Arc Angel (33 page)

She looked at her watch. 10:30. She didn’t have time for this right now. She had an ancient artifact to steal. Ignoring the reporter, she stood and stepped toward the door.

“John, it’s time. Shall we go?”

“You can ignore me all you like, Miranda. But I’ll be waiting for you when you get back. We’ll have plenty of time to talk then.”

If she was even Miranda when she got back.

The now-familiar fear ran down her spine but mixed in her belly with an odd urge to laugh: a Gavin Brooks/Arc Angel interview was something she’d actually like to see.

***

Usually, Kate enjoyed the bureaucracy of her job: the reports, the files, the statements. The order and routine soothed her. But today it had chafed like a wool sweater. She didn’t want to give her statement
again
. She didn’t want to speculate some more on who was behind the attack at the diner and what the motive had been.

Neither of the men she’d arrested was talking. Well, the one Miranda had taken down still lay unconscious in the hospital, but the conscious one had made it perfectly clear that he had nothing to share with the police. So the reports primarily contained Kate’s idea that it had been an attempted robbery, and that it had been coincidence that she’d been in the diner.

The attempted robbery part had gone over like gangbusters, since it really was the logical assumption. Kate being at a diner, apparently alone, across town from both her apartment and the station had raised more questions. Fortunately those sentiments were focused around the potential for a mystery man in her life, rather than trying to connect her to the attack. She could put up with some razzing about a new boyfriend if it meant no one looked any closer at the incident.

But Kate was looking closer. Who had sent these guys, and why did they want Miranda?

After she’d finished all the required paperwork from the attack, and put up with additional teasing from the guys for uncharacteristically misplacing something, Kate had gotten a new phone. And she’d put it to use immediately, calling, texting and e-mailing Miranda all evening. When she hadn’t heard back, she’d tried contacting Bryce Campion as well, but hadn’t heard back from him either. The lack of response made Kate edgy. She was starting to get that now-familiar sensation that something was very, very wrong.

She tried to push away the feeling of impending doom and focus on the computer in front of her. She’d stayed at the station to access its network and had spent the last few hours researching Tech Corp, determined to find something, anything, that looked shady. So far, she hadn’t found anything unusual or suspicious.

What if she cross referenced the company against, oh, anything and everything she could think of related to the last week or so.

She cross checked “Tech Corp” with “Miranda James.” Nothing. Not that that was much of a surprise. Miranda had said she’d done work for them, but her type of work was typically kept off the books and wouldn’t show up in any records.

She entered “Tech Corp” and “Gavin Brooks.” And got a hit.

Gavin Brooks had filmed a profile of Tech Corp for WIMT two years ago. She located the profile on the WIMT site’s archive and watched it twice. Nothing really stood out about the content—it was a standard puff piece—except that the man featured in the interview wasn’t the head of Tech Corp. Instead, John Smith, whose title was listed as Senior Vice President of Special Projects, spoke to the reporter.

Now why wouldn’t the head of the company want the face time? Most CEOs she’d met were the traditional figurehead, making public appearances to represent their organization. Maybe he’d simply been traveling, or sick, the day of the interview. But his absence still sent up a red flag to Kate, albeit a small one. Was she getting so desperate that she was making mountains out of molehills? Maybe.

Because she wasn’t making much progress. Still, she pressed on. What else could be a connection? She remembered all of Gavin’s questions about the museum artifact. What the heck. She typed in Tech Corp and the Elder’s Grove Museum and got a couple of hits. She scrolled through, disappointed to see that they were all simple sponsorship announcements. Apparently Tech Corp was a big donor, not only on a yearly basis, but also sponsoring specific exhibits. She glanced through the exhibits listed. Several Native American pieces, but also an exhibit of ancient Greek tablets and one of pieces from a Roman temple. Did any of this tell her anything? Not that she could see.

Kate leaned back in her seat, stretching her arms behind her head, trying to ease the tension in her shoulders. Maybe she should call Miranda again. Where could she be? Kate knew the young woman wasn’t comfortable with talking on the phone, but every other time she’d contacted her, she’d at least gotten a text back fairly quickly. Kate couldn’t shake the idea that something had happened to prevent Miranda from getting back to her.

As Kate mentally ran over possible next steps, her eyes lingered on the exhibit descriptions on her computer screen. Native American Artifacts Pre-Colonization featured pictographs, petroglyphs, and ancient tools. The Greek exhibit had amphorae, votives, kouros and several stone tablets and friezes. Roman Temple: Religion in the Ancient World included sarcophogi, stone reliefs and several busts.

Kate sat up straight and leaned in toward her screen, double checking what she thought she’d seen. Okay, that many stone tablets couldn’t be a coincidence. And the fact that the museum’s newest exhibit, for which she’d created security, also featured a stone tablet... again, probably not a coincidence. The sponsorship information for the latest exhibit focused on Livingston Mutual, but Kate pulled up the full documentation she’d gotten at the beginning of the project. There it was: a complete list of exhibit sponsors. Livingston Mutual, a bank, a utility company and… Tech Corp.

Tech Corp was systematically bringing ancient stone tablets to town. She had no idea why, but at least she finally had a lead.

Kate thought of the current stone tablet, sitting in the museum right this minute, and shivered. It had to be connected. She’d never had such a strong reaction to an inanimate object. Besides, if the last few days had taught her anything, it was to trust her new sixth sense.

She flipped through the file until she found a phone number. When the person on the other end picked up, she said, “Mr. Fredricks, I’m sorry to call so late, but we need to talk. Now.”

***

Bryce heard the footsteps in the hallway again, but instead of bracing to fight, he only sank deeper into his prison chair. What could he do anyway? Breathe on the guy? Without his pills, he didn’t dare try anything more. Bitterness and fear twined together and rose up in his throat, choking him.

He glared at the slight older man who’d entered the room, flanked by two bodyguards. This must be the infamous Mr. Brown. Bryce tried to bring himself to care, to feel anything other than self-pity, with little success.

“Hello, Mr. Campion.”

He said nothing.

Mr. Brown pointed to one of the piles of chairs, and one of the bodyguards grabbed the top one and set it down a few feet from Bryce’s, facing him. Mr. Brown settled into the scratched plastic chair like it was some type of throne. The bodyguards automatically took up position flanking him.

“Gentleman, please leave us.” The men hesitated, but Mr. Brown waved them off. “I’ll be fine. You may monitor us, to ensure my safety, but I must insist on a private conversation with Mr. Campion.”

They nodded and left the room.

“So, Mr. Campion, it’s nice to finally meet you.”

Bryce stayed silent.

“I’ve followed your career, you know. Avidly.”

Bryce just glared. He didn’t want to give the man the satisfaction of a reaction.

Mr. Brown remained unperturbed. Cocking his head to the side, he asked, “Don’t you want to know why?”

“Why what?” Bryce finally spat out.

“Why I’ve been following the career of a two-bit comic book writer.”

Bryce didn’t even have the energy to be offended.

“Okay, I’ll bite. Maybe that will make you go away. Why have you been following my career?”

Mr. Brown smiled and nodded like Bryce was a student who’d answered a question correctly.

“Because of who you are, of course.”

“Who I am?”

“Or rather, who you’re related to. Your mother was a Latimer, yes?”

“Yeah. So?” On Matthews’ advice, he’d spent some time tracking down information about his family that afternoon, but hadn’t turned up anything unusual yet.

“Perhaps you are unaware of how special that truly is. The Latimers have lived in Elder’s Grove longer than anyone. They’re the descendants of the indigenous people of the area.”

“We do have a touch of Native American in us, yes.”

“Oh no, I’m referring to the people who lived here before the Native Americans.”

Before the…? This guy was obviously crazy. There weren’t any people in the area before the Native Americans. But the intense look in Mr. Brown’s eyes didn’t encourage argument. So Bryce simply shrugged.

“Your maternal line wielded immense power; they served as High Priestess to the Goddess herself. They were her conduit. As you are now.”

Mr. Brown leaned back in his chair and studied Bryce in silence for a moment. Then suddenly he sat forward and asked, “How did you come up with Arc Angel?”

The complete shift in topics threw Bryce for a loop.

“What?”

“How did you come up with Arc Angel?”

This time the question sank in. Bryce narrowed his eyes.

“Why do you want to know?”

Mr. Brown waved his hand dismissively. “That is of no concern for you. Now please answer the question.”

So not only was he stuck here in this room, unable to do anything to save himself or his friends or Miranda, but now he had to put up with an interview too? Not likely.

“And if I don’t?”

Mr. Brown gave a delicate sigh. “Mr. Campion, this is a simple conversation. I want some information from you, that is all. Don’t turn this into some type of game.”

“I don’t think I have anything to say to you.” Bryce crossed his arms and sat back in his chair.

Mr. Brown studied him silently for a moment. Then he snapped his fingers.
“Gentlemen.”

The two bodyguards reappeared instantly. Mr. Brown wagged his fingers at the one closest to him. “Could you please encourage Mr. Campion to answer my question?”

The large man reached into his pocket, but instead of pulling out a gun, he pulled out a small syringe.

“This syringe,” Mr. Brown continued, “contains adrenaline. Even a small dose of it makes a healthy person’s heart race uncontrollably. This syringe contains only the normal amount, but I think you’re smart enough to realize that even that much would have deadly consequences for someone in your position.”

Ironically, Bryce’s heart jumped at the threat. That little needle could kill him faster and neater than any gun. A few days ago, he might have welcomed the idea of his death becoming a fait accompli, but now, after meeting Miranda, he knew he’d fight any way he could. Apparently right now that meant talking to the bastard sitting across from him.

“I guess I have a few minutes to talk,” he said, fighting past the fear in his gut.

Mr. Brown nodded at the bodyguard. “You can put that away again. And give us a bit of privacy.” The men left the room.

“Why don’t you just shoot me?” Bryce growled in frustration. “Why all of this messing around with drugs instead?”

“Guns have their uses, of course, but they lack a certain… finesse. Now, Mr. Campion, if you would simply answer my question, neither guns nor the syringe will be necessary.”

Bryce sighed. What did it matter, anyway, if Mr. Brown knew about Arc Angel? He already knew enough about her to be able to use Miranda to steal for him.

“Fine. It was like I was writing the Bible.”

Mr. Brown frowned.

“What do you mean?”

“You know how they always say that the writers of the Bible had divine inspiration, and that’s how they came up with everything? It was kind of like that. Ideas, images, information, it all just sort of came to me. All I had to do was write it down. After only a few hours of work, I had created an entire being—personality, abilities, everything—from scratch. And as much as I’d like to take credit for it, it didn’t all come from me.”

Mr. Brown’s eyes hadn’t left Bryce’s as he talked, and a look of fierce concentration had settled over his face. When Bryce finished, the concentration had been replaced by rapture, and Mr. Brown’s eyes fluttered closed.

“It really is her. I was right.” He opened his eyes again and looked back at Bryce. The man had looked creepy enough when he’d presented a front of smooth indifference, but the new unfettered zeal unnerved Bryce even more. What was the man so excited about? Why did it matter that Bryce had been unusually inspired to create Arc Angel?

“Thank you, Mr. Campion. Thank you.”

“Why are you so excited, anyway?” he couldn’t help but ask.

“Because she has come. Which means that I’ve finally found the true Stone. I’ve found it! And it will be mine.” He stood abruptly and strode from the room.

Bryce ran a shaking hand through his hair. He didn’t fully understand Mr. Brown’s ramblings, but Bryce knew a supervillain when he saw one. Something about the artifact that Miranda was on her way to steal made Mr. Brown very excited, which made Bryce very frightened.

Chapter 24

At least she was once again dressed appropriately. Maybe she should take to wearing black sweatshirts at all times, just in case. Her dark, comfortable, quiet clothes helped mask Miranda’s approach to the building. She tiptoed across the alley to the service entrance, heart pounding, waiting for the inevitable call of “Stop thief!” But she made it to the museum door without incident.

She turned back to look at John, who waited in the door of the office building she’d left seconds ago. He stood silent and immobile, watching. Miranda barely restrained herself from sticking out her tongue at her automaton watchdog. The image of doing just that, and seeing the expression on John’s face, had her shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter.