Mindwarp Read online

  According to his latest employer, he’d been recruited for a higher purpose. The goal thrilled him to the core of his black heart. Retrieve the Sacred Diamond of Shabib. Every ounce of research he’d done led him to one location. Rumored to have been stolen hundreds of years prior from some long forgotten sheik, it had been locked and sealed behind one of the world’s most famous vaults.

  A vault from which nothing had ever been stolen—Fort Knox.

  The thought of it made his mouth water. He smiled, kicked off his shoes, and dropped into the raggedy recliner in front of the television. He’d not have to stay in this rented dump much longer. If all went as planned, that diamond would be in his hands within the next three weeks. Once his cut of the cash was deposited in his Swiss bank account, he’d be in Acapulco, basking in the sun and picking up some sweet honey to help him spend it.

  Ah, if Amelia only knew the truth about him. For this job, he’d chosen an inconspicuous, common look to blend in and get the only position available at Fort Knox when he’d applied. Not his normal high profile, rich-playboy gig, but for the money, he’d act the part. Gain access to any of the four people in charge of the combination and lead them to Dr. Riyad for programming.

  He kicked back in his chair as images of Amelia filled his thoughts. Maybe she’d date him if she discovered his superb financial status and saw him without the disguise. Nah, he shook his head. She didn’t seem the type to be enticed by money, nor would she hang with a thief. She appeared to be too much of a tight-laced do-gooder to him. He laughed as he picked up the stack of take-out menus on the table beside the chair.

  “Don’t get emotionally involved.” After reprimanding himself, he flipped through the menus. Women came and went in his life. Money always lured the hot, tight-bodied bimbos. But just once . . . He sighed as he settled on Chinese food.

  “Ah, it’d be nice to sample a full-bodied babe like Amelia.” He huffed as he dialed to order another night’s one-person meal.

  * * * *

  Dead tired, Nolan made the final trek up a flight of stairs to his second story apartment. The usual greeting met him when he opened the door.

  “Hello, Nolan.”

  “Hello, Pete.” He shut the door, locked it, then walked to the coffee table and set down the box.

  “Time for Jeopardy?”

  “Of course, Pete.” He picked up the remote, turned on the TV, then pressed the button that would play the show he recorded daily for Pete.

  It didn’t matter what time of day Nolan returned home, it was time for Jeopardy in Pete’s mind. The moment the familiar game show music started, Pete bobbed and mimicked the tune. Nolan couldn’t believe his parents had turned Pete into a Jeopardy addict. Twelve weeks in their care, while he attended specialized training courses for the bureau, had turned his pet African Gray Parrot into a game show contestant junkie.

  “Awck, I’ll take Shakespeare for a thousand, Alex.”

  Nolan couldn’t help but smile at Pete’s perfect enunciation. If nothing else, he’d have to give his folks credit for extending Pete’s vocabulary. Pete’s round of answers and questions continued as Nolan entered the bathroom. With the long day behind him, he headed for the shower.

  What he’d found earlier astounded him. How had it been missed? Because the women committed the crimes separately and not as a gang, he reminded himself. The evidence in each case alone convicted them individually. With the money still missing, he’d been given all four cases to study. Wanting to clear his head, he closed his eyes and freed his mind of all thought. The hot water soothed his tired system and rinsed the ache from his flesh.

  Fifteen minutes later, Nolan stepped out of the shower, clean, relaxed, and refreshed. After slipping on a tee shirt and sweats, he fed Pete who uttered a polite, “Thank you,” then resumed playing the game. From the freezer, Nolan retrieved the single serve dish he’d brought home from last Sunday’s dinner at his parents’ house. A few minutes in the microwave and the essence of corned beef and potatoes filled the air. His stomach rumbled as he threw together a simple salad and poured a glass of wine.

  While eating, he reviewed his notes from the conversations with the convicted bank thieves. More than ever, his gut told him these women were innocent pawns. Local law enforcement for each town investigated the crimes until the feds took over. Since no obvious link between them had been found, they weren’t considered a gang. Each woman had been caught within twenty-four hours, and the gap of time between each incident added to that train of thought. Now that the feds were out of it and the women were in jail, the case became the Treasury Department’s problem to track the money.

  Nolan washed the dishes and set them in the drain. He refilled his wineglass, grabbed the one thing he’d not returned to the evidence vault, relaxed in his recliner, and thought through the information he’d discovered earlier. A visit to the evidence vault gained him access to four large, padded manila envelopes containing miscellaneous items that belonged to the convicted women. One by one he’d examined the contents until he found a thin common thread that bound the women together.

  According to their medical records, each had recently broken a habit but couldn’t remember how. Two of the women’s agenda planners were missing a page from four consecutive weeks, but different months. One woman’s daily journal also had a page torn from four consecutive weeks. To him, it looked as if they were hiding appointments or had been somewhere they didn’t want others to know about. But why? Did these voids have anything to do with the crimes? Each had occurred a month prior to burglarizing their respective bank. Had these women done something for four weeks in a row that contributed to their crime? Why else would the information have been removed from their personal records? The folded business card he’d found tucked in the fourth woman’s grocery coupons located in an empty pocket planner, caught and held his attention.

  Flipping the business card between his fingers as he sipped his wine, he stared aimlessly at it. The word thin flashed behind his eyes. And by thin, he knew he didn’t have enough evidence to report to his boss that would prove their connection. Yet his idea warranted further investigation, and tomorrow he planned to locate and observe the good doctor’s practice. Before he left work, he’d researched Kalil Sayyad Riyad and found nothing. The man didn’t exist. Not finding anything piqued Nolan’s curiosity. Was the man a ghost, a plant by a terrorist group? He’d placed a request for an in-depth trace into the man’s background on the desk of his colleague, Francis Finkelstein. If anyone could find information on a ghost, Finkelstein could and would. Nolan planned to call him first thing in the morning.

  “Make it a true daily double, Alex.”

  Pete’s voice snapped him from his thoughts. He laughed at his pet. Nolan stood, gulped the last of his wine, and then tossed Pete a treat from the bag he kept in the end table drawer. He set the DVR to play the show again for Pete.

  “Don’t stay up all night watching TV, pal.” He rubbed Pete’s head. “I’m going to bed.”

  “Goodnight, Nolan.”

  “Goodnight, Pete.”

  Chapter Four

  Located in a single story row of shops and offices in the busy downtown shopping district, the office hadn’t been hard to find. Briefcase in hand, Nolan walked along the sidewalk, stopped and pretended to straighten his hat in the window’s reflection, then continued to the corner and crossed to the café. Thick drapes covered the large front windows, making it impossible to see inside. Immediately, his trained eyes located the topnotch security system around the windows and door. A small sign printed on the glass stated the purpose of the office and the address, but nothing else. No name or office hours appeared on the windows or door.

  Hypnosis

  Healthier Living Through Inner Strength

  492 Duckard Street

  Nolan took a seat in the sidewalk café across from the doctor’s office. Numerous shoppers and commuters made his cover easy. He chose a perfect table at an angle to the left of the office and ou
t of direct view of the windows or door. A row of hedges ran along the sidewalk, separating the walkway from the outdoor area of the café. Nolan ordered coffee and set up his laptop to make it look as if he were working. In reality, he was. The café’s Wi-Fi connectivity gave him access to Francis and whatever he found.

  One glance around and he knew his cover was safe. People clad in business attire ate breakfast as they tapped away on computers, cell phones, or other handheld devices. Assured that he blended well, Nolan settled into surveillance mode.

  At ten a.m. sharp, a gentleman and a woman walked to the hypnotist’s office. The man carried a white medical box. Nolan noted the direction from which they came, but hadn’t seen them get out of a car. In a series of quick snaps, he took as many pictures as possible with a high-definition mini-camera. The moment they entered the building and closed the door, he connected the camera to the computer and uploaded the pictures to Francis to help aid in the couple’s identification. When the upload completed, he unhooked the camera and returned it to his inside coat pocket. Within minutes, his cell phone rang.

  “O’Connell here,” Nolan stated, recognizing Finkelstein’s number.

  “Morning, Nolan. I take it the pictures you sent me are of this Riyad character.”

  “That’s what I’m betting.”

  “Got in at five this morning. Been searching everything for your Kalil Sayyad Riyad. Nothing so far, but with the pictures I’m certain it’s only a matter of time before we get a hit. I’m uploading the pictures to the international terrorists’ database to search its files as well. Sooner or later, we’ll know who he is. Any chance you could lift a fingerprint?”

  Nolan couldn’t stop the smile from splitting his face. Francis was the only member of his coworkers who knew his secret. Before joining the Treasury Department, Nolan had trained to be a CIA agent. What kid didn’t want to be a spy? He snorted at the memory. With his master’s degrees in business finance and law, the Treasury Department wanted him more. Besides, being undercover for months at a time didn’t truly appeal to him. He repositioned in his seat as he stared at the office across the street. Being a Treasury Agent gave him the power to fight the bad guys where it hurt—in their pocketbooks.

  Follow the money, seize the assets, shut them down, and stop the crime. Nolan liked taking down terrorists. He’d made a game out of finding their hidden bank accounts and watching for any illegal activity that constituted seizing their profits. It thrilled him to the core each time he heard of another criminal losing it all. Having the added spy training gave him an edge.

  “I’ll see what I can do.” Before Nolan disconnected the call, he gave the coded message that let Francis know he’d be sitting surveillance on this guy. “I’m working out of the office today. Keep me informed if anything changes.”

  This detail of the job he liked. Standard procedure granted him permission to gather evidence using any means possible when dealing with a potential terrorist. Legal channels required a search warrant. In order to obtain a search warrant, he needed more evidence on this man than he had. No judge would grant him a warrant based on a folded business card, a series of missing pages from personal agenda books, and a gut instinct. No, what he needed was to get inside that office and locate plausible evidence to back his theory . . . with or without a warrant.

  The door to the office opened and the pair walked out, shutting and locking the door behind them. Odd, they hadn’t been in there long and they no longer carried the white medical box. A quick glance at his watch revealed approximately ten minutes had passed from the moment of entry to exit. Thinking of the security system, he didn’t doubt his ability to bypass it and enter. He watched as they strolled to the far end of the street and turned the corner. He assumed they’d parked around the block due to limited spaces on Duckard Street. Or they didn’t want their vehicle seen, just as he hadn’t when he’d parked on the next street over.

  In a casual conversation with his waitress, he learned she hadn’t noticed the hypnotist’s office maintaining set hours. In her opinion, they seemed to come and go, on and off, during her shift. Nolan finished the coffee and returned the laptop to his briefcase. Luck might be on his side. The pair had come and gone. Did that mean they wouldn’t be back today?

  Nolan casually crossed the street and strolled past the office. The drapes were still closed tight. Offices and shops ran the length of Duckard Street. At the corner, he turned and spotted an alleyway. The alley separated the buildings on Duckard from the buildings on the street that paralleled behind it. No doubt the majority of deliveries on the two streets were made via this passage. A few loading docks bustled with activity as he strolled along as if he belonged there. With everyone busy at work, no one seemed to take notice of him.

  The florist shop next to the hypnotist’s office had a sign that helped with locating the correct rear entrance. A plain, solid gray metal door marked the posterior doorway. He set his briefcase on the ground beside the door and slipped a hand into his inside coat pocket. The small specialty tools were a gift from Great-Uncle Floyd, the black sheep of the family. Rumor had it there wasn’t a lock the man couldn’t pick. Many summers ago, Nolan had spent time at his grandmother’s house in the mountains and worked at Great-Uncle Floyd’s hardware store.

  “Never know when the tricks of the trade might come in handy,” the words of Floyd whispered in his head. He smiled at the memory of where he’d learned the secret skill of breaking and entering. Palming the tools, he made quick work of the lock and returned the items to the thin leather pouch he kept inside his inner jacket pocket. This ability he never mentioned when he was hired. The Bureau would probably frown on such actions. Driven by gut instinct, determination set in as he checked the door for signs of a security system. Odd. He pursed his brows. The door had none.

  Slowly, he opened the gray door just far enough to peek inside. A small alcove greeted his gaze. Nolan slung the strap of his briefcase over his head and across his shoulder for easier carrying, and then stepped inside, shutting the door. Another locked door blocked his entrance. This one came equipped with a primary security system. Nolan snorted at the crude setup. He bypassed it, then acknowledged they were smarter than he’d given them credit. A secondary, more complicated system had been installed. This one took a few minutes, but he managed to reroute the system. Gratitude for the detailed training he’d received washed over him as he opened the door and the system didn’t trigger blaring alarms.

  Nolan smiled and stepped inside the dark office. Slipping his hand into the side pocket of his briefcase, he pulled out a small flashlight and switched it on. Deliberately, he worked his way down the narrow hall. He opened a door—a bathroom. Past that, he entered the front of the office and the waiting area. Dim light entered around the thick drapes, but not enough to see anything. A reception desk sat beside a door across the room. A couch was positioned beneath the front window with a coffee table in front of it. On the opposite side of the reception desk was a water cooler complete with plastic cups.

  He crossed to the desk then opened and shut each drawer. No paper, no files, no pens or paperclips—completely empty drawers. On a whim, he picked up the telephone receiver. No dial tone. No calls coming in or going out. He sighed. A definite front for something. But what?

  Entering the door to the left of the reception desk, he located the exam room. In the corner sat a scale. A couple of potted plants, another thick shaded window, a wooden, Old World crafted desk and a high-back leather chair came into view. A comfortable looking chaise lounger sat in the center of the room with a small, wooden, round table beside it. Under that table sat a trash can containing three plastic cups. Nolan carefully gathered the used cups, placed them in baggies from his briefcase, and tucked them into a center pocket next to his laptop. So nothing looked disturbed, Nolan returned to the water cooler, grabbed three cups from the stack, then dropped them in the trash in the exam room.

  Satisfied, he smiled. When he wrote his report, he’d sim
ply state the cups were recovered from the suspect’s trash. The minor detail of inside or outside garbage he planned to leave out.

  Searching the exam room desk, he found nothing in any of the open drawers. The large bottom left-hand drawer was locked. Within a second, he mastered the lock and opened the drawer. It contained two gas masks and the white medical box. Inside that, he located vials of a lavender colored powder. Noting the presence of gas masks and not being sure what the powder was, he didn’t open it. If he took one, would it be noticed? Deciding not to blow the investigation by tipping off the enemy, he put it back. He took pictures of the vial, its contents, and the case. About to shut the drawer, he noticed a folded piece of paper tucked between the box and the inside wall of the drawer.

  Nolan spread the paper on the desk. He couldn’t believe his eyes. A neatly written list of names ran dead center down the paper. Four names he recognized immediately, but the others he’d have to investigate. He snapped several pictures of the paper, then returned it to its former position. Making sure everything was how he’d found it, Nolan turned to leave. The click of the front door lock echoed in the dead silence of the office.

  He froze. With no way out, his only option was to hide.

  * * * *

  Amelia needed more information before continuing her sessions with Dr. Riyad. She called in and took a personal day. Now, not believing what she was doing, she stood in Dr. Riyad’s office praying they wouldn’t read the nervousness in her face. It wasn’t like her to confront a doctor about his credentials, but in this case her gut instinct urged her to do so. Maybe the endless afternoons she’d played detective with her six brothers influenced her suspicious mind. They’d teased her mercilessly when she’d followed in their mother’s footsteps and became an accountant and not a detective on the police force like their dad and them. She bit back a smile, knowing they’d be proud of her for following up on a suspicious character. But was he? She glanced from Dr. Riyad to Mina. Was she overreacting?