Michelle Gagnon - The Gatekeeper

“Randall drinks it, but he doesn’t make it himself. He’s hooked on lattes.”

Something triggered in Jake’s brain. He lunged to the kitchen and fumbled through cabinets.

“What the hell?” Syd asked, hands on her hips.

“The mugs. That was how he got info in and out, something about coffee mugs.” Randall had three of everything: plates, mugs, utensils. Apparently he didn’t do a lot of entertaining. Three travel mugs with the facility logo lined the shelf above the plates. Jake grabbed one and twisted the bottom. Nothing happened. He strained harder, but it didn’t give. “Damn. Maybe if I had a knife…”

“Or maybe it takes some finesse. Randall wasn’t exactly he-man,” Syd said, reaching out and taking it from him. She held it to the light and examined it. Removed the lid and scanned the inside. After turning it over in her hands, she pressed on a spot beneath the handle. The bottom popped off.

“Impressive,” Jake said.

“What can I say? Spy stuff.” Syd grinned. “But bad news. There’s nothing in here.”

Jake grabbed the other two and repeated the trick, opening the bottoms. Empty. “Maybe there’s another compartment.” Jake tapped one on the edge of the counter.

Syd raised an eyebrow. “It’s a coffee mug, Jake, not a cryptex.”

“So he gave them info on flash drives. Let’s check those again.”

“I’ve checked them all twice. They’re blank, if there were files on them they’ve been erased.”

Jake set the mug on the counter and looked at her. “You knew this guy. Where would he go?”

“With his daughter missing?” Syd shook her head. “Nowhere. Whoever kidnapped Madison probably has him.”

“Why not grab him in the first place then? Saves them a step.”

“They needed his access to the facility. And now, apparently, they don’t. He must have handed over whatever he was supposed to get for them.”

“Shit,” Jake said, remembering their last conversation, the look in Randall’s eyes after he watched the video of Madison being tortured. “So they probably killed him.”

“Probably. Unless they still need him for something.”

Jake examined her. “You don’t seem too torn up.”

Syd met his gaze. “I gave up on mourning people, Jake. Once they’re gone, they’re gone, nothing you can do.”

“That’s…” Jake tried to think of something to say that wouldn’t hurt her feelings.

“Cold? Maybe. But in my line of work, I learned to distance myself.” Syd shrugged, seemingly unperturbed. “Besides, Randall might be fine. He’s a smart guy, you never know.”

Jake looked around the apartment. He hated to admit it, but suddenly being here with Syd was creeping him out. Her tone was unsettling, monotone and flat like she was a pod person or something. More than anything he wished he was in bed with Kelly, arms wrapped around her waist. Preferably naked. “So you want to call it a night, head back to Benicia? They probably noticed by now that we’re gone.”

“Hell no. We haven’t even scratched the surface yet.” Her eyes roved the walls. “Tons of places he could have hidden stuff.”

“You need help?”

“Nah. Crash out on the couch, if I need you to move I’ll wake you.”

She didn’t have to ask twice. Jake kicked off his shoes, swung his feet up, and covered his eyes with one arm. Within a minute he was dead asleep.

Syd watched him while she rubbed her neck with one hand. She sighed, then went to her purse and extracted her tools.

Randall glanced at Thor. He’d been dozing on and off all day. Honestly, he couldn’t blame him. Spending hours watching radioactive material get filed into a fine dust wasn’t anyone’s idea of a good time. He’d initially made an attempt to be vigilant, watching warily as Randall extracted the core material, shuffled slowly across the warehouse floor and placed it in the lead box. But once the real work had begun, he’d quickly lost focus.

Which suited Randall’s plan perfectly. He waited until Thor’s head dropped to his chest, then gave it five minutes. Everyone else was on the far side of the warehouse playing poker. Occasionally tempers flared and Dante intervened, but by and large the men were left to themselves.

Randall took a few deep breaths. He had to get this exactly right for his plan to succeed. He thought for a second of his girls, and in spite of himself, Audrey. The last vacation they took together, to the Big Island of Hawaii. Their marriage was already in its death throes, and most of the trip was marred by spats and recriminations. But there had been one night when their car broke down as they returned home after sightseeing. Initially it was business as usual: Audrey enraged, as if the car’s failure was somehow his fault, Madison and Bree silent and stiff in the backseat. But the tow truck driver dropped them at a restaurant while the car was being fixed, and it turned out to be one of their best nights together as a family. Dinner was served on a patio perched on the sand, so close to the water the girls joked their table might get sucked out to sea. He and Audrey drank mai tais, and she developed a case of the giggles. They watched the sunset and munched on coconut shrimp while Madison and Bree fidgeted and chatted the way teenagers do. Everything that night had been wonderful. In fact it was the last perfect moment he’d experienced.

It was enough, Randall decided. He hadn’t achieved everything he’d hoped to accomplish with his life, there was no Nobel on his mantel, no theory named after him. Funny how insignificant those things seemed now. He just wished he could have his family together one last time.

Thor stirred in his sleep, head reflexively bobbing. Randall waited for him to still, then took a deep breath. With a solid kick he knocked over the lead case.

It hit the ground with a loud thump. A cloud of fine shimmering powder scattered across the floor, settling into the ridges like chalk dust.

“Shit!” he said loudly.

Thor jerked to his feet. It was startling how quickly he came to life. “What?” His eyes widened at the dust on the floor, and the small cloud above it. He instinctively took a step back.

“It spilled,” Randall said, raising both hands helplessly.

“Holy shit!” Thor yelled, loud enough to draw the attention of the card players. Two of them stood, and another sauntered over.

Randall pulled off his dosimeter, held it up in one hand. “It’s black,” he said with finality.

Thor tore off his own, dropping it when he saw the same color. “No, no, no!” he moaned, backing away. “The fuck did you do!”

“What’s the problem?” It was Dante, eyes cold. Thor appeared incapable of speech. Dante registered the shock on his face and glanced at Randall, who still held his dosimeter.

“It spilled,” Randall said.

“No shit.” Dante crossed his arms over his chest.

Randall shrugged, trying to look blasé. Every cell in his body was screaming at him, fight or flight instinct on overdrive. It wouldn’t make a difference, the damage was already done. As soon as that hatch opened he’d condemned Thor and himself to death; at least he’d be taking one of them with him.

Curious, the other men joined them. When they saw the powder, a murmur rose up. They backed away, close enough to hear but twenty feet from the spill.

Fools, Randall thought. They might not die, but they’d been contaminated.

“I told you to watch him,” Dante said calmly.

Thor was beyond reason. He spotted a streak of blue on his pants leg and tore off his clothes, stripping down to a pair of boxer briefs.

“We need to get to a decontamination unit,” Randall said calmly.

“Not going to happen.”

“Thor,” Randall said. “We need to get to a decontamination unit. They can save you.”