Enigma Page 12

  “Where was the fragment found?” Gabe asked, his dark brows drawn together in concentration.

  “About twenty yards from the seat of the explosion.”

  “Fits the facts.” He nodded, obviously processing the new information. “So is welding only one side unique?”

  “It’s not as common as a double weld, but it’s certainly not unique. What is unique is the fact that I think he wanted this fragment to survive for a reason.” She shot a look at Harrison, who hit a key on the computer, bringing up the same fragment shot from the opposite side.

  This side was clearly scratched. A circular mark located center right on the fragment.

  “So what are we looking at now?” Payton asked.

  “The inside of the cap.”

  “I thought you said there weren’t any tool marks.” Cullen still sounded frustrated.

  “Not any that reflect the tools used to make the bomb.” Sam smiled at him. “This one was put there to identify it. To sign it, if you will.” She nodded at Harrison again, and the image enlarged, then enlarged again, the scratching coming clear.

  It was a circle, the interior divided by a curved line into two equal parts forming a paisley shape. One side was darker, the metal altered to create the sense of color. Two dots—one dark and one light—occupied mirror opposite positions in each half of the circle.

  “What the hell is that?” Cullen asked.

  “Tai Chi Tu,” Payton answered. “Sometimes it’s just called the Tai. It’s the symbol for yin and yang.”

  “That’s what I thought, too,” Sam said, smiling in his direction. “But I wanted confirmation. So I had Harrison look at it, and he agreed.”

  “Except that I didn’t know what it was,” Harrison admitted.

  “Well, I still don’t. I mean I’ve heard the terms yin and yang before, but I don’t know what they mean exactly. Something to do with opposites, right?” Cullen turned to meet Payton’s gaze.

  “That’s certainly the Western interpretation. But the Chinese interpretation is more complex. The two are opposites in a literal sense, but they are also interdependent. One cannot exist without the other. As one ebbs the other flows and vice versa. The idea of yin and yang dates back to the earliest Chinese philosophy. It’s part of I-Ching and the Tao.”

  “All of which is well and good,” Cullen said, his voice reflecting his impatience, “but how the hell does it relate to the bomber?”

  “We don’t know.” Sam shrugged.

  “But we do know that the bomber put it there for a reason.” Madison was leaning forward, studying the symbol. “The image is definitely intentional. And I’m betting it wasn’t present before the bomb was made.”

  “So what, he left us a clue?” Gabe asked, his frustration evidently on a par with Cullen’s.

  “Most likely,” Madison said, unaffected by her husband’s outburst. “A symbol like this wasn’t chosen randomly. For one thing it’s quite intricate, and I’m betting he did it himself. The circle is just a little off, and the lines waver a bit.”

  “So you think the work was done by hand.”

  “It makes sense. After all the effort this guy has gone to to remove anything that might identify his work, he’s not going to go out and buy a traceable metal stamp.”

  “Well, we damn well better be sure of that,” Cullen barked.

  “Already on it,” Harrison said.

  “So what is it saying to you?” Payton asked, curious to get Madison’s take on things.

  “Of course I can’t say definitively. But I think it’s telling that it’s an Eastern symbol. There’s a certain mindset involved in Eastern philosophy. If our guy is actively involved in Eastern beliefs, then he’s going to behave in dramatically different ways than someone who is a participant in Western ideology.”

  “But for all we know he could just be entranced with the artwork.” Gabe was pacing behind his wife, his agitation reflected in his movements.

  “It’s possible of course.” Madison reached out to lay a gentle hand on her husband, and he stilled, covering her fingers with his own. “But it’s more likely that the symbol has intrinsic meaning for him. And that its placement is reflective of a higher purpose. Quite possibly tied directly to his motivation for setting the bombs. To be certain, we need to know if the same symbol exists on a fragment of the Virginia bomb.”

  Sam nodded. “I’ve already called to request photos of all the fragments they’ve found. According to the NRT tech I talked with, there was a large fragment of end cap recovered. They’re going to fax the pictures as soon as they can and will be shipping the fragment overnight.”

  “What about the other bombs?” Payton asked, his mind leaping ahead, trying to solve the puzzle.

  “What other bombs?” Cullen asked, clearly still floundering.

  “I found five unsolved cases involving bombs similar to the ones used in both San Antonio and Virginia. We’ve already called to request that all information about these incidents be forwarded to us in the hopes that maybe they overlooked the symbol in their investigations. In addition, I’ve requested actual frags if they still exist,” Harrison said.

  “I doubt they kept them. It’s only been in the past few years that we’ve recognized the value of recording and in some cases preserving fragments from unsolved bomb cases.” Sam sounded regretful, as if the omission had been her fault.

  Payton contained a smile.

  “At least they should have retained the files on the cases,” Harrison continued. “Which means that the evidence photos should still be there. And with today’s improved technology, we ought to be able to find the symbol if it exists.”

  “And if it does?” Cullen asked.

  “We start trying to figure out what the hell it means to our bomber,” Sam said, her tone matter-of-fact. “And until then, we keep sorting through the evidence. His methodology may also give us a clue to his identity. In both cases, he’s used existing electrical devices to trigger the bomb. A garage door opener in Virginia and an air-conditioning thermostat in San Antonio.”

  “Interesting choices,” Madison said, her nose wrinkled in thought.

  “So the guy is some kind of lotus-worshiping air-conditioning repairman,” Cullen spat.

  “More than that, I’d say,” Madison said. “The choices show an improvisational ability. Using something available on-site to detonate. In addition, I’d say our man is more than a mechanic. In order to successfully use either of those items, he’d have to have a working knowledge of the electrical components of both devices.”

  “So you’re thinking an engineer.” Sam was sitting on the corner of the table, arms crossed, one shapely leg swinging idly.

  “I think it’s probable. Which would follow with the Eastern orientation.”

  “Because all engineers are Buddhists.” Cullen had moved from frustration to sarcasm.

  “No,” Madison smiled at her godfather, “because one has to be well educated to fully understand the nuances of Eastern philosophy.”

  “And in order to comprehend engineering, a person has to have something upstairs.” Harrison tapped his head for emphasis.

  “Exactly. So I’d say the man we’re looking for is of above-average intelligence. Possibly even chart-breaking IQ. Despite his intelligence, he’s still going to be something of a loner. Not good in social situations. And I’d predict that although he attended college, he probably never finished. Or did so with undistinguished marks. He’s going to have tried to find work with explosives. Possibly a stint with the armed services, or maybe police work. He’s going to be disdainful of authority, and not prone to making relationships. Although I’m betting when he does connect, he’s incredibly loyal.” Madison sat back, shifting to find a more comfortable position on her chair.

  “You doing okay?” Gabe put a hand on her shoulder, his expression full of concern, and Payton had a moment’s envy wishing for a connection like that. Almost as if he’d been preprogrammed to do so he turned to look at
Sam, surprised to find a similar expression on her face.

  Maybe they were kindred spirits. Or maybe he was seeing what he wanted to see. Either way, this wasn’t the place to examine his emotions. He turned back to Madison in time to hear her assuring Gabe that she was fine.

  “Sounds like a solid profile,” Sam said, purposefully avoiding Payton’s probing gaze. “I’d definitely have to agree with the intelligence factor. These bombs weren’t the work of an amateur. This guy knows his stuff.”

  “All of which makes wonderful conversation, but gets us no closer to identifying him or his motivation.” Cullen sounded almost petulant. “I don’t mean to be the squeaky wheel here, but we need to figure out where this guy is going to strike next. Assuming we’re all in agreement that he will strike next.”

  “He will,” Payton and Sam said simultaneously.

  “And probably sooner rather than later,” Gabe said, his expression grim.

  “I still think he’s likely to send us a message. He wants us to understand why he’s doing this. That’s what the Tai Chi is all about. Remember?”

  “What about the confetti bomb? Could that have been his message?” Harrison asked.

  “If it is, the meaning was sure as hell obscure.” Sam ran a hand through her hair, suddenly looking exhausted. “But I’ll go over it again and see if I can find anything new.”

  “I’ve been checking out Sam’s enemy list. The majority are still behind bars.” Harrison shot her an admiring smile. “When you nail a guy, you do a damn good job of it.” He turned his focus back to the group. “But I’ll keep on it.”

  “I don’t think it should be a priority.” This surprisingly from Cullen. “It seems like the most important thing to concentrate on for the moment is theVirginia bomb. Until we’ve examined all the evidence thoroughly there’s no way to know for certain that the two bombings are connected. If we can find the symbol on the end cap fragment from McLean, it’ll go a long way toward proving the fact. And I also think we need to find out if there’s any connection between the Tai Chi and the senators.”

  “Like one of them is into feng shui?” Harrison quipped, the joke falling flat.

  “No. Like maybe there’s some sort of connection between the pork arrangement and the Chinese,” Gabe mused. “Payton, you can check that out, right?”

  Payton’s connections in the Far East had helped them on more than one occasion. However, this time he had the feeling they were looking in the wrong direction. Still, it couldn’t hurt to check. “I’ll make some calls. I’ll also check to see if the symbol is associated with any kind of terrorist organization. It’s a long shot, but probably worth eliminating the possibility just to be sure.”

  “Makes perfect sense to me,” Sam said, nodding. “I tend to agree that this guy is local. Or at least national. And I’m betting he’s operating solo. But I do think we need to look at all the angles.”

  “Along those lines, I’ve finally got Ruckland’s head man to agree to sit down and talk,” Gabe said, looking at his watch. “He’s driving in from San Antonio.”

  “Mind if I tag along?” Sam asked. “I’d like to hear what he has to say firsthand.”

  “Fine by me,” Gabe said. “Probably better to have two sets of ears anyway. In the meantime, Harrison, you keep working on getting the evidence from the other bombings. Maybe we’ll find a tie-in there.”

  “If there’s something, I’ll find it,” Harrison promised.

  “If only it were that easy,” Madison sighed. “Still, it feels as if we’re making at least a little progress.”

  “I don’t know,” Gabe said, “it seems to me the guy has us by the balls. I mean he knows what he’s doing and we don’t, which is like playing chess blind against a sighted opponent. Odds don’t seem to be in our favor.”

  “Exactly why we have to do everything in our power to make sure that we figure out what the hell his game plan is.” Sam’s words were matter-of-fact, but the intensity in her eyes spoke volumes. “Once we know that, then we can start playing offensively.”

  “Until then,” Payton sighed, “we’ll just have to play defense.”

  Gabe raised an eyebrow, his gaze encompassing them all. “And pray to God that’ll be enough.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Z TEJAS WAS LOCATED in an old house on Sixth Street, the kind that should have been a family home, but had long ago given way to the urban crawl of commerce. Still, the restaurant had a certain charm. A holdover from the hippie days of Austin, the street housed some of the best music venues in the country.

  Sam had spent a lot of time in said venues in college. It was always a lark for Aggies to invade University of Texas haunts. And although College Station had its share of good places to dance and drink, it couldn’t hold a candle to Sixth Street.

  This end of the street, though, was more about swanky places to eat and little art boutiques, a sure sign that Austin was changing, moving into the twenty-first century with sophisticated flair. Sam had left long ago, but she firmly held to the old saying that you could take the girl out of Texas, but you couldn’t take the Texas out of the girl.

  She smiled at her own whimsy and followed Gabe into the restaurant. The place was fairly deserted thanks to the fact that they were coming in between the lunch and dinner rushes.

  A man in an Armani suit and wire-rimmed glasses stood up when they entered, his face a banal mask of cordiality. “Gabriel Roarke?” His tone held just the right blend of approachability and reserve. “Jack Sloane.” He held out his hand and Gabe shook it.

  “This is my associate, Sam Waters.” Gabe tilted his head toward Sam, and Jack held his hand out to her as well. She took it, grateful that he shook it with the same firmness he’d exhibited with Gabe. So often men assumed a woman wasn’t up to a real handshake, and the notion irritated her.

  “I’ve seen your picture in the paper,” Jack said, his gray eyes warming as he let his gaze travel the length of her body.

  She pulled her hand back, keeping her smile chilly. “Unfortunately there’s been an inordinate amount of press. I’m afraid it always makes our job more difficult.”

  He held out a chair for her, and she had no choice but to sit next to him. Gabe took a chair across from her, his lips quirking as he tried to contain his laughter. Obviously, Mr. Sloane thought of himself as a ladies’ man.

  They perused the menu, ordered their meals, and continued making small talk until the waitress brought their food. Sam’s stuffed pork tenderloin smelled delicious, and as she put the first bite in her mouth she realized she hadn’t eaten since the night before when Payton had brought her food from Chuy’s.

  Payton’s face flashed in her mind and she wished he were here. Not that she needed him; it was just that she was growing accustomed to his quiet presence. There was a strength there a woman could easily come to depend on.

  She shook her head, taking another bite, forcing herself to focus on Gabe and Jack’s conversation.

  “As I’m sure you’re aware, the focus of the investigation to date has revolved around the backroom alliance between Senator Ruckland and his two esteemed colleagues.”

  “I believe alleged alliance is a much more accurate description. Although it seems to be a forgone conclusion with the press.” Sloane was obviously attempting to sidestep the issue, but Gabe wasn’t about to let that happen.

  “I couldn’t give a rat’s ass if the alliance existed or not. What I do care about is the fact that Senator Ruckland places a call to Keith that sends him running across the country to pick up Dawson and then fly into Stinson. An hour later, all three of them are dead. There was a reason they were meeting and I need to know what it was.”

  Sloane’s face tightened, his eyes narrowing for battle. “And I told you on the phone I knew nothing about the meeting.”

  “Mr. Sloane—Jack,” Sam said, her tone cajoling, “we’re fighting an uphill battle here. We’ve got four people dead, and I suspect more to come if we can’t get to the bottom o
f what’s happening. Anything you know can be a help to us. And you have to understand our interest has nothing whatsoever to do with finding fault with Senator Ruckland. We just want to get the guy who killed him. And we can’t do that without your complete cooperation.”

  Sloane eyed them both for a moment and then sighed. “I really don’t know all that much.”

  “Just tell us what you do know.” Gabe sat back, crossing his arms over his chest, his dark brows drawn together in a frown.

  Sloane sighed again and laid down his fork, his gaze encompassing them both. “Joe was working with Dawson and Keith. The droughts over the past few years have severely crippled the nation’s agricultural industry. And three of the hardest hit were Iowa, California and Texas. The three states comprise a large percentage of the nation’s food production, but to date they’re only receiving a small percentage of the federal relief package.”

  “So the senators took matters into their own hands.”

  “It’s the basic principle behind our constitution.” Sloane shrugged. “A you-scratch-my-back-while-I-scratch-yours sort of mentality. Compromise gets all kinds of things accomplished.”

  “If we agree that compromise is the same as collusion,” Gabe said, his face impassive. “But I meant what I said. I’m not here to judge the process or senators. I just need to understand what it was that spooked them.”

  “You mean the meeting.”

  “I thought you didn’t know about it.” Gabe’s eyebrows rose until they formed one solid line across the top of his forehead. It made him look even more threatening than usual, and Sam contained a smile when Sloane pushed back his chair as if to physically increase the distance between him and Gabe.

  “Of course I knew about it, I just wasn’t going to tell you.”

  “So why the one-eighty?”

  “Because Ms. Waters asked so nicely.” He shot her an ingratiating smile. “And because you’re right. We need to catch this bastard before he hurts anyone else.”