Precipice (7 page)

The sun hung low in the western sky as Will reached the town limits of Red Hill. As he topped the crest of the small knoll, he surveyed the valley. He’d been on the move for hours and his legs ached, but he’d put enough distance between him and Artie that he could afford to rest without worry. As he settled down on a tree stump, he attempted to plan his next moves.

Red Hill was a small rural community, the type of town where fall Friday nights belong to high school football and everyone is on a first name basis. Will needed to be careful. Any local would peg him immediately as an out-of-towner. The quaint little logging village had transitioned over the years into a woodworking community, focused more on what you can do with the wood after being chopped down.

Red Hill Company furniture became nationally known over the last decade and this newfound fame brought vast wealth to the local inhabitants, though you’d never know it by the appearance of the town. It remained old fashioned and down-to-earth as the local people were resistant to change. But this woodworking expertise was not what brought Will to town.

Artie had explained that one of the nation’s leading producers of counterfeit materials resided on the outskirts of town, near the foot of the mountains. Edward Booth had been a vital cog in the country’s intelligence community at one time. Rumor had it, though, he still worked independently to make a little extra cash on the side.

William Sr. and Arthur both knew Booth from school many years ago. Though they hadn’t seen each other since their university days, they remained in touch through periodic phone calls, emails, and the annual Christmas card. They never had any need for his “services,” but were well aware of his proclivities.

Will balked at trusting a stranger, but this insistence of his old friend persuaded him otherwise. After all, no other viable options had presented themselves, so what choice was there?

He couldn’t afford to sit still for long though. If his pursuers were as smart as Artie insinuated, it wouldn’t take them long to track Will to Adair. The man was tough, but his age and increasing fragility made it improbable he’d hold up for long against physical intimidation. Already, Will felt ashamed of his decision to visit Artie. There’d been no need to involve anyone else, especially an old man living in relative peace and solitude. Being dragged into this deadly situation only endangered him. If Will failed to stay ahead of the pursuit, Artie’s risk was for nothing. Struggling back to his feet, he began the trek down the hill.

Minutes later, he limped into the yard of a small, unassuming cabin. It matched the description Artie provided, but it looked nothing like he expected for the home of a mastermind counterfeiter.

The cabin was tiny and insignificant, maybe two or three rooms total, and run-down. Shutters were broken, hanging by single screws at awkward angles, and weeds overran the yard. The one window Will saw from his vantage point was large and blacked out, but cracked in a spider web pattern, emanating from a central point near one of the corners, as though hit by a rock or a baseball from a neighborhood kid. That is, if it were located in a neighborhood, which it was not. This shack seemed neither the size nor the condition to counterfeit documents on the scale Artie intimated.

As he paused at the edge of the yard, Will’s mind raced. Despite Artie’s description, something about this house didn’t feel right. There wasn’t much time though, so he made a decision, ignored his gut, and headed up the front steps. This was it. Either this was the right house or he was in a heap of trouble. He took a deep breath.

“Please let this be the house…” he muttered to no one in particular. He gave one last heavy sigh and raised his fist to knock. But as his knuckles made contact, the door swung inward.

Startled, Will took a step back. He hadn’t expected it to be open. Glancing behind him, eyes flitting back and forth in unease, he moved to the door and placed his left hand on the unfinished wood frame. Peering inside, into the darkness, he positioned his other hand on the paneling of the door and gave a slight nudge. Then another one, and another one, until the widening gap was ample enough for him to slip through. One last furtive glance around, and he disappeared into the shadows inside

“Hello?” Will meant for his greeting to be louder than the whisper that came out of his mouth. His heart pounded hard against his ribcage. He fumbled along the wall for a light switch.
Where was it? And why weren’t there more windows in this cursed building? Even the windows appear to be artificially darkened…this guy’s a nut!
Will’s mind spun faster and he called out again, “Hello? Mr. Booth?” This time a little louder, but the deafening hammer of his heartbeat overshadowed the vocalization. Still no response…

Except for his hand scrambling across the wall to his immediate left, he hadn’t moved since shutting the door behind him. As Will’s eyes adjusted to the darkness, he spotted a small switch, about a foot and a half lower than most switches.
Finally…what the heck is it doing down there?
He flipped the switch up, paused for a second, then back down. Nothing. He tried again. Still nothing.

By now, Will’s heart hammered so hard and so fast, he was sure it was trying to escape his ribcage. Will wondered if he should follow his heart’s lead and bolt from the premises, but his legs decided to freeze instead. His eyes continued to adjust, so the surroundings came into focus bit by bit.

The room he’d entered was small, with minimal furniture and interior decoration. A small couch, maybe a loveseat, two armchairs, and a small table sat in the middle of the room. A single doorway stood in the far corner, its door ajar. A bookshelf rested along the back wall, nearly devoid of books. The only thing that stood out was a large portrait of a woman he assumed was Booth’s daughter. She was pretty.

A small, dim beam of light crept through a corner of the window. It glistened across something on the ground, its light bouncing off its flat, smooth surface.
What is that?
Will took a big gulp, stomached his fears, and inched along the wall in the direction of the shimmering.

As he moved closer, it became obvious the object on the ground was not, in fact, an object at all. The glistening was caused by the light bouncing off the surface of a liquid pooled on the wood flooring. Another couple inches and Will froze again. The fluid was dark and viscous. More importantly, and more terrifying, was its color. Even in the dark, he could tell. Red.

The beginnings of a scream dashed up his throat, but no sound came out. The vibration caught in his throat and he choked. All that escaped his lips was a slight gurgle. He wanted to run, but his legs refused to cooperate. He could do nothing but remain frozen, eyes glued to the large red puddle on the floor. A million thoughts raced through his mind, so fast he struggled to single any one out.
What should he do? Whose was it? Booth’s? Where’s the body? Is the person who did this still here? Should I run? Can I run? Where do I run to?

With a mighty effort, Will’s legs unglued from the floor. He retreated to the entrance and as quietly as possible, reopened the door. Careful not to make even the slightest of sounds, he slunk backward outside. Once clear of the building, however, his “flight” instinct kicked in and he bolted. For the second time in the last 24 hours, he found himself fleeing a house at top speed, scared for his life.

He ran at full capacity for several minutes, disappearing into the forest before he collapsed. His lungs ached and his muscles burned. Pitching forward onto his knees, his hands scraped against the rocky soil. His stomach retched at the image of the huge, gory puddle permanently burned into his mind. Will was no doctor, but even he knew losing that much blood had to be fatal. It seemed probable the victim was Booth.
He was his father’s friend.
This reflection thrust Will past the point where he could control his growing nausea and he succumbed. The entire contents of his stomach found a new home in the leafy bed beneath a tree.

The tears soon followed and as he sobbed, Will began to think. He needed a new plan. He had no idea how they found out, but obviously the men chasing him had reached Booth first. This meant their best bet of tracking him was eliminated. They were no longer able to shadow his next move and he hoped to make them pay for that mistake. Slouching in the shadows of a low-hanging tree and still fighting stubborn tears, he strategized anew, this time on his own.

“This is from the night of the murder?” Dominic quizzed Craig. The tape sent over by the police prior to the exact moment they needed, but they watched at double speed until Braxton emerged.

“It’s two consecutive nights, both beginning thirty minutes before Braxton leaves the museum and ending thirty minutes after he’s gone. The second night is the one we want, but the department included both for comparison.” He paused to cough. “This,” he pointed at the screen, “is from that first night.”

“Good, good.” Dominic’s voice trailed off as he concentrated on the tape. He tilted his head in Shannon’s direction. “We’ll need to time this. See how long it takes him to lock the door this first night compared with the night in question.”

“No need, sir,” Craig interjected. “The police documented the times on the paperwork they included with the video.” He gestured to the manila file on the table in front of them.

“I saw that, Craig, but we still need to double-check. It wouldn’t be the first time local beat cops screwed something up.” The bitterness in his voice was subtle and a slight sneer materialized for a split second before disappearing. “You have a stopwatch?”

“I’ll get one.” Shannon rose and exited the room.

While waiting for her to return, Dominic continued watching. “Is this the best angle on the door? When Braxton locks it, his body will completely block the keyhole. We won’t be able to see anything.”

“The police said the museum only had the one camera aimed toward the door.” Criag assured him, so Dominic settled into his chair to watch. Nothing suspicious or unusual yet. A slow stream of employees exited the museum at the end of their work day and headed toward their cars, but no sign of their man yet. That wasn’t surprising though. As director, he’d be one of the last to leave.

Dominic’s mind drifted as he stared at the screen. His frustrations with this case kept magnifying. He couldn’t help thinking about Amadi again. There’d been another sighting of his old friend not far from here by another agent. It hadn’t been confirmed yet, but Dominic knew it was him. It had to be.

The last few nights, he’d tried to piece together what they knew about the case. It still wasn’t much. Amadi seemed involved in an arms deal of sorts, possibly trying to sell weapons to local gangs. But there was still the issue of the serial murders. The death count continued to climb, but they were unable to find a single connection between the killings.

Yet Dominic wracked his brain, trying to remember anything Amadi said or did that might have hint at his mental state, next moves, anything. As he waited for Shannon to return with the timer, his mind wandered further.

“Hey man. Over here. I found something.” Amadi crouched in the corner of the warehouse, over at the strewn body of Salvatore Rocca. Wearing sterile gloves and moving with care, he reached down and slid a small and metallic object out of Rocca’s shirt pocket. “Looks like a key.”

Amadi and Dominic were handling a case involving a drug trafficker for the last few months. He’d been bringing in drugs from Peru for at least five years. He covered his tracks flawlessly, leaving no stone unturned. While Rocca’s trafficking was no big secret, no one ever seemed able to amass enough evidence to nail him. Until a couple days ago, that is. A minor mistake at the border gave them the advantage they sought. Agents moved quickly and arrived at the warehouse armed with a search warrant and arrest papers. But Rocca chose to not come quietly and a firefight ensued.

“A key? To what?” Dominic grunted. They’d expected to find a large cache of drugs at the warehouse, but the rooms appeared empty, save for household amenities. One room housed a few chairs and a small, old-fashioned TV. Another contained a refrigerator and table with a handful of battered stools clustered around it. Another room held a small bookcase along one wall, full of classics, ranging from
The Art of War
to
The Adventures of Tom Sawyer
. The rest of the warehouse stood empty, except for the bodies of Rocca and his men. They made the call to forensics, hoping trace evidence lingered that would prove the presence of drugs. But until the technicians arrived and combed the area, Dominic and Amadi could do nothing but wait.

“Dunno. Any locked doors around?”

“No. Nothing. The entire facility’s bare.” Grunting, he began to pace. “It doesn’t make sense. We were positive this was the place. Why would they start shooting unless there was something valuable to protect. Let me see that key.”

Amadi straightened and handed over the key. Dominic peered at it, turning it over in his palm as he examined it. “There’s something written on here, but it’s tiny. I can’t read it.” He squinted, but the font was much too small to discern with the naked eye. Dominic whipped out a small magnifying glass from his pocket. He’d developed the habit of keeping one with him as a scout years ago. Under the amplification power of the lens, the words, though still difficult to make out, became legible.

“The True Beginning of Our End,” Dominic repeated this phrase a few times. “What do you think that means?” He glanced up, but Amadi had disappeared. “Amadi?” Dominic called out.

“In here.” Amadi’s voice echoed from the next room. Dominic hastened through the doorway, only to find his partner staring at the bookcase.

“You decide now is the time to read a book? What are you doing?”

“The phrase.” Amadi muttered, “It’s Shakespeare.
Midsummer Night’s Dream.
I thought he might have it here. Maybe the phrase is a clue.”

Dominic stared. “You read Shakespeare?” That was new.

Amadi shrugged. “When my brotha and I were in the refugee camp, another man owned an old copy of some of his stories. It was the only book we had growing up. We taught ourselves to read using it. I musta read it a few hundred times.”

“You have a brother?” Dominic was stunned again. He still had a lot to learn about his partner. Amadi fell quiet and stayed that way for a full minute as he searched the bookcase. “I’m sorry, man.” Dominic backpedaled, sensing a sore spot, “You don’t have to talk about it.” Amadi paused his search and turned to stare at him.

“He neva made it out of the camp. He was taken and killed by mercenaries while we were playing. I got away.” Silence again fell as Dominic shuffled his feet.

“I’m sorry, Amadi. I had no idea.” Amadi nodded forgiveness and returned to his search. It took another few seconds before he found the book he was seeking.

“There!
A Collection of Shakespeare
!” He reached out and pulled it off the shelf. Neither of them was prepared for what followed. The removal of the book triggered a lever system, resulting in the heavy bookcase being thrown sideways with a violent shudder, revealing a hidden door behind it. It was small, made of cheap metal, and unexceptional save for its astonishing appearance.

The key was a perfect fit, leading to a small, hidden room full of all the treasures needed to slam the door shut on this drug operation. Chemical compounds, drug paraphernalia, papers detailing their buyers and sellers, everything. From that point on, the case pretty much closed itself and Dominic never broached the topic of family with Amadi again.

He often pondered it though, whenever Amadi acted distant or removed. From a psychological perspective, the loss of close family members at such a young age could scar a person, causing mental damage to their psyche and personality that may never fully heal. Over the last three months, Dominic often wondered how much of a role Amadi’s brother’s death played in the agent’s sudden betrayal.

“Randal? You still with us?” Shannon’s voice jarred him back to consciousness. “I found the timer.”

“Yeah, yeah. Sorry. I’m here.” Dominic drove the image of Amadi out of his head. “Guess I was daydreaming.” He turned toward the television set. Craig had paused it right as the director made his exit. “Let’s time it. Here comes Braxton.”

Shannon started the clock and they scrutinized Ian Braxton’s movements, studying his actions for any hint of suspicious behavior. Nothing felt out of the ordinary. He exited the building, fished the key out of his pocket, and locked the door behind him. Giving the handle one solid shake to ensure its security, he turned and headed for his car.

“Twenty-eight seconds.” The clock beeped as Shannon stopped it. “That’s from the time the door opened until his final turn toward the parking lot.”

“Okay. That’s within a half second of the cop’s timing.” He turned away from the TV. “Now fast forward to the next night,” he ordered Craig. “The report claims it took him almost a minute this time.”

The trio repeated the procedure, watching intently. Braxton exited the building and turned back toward the door. This time, however, he hesitated before fishing the key out of his pocket. The lock seemed to give him trouble, as he fumbled with the key before turning and scurrying toward his car.

Shannon hit the button on the timer to stop it. “Fifty-three seconds.”

“Why would it take him twice as long?”

“He’s supposed to be a genius. Graduated Ivy League, I believe.” She double-checked the notes, confirming he was an Eli. “Maybe he’s trying to fool the camera. If he was involved from the start, maybe his team turned on him for some reason.”

“He didn’t exactly grow up on the streets, though. How many geniuses do you know that can solve any equation, but barely manage to tie their own shoes? I doubt he’d concoct a ruse like that.”

“So what takes him so long?”

“He can’t make up his mind. He doesn’t know whether to lock it or leave it open. It takes time for him to decide. In the end, he resolves to leave it unlocked.” He replayed the tape. “Look here. Watch how he turns and rushes toward his car. He’s trying to leave before he changes his mind again.”

“So he did unlock it on purpose?”

“I believe he did.” Dominic leaned back, gazed over at Shannon and smirked. He reached over and restarted the tape and pointed. “Look at how soon those men arrive after Braxton leaves. I’m betting they passed each other in the parking lot. I think we’ve got our first break in this case.”