The Pandora Directive

Chapter Twenty-Seven

On the flight back to San Francisco, I replayed in my mind the conversation I’d overheard between Witt and the mystery caller. Who was Witt in cahoots with? NSA? Unlikely Everything I’d heard about him indicated that he’d always been a poster child for unorthodoxy and non-conformist ideology. A man like that could never be coerced with the threat of death or violence into abetting forces he knew to be against his own beliefs. Malloy had talked about factions in the private sector wanting to obtain his information, probably for purely financial gain. Maybe Witt needed to raise a large amount of capital to finance a pet project. It was a stretch, but people did worse things for less money every day.

There was another thing I’d ever heard there was even more suggestive — the name Oliver. I thought back to the O E reference from Malloy’s notebook. Oliver E —. I wondered what part he was playing in this whole scheme. From what Witt had said, this Oliver apparently had one of the boxes — with any luck, one of the two boxes still missing. I still had no idea where our was going to find the box there had been stolen from Archie Ellis. My gut told me that there was securely in the possession of the NSA. If that was the case, I could only hope that its contents were not essential to completing our task. My one optimistic angle was that, knowing Ellis, Malloy I would have sent him the least important piece of the puzzle. For now, I had to concentrate my efforts on tracking down Oliver E—.

I arrived back at my office and check my messages. Regan, Fitzpatrick, Rook, and Purnell had all caught. Rook was in a tizzy because I hadn’t returned his 0 .38. That blackmailer Pernell was eager to get his compensation for having bailed me out. Unfortunately for him, I hadn’t specified exactly when I pay him back. Both he and Rook he half her hoof Sheehy would just have to wait.

Regan, on the other hand, I wanted to get hold of. I had a few questions to put to her. One that I’d hesitated asking myself concerned Archie Ellis. As far as I knew, she could have been the last person to see him alive. I could see no reason why she would want him dead, but I knew that she was determined to claim her father’s inheritance and wasn’t going to let anyone stand in her way. I had to find out what had happened.

“Hello, Tex. What have you been up to?”

“I tracked down another box. I don’t suppose you stumbled onto the one stolen from Ellis.”

Regan smiled. “Oh, I’m good, but not as good as you. No, I didn’t have any luck with Ellis.”

“So you did go see him.”

“Of course. You told me to, darling.”

“Tell me what happened.”

“There’s not much to tell. I chatted with him, turned the charm setting up to eleven, batted my eyelashes, the usual. He made you look like a pushover. I’m fairly certain he doesn’t like women very much. Maybe you should go talk to him and try a different approach.”

“I’m afraid I’d do all the talking.”

“I don’t know. He strikes me as a rambler.” nothing in her conduct or appearance cast doubt on her story.

“I went to see Ellis after you did. He had a brand-new bullet hole in his forehead.”

Regan paused, not knowing what to say. She didn’t appear to be shaken by the news, but then, she’d only met Ellis the one time. After a moment, she shrugged her shoulders. “It’s too bad, but I didn’t know him. Who do you think did it?”

“I’m guessing the NSA, but I’m not sure why they’d rub him out if they had the box.”

“Maybe they don’t have the box.”

“That’s certainly a possibility,” I said, although I had no idea who else might have it.

“So what we do now?”

I thought it over. My PI instincts were a flat line. My head told me that Regan was on the level, but the business with Ellis left a bad taste in my mouth. I felt better about tracking down Oliver E. on my own. “For now, I think you should just sit tight. Unless you’ve got an idea on how we can follow up on Ellis’ s missing box.”

“Sorry, my dear. I only work miracles in more intimate settings.” I had no desire to indulge Regan’s invitation for sexy banter. Even if I’d been in the mood, there just wasn’t enough time.

“I’ve got a lead to look into. By the way, do you remember anyone your father knew named Oliver?” Regan thought it over.

“Sounds vaguely familiar, but I can’t place it.”

“If you remember anything, call me.”

“Why don’t you come pick me up? Let me help you with this new lead.”

I didn’t want to put her off, but things were coming to a head, and I always preferred to work alone in crunch time. When it came right down to it, I was the only person I really trusted. “Sorry, Regan. I’ve got to handle this one on my own. You just stay where I can reach you, and I’ll get in touch later.”

“You’d better mean that literally.”

I disconnected the call and lit a smoke. Fitzpatrick should know what had happened. I punched in his number and let it ring. With luck, he would know something about the enigmatic Oliver E. and save me some time. Unfortunately, the Savoy switchboard operator told me he wasn’t in. I left a message, then hung up. I was going to have to do my investigating the hard way.

I pulled my notebook from my pocket and opened it to the page where I had written down the numbers from Witt’s phone bill. I started with the number in Los Angeles. After two beeps, a young man’s face appeared on the video screen.

“Mulder Memorial Museum. How can I help you?”

“Is Oliver in today?”

“I’m sorry. Mr Edsen won’t be in for several days. Can I do something for you?”

Oliver Edsen. By the way the young man referred to him, he was probably the museum director or had some other important position. I asked the young man for the address and business hours. After I disconnected, if I checked my watch. If I topped out my speeder, I might just get to the museum before it closed. Within five minutes, I was headed south.

I flew like a man possessed and reached the museum in record time. As I made my approach, I got a good look at the building. It was impressively designed and appeared to have been recently constructed. Three storeys of gleaming glass and steel. I jumped out of my speeder and hurried to the front door. I was only seconds late, but the door was locked. Pressing my face the glass, I peered inside, but there was no one in sight. These people took closing time seriously.

I considered my options. First, I could try to get inside, but it would probably be better to attempt a breakin later, when normal people would be in bed. Second, I could just get a room somewhere and start over tomorrow.

After some quick contemplation, I decided I didn’t feel like waiting that long. I’d come back in a few hours and practice my burgling skills.

Not far from the museum, I found a reputable looking cafe. I hadn’t eaten all day and suddenly realised I was famished. Breakfast being the most important meal of the day, I ordered blueberry pancakes with a side of bacon and coffee. After I ate, I spent the next couple hours exploiting the restaurant’s free-refill policy and reading the LA Times.

Eventually, the traffic slowed down, and I figured it was probably late enough for criminal activity. I flew my speeder to a used-speeder lot, about half a block from the museum, then walked the rest of the way. From the front door, I could see lights on in the back. A cleaning woman emerged and flipped on the lights in the front. I moved quickly away from the door and walked around to the right side of the building, into a narrow alley. A Van with the words Carl’s a Cleaning Service stencilled on the side was parked here. Maybe twenty-five feet down the alley, a short, mustachioed man was leaning against the wall, smoking a cigarette. Just behind him, I saw a door slightly ajar, with a thin beam of light streaming out. Suddenly, a smoky, drinky voice spoke from behind me. I turned to see two working girls giving me the eye.

“Hello, sailor. Lookin’ for a date?”

The woman who’d spoken looked at me with bleary eyes under a wig coloured in a way God never intended. Her face was made up to the point of disguise. For all I knew, it could have been J Edgar Hoover under there, and he’d been dead for decades. Her companion looked younger, though, of course, I was just guessing. The younger woman’s eyes were still moderately clear, contrasting disturbingly with a painted face.

“How’re you girls tonight?”

“We’re doing all right. Why don’t you let us show you a little piece of heaven?”

“You’re not Jehovah’s witnesses, are you?”

The older woman look to the younger one and smirked. “We can be if you want us to. You wouldn’t be the first.”

“No thanks. Actually, I’m not looking for any company right now.”

The older woman shrugged indifferently. “Your loss.”

The working girls turned and started sauntering back the way they came. I peeked around the corner and saw my little swarthy friend was still there. I turned and caught up to the women. “Tell you what. My friend’s taking a smoke break just around the corner over there. It’s his birthday, and I’d kind of like to give him a surprise. How much do surprises cost in this part of town?”

The older woman didn’t blink. “Two hundred. Each.”

“I only need one of you.”

They looked at each other. The younger woman spoke for the first time. She wasn’t as young as I’d thought she was. “What the hell? It’s a slow night.” I shelled out the cash and sent them around the corner. After a minute, I peeked around and saw my little friend flanked by the women, heading toward the dark end of the alley. I crept toward the door and slipped inside.

“Carl? Get in here, Carl!”

Off to my left, I could hear the cleaning woman yelling. I ducked to my right and hurried out of sight. Behind me, I could hear the woman stomping toward the side door. I took cover behind a table and looked up as she appeared. She was holding a mop and looked pretty upset. Then she stuck her head out the door and yelled for Carl again. Setting down the mop, she went outside. As she moved through the doorway, I caught a glint of something on a counter by the door. I walked over and saw a ring of keys. Snatching them up, I turned and moved away from the door.

I figured Oliver Edsen would have had an office somewhere in the mu-seum, probably on one of the upper floors. I ran up a flight of stairs to the second floor, moving as quickly as possible and keeping my eyes and ears wide open. If there were other cleaning people in the building, I at least wanted to see them before they saw me. Luckily, the second floor seemed to be deserted. It didn’t take long to find Edsen’s office. According to the nameplate on the door, he was the museum’s director. I tried the door knob, but the Office was locked. Pulling out the keys, I began trying each one. On the eighth key, the door unlocked. I threw it open and stepped inside.

I thought for a minute before flipping on the light. Maybe a light would attract attention — but the cleaning people were here, and they were turning lights on and off all over the place. It would probably be OK. Unless, of course, the cleaning people saw the light. Maybe the cleaning woman had found Carl. If she had, I doubt they’d notice much of anything for a few minutes.

Turning on the light, I went to Edsen’s desk. All the drawers were locked. I glanced at the key ring, but Edsen would certainly keep his own desk keys. The one bookcase had nothing much that I could see. A filing cabinet was also locked tight. I look through the things on Edsen’s desk, but he seemed to be annoyingly organised.

Several framed photographs were mounted on the walls. In one, I saw the familiar face of Elijah Witt. Standing next to him was a tall, thin man with a gaunt, clean-shaven face. Since he appeared in several of the other pictures, I figured he had to be Edsen.

As a last resort, I checked out the garbage can. Beneath the Styrofoam coffee cups, newspaper, and cigar butts, I found an envelope. It was empty, but there was a sticky note attached to it. On the note was written: LAX Flight #1881, Dep. 4/22, 4:05 p.m., C-16, Arr 4/26, 11:33 p.m. it had to be the itinerary for the trip Edsen was on. I thought back to what I’d heard at Witt’s when they were talking about Edsen: He said he received it, but he doesn’t have it with him… we have to wait until he gets back. He said he can get it as soon as he returns. He’d left the box at the airport! That’s where it had to be!

I turned off the lights and left Edsen’s office. No voices came from the first floor as I descended the stairs. I set the keys on the counter where I found them and peeked out the door. From the end of the alley and around the corner, I could hear the cleaning woman giving Carl an earful. Poor guy. I ran to my speeder and set course for LAX.

Like any other major airport, LAX is a sprawling, bustling, overcrowded Tower of Babel. Apart my speeder and entered the main terminal. After following signs for several miles, I found myself in the vicinity of gate C-16. I looked around and saw six different banks of storage lockers. If my hunch was correct, Edsen had dumped the box into a locker just before getting on his plane. Provided that the NSA hadn’t yet been talking to him, and airport storage locker would be as safe a place as any to keep the box.

Now I only had two small problems to deal with. I had to find out which locker Edsen had used, and then get into it. Such trivialities wouldn’t have slowed down the NSA. The NSA. I still had an NSA badge in my wallet. It was certainly worth a try, seeing as how I had no other reasonable plan.

I found my way to the security office and stepped inside like I owned place. A burly young man, sporting a crew-cut and a bushy moustache, sat at a reception desk reading a comic book. Slowly, he raised his eyes and looked at me. “Yeah?”

He had the look and sound of a high-school drop-out who wasn’t quite bright enough to make the police force. And was probably still pissed off about it. He wasn’t someone I’d want to come to blows with. Hopefully, he’d heard of the NSA.

“Do you have cameras on all the storage locker areas in the airport?”

“That’s restricted information.”

I pulled out the phoney NSA badge and held it up to his face. “Not from me.”

The burly guard studied the badge. I couldn’t tell whether he was trying to decide what to do, or just having had a hard time sounding out all the words. After a few moments, he looked back up at me. Apparently he had heard of the agency.

“What can I do for you, Agent Murphy?”

“A criminal we’ve been after flew out of this airport two days ago. He left a piece of contraband in one of the storage lockers. I need to find out which one, then get it open.”

“What’s a contraband?”

“It’s kind of like a box. I’ll show you when we find it.”

The thought of helping a real government agent seemed to brighten up my stupid friend. He made a call and led me deeper into the security area. After several minutes, I was introduced to a supervisor, Ms Hatch, a woman with biceps bigger than my thighs. “I hate to inconvenience you, Agent Murphy, but I need to take a look your identification. Security procedures, you understand.”

I held up the badge. Ms Hatch looked it over several times. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to call in and check your credentials. Not that I don’t trust you, Agent Murphy. It’s just not as hard as it used to be to get bogus identification badges.”

She was calling my bluff. My pair of threes and I were looking shaky. The only thing I could do now was take a cue from Jackson Cross. I decided to grit my teeth and lie through them. “Look, Ms Hatch. I haven’t got time to dick around with a peon wannabe cop like you. That act may play in Peoria, but not in the big leagues. If you don’t give me the information I’m here for, I’ll have your ass fired so hard, you’ll smell like charcoal for a month.”

Ms Hatch obviously wasn’t accustomed to having such a tone taken with her. Her eyes glared for a moment, then she backed off. If I were on the up and up, I could certainly make my threats good. She seemed to decide it wasn’t worth the risk. “Sorry. I know the NSA doesn’t have to work through procedures like we do here. I’ll clear everything for you. Let me know if I can help.” “Oh, I’ll let you know. All I need is access to video tapes and a technician to assist me.”

“Yes sir. Right this way.”

Ms hatch led me into another room and set me up with an extremely intimidated computer geek. I told him what I needed, and he came back with six video disks, one for each of the storage locker areas around gate C-16. We spent the next hour viewing the disks, checking all the footage between 2:30 and 4:00 p.m.. We were onto the fourth disk when I finally saw what I was looking for. The tall, thin figure of Oliver Edsen approached and opened one of the lockers. He pulled a small duffel bag from under a coat draped over his arm. Looking around nervously, he slid the bag into the locker, inserted several coins, then locked the door and removed key.

I turned to the technician and asked which locker had been used. He checked the disk, then reran the footage. It was locker 164 02. In keeping with my NSA persona, I didn’t thank him and left. I returned to Ms Hatch’s office and informed her that locker number 16402 was to be open for me immediately.

Twenty minutes later, I was outside the airport, a small duffel bag in my hand and a big skip in my step.