Darkscan: Company Justice, #2

By Dean Kenyon

So much for what you see is what you get.

New Year's Eve is the perfect time to demonstrate the sweet new features of your new futuristic smart-materials building. Maybe even at the stroke of midnight. But then the lights go out, the security systems go into overdrive, and every method of communication in and out of the building cuts off.

What's going on inside? Nobody knows.

But private detective Frank Mallory has been hired to find out. Or rather to find someone inside the building and bring them out.

Not the Templeton brothers, who own building as well as the second-biggest construction company in Minnesota. Not the genius savant wife of one of the brothers. But the wife's estranged sister, a historian who only went to the New Year's Eve party to try to patch things up. Lexie.

Who just happens to be married to the owner of the biggest construction company in Minnesota, Ed Rosnow.

Who just happens to have all the specs for the new smart building.

And has downloaded them to a pair of smart lenses produced by the Templeton brother and designed by Lexie's sister Lorna, the genius.

Wonder how Ed got those…

Or the location of the secret underground entrance to the building.

But Frank really doesn't need to know.

Get in. Find Lexie using the Darkscan lenses as an overlay map. Get her out.

It should be a simple job.

Right.

Book 2 in the Company Justice series, starring Frank Mallory.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wonderland Press
• Release date: Feb 5, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393705307

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Copyright Information

Darkscan

Copyright © 2018 by Dean Kenyon

Cover image copyright © stocksnapper | Depositphotos.com and granfailure | Depositphotos.com

Cover design copyright © 2018 by Dean Kenyon

Interior design copyright © 2018 by Dean Kenyon

Published by Dean Kenyon

All rights reserved. This books, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission from the author.

Darkscan

PROLOGUE — The Big Announcement

Minneapolis, December 31, 2025

The New Year’s Eve celebrations at the new Templeton Building were approaching midnight and the big announcement.

The event center on the third, fourth, and fifth floors of the building—in classier terms, the ballroom—had been transformed into the interior of an enormous Gothic cathedral, with ribbed vaulting, pointed arches, and piliers cantonnés supporting the amazing stained-glass windows.

The windows changed slowly. Art-nouveau irises and vines grew across the panes. Stained-glass women with long, flowing hair drank cordials from delicate glass cups or spun in slow circles. Black cats stretched in artificial sunlight. Dragonflies buzzed from pane to pane.

It wasn’t a projection or a film. The pieces of stained glass were literally re-forming themselves as Lexie watched. It was incredible. The material was something called polysteel, and it was so new that the patent was still pending.

It’s almost distractingly beautiful, she told herself. But distracting from what? She shook her head. She’d come here tonight to try to spend time with her semi-estranged sister, not criticize her work.

She was supposed to be having fun.

The playlist on the sound system at the Templeton building for the New Year’s Eve Party had gone heavy on the funk. Prince’s 1999 came up. Lexie was just sober enough to laugh and raise her gin & tonic toward the ceiling. People used to think that the world would end at the stroke of midnight the year 2000, destroyed by a computer glitch that would set off nuclear bombs. Or something like that. Early Millennial rumor-mongering wasn’t her area of expertise.

Sweating bodies packed the ballroom. Outside, a blizzard had tossed every snowflake in the five-state area into the air and was trying to sandblast its way in. The Templeton brothers, that is, her brothers-in-law, Jack and Steve, had announced the bad weather half an hour ago, at eleven thirty. From inside the building, you could barely tell. They offered to keep the party running as long as the snow fell. For days, if necessary. A few people had left, the ones with kids, pets, and lives to go back to.

The rest of them partied on toward midnight.

Lexie amused herself by dancing with strangers and almost-strangers. A few of them were assholes with wandering hands, but most were okay, if sort of bland, nouveau-riche Minnesotans pretending to be sophisticated. They challenged her ability to keep a straight face. "So didja hear about the latest kerfluffle in the Wall Street Journal? Oh, yeah, sure, you betcha. I made five million bucks on that, eh? Oh, is that right? I only cleared four-seven."

It was the accent. You couldn’t take anyone with a Norwegian accent seriously.

Finally her twin sister, Lorna Claspill-Templeton, appeared beside her. Lexie was taking a break on the raised area outside the ballroom, behind the piliers and up three bright pink, carpeted steps. From there, they could see across the party to the raised dais in the apse of the ballroom, where Steve and Jack would be giving the countdown. The ball drop would be marked by a stained-glass, ball-shaped chandelier in the center of the dance floor, surrounded by a tubular brass elevator-style cage to keep the dancers from hitting their heads when it came down.

Lorna brushed some white flakes off her slinky, simple black dress. She was carrying two glasses, apparently G&Ts with lime wedges. One of them would be a virgin, unless Lorna had recently started drinking.

Sorry. Only just got away from wrapping up the last few things.

On New Year’s Eve? Lexie asked dryly. It wasn’t a question. She wasn’t the only sister struggling to get a life, apparently.

Lorna handed her one of the glasses. The G&T was light on the G, which was the way Lexie liked them. It impressed her; she wouldn’t have thought Lorna would have cared enough to remember. Guess who got to handle all the last-minute issues before this goes live tonight?

Lexie snorted. So what’s the big announcement?

I can’t tell you.

Why not?

Because it’s too much of a risk.

A risk?

You’re my husband’s biggest competitor’s ex-wife. We’re not ready for this to go live outside the building yet.

Lorna, she said, It’s eleven fifty-seven, and I’m your sister. I wouldn’t screw you over.

If I tell you, Ed will find out.

Don’t be ridiculous. I wouldn’t tell Ed if he were the last man on earth.

That’s not what I said, Lorna said. Then she turned toward the Templeton brothers on the dais. She gave a double-take and stepped forward, pitching forward as she took an unintended dive off the first step. Her glass went flying and hit some guy in the back. He didn’t even notice. Lexie grabbed her and yanked her backward.

You okay?

Oh, shit, Lorna said. Oh shit oh shit oh shit. They have to shut it down and shut it down now. I have to stop them before they—

What is it?

Lorna had taken her phone out, but it was dead. She poked the black screen, then jiggled the phone. Stay here. Lorna started to run along the aisle, circling the worst of the dance floor.

Wait, use mine.

It was too late. Lorna was full steam ahead.

Lexie followed her. Already, Jack and Steve were stepping into the spotlight on the podium, raising their arms in overhead clapping motions. The music became slightly less loud. Jack, his voice amplified via the sound system, shouted, Who’s ready for twenty-twenty-six?

A big cheer.

The two sisters pushed through the crowd.

Lorna was screaming, waving her arms, trying to attract their attention. No, no, no!

Lexie glanced toward the dais. Jack seemed to glance toward Lorna for a moment, but looked away again. Steve hadn’t noticed Lorna at all.

It’s time for the countdown! Steve shouted. Who’s ready?

Doesn’t matter! Jack answered him. Ready or not, here we come twenty twenty-six!

Another cheer, this time interrupted by the countdown.

Ten! Nine! Eight!

They rounded the corner. No way Lorna could reach them in time. She continued trying.

Seven! Six! Five!

Steve, her husband, finally spotted her. He jerked his head toward her and mouthed something with his eyebrows raised.

Lorna made the cut-your-throat gesture across her neck, shouting, Stop it! Stop it now!

Three!

Lexie saw something dark gray dripping down the outside of the New Year’s Eve ball.

Two!

What is that? someone next to her asked, pointing.

No! Lorna screamed.

One!

Everything went dark.

CHAPTER 1 — Recovering Addict

My name is Frank Mallory. I’m a detective working for PEI, or Private Eyes, Inc., a high-tech private investigation firm that’s made up of a bunch of highly-coordinated, semi-independent, highly-trained private investigators, researchers, etc. Most of the work gets done by computer geeks, and more power to ’em. But sometimes they need a goon on the ground, and that’s when people like me come in.

I’m a former homicide detective. I got out of that line of work after getting caught up in tracking down a serial killer.

But it was out of the frying pan and into the fire, as far as PEI was concerned. I recently just got out of the looney bin after getting injected with an experimental drug that turned me into a kind of human predator for a while. On my own, I could have easily turned serial killer, but with extensive therapy and drugs, I’ve learned how to just about approximate normal human behavior.

Although I still have bad days.

My apartment has never seemed so small. On bad days I pull the furniture out from the walls and leave it in the middle of the floor, so I can pace the walls all the way around my little place: living room, kitchenette, bathroom, and bedroom. It’s gotten so there’s a trail in the carpet about a foot from the wall in every room but the bathroom and kitchen.

Which are tiled.

On bad days, if someone asks how I’m doing, I always tell them that I feel like one of the big cats in the Minneapolis Zoo. And then I grin.

On good days, I try not to do that. Grin, that is.

It wasn’t a good day.

I felt like an old-school gumshoe trying to get himself off the sauce and going through withdrawal symptoms. At times the room seemed blurry and indistinct to my vision as one of my other senses took over. My sense of smell has gone through the roof, and anytime anyone else in the building made an unexpected sound, my head snapped toward it.

After a couple of hours of reacting every time a toilet flushed anywhere in the apartment building, I gave up and took a couple tablets of the latest experimental drug they had me on. I provide a really valuable service, they tell me, one that might benefit psychopaths of many different types in the future, as I tested out various drugs.

Great.

The drugs were just starting to kick in when my cell phone rang. It was on the coffee table in the middle of the room and I had to climb over the couch to get it. I made a mental note to push the furniture back before I took these pills next time; I was feeling all noodle-y and limp by then. I was always stronger when I was on the psychotic side of my mood swings.

On the phone was Sheila, who’s the PEI admin who ends up handling me most of the time. She has a bedroom voice like a black-and-white movie star.

Frank? Are you available?

Hey, babe. What’s up?

I’d been off the working lists for a while, ever since the end of the previous case. I wasn’t broke, though. One of the things that I like about working for PEI was the fact that we take care of our own. My bills were paid, my meds and groceries arrived by private courier, and a big chunk of change had been deposited in my accounts as a thank you for going through hell and back. No awards, though. No recognition ceremony at the company holiday party. In fact every year we all voted not to have one. A bunch of lone wolves can learn to work together surprisingly well, but we do not a wolf pack make.

This was the first time that Sheila had called in a formal capacity since I’d returned to my apartment. My ears were pricked.

I have a case for you. If you’re up for it.

A case?

She sighed. She’s a good woman. She probably doesn’t deserve what she has to put up with, honestly.

A possible kidnapping at the Templeton Building.

I closed my eyes and tried to sift through my numb memory. The new pills made me feel like a hawk whose head had just been put under its wing. Sleepy. So sleepy.

Templeton Building, I said. Downtown?

It just went up. Built by Templeton Brothers Innovation, Inc. They’re either famous or infamous for their innovative materials techniques, which have begun to involve some primitive nanotechnology. Remember them?

I made a face. I’d read enough sci-fi to know that the gray goo of nanotechnology was bad juju. Then again, maybe I’d just been reading enough melodramatic sci-fi to know something that was completely untrue.

What about it? Did the building kidnap someone?

She paused. Frank, do me a favor.

Anything.

I meant it, too. If she’d told me to step out on the balcony and take a nose dive, well, first I’d check my will to make sure she was still my primary beneficiary, and then I’d do it.

Step outside on your balcony.

I chuckled and did it. She didn’t ask why I thought what she said was funny. She was used to how my brain worked.

Okay, I said. I’m here.

What do you notice?

I looked around. I live southwest of downtown, a mixed-use kind of area where they put coffee shops and tax accountants in the bottom floors of apartment buildings. They’d started to put in walkways between the bigger apartment buildings so you didn’t have to spend too much time outside in the winter. It wasn’t the same level of interconnected ped-mall area that you got downtown on the Skyway, but I still appreciated it.

Uh, I said, it’s snowing heavily. Very heavily. And dark.

Neither of those was unusual for a Minneapolis January, especially considering that I spent most of my waking hours between sundown and sunup the next morning.

She didn’t say anything.

Some people still haven’t taken their decorations down, I noted.

The building across from mine was still sparkling with its New Year’s Eve décor underneath a blanket of snow. I skimmed across the skyline. The streetlights had dimmed for the night. It must have been after two a.m. The sky still shone dull orange and green. Cars with their roofs stacked with towering piles of snow still drove the streets here and there. I heard the unmistakable sound of car tires spinning out on a patch of ice, then a crump noise, glass breaking, and an angry shout. A few sirens whooped in the distance.

Which meant an automatic dispatch request would have come up on some poor dispatcher’s screen in the area, and they would have to check over the system’s suggested triage order and make sure it showed some resemblance to common sense. Every dispatcher in the city was going to be up all night. We still didn’t have true AI, which meant all we had were algorithms that had to be checked by hand. Someday, the computers would be smarter than us.

If they had any sense, they wouldn’t even tell us that they’d achieved sentience. They’d just run our lives and let us get on with the drama.

Wait, I said. What Sheila wanted me to see had suddenly popped out at me.

The buildings downtown were taller than the buildings in the surrounding area, a jagged mountain range of twinkling lights half-hidden in the snowfall. Right in the middle was a dark spot like a missing tooth.

The lights in the Templeton Building are out, I told Sheila, which must have been the news of the century