The orderly hauled her to the unmade cot in the room and tossed her on top of it. “Stay out of trouble this time.”
Kat had enough strength to watch him leave. As he shoved the door shut and wheeled away the stretcher, she spotted her purse atop the gurney. She pictured the surveillance device inside.
Dear God, let someone be listening.
5:02 P.M.
Washington, DC
“We’re still not picking up any audio or video,” a technician reported.
Another analyst called from across the room. “I’ve got security feed from Harbourview coming up over here.”
Painter pointed to the tech. “Keep monitoring all of Kat’s surveillance devices.” He stepped toward the analyst. “Show me that feed from Lisa’s hotel.”
Painter crossed Sigma’s communications nest, moving the eye of a hurricane with him. He had other intelligence analysts and agents laboring across the banks of computers and monitors that formed a semicircle across the back of the room. To his left, an adjoining windowed office looked into the space.
It was Kat’s command center, her nest within the nest. A single monitor glowed in that dark space, illuminating the young face of her chief analyst, Jason Carter, who hunched over a keyboard working on a separate project.
Out here, chaos reigned as Painter sought answers to the fate of Kat and Lisa. He kept one ear fixed on the flow of information in the room while his left hand held a Bluetooth earpiece in place, awaiting any more audio from Kat’s surveillance device. A pair of wall monitors displayed the video from the two pens she planted. One showed the reception area of the North Charleston Fertility Clinic. The other was dark, receiving no video.
Painter had heard the initial conversation that was downloaded after the second pen was activated. It sounded like someone had drugged and kidnapped Kat and was now holding her prisoner.
But after that, nothing.
The feed had fallen unnervingly silent for the past twelve minutes.
At the moment, he didn’t know if Kat was still at the fertility clinic or taken somewhere else. They tried to track her disposable cell phone but ended up hitting a blank wall. Either reception was being blocked, or her phone’s battery had been stripped out.
He was ready to contact the Charleston law enforcement, have them storm the clinic, but to what end? Kat might not be there, and if she was, her captors would likely kill her before warrants could be issued. Such an effort would also lay bare Sigma’s continuing investigation into Amanda and the Gant family.
That must not happen.
His mind raced through countless stratagems, while his heart pounded in his throat, fueled by yet another fear, another unknown.
Where are you, Lisa?
When he received Kat’s transmission, he’d been on the phone with his girlfriend. When he recognized that Kat was in trouble, his anxiety shifted immediately to encompass Lisa—especially when, seconds later, an analyst burst into his office to inform him that the hack into the clinic’s computers had suddenly got severed.
He got a brief warning out to Lisa—then heard the crash of a door in the background and the line went dead.
“I’ve got the hotel feed now.” The agent pointed to a monitor in front of him. A stuttering image flickered, silent, showing three assailants in a hallway, all wearing ski masks.
So they knew about the cameras.
One knocked on the door, shook his head, then another stepped back and kicked the door in. The three rushed inside, vanishing out of view. Without a camera inside the hotel room, there was no telling for sure what transpired after that.
As he watched, Painter found himself holding his breath. He had to force himself to breathe. Panic would not serve either Lisa or Kat.
After Lisa’s phone went dead, he had immediately called hotel security and reported the break-in. The head of security called back within five minutes. It had been the longest five minutes of his life.
When he finally heard back, he was relieved with the report but far from settled: We chased the intruders off, but the hotel room was empty. We found a purse and a cell phone and luggage. No occupant.
Painter watched the same scenario play out again on the screen. A two-man security detail came racing down the hall, but the three assailants dashed out, one shooting at the approaching guards, forcing them back. The three then took off, disappearing down a stairwell.
A neighboring analyst swung around in his chair. “Director, I have Harbourview security again.”
“Patch them through.” When he last spoke to the hotel, they were still searching the premises for Lisa.
His earpiece clicked, and a gruff voice could be heard shouting orders, before centering back to Painter. It was the head of security.
“I’m sorry to report, sir, that we’ve found no sign of your girlfriend anywhere in the hotel. I’ve interviewed staff and guests. No one saw any woman being manhandled off the property.”
Painter felt the smallest flicker of relief. If Lisa wasn’t in the room or spotted by the hall cameras or staff, then she must have escaped out the window.
The man on the line came to the same conclusion. “The police are on the scene, but it appears to me that she fled.”
“Thank you. If you hear anything or learn anything—”
“You’ll be the first I call.”
Painter pictured Lisa running scared through the streets—no money, no phone—doing her best to keep ahead of the hunters and not knowing whom to trust. She needed to reach a public area, get access to a phone. Then he could facilitate her rescue. He already had field operatives flying into the area. There’d be boots on the ground in Charleston within the hour.
Hopefully, by that time, he’d have more information on Kat’s whereabouts, too. Painter glanced at the technician assigned to monitoring Kat’s surveillance equipment. He got a shake of a head in return.
Still no new feed from Kat’s second camera.
With an extra moment to think, Painter paced the length of the communications nest. He began putting together the most likely scenarios. Somehow Lisa’s cover got blown after the discovery of the wireless router hidden in the head clinician’s office. And since Kat’s cameras were still functioning, her cover must still be intact.
No one connected them together yet.
It was the only silver lining in this black cloud—but he’d take it.
Still pacing, Painter turned to find his way blocked by Jason Carter. The young man was rail-thin, former navy like Kat, only twenty-two years old. According to Kat, the tow-headed kid was some sort of savant as an intelligence analyst. He also knew his way around computers. He’d been kicked out of the navy for breaking into DoD servers with nothing more than a BlackBerry and a jury-rigged iPad—or so the story went. Still, Kat had snatched him up, in the aftermath, for Sigma.
Jason’s face was paler than usual. He blamed himself for accidentally alerting the clinic during his attempt to hack the last firewall, and for exposing Lisa. He was also deathly worried about Kat. The young man worshipped at her feet.
To keep the kid distracted and focused elsewhere, Painter had assigned him to finish the intelligence brief on Utopia.
“Director, there’s something you should see.” He lifted an arm toward Kat’s office.
Painter followed him and closed the door. He could still smell a whiff of jasmine in the air, a ghost of its former occupant.
Jason led him to a large computer monitor. Upon it spun a 3-D rendering of the star-shaped island of Utopia. The surface of the man-made superstructure bristled with towers, clustering up each leg, rising in height from the tip to the center, like the spines of a starfish. And in the middle rose the tallest of the spires, appearing like a molten pyramid whose tip had been stretched taffy-like into the sky to the height of five hundred feet.
“Where did you get this schematic?”
“Made it myself.”
“That was fast.”
Jason shrugged. “Before all hell broke loose, you had me already doing a search into the various corporations and businesses involved with Utopia. I just pulled the architectural schematics from each building, paired them with their GPS locations on the island, and had it all rendered in 3-D. The hard part was showing the levels of completion of each phase of the various towers. I shaded the completed projects in gray. The other, ghostlier sections denote floors or phases of construction either unfinished or still in the planning stages.”
“Impressive. Can you forward this schematic to Commander Pierce’s team?”
“No problem, sir, but that’s not why I wanted to talk to you.” He waved to the screen. “This was all busywork while I waited for my data to compile on the various businesses invested or renting space in Utopia. Let me show you.”
He tapped a screen and the grayscale schematic burst forth with tiny patches of color, in every imaginable hue, filling in office floors and apartment spaces. “Each color represents a different company with vested interest in Utopia,” Jason explained. “Two hundred and sixteen in all.”
Painter gaped at the view. Gray’s team faced a daunting task to hunt through that corporate maze for Amanda.
But, apparently, Jason was not done. “You also had me search business records and financial reports to discover the true owners involved.”
Painter nodded. He had assigned Jason to strip away the shell and dummy corporations, to expose the various front and holding companies, all to discover who was truly investing time and money in Utopia.
To reveal the real peas under all those fake shells.
“That took some work,” Jason said with a proud grin and hit a keystroke. “Now watch.”
On the screen’s schematic, the various dots and splashes of colors began to change, blinking through a cascade of shades, then settling and blending together—until most of the screen glowed one uniform color, a deep crimson.
“Once the shell game settled out,” Jason said, “I discovered seventy-four-point-four percent of the island is actually owned by a single parent company.”
Painter felt the cold creep of dread in his gut. He could guess the answer. “Gant Corporate Enterprises.”