Page 100 of Identity Unknown

“Sounds like they don’t want people knowing they have a presence around here.” Marino shifts the truck into park, both of us staring out the windshield at the enormous windowless structure. “Shit. You could probably fit a couple of football fields in there.”

“And whatever’s going on was of interest to Sal. Very keen interest,” I reply. “Or he wouldn’t have led us here. There’s something he wants us to know.”

Around us are several dozen SUVs and pickup trucks, and by all indications there are employees working inside Bando Solutions. We’re uninvited and have been picked up by the security cameras. Right now, there are two choices as I see it. We can turn around and leave. Or we can walk inside and ask a few honest questions.

“Come on.” I open my door. “The worst they can do is tell us to get lost. I don’t think anybody’s going to shoot us in here.”

“I’d say that’s a safe bet.” Marino checks the Colt, making sure a round is chambered, putting the safety on. “But I’m bringing my friend all the same.”

He slides the pistol into the pancake holster, clipping it to his waist. We climb out of the Raptor, its gleaming black paint coated in the tenacious dust. He points the remote, locking the truck as we walk toward the entrance. The door opens before we reach it, and a young man steps outside unzipping his dusty white coveralls, taking off his safety goggles, his hair cover.

“Afternoon.” He digs out a pack of cigarettes, lighting up as we head toward him.

“How’s it going?” Marino asks.

“Can I help you with something?” He eyes us curiously with a glint of anxiety. “Are you looking for someone?”

CHAPTER 36

In his thirties, I’m guessing, the man has a heavy Japanese accent and a crew cut, the backs of his hands tattooed.

“We’re here about Sal Giordano.” I come right out and say it.

“Is there someone in particular you’re meeting?” The man smokes the cigarette, leaning against a pillar supporting the entrance’s overhang.

“How about we start with you,” Marino suggests, and the man shrugs, a shadow of uneasiness touching his face.

“It’s awful what happened to him.” He squints at us through cigarette smoke.

“How well did you know him?” Marino asks.

“I’d see him when he’d stop by. It wasn’t all that often. Who am I talking to?”

Digging out his wallet, Marino flashes his bright gold badge, and I do the same, playing the role of his partner like I did long years ago. We introduce ourselves, and the man’s first name is Daku. He almost seems relieved to see us while at the same time visibly nervous.

“We’re investigating Sal Giordano’s death,” Marino explains before I get the chance, reverting back to lead detective mode as if he never left it.

“Like I said, it’s horrible,” Daku replies. “But I don’t know anything about it except what’s been in the news.”

“But you know something, don’t you,” Marino states rather than asks. “I mean, you know why he’d been coming here since last summer. Let’s hear your version instead of somebody else’s. Or you can wait until the feds are crawling all over the place.”

“I know that Doctor Giordano was fired up about what he was doing.” Daku begins to talk as if he needs to get it out. “It was his life’s passion, and I felt kind of bad for him, truth is. I didn’t want to discourage him, though.”

“About what?” I ask.

“He was well aware how many patents out there never see the light of day,” Daku replies. “I’m assuming that’s what you’re curious about. What he was doing here right before he died.”

“It was one of the last places he stopped before being abducted and killed,” Marino says.

“When I heard about it I was shocked.” Daku takes another hit on the cigarette.

“What patent are we talking about?” I ask him.

“Let me guess,” Marino says. “Something to do with fake moon dust.”

“We don’t use the wordfakearound here.” Daku taps an ash. “Obviously, you know about Doctor Giordano’s research and what a cool idea it is even if it never comes to anything.”

“What patent are you talking about?” I again ask.

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