Final Ride Page 4

  To build a high-tech office building right smack dab in the heart of Charleneland would detract from the magic people expect when they visit the park, so when constructing the park every measure was taken to hide the administrative and other buildings in plain sight. We are always close to where the action is, even though visitors have no idea we’re even there.

  The small cart screeched to a halt at the back entrance to the security headquarters and Leo, Blane and I climbed out. We strode into the building and immediately made our way to my office.

  While I booted up my computer, Leo picked up the phone and had Catina Tooling, our resident security camera whiz, pull up park security footage.

  There was a tap at the door and Dylan strode in. “I saw the images,” he said, looking visibly shaken. “I just can’t believe what happened!”

  ”Yeah, you better believe it,” Leo grunted. “This is happening, and we need to stop it in its tracks before it takes the rest of this park down with it.”

  We all huddled at my side of the desk while I tapped a few keys. The screen divided up into the several feeds from the Body Wrench ride. Like all of our rides and attractions, the rollercoaster was covered from every angle by CCTV, all feeding into our server center at the compound. I sped through the time sequence to find the moment the ride had fallen apart and we watched, in shock and awe, as the event happened at precisely ten o’clock on the dot.

  ”My God,” Blane muttered. “This could have gone way, way worse.”

  ”This could have cost a dozen people their lives,” Leo confirmed. “Now go back,” he instructed.

  I hit the button to scroll back through the footage until we hit the spot the track was tampered with. I expected it to take a long time, as the perpetrator probably had gained access to the ride under the cloak of darkness, when the park was emptied out, only a skeleton crew of guards walking the perimeter.

  “It’s probably a team of perpetrators,” Blane said as the footage sped back. “No way can a single person cut out a piece of track like that.”

  ”I wouldn’t say that,” said Leo. “All you need to do is unscrew a few bolts, cut through a few girders and you’re set. Gravity and the weight of the train rumbling over the track will do the rest.”

  “That train wasn’t the first one to thunder over that piece of track,” I explained to Blane. “According to the operator he’d already sent half a dozen trains up before the incident happened. Those trains further destabilized the structure, causing it finally to collapse.”

  Dylan blew out a whistle through his teeth. “We had a very narrow escape there, you guys. Any of those trains could have been flung off the track and crash-landed in the row of people waiting in line.”

  I nodded. “This could have been a regular bloodbath.”

  “Well, I’ll be…” Leo muttered, pointing a stubby finger at the screen. I saw it too, now. We all did. The screens were blank. All of them.

  “What’s going on?” asked Dylan, confused.

  I hit play and we watched four screens of white noise. “Someone erased the footage,” I said slowly.

  “I don’t believe this,” said Leo, dragging his fingers through his mane.

  Blane stabbed a finger at the top right corner. “Is that the time stamp?”

  I nodded, squinting at the screen. “Three o’clock.” I scrolled back some more. When the timer hit two o’clock the screens became animated again, displaying the Body Wrench, lit up by a full moon. Scrolling forward again, it took me until three o’clock to see the imagery restored. One hour had been erased from the digital video databank. One hour in which someone had messed with our main rollercoaster, setting it up for self-destruction.

  I leaned back in my chair. The room was plunged into silence as we all stared at the screen.

  “Can you compare a before and after of the damaged spot?” asked Blane.

  I went to work, figuring out which camera offered the best view of the spot indicated. I brought it up to full screen, tapping the time into the finder window, the software snapping to the image from before the sabotage, then to the image from three o’clock.

  “Too dark,” Leo determined. “I don’t see a difference.”

  But Dylan’s eyes were better than the old security chief’s. “Look,” he said, excitement lacing his voice in spite of the seriousness of the situation. “There’s a piece sticking out.”

  I toggled between the before and after images, and then I saw it, too. A piece of girder was dangling down, proof that our saboteur had been at work.

  “So at least we know when he struck,” said Blane. “Now all we need to do is figure out who the bastard is.”

  “Ask Catina to check the footage of the entire park for the whole night,” I told Leo. “Whoever did this, they didn’t fly in with an Iron Man suit. They must have been caught on some camera somewhere.”

  “Great thinking, Mia,” said Leo. “I’m on it.”

  “And while you’re at it,” said Blane, “maybe she can check for anyone hanging around the Rusty Spur. Whoever put those bullets in Garrett and Steve’s guns is probably the same one who sabotaged the Body Wrench.”

  It was with a look of determination that Leo waltzed out of my office. Like he said, we were going to catch this bastard. Before he did any more damage. If he hadn’t already.

  Chapter 12

  Dylan shook his head. “I can’t believe this is happening. First the kid and now this?”

  “You better believe it,” I said, getting up to stretch my legs. “It’s happening.”

  I looked over to Blane and he nodded. Time to get out of here and investigate Steve’s death. Leo could deal with the Body Wrench for now, while Dad talked to the rest of the family and figured out how to move forward.

  We crossed the open architecture space where a dozen of my staff were ensconced behind their desks, monitoring feeds and keeping the park secure.

  “Mia! Blane!”

  I looked over to where the cries had originated, and saw that Leo stood beckoning us over. He seemed agitated, his ruddy face ruddier than usual.

  We hurried over, Dylan one step behind us.

  Leo stood hunched over the desk of a petite brunette with a worried look on her angular face.

  “Hit it, Catina,” said Leo. “Show them what you just showed me.”

  I saw that Catina’s twin computer screens were divided into video feeds, just like mine had been. Only her screens showed dozens of them, possibly hundreds. The feeds showed the park at night, barely lit by the full moon.

  ”Watch this,” said Leo.

  Catina hit play and suddenly all the screens went blank, displaying the same white noise we’d seen on my monitor.

  “What are we looking at here?” asked Blane.

  ”All the cameras were switched off,” I said quietly. “Every single one.”

  “From two to three. A one-hour time segment missing from the database,” said Leo. “Whoever did this had access to our security system, Mia.”

  I cursed under my breath. This was getting worse and worse. “But how is that even possible? Don’t we have systems in place to prevent such a thing?”

  “We do, but whoever did this must have found a way around them.”

  “You mean like, hacked into our servers or something?”

  He nodded grimly. “Either that, or this was an inside job.”

  We all glanced around, at the hubbub of noise and sound from my staff. Dozens of people all busily making sure that visitors and personnel at Charleneland were kept safe from harm. Was it possible? Was it possible that one of them was responsible for this? It was hard to believe, so I shook my head.

  “Let’s focus on the angle that someone hacked our system.”

  “Yeah,” Leo chimed in. “We all know that no computer system is safe these days. These people can hack into any system, anywhere, even remotely.” He turned to Catina. “Can you check the logs and see if we had any unwanted visitors last night?”

  “
Will do, Chief,” she said with a serious nod. “Though if they’re good, they might not have left a trace.”

  “Try to find something, will you? If anyone can, it’s you. Lord knows this computer stuff is like an alien technology to an old fogey like me.”

  I gave Leo a grin. “I’m not that old, and it’s pretty much a mystery to me, too.”

  “And me,” Blane admitted with a sigh.

  “Yeah, and don’t look at me,” said Dylan. “I can’t even figure out how to install a new app on my iPhone.”

  “You have an iPhone?” Leo asked. “We must be paying you too much.”

  “Mom and Dad bought me one last Christmas,” said Dylan, as he and Leo made their way to the latter’s office. “I’m still trying to work out how to put my favorite tunes on the damn thing. Do you have to go through iTunes?”

  “Don’t look at me,” said Leo. “I still have a record player at home.”

  “A record player, Chief? What’s that?”

  With a smile, I picked my way along the desks, Blane on my heels. Time to figure out who was responsible for Steve Geyser’s death.

  Chapter 13

  Once again, we took the cart to take us to the other side of Charleneland. This time I was the designated driver and Blane was my passenger.

  “So where are we going, exactly?” he asked, holding onto the iron bar on the dash while I expertly navigated the asphalt pathway that had been designed for in-park traffic.

  We passed a crew of technicians who were working on the Haunted Ride, which had been out of order since a kid had reached for one of the ghosts and had managed to get lifted clear of his car, then had tumbled down, wrecking part of the ride. A food truck driver gave me a wave and I waved back.

  “The main building,” I explained. “Talk to the technician in charge of pyrotechnics.”

  Blane nodded, a little white around the nostrils as I took a curve.

  “Do you think your family will agree to close down the park?”

  I heaved a sigh. “I’m not sure we will have a say in the matter, to be honest.” I hadn’t wanted to tell my dad, but the moment the inspectors got involved, our fate was in their hands. “We’ll have to see what ART says.”

  “ART?”

  “Amusement Ride and Tramway Unit. They’re a division of OSHA.”

  “Occupational Safety and Health.”

  “Yeah. They’re the ones who have final say.”

  “Maybe it’s for the best. When rollercoasters start falling apart and extras get shot, maybe it’s a good idea to evacuate the park and figure out what’s going on.”

  “The thing is, we can just as easily figure out what’s going on without closing down the park,” I said, siding with my father on this. “Dad was right. The moment we close down the park, there’s no telling when we reopen. Or even if we reopen.”

  “And why is that, exactly?”

  “We’re sending home three thousand people who work here. If we close down for months, most of them will have found work elsewhere, and won’t be available when we reopen. We might end up losing some of our best people—people who’ve been with us since the park opened in 1993. And then there’s the perception in the public eye. A park that’s been shut down isn’t as attractive as one that’s managed to stay open. Closing the park is conceding something is seriously wrong at Charleneland. Sending a message we can’t guarantee people’s safety. We’ll never attract the crowds we do now. It might take us years to recover—if ever.”

  “In other words, it’s a big risk,” he said, nodding.

  “And my family’s livelihood.”

  I could just imagine how Charlene would react. She’d never seen the park go dark since she launched the place over two decades ago. It would be a huge shock to her to see her life’s work take a hit like this.

  We’d arrived at the main building, which was located in the heart of Chinatown, in a Chinese-style pagoda. On the ground floor was a Chinese restaurant. What the public didn’t know was that the second floor housed management, human resources and admin while the basement provided a home to the dozens and dozens of engineers and technicians who made sure the park ran smoothly and safely.

  We took the elevator down. The cab jerked to a stop, the doors opening onto what looked like a concrete bunker. Everywhere people were hard at work. There was a workshop located here, where new toys and gimmicks were being made. The computer department custom-made all the computer hardware that ran the park, from the motherboards up. All the rides were equipped with state-of-the-art navigation and audio systems, all made in-house in this lab, all made possible by the technical wizards we employed.

  “Dang. It’s like a scene from a James Bond movie,” said Blane. “Do you have a Q here, testing out all kinds of gadgets?”

  I smiled with pride. “It takes a lot of great minds to run an amusement park.”

  “I can see that,” he said, as he watched a huge mechanical clone of Charlene sing one of her most famous songs: ‘My heart is a Pump that Pumps Only for You (Boom Boom).’

  “We’re putting that at the entrance to the park,” I explained. “Each time someone deposits something in the trashcan, Charlene will sing that song. To encourage people not to litter.”

  I wasn’t sure Charlene would be too fond of the idea, but we’d tested it out with a smaller model and it worked like magic. Kids even picked up litter from the street to dump it down Charlene’s throat, fascinated by the lifelike appearance of the puppetry. One of our engineers had gotten the idea when he visited a theme park in Holland, where he was vacationing with his wife.

  We walked past a huge desk where a bunch of mermaids had been placed, one guy studiously working on what looked like a mechanical brain with a stick welder—sparks flying. “Don’t tell me,” Blane said. “They can sing, too?”

  “Of course they can. They’re the mermaids that are rumored to enchant and trick fishermen. We’re putting them in the Water World section.”

  Blane shook his head. “Amazing.”

  We’d arrived at a small conference room at the back, and I waved at a stringy young guy refilling his cup. “Juan,” I said. “Do you have a minute?”

  Juan stiffened and walked over, a little cagey. “What did I do?” he asked.

  I smiled to put him at ease. Along with Leo, I represented law and order at Charleneland, and whenever I sat down with anyone, they usually assumed it was to be castigated for some infraction. I held the door for him. “This is Detective Blane Jamison. He’s with the Sapsucker PD.”

  His eyes widened in fear as he walked into the conference room. The lights automatically flickered on and I closed the door behind us.

  “What’s this about?” he asked, taking his coffee cup in an iron grip.

  “Relax, Juan,” I said, inviting him to take a seat while I did the same.

  Blane, true to his custom, decided to walk the perimeter of the room, taking in the cavernous space that stretched out beyond the floor-to-ceiling glass wall of the conference room. Without turning, he said, “We want to talk to you about the murder of Steve Geyser, Juan.”

  Chapter 14

  Juan expelled an utterance that sounded a lot like ‘Eek!’

  “I didn’t do it—whatever happened—I didn’t do it!” he stammered.

  I tried another smile. One designed to put the high-strung technician at ease. “We’re not saying you did, Juan. We’re just trying to puzzle together what happened that led to Steve’s death.”

  Blane turned around. “Did you know Steve, Juan?”

  “I’d seen him around. Good-looking kid. He could have been a model or something.”

  “Did you put the bullets in the gun that killed him?”

  Juan gulped, his freckled face suffused with color. “I suppose so.”

  Blane finally took a seat. “Just tell us in your own words what happened.”

  I could see how he was great at this interrogation thing, which was probably a big part of his job.

 
“There’s nothing to tell, Detective. I’m in charge of pyrotechnics—making sure guns are loaded and—” He halted, realizing his injudicious choice of words. “I mean, I go around every night, after the place shuts down, replacing spent cartridges, resetting squibs, reloading the cannons on the Red Sparrow and the HMS Scarborough.”

  Blane frowned. “HMS Scarborough?”

  “The ship?”

  “We have a schooner in a lagoon in Pirate Lair,” I explained. “Right next to it is a regular pirate’s ship and every hour, on the hour, we have a big light show with lots of pyrotechnics and cast members dressed like pirates attacking cast members dressed like British naval officers. It’s a lot of fun.”

  Juan’s eyes darted from me to Blane. He shuffled in his seat. “So yeah, I checked the revolvers at the Rusty Spur, same way I do every day. I loaded them with fresh blanks. Blanks, you understand. I would never put actual bullets in those revolvers. I mean, where would I even get them? We don’t have actual bullets down here at Alpha Centauri.”

  Blane gave him a blank look.

  “It’s from Avatar,” Juan explained. “It’s what we call this place.”

  “Right,” said Blane dubiously. “No bullets at Alpha Centauri.”

  “Only blanks,” Juan said helpfully.

  Blane leaned forward. “Look, we’re not accusing you of anything, Juan. We just need to know what happened. Where would anyone find the bullets to fit those guns? Are they even real guns? Obviously they can fire real bullets.”

  “Oh, sure,” said Juan, his long fingers tapping the conference room table. Two of his fingers were bandaged and one of the others was missing a nail. Came with the job of being in charge of pyrotechnics and everything that went boom. “I mean, blanks are bullets, just without the dangerous part. They contain gunpowder, just like a regular bullet, only they miss the pointy end that kills. They just make a lot of noise. My bullets never kill,” he added emphatically.