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Authors: Boyd Morrison
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obvious.
Someone had been in his apartment last night. They had been very careful, but not perfect.
But the real clincher was Kaplan’s off-hand question about NV117. Kevin had never mentioned to Barnett and Kaplan that the experiment involved superconductivity. He was sure of it. Meaning the phone was tapped and they had heard him talking about it on the phone with Erica. That’s why they had come now. The phone call to the police. They had heard it and were afraid he’d tell them about the message from Ward. And because the phone was tapped, they almost certainly knew who Erica was and where she lived.
When Kevin realized Barnett and Kaplan’s deception, his choices became limited.
Overpowering them was out of the question, not when one of them looked liked a linebacker for the Cowboys. And if they had guns, which Kevin was almost sure of, running wouldn’t have done much good either. That’s why he had opened the bathroom window, pushed the button locking the bathroom door, and closed it before hiding in the closet. Sneaking out was the only way. Luckily, the trick seemed to have worked. For now.
Kevin crept out of the closet. The apartment was quiet. He kept his steps soft as he moved into the living room.
As Barnett had ordered, Kaplan had taken Kevin’s wallet and keys. Kevin opened the right desk drawer and flipped through the files he kept in there. Even though he was meticulous with his research files, his personal files were a mess. He didn’t even label all of them. His stomach dropped when he didn’t find what he was looking for on the first pass. As he more carefully went through the files a second time, his hands shook, and several times he glanced at the door.
MORRISON/THE ADAMAS BLUEPRINT
63
Finally, he found it in the tenth file and breathed a sigh of relief. The valet key he had gotten with the car, but never used.
He snatched the key from the file and ran to the door. He poked his head through. No one was in sight. There was no choice. He had to go for it.
Kevin sprinted to the Mustang, all the while expecting a bullet in the back. He crammed the key into the door, his head swiveling as he quietly opened it. Still no sign of them. He got in and kept his head down as he eased the door shut.
He jammed the key into the ignition and turned it. The Mustang wheezed and coughed, struggling to turn over. It cranked and cranked, but the engine wouldn’t catch. Shit! He let go and tried again. Same result.
“Not now,” he muttered to himself, glancing in the rearview mirror. He opened the window to let out some of the stifling heat. “Come on. Come on.”
He turned the key again.
* * *
To the left of the apartment complex entrance, Lobec saw no sign of Hamilton. It was unlikely their target had scaled one of the ten-foot high fences encircling the apartment property.
The chain link was topped with razor wire to keep out intruders. That left the front gate as the only route out of the complex.
Lobec returned to the gate, where Bern was waiting.
“I assume there was no sign of him,” Lobec said.
“No. But there’s no way we wouldn’t have seen him. The street’s clear, and there’s nowhere to hide.”
MORRISON/THE ADAMAS BLUEPRINT
64
“It’s the same on my side. He must still be in the complex.”
“You want me to wait here in case he tries to get out?” Bern said.
“No, we need to find him immediately. He might try to call someone. We’ll make one pass through the complex. If we can’t find him, we must assume that he found refuge with a neighbor.”
Lobec and Bern skirted the edges of the complex, each taking a side looking under bushes, behind cars, and inside shadowed alcoves. Both of the pool areas were crowded with sun-worshippers. Lobec kept his distance, not wanting to present a face that residents might remember should he have to shoot Hamilton. No sign of their target. As he finished at the last courtyard, the one directly outside Hamilton’s apartment,
Someone had been in his apartment last night. They had been very careful, but not perfect.
But the real clincher was Kaplan’s off-hand question about NV117. Kevin had never mentioned to Barnett and Kaplan that the experiment involved superconductivity. He was sure of it. Meaning the phone was tapped and they had heard him talking about it on the phone with Erica. That’s why they had come now. The phone call to the police. They had heard it and were afraid he’d tell them about the message from Ward. And because the phone was tapped, they almost certainly knew who Erica was and where she lived.
When Kevin realized Barnett and Kaplan’s deception, his choices became limited.
Overpowering them was out of the question, not when one of them looked liked a linebacker for the Cowboys. And if they had guns, which Kevin was almost sure of, running wouldn’t have done much good either. That’s why he had opened the bathroom window, pushed the button locking the bathroom door, and closed it before hiding in the closet. Sneaking out was the only way. Luckily, the trick seemed to have worked. For now.
Kevin crept out of the closet. The apartment was quiet. He kept his steps soft as he moved into the living room.
As Barnett had ordered, Kaplan had taken Kevin’s wallet and keys. Kevin opened the right desk drawer and flipped through the files he kept in there. Even though he was meticulous with his research files, his personal files were a mess. He didn’t even label all of them. His stomach dropped when he didn’t find what he was looking for on the first pass. As he more carefully went through the files a second time, his hands shook, and several times he glanced at the door.
MORRISON/THE ADAMAS BLUEPRINT
63
Finally, he found it in the tenth file and breathed a sigh of relief. The valet key he had gotten with the car, but never used.
He snatched the key from the file and ran to the door. He poked his head through. No one was in sight. There was no choice. He had to go for it.
Kevin sprinted to the Mustang, all the while expecting a bullet in the back. He crammed the key into the door, his head swiveling as he quietly opened it. Still no sign of them. He got in and kept his head down as he eased the door shut.
He jammed the key into the ignition and turned it. The Mustang wheezed and coughed, struggling to turn over. It cranked and cranked, but the engine wouldn’t catch. Shit! He let go and tried again. Same result.
“Not now,” he muttered to himself, glancing in the rearview mirror. He opened the window to let out some of the stifling heat. “Come on. Come on.”
He turned the key again.
* * *
To the left of the apartment complex entrance, Lobec saw no sign of Hamilton. It was unlikely their target had scaled one of the ten-foot high fences encircling the apartment property.
The chain link was topped with razor wire to keep out intruders. That left the front gate as the only route out of the complex.
Lobec returned to the gate, where Bern was waiting.
“I assume there was no sign of him,” Lobec said.
“No. But there’s no way we wouldn’t have seen him. The street’s clear, and there’s nowhere to hide.”
MORRISON/THE ADAMAS BLUEPRINT
64
“It’s the same on my side. He must still be in the complex.”
“You want me to wait here in case he tries to get out?” Bern said.
“No, we need to find him immediately. He might try to call someone. We’ll make one pass through the complex. If we can’t find him, we must assume that he found refuge with a neighbor.”
Lobec and Bern skirted the edges of the complex, each taking a side looking under bushes, behind cars, and inside shadowed alcoves. Both of the pool areas were crowded with sun-worshippers. Lobec kept his distance, not wanting to present a face that residents might remember should he have to shoot Hamilton. No sign of their target. As he finished at the last courtyard, the one directly outside Hamilton’s apartment,
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