The Patrick Bowers Files - 05 - The Queen (38 page)

But that was about all we had.

Alexei still hadn't asked for a lawyer or made a phone call.

Over the years I've learned that during interrogations the best thing is usually just to get people talking, really about anything, and then move to the specific matter at hand. And almost always, the best way to get them to open up is to find out what they're interested in and then simply ask them about it.

So, over the last half hour, hoping to spark Alexei's interest, I'd tried mentioning some of the locations where he'd done his work. It hadn't been especially fruitful, and now, in my search for interests and commonalities, I said, “I heard that during the Cold War, Russians had a saying that the Kremlin was the tallest building in the world.”

“Because you could see Siberia from the basement,” he said, quoting the rest of the axiom. He gave me a wry smile. “Yes. Thankfully, I never had that experience.”

I remembered his wife had been murdered last spring. “I lost my wife about two years ago,” I said. “Breast cancer.”

He told me a little about Tatiana, about arguing with her the day she was murdered and how he had regretted it ever since. After a moment he said, “I have someone to take out my vengeance on; you have only God to blame.”

His words caught me a little off guard. I'd done just what he said for a long time and wasn't sure how to respond to his comment.

The conversation broke off, and I tried something a little less personal. “One of my friends in the US Air Force used to test our experimental planes. The new designs.”

Alexei looked at me inquisitively. “Do you remember which planes he flew?”

“He wasn't allowed to tell me. But he mentioned something about aerostatic wing design.”

“Active
aeroelastic
wing,” Alexei corrected me. “Yes, for smoother roll maneuvering. Which years was he flying?”

“2006 to 2010.”

“Probably the Boeing X-53. NASA worked with your Air Force and private contractors on that one.”

“Did Russia have active aeroelastic wing planes too?”

He shook his head. “A few similar designs, but nothing as advanced.” Then, slowly, he began to open up, telling me about some of the planes he'd flown: the Su-47 Berkut, a forward swept-wing supersonic jet. “The lift to drag ratio is higher,” he explained. “It's more maneuverable and doesn't require as long of a runway for takeoff and landing.” The MiG 1.44, which actually never ended up being developed, the Beriev A-60: “They're comparable to your Boeing YAL-1, equipped with megawatt-class chemical oxygen iodine lasers to shoot down missiles, other planes, potentially satellites.”

That sounded like science fiction to me. “A laser-shooting plane that takes out satellites?”

“The laser heats the outer casing, causes structural failure. Given the right conditions, it can be accomplished from over five hundred kilometers away.”

I remembered hearing about China shooting down one of its satellites a few years ago. “Does China have planes like this too?”

“It's likely, although it hasn't been confirmed. They're a bit more clandestine about their experimental aircraft than America is.” He looked past me into the corner of the room. “My favorite plane was perhaps the Sukhoi PAK FA. It can cruise at over forty-five-thousand feet at speeds of over Mach 2. Very enjoyable to fly. I was in on the early development.”

Then he gave a nostalgic sigh and shook his head. “Our two countries. Your president slashes NASA's budget in order to buy car companies and socialize your health care; mine sells our military secrets to Iran for money to build caviar-producing fish farms. America turns Marxist, Russia dabbles in capitalism. What has happened to us in the last thirty years?”

As interesting as all of this was, I was more concerned with getting him to feel at ease enough with me to share something actionable regarding Kayla.

Move to the case, Pat. Press him a bit.

“Earlier today,” I said, “you were anxious to go look for the people who killed the Pickrons. What's changed? Do you think they left the area?”

He didn't answer me.

I didn't like how he was carefully appraising me, and I took my turn to look him over once again. He wore boots, jeans, a neatly pressed oxford, bloodied somewhat from when he was attacked. When Burlman processed him, he'd taken his belt so that he wouldn't have a way to kill himself—something that in this case I didn't think was very likely.

Alexei certainly didn't look threatening.

Looks can be deceiving.

I asked him one last time about Kayla, and when he didn't answer, I thought,
Enough of this. You need to get to your notes, find a way to locate her.

My computer was back at the motel and so were Tessa and Natasha. In addition, Lien-hua would be returning there after searching the site of the old ELF station. Honestly, sitting here talking with Alexei was getting us nowhere.

“We'll talk more later.” I rose. “Or I need you to tell me something specific related to Kayla's whereabouts now.”

“Eco-Tech hasn't done what they came here to do, or else you would've heard about it and asked me about that instead of Kayla.”

“And what did they come to do?”

“I'm not certain.”

Getting very irritated now. “Alexei, I don't like these games. If you have something to tell me, tell me. Otherwise I'm leaving to find Kayla.”

“You won't find her unless I inform you where she is.”

I felt a surge of anger, partly because I believed him, but I tried not to telegraph my feelings. I waited for him to elaborate. When he didn't, I turned toward the door, then heard him say, “In 2009, Canadian scientists found that the Chinese had hacked into 1,300 computers at embassies around the world.”

Now he had my attention. I faced him one last time.

“The malware they used would turn on the computer's camera and microphone without letting the user know that they were on, and then it would send the audio and video feeds back to China. The machines had been sending sensitive data back to China for twenty-two months before the researchers uncovered it.”

“So that's how you did it?”

“Yes.”

I held out Lien-hua's cell phone. “Both the mic and the camera?”

“Yes.”

That means he had a computer or phone somewhere in the area, a way to receive and view the signal that was sent during the briefing at the motel.

I stepped closer to the bars. “How did you get my email address?”

“I have people that I know.”

Another answer that didn't answer anything.

I could sense that this interchange was just becoming more and more of a power play to him.

“If you make your phone call in the next half hour,” I said, “use Agent Jiang's number. Otherwise, call my cell. Do you need the number?”

“No, I've got it.”

“I thought you might.” I headed for the door. “Good night, Alexei.”

“I'll call you on my way out,” he said.

His words gave me pause. After passing Burlman in the hall on his way to the dispatch room, I found Tait at his desk. “Have your officers keep a close eye on him.”

“We will. He's not going anywhere.”

“And I don't want Burlman watching him.”

Silence. “Gotcha.”

I had no idea when I would get a chance to go out to the river to retrieve my SIG from the snowbank, so before leaving the sheriff's department I signed out a Glock from the gun vault. I also stocked up on a few extra magazines for the gun, some plastic cuffs and requisitioned a GPS ankle bracelet. I had a feeling I might be needing them later in the evening.

Procuring one of the cruisers, I left the sheriff's department to return to the motel to get to my computer, regroup with my team, and evaluate what to do next.

Tessa's ringing phone woke her up. Lien-hua's ring tone.

She sat up and fished out her cell. “Hey.”

“It's me. Patrick.”

“Huh?” It took her a moment to shake the sleep from her head. “Where are you?”

“On my way back over there. Sorry things were rocky between us when I left earlier this afternoon. You doing all right?”

“Yeah.” She held back a residual nap-yawn. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

“No.” A pause. “I'll see you in a little bit, all right?”

“Sure.”

The brief call ended, and she figured she'd go back to Amber's room to hang out until Patrick arrived. As she was straightening the bedsheets she noticed a crumpled-up sheet of paper next to the trash can beside the desk.

No surprise there—the room was pretty much a mess.

But the way the page was balled up allowed the girlish handwriting to be visible even from where Tessa stood.

Considering the fact that Agent Jiang had a key to Patrick's room, Tessa thought at first that the note was probably from her, maybe a love note?
But then why would he be throwing it away?

No, Tessa had seen Agent Jiang's notes to Patrick lots of times, and even from where she stood she could tell this wasn't Lien-hua's handwriting.

Whatever. Don't worry about it. Just go see what's up with Amber.

She was halfway to the door when it struck her that while they were making up fantasy names, Amber kept mentioning Patrick first, instead of her husband.

Huh.

Naw. It couldn't be.

They have some sort of history together.

Tessa let her eyes linger on the note.

She picked it up.

Gazed at it.

At last, she dropped it in the trash can and went for the door.

But as she was about to leave the room, her curiosity got the best of her. She returned, snatched up the note, flattened it out on her hand. And read what it said.

Tessa stared incredulously at the words.

No way.

Amber was leaving Sean? And she came over to tell Patrick first? To ask a guy who barely knew his brother the best way to break the news to him?

Yeah, right.

Obviously, based on what Amber had written, something had happened between her and Patrick last night that might hurt Patrick's relationship with Lien-hua.

That was unbelievable, that was seriously—

Is Patrick cheating on Lien-hua with Amber?

No, that didn't work. Not at all.

From what the note said, Amber was the one apologizing, and whatever had happened seemed to have been her fault.

Besides, Tessa refused to believe that Patrick would mess around with his brother's wife. Not only was he in a serious relationship already, she couldn't imagine him treating his brother—or any guy—like that.

But there was something between Patrick and Amber, wasn't there? Back in the past, before Amber and Sean got married?

And now she was leaving Sean?

Tessa flumped onto the bed.

This was for Patrick's eyes only. You were never supposed to see this.

She debated what to do. If she said anything to anyone—Sean, Amber, Patrick—it would probably only make things worse.

If you bring it up with Amber, she'll totally assume Patrick told you—which would not be cool.

And anyway, this wasn't really any of her business; whatever issues Sean and Amber were having, they needed to work them out on their own.

However, this also had to do with her dad, and, if she was reading things right about him and Lien-hua, her potential stepmom.

She stared at the note.

But you could at least feel things out, right? Amber brought it up to Patrick. Who's to say she won't bring it up to you too?

Yeah, that might work. Just feel things out.

But be subtle.

Tessa scrunched up the note.

Subtle. She could do subtle.

She tossed it into the trash can.

Then left to go find Amber.

For a little girl time.