Twisted All To Hell

by J E Moore

to get anything outta this one! Let's get outta here," and quickly exited the front door without incident.

  "They must have been the two who left in a hurry after the local police officers applied deadly force," assessed Bruce.

  "I agree," as the deputy scanned the horizon. He saw a convoy of red and blue flashing lights barreling toward them about four miles away. "Time to move on, kid. This scene is going to get a whole lot messier and we could get tied up here for the rest of the day." Jack waved Goodbye and bade Thanks to the C.S.P. officers then hopped into their exclusive transport which had been waiting in the hovercraft mode. The craft shot up five hundred feet, locked in its thrusters and sped away at mach one in sixty seconds. Jack's last glimpse showed thirty-some vehicles beginning to surround the roadhouse. "I forgot to call Kitty didn't I? I am so remiss. Would you please inform her of our present whereabouts and to release the identity of Fredrik Johannsen?" He smirked, "We want to play by the rules, right?" He then leaned back for a quick power nap during the one hour ride home. "Let the games begin."

  The next morning when Jack arrived at his office he found more changes had been made. There were additional computers and peripheral equipment, another female staff member and five gentlemen waiting to speak to him an adjacent room. He morning'd the newbe then quietly asked, "What's up?" to Bruce who shrugged his shoulders.

  "May I introduce you, sir to Ms. Rachel Hightower our new Administrative Assistant? She will coordinate interagency relations and control access to our headquarters."

  Crenshaw shook her hand and said, "Welcome aboard." She gave a condescending nod in return.

  "Neat," remarked Jack. "I see people still like to rearrange our furniture at night." He checked out the five waiting gentlemen in the newly constructed conference room, one of whom was his boss, the Marshal, Frank Weaver. "Good thing they gave us plenty of floor space at the beginning."

  With the second bit of verifiable intelligence having been forwarded from Crenshaw's office he now had become a valuable asset in the loop. People were calling and knocking on the door. Jack pulled Bruce aside again while waving at the waiting men, "What else you got for me?"

  Bruce whispered, "Ms. Hightower is a spy from the Bureau. She's mid-level management from California." He nodded toward the five men, "They're from Homeland Security, the National Security Agency, F.B.I., N.A.S.A. and of course, your own Marshall. They've come to visit us for a friendly update, a.k.a. a debriefing. As you would say sir, to suck your freaking brains out. They want to know how you found Johannsen, what else we're hiding and especially what we're going to do next."

  "Fine inquiring minds all, I'm sure," guffawed Jack. "I'll be happy to brainstorm and cooperate in the same manner as they would do for me if I went to them."

  Weaver, who sat at the head of the table said, "As you can see my hand-picked deputy under my personal supervision has made tremendous strides..." Rachel opened the door. "Ah, Jack, come in my boy and join us. I've just been updating these gentlemen regarding our search plan. You may take over now, son."

  Thirty minutes later the visitors terminated the meeting after having deduced the deputy marshal's accomplishments had been obtained on pure luck and he didn't have any real investigative skills per se or a relevant plan. Weaver gave him a wink of approval as the panel of interrogators departed the premises. Jack acknowledged, "I think that went well, sir."

  A week later

  Crenshaw and Whitaker had resorted to coming to the office at six a.m. to discuss in private the sensitive material of the last several days. Jack would be reading the newspaper and Bruce pouring over interagency releases when the female Bureau spy arrived. If they had anything important to discuss they'd go to lunch with locked docucases and use the subway to elude possible followers.

  "There's been a new development, sir... er, Jack. Another person on my list has gone missing," informed Bruce. Crenshaw nodded. "A mathematician, Robert Baldreed of Boise, Idaho."

  "A schoolteacher from the potato state?" questioned Jack. "Why is he on the list? Is he related to one of the other three?"

  "No, he's an authority on 'Proofs' which is the foundation of all advanced mathematics. He is reputed to be the best of the best and has toured the world lecturing and presenting analytical math applications."

  "And Boise?"

  "He was born there, is presently semi-retired and maintains contact with dozens of former students who are the backbone of many high-tech industries including aerospace."

  "Well, there's no need for a field trip if there ain't no one home, dead or alive. But the location of his absence points out something important." Crenshaw whipped out a map of North America. "Look at this bee-line from Mexico toward the northwest corner of the U.S., Alaska." After Whitaker concurred Jack asked, "By the way, did you see the headlines in the Denver Chronicle? It seems the Durango County police with the assistance of the Colorado State troopers apprehended a dozen wanted felons at some dumpy biker bar. Amazing, there's no mention of the Bureau or any other of our associates. Magnanimous of them wasn't it?" Jack slapped his knee, "Those foolish people. The Bandits will spread the word and any lawman entering a roadhouse anywhere in the country without an army behind him will be gutted like a pig. Idiots!" Jack looked about without focusing on anything in particular. "By the way Bruce, do you think I'm a glory seeker?"

  The F.B.I. agent measured his response, "No sir, especially after Colorado. I feel you are keeping us free from being constrained by interagency politics. Your objective is to complete your assignment as expeditiously as possible without bureaucratic entanglements."

  "Damn straight, Sunshine. Now let's determine our next move."

  "So, we now have a different trio of brainy geeks, Atwater, Gunderson, and Baldreed. We lost the a fourth Techie in Colorado. The question is, is there any reason for them to continue moving northwest? And I believe the answer lies in your list of interesting people again. Atwater's brother, Marc, lives in Tacoma, Washington. But they could spin off in another direction to pick up a friend of the other two. Is your list up to date? Does it cover Baldreed's contacts?" Bruce indicated, 'no'. "We'll have to get on that right away. I'm sure our new Admin Assistant would love to do more than just answer phones and peek over our shoulders. We'll have her help us on this," and winked. "But between you and I, let's assume he's headed for his brother. That may be a good place for us to lay a trap."

  "Us and the other hundred field agents hidden there already," countered Bruce. "They've had him buttoned-up since two weeks after Louis went missing. Even the C.I.A. has a team involved."

  "I didn't see that on the wire... but of course it makes sense." Speaking in Rachel's direction, "I can't believe the Bureau would be hiding something from the rest of us." She dropped her eyes and fiddled with some paperwork. "Still, my money is on the brainiacs. If they really want to get to him they will. By the way, what does this guy do?"

  "Marc Atwater is a Methodist minister who has a master's degree in biology in addition to his theological one."

  "Odd combination," reflected the deputy.

  "Not necessarily," advised Whitaker. "A large number of elite scientists and mathematicians though the centuries have maintained math and science actually verifies the existence of an all-powerful deity, what we call a god. They postulate the Universe is a perfect, balanced equation of elements and energy without contradictions. Without these 'proofs' there would be chaos and no life. Our fugitives understand these laws."

  "An interesting concept but I don't think I'm smart enough to figure out how it's all put together," confessed Jack. "Getting back to our little Universe, I guess we'll have to see how Tacoma plays out and keep a close eye on any news releases which could involve Gunderson or Baldreed."

  Two F.B.I. special agents sat in pew row number five of the Trinity Methodist Church in Tacoma, Washington. "This detail of watching Marc Atwater is one of the easiest I've had." The second agent agreed. "Except, these wooden seats are awfully hard."

  "Must be
to keep the people awake." They both smiled.

  The church's senior deacon took the podium. "And now I take great pleasure to introduce you to our sponsored missionary to Sudan, the Reverend Donald Worthington. He will deliver the sermon today titled, 'Where have you gone, Lord?' Our presiding resident pastor, Reverend Atwater will return for next week's service." The agents shot an alarmed look at each other. The deacon grinned and said to their honored guest, "It must have felt strange arriving here in a flower truck this morning instead of your usual mode of transportation."

  The good natured visitor in turn added, "Indeed, it was a most beautiful experience," as he gestured at the flowers about the alter, "and a whole lot more comfortable than my usual ox cart." Everyone in the congregation laughed except the two agents who popped up like a piece of toast and began running toward the Rectory. They were the only coverage assigned this morning because it seemed obvious where Atwater would be. They burst through the Rectory doors; the room was unoccupied. They raced back to the podium and interrupted the deacon's and missionary's bantering about the two rude men who just ran away from listening to the guest speaker's message.

  "Where's Atwater!" shouted the first agent.

  Startled by their hostile abruptness the deacon sputtered,