The Adamas Blueprint

CHAPTER 9

From the Transco Tower, the 800-foot-tall suburban skyscraper on the West Loop, the railroad crossing at Westpark and Newcastle was easily visible, as was most of the rest of Houston. It was one of the reasons that Clayton Tarnwell had chosen it for his vast office headquarters. On clear days, the Houston ship channel, over ten miles to the east, could be seen through the silvery towers of downtown Houston. From this vantage point, Tarnwell could survey the vast metropolis as if he owned the entire expanse. He loved to watch the expressions of visitors as they walked into the enormous office, toward the floor-to-ceiling picture window. It was an awe-inspiring sight.

Clayton Tarnwell was paying no attention to it whatsoever.

“What!” he screamed into the phone. “Are you telling me that two highly-trained, very expensive operatives couldn’t handle the simple task of bringing in a college student?”

“I think you may want to hear the entire report,” David Lobec said from his car phone. “And I recommend not discussing it any further over an open line. We can be there in less than five minutes.”

He thought about using some choice words, but trusted Lobec’s professional advice. Someone might be eavesdropping. “You damn well better be!” He slammed the phone into the cradle, then stabbed the intercom button.

“Coffee. Now. And when Lobec gets here, send him in.”

A female voice replied, “Yes, sir.”

Tarnwell picked up the loan contracts he had been studying, then slapped them down on the desk without seeing any of the words. Damn! He was so close. After years of building his small, but extremely profitable empire, he was now on the verge of leapfrogging into the ranks of the Forbes 400. Ward’s Adamas process — no, Tarnwell’s Adamas process, he corrected himself — was the key. Once he had the process patented, he would own the most lucrative invention of the decade. He could truly be one of the richest men in the world. And now some pissant little college kid was getting in his way. He would not let that happen.

Tarnwell’s office had all the trappings of a successful businessman: the teak coffee table, the leather sofa and antique Chippendale chairs he had bought at auction, the state-of-the-art media center on the far wall, the hand-made oriental rug. A vast array of photographs adorned the office, most of them pictures of him posing with tennis pals from the club, local sports celebrities, a couple of congressmen and a senator. They showed a tall, handsome, rugged blond in prime condition. An all-American boy living The American Dream.

But it wasn’t enough. He was a nobody outside of Houston. He could get his share of attention in Washington, in the mining and chemical circles, but he wasn’t a big player, not like the chairmen of the megaconglomerates. The giants in the industry would brush him aside if he were too much of a nuisance. He was a barracuda in an ocean of killer whales.

He wanted to be more. He wanted to be one of the killer whales, maybe even the biggest. And thanks to Adamas, Tarnwell’s name was on the brink of becoming a household word. He would be one of the most powerful men in the world. And this Hamilton snot was endangering everything.

The door to his office opened, and a shapely blonde emerged with a sterling and china tea set. She placed the set on the spotless mahogany desk and gave Tarnwell a playful smile as she poured. Even though they were occasional lovers — one of the reasons she was hired in the first place — Tarnwell ignored her and went back to staring at the wall. After serving his drink, she retraced her steps to the exit without saying a word.

Moments later, Lobec walked in. Tarnwell didn’t wait for him to cross the entire room.

“Let’s hear it,” Tarnwell spat.

“These are Mr. Hamilton’s,” Lobec said, throwing a wallet and a set of keys onto the desk.

Without asking, Lobec filled one of the other cups from the pot. He sat in one of the high back leather chairs and took a sip before starting his report. He took Tarnwell through every detail of the morning’s events, starting with their stakeout and finishing with the high speed chase that ended at the rail crossing.

“He apparently received a ride from one of the vehicles traveling in the other direction,” Lobec concluded. “Otherwise, we would have seen him running. There was no place to hide within the immediate area.”

Despite his anger, Tarnwell had been involved in some of Lobec’s previous operations. He knew Lobec was capable, so he didn’t waste time trying to assign blame. The most important thing was to find Hamilton. “Then that means he’s not mobile.”

“Correct. He’ll have to get help from someone.”

“The police?”

“That’s a distinct possibility. Since he contacted them before, we have to assume that he might try again.”

“What can we do about it?”

“There really isn’t anything we need to do about it. I have several associates at the Houston Police Department. If Hamilton arrives at any station, I will know about it within fifteen minutes.”

“Did anyone at the apartment complex see you?”

“It is possible, but no one was in the parking lot. If they did see us, it was from a distance.”

“But Hamilton saw you. He can identify both of you.”

“He can describe us, but I assure you, the police have no photographs of either me or Bern.”

“Can we get to him while he’s in there?”

“No, not unless he were put into a cell. In that case it would be exceedingly easy. The police would find him beaten to death in the morning. However, there is no reason to believe he will be jailed. The police will take his statement, show him a few pictures, and then let him go. Once we know where he is, it is a simple matter to wait until he leaves the building. Actually, the best thing he could do for us is go to the police.”

“What if they provide him with protection?” Tarnwell said. “You did try to kill him.” A flicker of amusement and disdain crossed Lobec’s face, and Tarnwell knew he had made a suggestion which Lobec thought amateurish.

“Protection is offered only in special cases, such as to witnesses who have been threatened before testimony is to be given. The resources the police have are limited. It is highly unlikely they would provide protection to a student with a poor driving record who makes such an outrageous claim. There is no other evidence, and he has no idea why we were there.”

“Yes there is. The email message. And what about the car?”

“Now that we know what the message is, all traces of it will be erased from the school’s computer system by noon. We still haven’t determined what the code means, but Hamilton hasn’t either. As for the car, it was towed to a more suitable location. The Fourth Ward. The car will be stripped within the hour.”

“Good thinking.” Tarnwell took a sip of his coffee, going through Hamilton’s wallet while he thought. Nothing was in it except a few credit cards, a driver’s license, and a student ID. “Then what are our options?” he finally asked. “I don’t like waiting for him to make a move.”

“There is not much more we can do, but he has several alternatives,” Lobec said.

“Such as?”

“Do you remember the picture I showed you this morning?”

“You mean the girl? What was her name?”

“Erica Jensen. We have her telephone number as a result of the wiretap.”

“Have you given the information to Mitch?” Tarnwell knew Mitch Hornung could get any information they needed from the state records.

“Hornung is working on it as we speak. If Hamilton does not go to the police, she is the next most likely alternative. I’ve faxed her photograph to our other operatives, who have been instructed to apprehend her on sight. When we have her full records, we’ll relay her profile as well. I will go to her residence as soon as we are done here.”

“What about friends?”

“We have operatives stationed at all of the most likely places Hamilton might go, but we have little information on his other friends. We should be able to get that in a few hours. Perhaps a day at most.”

Tarnwell turned his chair and looked at the skyline. “He’ll go to the police as soon as he can. But he has no car and no wallet, and he’s not going to get very far in Houston without either of those. That means he’ll have to call a friend, maybe this Erica Jensen, to come get him.” He swiveled the chair back in Lobec’s direction. “We can’t afford any more problems. You don’t have to tell me when he gets to the police. And I don’t care who picks him up. As soon as he leaves the station, take him out.”

Lobec cocked his head and raised an eyebrow. “Is that a wise move, considering he will have just told his story to…”

“It won’t matter. You said he had nothing. If he was involved with NV117, he may know about Adamas, and I can’t chance that. Just make him disappear. And this time, I don’t want the body found. Ever. Do you think you can handle that?”

Lobec smiled. “I now have access to a local paper mill. Have you ever seen an industrial shredder?”

Erica Jensen looked at the phone, wondering if she should try Kevin’s number again. For the past twenty minutes she’d been calling and all she got was the answering machine.

Something bad had happened. That’s what she had been thinking since they’d been disconnected. She didn’t know why. It was easy to get caught up in a conversation if someone called or came by, especially for Kevin. She remembered a few of their conversations in the hospital. He had been so intent on the conversation that he didn’t hear someone call his name until she told him. But this was different. Before leaving with the police, he should have at least called to tell her that he would get back to her later. If he just forgot, she would really be pissed.

Erica picked up the phone and hit the redial. She let it ring three times before hanging up, not knowing whether to be angry or worried.

There weren’t many options: either wait here until he called or go over to his apartment. It was just a five minute drive away. Neither option was desirable, but inaction was the greater of the two evils. She recorded a new message on the answering machine saying that she was going over to Kevin’s apartment and would be back in ten minutes if he wasn’t there. Then she grabbed her purse and headed to the door.

As she pulled it open and felt the blast of heat invade her townhouse, the phone rang. She slammed the door and ran to the phone.

“Hello?”

“Thank God you’re still there,” Kevin said, the relief in his voice palpable. “I want you to get out of there.”

“What? Kevin, what’s going on? I’ve been calling for twenty…”

“I can’t tell you right now, so don’t ask.”

“Tell me what? You’re not making sense. Just calm down.”

“I’m about as calm as I’ll get until you come get me.”

“Come get you? Where’s your car? Where are you?

“I’m at…” He paused. “Do you remember where I said I wanted to go for lunch on my birthday?”

“You wanted…”

“Don’t say the name! Just answer yes or no.”

“Kevin, what is going on?”

“There’s no time! I think they tapped the phone. Just answer me, please.”

“All right! Yes, I remember.”

“Good. I’m at the gas station across the street from there. I want you to leave the townhouse right now and come pick me up. Get your car keys and go.”

“Will you at least tell me…”

“No. I’ll explain everything when you get here. Just get out of there.” With that, the phone clicked off. He had hung up.

She stared at the receiver, but for only a second. In the four months Erica had known Kevin, he had never once been irrational. Stubborn maybe, but never irrational. And she didn’t think he was starting now. She didn’t know what was going on, but apparently he was terrified about her staying in the apartment. That was enough for her.

She dropped the handset into the cradle and ran out of the townhouse, pausing only to pick up her purse and lock the door. In ten seconds she was driving her three-year-old Honda Accord to a gas station across the street from Fuddrucker’s Hamburgers.