Guilty Minds

74

I got up early — I’d barely slept, actually — but Dorothy was already up, drinking room service coffee and staring at her computer screen.

“Where’s the package?” I asked her. I knew she’d be tracking it.

She nodded. “Looks like it’s in some sort of central sorting facility in DC. Any more messages from Vogel?”

“Not yet.” My head was pounding, and my eyelids felt like they were made of sandpaper. I’d been too keyed up to sleep. I looked at the remains of our dinner, still on the dining table, with disgust. My stomach was tight.

“When’s Merlin coming back?” she said.

“I’m meeting him at his place, in Dunkirk. He’s got a garage where we can work.”

I checked my e-mail and found a message from Merlin, listing which of the items from what he called the “Nick Heller scavenger hunt” he’d found, and which he hadn’t. He’d struck out on two of the most important things, the tranquilizer rifle and the electric blasting caps.

He’d e-mailed me before five o’clock, so I knew he was up. I called him.

“Morning,” I said. “You feeling energized today?”

“Not yet. Mostly hungover. Too much Scotch last night.”

“I need you battle-ready.”

“I’ll be okay after I’ve had some more coffee. I went through half a pack of cigarettes last night.”

“You nervous about today?”

“I’m... out of practice. I do technical surveillance now, you know? It’s tame stuff. Compared.”

“You’re not trying to worm out of this, are you?”

“I’ll be there. For you. For a brother.”

“I appreciate it. It’ll be fine. Can’t find a tranquilizer gun?”

“Incredibly hard to find, Nick. They sure don’t sell them at Cabela’s. I mean, they’re sold to licensed veterinarians and wildlife rangers and zookeepers and whatever. Give me a couple of days and I can get one, but not this morning.”

“Couple of Tasers, then. Police-grade if you can get it.”

“No problem. I have a contact for blasting caps, now. A buddy just called me back. He can get us two.”

“Two’s enough.”

I drove out to Maryland, leaving Dorothy behind in the hotel suite, stationed at her laptop. On the way I stopped at a Wells Fargo branch and withdrew a lot of cash.

Merlin lived in a small bungalow in a development in Dunkirk, Maryland, not far from the Patuxent River. He’d turned his garage into a workspace and parked his Honda in the driveway. The garage was immaculate, with a couple of workbenches and tools hanging neatly on pegboard mounted on the walls.

He’d already done some of the hard work. He’d popped open a couple of cheap cell phones and had fished out the wiring. Each phone was now connected by electrical wire to a blasting cap.

“Nice work,” I said. On the workbench next to the blasting caps were two cylinders wrapped in brown paper on which was printed: HIGH EXPLOSIVE. DANGEROUS. 8 OZ. DYNAMITE. CORPS OF ENGINEERS, US ARMY. A couple of red gasoline jugs sat on the floor nearby.

“Where’d you get the dynamite?”

“I drove out to the Aberdeen Proving Ground. Pat Keegan still teaches there.”

“Keegan. Of course. I should have thought of him. What about the stingray?”

“Hold on. It’s in my car.”

He returned with a piece of equipment — surprisingly old-fashioned-looking given how extremely sophisticated it was — the size of a small suitcase. It was white, with switches and LED lights and indicator dials on the front.

“Merlin,” I said, “you got it! How?”

“Calvert County sheriff’s office. They didn’t need it today, so it’s going ‘missing’ for a few hours.”

“You’re amazing.”

“Nah. A guy there owes me a lot of favors, that’s all.”

The stingray was a powerful surveillance tool used by government agencies and law enforcement. But its existence is generally kept secret. Basically, it’s a cell phone — tracking device that acts like a cell tower. It puts out a signal stronger than nearby cell towers, forcing mobile phones or devices to connect to it first, instead of to a real tower. So it allows you to capture cell numbers in the vicinity, and numbers dialed, and other data. The US Marshal’s service uses stingrays in planes, flying over areas where they suspect a fugitive is hiding; they can nab their fugitive based on his cell phone number. It essentially lets law enforcement track your location without a warrant. It’s real Big Brother stuff.

We fell silent for a moment, and then Merlin said, “Do we even know where his house is yet?”

My cell phone rang. “Maybe,” I said.

It was Dorothy. “The package is in Thurmont.”

“At the post office?”

“Right.”

“That’s early. Let me know when it moves again.”

I ended the call and said, “Not yet. We will.”

Working quietly, we assembled the components of two bombs, each in a cheap nylon duffel bag that Merlin had lying around.

Shortly after eleven-thirty, my cell phone rang again.

“It’s moving,” Dorothy said.

“Out of the post office?”

“Yes.”

“Okay,” I said to Merlin. “It’s time to get going.”

“Can I smoke in your car?”

“Afraid not.”

“Vape?”

“Rather not.”

“Then hold on. I’m gonna need a cigarette first.”