of shells, and motion sensors.
“What did you do? Raid the supply van?” I asked as he unceremoniously dumped the equipment across the dining room table.
“It’s nothing we needed. We’ve updated our equipment since you were there, and I thought you could use some hand-me-downs on loan, of course.”
“Of course, ” I mimicked, breaking down the shotgun to make sure it wasn’t loaded.
“I figured we could set up some more cameras or sensors in those blind spots we found the other day, just to make things more secure.”
“Great. ” Martin seemed less than excited. “I love feeling like I live in a fishbowl.” Mark ignored him and began hauling a camera and mounting equipment to the western exit. Martin and I exchanged a look.
“You want to help or should I?” I asked.
“I’ll go. I need to make sure he doesn’t set up surveillance in my bedroom or bathroom. I don’t need some random sex tapes hitting the internet.” He seemed so sincere I just stared at him, trying to determine if he was kidding or not.
“I wouldn’t advise having any guests over, at least until this is straightened out.” I chose serious, which was obviously the wrong choice. He looked at me like I was insane.
“You ever heard a joke before?” I didn’t comment, and he went to find Mark.
I took the shotgun and box of shells and placed them in the kitchen. The box of shells went under the kitchen sink and the gun on top of the cabinets. I wanted them within reach but not any place overly obvious or in the way. I would have to remember to tell Martin to inform Rosemarie before she came to clean. If not, she might have an unpleasant surprise. The flak jackets I hung in the coat closet on the second floor near the stairs.
I went out to check on the guys. Mark was on a ladder, and Martin was handing him various tools. “You got a handle on this?” I hoped they wouldn’t want help.
“Yea h, we got it covered,” Mark responded. Before he could ask for anything else, I continued.
“I’m going to check into some things. Can you keep an eye out?”
“Yeah, we’ll manage while you’re gone,” Mark replied.
“Okay, I’ll be back later. ”
“Take the remote access key,” Martin said as I reached the door. “It’s in the crystal bowl on the counter. It’ll get you in and out of the garage.” I retrieved the remote and took my car back to my apartment.
* * *
“Feels good to be home.” I took my notes out and began to re-evaluate the detailed logs I had on employees. I was looking for anyone with criminal connections who would have the knowhow to make a bomb. As far as motivation went, I was still stumped. Maybe they, whoever they were, didn’t like Martin for personal reasons or perhaps the Dubai acquisition was motivation enough to threaten him. Anything could be motive, especially when dealing with irrational people, and irrational people were the ones most likely to make bombs or shoot up a place.
T he employee files I had were limited. MT employed people of all races and ethnic backgrounds, none of which struck me as particularly radical or having obvious gang or terrorist ties. I looked for anyone with potential organized crime connections. Still no luck. Finally, I considered who might have dealings with weapons or drug trafficking. This, of course, was a much more difficult avenue to pursue. Did I have any ATF or DEA friends who owed me a favor? My brain was being sluggish. I could feel a thought gnawing at the corners of my mind, but it just wouldn’t surface. It felt like I was trying to think my way through quicksand.
“This is ridiculous, ” I said to my empty room. “Think, Parker,” I commanded my brain to function. I ran through the list of things I knew: threatening letter, kidnapping attempt, manufacturing sabotage, a bomb. All of it happened near work or at work. The letters weren’t sent to Martin’s residence. The kidnapping
“What did you do? Raid the supply van?” I asked as he unceremoniously dumped the equipment across the dining room table.
“It’s nothing we needed. We’ve updated our equipment since you were there, and I thought you could use some hand-me-downs on loan, of course.”
“Of course, ” I mimicked, breaking down the shotgun to make sure it wasn’t loaded.
“I figured we could set up some more cameras or sensors in those blind spots we found the other day, just to make things more secure.”
“Great. ” Martin seemed less than excited. “I love feeling like I live in a fishbowl.” Mark ignored him and began hauling a camera and mounting equipment to the western exit. Martin and I exchanged a look.
“You want to help or should I?” I asked.
“I’ll go. I need to make sure he doesn’t set up surveillance in my bedroom or bathroom. I don’t need some random sex tapes hitting the internet.” He seemed so sincere I just stared at him, trying to determine if he was kidding or not.
“I wouldn’t advise having any guests over, at least until this is straightened out.” I chose serious, which was obviously the wrong choice. He looked at me like I was insane.
“You ever heard a joke before?” I didn’t comment, and he went to find Mark.
I took the shotgun and box of shells and placed them in the kitchen. The box of shells went under the kitchen sink and the gun on top of the cabinets. I wanted them within reach but not any place overly obvious or in the way. I would have to remember to tell Martin to inform Rosemarie before she came to clean. If not, she might have an unpleasant surprise. The flak jackets I hung in the coat closet on the second floor near the stairs.
I went out to check on the guys. Mark was on a ladder, and Martin was handing him various tools. “You got a handle on this?” I hoped they wouldn’t want help.
“Yea h, we got it covered,” Mark responded. Before he could ask for anything else, I continued.
“I’m going to check into some things. Can you keep an eye out?”
“Yeah, we’ll manage while you’re gone,” Mark replied.
“Okay, I’ll be back later. ”
“Take the remote access key,” Martin said as I reached the door. “It’s in the crystal bowl on the counter. It’ll get you in and out of the garage.” I retrieved the remote and took my car back to my apartment.
* * *
“Feels good to be home.” I took my notes out and began to re-evaluate the detailed logs I had on employees. I was looking for anyone with criminal connections who would have the knowhow to make a bomb. As far as motivation went, I was still stumped. Maybe they, whoever they were, didn’t like Martin for personal reasons or perhaps the Dubai acquisition was motivation enough to threaten him. Anything could be motive, especially when dealing with irrational people, and irrational people were the ones most likely to make bombs or shoot up a place.
T he employee files I had were limited. MT employed people of all races and ethnic backgrounds, none of which struck me as particularly radical or having obvious gang or terrorist ties. I looked for anyone with potential organized crime connections. Still no luck. Finally, I considered who might have dealings with weapons or drug trafficking. This, of course, was a much more difficult avenue to pursue. Did I have any ATF or DEA friends who owed me a favor? My brain was being sluggish. I could feel a thought gnawing at the corners of my mind, but it just wouldn’t surface. It felt like I was trying to think my way through quicksand.
“This is ridiculous, ” I said to my empty room. “Think, Parker,” I commanded my brain to function. I ran through the list of things I knew: threatening letter, kidnapping attempt, manufacturing sabotage, a bomb. All of it happened near work or at work. The letters weren’t sent to Martin’s residence. The kidnapping
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