Memoria Read online

  "Sure," Barney nodded. "You're right, of course. Max's in it, too." He paused, then reached out to straighten the brooch under her collar and said decisively, "Our guest's name is Frank Shelby. He's accused of Kathleen Baker's murder. He needs help."

  Maggie opened her eyes wide. She leaned back, staring at Frank.

  "You're joking, surely?"

  "Not at all. There's big trouble coming if-"

  "Was it Uncle Max who asked you to help him?

  "It was."

  "He used to coach me," Frank butted in.

  "Shut up," Barney snapped.

  "No, don't," Maggie's face took on a serious, grownup expression. "Let him speak."

  Frank and Barney looked up at the clock. He recounted the whole story in three minutes, giving her the bare bones thanks to the previous experience in the boxing club.

  "Yeah, I see..." For a few seconds, the girl fell silent. Then she asked, "Which of you has the device now?"

  Barney raised his hand.

  "I'd like to have a look," Maggie looked at him expectantly.

  Reluctantly, Barney produced the hard drive from his inside pocket and handed it to his daughter.

  "I've seen one like this before," She fingered the connector. "Mr. Binelli, my boss, sometimes uses it in his office. He hooks it up to his personal workstation."

  Frank exchanged glances with Barney. What a stroke of luck. Binelli's workstation was one of the corporation server's data access points. Still, the veteran didn't look too happy, and Frank himself couldn't imagine how they were going to access it and copy the data.

  Maggie returned the device to her father. A doorbell rang three times in the hall.

  "That's Max," Barney said.

  The girl opened the door. Max kissed the girl on the cheek and started giving her instructions. She had to go to work as usual and do what she always did.

  "Just keep your eyes open," Max dropped a large golf bag from his shoulder and put it down in the middle of the hall. "No fussing about, just listen to what they say and try to remember anything relevant."

  Maggie nodded and gave Frank a wink.

  "Also, we might need the plans and layout of the building and the security schedule, especially those surveilling the underground parking. Think you can do it?"

  "I'll see what I can do."

  Barney's face darkened.

  "Go. And don't take stupid risks," the coach said taking off his battered jacket with the Yankees logo.

  "I won't, Uncle Max."

  * * *

  When the front door closed behind her, the Coach moved the bag into the kitchen and without further ado said,

  "Barney, your self-control skills are non-existent. You need to take a leaf out of your daughter's book. She's good, is our Maggie. Always has everything clear and businesslike."

  "What took you so long?" Barney chose to ignore the remark.

  "I had a tail," Max dropped his bag onto the floor next to the TV. "Been following me from the club the moment I came back from the stash."

  He wore faded combat trousers, a white T-shirt and black soft-soled shoes. He turned to Frank.

  "Not to worry. Those cretins have no idea who they're playing with." He pulled up his right sleeve. "No bracelet."

  "Oh," Frank blinked. "How did you remove it?"

  "Later," Barney rose, leaned across the table and looked out of the window. "You didn't take the car, I hope?"

  "I left it three blocks from here," the coach dropped his jacket onto the stool.

  "Who were they? How many, what kind of car?" Not waiting for Max to answer, Barney went into his bedroom. The flat's acoustics permitted everything to be heard from everywhere.

  "They weren't police," Max opened the fridge and stared inside. "Cops are much better undercover. There were three of them in a black Jeep, dressed in black..."

  "...no hair," Frank butted in.

  "Exactly," the coach turned round holding a milk carton; "How do you know?"

  "Same people at the post office. Not exactly the same ones, but those too were bald and in black."

  Max took a large swig from the carton and put it back. Frank frowned and buried his chin in his fist. He was trying to remember some detail, something to do with those bald attackers. But he couldn't remember what it was.

  "All clear outside," Barney walked back into the kitchen. "But if they could suss you out, they can trace you to me."

  "Doubtful," the coach crouched next to his bag. "When was the last time you came to the club?"

  "Today, wasn't it?" Surprised, Barney stared at the coach.

  "That's not what I mean," the coach looked up at him. "Do you see me often?"

  "Not really, no," Barney fingered his mustache, thinking. "Normally, you come to see me. You mean those who're after Frank will look into his contacts first, and only then-"

  "Exactly. As far as Frank is concerned, you've got nothing to do with him." Max rummaged through the bag. Something inside clanged. "Now they know that I know what he does, but they don't know where to look for me."

  "Is that good or bad?" Frank looked over the coach's shoulder.

  Gun butts protruded from the bag: two assault rifles with ribbed handguards. Max pushed the guns to one side and produced a bulky laptop in a rubberized case. He handed it to Frank saying,

  "The killer will start freaking out. And when people start freaking out, they make mistakes."

  "How do we know when they do that?" Barney took the laptop from Frank and placed it onto the table.

  "You go and get some rest now," Max rose and unraveled the laptop's power cord. "Frank and I here, we'll power up the PC, watch the TV news and see what comes up in the media. In the meantime, Maggie will be back."

  Without saying a word, Barney went into his room. In response to Frank's unasked question, Max explained that before planning a mission, one should gather as much intelligence as possible.

  "Mind plugging this in," he hooked up the power cord and handed Frank the plug. "And put the news channel on, will you?"

  "What do you want me to do?" Frank passed the cord under the table and plugged the laptop in. He sat in front of the TV and zapped through the channels looking for the news.

  "I wonder if something comes up," the coach sat on a stool and turned the laptop toward him. "Look at the news, especially trailers, and commercial breaks."

  The laptop's fan hummed. Green and red lights flickered on the side panel. Max frisked through his pockets for a pair of glasses.

  "There's a folder in the side pocket. Whatever you consider odd or note-worthy, write it down."

  "What, all of it?" Frank reached inside the bag for the folder and found a stack of paper.

  "Please do. We'll deal with it later." Looking at the laptop screen, he tapped in a command. "Don't hesitate to call me. I'll listen to whatever you consider interesting."

  "Will do."

  "I don't think we'll have to wait long. You think you can do it until lunchtime?"

  "Pardon me?" Scanning through the news, Frank took some time to understand the question. "Ah — yes, sure. I can do it all day if it's needed."

  "It's not. Barney will replace you once we've eaten. We'll have to take turns resting. Tomorrow we need to be fresh and clear-headed."

  Chapter Nine. A Pattern Starts to Form

  Frank watched the news but he couldn't concentrate. He couldn't help thinking of the men in black who had attacked the police station. They knew about Kathleen's package, too, and had tried to kill him at the post office. The blond guy seemed to have been the one in charge. He was the only one with his hair on. Or could it have been a wig?

  Frank crossed his arms and leaned back listening to TV reports. Nothing relevant as yet. The anchor was speaking about the presidential election campaign and the Republican candidate Congressman Russell Jefferson Claney.

  Frank was about to turn away when footage of Claney and the acting President came up. The two stood on the lawn in front of the White House and shook
hands, smiling for the camera.

  Slowly, Frank leaned forward eyeing Claney's face. The camera panned in for a close-up, the President's friendly tapping hand on his shoulder. The shot was replaced with a White House view — apparently, the cameraman had had a glitch so the director switched over to another camera that was filming the meeting from the sidewalk behind the fence. The faces of passersby flashed on the screen followed by a car, and the picture froze on a blurred image of a taxicab. Immediately it was replaced by the anchor's smiling face. He apologized for the malfunction and promised to rerun the story once the problem was fixed.

  A large picture of Russell Claney filled the screen behind his back. The anchor began to recount the Congressman's life story. At this moment Frank finally realized what had been bothering him. The bullying cabman in the airport, the one Frank had refused to go with, had the same kind of bald head as those at the post office. Just like Claney was on the TV screen now. The cab driver had tried to insist that Frank take his cab.

  Hurriedly, Frank shared his ideas with his coach. What if they'd wanted to kidnap him to begin with? Apparently, their plan had been to set him up for the murder. But they couldn't have possibly known he wouldn't take the cab because of his leather allergy.

  "Did you remember the plates?" Max removed his glasses and rose.

  "I did, yeah."

  "Write it down together with the car make and its description. I'll go wake Barney up." He shut the laptop.

  "What for?"

  "I want him to run a make on the car." He walked out of the kitchen.

  Frank started writing when he heard the anchorman say, "Memoria". He jerked his head up and stared at the TV screen. Aha. So this Russell Claney was Honorary Chairman of Memoria's board of directors.

  "Max!" he called. "Mind coming here for a moment?"

  He reached for the remote and put the volume up. Behind his back, Barney grumbled. Max appeared over Frank's shoulder telling Barney to shut up. The anchor went on saying that Claney and John Baker used to be friends and had started the company together. Apparently, the Congressman had been the first volunteer to have a painful memory erased and had lost his hair in one of Baker's experiments. Soon afterward, the late scientist had found a solution for this unpleasant side effect.

  "And now back to our story," the anchor nodded to his audience. The President and the Congressman reappeared on the screen.

  "Was it so necessary to wake me up?" Barney grumbled.

  "No. Wait," Max sat at the table and put his glasses back on.

  On the screen, the Congressman was announcing the start of the Vaccination. This program, he said, was a one-of-a-kind solution to the nation's numerous ills such as unemployment, the ultimate tool to humanity's happy future.

  "Yeah, right," Barney mumbled.

  "To my dismay," Claney sighed for the camera, "We have lost our main designer, the soul of the project. Kathleen Baker was murdered yesterday, the heiress of her father's genius and a beautiful young woman all around."

  He paused and lowered his head in mourning. The President supported him by the elbow, motioning him to go on.

  "I don't think that Memoria's complex relationship with the migrants is a secret to anyone," the Congressman spoke again. "The day before yesterday, more talks have been cancelled when the Bronx leader Gautier demanded full transparency regarding the Vaccination program. The board of directors, including myself, have decided to grant their request and," the Congressman turned to the President who nodded, "we've decided to present the Vaccination to the world during our unscheduled press conference at Memoria's HQ tomorrow. Our chief executive Joe Binelli will make a complete report to the media. At the same time, we plan to have a new round of our talks with the migrants' representatives. The President will be our guest of honor." Claney paused, showing his excitement to the audience.

  "I would also like to add," He shook his index finger in the air while keeping his other hand behind his back. "This is something I want everyone to know. The late Kathleen Baker was like my own daughter to me. Her life... and her work... were terminated in a most cruel way by the outcast Frank Shelby: a terrorist acting on his own. The President and I have already discussed it. The administration will do everything possible to bring the murderer to justice. The talks with the migrants will take place as planned. The President has confirmed his participation. The police have dismissed all accusations regarding the unsubstantiated participation of the Bronx migrant population in the murder. They had nothing to do with it. Let me assure you that the murderer was a terrorist acting on his own. Code Orange has been lifted accordingly."

  Frank expected to hear something along those lines. No sleep lost.

  The lawn resounded with applause and a few cheers. Claney raised his hands, appealing for silence.

  "Now that we've laid all the groundwork, all we need to do is to conduct the much desired talks with all the parties concerned. Understanding and agreement are our objectives. We will offer the migrant population an opportunity to be the first to take part in the Vaccination. Together, we can change the world. We can bring joy and prosperity to everyone!"

  Behind Frank's back, Barney chuckled.

  The President nodded. "Thank you, Russell. I can't agree more with you. I am amazed at how far Memoria has gone in its research. It is such a terrible shame that Ms. Baker is no longer with us, slain by an outcast. But her memory will always live on in our hearts. What a loss. The whole family seems to be hostages to ill fortune. Her father, as far as I remember, also died under suspicious circumstances."

  Just like Claney before him, the President pressed his right hand to his heart and lowered his head in an expression of his sorrow. Then he smiled and patted the Congressman's shoulder. "But life must go on," he said. "Russell Claney may be my Presidential adversary, but that's because not many people know we're big friends outside of politics. I admire his business sense and tenacity and would like to wish him luck in all his undertakings. See you all in New York."

  They shook hands, and the footage ended, replaced by the figure of the news anchor. He reminded his audience that the full report of the Vaccination project would be presented to the public the next day at Memoria's HQ in the presence of the President. Then he moved to other stories.

  Frank turned the sound down and walked away from the screen.

  "Tomorrow," the coach said staring in front of him. "It will all happen tomorrow. Then we could-" He stared at Barney in the doorway. "We need to get inside the HQ before the press conference starts and get hold of the data."

  "Still no reason to wake me up," reminded Barney.

  "Oh yeah," Max removed his glasses and wiped his red eyes. "I need some information on one of your taxi drivers. I've got the plate number."

  "Piece of cake," Barney said. "Give me the number."

  Frank grabbed the piece of paper, jotted down the car's make and color, and passed it over to him. The coach opened his laptop. His fingers flitted over the keyboard.

  Barney in the next room bellowed into the phone, "That son of a bitch cut me off on the Fifty-Ninth the other day. Exactly. Are you sure? All right, then."

  He popped his head into the room to tell them the news. Not only did the plates not match, but his company had only eight Fords which were all currently firmly stuck in major overhaul.

  "Can I go to bed now?" he yawned.

  "Please do," Max turned to Frank. "Get some paper out. We need to mull over these facts for a bit. Let's see where they take us."

  "And how about the news?"

  "We've already heard whatever they had to say. First, they're plugging this Vaccination thing in a bit of a hurry. Secondly, you're the scape goat."

  Frank reached for the remote and was about to press the off button.

  "Don't," said Max. "Put the sound down so it doesn't distract us. Let's do it."

  Fifteen minutes later, they had their first model. Someone had intended to intercept Frank on his way from the airport. They had sent a b
ogus taxi out for him. His allergy had saved his butt. They had killed Kathleen while he was being driven home, staging their date and removing her purse. Possibly, they had let the killer know that Frank was on his way and given the killer an order to smoke him, as well. But it hadn't worked because of the media crowded in the hall, and Kathleen had been the one who'd called them. She must have intended to break some news to them. She'd also backed up whatever information she'd had onto the hard disk. Suspecting that they might be after her, she'd mailed the disk to Frank. The killers hadn't learned about it early enough. Could Kathleen have tried to negotiate with them? What if she'd tried to blackmail them by threatening to go public with the information on the hard disk? Before leaving, the killer had removed her electronic bracelet and either destroyed it or placed it into an insulated container, preventing the police from detecting its signal.

  It was also possible that the bracelet chip was hooked up to some access codes. It could have been Kathleen's workstation, or it equally could have been some secret bank accounts. After all, the Bakers weren't exactly poor. One of the world's richest families, to be precise. Most importantly, the killer knew how to remove the electronic bracelet. Someone had to have trained him to do it. The removal technology was classified so all the technicians capable of doing it could easily be checked. But to check it, you had to contact Memoria's research center whose staff were directly interested in doctoring the data.

  When the killer had left Kathleen's apartment with her purse, he hadn't found the hard disk inside. What he had found was the post office receipt, and not straight away but after Frank's arrest. Otherwise, what had been the point in risking their butts at the post office? This was the only explanation Frank and Max could come up with to explain away the assault on the post office a mere two hours after Frank's escape from the police station.

  "They basically followed in my wake," Frank concluded staring at the notes.

  The coach nodded.