Zimmerman's Algorithm

1.11 Sun. Mar 8

The Zodiac was a dark strip club north of New York Avenue, in one of the dozens of depressed areas in the District. It would have been in sight of the capital if it was above ground. Its decor resembled a condemned building. The walls were spray-painted fluorescent colors, and if Gideon stared up through the gloom, he could see pipes hugging the rafters above. It was one of those places that made him feel sick and alone.

The strippers matched the environment, dancing to old Deborah Harry with a passionless fatigue.

The mood of this place, and lack of sleep, made it a little too easy for him to imagine his own future. Old, alone, no family— The fears caught him in the same ache that had been inside him since Raphael was shot.

He had just stepped inside, leaning on his crutches. A minute later, Morris Kendal walked into The Zodiac.

Kendal was bigger than either of the bouncers. He snorted at the place, turning so that every part of it got a good look at his sneer. Gideon might have passed for a regular at this kind of place, but Kendal was dressed at least a grand better than The Zodiac rated.

He walked up and placed a hand on Gideon's shoulder and said, "This place smells like shit."

He wasn't exaggerating. The air was rank with the smell of cigarette smoke, mildewed plaster, and beer both new and used. Gideon shrugged out from Kendal's grip and started moving deeper into the place. "This shouldn't take long."

Kendal followed Gideon into the room as he walked along the shadowed wall that was farthest from the stage. The darkness was only highlighted where the black lights turned the cuffs of Kendal's shirt a fluorescing sky blue where they poked from the sleeves of his jacket.

The patrons paid no attention to them, but they were under the watchful eyes of the bouncers and of the bartender. Kendal didn't look tense, but Gideon could hear a hard urgency in his whispered voice. "I think you need to slow down this little investigation of yours."

"I'm in this up to my neck." Especially after his visit to Davy's apartment. IA was already leaving him messages. Magness could smell blood in the water. "Even if Rafe wasn't my brother—"

"You need to reconsider."

"Why?" This wasn't going the way he had planned. Kendal was supposed to be his backup, but while he had driven Gideon here, he had spent the entire drive trying to talk Gideon out of this. Kendal seemed nervous. It didn't fit. Kendal was built like a rock, immobile and impervious to that kind of emotion. But the way he looked around the bar, the way he moved his hands, it betrayed an unease that was alien to the man. Gideon had been maneuvering toward the bar, but he stopped and lowered his voice. "What have you found out?"

Up to now, he hadn't been forthcoming, but he finally gave him an answer of sorts.

"Very little," Kendal finally said. "But everyone acts as if I have the plague as soon as I bring up the subject. Even those who say they don't know anything about what's going on. You name the Agency, and they don't want to touch it."

" I told you" Gideon whispered. "There is something dirty going on here." Gideon moved toward the bar, and Kendal grabbed his cast.

"This is why I didn't tell you," Kendal said. "You want to dive into this crap headfirst."

Gideon shook his head. "Are you here to help me?"

Kendal didn't let go. "The one thing I have is a rumor that D'Arcy is interested in the investigation into the Secret Service."

Gideon tried to pull away.

"D'Arcy, Gideon." Kendal repeated the name as if it was a mantra that might make Gideon return to his senses.

D'Arcy was a name to conjure with, and Gideon was a D.C. native who was quite aware of who the National Security Advisor to President Ray burn was. Supposedly the Kissinger of the twenty-first century.

However, if anything, Kendal's attitude just made Gideon angry. He yanked his cast away from him. "Back me up or get the fuck out of my way." Anger had flattened his voice until his whisper was barely

audible under the sounds of "Heart of Glass."

Kendal let him go, but he followed him toward the bar, still talking. "It's possible. D'Arcy has a reputation for black-bag ops as far back as the Reagan Administration. Cut his teeth on Central American psych-ops and end runs around Congress. You really don't want to mess with this." When Gideon didn't respond, he asked, "What do you think you're going to do?"

"Some police work," Gideon said quietly as he reached the bar.

The man behind it was very dark and had dreadlocks down to his shoulders. Gideon leaned his cast on the bar and said, "I'd like to ask you a few questions."

The man kept cleaning the glasses behind the bar. He didn't even look up at him. "Ain't got nothing to talk to you about, man."

Gideon fished out his badge and laid it on the bar. "I think you do."

The man shook his head. "Ain't got nothing to say to no cop." He looked up at Gideon. "And you ain't on duty, I seen you on the TV. Less reason to talk to you."

"Look, I'm not here to fuck with your business. I don't care what you sell with the drinks, or what your dancers might do for an extra fifty—"

"Hey. This is a clean place. Nothing like that going on here, man."

Yeah, right. "Look, you just tell me about a couple of regulars and we won't have Vice down here to experiment with the forfeiture laws."

The bartender put down his glass and leaned toward Gideon. "And if you just walk your gimp ass out of here, my boys won't bust your fucking cop head "

Gideon felt a presence next to him and looked to the side. Bouncer number one was staring down at him from a height of six-six. As he was looking at one, he felt a large hand on his good shoulder. The other guy was, if anything, taller than the first. They both wore black T-shirts with astrological symbols. Gemini and Virgo. Virgo was tugging on his shoulder, saying "I think you better g°"

"None of us want any trouble here," Gideon grabbed his badge and put it back in his pocket. He didn't have his gun, because with his right arm in a cast it would've been too dangerous. Right now he wished he'd brought it.

"You making the trouble, man," the bartender said. "I asked you to go."

Virgo pulled him away from the bar, and Gideon stumbled on his bad leg, and the crutch slipped out from under him. Gemini grabbed his other shoulder, and Gideon felt a pain in his old bullet wound.

"I don't think you want to do that." Gideon recognized Kendal's voice coming from somewhere behind him.

"This isn't your business," Gemini said, turning away from Gideon.

"I think you should let the man go."

Gideon dangled from the bouncer's grip. The two of them had stopped moving him when Kendal spoke. Gideon used the moment's respite to shift his feet under him so that he could put his weight on his good leg.

"We don't want things to get nasty," Virgo called toward Kendal. Gideon saw Gemini go for his belt with his free hand. He pulled an object out of a small black holster behind him. Gideon couldn't see if it was mace, a stun gun, or a pistol—it was enough of a threat for him to do something about.

He tensed, balanced himself on his good leg, and as soon as Gemini loosened his grip to take a step toward Kendal, Gideon slammed his cast into the man's kidney. Even as his partner was doubling over, Virgo yanked Gideon so he fell to his knees, his good arm twisted up behind his back. "Bad move," Virgo said as he pushed him forward, into the floor.

Gideon heard the bartender's Jamaican-accented voice calling, "What the fuck you doing?"

Gideon turned his head just in time to see Kendal slam his fist into the side of Gemini's head. Gemini's weapon, a collapsible baton, flew from his hand, toward the stage. As Virgo ground Gideon's face into the floor, Kendal landed another blow on Gemini. Gemini dropped as if someone had swung a cinder block into his face.

The Jamaican cursed, and Gideon heard him dive behind the bar, going for something.

Kendal stepped back from Gemini and pulled a sleek black gun from inside his trench coat. "I'd appreciate it if no one moved." He said it in a calm, level voice that somehow managed to silence everything but the music. The only sounds were distorted Blondie and the scuffle of a half-dozen people backing away from Kendal and the bar.

Virgo backed off, and Gideon pushed himself up off of the floor.

"You, behind the bar. I want to see both hands." Gideon reached over and grabbed his crutch from

where it had fallen on the ground. As he pushed himself up, he saw the Jamaican slowly rising from behind the bar. The patrons had backed up to the walls, forming a half circle around the bar, watching the four of them. Gemini was still flat on the ground, and Virgo was staring at Kendal, seemingly caught between conflicting desires—either make a grab for Kendal, or fade into the background with the rest of the bar's patrons.

Gideon made his way around to the other side of the bar with the Jamaican. The guy was staring at Kendal, his hands spread. Something lay on the floor at his feet, half-pulled from a shelf under a small refrigerator. Gideon knelt carefully on his good leg, leaning the crutch against the bar and reaching out with his left hand to pull it the rest of the way out.

It was a double-barreled single-action shotgun. The barrels were sawed off about as far as they could be and still fire. The stock was sawed down to a pistol grip.

"Well, this isn't legal." Gideon broke open the shotgun and dumped out the shells. He put the empty gun on the counter and opened up the refrigerator. There were some bottles of beer, a roll of twenties, a box of shotgun shells, and about six ice trays. Gideon pulled out an ice tray and put in on the counter. It didn't hold ice. Each little compartment held two or three tiny baggies. Each baggie held a crystalline powder.

Gideon pulled himself back upright with the crutch.

"And that really isn't legal."

"Fuck you," the Jamaican said. "You don't have a warrant—"

Gideon shook his head. "You look like a smart guy. Do I really need to explain probable cause to you?"

"You ain't on duty, Cop." He was looking back and forth between Gideon and Kendal.

"Like the Vice boys give two shits. The forfeiture laws are what keep those boys financed. You know that. Even if you walk, with conspiracy to distribute you can kiss this bar gone." Gideon looked around and said, "How understanding is the owner?"

"Fuck," the Jamaican said.

"So what's this?" Gideon picked up a tiny baggie. "Crystal meth? Heroin—"

"Man, you going to arrest me or what?"

"Don't be a pessimist. Talk to me, and the two of us walk out of here like nothing happened."

"What you want to know?"

"You're going to tell me about two regulars. Lionel and Davy."

They took the bartender into the men's room for a private chat. They sat him on the throne while Kendal watched out the front door for more of the horoscope brothers.

The Jamaican had a lot to say. He spoke fast, apparently trying to get Gideon and Kendal out of his dread-locked hair as quickly as possible.

Lionel and Davy both had hung out at The TLodiac a lot. Gideon figured that, since they apparently took calls here. The two were fairly tight, though they didn't seem to work together. Lionel was a small-time dealer and Davy was into much bigger scores hijacking semis and stealing construction equipment. The last time the bartender saw Davy, he was bitching about some score going sour.

About the score the Jamaican claimed to not know any details, beyond the fact that it was a hundred grand for a single truck—an empty truck. Davy began bitching about the score going south about two days before the Daedalus was supposed to have been picked up by a refrigerated truck.

Gideon was certain now that Davy, Franklin Alexander Jones, had to have been the driver who was supposed to move the Daedalus. The hundred grand clinched it. That kind of money would be out of line for just about anything else Davy could've been working on.

The last time the Jamaican saw Lionel, Lionel had just gotten a phone call from Davy—the bartender thought they were going to meet somewhere.

The call was timed right to be the last thing Davy did before he OD'd. As if Gideon needed another reason for Davy's death to look suspicious, he—like Lionel— seemed to have chosen an odd time to go tripping out of his skull, right before he was going to meet with the buddy who had sold him out.

Gideon wondered if Davy had figured that out before he died.

He pressed the point, getting all the details he could out of the Jamaican. The person who hired Davy—all the bartender knew was that Davy called the guy, "the Doctor." This Doctor had never shown in The Zodiac. That didn't surprise Gideon. Folks who'd go around shipping multimillion-dollar computers—stolen or not—probably didn't frequent places like The Zodiac.

However, the Jamaican said there was this one guy Davy had talked to here, a guy who didn't fit. This white guy with a buzz cut—he'd looked like a college student according to the Jamaican—had met with

Davy twice. The first time was right before Davy had started talking about the hundred-grand job. The last time was the day Davy lost the score.

This was what Gideon was looking for, some connection with the people who'd set up the job at the warehouse. Unfortunately, the Jamaican didn't know much of anything about the guy. He thought the guy's name might have been Mike. He'd worn a khaki army jacket over an MIT college sweatshirt.

The last thing Gideon asked him was about the symbol Davy had carried in his wallet. He pulled a wrinkled piece of paper out of his pocket and laid it on the Jamaican's lap. It had a " N " written on it.

"This mean anything to you?"

The Jamaican looked down at the paper and said, "Ho? Xo? You got handwriting problems, man."

Gideon took back the paper and looked up at Kendal. "Let's go."

Back in Kendal's BMW Gideon said, "I owe you for helping me out back there."

"You owe me a lot. I get two hundred an hour for that kind of bodyguard duty." He looked at his watch. "I say you owe me at least fifty bucks."

"What the hell was it you pulled on them."

"Heckler & Koch MP55D—your basic police-slash-antiterrorist weapon."

"Can you legally carry that thing around?"

"Now that's a disingenuous question." Kendal accelerated out down New York Avenue.

"MIT . . ." Gideon said to himself.

"What?" Kendal asked as he jerked to a stop at a red light.

"Someone trying to get their hands on a supercomputer? A lot of tech-heads around that kind of operation."

"Uh-huh," Kendal said. "You're basing this all on a Rastafarian's description of a sweatshirt. You don't know for sure even if this Mike guy ever went to college—"

"It's a lead."

"No talking you out of this, is there?"

"I really don't give a shit if it's D'Arcy or the Pope behind this. Someone's responsible for Rafe's death, and I'm not going to let Magness hang me for it."

Kendal sighed. "Okay, I'll back you up on this thing. You can't do this alone."

"Thanks."

"So what was it you showed the bartender?"

Gideon took the paper out of his pocket. While he was doing it, the light changed and cars started honking. Kendal pulled up, through the intersection.

Kendal glanced over at the paper and the symbol Gideon had copied. "What is it?"

"I don't know. A symbol associated with the people who hired Davy. It was on a card in his wallet."

Kendal kept glancing from the road to the handwritten N.

"It's an aleph," Gideon said. "The first letter of the Hebrew alphabet. But I haven't figured out what it means with that circle attached. It isn't a word—it might be some sort of occult symbol, but if so I don't know what it means."

"I don't think it's occult," Kendal said. "I didn't have much science in high school, but I think we're looking at a subscripted constant of some sort."

"Huh?"

"I think what you have here is some sort of mathematical or scientific symbol. You said we're dealing with a bunch of 'tech-heads.' "

"Why you think so? Do you know what it is?"

"I have no clue. But I remember how that kind of techie stuff looked. And putting a little zero at the base of the thing makes it look like some sort of constant that someone would put in an equation somewhere."

"I thought they only used Greek letters for that? You know, like pi."

"They probably ran out of the Greek alphabet a century ago. Talk to a mathematician or an engineer. I bet one of them would know what that means."

Gideon had a gut feeling about what university he would find one at.