Siberian Treasure

41

“It’s got to be something related to oil,” Helen growled, pacing again. Her feet hurt from being in heels since five a.m., but it didn’t slow her down. The only way to keep her brain working was to keep her feet moving. “That’s the biggest pollutant and the greatest harvester of natural resources. It makes sense.”

Colin Bergstrom, loose-tied and weary-faced, sat slumped at the desk in her office in Chicago. His sparse hair tufted in awkward waves on the top of his head. “We’ve got Homeland Security and local authorities on alert all over Texas, Nevada, and Oklahoma. The plane’s waiting — we should get down there ourselves. We’ve got less than twelve hours, and no real clue where it’s going to hit.”

“And where’s the plane going to take us? There’s a lot of oil rigs down there. I haven’t gone tearing down there because it doesn’t feel right. Oil rigs? They aren’t a powerful enough target. Big enough. They don’t make a strong enough statement; and if they were targeting oil, they’d be in Saudia Arabia or Iran. I’m thinking it’s got to be plants or factories — they targeted the chemical plants last time. Or planes. Or cars. You haven’t heard anything from MacNeil?” Frustration burned through her. And worry, though she tried to ignore it. Dammit, she knew the guy on the other side.

Knew him in every way.

Bergstrom shook his head. “No. I’ve called his sat phone several times, and it’s not turned on. I don’t have a good feeling about this.”

“You should have let me send my team up after them, Colin. One officer and a civilian’s all we got, and right now, it’s nothing!” Her biggest, most volatile assignment yet, and she’d bowed to the Good Old Boys Network and let a senior CIA director tell her how to run her operation.

Four older brothers and ten years in the Bureau and she’d learned diddly.

Damn her for a fool.

“You sent a team up there anyway.”

“I did, but we couldn’t find anything but their SUV. They’re gone, and there’s no trace of them.” Her heels were clacking like her grandma’s knitting needles working on a heavy woolen sweater. “If we could figure out what he’s holding ….let’s watch that clip again.”

She stalked over to her laptop, clicked the mouse buttons a few times, and stared at the screen. Waited for her fingers to begin their tell-tale tingling.

Roman’s face filled the screen, and she watched, her eyes narrowing, staring, hoping for something to click.

“ … Please be advised that Phase Two will be much more convincing and will have three big targets with more extensive damage—”

“Look! Did you see that?” Helen snatched up her wireless mouse — her one techie gadget because she hated cords — and clicked. The picture froze, and she backed it up slowly. “‘ … will have three big targets’—did you see how he looked down? He’s looking down at whatever he’s holding ….”

Colin had pulled himself out of her chair and crowded next to her. He smelled like too much Old Spice and cigars. “Didn’t your Tech people ever get this clip enlarged? They couldn’t figure out what it was?”

Helen grunted, impatient with herself for missing this important clue and focusing on oilrigs for too long. A few more clicks and she had another file open. “This is what Tech found for me — let’s take a look.”

She rolled the enlarged clip, which was fuzzy and dark, but the wrap of Roman’s fingers around the object was clear. Peering closer to the screen, she tilted her head, trying various angles, repeating the message over and over. “Three big targets with more extensive damage. That’s all he says. Three big targets with more—”

She slammed her hands down on the table so hard the laptop jolted. “Oh my God, that’s it! Look, Colin, look — do you see? The edge of that metal thing? It looks like a bumper. And a red taillight. He’s holding a frigging Matchbox car. Three big targets. The Big Three…now known as the Detroit Three. The auto companies. Good Lord, how could we have missed it?”

He looked at her, amazement dawning. Then it fell. “Sure. And how many auto factories are there in this country? We’ll have to get every Fed and cop in the country on call!”

“No, no, it’s the Big Three. The Detroit Three. It’s got to be — didn’t Gabe and Marina disappear from Michigan? Isn’t Alexander from Michigan? Detroit, Motown — Colin, the home of what used to be the Big Three auto company headquarters. He told us right out where and when!”

Bergstrom looked at her, nodding slowly. “Yes, that could be. That could be it.”

Helen watched him, her adrenaline pumping … she knew she was right. She knew it. And she wasn’t going to let Bergstrom sway her from what she needed to do again. Her fingers were tingling.

“I know I’m right. It feels right. It makes sense. We’ve got less than twelve hours to secure Detroit.” Calm, now, purposeful, Helen strode out the door of her office, already punching buttons on her cell phone.