“Hey, it pays well here. Don’t laugh. Drivers divert their attention from the road and their speedometers to bikinis. Almost always speed, unless they see me first. I have ninety-four notches on my radar gun this month; mostly from this location.”
“Yeah, just kidding Briscoe. You’re doing good. Keep our roads safe and call back when you’re driving.”
“10-4. Will do.”
Back to reality, he scanned the beach with binoculars, counted eight large umbrellas with three to four people under each one, then raised the glasses out to the ocean. The waves were unusually high and crashing loudly; he could hear the roar through his open window. Out at infinity, the thin line, separating a light blue sky from a deeper blue ocean, was barely visible. He scanned slowly, searching south to north; huge waves rushed toward land. High tide coming, he thought. Where are you Adam? I know you’re out there somewhere.” He shook his head violently, ridding his mind of the horrific images he imagined.
Considering it was mid-February, the beach was busy. Nothing like the crazy summer weekends with their rowdy beachgoers stomping through the fire pits, erecting huge sand sculptures and drinking funneled beer through long hoses. No, this was the peaceful time of year at the beach, but spring break was right around the corner. A harbinger of the summer crowds to follow, he wondered if Adam would allow that time to arrive. Reluctantly, he reached for his cell phone and dialed Lieutenant Poole at the O.C. Crime Lab.
“Lieutenant Poole here.”
“Briscoe calling. I’m curious if any more of the message has been decoded. Was a time or date found?”
“Why, yes there was, Officer Briscoe. I’m glad to hear you’re still on our team, if only by proxy.”
Pausing, he knew her dig was coming but his curiosity had bested him; it mattered not. One thought at a time, he was dragging himself reluctantly back into the puzzle, not something he particularly wanted to happen.
“Well? When?” Knowing his cell signal was subject to intercept, he avoided specifics; something he learned in his LEO classes: talk around it, not about it. All law enforcement officers knew that.
“March fourteenth,” Poole replied.
“Pi day! I should have known. Well, we have twenty-one days. My clock is ticking.”
“Better add a day to your clock, Officer Briscoe. This year is a leap year. Use that extra day wisely. Hope I answered your question.”
“Copy that Lieutenant. Thanks for the information.” He released the call and sighed, staring at his phone, clicking down the days.
Realizing he would not die today, he relaxed in his seat, brought his radar to the window, and, hoping for a speeder, aimed it into the oncoming traffic. He would catch one soon; he could feel it.
Back in the crime lab, Poole’s team had dwindled to nothing, as its members raced off to inform their agencies of the news. While just over three weeks seemed ample time to prepare for a simple emergency such as a hurricane or flood, in the face of imminent annihilation, it felt like tomorrow. Panic was evident in everyone’s faces, demeanors, and actions. The specification of a date slammed the threat into their own realities, worrying about their families, friends and their own welfare. Knowing that nobody in the taskforce had a handle on how to resolve or abort the threat made it worse, considering they were the most knowledgeable, most capable force in existence.
The meeting room sat empty, except for Poole, determined, examining the clues over and over. Something had to be there nobody had seen. She focused her attention on the last line ‘From Gin Nose’ yet to be decoded by the FBI computer. It must be a name, she thought. Encrypted. With no context for a solution, KK would have to sort through every first and last name in existence to find a match; even then the there would be no certainty it was related to the threat.
Suddenly she realized that she could give context, a relationship, to KK’s search. Although its artificial intelligence prowess approached that of light-speed human thought, without directives it would often wander aimlessly through seas of irrelevant data, not knowing it had already found the answer. She placed her cell phone on the table and stared at it for several long moments, thinking. What do we know about the perpetrator? Smart, very smart. Radioactive, very radioactive. Excellent English language skills. Precise, to the point of being obsessive-compulsive. Mathematical. Local to southern California, probably coastal. Access to nuclear weapons.
Flipping her evidence copy over, beside her other notes, she wrote her thoughts. She wondered if they were enough. Indecisive, she decided she would call Agent Strong when she had time.
Moving on, at the bottom of the list she penned ‘Physical Description-’ and realized she had nothing. The void reminded her that she could have something, but Keller had not reported in. Out visiting suspect Starbucks’ security tapes, he was supposed to call back periodically, keeping the team abreast of his progress. She took the phone and speed-dialed Keller.
“Deputy Keller,” he answered.
“Gene, this is Poole at the crime lab. What have you got so far? Tell me some good news.”
“Wish I could Lieutenant. I’m heading south on the I-5, three down, two to go. I scanned the videos and found the cruiser at each location, but nothing more.”
“What’s your 10–20?”
“Mission Viejo. He had multiple stops here so it may take a while. Then on to San Juan Capistrano to wrap it up. Hope we get lucky soon.”
“10-4, Deputy. Keep in touch. Bye.”
Referring back to the blank line in her notes, she scribbled Pending. Not what she wanted to write, but something to remind her to check back later with Keller. For the first time in days, she felt aimless, lonely, stopped in her tracks, wanting more. The taskforce members had agreed to meet again tomorrow, same time, same place. There was nothing she could do but wait. Should she go downstairs and catch up on Orange County’s other problems or do something else? She rested her head on her arms, on the empty table and drifted off, thinking of Gin Nose.
A brief glint in the water caught his attention. Far from shore, it rocked in the waves, occasionally reflecting the afternoon sun, like a floating buoy. He had never noticed anything before in that location. It couldn’t be a stationary buoy or he would have seen it many times at this stop. He knew the road, the beach and the ocean by heart. It was his favorite stop. No, this was different. Raising the binoculars to his eyes, he peered out at a small white boat, blue trim down its side, floating in the water. He pulled the binoculars from his eyes, rubbed them trying to clear his vision, and looked back. As he suspected, it was floating keel up, a rare, but not impossible, sight in these waters. The rough waves in the area always brought fear into the hearts of its boaters, but most of them made it through. A few didn’t.
He started his cruiser and pulled slowly into the beachside parking lot, trying to avoid attention. Onward toward the lifeguard tower, he idled and then stopped, directly behind it. Quickstepping from the car to the tower ladder, he carried his binoculars to get a better view. The empty tower, manned only during the busy seasons, gave him a perfect viewpoint for the derelict boat. In plain sight, it bobbled rhythmically, belly up, slowly moving toward shore with the incoming tide. Nothing in his view indicated life. No waving arms, no white flags, nothing. Assuming the worst, he returned to his cruiser and called it in.