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The hanger wasn't far, and the first person I encountered was able to point out the agent in charge, one ASAC Oliver Tydings. I approached and introduced myself. He looked over my proffered credentials while asking, "What's your connection with this flight, Agent Roman?"
"I was a passenger on it, actually," I replied. "Given the circumstances, I thought I might be of some use to you."
He handed my identification back with a nod. "All right. So what did you experience? Was it a bomb?"
"I heard a loud bang that sounded and felt like the plane had been struck by something. From what I saw of the hole in the fuselage, I don't think it was caused from something hitting us." I paused for a moment, as I came to the tricky part. Officially, I'd been on vacation in Tonga. Which meant that I didn't want to admit on the record that I'd tailed Stroeker there. Doing what I had done was generally frowned upon, but usually officially overlooked unless something drew attention to it. Admitting to an official investigation that I'd gone to Tonga after Stroeker would definitely do that. But I needed to bring his involvement to the attention of the agents somehow.
"There's something else that may be related," I continued. "While I was on the island, there was a big stink raised about a tourist getting caught trying to make off with a bunch of native artifacts. Word was, they were out for his head. Last night, there was gunfire coming from a smaller island off the coast, and I spotted a number of large rafts heading away from the island, each carrying a large crate. They met up with a ship out a sea called the Proud Ariane, homeported in New Orleans. I called that info in to my partner so we could keep an eye out for her if she was heading for the States. What's interesting is that when I was looking at the hole in the fuselage just now, I spotted some crates that look an awful lot like the ones I saw earlier...."
Tydings frowned. "We're going to do an inventory inspection in the hangar tomorrow. As soon as they offload everything tonight, I want you to take a look and see if you recognize anything. Then go get some rest, Agent. Report back to me in the morning."
I nodded. "Anything I can do to help until they're done off-loading? I have a background in forensics."
"It's pretty much crowd control and cargo transport at the moment. You could go through the Polaroids that were taken. See if you see anyone or anything you recognize." He indicated a van where agents were examining photographs.
"All right." I headed over to the van, introduced myself to the other agents, and explained why I was there. Then I joined them in the tedious task of looking through the photos.
I was at it for about an hour, and getting tired, when something struck me. There, in the corner of one photo, was a man with curly hair and a mustache. Something about him drew my attention, and after a moment of staring, I finally realized that it was Stroeker, in disguise. He'd been with us on the airplane, and I hadn't even noticed! I swore under my breath and called Tydings over. "I recognize him from the island," I said, pointing at the photo. "He's the one who the natives were after for stealing the artifacts."
"Do you know him?" Tydings asked.
I nodded. "He tried to pick me up in the bar the first night I was there. His name is Leonard Stroeker. And he didn't look much like this picture, of course. I almost didn't recognize him."
I asked for and received a copy of the passenger manifest, but I didn't see any of the aliases that were on the IDs I'd found in Stroeker's hotel room. By the time I was finished with the manifest, I saw that the luggage from the plane, including Stroeker's crates, had been loaded into the hangar for examination. The crates were all quite easy for me to identify, having seen them before, and I pointed them out to Tydings so they would get priority. They were all marked for a connecting flight to New Orleans (no doubt the same one I was originally scheduled to be on), and being shipped to "Reynard Enterprises" on Duc de Bourgoine street. One crate in particular caught my eye. It had been smashed open...from the inside. Not like you would see from a bomb, but like something inside had torn its way out. I felt a shiver run through me at the sight of it.
All of the luggage had been tagged when it was removed, and a layout created based on where each piece had been found in the plane. I noted the tag number of the smashed crate, and checked the layout for its location. As I'd suspected, it was found near the hole in the fuselage. Looking more closely at the crate itself, I determined that it was empty. That feeling of uneasiness grew stronger. I had a feeling that the forensics techs weren't going to find any powder residue when they examined that crate.
I was definitely feeling tired now, and I wondered what time was it in Tonga. It was on the other side of the International Date line, though, and my brain was not even remotely up to trying to work that out. I found some pretty awful coffee and drank it anyway, determined to stick around until the team had gone through all of Stroker's crates. I glanced over the other items from the hold while I waited, just to see if anything else caught my eye. Something did - my own luggage. And so it was that I had the surreal experience of watching a forensics team sort through my laundry. Thankfully, I had nothing in there to be embarrassed about.
Helped along by my presence, interest quickly focused on Stroeker's crates. When they were all finally unpacked, I immediately noticed what was missing: the weird ugly statue I seen in the crate in Stroeker's cabana. The one that had been giving me nightmares ever since.
Tydings whistled. "Jesus, but that's some ugly damn stuff! That guy there, with the tentacles, he looks like my uncle Eddie. Probably worth a fortune." He glanced at me, then down at a picture in his hand. "I couldn't help but notice that you arrived in some pretty well-off company, Agent Roman. Does your new friend have any interest in these...things?" I glanced at the photograph, and realized it was of Kyle smiling at me when we'd parted. It struck me that Kyle smiled at me a lot, and I felt a little bit warm at the thought.
I shook my head in answer to Tydings' question, keeping my expression casual. "Not that he told me. I think he said he specializes in early and mid Greek and Roman mystery religions. Maybe some Egyptian stuff. I'm no expert, but I don't think any of this stuff falls into that category." I indicated the damaged crate. "That doesn't look like it was caused by an explosion to me. I wonder what happened?"
"Don't know. Looks like something smashed it. Maybe it got beaten up when whatever happened in there...happened. No sign of a bomb, so far. Just a big damned mess. We'll let you know what we find. Why don't you go get some sleep?"
I guess my exhaustion was showing, and I didn't protest. There didn't seem to be anything more I could do tonight, anyway. "All right. I'll check back in in the morning." I pulled out one of my business cards and handed it to him. "Here's my cell number, in case anything comes up before then." I looked back over at the luggage from the plane. "Is my stuff cleared yet?"
Tydings looked over at one of the evidence technicians, who nodded. "Go ahead and take it. Have a good night."
I grabbed my luggage and left the hanger, grateful to have a change of clothes for tomorrow. Checking my watch, now on Pacific Time, I realized that it was 9:00 in the evening. Not as late as it felt to me, but possibly too late to call Kyle's office. I really wanted to tell him what I'd learned, though. Even tired as I was, that was a much more appealing prospect than crashing at whatever hotel the airline was putting us up in. Pulling out his card, I punched in the number.
"Hello?" Somewhat to my surprise, it was Kyle.
"Hi, it's Jillian. I'm done for the evening." I laughed. "I thought I'd be getting your secretary or something."
"No, I had the call forwarded here. There's a limousine waiting for you at the side entrance to the airport, near the hangar. He'll take you wherever you want to go, but you're welcome to stay here. We should talk this over."
A limo? Really? How long had he been sitting there waiting for me, I wondered, and shook my head at such an extravagant expense. "All right. Have you eaten yet? If not, we could get dinner." Even if he had already eaten, I was going to have to get something - it had been a while since my last meal on the airline. God, that seemed like a lifetime ago.
"I'm a pretty good cook, and I've got some pots boiling now," he said, amused. "Come on over."
I had to laugh again at that. Somehow, I'd pictured him with a cook on staff, or someone on call. It had never occurred to me that he might cook for himself. "Well, if you insist," I agreed. "I'll be there shortly."
I found the location he had given me for the limo without too much difficulty, and instructed the driver to take me to Kyle's residence. I honestly couldn't tell you how long the trip took, because my eyes closed almost as soon as I sat down, and I didn't wake up until we were pulling up to a gorgeous home high in the Hollywood hills. From his living room, I could see the city spread out below like a vast field of stars, and the house was filled with the smell of spices.
Kyle was waiting for me with a glass of wine, handing it to me as I entered. "Hi. The shrimp is almost ready. Why don't you help me with the salad and you can fill me in on what you found."
I sipped at the wine and smiled. "Salad, I can handle. Just don't expect anything fancy." Then I took a longer drink, and felt the smile leave my face. "I'm not sure you're going to like what I found."
"Let me guess," he said, removing seafood from a pot and arranging it on a serving tray. "There was no bomb."
"That has yet to be determined, but there's been no evidence of one so far." I paused for a moment, then went over to bag that I'd checked and emptied it out, piece by piece, looking for a bug. I didn't really expect to find one, and I didn't. I started repacking the bag, feeling slightly embarrassed.
"What's up?" Kyle asked, looking at me curiously.
"Nothing, just a fit of paranoia. Still keyed up from having people trying to kill me, I guess. Some vacation." Lack of sleep probably wasn't helping, either. I returned to the kitchen and took another drink from my wine glass, then started working on the salad. "One of Stroeker's crates was torn open...from the inside," I informed him. "And whatever was inside was missing. I think I know what it was, too."
Kyle looked up at the television screen that hung above the kitchen. "What?" he asked, while reaching for the remote.
"Do you remember that sketch I showed you, of the two artifacts I saw in Stroeker's cabana? Well, one of them didn't turn up in any of the other crates. The big, nasty-looking statue." I followed his gaze to the TV, which was muted, and showed a picture of our airplane and the jagged hole in its side.
Kyle appeared to be thinking as he clicked the volume on.
"...say that there is no evidence of any explosive device having been used. One source is quoted as saying that it appears the damage was done by some sort of mechanical cutting device stored inside the luggage compartment. The FAA refused to comment, but said it would release its findings when it had time to go over the evidence in detail. I'm Suzy Kauffmann, and this is..."
Kyle muted the television again. "So now you think that statue got up and cut its way out of the plane at 30,000 feet?"
I laughed, but heard some of the uneasiness I was feeling reflected in my voice. "That's impossible. I saw this thing, remember? It was a statue. Statues don't just get up and walk away."
"Of course," Kyle said, in a manner that made me feel no less uneasy, and I busied myself with the salad again. I couldn't stop thinking about it, though. I mean, of course the statue couldn't have come to life and torn its way out. The very idea was crazy. But still...what had ripped through the crate and plane, then? And where was the statue?
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Jillian's Journals
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Last modified on January 28, 2016 by Kris Fazzari.