Chapter 2 - Jane

It started out as a game between us all, exciting stories of danger and adventure. I’ve always been sort of a crypto geek and I loved the idea of having code phrases that we could use in the case of any emergency. Dad loved it right away. It fit right into his… unique personality.

With a couple of simple words and perhaps a number or two you could categorize almost any possible crisis. We spent days coming up with different scenarios. It was hard to remember all of the different possible combinations and permutations and we finally needed a code sheet. Well, I didn’t need a code sheet. That was my gift, and my curse.

I built a simple program that would let them enter any code phrase. It also worked in reverse for generating codes quickly. It would pull up a series of answers to questions regarding very specific emergencies. What type of crises? Nuke, Meteor, Aliens, Biological? Then the questions would drill down based on previous answers. What type of biological emergency? Was it active or latent? How wide spread is it? How is it transmitted? With short phrases we could give a lot of information very quickly, covertly, and have a plan in place for it.

After I would do stuff like this, dad would sometimes turn to me and say something like, “Did you know that you’re my favorite daughter?” in that way that he has. I’m not saying that that’s the reason I use my brain and my gifts, but it certainly helps.

Like I said, it was a fun game for a bunch of geeks like my family. With dad’s friend Gerald Stone adding in some of the military code talk he used to use in the Navy, it made it feel even more authentic and exciting.

Gerald—now he is something else, let me tell you. He’s a marine through and through. I’d once heard his commanding officer at a barbecue refer to him as ‘the next Chesty Puller’. (I had to look him up Online.) He was rugged and dangerous, and all those things that makes a girl’s toes curl. He always used to say that it was the responsibility of a man to be tough for his family and tender with his family. He carried himself with an intensity and purpose that was both frightening and reassuring. One of his mantra’s was that we should never do something half way (only there was usually a bit more swearing in his mantras).

He showed us how to set up safe houses, dead drop locations, supply points, stocked our go bags, and pointed out that bus stops remained a sanctuary untouched by security. You could pay cash, and no I.D. was necessary. Going with Gerald and setting up these locations and resources was probably my favorite part of the whole thing. Jackson and I would pretend like we were spies or out on the lamb running from the government, and I would secretly pretend that Gerald would come and rescue me.

I’d hoped we’d never have to use the codes and they would just be a fun and quirky game for the family. That all changed this morning.

I came running down the stairs after hearing Jackson call for me. I couldn't believe who was at the door. The next few moments we a blur of bliss. As soon as the door closed I bee-lined for the capsules. It was right around the time I was pressing my face against the smooth lines of the rig and whispering my undying devotion that I heard shouting. I came around the corner into the living room. Our go bags were out and ready, and I heard dad talking about needing to run from the police. Okay, he said ‘castle guards’ but I knew what he meant. My initial thoughts were: Oh, no. What had he done this time? Those stopped abruptly when I heard him tell Jackson about mom’s car being in an accident and her missing from the scene.

We argued. Hands were waved. Voices were raised.

Dad seemed to think we needed to activate our response plan and go off the grid and find mom ourselves. The cops were bluffing and didn’t have a leg to stand on. While that sounded cool in theory, I wasn’t sure we had hit that point yet.

Jackson seemed to see where I was coming from. Sometimes we just synced up like puzzle pieces. Other times? Well it’s a good thing fratricide is illegal. Together we were able to convince our dad that we needed to go down to the station. Suddenly dropping off the map would only point the finger at us and shift the resources of the cops in an unhelpful direction. I made the point that even if they would be as little help as dad thought, that little bit might mean all the difference. What are we going to do anyway that the police can’t, was a thought I didn’t voice. We finally swayed him by mentioning that we could always activate the response plan and go dark if things went sideways.

We were a good bit through this whole conversation before anyone seemed to notice Kaylin there, her head bouncing back and fourth between each of us as we spoke, like a spectator at a tennis match. It was probably for the best, I figured. Put the fear in them early. Let them see you at your worst and most dysfunctional. If they still stuck around—you know you got yourself a winner. As much as I wanted to strangle him sometimes, I wanted the best for my brother. Kaylin went home with a mumbled apology for intruding and a comforting hand with words of remorse for Jackson. Afterward, we quickly loaded up in the Explorer and headed down to the police station.

That brings us to here. Sitting in this room. Answering questions.

For six. Hours.

Alright, I’m making it sound worse than it really is. They basically told us to hurry down—or else, and when we got here they made us wait for five hours before anyone even came around to take our statements. It wasn’t the marathon interrogation session I made it out to be. The ones you sometimes see in the movies where they slowly wear down the suspect until they finally crack or make a mistake in their story, but it was still frustrating.

A stocky black man with close cropped hair and a business casual gray suit finally made his way over to us. He was the only one I noticed in the busy precinct not wearing a weapon. Not even a shoulder holster. You could see his blazer billow open as he walked toward us. Dad immediately stopped muttering to himself about wasting time and how “they” were getting away and reached out to grab the briefcase next to him. He’d changed into a pant suit with blazer, a thin tie, and grabbed up the briefcase on the way out the door to the station.

“If I could just have you guys come with me, one at a time if you don’t mind.” The man spoke with a smooth calming baritone. “We’ll start with you if you would.” He waved Jackson to stand up. “My name’s Jerome Daniels, I’m one of the detectives tryin’ to find out what happened to your mom. What was your name?” He was like a favorite uncle as held out a hand in introduction.

“Umm. Jackson. Jackson Lee.” My brother said, shaking the man’s hand as he stood up. The detective smiled warmly and nodded, returning the handshake.

Lionel stood up, then. Straightening his pencil tie with his right hand, he held his briefcase loosely at his side with his left. He looked calm and composed. He cleared his throat. “I don’t think so, Detective Daniels.” You could feel him capitalize the D in detective. “These two children are underage and will not be answering any questions without my consent. Nor will they be separated from my side for any reason. You may take us all together, or we can have a discussion alone. These are your only options.” His voice flowed with a soft power and authority that was present throughout his entire bearing. Here was a man that, whatever room he was in, he was in control.

The smile slipped on the detectives face and his eyes narrowed in suspicion for only an instant, and then it was gone. His gaze, however, weighed me and my brother as he spoke.

“You hired an attorney for a simple incident statement about your missin’ mother? That strikes me as odd. I wonder—”

“You can continue to wonder whatever you wish, but you have wasted enough of our time already. You have exactly…” he looked down at his watch, “in twenty-seven minutes it will be two pm. You have until then to get any information you deem relevant from us. After that, we will be leaving.”

“You have some place to be in a hurry? Mr…? I’m sorry. I didn’t catch your name.”

“That is because I did not give it. That can be the first question you ask when you start actually doing your job, detective.” This time emphasizing the whole word. “And yes, we will be leaving for lunch at two pm. Due to your indiscretion and lack of consideration, none of us have eaten since last night.” Lionel’s eyes never left the detective’s. I could feel it’s weight and it wasn’t even directed at me. “You are wasting time detective. Twenty-six minutes.”

The detective stood there a moment as though weighing his options. The gears clearly working in his mind. He decided to try to disarm the situation with humor. “Well, I can certainly understand a hungry stomach.” He chuckled. “I got a pack of piranha at home that my wife calls children.”

“While you were talking, you just became twenty seconds further away from finding out what happened to Susan Lee. Twenty-five minutes, detective.”

“Ahem. Right. Follow me. We’ll see if we can get you out of here by two for your lunch. This way.” He turned and began to walk toward one of the rooms off to the side of the hallway from the lobby we were sitting in.

“You are once again mistaken, detective.” My father called out. He hadn’t moved an inch. His face could have been chiseled from stone, yet there wasn’t an ounce of anger, or frustration; simply dead calm certainty. “I was not making a suggestion earlier. All questions will stop and all doors will be open by two pm and we will be walking through them. This is not a negotiation. If you are finished playing games and attempting to gain the upper hand through verbal Judo, I advise you to stop now. You will lose.” Flicking his eyes down at his watch again, “Twenty-four minutes.”

The officer’s calm facade began to crack and he gritted out through clenched teeth.

“Alright, Mr. No-name. We can talk in here.”

It was a small room. It didn’t have the utilitarian feel of the rest of the station. It was spartan, but also somehow intimate and comfortable, nothing at all like the cop shows on TV. Lionel immediately walked around to the far side of the table, pulling the two chairs from one side of the table and sliding them up to the other, facing the door. Detective Daniel’s jaw clenched in a quick spasm as we sat down opposite of the single remaining chair. Lionel popped open his briefcase and removed a tape recorder from it and set it on the table, pressing record. Our phones had perfectly working recorders, but I had to admit, the aesthetic was impressive. The detective took a long look at the tape recorder before sitting down, placing a note pad on the table, and pulling a pen from his front shirt pocket. He clicked it and wrote ‘Jackson Lee’ at the top of the page.

“Your name, miss?” He directed at me.

“Jane Lee.”

“And Mr. No-name.” The last he shot toward my father.

“Lionel Joseph Lee.” He replied calmly.

The detective paused in the middle of writing down both names below Jacksons’.

“Lionel Lee? You’re Susan Lee’s husband? These kid’s dad?”

“I thought that was evident, detective. Yes. I am the same.”

“And you’re a lawyer?” He sounded unconvinced. “I didn’t see that anywhere in the paperwork we pulled when we started looking at the incident that happened this mornin’.”

“Ah, yes. The incident,” Lionel continued, “we have finally come to it. It only took you over half a day to finally come to the point. Welcome back to work, detective Daniels. Now, as quickly and as completely as possible, and without undermining your current investigation; Please tell me what happened today regarding the scene in which my wife, Susan Lee’s, vehicle was involved.”

His words had the weight and feel of a contractual agreement.

The big man’s grip on the pen tightened for a long moment before he seemed to come to a decision. “Your wife’s car was found, upside-down on the corner of Robinson and Reno, right out in front of the Chesapeake Arena in downtown. There was an impact crater on the passenger side of the vehicle. Glass and debris patterns and a lack of brake marks indicated she was struck at speed. Our best guess is sixty to sixty five miles per hour with no attempt to stop. We found traces of blood on the air bags, her cell phone, and an empty leather laptop bag outside of the vehicle. Now do you think you can stop bustin’ my balls for five seconds and work together with me to find out what happened to your wife?”

“Remain on the topic at hand, Daniels. Keep the questions pertinent to the investigation on finding my wife. If it is your procedure to waste as much time on the rest of this investigation as you have with us, I have a difficult time understanding how you made the grade.”

“It’s Daniels now, huh? No ‘detective’?” He said, ignoring one jibe, but unable to dodge the other.

“That was a term I afforded you out of respect. You are quickly losing that. Seventeen minutes.”

The detective sighed, exasperated. “Look, you know the drill. I need the basics. Did she have any enemies? Did she seem afraid of anythin’ or anyone? Has she been actin’ strange or had any changes to her normal schedule that seemed out of place? Where was she headed this mornin’? I need a direction to go in here, man. I can’t solve a case without any clues, and right now all I got is a cell phone, a laptop bag, a busted car, and you three.”

“Her alarm went of at six a.m. this morning, she was up out of bed immediately which is unusual. She usually gets out of bed at 6:18 which is two cycles of her snooze alarm. She showered and got ready quickly and spent the next fifteen minutes, roughly, at her computer. She seemed surprised at the time and rushed to pack her things and was out the door after a quick kiss.”

“Yeah, she seemed like she was in a real hurry. She even forgot her name badge this morning.” Jackson cut in quickly.

“What’s that? She forgot her I.D. card?” Father asked, his left thumb beat a staccato rhythm on the handle of his briefcase, his face showing that this was news to him.

“Yeah, I saw it on the chair when I cleaned it off so Kaylin would have a place to sit.” Jackson glanced nervously between the two men. Detective Daniels pen scratched a note on his legal pad.

“Well, that is certainly out of the ordinary. She was on her way to work at Prometheus Corporation. She works for Infinity Entertainment which is a subsidiary of Prometheus, but they are all housed on the same campus. You cannot get past the guards without your security badge which doubles as a name tag. She would have had to turn around and come back to get it once she realized it was missing…” Lionel seemed lost in thought for a moment, before continuing. “She does not have any enemies or people who wish her ill that I am aware of. She is highly regarded at all levels of both Infinity and Prometheus. Things have changed over the last few weeks, however. She has been more stressed, working longer hours, and I would almost say she has seemed nervous recently.”

“I think we’re finally gettin’ somewhere Mr. Lee. Tell me more about that.”

I interrupted this time, “I think thats all because of Infinity Online.”

“That sounds familiar. I think my kids have been talkin’ about that.” Detective Daniels scratched another note on the note pad.

“It’s the project she’s been working on. A new fully immersive online role playing game. Prometheus just finished construction on their tower and now it’s the tallest building in downtown. I’m sure you’ve seen the building at least, if not all the commercials and bill boards. They’re everywhere. No one’s really settled on the jargon yet. Some are calling it FIVR — Fully Immersive Virtual Reality, or VRMMORPG, Virtual Reality Massively Multi-player Online Role Playing Game. But its all still the same. You can put on a headset that the company is shipping out for free to anyone who requests it and it lets you log into a virtual world that you can actually experience as if you are there inside of it. You can smell the flowers, feel the sunshine, taste the food.”

“Well, that’s not completely true, actually.” Jackson interrupted.

“Okay yeah, so Jack’s right. The word is that the headsets only have limited immersive properties, and to get the real experience you need an actual Immersion Rig. The headsets are free, but the rigs aren’t. Its one way they are paying for it all. Everyone can participate and whoever is willing or able to afford it can have an even more incredible experience.” Jackson was nodding along, we’d both been looking for any an all information on the game since the very first key note address. “It’s going to change the way we interact online and open doors for incredible new innovations. Imagine—free education for anyone in the world online, board meetings, art and design, global projects where the teams can be brought together instantaneously. Mom is one of the programmers and IO is about to launch this week. So, of course she’s stressed, working more, and nervous. It’s a huge multi-billion dollar project.”

“Okay. It looks like I’ve got a place to start. We can get the ball rolling and look into this work angle. If there is as much money on the table as you’re talkin’ there can easily be motive buried in there.” He finished jotting down information as I stopped talking before looking up. “Just a few quick things so we can rule out factors outside of her work place. Anythin’ I need to know on your guy’s end? Any threats, or calls, or even just weird vibes? I need to make sure this isn’t someone using Susan to get to one of you.”

We all looked at each other, eye brows raised in one of those uniquely family things before Jackson and I shook our heads. Lionel spoke next.

“No, I do not think any of us have experienced anything like that, and I hardly get out of the house enough to make enemies. I have received no threats, demands, or dirty looks in some time, detective.”

“Alright. I appreciate everythin’ you guys have told me. This is gonna to go a long way to helpin’ to find Susan. One last thing. You said you don’t get out of the house much. What did you say you do again mist…”

“I think we are starting to get off track again, detective, and your time is now up. We have a very important appointment to keep and I would like to thank you in advance for your diligence and hard work in this matter.” Lionel stood up abruptly, leaning forward into his space and extending a hand, which the officer took reflexively. “If you have any questions or would like to contact me about your progress on the case, please use this number and not the emergency line you used before.” He took his hand back and reached into the briefcase to retrieve a business card and handed it over to the detective, his left hand still resting on the handle. There was no name or information on the card except for a ten digit phone number in bold print across the center. Lionel closed the case, snapped the clasps in place, and waved for us to follow him out the door.

“There’s still more information that can help us with the case here Mr. Lee.” Detective Daniels called, following after us.

“I am sure that there is. Quite a lot of it, in fact.” Lionel pointed toward the doors we were heading for. “Out there. Perhaps this is an experience you can learn from detective. If you would like less irate support next time, consider meeting me at the doors instead of making me and my family wait five hours in the lobby after your thugs delivered baseless threats to come arrest me in my home.” As we passed through the doors and into the afternoon daylight, he spoke over his shoulder. “Find my wife, detective. Stop wasting time. She may not have any to spare.”