Damage Control Page 8

  Oh crap. “Someone’s here.” Not smart, not smart, she thought, yet slipped to the nearest window.

  “Then get the hell out of there!”

  She winced at the burst of sound. “You’re not helping.” She peered inside.

  A man the size of a fridge searched the little house like a wrecking ball, fast, leaving nothing to chance, opening each book and fanning pages before he threw it aside. She ducked when he strode into the kitchen and she felt his violence though the thin walls, each hit making her flinch and rabbit hole herself low to the cottage wall. She needed to leave, now, yet when the noise in the house lessened, she chanced a look. The guy was in the center of the living room, surrounded by his own demolition, and she saw him slip a massive knife into a sheath at his back. He wore latex gloves. He covered the weapon with his shirt, then suddenly turned toward the kitchen. Olivia felt his stare like a slap and ducked, frozen for a heartbeat, then she started running.

  “What’s happening? Olivia?”

  “You’re right, it wasn’t smart. I’m leaving.” His knife, she thought, three inches wide, eight inches long, the same depth of the fatal wound of the bellman. She prayed the cottage covered her escape as she raced down the hill, turning sideways so she wouldn’t fall on her face. She slammed against the car door, then flung it open and slid behind the wheel.

  “Talk to me!”

  “I think I just saw the killer.” She didn’t feel any safer inside the car as she turned over the engine, suddenly glad the rental was a BMW and hummed quietly.

  “What? Jesus! You need to get out of there.”

  “No? Really?” Putting it in gear, she backed out of the glen, then burned rubber turning onto the highway. Behind her the land rose and fell in gentle slopes and craggy rocks. She checked the rearview mirror. The man stood outside the back door of the cottage. He held a scope to his eye. Trained on her.

  Dimitri followed the dark blue car till it reached the highway, then turned back into the house, and dialed Rastoff. “A blue BMW is coming toward you. Do not lose her.” He rattled off the license plate. “She is the link to the diary.” Dr. Corrigan, he thought. One of the names in the translator’s Web phone. “Do not harm her, Rastoff.” The man had already forced their hand with the bellman and the man tailing the translator. “Or I will kill you myself.”

  “Da, da. And cut my throat, disembowel me alive. You’ve spoken of that before.”

  He smirked to himself. “Call when she stops.”

  Dimitri glanced at the interior, frustrated he could not locate the translation. The failure ate at him, brewing an ache behind his eyeballs. Suddenly he drew his S4M, screwed on the suppressor, then emptied it in a sweep, and strode out the door. He retraced his steps, then jogged a little faster to his truck parked a half mile away. He was fortunate to find her. The woman was an avenue he needed to exploit for the cause.

  Rossnowlagh, Ireland

  One hour later

  Sebastian unfolded from the compact car and stared at the cottage that looked like a throwback in history. Noble’s rental. A reluctant smile tugged as he looked up the coastline to the ruins of a castle or manor overlooking the water. The south turret was still visible, tall, round gray stone perched on the edge of a cliff. The water crashed and foamed at the rocky base. He looked back to the cottage as Max joined him on the stone walk, hitching a duffel bag.

  “The thatched roof made him rent this one.” The other homes were shingled, modern, but this looked like something out of a fairy tale. Curved shutters and a wide front door added to the historical feel of the place. Sebastian hoped the four-room rental would give him something to understand his kidnapping and the murders. But the kill method was telling. Noble had secrets.

  “Very Lord of the Rings,” Max said.

  Sebastian nodded absently, studying the quaint cottage in a village that appeared untouched by the centuries. He’d sent a FedEx here a couple months ago. Twenty pounds of gulf shrimp on dry ice for Noble’s birthday. Damn. I swear, buddy, I’ll find you. Dragon One was squeezing resources, and doors were locked tight. The law in two countries were investigating, and he didn’t know if they’d searched here already. Eddie wasn’t talking. We’re working with crumbs, he thought, starting up the stone path.

  Thirty feet from the door, he stopped, pointing right. “A visitor. No one’s walked on that lawn in months.” The grass was about ankle high and smashed in intervals toward the forest so dense moss grew on the rocks.

  “The footprints edge the rocks,” Max said. “He didn’t have a choice near the house.” It sat alone with more than an acre cleared on either side.

  “Could be the police,” he said. Nothing else was disturbed and he’d check it out once they searched the cottage. He walked the stone path to the door. The key slid in smoothly, yet the door swung on its hinges. Rut-roh. He glanced at Max, and they flanked the door, pushing it wide. The living room looked like it had been shaken, everything toppled on the floor.

  “Now I really feel naked without a weapon,” he said, moving inside. Max slipped a knife from his boot and handed it over. Sebastian scowled.

  He shrugged. “Riley’s sister, Kathleen.” He palmed another like it.

  Sebastian inclined his head and Max spun away to circle the rear as he entered through the front. He cleared each room, empty except for the destruction. Nothing was spared and little survived.

  Max came through the back door. “Prints out back. They lead down into the glen. Tire tracks, too. They’re fresh.”

  Sebastian scowled.

  “The footprints are two different sizes.”

  “We just missed them?”

  Max shrugged, sheathing his knife. “We missed someone.”

  A book dropped off the shelf and they turned sharply, then relaxed. The cottage wasn’t big, two bedrooms, a bath, eat-in kitchen, and living room. But a spray of bullets cut through the walls. Sebastian turned slowly, fixing the trajectory. “The guy paused here.” He gestured to the line to the desk. “But he didn’t shoot anything else up.” He did it last, he thought as he studied the living room, trying to imagine the “before” picture. Noble was a pack rat, but neat about it, particular, and he could barely make out dust rings where the bric-a-brac had been. He’d been in Surrey for only two days before he was taken, and had a return flight that next afternoon. The “why” of this was in here somewhere.

  “I’ll call the police,” Max said.

  “Delay that. We need to search before they bag and tag it.”

  “A CSI? I don’t think there’s even a coroner in this town.”

  Sebastian swung a look at him.

  “Fine, but if we get kicked out of Ireland, the Donovans are not going to be happy.” Max grabbed the duffel from the stoop, then handed him a pair of latex gloves. “I’ll take the bedrooms.”

  Sebastian pulled them on as Max headed down the short hall. He didn’t want to search Noble’s things. It put an edge on finding him alive when anyone connected to his disappearance was dead. Some belongings were familiar and he smiled at the houndstooth jacket with leather elbows hanging on a hook. Too hot for New Orleans, but he’d bet the scholar enjoyed looking like one for a change. Though it would take a lot for Noble to give up his usual chinos, polo shirts, and loafers just to blend in.

  Sebastian grabbed his camera and photographed the place, pausing to examine the book titles. History of Ireland’s Clans, Spanish Armada, Spice Traders. Same stuff on his shelves at home, he thought, noticing that every book was on the floor. Frowning, he crossed to the desk. The file drawer was pulled out and spilled on its side, yet the files were intact. He slid a couple from the fanned stack and smiled at the filing system known only to Noble. The Greek letters and symbols were a language he’d created to communicate only with his daughter when she was little, a way to keep their relationship strong and his ex-wife out of it. He’d never shared it. But using it here meant he felt it was necessary. Flipping through files, he wasn’t all that surprised they we
re empty. He was hoping for some college letterhead or a business card. He knelt, his penlight spying in corners. He saw a tiny slice of white, and wedged behind the desk was a single sheet of paper. A credit card statement from two months ago, paid in full. He ran his finger down the charges, committing the businesses to memory, then just pocketed it.

  He straightened, his attention sliding to the fat striped club chair and ottoman, both stabbed repeatedly, then to the cabinets and debris spilled on the floor. He let that simmer as he went to the computer, righting the screen and pulling out the tower. Bullet holes cut across the front and side.

  “That looks like toast,” Max said, coming out of the hall. He pointed back over his shoulder. “Nothing different than in here. His clothes in the armoire are intact. They even found a hidden compartment, but the bed is shredded.”

  “Why is this even here?” He righted the computer. “The police would have taken it.”

  “We beat the cops? Damn. Then they’re coming.”

  “Think you can rig this hard drive through our laptop?”

  “Possibly, but those bullet holes are close together.” Max grabbed a stool and went to work.

  Sebastian turned in a circle. “There’s a copy somewhere.”

  “Copy of what?

  “Whatever he was working on. Noble was keen on saving his work. Not obsessive, but he’s computer savvy.” More than me, he thought.

  “The police in the UK didn’t find his phone,” Max reminded.

  “If the killer has it, then they know his entire life.”

  “They have your number, too.” Max looked up from un-screwing the computer casing. “Should we warn his daughter?”

  “I did. She’s taking time off and it’s a good bet she won’t be social with the Feds there. Killian lives near and promised to check in on her.” Despite that the FBI were with her, waiting for a ransom call, the team had updated her alarm system. Aside from putting a bodyguard in her house—which she refused—he prayed whoever took her father wouldn’t have reason to get at Moira. But he just didn’t know. “Noble said he was translating documents for the University College Dublin for about a year now, but he wasn’t chatty about it.”

  Max opened the laptop and connected it to the hard drive, then rigged the power source. “Doesn’t sound like him.”

  It wasn’t. “Clue number one I should have recognized.” Noble taught, shared his knowledge of history and culture, often the obscure parts, and was always fascinating. Roped him in when he was eight.

  “He really didn’t want anyone knowing about this work, or he’d have shared,” Max said. “At least with you. Especially if it was dangerous.”

  Sebastian didn’t answer.

  “Holy crap, we have tone,” Max said, and the screen blinked to life. He tapped keys, then said, “It’s workable for now, but no files, just Windows. Wiped clean.”

  “Erased it and left it behind? This is twisted bullshit. Why show your hand with the bullets and wrecking the place?” They’d covered their trail well, killing witnesses. This was just anger, he thought, then went to the front window, the muddy panes distorting the lawn and forest beyond. The nearest house was a couple acres away down a paved road. Any vehicle would be spotted coming, and his attention slid to the forest. They’d waited there before assaulting the house.

  “Whoa. The e-mail is still here.” Max looked up. “Why not delete that, too?”

  “They already have it. He routes e-mail and voice mail through his Web phone when he’s traveling.” Max’s brow shot up. “I told ya, he’s savvy. I couldn’t figure out how to make that work.”

  “I’m copying it,” Max said.

  Sebastian nodded absently and closed his eyes for a moment, clearing away images for a fresh look. He grabbed the mini video camera and filmed slowly around the rooms, crossing to the hall and into the bathroom. The claw-footed tub was filled with jumbled rods and the shower curtain, and he checked under the sink, the drawers, then went to the first bedroom and stopped short. The bed was stripped of sheets and quilt, and the mattress had long slices every eight to ten inches. Stab, slice back, stab and slice back. He returned to the living room and Max looked up.

  “They’re looking for something that’s at least eight inches wide and solid.” He gestured to the club chair with a couple dozen short slices, but not torn. Not ripped apart. “Every book is off the shelf and open, yet anything wider than a shoe box is gouged. But with the exception of the computer, the electronics are untouched.” He turned in a circle. The mantel and fireplace were untouched as well, yet the stack of firewood in a brass caddy was upended on the floor.

  Max stood, looked around, his attention stopping on the kitchen. “The cereal boxes, too.” Anything larger than an egg crate was on the counter or the floor.

  Sebastian searched inside the bric-a-brac, the hatboxes, even the Irish porcelain candy jar that was nearly transparent. Max’s look questioned. “The backup, a flash drive. Sometimes he even backed up his Web phone.”

  “Maybe they found it already.” Max went back to hijacking e-mail.

  “No. The entire house is wrecked. They didn’t find what they came for or they would have stopped this sooner.” And maybe Noble would be here. He twisted a look at the kitchen, then crossed to the freezer. No. It’s too common and Noble is smarter, he thought, opening the freezer anyway. Empty.

  “I’ll have this in a couple minutes.” Max put the screw in his mouth and kept working.

  “Excellent, no pressure. The cop shack is in Bundoran, so they’re probably on their way.”

  Max groaned, moved a little faster. “You know evidence tampering is a crime anywhere.”

  “We’re not playing by the rules this time,” he said as his phone chimed. He glanced at the caller ID. He hoped Riley had something good. “What’d the dean say?”

  “Not a lot. Noble wasn’t working for the University College Dublin. There is no record, though they were quick to say they knew him by reputation because he could translate ancient Gaul. But I’ve called every place I can think of and I can’t find any institution in the area that employed him. At least not on this side of the island. He did use the university archives and had inspected clan records. I’m getting a list from the department head, but I don’t expect it soon. What’s his daughter have to say?”

  “Same thing I do. Nothing.” Noble was strangely quiet about his work.

  “How’s the cottage looking?”

  Sebastian moved to the window, watching the road. “Like a frat party with knives.”

  “Mary and Joseph, what’s he into?”

  “I still don’t know,” Sebastian said. “But it’s obviously not just translating.”

  “Sebastian, you’re closest to him. What would he do in a tight situation?”

  “Call for help. He knows his limits. He didn’t like traveling and that’s why he rented this place.” Sebastian pinched the bridge of his nose. “We have to hand this over to local cops. We can’t even take prints or we’ll catch hell for tampering.”

  “I’m taking a commuter flight to Enniskillen,” Riley said. “I’ll look for his car at the airport. I have an appointment at the National University of Ireland, then Saint Angela’s College.”

  That was south of the cottage. “Thanks, man.” He ended the call.

  “I got into his e-mail account.” Max looked up from his spot on the floor. “They erased the documents and photos but didn’t go into the e-mail.” Max typed on the laptop. “Nor did they copy or forward any of it. Not surprised. The program was under a different name. Chaucer’s House.”

  Sebastian swung around and smiled. “That’s what I called the bookshop when I was a kid. Can you open it?”

  “Yes, but there are only three, all to the same screen name. DOCorri on a Google mail account. No name, no signature. I’m copying it, but there isn’t anything attached to the sends, even though the e-mail says there was.”

  Sebastian frowned, kneeling by a small trash can. “Th
e attachment should be there so they erased all extended files.”

  Max flicked to the computer. “Not my strong suit, sorry. I’ll send it to Logan to see what he can find.”

  Sebastian poked in the wicker basket. “He’s in the Congo, unreachable.” He dumped the can, flicking at trash. Noble liked to doodle, and writing out his thoughts helped clarify them. A lot like Max, he thought, but there was nothing except used tissue. “Found a sticky note with a reminder to buy some clothes. The writing is Noble’s, but it’s faint.” As if the pen was out of ink. He looked between the trash and the upheaval that was the living room. No files, no personal papers from a man who was a neat pack rat? “This place has been sanitized.”

  “See now, I thought I was just being paranoid.”

  “Yeah, but by who, garda?”

  “No print dust, so I’m thinking no.” Max disconnected the hard drives and did his best to return it the way it was. He spared a glance at the sticky note. “I know that brand, it’s exothermal. Extreme cold weather gear.”

  “Winter isn’t for months and he was supposed to be done with his project before October. Like it was a deadline.”

  “This DOCorri is part of this, and it’s a good bet he’s in danger as well.”

  “We need to find him, warn him. Send an e-mail, it’s the shortest route.” Sebastian pocketed the sticky note. “They killed for antique paper, they’ll go after him next.” Why it was costing lives still baffled him and until he learned what Noble was translating, they didn’t have a direction to hunt. I need a target to acquire.

  “We have all we can get here. I’m going to trace those footprints.” He tossed Max a walkie-talkie, then left the cottage, pulling off the gloves and stuffing them in his back pocket as he crossed the yard. He stopped at the first set of footprints, then compared it to his own. He toggled the walkie-talkie. “Our visitor wears a size eleven, maybe.”

  Max toggled back. “Shoe size in no way affects height, weight or the length of…”

  “I get it.” He chuckled and followed the prints.