The Devil's Interval Read online

  But maybe it wasn’t the specific passage that provided the context Kotler needed. Maybe it was the book itself.

  “Newton,” Kotler said.

  “What about him?” Holden asked.

  “He died in London. In the 18th century. He’s buried there. He had a lab there.”

  “You think Patel is going to Newton’s lab?” Denzel asked.

  “I’m not sure. It may be long gone. But Patel based some of his work on historic research. Newton did do some research into the Devil’s Interval.”

  Denzel turned to Holden. “What do you think?”

  “I think fair old London is a little out of my jurisdiction,” Holden scowled. “I’ll have to rely on Scotland Yard.”

  “Not necessarily,” Kotler said.

  They turned to him.

  “Well, the FBI does have a historic crimes task force. Most of it is standing in this room.”

  “You want us to fly to London?” Denzel asked. “On what grounds?”

  Kotler held up the torn paper. “I think Patel is after something that’s tied to this case. But more than that, we’re not just investigating a murder at this point, are we? That technology could be a used as a weapon. A monstrous one. If Patel murdered Ashton, and stole that memory card, maybe he’s on his way back to the source of his research. He may be attempting to reconstruct what he built.”

  Denzel nodded. “We have discretion in cases like this,” he said to Holden. “I can escalate this case.”

  “Take it over, you mean,” Holden said, sourly.

  “You’re still in charge,” Denzel said. “Of the murder case, at least. I’ll give you any information we uncover. But Pete, this case … you know it’s bigger now.”

  Holden considered this, and nodded. “So far, you’ve shot straight with me. I trust you to share anything you find. Help me close this case, that’s all I ask.”

  Denzel nodded, and turned back to Kotler. “Why do I get the impression that you’ve been angling for this all along?”

  “I found out about London at the exact time you did,” Kotler shrugged.

  “But you knew we’d end up on the move at some point. You’re bored with …” he paused, glancing at Holden, leaving the word ‘Atlantis’ unspoken. “Your other project. You’re ready for something new.”

  Kotler grinned. “I just want to help bring down the bad guys, Roland. You know me.”

  “Yeah,” Denzel said, shaking his head and scowling. “I know you.”

  Chapter 5

  London

  It was always a bit disorienting to board a flight on a New York evening and arrive in a European afternoon, but Kotler had done it enough times, he could acclimate quickly. He’d slept fitfully on the plane, however, and was feeling groggy by the time they hit the ground.

  Denzel had slept like a log, albeit one being cut into lengths by a rusty chainsaw in need of an oil change. His snoring was part of Kotler’s fitful rest.

  The other part, however, was Patel. Or rather, speculation about what Patel was up to, and why he would do any of this.

  Before leaving New York, Denzel had pulled together an extensive background on Patel, which Kotler had consumed during the flight.

  The son of two immigrant parents, both of whom held PhDs of their own, Patel had attended first New York State University and then MIT. He had double majored at State, earning undergraduate degrees in both History and Applied Technologies and Engineering. He was a strong math student, according to his records, but he was clearly much more passionate about History, particularly the history of science.

  The background dossier included some of Patel’s publicly available papers, many of which were as brilliant as anything Kotler had read in his career. It seemed that Ashton Mink’s idea to attract high-end talent with his hybrid charity was a success. Patel was one of the best in the world.

  Patel had a sharp sense of where the veins of gold were hidden in historic records, and he knew how to mine them to contribute to modern advancements. In one paper, published in the Annual Review of Biomedical Engineering, Patel outlined seven technical innovations that he had made based on historic works that were all but lost to the Western world.

  “There are numerous avenues of research that remain open loops, buried in documents that are historic, but are not yet cataloged by history. So much can be learned by seeking out these lost remnants of early science, and picking up the threads they leave, to weave them into a tapestry of new work, advancing science and technology for the benefit of humanity.”

  Kotler had smiled at that passage. He understood the sentiment, and even admired it. But he also knew that modern science was a forward-facing animal, rarely looking back. The mainstream norm of science dictated that new discoveries were made in laboratories, not in libraries. He imagined that Patel had faced numerous challenges over his approach, and may even have been ostracized by the very academic and scientific community he served.

  Kotler could relate.

  There was no doubt, however, that Patel’s passion had led him to some remarkable discoveries. Or rediscoveries, as it were. Perhaps more remarkable, however, were the leaps Patel made from antiquated research to actionable patents. His facility with extrapolating modern technological advances from discarded historic research was uncanny.

  After landing in London, Kotler and Denzel left the airport in a cab, and a short time later arrived at New Scotland Yard, in Westminster, with their carry-ons still in tow. Denzel hadn’t wanted to waste any time with checking in at the hotel. Kotler could have used a shower and even a nap, but duty called. He would tough it out.

  The day at Scotland Yard was spent largely going over more security camera footage than Kotler could have imagined existing in all the world. Detective Holden had been right—the UK had surveillance well in hand.

  Kotler was well-traveled, and thought of himself as being a citizen of the world more than any given nationality. But even he had to admit that his American sensibilities, regarding privacy and civil liberty, were flat-out assaulted by the volume of information the UK could have on him. At any given moment, they could track even his slightest moves, what he had for breakfast, when he went to the restroom, and more. It was unnerving, and Kotler decided it was best to pretend he didn’t mind.

  “He’s here,” one of the Scotland Yard Detectives offered Denzel a folder containing surveillance images pulled from video, and an address for Patel’s last known whereabouts. “He arrived at this location shortly after his flight, and there’s been no sign of him leaving.”

  “Where is this?” Denzel asked. “Any significance to this place?”

  The Detective shrugged. “To my knowledge, it’s a series of flats, converted from an older building within the last twenty years. Nothing notable about the location.”

  “Any connection to Isaac Newton?” Denzel asked.

  “Sir Isaac Newton did own properties in the area,” the Detective said.

  Denzel nodded, and turned to Kotler. “What do you think?”

  “I think there’s a chance that Patel has discovered something in that area, and that he’s managed to slip surveillance.”

  The Detective gave a derisive laugh. “Not likely,” he said. “We have him stitched in quite well, I believe. And we can assist in his capture.”

  “I appreciate that,” Denzel said. “But I’d like to approach him, first. He hasn’t committed any crimes, that we know of. He’s just a suspect, at this point. I want to see what we find by talking to him.”

  The Detective nodded, and left the two of them. Denzel arranged for a rental car, and he and Kotler left Scotland Yard less than half an hour later.

  “Do you think he killed Ashton Mink?" Kotler asked as they entered London traffic.

  Denzel was shaking his head. "I'm not sure. He had the time. He had motive. And he did run."

  Kotler nodded. "I've been studying the dossier on him, and looking over some of his work. Honestly, Roland, I don't get the vibe that Patel is a
murderer."

  "Maybe you're just seeing him as a kindred spirit," Denzel said.

  Kotler arched his eyebrows. "Is that what you think?"

  Denzel chuckled and shrugged. "It was something I picked up on, when looking over his background. History and science. One feeding the other. That's your thing.“

  Kotler couldn't dispute that. He had chosen a path in life that had his feet planted firmly in both history and science, and he often fell back on his training in both fields, to assist in his work. So, it was possible he was over-empathizing with Patel, seeing himself in the man. He couldn’t help wondering what circumstances might make him act as Patel had—leaving suddenly, flying out of the country over night. There were plenty of times when Kotler would have done just that, for reasons that wouldn’t be evident to just any observer. Maybe this was one of those times for Patel, as well.

  Still, Kotler couldn’t see Patel as being so cold that he could murder someone and then casually board a plane to London.

  "He's smarter than this," Kotler said, thinking aloud.

  "Than what?" Denzel asked.

  "Than to murder someone as high profile as Ashton Mink, then hop a flight out of the country an hour later. He's smart enough to have covered his tracks. This would be a really bad move."

  Denzel nodded. "That thought occurred to me, too."

  "When you were considering whether I would board a plane after murdering someone?" Kotler grinned.

  "Something like that."

  It took close to half an hour to arrive at the building where Patel had last been seen. Denzel found a parking space down the block, and the two of them walked casually toward the building, trying not to rouse any attention.

  The address was a building on Whitcomb St., and Kotler recognized the area immediately. "Our Detective friend at Scotland Yard has a gift for understatement," he said.

  "Why's that?"

  "We're about a block from Westminster Reference Library. Newton used to own a house on that site, in the 1700s."

  “So, this really is about Newton,” Denzel said.

  Kotler shrugged. “There’s still room for coincidence. Should we go inside?”

  Denzel nodded, and the two of them entered the building, snagging a still open door as a tenant exited to the street.

  Inside, the space felt a bit cramped. At some point, this building had been renovated to create a series of apartments. This corridor hadn’t existed, in the building’s early history, and had been built at a width that was the bare minimum for allowing a human being to move through it. Moving furniture into any given apartment in this space would require hoisting it up from the street and wedging it through a window, Kotler surmised.

  “I thought New York apartments were tight,” Denzel said.

  “So we’re in, but we have no way of knowing exactly where Patel went from here,” Kotler said. “I still think he slipped out somehow.”

  “If he did, he didn’t do it through the standard exits. Scotland Yard has footage all around the perimeter of this place.”

  “So, he had to go either up or down,” Kotler said. “I don’t think he can fly. And I’m reasonably sure he doesn’t have spider-like leaping abilities.”

  “So down,” Denzel said. “This place must have a basement.”

  They made their way through the narrow corridors until they came to a passage covered with a hinged metal grating rather than a door. A set of stairs dipped down into the darkness below. There was no lock on the grating, and Denzel opened it with a creak, looking back at Kotler.

  “How are we on trespassing?” Kotler asked.

  “So far, we’ve just walked through open doors. We don’t exactly have carte blanche to do whatever we want, but Scotland Yard does know we’re here, and investigating. I think we have some leeway.”

  “So, down into the dank darkness,” Kotler smiled.

  “Why do I get the feeling you were hoping for this?” Denzel asked.

  “You have somehow gotten the impression that I’m just waiting for the opportunity to drag you into adventure,” Kotler smiled.

  “Drag me into dark holes in the ground is more like it,” Denzel said, a note of regret in his voice.

  Kotler knew his friend suffered from claustrophobia, and that this whole scenario had to be triggering some anxiety. He also knew that Denzel was one of the bravest men he’d ever met, and had pushed through worse than narrow hallways and dark basement stairwells in a London apartment building. He’d get through this, though he’d sweat it a bit.

  Kotler took out his phone and turned on the flashlight. Denzel did the same, and the two of them pushed through the doorway, letting the metal grating creak back into place, assisted by a spring-loaded hinge.

  They made their way into the darkness below, their steps echoing on the metal stairs. The light from their phones helped a great deal, showing their path clearly. After just a moment they set foot on solid stone, and looked around to find themselves in a small boiler room. An ancient iron furnace dominated one end of the space, and two sets of washing machines and dryers lined the wall opposite the stairs.

  Kotler was panning the flashlight around the darkened room, and spotted a switch at the base of the stairs. He glanced up, and noted there was another switch at the top, which they had missed on their walk down.

  The switch was a dial—a timer that would turn the lights off after a preset interval.

  No wonder there’s one at the top and one at the bottom, Kotler thought. He had a chill, imagining being down here when that timer ran out, being thrown into pitch black in a place that made the set of Saw look like a Disney theme ride.

  Kotler turned the dial all the way to the top, and a set of fluorescent lights buzzed on, casting the space in a sickly green hue. The ticking from the timer filled the space and echoed oddly, making everything feel all the creepier.

  “Remind me to kiss the woman who does my laundry, when we get home,” Denzel said.

  “This place does make an excellent case for outsourcing,” Kotler replied.

  They turned off the lights on their phones, conserving battery, and looked around in the dim space.

  “So, any sign that he came through here?” Denzel asked.

  Kotler was examining the walls now, running a hand over the stones and brick, trying to find any hint of a secret passage. He also looked closely at the floor, particularly the drain set in its middle, to see if there was a way to get to a tunnel below. Nothing.

  “What about that?” Denzel asked, nodding to the furnace.

  They went to it, and Kotler started searching around its edges. It was massive—a hunk of iron that was at minimum two hundred years old. Over the years, it had been caked and coated in grime and soot, picking up moisture and oils from the air. And within the past twenty years or so, dryer lint could be added to that list. A sheen of fuzz clung to the outside of the furnace, making it look like a stuff animal whose fur had worn through.

  “Still functioning,” Kotler said, approvingly, noting that the furnace had a pilot light burning. “That’s craftsmanship.”

  “Admire it later,” Denzel grumbled. “Could Patel have used it to get out?”

  Kotler shook his head. “No. The pipes going out of it are too narrow.” Kotler gripped one corner of it and gave it a hard yank. “And there’s no way he could have budged it.”

  Denzel let out a sigh. “So, this is a dead end,” he said. “Good. Let’s get out of here. I’m starting to sweat through my suit.”

  Kotler looked at his friend and saw that he wasn’t exaggerating. It was cool here, in the basement, and the humidity was low. Denzel was clearly feeling the pressure of the walls closing in on him, though. His claustrophobia was giving him hell.

  Kotler brushed his hands on his jeans, and nodded. “Let’s go,” he said.

  It was just then that the timer clicked to its last, and the basement was thrown into deep and eerily quiet darkness.

  Denzel let out a curse, and Kotler fumbled
in his pocket for his phone, then stopped short.

  From the angle where they stood, he could see a tiny sliver of light, right at the base of the wall behind where the washers and dryers rested.

  “Wait,” Kotler said. “Do you see that?”

  “I don’t see anything. It’s darker than a well diggers ass crack in here.”

  “Over toward the machines. See that light?”

  It was coming from a gap that would have been completely hidden from anyone standing and doing laundry, even if the lights happened to time out. It would only be visible from this spot, near the furnace. Kotler moved toward it, and heard Denzel do the same.

  “Is that it?” Denzel asked.

  Kotler turned on the light from his phone and stooped to look at the floor behind the dryer, at the base of the wall. There, barely visible, was a tiny gap. Looking closer, Kotler could see that there was an ancient rubber gasket wedged into a seam at floor level. A small bit of it had torn away at some point, allowing light to pass through from the other side.

  There was a clicking sound and the fluorescents flickered back on. Kotler looked up to see Denzel, his coat off and draped over his arm, and his tie and collar loosened. He looked pale. “You ok?” Kotler asked.

  “Tell me you found Patel’s passage and I’ll tell you I’m ok.”

  Kotler turned back to the seam, which was much better hidden with the lights on. He felt around at the base of the wall, and after a moment his fingers encountered a metal switch, hidden in a recess near the floor. He pressed this, and there was a loud click, then the bricks of the wall swung inward.

  A door, camouflaged to look like the wall. The entrance that opened was around four-foot-high, and just over two-foot-wide, and was only partially blocked by one of the dryers.

  Denzel bent down next to Kotler, and the two of them considered the narrow passage. There was a string of modern work lights hung from hooks, running the length of the passage until they disappeared as the floor and ceiling curved upward and out of sight.

  “Looks like a long crawl,” Denzel said.

  “It opens up enough for us to stand and walk, on the other side,” Kotler replied. He looked at his friend, who had looked better. This wouldn’t be the first narrow passage they’d found themselves in together, but at least this one had lighting.