Chapter 1 #3
They sat on opposite sides of the desk in the room, heads down at their separate computers.
“Three states, but border states,” Chloe murmured, looking over her screen at Wesley. “And now, a major case, supposedly murder-suicide.
Back in Florida, Broward County. Six dead including Jane Sewell, who supposedly killed the others and then herself. Perfect
shots on a roomful of people!”
He nodded. “All related to computers, new technology—and big money.”
“I don’t see any problem at all associating these events—but besides what they all did, what could connect them when they’re
spread out like that?”
“The tech departments have been making deep dives into company records and victims’ social media—they should be sending us
everything they’ve discovered within the hour. Maybe we use the time until then to work on ourselves,” Wesley suggested.
“Oh, yes, right!”
She switched screens, seeking her own new biography.
“Well, hm. I am from Florida, Broward County, instead of Miami-Dade, but no surprise that I might have gone to the University
of Miami. Background Norwegian on my mom’s side, confused Northern European on my dad’s. And now . . .”
“Now, my dear, darling wife, you’ve just opened your own business, promoting artists and their work, and you desperately need
to improve your computer skills,” Wesley said.
“That’s not a stretch at all!” she told him. “And you, my darling, just what is it that you do for a living?”
“Mine is cooler,” he told her.
“Cooler than art?” she demanded.
He shrugged, grinning. “I have a dive boat. I take people out to the reefs off Islamorada, where, of course, we’re living
these days. You are familiar, I take it?” he asked.
She grinned. “Oh, yeah. Speaking of cool, I used to love to go to Tavernier and head out on Captain Slate’s Creature Feature.”
He nodded. “Diving down, having nurse sharks blowing bubbles with you atop your head, stroking rays as they swim by . . .
Yeah, cool.”
“So, you’ve done that, too?” she asked.
“Came from the opposite end. I’m one of those kids who grew up in Key West.”
“Wait, of course, I know that!” she told him. “Your father was a cop! A cop in Key West!”
Wesley nodded. “Yep. And let’s see, hm. I do my own research, too, when I’m being assigned a strange case with a . . . stranger.
Your mom taught at Nova. Your dad had been career military, retired, but took on a job with a security company and received
a special commendation from the company and the country when he foiled a bank robbery.”
“He was a great guy,” she said softly.
“I believe you,” he assured her.
“Wow,” she said dryly. “In real life, we’re almost stereotypes.”
He laughed. “Worse things to be. Anyway, fake life . . .”
“Fake life, as you said, similar. Great idea, because you don’t mess up as much in any casual conversation.”
Wes nodded. “Second honeymoon. We’ve been married for three years, but both got so involved with our careers that we haven’t
spent enough time together. We thought about an Alaskan cruise, but like the sun too much. Oh, and our families are all over
the country, so it wasn’t like we could visit folks in one shot, and we needed together time more than anything else, so . . .”
“So, here we are. Diving—even though we spend our real lives diving.”
“Ah, but we’re excited to be on the cruise. We’re diving different places for fun and for me especially, a true escape. I’m
not responsible for the health and safety of others on this trip! It’s just exploring the wonders of the sea with my beloved
who is usually too busy babysitting insecure artists to really enjoy the water with me.”
He was grinning at her. The guy seemed to be okay.
Great. She could get along with him. And pray, of course, that he really did live up to his reputation and would have her
back.
He frowned suddenly, staring down at his screen.
“Succinylcholine,” he murmured.
“What?”
A total change in the conversation.
He looked at her. “We just got some info on a few of the follow-up autopsies. They dug up the dead and did more detailed tests.
And our cases are beyond a doubt related—the victims were dosed with a paralytic before death, succinylcholine, not something
generally sought and discovered in the usual autopsy of a shooting victim unless such a factor had been indicated. Also, by
the time a person’s remains get to an autopsy, it’s had a chance to dissipate. But apparently, they are finding trace amounts.”
“That would explain the perfection of the shots on that many people. Straight through the heart, which typically doesn’t happen
unless your victims are nonmoving targets. So, they are drugged with a substance that leaves them awake but paralyzes them.
How are they getting it into the victims?” Chloe asked.
He shook his head. “No answers on that yet. But, hey, we’re putting together a nice sheet on people who were related business-wise
to the victims, a few very wealthy, a few not so wealthy . . . Your sheet is up! Read, see what you think. Also, they followed
the movements of these people over the last year in which all of this has occurred. They all attended special meetings or
conferences which put them in the same general area as those who died.”
She studied her computer. They’d been sent a list of six names, plucked from the many by a combination of factors such as possible resentments or goals and assessments and proximities from a profiling team.
She quickly saw that yes, everyone on the list worked in the computer field in one way or another. Naturally. But closer looks
showed that each of the six had been working with—or against—those who were dead. In a few cases, the names of those on the
list worked for the same companies.
In some cases, they worked for rival companies.
A few had been a few rungs lower on the corporate ladder.
“Edward Thompson,” she murmured.
“Saw it,” he said. “A vice president with the hosting symposium, Milestones, a company which among other things is creating
a special screen for gamers and an affordable system that will also allow for hours upon hours of computing. Edward Thompson makes a nice seven-figure income
yearly. But the pressure is surely hard on him at all times.”
“Then there’s Amelia Swenson,” Chloe said, looking over at Wesley. “She was under the first man who, hm, committed suicide. Frank Adams. He received a promotion that she had been up for, too.”
“Her income is not enormous,” Wesley noted.
“But better than most these days.”
“True. Except in the tech world—” he began to remind her.
“You have the possibility of becoming a multimillionaire.”
Wesley nodded. “Next. Broward County last week. A party of six. Five were shot and killed, and as Alonzo told us, the sixth
person, a young woman named Jane Sewell, was found with her gun in her mouth. Ballistics matched. Six shots, five through
the heart with one remaining so that she could kill herself when she finished with the others.”
“And they’ll discover that she and the others have traces of the drug in their systems—which explains the perfect shots.
Seriously, very few people just stand there when a gun is pointed at them and they’ve already seen their friends or associates shot,” Chloe pointed out.
“We knew there was something off about it.”
“True. So, Edward Thompson, Amelia Swenson—four more names. Daniel and Broderick McClintock, brothers who started up a company
called Bulwark Cybersecurity. Their emphasis is on firewalls and so on that can lock out any malware or any other similar dangers. Interesting . . .”
“What’s interesting?” Chloe asked. “In particular?”
“I’m pretty sure I read an article on them. They claim to have tremendous ability in shutting down the dark web—they’ve reportedly
worked for the San Francisco police,” he said.
“I don’t see that here—”
“Rumor—I had friends working on a trafficking site. I wasn’t on the case, but I believe they mentioned the company in their
work.”
“Why would they have appeared on the suspect list? Surely, at the federal level, this sheet would include—” Chloe started
to ask, frowning.
“Keep reading. They did help the San Francisco police—they were exceptional in their ability to trace a site that bounced
around twenty different countries.”
“They are suspects—for being too helpful?”
He shrugged, looking at her. “Retired Special Agent Matt Greenberg, a specialist who was at the forefront of profiling, apparently
wrote in a ‘need to know only’ memo about them. They were helpful, yes. On that investigation. But Greenberg’s memo warned
that while helpful, they also needed to watch for godlike tendencies within the pair. By helping, they were also learning
how to avoid detection should they move into criminal online activities themselves.”
“Wow. I can’t begin to imagine being that powerful online!”
Wes shook his head. “I can navigate the usual tasks, but tracing IPs, et cetera, is not in my scope of brilliance. Thankfully—or maybe not—that’s why we’re field agents with the true brains of it all behind us.”
She smiled and nodded. “Last two on this list of six are a married couple. Both employees of something called Amarylis Solutions.”
“Money,” Wes said, reading. “So, Celia Henderson started the company and quickly enlisted her husband, Jeff. They handle payroll
for corporations around the world. Now, why would such a pair want to murder those involved in other aspects of computing?”
“They want more paychecks coming to themselves?”
“What they could embezzle right now is humongous.”
“Is that a word?” Chloe asked.
“Sure! Anyway . . .” He frowned, looking at her across the table. “You’re getting on a cruise ship like that? I mean, not
that you don’t look fine! Just . . . you look like a cop.”
“Ouch! Okay, I’ll change now!” she told him.
He grinned. “My wife can’t be better dressed than I am!”
She groaned and stood and headed out to grab her bag from the front office and change. She had planned well enough, just . . .
Coming to this meeting, where state and federal agencies were combining, she’d wanted to start off with a more professional
look.
Most of the time, it didn’t matter if she looked like a “cop.” In fact, it could help.
But she chose a short halter dress with a flared skirt, a “fun” outfit, she hoped. She let her hair free and grabbed a light
sweater, a “Florida” sweater, enough to take on a breeze—or air-conditioning that could bring a room down to sixty in defiance
of the high eighties or nineties outside.
She met him at the door. Alonzo was there, ready to send them out. Their bags had been repacked with the weapons that could pass through any screening. Alonzo nodded gravely to them, and they headed out in the nondescript car that have been given a fake license plate, as well.
As they headed to the car, Wes stopped and looked at her.
“What?”
“Are you going to be insulted if I drive?” he asked her.
She groaned. “I don’t give a damn who drives. I mean, I am making my own assumption. You are a decent driver, right?”
He laughed and slipped into the driver’s seat.
And as he drove, she studied their lineup again and spoke aloud.
“Edward Thompson, VP with the hosting company, Milestones. Amelia Swenson, Daniel and Broderick McClintock, brothers, and
married couple Celia and Jeff Henderson. And they are all people who know one another already—they’ve been at the same conferences
or meetings, all near the sites of our so-called suicide or murder-suicides. They will all be speaking on the ship.”
“And there she is! Time to park our car, darling, and get on board!” Wes said.
The ship was beautiful. They quickly discovered that two decks held pools, one that was adults only, and offered lounges right
in the water as well as whirlpools, bars and plenty of friendly waiters.
There were five choices of restaurants for food, and since their cruise was on a luxury yacht, there were less than six-hundred
people on board, including crew.
The rear deck offered an exceptionally scenic view of anything that the ship might pass.
“Really beautiful,” Wes noted.
They stood on deck with other passengers as the ship left the port, waving—as others did—and watching the shore shrink behind them as they headed out to sea.
They returned to their cabin.
In truth, Chloe thought dryly, it could have been one hell of an amazing voyage. They’d been given a balcony suite.
A small elegant parlor with a plush sofa and a spacious restroom were just inside from the hallway entry. Through a second
doorway, one reached the bedroom, an extremely elegant place with a giant bed, television screen, stereo system, a dressing
table and a closet larger than some of the cabins Chloe had enjoyed as a kid, cruising with her folks.
“This is really luxurious. Alonzo has set us up nicely. Maybe too nicely,” Wesley said, looking around. “All right, the sofa
out here is mine—”
“That’s okay. I sleep well on a couch,” Chloe told him.
“No, no—”
“Hey, come on, we’re both agents! You don’t need to play the gentleman around me. I’m your coworker, your—” She broke off,
wincing inwardly.
Equal. That was the word she’d been about to say. Which indicated, of course, that she assumed him to be a misogynist.
He grinned at her. “I totally respect being equals,” he assured her. He shrugged. “I just don’t need a dressing table.”
It was okay. He made her grin. She hadn’t been that offensive.
“You’re suggesting that I do?” she inquired.
“Whatever,” he told her.
“We can switch back and forth,” she suggested.
“Whatever!” he repeated. “Right now . . . Well, the main dinner tonight is the captain’s welcome. And we’re at a reserved
table—along with a few of our suspects. Good thing I’m hungry. So, dearest, do you need any repair—”
“You’re suggesting I need repair?” she teased.
“Just asking. Hey, come on. I don’t wear any makeup!”
She laughed and headed along to the tour that was starting soon.
“Darling,” she told him, “don’t forget all the ads for the excursions we might take! We should definitely discuss those at
dinner and find out what our fellow cruisers are doing!”
“Onward.”
He paused at their cabin door, looking back into the room.
He shrugged. “Nice. Sure. I can take the bed. You do wake at the drop of a pin, right?”
“Pretty much so. Why?”
“Because if an armed invader arrived, the person on the sofa will be the first to go,” he reminded her.
“And you?”
“Oh, you bet. I also wake at the drop of a pin.”
She grinned as he locked their cabin door, leaning close to tell him, “I also know how to set a trap for anyone trying to
open a door. Much better than counting on our sleeping senses. Yours or mine!”
A horn sounded. A voice came over the speaker to announce the lifeboat drills.
“Hey, an important part of cruising—how could I forget!” Chloe murmured.
“Life-saving skills on this cruise could become very important,” Wes noted.
“And they may have nothing to do with the sea,” she agreed.