine were sitting on a leather couch, eating cheese and crackers, mimosas in hand. Pat was reclining in a leather chair that looked more like something you’d find in a living room than a plane, his eyes closed and noise-canceling headphones on. Kerry and Doris were sitting in facing chairs, having an animated conversation about shellfish poisoning.
At a cost of sixty-five million dollars, this jet was still a bargain. No customs, no airport bullshit. Traveling near the speed of sound, the Gulfstream could shave time off any trip, hours when flying to Asia. The hand-polished wood of the cabin and nubuck leather chairs made the textures of their corporate boardroom look like IKEA.
Steve recalled their last board meeting, when the Doctor hijacked their discussion and threatened each and every one of them with a Sharpie. That sociopath hadn’t been seen or heard from since. Good riddance.
Better to enjoy the Doctor’s legacy than suffer his mordant personality. The company owned the patent on his miracle drug, and with no threat from generics for at least a decade, they could charge anything and people would pay.
Who said you can’t put a price on human life?
Steve smiled contently and looked at the unbroken blue of the ocean blending seamlessly with the horizon. The sun was low in the sky.
He frowned and looked down, leaning into the cabin window. He glanced beyond the wing tip, curved at the end like a bird in flight. He craned his neck to see past the tail, the twin engines partially obstructing his view.
Water, water everywhere.
Steve crossed to the port side of the cabin to get his bearings. Cerulean carpet below, azure ceiling overhead, only the gray fog of confusion ahead. He had felt the jet bank gracefully a few moments ago but couldn’t remember in which direction, and they hadn’t ascended much either. The jet was flying low over the ocean, headed west.
Steve started toward the front of the plane as Li emerged from the cockpit. The steward had impeccable manners and a charming British accent, but his smile was perfunctory.
“You may have noticed a slight change in course,” he said.
“Slight?” asked Steve. “Boulder is southeast across the Rocky Mountains. So why are we flying west across the Pacific Ocean?”
All eyes turned toward the two men standing. George and Elaine set their drinks on the table. Pat sat up in his chair and removed his headphones. Kerry and Doris exchanged glances.
Steve pressed. “The corporate retreat—”
“I’m afraid you won’t be attending,” said Li.
“On whose authority?” Steve’s face reddened. “We’re the board of directors.”
“Not anymore.” Li looked dolefully around the cabin. “You’ve been replaced.”
Elaine turned to George. “Is he threatening us?”
Li adjusted his tie. “After all the excitement on the pier, we thought it best to suspend field tests for a while. At least until the new drug is in market.” As he tugged at his collar, Li inadvertently revealed a small tattoo below his hairline. It was a simple triangle, the axis aligned with his right ear.
Steve’s indignation caught in his throat. After a moment he swallowed and asked, “Where are you taking us?”
“To the new research facility.” Li smiled encouragingly. “In the South China Sea.”
George stood and took a step forward. “Wait a min—”
“Please.” Li drew a gun from inside his jacket and pointed it at George. “Don’t do anything rash.”
George froze and Steve took a step back, but both remained standing. Nobody else moved. The Rolls-Royce engines hummed soothingly.
“You’re bluffing,” said Steve uncertainly.
“He can’t fire a gun inside a plane,” said George. “I saw that in a Bond movie.”
“Goldfinger.” Li nodded. “I saw that one, too.” He stroked the long barrel of his gun as if it were a pet. “But this beauty is a tranquilizer gun, low velocity darts powered by compressed air, not gunpowder.” Li sighted down the barrel. “So you see, George, I can fire this wherever I want.”
George took another half step and Li pulled the trigger.
A silver dart with a red tassel penetrated George’s chest above the breastbone. Arms outstretched as if he’d been crucified, his lungs constricted with a dreadful wheeze, bagpipes squeezed by an invisible hand.
George fell face-first onto the plush carpeting, the only signs of life a low rasp and an occasional twitch of his left foot. The cabin pressure seemed to change as everyone released the breath they’d been holding.
All eyes were on Li as he stepped forward and, with his free hand, grabbed George by the collar and dragged him away from the group. He kept the gun raised.
“Was that really necessary?” asked Doris.
“Perhaps not,” said Li. “But I wanted to make a point, Doris.”
“How do you know our names?” asked Kerry.
“I know all about you.” Li waved the gun to encompass the group. “Your names, your medical records, blood types, family histories—”
“—my family,” said Steve. “My family is expecting me to call—”
“—mine too,” said Pat.
“Pat, you don’t have a family,” whispered Doris.
“He doesn’t know that.”
“All your loved ones will be notified,” said Li reassuringly. “After the search.”
“Search?” asked Elaine.
“For the plane.” Li pursed his lips. “Should take about a week.”
“What the hell is going on?” said Kerry.
“So many questions.” Li held up his free hand. “Give me a minute.”
Li was standing directly in front of the door leading to the cockpit. To his left was the exit door, curved to match the shape of the bulkhead, with a release handle inset at shoulder height.
He holstered the gun with a fluidity that suggested he could draw it again just as quickly. With his left hand, Li gripped a safety strap adjacent to the door, while his right twisted the release handle on the exit door.
“You might have noticed how low we’re flying.” Li raised his voice against the sibilant hiss of air escaping the door seams. “Wanted to stay off radar for a while.” He yanked the handle and the door swung inward. A sudden typhoon filled the cabin and everyone grabbed onto something or someone. “And depressurization at higher altitudes is so dramatic.”
Still grasping the safety strap, Li wedged his right foot under George and rolled him onto his side, then bent sideways to grab him by the collar. Elaine’s scream was barely audible in the maelstrom as Li dragged George sideways over the edge of the door.
One kick and the body tumbled into oblivion as if it had never been.
Li spared a glance past the engines until he saw the splash, then wrenched the door back into place. A sudden quiet fell over the cabin as the door resealed.
Drawing the gun casually, Li contemplated the remaining passengers. Five pillars of salt looked back at him with the sudden realization that their past sins were never out of sight.
Steve’s face was ashen. “You killed George.”
“Guess he didn’t have a golden parachute after all.” Li clucked his tongue. “So where does that leave us?” He reholstered the gun. “Though field tests are on hold for a spell, I think you’d agree that R&D must continue. We have a very promising cancer drug in development.”
Kerry nodded woodenly. “That was mentioned in the annual report.”
“Exactly,” said Li. “Trials are underway at our new lab, but we need more test subjects.” He glanced at his watch. “You should arrive in plenty of time.”
Everyone looked nervously around the cabin, only to find their own fear reflected in the eyes of their companions.
Li continued, “Life-threatening side effects are running around twenty percent.” He made a show of counting his guests on the fingers of his right hand. “So, I’d say your odds are about even.”
Steve considered the odds and found himself wishing he’d left with George.
Li bowed politely and added, “Feel free to move about the cabin. Refreshments will be served in about an hour.” Then he turned, opened the cockpit door, and disappeared.
Nobody said a word. The only sound was the hum of the engines.
Steve sank into his leather seat and stared out the window, but all he could see on the horizon was the setting sun.
Acknowledgments
Much like the octopus in the title, this book has a lot of moving parts, but none of them would have come together if not for some remarkable humans. Barbara Peters and Robert Rosenwald, the pioneers of Poisoned Pen Press, who defied the odds to build the best mystery imprint in publishing today, thank you for inviting me into the PPP family of authors. Diane DiBiase and the entire PPP team, thanks for getting the book that was in my head onto the page, despite my many procrastinations and mistakes along the way. Everyone at Sourcebooks, thanks for welcoming me into the fold; I’m incredible excited about the next chapter.
Kathryn Maleeny, sometimes I swear you must have eight arms and three hearts just like Oscar—and Clare, Helen, and I couldn’t be luckier for it. Everyone who read an early draft, your comments and feedback turned a manuscript into a book.
And to readers old and new—and booksellers everywhere—if I had enough arms, I’d hug you all.
About the Author
Photo by Joey D’Amelio
Tim Maleeny is the bestselling author of the award-winning Cape Weathers mysteries and the comedic thriller Jump, which the Boston Globe called “hilarious” and Publishers Weekly described as “a perfectly blended cocktail of escapism.” His short fiction appears in several major anthologies and has won the prestigious Macavity Award for best story of the year. A former resident of San Francisco, Tim currently lives and writes at an undisclosed location in New York City, where he is working on his next novel, a screenplay, and a book for young readers. You can contact Tim or find out more about his writing at timmaleeny.com.
Tim Maleeny, Boxing the Octopus
