Runaway Bomb, page 1
part #4 of Jack Kenyon Mystery Series
Runaway
bomb
A Jack Kenyon Mystery
by
Gordon Cope
Copyright © 2019 by Gordon Cope
First printed in 2019
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means – electronic, mechanical, recording, or otherwise – without the prior written consent of the Author or a licence from the Canadian Copyright Licensing Agency (ACCESS Copyright).
ISBN-13:
ISBN-10:
FIC022000 FICTION / Mystery & Detective / General
FIC006000 FICTION / Thrillers / Espionage
[1. Mystery & Detective–Fiction. 2. General, Mystery & Detective–Fiction. 3. Action & Adventure–Fiction.]
Printed by CreateSpace
Design by Sydney Jane Barnes www.sjbarnes.com
Author, Gordon Cope, 1955- www.gordoncope.com
Cover photo credit: Xipu Li
Also by Gordon Cope
Novels
Magnus the Magnificent
jack kenyon mystery series
Secret Combinations
Triple Cross
Deadly Cure
Non-Fiction
A Paris Moment
So, We Sold Our House and Ran Away to the South Pacific
A Thames Moment
Now, I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds.
Robert Oppenheimer, quoting from the Bhagavad-Gita, after the explosion of the first test atomic bomb
What the scientists have in their briefcases is terrifying.
Nikita Khrushchev
If only I had known, I should have become a watchmaker.
Albert Einstein (apocryphal)
I wish to dedicate this book to the Federal Bureau of Investigation, and all those who serve it.
Praise for the Jack Kenyon FBI Series
"Fast paced and totally engaging from beginning to end."
Brian Brennan, award winning and best-selling author
Praise for Magnus the Magnificent
"It takes real talent to write a murder mystery about real people set in a real medieval castle in France. Magnus the Magnificent is just that strange creature – a compelling read that weaves fact and fiction, royalty and commoner and a little sexual exploration and skulduggery together."
Calgary Herald
Glossary of Acronyms
DGSI. Direction Générale de la Sécurité Intérieure, France’s internal security agency.
DHS. Department of Homeland Security. US federal agency in charge of protecting US soil from terrorist attack.
GIGN. Groupe d'intervention de la Gendarmerie nationale. Elite tactical unit of the French National Gendarmerie, responsible for counter-terrorism.
HEU. Highly Enriched Uranium. Material containing
90 percent or more of uranium 235. Used for making nuclear weapons.
LEU. Low Enriched Uranium. Material containing approximately 3 percent uranium 235. Used for nuclear reactors and medical devices.
LLNL. Lawrence Livermore National Laboratory. Research complex instigated by the US military and UC of Berkeley to design nuclear weapons. Located in Livermore, California,
40 miles east of San Francisco.
MI5. Military Intelligence 5. UK federal intelligence agency responsible for domestic counter- intelligence and security.
NRC. Nuclear Regulatory Commission. US federal agency responsible to licensing the use of nuclear materials, as well
as auditing their disposal.
SNM. Special Nuclear Materials. Nuclear materials employed for non-weapon uses.
Chapter 1
San Francisco, California.
Monday, March 18
Jack Kenyon glanced at his watch. It was 7:30 am, a few minutes after dawn on a damp spring day in San Francisco. A cold wind was blowing in off the Bay, sweeping a curtain of rain west across the city until it encountered Twin Peaks Park.
The FBI agent was standing at the north end of the park near the Twin Peaks Reservoir, where a cab had dropped him off. The large, concrete-encased pool of fresh water was part of the San Francisco Fire Department’s emergency response system, built in reaction to the uncontrolled fires that had destroyed much of the city after the 1906 earthquake. It was enclosed by a high steel frost fence and a fringe of pine and fir trees.
Normally, the area was deserted at this time of day, but now the strobe of red and blue emergency lights and police radio chatter filled the air.
Jack spotted the compact form of Marcy Locke, a detective with the SFPD. He had worked with her the previous year on a fraud case that involved embezzling funds from a federal superfund earmarked for restoring waste sites in the Bay area. Locke’s diligent work had resulted in the arrest and imprisonment of several CEOs involved with the excavation of a PCB factory in Oakland.
Buttoning the collar of his wool coat, Jack advanced through the underbrush to where Locke was standing. “What we have got here, detective?”
Marcy turned, a smile appearing on her face. “Jack! Hey, it’s great to see you!”
“Likewise.” Jack shook some of the rain off his sleeves. “I just wish it was under better circumstances.”
“Me too.” Marcy, a pretty woman with dark brown eyes, long brunette hair and sensuous lips, had been coming off an acrimonious divorce during the embezzlement case and had pursued Jack as a pleasurable diversion. Jack had been appreciative of the attention from someone as warm and intelligent as Marcy, but had made it clear at the time that he wasn’t interested in a relationship. They had remained on good terms, both personally and professionally.
Marcy turned and pointed further into the underbrush. “We got a doozy.” She advanced to where a uniformed officer was standing beside a waterproof tarp that had been spread over a bulky object below. “Lance, can you give Jack a look?”
The officer pulled back the tarp and Jack gave an involuntary gasp. A man lay face-up in the underbrush, his arms splayed out awkwardly. He was clad in a dark wool suit, the front of which was stained dark with blood. In contrast to the mayhem of his upper body, his legs had been placed together at the ankles so that his brown Oxford shoes pointed neatly outwards.
But it was the means of death that captured Jack’s attention. A crude axe with a short wooden handle stuck out from his forehead at a high angle. He turned to Marcy. “Has he been touched?”
“Just to pull his wallet.” Marcy produced a pair of latex gloves similar to the ones she was wearing and handed them to Jack. She then removed a plastic evidence bag from a pouch slung around her shoulder and handed it to the FBI agent. “Victim’s name is Dag Hammerson, of North Bethesda, Maryland.”
“Tourist?”
“No, he’s an investigator for the NRC.”
Hunching forward to keep the wallet dry, Jack tilted the contents to capture the thin morning light. The pale face of a man in his early fifties stared out from a laminated ID card. The obverse side of the card was decorated with the great seal of the United States, a white circle enclosing a bald eagle clutching an olive branch in one talon and a sheaf of arrows in the other. United States Nuclear Regulatory Commission was printed around the eagle.
“He’s a federal agent.”
Marcy nodded. “When we saw that, we contacted your office.”
Normally, Jack began work at 9 am on Mondays, but he had been on reserve roster. Any crime against a federal agent fell under the jurisdiction of the FBI, and the obligatory notification from the SFPD had precipitated an early morning call to his home.
Jack glanced at the rest of the contents in the wallet, over $300 in cash as well as several credit cards. “Robbery doesn’t seem to be a motive.”
“No, and you don’t normally mug someone with an axe.”
A police photographer arrived and began to set up his equipment. Marcy and Jack stepped back several feet to give him room. “Who found him?” asked Jack.
“Neighbour out walking his pooch.” Marcy pointed to a cruiser, in which a man in a raincoat sat in the back seat clutching a wire-haired terrier in his lap. “It took off into the brush and bird-dogged the corpse.”
“Did he see any suspicious cars or pedestrians?”
“Nope. Had his head up under an umbrella and was in a hurry to get out of the rain.” Marcy shook some of the water out of her hair. “Who could blame him?”
Jack turned to inspect his surroundings. The nearest homes were at least 50-yards away. A narrow, unlit lane ran through the copse of trees growing on the SFFD property. The killers could have approached the victim without fear of being seen. But what was the victim even doing in this remote area in the middle of the night?
Marcy seemed to read his mind. “We’ll have to get confirmation from the coroner, but my take is that he was moved.” She pointed towards the corpse as camera lights flashed. “A scalp wound like that produces a lot of blood, but there’s very little on the ground below him.”
“Yeah, I see what you mean.” Jack scratched his head. “What do you make of the axe?”
“It’s got a weird look. I’m no Daniel Boone, but it definitely isn’t something you’d pick up at a hardware store. It looks really old, like an antique.”
Jack nodded. “You know what I don’t get; why leav
Marcy shrugged. “Ritual killing. We see ninja stars, samurai swords, you name it. Usually, though, it’s done as a warning between two Asian gangs; you cross me and this is what you get.” She nodded toward the corpse. “This guy definitely ain’t Asian.”
“And they usually dump the corpse in the opposition turf.” Jack glanced around. “I mean, what’s the point of leaving him in the middle of nowhere?”
“Maybe their plans were interrupted.” Marcy began to walk back toward the road. Jack followed. She climbed into the driver’s side of an unmarked sedan, indicating Jack to join her in the passenger seat. Once inside, she unbuttoned her coat, lifted a steel coffee mug from its cup holder, and offered it to Jack. He smiled at the intimate gesture. He took a sip, then handed it to back to her.
Marcy took a swig, then activated the lap-top computer mounted to the dash. “I’m lead on the SFPD case. We’ll file a formal co-investigation with the FBI. You going to take it?”
Jack nodded. “How do you want to divvy this up?”
Marcy began punching buttons on the computer keyboard. “We’re going to follow up next of kin, search his San Francisco residence, run a background criminal check and put together a victim profile. I’ll send you the crime scene pix as soon as they’re in and copy you on whatever else we find.”
“Great. What about the axe?”
“Forensics will check it for prints. We got a weapons expert at Berkeley who deals with this kind of weird shit – we’ll see if he can give us some leads on the perps.”
“What do you want us to do?”
“Find out from the NRC what Dag Hammerson was working on. I got a gut feeling it’s going to be relevant.”
Chapter 2
An SFPD cruiser dropped Jack off at the FBI office. The HQ was located in the Phillip Burton Federal Building, an immense office tower located near City Hall. After passing through security at the entrance, he took the elevator to the 13th floor.
Jasmine Leroi called out to him as he passed her open office door. “Whoa, partner, you are soaking wet! What did you do, swim to work?”
“Just dredging up our latest case, Jazz.” Jack took off his overcoat and gave it a shake. “You busy right now?”
Jasmine glanced at her computer screen. “Nothing that can’t wait. Watcha got?”
“Axe murder.”
“No way!”
“Yes, way. I have to download some stuff from the SFPD. Can you round up Marge and Sam and meet me in the situation room in about 15 minutes?”
Jack entered his own office and fired up his computer. As promised, Marcy had forwarded the crime scene photos and some initial victim information. He printed off several photos and a crime scene map.
By the time Jack reached the situation room, the other FBI agents were already in attendance. Special Agent in Charge Marge Gonelli was sitting at the head of the table, sipping from a cup of tea and munching on a ginger snap. She was in her late 50s, with curly hair peppered with grey. She was short and stout and resembled someone’s grandmother, except for the unlit cigar hanging from the corner of her mouth. “Jazz says you got a hot one.”
“Next featured attraction at Madame Tussauds house of horrors.” Jack pinned several photos to a large cork board on one wall.
Samantha Van Dusen, Assistant Special Agent in Charge, walked up to the board. She had been re-posted from San Diego to San Francisco in order to take some of the load off Marge after the latter had almost succumbed to lung cancer. In her mid-30s, she had the tall, slim build, blonde hair and the cultivated manner of her Dutch ancestors who had pioneered Manhattan in the 1600s. “My word, that’s appalling,” she pronounced.
Marge snorted in typical Bronx fashion. “Hey, I thought you was kidding about axe murder. Who’s the stiff with the bad haircut?”
Jack pinned up a standard employment photo. “Dag Hammerson, Age 53. Single. Resident of Maryland. Also, investigator for the Nuclear Regulatory Commission.”
“So, that’s why SFPD called us in,” said Marge. “Who’s handling it from their end?”
“Marcy Locke.”
“Good.” Marge put the unlit cigar back into her purse, a large, shapeless leather bag she carried at all times. “That gal is one smart cookie. Where’d it happen?”
Jack posted the map printout. “The victim was found at the north end of Twin Peaks Park in some scrub near the reservoir.”
“What’s the motive - robbery?” asked Samantha.
“With an axe?” Jasmine Leroi was in direct contrast in appearance and demeanour to Van Dusen. Small, slim, her face the color of creamy coffee, she had been raised by her single mother in gritty Oakland. “Girl, you see many junkies dressed like Paul Bunyan in your neighbourhood?”
Jack did his best not to smirk. Samantha was a lawyer by training and had spent most of her years at the FBI as a legal specialist; she was still trying to find her feet on the operations side. “No, Sam, robbery wasn’t a motive. There was more than $300 in his wallet.”
Marge advanced to the cork board to examine the map. “Why bump him off at the reservoir?”
“Marcy thinks he was murdered somewhere else and then dumped.” Jack pointed to a photo of the ground beneath the victim. “There was very little blood at the scene.”
Jasmine studied a close-up of the impact. “Weird looking axe.”
Jack nodded. “Marcy sent it to a weapons specialist at Berkeley. She thinks its provenance might be an important clue.”
Samantha tapped a manicured finger against her chin. “I take it Detective Locke also suspects Mr. Hammerson’s profession might be relevant.”
“Yeah, that’s where we come in,” said Jack. “Marcy is doing the standard victim background check and next-of-kin. She wants us to handle the NRC side.”
“What’s NRC do?” asked Jasmine.
“They’re the federal body that oversees anything to do with radioactive stuff,” said Marge. “They make sure that nobody does nothing funny with it.”
“If Mr. Hammerson was here on business, there’s something odd going on,” said Samantha. “The NRC has agreements with most states to handle oversight duties locally. Nuclear materials are under the jurisdiction of the California Energy Commission in Sacramento. Officially, there’s no reason for Mr. Hammerson to be pursuing an investigation in San Francisco.”
“Who’s his boss?” asked Marge.
“It will likely be a manager at NRC HQ in Maryland,” said Samantha. “I know someone in administration who can find out for us.”
“One of your lawyer pals from Cornell?” asked Jasmine.
Samantha blushed. “Sorority sister, actually.”
Jasmine rolled her eyes. “Whatever.”
Samantha pulled out her cell and dialed a number. She turned on the speaker phone when it was answered.
“Assistant Secretary Anne Bloomberg.”
“Yes, this is FBI agent Samantha Van Dusen calling.”
“Bunny!”
Samantha blushed an even deeper shade of red. “I’m here in San Francisco with SAC Marge Gonelli, Agent Jack Kenyon and Agent Jasmine Leroi. We’re calling for your assistance in the murder of an NRC investigator.”
“Ohmygod! Who?”
“Mr. Dag Hammerson. We need to contact his supervisor.”
Anne began typing on her computer. “I have him listed under Amanda Young. Oh, Lord, she’s going to be just heart-broken!”
Samantha’s face grew grim. “Annie, can you please patch us through?”
Amanda Young did indeed begin crying when Samantha broke the news. The agents listened to her weep for several seconds, before Marge spoke up.
“Amanda, this is Agent Marge Gonelli in San Francisco. I’m awful sorry to have to break the news, but we gotta do it ‘cause there’s someone bad out there who did this to Dag and we got to catch them. We can call back if you’re too broke up to talk right now, but it would really help us if you could bring us up to speed.”
