Mitchell Parker Crime Thrillers Collection E-Book

Helen Goltz

• Herausgeber: Next Chapter
• Kategorie: Krimi
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Beschreibung

All three books in the Mitchell Parker Crime Thrillers series by Helen Goltz, now in one volume!
Mastermind: A website inviting players to mastermind the perfect crime is the façade for billionaire Lawrence Hackett’s real-life game of Mastermind - an invitation-only competition for a select few - to see who can perform the perfect heist and win an enormous bounty. Special Agent Mitchell Parker and his team learn of the international crime ring, and begin their investigation. Washington, London, Paris - the clock is ticking. Can Parker and his team shut down the criminal enterprise before it is too late?
Graveyard Of The Atlantic: Off the shores of Cape Hatteras, deep below the surface, lie the bodies of ships that never made it back to land... and with them, something silent and sinister. Meanwhile, several police officers from Beijing are visiting the US for a peculiar purpose. But are they linked to the events in Cape Hatteras? It will be a rough ride for Mitchell and his team, as they race against the ocean - and the clock - to solve the mystery.
The Fourth Reich: FBI Special Agent Mitchell Parker is frustrated to be called in on what he believes is a police matter, but digging deeper, a much more far-reaching threat is revealed. Soon, Parker and his team find themselves in the middle of a Neo-Nazi plot that spans continents, and threatens to bring one of the worst atrocities in history back to life.

Leseprobe

MITCHELL PARKER CRIME THRILLERS COLLECTION

THE COMPLETE SERIES

HELEN GOLTZ

Copyright (C) 2022 Helen Goltz

Layout design and Copyright (C) 2022 by Next Chapter

Published 2022 by Next Chapter

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the author’s permission.

CONTENTS

Mastermind

Graveyard of the Atlantic

The Fourth Reich

About the Author

MASTERMIND

MITCHELL PARKER CRIME THRILLERS BOOK 1

Dedicated to my mother

And with sincere gratitude to Francis Price for the ideas, research and inspiration

1

Special Agent Mitchell Parker had a clear plan – get the security tapes, get out of there, and get home in time for Inspector Morse on television at eight. Crouching on a hanging bridge spanning the middle floor of the university’s science block, Mitch silently cursed the architects who thought suspended walkways and wire railings would be ‘arty’ in the new science wing. It left nothing to hide behind and exposed him and his partner, Jack Jameson, to the lab entrances and thoroughfares.

Mitch flattened himself against the railing in the shadows on the bridge. At six-foot-two, with dark hair and an athletic build, he was a man who didn’t spend much time in the shadows. His sharp blue eyes swept the area, landing on J.J.

“J.J., nothing here. Try the next level up,” he whispered into his throat microphone.

The stocky J.J., five-years older and a stone heavier, nodded and crawled out of sight.

Mitch looked between the wire railings to the hallway entrance below. He saw one security guard at the front desk. His eyes traveled above the guard, finding the security camera that broadcast images to the desk monitor while recording them somewhere in the building.

I want those recordings!

Mitch glanced at his watch. It was nearing seven o’clock; the night-shift security officer was due.

“Mitch?” J.J.’s voice broke his concentration.

“Yeah?” Mitch whispered into the headset.

“Are you sure this is going to work? There’ll be two guards to deal with during the changeover.”

“I know,” he whispered back, “but they’ll be talking, not watching the monitor. It’s our best shot. Just find the room where the tapes are – I need them and we’re running out of time!”

Mitch took in the area. The walkways reminded him of the modern shopping centers designed to make you walk one hundred and eighty degrees to get to each level.

A pain in the ass, he thought. OK, walk around or straight up?

Mitch jumped up, missed and tried again. Grabbing onto the overhead landing he heaved himself up, squatted, and did a quick reconnaissance. He saw lights on in one of the rooms.

“J.J., the large room with the lights on, that’s got to be the main lab – and bet the small room next to it is our tape room,” he whispered into the mic.

J.J. came into sight from the opposite direction. He glanced through the glass strip on the door of the small room.

“Yeah, we’ve found it,” J.J. confirmed. “You’ll have to pass the main lab or drop back down below again and work in reverse.”

“Too hard; main lab it is. Head count?” Mitch watched J.J. move closer to the main lab, glance in and move back.

“Three. Two males at the back, one female near the door.”

Mitch checked the coast was clear and increased his pace, sidling alongside the lab wall. He looked through the glass strip and saw a diminutive female with long dark hair working inside. No one else was in view. He ducked underneath the glass and moved to the taping room. With a silent prayer, he swiped a pre-programmed access card in the slot on the door. The access light flicked to green and he exchanged a quick look of relief with J.J.

Mitch pushed open the door and entered the pitch-black room. He reached into his vest for a small penlight, flicked it on, surveyed the room and headed straight for a glass cabinet that housed numerous tapes, all dated. It opened first try. He found the previous week’s tape and set it aside. He stopped, listened and followed the whirring noise to locate the tape machine.

“Shit!”

“What’s wrong?” J.J.’s voice came through his earpiece.

“Tape recorder’s a hundred years old! Our blanks won’t fit.”

He glanced around and spotted some blank tapes still in their plastic wrappings on the counter.

“Make my day.”

“Come again?”

“Nothing, problem solved. Let’s cut the chatter.”

Mitch fished around in his black vest for a glove and put it on, being careful not to leave fingerprints. He grabbed a tape and unwrapped it, trying to minimize the noise from the plastic wrapping.

“What the hell’s that?” J.J. cut in.

“Plastic wrapper.”

“Nightshift’s arrived,” J.J. said. “I can hear them talking. Hurry up, you’ve got about five minutes.”

“Don’t sweat, I’m almost done.”

Mitch moved back to the tape machine.

“Just had a thought …”

“What?” Mitch asked frustrated.

“Old technology … what if their monitors go to black instead of relaying the hallway feed live?”

“Security’ll head straight to the tape room.”

“Great.”

Mitch positioned himself next to the recorder.

“Hurry up! What’s taking so long?”

“Shut up for chrissake, I’m working here.” Mitch took a deep breath. “OK, here goes. Stopped recording … eject … tape out … new one in … recording … done!”

They waited a beat.

“All clear. Didn’t even notice,” J.J. proclaimed.

“Excellent,” Mitch stuffed the tape and plastic in his vest, picked up the tape he had set aside and pried open the door. He spotted J.J. who gave him the ‘all clear’ thumbs up.

Mitch closed the tape room door behind him.

Less than three feet away, the main lab door began to open.

2

Mitch flattened himself against the wall as the dark-haired female walked out of the lab and turned right. She headed straight for J.J.

“The bins,” Mitch whispered into his microphone. He watched J.J. grab the nearest garbage bin, pull out its lining, and with the bin under his arm and a bag of rubbish in the other, he nodded to her as she passed. She returned his nod and walked on. As she rounded the corner, he bolted behind Mitch.

“Man, now I’m the janitor. Step up from my current job,” J.J. muttered.

“Yeah?” Mitch frowned. “Close call, let’s go.” He led the way to the bridge. He heard the security guard’s footsteps approaching from the same direction.

“Too late, this way.” He tried the access card on the door marked Lab G and it opened with a click. They slid in and the door locked behind them. They squatted beneath the bench in complete darkness.

“Smells like the dentist,” J.J. sniffed.

“Shh! Stay down, he might not come in.”

They waited, immobilized. Mitch wiped a thin layer of sweat from his forehead. The security officer’s footsteps drew closer. He stopped at their door, rattled it as if testing the lock and then continued on.

Mitch heard the security officer stop at the next lab and exchange greetings with the inhabitants – then the footsteps began again, moving away. Mitch rose, pushed the lab door open a few inches and glanced up and down the hallway.

“Clear! Come on.”

He sprinted for the wire bridge and swung through the rails to the walkway. He landed with a soft thud, turned and waited for J.J.

Remaining low, Mitch led the way along the length of hanging walkway to the emergency exit door less than ten feet away. They made it out. Mitch scoped his new surrounds; it was a dark, confined area that was fenced.

“Clear the fence and we’re safe.” He heard a growl. “But then again …”

“Guard dog!” J.J. exclaimed. “Where is it?”

Mitch moved his head to the right and saw a sleek Doberman, no more than fifteen yards away.

“Four o’clock. When did they get that?”

“Five yards to the fence. Can he outrun us?” J.J. asked.

“Maybe. OK J.J., here’s the plan. I’ll drop a doggy snack to …”

“You’re carrying a doggy snack?”

The Doberman growled.

“On the count of three, I’ll drop a snack and we’ll bolt for the fence.”

“Security’ll hear.”

“It’s that or hope Rover’s friendly.”

“Count it,” J.J. agreed. “One …”

The growling became louder.

“Two, three,” Mitch snapped, throwing beef pellets towards the dog without sticking around to see if the distraction worked.

They hit the fence, found footing in the wire uprights and hurled themselves over. Mitch heard a car start up. A black sports utility came into sight and he led the way towards it. He could hear the dog barking maniacally now.

“You know,” J.J. panted beside him, “you might get home in time to see Morse.”

“Nah. You know what it’s like, miss the first ten minutes and you never catch up.”

Mitch reached the car and leapt into the front seat.

“Go,” he yelled as he heard J.J. slam the back door. Agent Ellen Beetson took off and the sound of the dog’s barking died away.

“Nice driving Ellie,” Mitch collapsed back into the seat.

“Just once,“ J.J. complained, “I’d like to do a job without a dog, a security officer or some idiot in hot pursuit.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Ellen flashed a smile at him in the rear view mirror.

“Why couldn’t we get a warrant and confiscate the tapes?” J.J. puffed.

“We’ve acted on a tip off,” Mitch turned to look at him. “If we confiscate the tapes at this stage, we close down anything that might be in progress. Plus, we don’t know who we’re dealing with. The guy on the front desk could be involved, or the guy who tipped us off. You’re bleeding on the boss’s seat.”

“Clipped the fence.” J.J. pulled a handkerchief out of one of the vest pockets and wrapped it around his hand.

“Anyway, did you get it Mitch?” Ellen asked.

Mitch patted his vest. “Got it. Now, let’s see who’s on it.”

3

Charlotte Curtis frowned at the black toast.

“Mitchell!” she muttered. “Why do you always have to fiddle with the settings?” she slapped jam over the burned toast and threw the knife in the sink.

The chime from the wall clock announced six o’clock.

An hour to read the file, get dressed and get to the office, she thought. Never going to happen.

She stopped to listen, heard the tap running and left Mitch’s coffee cup unfilled. With her plate of toast, coffee and the file, she headed for the warmth of the lounge room, falling into the cushioned sofa. Charlotte opened the file from the Child and Family Services Agency on her new client, Bradley James Parnell, and sighed.

Counseling minors, not a great start to the day, she thought.

The bathroom door opened and she looked up as her roommate emerged in a smart black suit, crisp white shirt and in the process of doing up a blue patterned tie. “What?” she asked noticing his grin. “Have I got bed hair?”

“No, no, thy name is beauty,” Mitch placed his hand over his heart.

Charlotte pulled her blue dressing gown around her and gave him a wry look. “The kettle’s boiled.” She returned to her file.

Absorbed in her paper shuffle, she inhaled Mitch’s aftershave as he re-entered the room. She looked up. “Why are you up so early?”

“A seven o’clock meeting,” he said as he sat next to her with his cereal and yesterday’s newspaper.

Charlotte watched him as he read, his hand performing the reflex motion of cereal to mouth. Every now and then he frowned.

He looked up and stuffing another spoonful of Wheaties into his mouth mumbled, “What?”

“Your hair is starting to cover that scar. Did you really shave it for charity or just to look tough and pull girls with stories of gang fights?”

“Hey, I only used the gang fight story a few times. The shark-attack angle seemed to work better.”

Charlotte snorted. “I’ve known you for three years and never seen you even fake a punch let alone wrestle a shark. Besides, your face is far too pretty to have led a street life.”

“Handsome, not pretty. Anyway, I’ve been on the streets! My job is fraught with danger.”

“When? I thought you told me your FBI unit took a few photos on location and ran office-based passport checks?”

“That’s about it. But trust me, there is danger in the office! Those pencil sharpening machines …” Mitch shuddered.

Charlotte laughed.

“So how many nut-cases are you seeing today?”

“They’re not nuts; they’re normal people with problems. This kid,” she held up the file, “was a straight-A student right up to four months ago, and now he’s gone off the rails big time; petty theft, absenteeism, bashing another student. He’s hardly a nut-case …” Charlotte stopped mid sentence. “You know, one day you may need someone to talk to and …”

“Highly unlikely,” Mitch interrupted. “I’m not into the put-it-out-there kind of therapy. Speaking of getting over it, Lachlan rang for you after you went to bed.”

“Did he?” Charlotte chewed on her fingernail. “Why didn’t you wake me? What time?”

“Not long after Morse. I stuck my head in but you were out of it. I thought it was over with him,” he rose.

Charlotte followed him into the kitchen.

“It is over, but I’d speak to him.”

“Well, he said he’d be stuck in meetings all day and he’d call back later.”

“Anyway, what do you care if I get up to talk to him?”

“I don’t. Whatever. I’m just the messenger.”

“Did you talk for long?” she asked.

“No.”

“So, what else did he say?”

“Nothing much.”

“Honestly, you can be so exasperating!”

Mitch grabbed his coat, phone and keys. “Hmm, I know. Anyway, I’m off. Happy counseling.”

She followed him to the front door.

“Have a good high-security day,” she said locking the screen door behind him. Charlotte glanced around the neighborhood while she waited for his car to pull out of the garage. With a wave, she closed the door and headed to the bathroom. The phone rang and she retraced her steps.

“Hello.”

“It’s me …”

“Mitch, sorry I snapped at …”

“No big deal.” Mitch cut her off. “Don’t forget to turn the heater off.”

“I won’t. Will you be home for dinner?”

“Uh, don’t know.”

“Of course … depends on the outcome of this morning’s meeting?” she asked knowing he wouldn’t answer.

Lawrence Hackett fidgeted; he wasn’t one for small talk after sex. Earlier he had wined and dined her, put up with inane banter about a day in the life of a model and gotten what he wanted by the end of the night. It was a fair trade in his mind. Now he had to get rid of her. Lawrence excused himself to go to the bathroom, picked up the phone installed on the white tiled wall and called his Chief of Staff, Andrew Kenny. It was nearing midnight but Lawrence’s staff worked twenty-four seven.

“Call me back, Andrew, will you?” He didn’t bother to introduce himself. Within a few minutes the phone rang and Lawrence faked an emergency. He begged forgiveness from what’s-her-name, called a taxi and hurried her along saying all the right things. He saw her off at the front door and headed for the shower, preferring to sleep clean and alone.

He let the hot water stream over him and watched as it pooled at his feet.

“Treading water,” he muttered, “that’s what it feels like; day in, day out.”

He turned off the taps and reached for a towel. Stopping to look at his reflection, one question came to mind. When was the last time I was excited by anything? Lawrence thought. He remembered the rush when he took over his father’s global media empire after his old man died. He also remembered bedding the hottest actress that same year and replacing everyone on his father’s board with his own people. Buying his first Lamborghini Countach was up there too. He realized those thrills were almost two decades ago.

Done it. Milked every high that could be had … except for Mastermind.

He walked from the bathroom, grabbed the Mastermind file from his bedside drawer and collapsed on the bed. He scanned the six entrants selected to play in this year’s high-risk game; they were located in Munich, Tokyo, Monaco, Paris, Nevada and Washington D.C.

Bring it on! He smiled.

“White with none,” J.J. handed Mitch a coffee.

“Thanks J.J., what’s the latest?” He looked over at the Executive Director for the Trans-National Crime Unit’s office. John Windsor was on the phone.

“Our tapes are back and the lab rats identified.”

Mitch saw John hang up and signal them in. Looking around, he spotted the rest of his team, Ellen Beetson and Samantha Moore, walking towards him with cappuccinos from the canteen.

“I bought you a coffee, but if you’ve already got one …” Samantha held onto it.

“Thanks, Sam,” Mitch grabbed it, looking for somewhere to toss J.J.’s strong brew.

“Ready for another day of official non-existence and denial?” Ellen greeted him.

Mitch laughed. “I like being deniable. Gives us scope.” He followed his team into John’s office and closed the door. “What’ve we got?”

“Good and bad news,” John began. “The good news is we’ve identified the people on the tape. The bad news is, as a result, we’ve got one hell of a problem.” John pressed a button that closed his office blinds and another to lower a screen from the ceiling. He logged into his laptop, opened the surveillance footage file and hit play. They watched as several figures came within sight of the university camera. He froze the video on a tall, gray-haired man in his late fifties.

“Johan Booysen,” John announced. “Former Chief Executive Officer of a large Telco in South Africa.”

“Former?” Mitch asked.

“Yes, he stepped down last year amidst a controversy about misused funds. Nothing was ever proven. He’s here on a tourist visa.”

Mitch scribbled down some notes. “Sightseeing around the university. That’s a little different from most.”

“Precisely. He’s got his fingers into something. The universities are cash-strapped; they’re contracting facilities out-of-hours in all faculties without any real security checks. The science lab is one of the most lucrative for private hire. I want to know what he’s doing there.” John continued the tape. “This guy …” he froze it on an image of a tall, blonde man who looked to be in his mid-thirties.

“Nicholas Everett!” Mitch said, surprised.

“Yes. Nicholas Patrick Everett. You know him?”

“We were close friends at school and in the Air Force. He moved to the west coast and I haven’t seen him for … seven or eight years.”

“He’s flying for a courier company in Nevada. Don’t know what he’s doing in D.C.,” John honed in on the female. “This is Maria Elena Diaz, a trader in antiques, jewelry and fine art. She’s a celebrity in the Venezuelan community and well connected.”

“She’s a stunner,” Samantha said.

“Yes, it hasn’t set her back. She’s had her deals well funded.”

“She was at the lab last night,” J.J. added.

John closed the program and opened the blinds.

“A South African with a shady past, a former Air Force pilot and a South American dealer meeting in a science lab at the university. What’s the connection?” Mitch mused.

“You tell me,” John replied. “Our source has been watching Johan since he entered the country. When he visited the university after-hours and met with your friend, Nicholas, we were alerted right away. That’s it. It’s all yours.”

Mitch rose to depart, his team followed.

“Mitch,” John said, stopping him. “Keep me in the loop.”

Mitch paced around his sparse, glass-walled office. He turned to his team who sat waiting for instructions.

“OK, Ellie and J.J., head to the university science department and find out what inter-country science programs are running, if any, between the U.S., South America and South Africa. Then start work on Johan. Get as much info as you can on him.”

“Done,” Ellen answered.

“Stay in touch. Sam and I will head to the university admin to book some lab space and find out when the main lab will next be available. We’ll try and get a room as close as we can to it to watch coming and goings. Let’s see what they’re up to in there.”

4

“Gentlemen, it’s time to play,” Lawrence Hackett said as he turned his back on the bleak London day and swiveled his chair to face the directors around the board table. “For the few of you that were not with us five years ago when we last played, let me remind you of the rules of the game. Contestants must mastermind and carry out the perfect crime. A prize pool of five million pounds will be divided amongst the Mastermind entrants that succeed. So, the less who succeed, the better for the winners. Clear?”

The directors nodded in agreement.

“Rishi, another one?”

“Entry is by invitation and only six entries will be selected to play.”

“Bravo. Richard?”

Richard cleared his throat. “I’m too old for a pop quiz, Lawrence.”

Lawrence laughed. “Indulge me, Richard.”

“For security reasons, one person only will represent each group. No other members of the group are to have contact with us or be aware of Mastermind. They are briefed on the job, not the competition. Should the team rep withdraw, the entry is disqualified,” he rattled off.

Lawrence heard Daniel Reid shuffle in his seat. He turned to him. “Daniel, you haven’t played before …”

“But I know the rules. Mastermind directors will be accessible one month prior to the event in the capital city of the entrant. This will be the contestants’ only point of contact.”

“Go on,” Lawrence encouraged him.

“The Mastermind act cannot be a Mastermind that was performed in past events.”

“Correct, and finally, when you are allocated a Mastermind entrant, get full security checks on all team members, and confirm everyone’s timing is going to work. It must happen between November 1 and 30. If your group fails and keep their mouths shut, you can offer them legal help – otherwise pull out and disown them. Make sure the team reps know this. Anything else, Andrew?”

“Yes, if they succeed, they’ll be paid on December 1. They also get to keep the spoils of their crime. I’ll have Mastermind projects allocated to directors by tomorrow.”

“Good,” Lawrence concluded. “Let the fun begin! We’ve got some good ones this year.”

“What’s your all-time favorite, Lawrence?” Daniel Reid asked.

“Ah, there have been a few. I liked the Swiss Mastermind in the inaugural competition, before your time, Daniel. The entrants held up a bank, handcuffed and blindfolded the staff and customers, then transferred funds to untraceable accounts. After the transfer, they tied themselves up and joined the hostages. When the cops burst in, they were released with the hostages. It was beautiful. What was your favorite, Richard?”

“All bias aside, since I worked on it, I liked the New York print run in Mastermind-2.”

“That was the thanksgiving weekend wasn’t it?” Lawrence recalled.

“Exactly, a traditional busy time. The Mastermind entrants dispersed half a million worth of counterfeit notes across four U.S. borders that weekend. Simple, effective and by the time the notes were detected, the perpetrators were sunning themselves in the Cayman Islands.”

“What was your favorite, Mike?” Lawrence turned to Michael Germaine.

“It would have to be another one in the Mastermind-2 competition – the selling of the Parisian apartment.”

“Yes, the second round gave us some great ones,” Lawrence agreed.

“It was classic,” Michael continued. “The entrants sold that block of units while their landlord was out of the country. When he came back two months later, his units were being demolished and they were gone with a large wad of French francs and their Mastermind payout.”

Lawrence laughed. “Yeah, that was great. So, we had three Masterminds succeed in our inaugural Mastermind and two in Mastermind-2. Let’s see what this year brings us for Mastermind-3. Who do you think will take it out, Andrew? How about a bet?”

“OK, fifty pounds on Monaco,” Andrew Kenny started the betting.

Lawrence turned to Alan Peasely.

“Tokyo,” Alan answered.

“Ian?”

“Hmm, tough one. I’m going for Nevada.”

“And you, Lawrence?” Richard put him on the spot.

Lawrence answered without hesitating. “My money’s on Washington D.C.”

Mitch rang the bell on the desk in the university’s administration building. He looked over at Samantha.

“Sam, see if you can see what name the lab’s booked under.”

“Will do.”

A young woman came out from behind a glazed partition.

“Faculty bookings? Yes I can help you,” she responded to Mitch’s request. “Where were you looking to book?”

“The main lab in the science faculty.”

“I’ll get the book,” she looked under the counter and pulled out a large diary.

“Now … the main lab … hmm. It seems to be booked for a while. When did you want it?”

“As soon as it’s available,” Mitch attempted to read the book upside down.

“It’s been booked for …” she rifled through the calendar, “at least the next three months – and they have first right of extension.”

“Must be a significant project?”

“Yes, science is a growth industry,” she agreed.

Mitch waited, hoping she would elaborate.

“We might not need as much space as the main lab,” Samantha said. “Is there a smaller lab we could access?”

“Let me see.” She shuffled through the bookings. “For how long?”

“Three months, with an option for another three,” Mitch confirmed.

“Yes, that won’t be a problem. There are two small labs available.”

“I’d like the one closest to the main lab. I’ll have staff working late, so I’d rather other people were around … just in case.”

“Of course. We have campus security; you can ask them to escort your staff to their cars. Lab G is on the same level as the main lab.”

Déjà vu, Mitch recalled squatting with J.J. on the Lab G floor.

“That will be fine. The booking’s under the name of James Owen, company name of Innovation Enterprises,” Mitch said using one of his issued and untraceable names.

“You’ll need to fill out a booking form,” she said, looking around the counter. “Sorry, I’m just temping, I’ll have to go ask someone where they are.”

Mitch waited until she was out of sight and spun the book around. Scanning down the list he found the entry. He frowned at its name.

“She’s coming,” Samantha nudged him.

He turned the book back.

“Here’s the form, Mr. Owen,” she smiled. Mitch read the signs.

I might get more information on that booking yet, he thought.

“It’s this one,” J.J. said indicating a building to Ellen as they made their way through campus. They mounted the stairs.

“Wait,” Ellen grabbed his arm. She nodded towards reception. “The security guard’s an older guy. Why don’t you try the buddy system? I’ll wait out here.”

“Alright,” J.J. agreed. He ran up the final few steps, entered and stopped at the desk.

“Can I help you?” the security officer looked up.

“Yeah buddy, thanks,” J.J. began. “I’m with the Science Gazette. We’re a web-magazine and we’re doing a story on the rush for university facilities by independent medical and science teams.”

“You’ll need to talk to our media unit,” the guard interrupted him, writing down the phone number on a card.

“OK, thanks. I hear you’ve got a few labs booked out after hours, including one booked for a huge research project?” J.J. slouched across the counter.

“That must be the main lab guys.”

“Sounds exciting. What are they up to?”

“Good question, not sure myself. Something to do with …” he looked over at the booking sheet, “yeah, the Aurum project. Got the lab booked for three months.”

“Hmm. Interesting,”

“Yeah. They’re not too hard at it though.”

“Been knocking off early?” J.J. asked.

“Well, I finish here at seven and I hardly ever see them. Their booking’s from five. Joe, he’s night-shift, he never knows when to expect them. Some nights they’re in for an hour, other nights for two hours, and then we won’t see them for a few nights.”

“Where do I get a job like that?” J.J. asked.

The security guard laughed.

“Big team?”

“No, three of them come regularly. The fourth one, a British guy, all swanky in his suit, briefcase, the whole bit; you know the type, he’s only been here two or three times.”

“Might be their bank manager,” J.J. joked.

The security guard handed J.J. the card with the media unit’s phone number written on it.

“Thanks. I’ll give them a call.”

“No problem.”

“Have a good one,” J.J. said with a wave. He headed out of the building, took the stairs two at a time down to the campus courtyard and found Ellen.

“The Aurum project, booked in for three months, four people all-up, including a Brit. How much damage can they do in that time?”

Ellen frowned. “Substantial.”

5

Charlotte Curtis turned her red MG into the familiar surrounds of the juvenile detention center, finding a parking space between a news van and a motorcycle.

Late again, she cursed, then quickened her pace from the car to the building, racing up the stairs as fast as her fitted navy suit and heels would allow. She pulled up at the security desk.

“Hello Charlotte, you know the drill … your bag and folder please,” the guard instructed as he ran a scanner over her body looking for metal objects.

“Hi Roger, I suppose you want my knife collection?”

“Yes thanks, but the escape kit is fine to take in.”

Charlotte laughed.

“You’re here to see Bradley Parnell?”

“I am.”

Roger shook his head.

“What is it?” Charlotte prompted him.

“Charlotte, that boy has had some terrible nightmares.”

“Really? How often?”

“Several times a night. He wakes himself up yelling, poor kid.”

“Do you know what about? Has he said anything?”

Roger paused. “Sometimes he will yell out words, you know, stop, no – once he called for his mother. Now that’s one messed up kid.”

“Mm, thanks Roger. He’ll be out by tomorrow. They always give the new kids a few days in remand to scare the hell out of them.” She gave him a wave and hurried down the hall to the counseling rooms, walking on her toes to reduce the echo on the tiles announcing “intruder” to the insiders.

Charlotte opened the door to room 7J. She glanced up at a flickering fluorescent light in the ceiling panel and shuddered at the sight of a huge spider web in prime position for moth catching. She did a quick scan of the room to ensure the owner wasn’t in sight, then dropped into a deep, red vinyl chair that groaned beneath her.

I know how you feel, she thought. Right, a ten-minute wait till they bring Brad.

She turned off her phone and sat back with a sigh.

An inscription carved into the timber table caught her eye. Jason loves Samantha. Jason’s probably long gone by now and has kids of his own, she thought. Samantha … Mitch’s colleague. I wonder what she’s like, Charlotte thought, surprising herself at the tinge of jealousy she felt. Ellen and Samantha. The only two girls Mitch has mentioned for a while, since that last one slept over … Lena, Leonie, Lana?

Ah, Lachlan. What are you doing, why are you calling me again?

Charlotte jumped as the door opened, bringing her back to reality. Security brought in a good-looking teenager in a regulation orange jumpsuit. She looked at her watch – she had exactly one hour.

“Ready, Lawrence?” Andrew Kenny asked.

“Fire away,” Lawrence sat down and joined the directors.

“OK, gentlemen,” Andrew began, “I have allocated each of you a Mastermind entrant and city. Your allocated team should already be on the ground and have started their project. It is your responsibility to be across their work. You will continue to manage your current portfolios as well as your new project and file a report via email every Friday by close of business U.K. time. An office has been booked in the capital city of each project for your exclusive use. As you may recall, the project does not always take place in the capital city, but for security purposes you will be located there. Any questions so far?”

Andrew looked around the room, seeing nods of understanding.

“Most of you were here five years ago for Mastermind-2, so you know the rules. You’re to meet with one team representative only throughout the project. Reinforce the deadlines and your expectations. The projects must be concluded by November 30. As soon as the project is completed, whether it succeeds or fails, you are to return to the U.K. office.”

Andrew read out the board members’ assignments, allocating directors to Paris, Munich and Monaco. He glanced at Daniel Reid with disdain.

I know you want Tokyo, Daniel. Bad luck.

He continued to read from the list. “Richard, Tokyo.” He suppressed a smile seeing Daniel’ disappointment. “Your contact is Seika Tajimo. Now there are two Mastermind entrants in the U.S. Michael, your entrant is based in Washington D.C. and your contact is Paul Asher. Daniel, you will share office space with Michael in D.C., your project is based in Nevada and your contact is Johan Booysen.”

Johan Booysen ran his hand through his gray hair, sweeping it back over to one side. He frowned at Nicholas Everett.

“We don’t have the luxury of time. You know the timeframe – if we don’t meet it, we forfeit.”

“We’ll meet it,” Nick said, shuffling papers into his black leather compendium. “It’s a little unpredictable because the locations for pick ups aren’t booked until a week out, but it’s manageable. You forget, I’ve done the route numerous times already.”

“Then do whatever it takes to get the roster tightened,” Johan ordered.

“It doesn’t work like that,” Nick snapped back. “They’ll be suspicious if I push for it.”

“We’re still on schedule, so don’t panic,” Maria Diaz assured him. “Daniel is not due here until next week. It will be refined by then.”

“It better be, we have no choice.”

“Remember, this is supposed to be fun,” Maria took his hand.

He pulled away from her.

“The fun is in the winning.”

Mitchell Parker hurried in, last to arrive at his own meeting.

“You look pissed, what’s up?” Samantha asked.

“That’s putting it mildly,” Mitch showed them the university lab booking form for the main lab.

“How did you get that?” J.J. asked.

“Good luck.”

“How old was she?” Ellen asked.

Mitch smiled. “Legal age. I had to get rid of Sam so I could smooth talk it out of her.”

“Yeah, nice to be dispensable,” Samantha punched his arm.

“Ouch!” Mitch rubbed it dramatically. “Check this out. The lab’s been booked for three months for a project called Aurum.”

“Aurum. The security guy told J.J. the same thing,” Ellen cut in. “That means gold.”

“It does,” Mitch agreed. “They’ve left a phone number that goes to a paging service and they’ve paid in cash, so there is no tracking them. Their signature is illegible …”

Mitch looked up as John walked into his office finishing his sentence, “And their cover is as good as ours; all of their details are dead ends.”

“We’re not meant to know what’s going on in that lab or, more to the point, what’s going on outside it,” Mitch concluded.

Charlotte raced up the front stairs to get out of the cold, opened the door and inhaled the scent of Thai food. She heard Mitch call a greeting from the kitchen. Passing through the lounge, she found him in his black suit pants and white business shirt, sleeves rolled up, and stirring a beef dish.

“Hi, did you get an early mark?”

“Hmm, for good behavior,” he snacked on a wedge of carrot from the stir-fry. “What were you smiling about?”

“When?” Charlotte asked.

“Just then, when you walked into the kitchen. In love again?”

Charlotte groaned. “No. Actually, it was so nice coming into the warmth that I was recalling when I first saw this house, fell in love with it and bought it on the spot. I remember the day that you came over to talk about renting, I spent hours cleaning and making it look pretty. You walked in and all you wanted to know was which room to put your one suitcase and a box in.”

Mitch grinned. “I’m not very territorial.”

“I noticed. Has Lachlan called yet?”

“No, Princess, but he will.”

She smirked at him. “Don’t give me a hard time.”

Mitch’s phone rang.

“Go and change, dinner’s ready,” he ordered, stabbing at the stir-fry with a wooden spoon.

She reached over and stole a mushroom, noticing Mitch continued to let his phone ring until she had left the room. Moments later she heard him yell: “Got to go, Charlie.”

“But …” Charlotte wandered out of her room and saw the front door closing behind him.

6

“I’m freezing my ass off,” J.J. rubbed his hands together to keep the circulation going.

“Turn the heater on,” Mitch stated the obvious.

“Are we going to be here much longer?”

“Another half hour or so. You know, I just finished cooking this great stir-fry.”

J.J. reached over to the car dashboard and changed the settings to warm.

“Why can’t we go into the lab we booked while we wait?”

“Because I need to work out what we’re doing and who’s doing it, and I don’t want any of us recognized yet.”

“So, what did John say when he called?”

“He said they’ve accounted for everyone on the tape except for one guy; probably their British partner. John’s panicking. He wants us to lift whatever info we can to find out what’s happening in there. So, an orchestrated evacuation has been scheduled for eight,” Mitch read J.J.’s blank expression, “a fire drill.”

“Right.”

“We’ll go in while they’re coming out.”

“He didn’t waste any time getting that happening.”

“The more impromptu the better; less chance it will leak. Plus, if we wait until after their shift, they’ll take material with them. Johan’s been carrying a case in all the video footage. Nick’s the same. I’m hoping they’ll leave it there during the raid.”

“What if they don’t all come out?” J.J. asked.

“That’s the risk we take. That’s why we’re here early, to see how many arrive tonight. Only been two so far.”

“The female and Johan?”

“Yeah.”

J.J. pulled out a thermos.

“Coffee, decaf, tea or herbal tea?”

“Geez, what are you, a walking espresso bar? Coffee, white, thanks.”

Mitch sat up straight and pointed to the building. “There’s Nick. It’s a full house unless they’re expecting guests.”

“Cream or plain cookie?”

Mitch surveyed the selection and reached for a chocolate cream.

“Thanks, you can come on surveillance anytime.” He took the offered coffee and turned his attention back to the building.

Sitting in silence, they drank their coffees and waited. Mitch glanced at his watch, fifteen minutes had passed. J.J. slid down making himself comfortable. Another glance at the watch and across at J.J. who was drifting off to sleep in the warmth of the car.

Mitch jolted upright as the first alarm wailed.

“Let’s go, J.J.”

“Man! OK.”

Mitch bolted from the car. He looked back to check J.J. was behind him. They strode to the side of the building as the fire alarm kicked into a full-on scream. The exit doors automatically unlocked and Mitch slipped in through the side door, holding it ajar for J.J. He waited for his eyes to adjust as the house lights went off and the generator floor lighting flickered on.

Crouching, Mitch and J.J. waited underneath the stairs. Mitch watched as the security guards hustled everyone out. He could hear a heavily-accented male voice complaining about having to leave. Finally he saw the three from the main lab cross the walkway and exit through the door with the security guard behind them.

“We’ve got fifteen minutes so we want to be out in ten. The firemen are ours, but they can’t stall forever,” Mitch said leaping to his feet and hoisting himself up again to the landing in a repeat performance of the previous night. He moved out of the way as J.J. followed suit.

They arrived at the main lab and Mitch swiped his card in the slot. The door wouldn’t open.

“Shit! It won’t open with the building on emergency alert. OK, think!” The alarms continued to wail. “J.J., you’re the expert … what do you suggest?”

“It’ll take a few minutes to pick, or we can break the glass window.”

“We don’t have a few minutes and we can’t break the glass; they’ll get suspicious and relocate. I can’t lose them. We need a master key.”

“Hang on.”

Mitch watched as J.J. headed to the tape room and swiped his card. The green light flashed, the lock clicked opened.

“What the …? Gloves!” Mitch snapped before J.J. put his hand on the door. They both slipped them on.

“The security area should override all areas … makes sense,” J.J. explained. “I can override it in here if you want to head out and tell me when it flashes green?”

Mitch headed to the main lab and waited for the green light to flash on.

“Green!” he called to J.J. above the alarms and pushed the main lab door open. He went straight to the microscope.

He heard J.J. enter behind him.

“Get set up,” Mitch ordered, “we need to bag some samples.”

“Seven minutes,” J.J. stood beside him and pulled compact storage containers from his vest, setting them up on the counter.

Peering through the microscope, Mitch saw a slide with several cells.

“Taking that one?” J.J. asked.

“Too risky.” Mitch eyed a stand with a dozen tubes half filled with some fluid. J.J. handed him two empty tubes. Mitch filled them with water and selecting two from the stand, swapped them, handing them back. He moved to the refrigerator.

“Six minutes,” J.J. called.

“Petri dish,” Mitch gestured to him.

J.J. handed him the dish. Mitch opened his vest and withdrew a sealed syringe with a liquid substance in it. He placed a few droplets into a new petri dish, sealed the syringe, selected a similar sample and swapped them. Grabbing a swab from his jacket, Mitch immersed it in two other foreign fluids and bagged the swabs, passing it to J.J. for storage. He pulled a mini camera from his vest and looked around.

“Beautiful,” he whispered seeing the brief case. With his gloved hand he opened the lid, pushed aside a selection of Mont Blanc pens and pulled out three manila folders. He opened the first file and found a list of names next to a column of dollar amounts. He snapped photos of the first few pages.

“Five minutes,” J.J. announced. Joining Mitch, he whipped out his camera, removed the second file and began to take photos. Mitch opened the third folder, finding profiles on Nick, Diaz, two security personal and three people listed as scientists and a pilot.

Finishing, he took J.J.’s file and returned them to the case in the correct order.

“Four minutes,” J.J. counted down.

Mitch looked around; there was no sign of Nick’s folders.

Damn. He handed J.J. his camera, storing the evidence together.

J.J. zipped up the pack.

“I’m going to wipe the area for prints and hair. You move out, I’m right behind you,” Mitch instructed.

“OK, you’ve got three minutes.”

Mitch heard the door close as J.J. departed. He pulled a soft cloth out of his vest and wiped the area carefully; the magnetic cloth picked up everything. Another glance at his watch.

Two minutes, thirty seconds – what the heck? He unzipped a small section of his vest and pulled out a tiny magnetic microphone and receiver, no larger than a half dollar. He felt under the table; no metal. Mitch glanced around the room looking for something metal that would hold the magnet.

Top of the refrigerator? Too visible. Back? No, the hum may interfere with recording audio. Two minutes. Hurry, where can I put this?

He looked up.

The air conditioning duct; nicely centered to capture conversations.

He leapt up on the counter, pushed a ceiling panel upwards and felt around for a suitable spot. The alarm bells stopped.

I’ve got to get out of here!

He pulled himself up into the ceiling, locked his feet into a beam, swung upside down and wiped his tread marks off the counter. The house lights flickered on and he hurled himself up hearing footsteps on the walkways. Mitch placed the microphone in the tread of the ceiling air conditioner vent and lowered the panel back into place as the lab door swung open. He froze behind the grate and watched Johan enter, stop, pat down his pockets as if looking for his cigarettes and head out again.

Move! Mitch hurried towards the outlet at the side of the building.

J.J. waited, watching everyone enter the building via the walkway above him. Security was the last to pass. He rose slowly, checked the coast was clear and raised himself up to the walkway. He heard footsteps and ducked back under the stairs, looking up to see who was passing.

Johan! Why is he going out? Is he coming back?

He waited a few seconds, pulled himself up again and headed to the fire exit. As he reached for the door, it opened. J.J. found himself face-to-face with Johan.

Mitch crawled along the inside of the ceiling. Coming to the end, he pushed open the vent and looked out, then down at the side of the building.

Great, no dog. He studied the drop. Not so great … it must be at least twenty-five feet to the ground! Shit.

He glanced around.

Nope, nothing. No pipes, no tree branches, he thought. He strained forward to see the car. No one in the driver’s seat. Where the hell is J.J.? Just get on with it. He lowered himself full length from the vent.

That cuts about six feet off the fall, he thought glumly. On the count of three. What am I saying?

He let go, hit the ground with a thud, rolled, then squatted to assess the damage.

Sprained ankle, all else intact. Where the hell is J.J?

“All clear in there,” J.J. nodded to Johan. “Thanks for your co-operation.”

Johan ignored him, and pushed past.

“Yeah, you’re welcome,” he muttered under his breath and exited the building. “Cover blown! Mitch is going to be pissed off.”

He bolted to the car; it was empty.

Where the hell are you, Mitch?

J.J. tried the car door; it was open and he slid into the driver’s seat and dialed John Windsor.

“What’s happening? I haven’t heard from Mitch,” John answered.

“Me either. We split ways. The drill’s over and I’m outside.”

“Who’s got the samples?”

“I have; plus photos. Johan left his brief case in there.”

“Excellent. Don’t get caught sitting there with them. Give Mitch five minutes and then get those into the lab. You can go back and pick him up. Understand?”

“Yessir!”

J.J. hung up and glanced at this watch.

Come on, Mitch, what the hell are you doing? He reached under the seat feeling for the spare key and found it. He put the key in the ignition, turned on the heater and waited.

Where are you?

He saw movement up ahead; someone with a slight limp was coming around the hedges.

“Shit,” J.J. glanced at the samples from the lab in the back seat. He locked the doors and started to drive, swerving to miss the figure as it ran up the side of the car and banged on the window. J.J. recognized Mitch and slammed on the brakes, unlocking the doors. Mitch limped in.

“Take off.”

“What happened to you?” J.J. floored the car.

“I took a scenic trip through the ceiling into the garden,” Mitch put the seat back and stretched out his leg.

“Geez, you’re ankle’s swelling already.” J.J.’s phone rang. “That’ll be John,” he handed it over.

“Chief, all OK, job done,” Mitch hung up. “So where were you?”

“I’ve got good and bad news,” J.J. said. “The good news is I got out alive with the samples intact.”

Mitch grunted at the obvious.

“And the bad news?”

“Johan saw me.”

Pulling up at J.J.’s apartment, Mitch limped around to the driver’s side of his car.

“Thanks for the lift.”

“Thanks for coming on the shift. See you tomorrow J.J.”

He swung the car around and headed back to the office, pulling into his usual car space. He limped to the door, flashed his security pass to get in and took the samples to the lab, finally climbing the stairs to his floor.

“You’re still here,” Mitch said entering John’s office.

“You’re a mess, John greeted him.

“So I’ve heard,” Mitch fell into a chair.

“You should’ve got the fire lads to hose you down. What have you done to your leg?”

“Just a sprain.”

John picked up the phone and called for a medic to the fourth floor, then opened a cabinet and poured two scotches.

“Samples?”

“Delivered.”

“Good. Any hitches?”

“J.J. was compromised; Johan saw him. Otherwise, no problems.” He took the offered scotch and swallowed it fast, feeling it burn down the back of his throat. He fished the microphone remote from his pocket and handed it over.

“I didn’t know you were going to get that into place,” John jumped to his feet and attempted to patch it through the system, unable to pick up any noise.

“Could be working, they might not be saying anything. Or have left for the day.”

A South African accent crackled on the line.

“Excellent,” John listened in.

“Good. I was worried about where I stuck the mic but that’s crisp.”

John reached for the phone again and ordered transcript recording from the lab.

“Nice work. If your samples are good, you’ve earned a night off.”

Mitch rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, heard that before.” He emptied the glass and turned to see the medic coming his way.

7

Mitch rang Charlotte’s phone; she answered on the third ring.

“Mitchell Parker, what happened to you? One minute I’m waiting for my stir-fry, the next I’m on serving duty!”

Mitch laughed

“Sorry, emergency work call. Where are you? I can hardly hear you.”

“At the hotel’s new wine bar. Come down, I’m with Sally.”

“Thanks, but I’ve sprained my ankle so I’m going to hobble home.”

“Don’t be such a wet blanket. Hobble on down. You’ll feel better after a red wine or three.”

“I would, but I’m covered in dirt.”

“So dust off and stop making excuses. Hang on, Sally wants a word.”

Mitch waited, listening to the girls pass the phone.

“Mitch some knight in shining armor you are. Where are you? We’re getting hit on every minute. We need a man at the table.”

“I bet you are, Sal. Well, don’t complain if I don’t look up to standard.”

He swung the Audi around to head to the hotel. He found a park and brushed down as he made his way into the bar. Mitch spotted them in the corner. He slipped into the booth beside Charlotte and noticed they both checked him out.

“You look alright,” Sally told him, “except for … is that grass? How do you get grass stains on a business shirt?”

“I fell on the grass!” Mitch answered.

Charlotte laughed.

“I hate these trendy bars,” Mitch shuffled in his seat.

“Listen Happy, you hate these trendy bars because you’re scared someone will think you’re trendy,” Charlotte waved to a waiter.

“I’m too old to be trendy.”

Mitch ordered more wine and tapas.

“I’m starving, how was my stir-fry?” He sat back and observed the girls.

“Delicious!”

“What did you do to your ankle?” Sally stared at the strapping.

“For a person with a desk job, you’ve never seen so many injuries in your life,” Charlotte interrupted. “Check out the scar above his ear. Not to mention …”

“You’re right, let’s not mention it,” Mitch cut her off as the waiter passed him the opened bottle of wine. He filled their glasses.

“So, Mitch, anyone on the scene this week?” Sally took the glass of red.

“Well, there is a new girl in the records management division …”

“Woo-hoo, all the reference material you can handle,” she nudged him.

“Listen Blondie, don’t give me a hard time.” Mitch smiled at her. “I’m sore, hungry and reading is not what I had in mind for records girl.”

Sally laughed. “Look, why don’t you and Charlie go out and be done with it?”

“Who, us two?” Mitch choked on his red wine.

“Why not? You can obviously live together, so economize and share a room.”

Charlotte crinkled her nose.

“No offence, Mitch, but it would be like dating my brother … I love my brother, but he’s my brother. Same theory applies to you,” she patted his hand.

He looked at Charlotte, “I’d go out with you.”

She stopped, gazed at him, and then laughed.

“Nice try. You almost got me then. But we both know if I said I’d go out with you, Mitchell Parker, you would organize a stack of assignments and conveniently never be home.”

“Not true. Anyway,” he turned to Sally, “my rival’s still on the scene.”

“Are you serious?” Sally asked. “When …?”

“Good one, tittle-tat! I was going to mention it.”

“When were you going to mention it? We’ve been here twenty minutes!”

“Look, it’s over with Lachlan; we’re just tying up loose ends.”

“Loose ends? You’re addicted to good sex,” Sally exclaimed.

Mitch looked away.

“If you want my advice,” she continued, “I think you should burn him for good. He’s a lovely guy, but it’s a flogged horse. What do you think, Mitch?”

“Nothing to do with me,” he shrugged. “Although, one of the girls in the office cooks a lot when she breaks up with a guy … that could work out well if you were inclined.”

“Or clean … I’ve heard of people who clean a lot when heartbroken,” Sally added. Mitch nodded.

“Ha, nice try you two but don’t count on it.” Charlotte tossed back her wine.

Mitch carried Charlotte’s belongings into her room.

“Stay and talk a while,” she sat on the bed. “Please!”

“Charlie, you’re pissed. You’ll be asleep as soon as your head hits the pillow.”

“Please, just for a while.”

Mitch sat next to her as she curled up on the bed.

“Talk to me …” she yawned.

“I’m all talked out,” he covered her with the quilt.

“Mitch?”

“Yes?”

“I’m cold. Can’t you lie here for a while?”

“I’ll fall asleep and we’ll scare each other in the morning. You’ll think I took advantage of you. Might be safer to put your electric blanket on.”

“No.” She put her pillow in his lap and wrapped her arms around his waist. “You can set the record straight tomorrow. Besides, I’m used to your scary appearance.”

Mitch kicked off his shoes and propped himself up in sitting position behind her. He stroked her hair, listening to her steady breathing.

He woke with a start twenty minutes later.

Shit! He swore, realizing where he was. He touched her hair again.

No! Got to go. I need that nightshift at the lab to start ASAP.

8

Mitch could see his team waiting for him. He grabbed the paperwork from John and limped towards them.

“All quiet on the Western Front?” J.J. asked as he neared.

“Too quiet. Budgets,” Mitch answered.

“Aah! I thought you looked glum. We got any money left?”

“Not if those Cobra helicopter repairs come out of my budget.”

“Geez, wasn’t that last financial year? You told them it was an accident?” J.J. asked.

“Yeah, tried that one. OK, Ellie …”

“I’m continuing with checks on inter-country grants and on Johan,” Ellen cut in.

“Plus, I’ve started background checks on Maria and Nick,” Samantha concluded.

“Good. J.J., let’s see what the science department turned up from our lab raid.” Mitch said. “John’s meeting us there.”

“Right, walk this way,” J.J. walked beside Mitch with his own limp imitation.

“So, give me the heads-up, Henri, are we going to be happy with the lab findings?” John lowered himself onto a stool opposite Professor Henri Spalter in the science division.

“Depends, John, on whether you were hoping to find something incriminating or hoping not to. Ah, here’s the boys now, excuse me a moment.” Henri rose and walked through the department to let Mitch and J.J. in through the security door. He frowned noticing Mitch’s limp.

“Mitch. What have you done to yourself?”

“Playing Superman again … you know, leaping from tall buildings in a single bound.”

“No cape?”

“Ah, that’s what went wrong,” Mitch grinned.

Henri chuckled and nodded a greeting to J.J. He led them past two young lab technicians arguing over a lab sample.

“Come, I’ve got something interesting to show you.” They entered another lab where John was looking through a microscope. He moved away and Henri projected the microscope slide onto the wall.

“Your results from last night’s raid are interesting. Here’s a projection of what we found in the test tubes.” He watched Mitch squint at the image of clear, small bubbles.

Mitch looked from Henri to John. “Nothing? You mean to say we’ve collected air and water?”

“Apparently so. The second sample,” Henri called up another slide, “appears to be membrane-based. And this next one is water.”

“What the hell is going on?” Mitch stared at the slides.

“My thoughts exactly. There is a ground swell of scientists pushing the government for tighter constraints on labs and to monitor work in progress,” Henri said. “There are experiments going on under our noses that could be real threats to our society; this isn’t one of them.”

He put up another set of images.

“This is what was in your petri dishes. This batch has nanometer-sized gold particles in it, surrounded by a negative charge layer.”

“Which means?” Mitch asked.

“It means it could be a test for any number of samples.” Henri looked at the blank faces around him. “You’ve picked up a sample which forms the basis of a test because of its stability. Think of it as having a cup of hot water. You could add tea, coffee or chocolate and each will give you a pure representation of what you have added. Whereas, if you had a cup of cola and added tea, coffee or chocolate, the taste would be compromised by the flavor of the cola.”

“So, give us an example of what they could use this exact type of testing for?” J.J. asked.

“They could be doing agricultural testing for plant and crop disease, or clinical testing for tumors or allergies; even biological testing for contamination. It means nothing really.”

“So basically, what we’ve collected tells us they’re doing what we’re going to be doing; using a few fake props to look like lab work is going on?” J.J. asked.