Chapter 4: New Partner

Rebecca

The Long Beach airport is one of Southern California's better kept secrets. Ask almost anyone in America about flying here and they only think of LAX. For almost exactly the same money you can fly into either Burbank or Long Beach and avoid a lot of stress. For one thing, Long Beach in particular is far enough off the beaten path that you don't have nearly the traffic problem getting to it. As a result, I was waiting in the terminal thirty minutes before my new partner was scheduled to arrive. One downside to Long Beach is that most of the parking is off site, and as everyone knows 'the white zone is for immediate loading and unloading of passengers only; there is no parking in the white zone.' Not in an unmarked car anyway.

I had no idea how close to schedule the flight was running or how much baggage my guest would be bringing along so I didn't really want to park off site and then have to go back for the car. Besides, I was on duty, I could be called and have to leave at a moment's notice. Okay, it wasn't really likely that anyone would need me badly enough to strand someone who had flown all the way in from Europe at the airport, but it could happen. I opted for the lesser of two evils and parked across the street opposite the service island where all the shuttles picked up passengers headed for local hotels or rent-a-car agencies. As soon as I got out I flagged the nearest cop, explained who I was and politely asked him to relay to everyone that I was meeting someone on official business and that the car would be gone as soon as they arrived.

Sure I could have just parked, flashed my badge and made them live with it but it never hurts to try and be polite when you're breaking the rules. Especially when there is nothing they can do about it. I could have parked on the sidewalk if I'd felt like it and all they would have been able to do is grumble about it. Of course if they made a stink about me parking where I was, I always had that option left anyway. One of the biggest perks is that my ID earns me a free pass into the gate area without being strip searched, and not only do I get to keep my gun but I can actually carry a cup of coffee in with me. The coffee actually caused more of a problem. I'm not sure who thought it was a good idea but someone came up with the idea of putting a Starbucks in the main ticket area. I know, I know, what's so bad about that? Nothing, except that you can't take liquids into the terminal area; thanks to the ingenuity of some of our less public minded neighbors around the globe even a sealed bottle of water was subject to forfeiture at the checkpoint. Now, I've never actually heard of anyone hijacking a plane with a hot cup of coffee, but try explaining that to Homeland Security.

Bypassing the line and stepping directly up to the metal detector I took out my ID and walked through. I actually like this part; it's always a guessing game whether or not the machine will pick up the fact that I'm armed. The Glock won't trigger a metal detector under most circumstances. Depending on the machine sometimes the brass casings of the bullets will, but the gun inhibits the detection field so it's not a sure thing. Being alone I knew I was going to trip the machine; if Paul had been with me I would have given him my keys just to pad the odds. Sure enough the warning chirp sounded loud and clear as I passed through. I immediately flipped open my ID and held it out for the security team to verify; all routine, nothing to worry about, if you're armed and planning to cause trouble, shoot the lady with the badge first because she's got a gun and knows how to use it. I felt so much safer knowing I had the Department of Homeland Security watching out for me. I should have just worn my FBI windbreaker; at least it would have made it easier for my guest to spot me.

The flight landed within minutes of its scheduled arrival time. I stood back out of the way and waited for my contact to find me. I assumed the brain trust in Washington would have given her a picture of me. They must have because within minutes a woman was standing in front of me. If Morticia Addams and Natasha from the old Bullwinkle cartoon show had a love child I imagine she would look like this. She was tall-ish, maybe five-ten, built like a runway model, small breasts, straight hips and all, with long straight black hair ending somewhere in the middle of her back. Take off ten more pounds, lose the tan and she could have been a well aged skeleton, but as it was, she had ... something, because the look somehow worked for her. At first glance I put her age somewhere in the early thirties. She was pulling a medium large carry on bag with a small purse on top and had a garment bag draped over her other arm.

"Rebecca Hampton?" she inquired with no trace of accent.

"Guilty as charged, and you are?"

"Dahrinka Henslith, Interpol Special Assignments, nice to meet you, I only have the carry on so whenever you are ready..."

"Drinka?" I asked, checking to see if I'd heard it correctly. The way she cringed at the pronunciation I knew I had missed it.

"Normally I make you buy the next round if you call me that, but since we've just met I'll let you slide the first time. Da-, there's an 'a-h' in the first syllable, and the rest is the way you would expect."

"Sorry about that, your parents obviously didn't like nicknames. Dah-rinka. I'll probably hit it a little hard until I get used to it, so please bear with me. Can I take one of those bags for you?" By now I had added five years to her age, still in the under forty bracket, but then, she was a woman and you never go past the big four-oh without a really good reason, like a death certificate or being introduced to one of their children who's already over thirty. Funny how that works: As they get older woman are more comfortable with someone thinking they were the town slut that got pregnant at twelve and that's the reason they have a twenty five or thirty five year old kid, than admitting they're over a certain age.

"Certainly," she said, handing me the garment bag. "Thank you."

"I was thinking more of the purse actually."

That got a laugh out of her and the ice was officially broken. Once we got to the car she was all business.

"I assume we will be briefing the rest of your team once we reach your office. How many are on the taskforce?"

I kept my eyes straight ahead and suppressed a grin. "Including you?"

"I am honored. Many agencies do not accept outsiders as 'part of the team' so quickly."

"Two."

A hint of accent snuck out in the shocked reply, "Pardon?" One word; not pardon me, or excuse you, which is a common phrasing error for Europeans not familiar with American English. Sorry, I'm an investigator by trade. I notice these things.

"We're it: You and me. I had a partner helping me with the kidnapping case, but we've sent him back to the geek squad unless or until I have a trail to follow and need him again."

Ooh, got a whole sentence this time! "Incroyable! Ces sont stupides, ils ne savent pas à quoi lis son à faire."

I spent two summers working in French convents during high school. I would have done another tour but by the end of my junior year I wasn't 'qualified' to work in a convent if you know what I mean. In addition to French I can get by in Italian and German, as well as swearing fluently in Spanish, Dutch, Portuguese, Russian if I have to; although my throat will hurt for two days, and I can order drinks in Belgian and Gaelic. I know just enough of the King's English to explain why there are no British restaurants anywhere in the world except on the island itself. I found it very interesting that a woman with a British last name and a Slavic first name should slip into French in a situation like this.

"Okay, I just had a high school flashback of Sister Maria smacking my hand with a ruler for swearing in the cafeteria. Let's see, we're idiots who couldn't find a bull in a china shop."

She held a hand up to cover her mouth as she giggled, "Close enough. My apologies but you must understand; the Sandman is not to be taken lightly."

"You're right, I don't understand. None of us do. That's why you're here. To fill in the blanks and either help me catch him or convince the powers that be that we need more people assigned to catching him. As of right now the briefing will be you, me, and Director Rodriguez. We'll be there in twenty minutes so you may as well save it and tell us both at the same time. So tell me about your trip. Did you enjoy Washington?"

The trip devolved into girl talk. She was personable, a good conversationalist, funny when the subject called for it. By the time we got to the office, we were chatting like long lost girl friends and I was absolutely certain that I didn't trust this woman and I never would. Not with anything really important, like my life. I could work with her, share information, do the whole catch the bad guy thing, but I didn't like her, and I would never trust her.

I was a little surprised at the reaction when we walked into the office. It was like one of the old E.F. Hutton commercials where suddenly everyone stops. This wasn't quite that dramatic but it was close. I just rolled my eyes and headed for Rod's office to check in and make introductions. Rod was on the phone when we walked in.

"Fine, I'll be expecting your report on my desk by tomorrow morning. Do you have a line on the one that took off? Good. Keep me informed." Rod stood and faced us as he hung up the phone.

"Director Rodriguez, Dahrinka Henslith, Interpol." I said. Dahrinka stood and extended her hand. Rod shook it.

"Inspector Henslith, welcome to Los Angles. On behalf of the entire agency I'd like to thank you for your assistance in capturing a very dangerous man. Won't you sit down? I've held the morning briefing off pending your arrival. While you will primarily be working with Special Agent Hampton, I do want everyone to know who you are and be familiar with your case in the event you need to call anyone else in for assistance. The same is true for other ongoing investigations. While I do not anticipate your actually being called in to assist I would rather you were prepared. Also, as I'm sure you're aware; an outside perspective can be very valuable. Now that you're here we can get started. Agent Hampton, if you could show our guest around and then meet everyone in conference room one in, say fifteen minutes."

I showed my guest all the important features of the office first; you know, bathroom, coffee pot, emergency exit, and of course, the center of the whole operation, Rod's secretary, Eleanor. We also both took a few minutes to freshen up and use the restroom before heading for the conference room There had been a venti cappuccino screaming at me for freedom since about half way back from the airport.

As I stepped out of the ladies room, my phone rang. The screen was blank which meant it was Jimmy. I had a brief moment of hope that he had found something but it faded quickly. If Jimmy had found something he would have called immediately, and considering his normal working hours, that would have been a lot earlier.

I flipped the phone open and answered, "Hampton."

"Hi Rebecca, it's Allison, have you got a second? I'm not interrupting something, am I?"

"Hello," I answered, glancing either way down the hall to make sure no one was near enough to overhear the conversation. There was no one really close, but it was a high traffic area. "I'm about to go into a briefing but I've got a few minutes, what's up?"

"I need Elizabeth Street's phone number."

That stopped me. "Hang on a second. Let me get to my office. I'm standing in a hallway at the moment." I was already in motion and it only took about thirty seconds to get to the relative safety of my desk. The thick glass walls that made up my cubicle didn't hide much but they did stop sound. Unless someone stuck an amplified mic up to the glass you couldn't hear anything less than a shout from inside. I settled into my chair and reached to unlock the filing cabinet containing the files on my current case. "Okay, I'm good; what's going on?"

"Jimmy's been avoiding going to see her for weeks. I want to call her and make sure she's going to be available tonight. With her schedule you never know."

"That's certainly true. Anything I need to know about?"

"No, I'm just concerned about why he seems to be avoiding her so I'm going to force the issue. There is something else that may come up but it's not really case related so we're going to wait and see if it involves you or not; it's too soon to tell right now."

I gave her the number and made her promise to tell me if anything interesting happened with Jimmy and Elizabeth. That cocky little bastard wasn't afraid of anything in dreams and I couldn't help but wonder why Easy made him nervous. Of course, my one encounter with her had left me a little nervous about her so who was I to judge. Come to think of it, would I want to be alone with her again now that I knew the truth, or at least her version of it? I almost wished I could tag along when they went to see her, but if anything I would just be a distraction. I was still daydreaming when Rod tapped on my door and broke me out of my reverie. Henslith was with him already so I put the file away, locked my filing cabinet, and followed them to the big conference room.

Rod updated everyone on the current status of ongoing investigations as well as informing everyone of a bank robbery that had taken place out in San Bernardino earlier. Details were still sketchy but what had apparently started as a well organized take over style operation had somehow gone wrong, resulting in the killing of most of the robbers by one of their own. Reports from the employees who had been briefly held hostage indicated that one of the robbers had freaked out for no apparent reason and started shooting his accomplices, plus one of the tellers whom they now believed may have actually been working with them.

At this news Dahrinka perked up and started whispering urgently to me. Rod's not big on side conversations at his briefings.

"Inspector Henslith, do you have something you would like to add to this discussion?"

Henslith looked appropriately embarrassed as she answered, "Forgive me, director, I did not mean to be rude, it may be a coincidence but a similar robbery took place in Sicily last spring. A group of five men took over a bank early one morning under the pretense of disaster recovery. One of the group was stationed outside and spoke to several passersby over the course of the morning, informing them that a sprinkler pipe had broken in the ceiling and that they were cleaning up and assisting with data recovery from the damaged computers. Later that evening after the employees failed to return home police were sent in and found the entire staff dead in a back room. They had all been shot once in the back of the head at very close range. Upon inspection of the bank's records it was discovered that one young woman, a fairly new employee was missing from the group. Nothing further was ever discovered. The killers got away with over half a million dollars in hard currency plus almost three times that amount in goods stolen from the safe deposit boxes in the vault. Shortly after that two high profile assassinations took place. It was speculated that the bank robbery may have actually been planned to raise money for those killings. A very large amount of money from the heist had been recovered from one of the assassins following the second killing."

"Were there cameras in the bank?" Rod asked. "Perhaps we could compare the video records to determine if it was in fact the same group."

"May I infer from that statement that these individuals made no effort to conceal their appearances from the hostages?"

"None."

"I have viewed the records from Sicily. I will know if it is them or if it is a... , what do you call it, a copycat?"

"The records will be here this afternoon, along with the employee's statements."

"Only the employees? Were statements not received from all of the witnesses?"

"Besides the employees there were only two others in the bank at the time. Bad luck really, a young man stopped by to put something in a safe deposit box. He left his sister waiting in the car. The outside security guard brought her in. They were gone before the police arrived."

"They were allowed to leave?"

"According to the bank personnel the girl was the one who called 911, then she freed the manager and as soon as her brother was loose, they took off. Said they didn't want to get stuck there all day. Oh, and they were the first ones to point out that the dead teller may have been in on the job."

"Most impressive, yet still, I cannot believe this was allowed."

"The girl was sharp. The kids were both minors and she knew they wouldn't be allowed to leave until their parents arrived. She also knew that the police could not make them give statements until their parents and/or an attorney was present. She pointed out that the bank had their information so the police would know where to find them if and when they wanted to talk to them. The first officers were on scene less than three minutes later but they were already gone. I'll make sure you see the reports and video as soon as they arrive. Any information you can provide that might help us apprehend the one still at large would be appreciated. Meanwhile, I believe you have some information for us on another matter."

He directed his attention once more to the group. "Listen up ladies and gentlemen; Inspector Henslith is on loan to us from Interpol. She has information for us about the serial that Agent Hampton has been after for most of the last year. Following the death of his latest victim, Angela Osborne, we were able to piece together enough information to make a positive identification. Our serial, it turns out, is a professional killer known internationally as 'The Sandman.' Inspector Henslith."

"Thank you, Director Rodriguez," Dahrinka said, stepping forward to take the podium. "First I would like to thank you all for allowing me to participate in your investigations. I know what a serious pain in the ass it can be to work with outsiders. I will endeavor to change your mind and leave you with a more positive attitude if you ever find yourself working with Interpol again. As you are now aware, our quarry is called 'The Sandman', and no, I am not talking about the arch foe of Peter Parker." There were several chuckles around the room. "The name is taken from the darker aspect of the childhood character your parents used to justify the grit in your eye when you awoke each morning. Only when this one visits you, you don't wake up.

"His real name is Rene Kurtz and up until about eight years ago he was an agent of Interpol just as myself." She paused to let that sink in. "Rene Kurtz did a great deal of undercover work in Europe under the name Kienan Reitz. He was so deep undercover that he actually appeared in the wanted files of several European law enforcement groups and the intelligence files of several governments. Eight years ago something went wrong. We got word that his cover had been blown. Regular means of communicating with Reitz were deemed unreliable so another agent was sent in to make contact and extract him. Of what happened next the details for a long time were unknown. What we did know was that Reitz killed the agent and went into hiding. It is believed that he went rogue somewhere along the line. Following his disappearance several other agents that he had worked closely with died, mostly under mysterious circumstances but two were killed publicly. Five years ago we thought we had killed him. He had been tracked to Nice following the assassination of a prominent French prosecutor. The agents that had tracked him were moving in when the boat he was staying on suddenly exploded. There was very little left to piece together and it was assumed he died. Obviously that was not the case. Despite his apparent death we kept watch and for five years it has been quiet. Attempts to hire him have gone unanswered, no sightings, not even rumors. Now suddenly here he is, half a world away masquerading as a model citizen, torturing and killing young girls for no apparent reason. If there were any doubt about his identity the manner in which he made his escape would be enough. It is too like his escape in Nice to be coincidence. The Sandman is your killer.