Stop at Nothing

by Michael Ledwidge

  The Surmount? she thought.

  Then the 5-hour ENERGY started to work.

  She remembered.

  The Surmount. The coast guard. The crazy plane everyone was being weird about.

  Her sneaking off the naval base.

  Oh, shit, she thought.

  “Guy sounded young,” Wally said. “Don’t tell me you’re robbing the cradle.”

  She remembered the cute young diver. What was his name again? Steve. Steve Vance. Fan of deep dives and green shamrock tattoos.

  And unauthorized GoPro videos.

  Oh, shit, she thought again.

  “What’s the number?” Ruby said.

  26

  “Hello,” said a hushed voice, picking up on the first ring.

  “Hi, this is Lieutenant Everett from Naval Safety. My office just called. You wanted to speak to me?”

  “Hold up,” the voice said.

  Ruby ripped open the second 5-hour ENERGY. It was empty when she placed it down into the Kia’s drink holder.

  “Hello?” the voice said.

  “Yes? This is Ruby Everett. Is this you, Steve?”

  “No, this isn’t Steve. My name is... Screw it, I won’t even say in case they’re listening.”

  Listening? Ruby thought.

  “Listening? Who’s listening?” she said.

  “It doesn’t matter,” the voice said. “We met on the deck of the Surmount. You said to Steve, ‘Can you go deeper?’ and I said like a jackass, ‘You’d be amazed.’”

  Ah, yes, the deck ape, Ruby remembered.

  “Now listen to me very carefully,” he said. “They took Steve.”

  Ruby stared at the steering wheel as she tried to absorb the statement. She glanced at the empty parking lot asphalt, at the traffic going by on Interstate 10.

  “Took him?”

  “Yes. The government took him. He’s been medically quarantined, they said. Whatever the hell that is. But no one knows where he is. It’s like he’s been swallowed into a black hole.”

  Ruby held the phone, silently trying to understand. She was having trouble. She tried to think despite her exhaustion.

  “Wait. Slow down. Where are you now?” she finally said. “Still at the base?”

  “Yes. They have us in a dormitory now. Tuesday, around five, they started interrogating all of us about the crash. Lie detector tests. They were complete pricks. They threatened us with jail time if we failed the test.”

  “Who were they? Military investigators?”

  “No. Some Washington stuffed shirts. FBI agents or something. They wouldn’t say. You should have seen how badly they treated us. They took us all into this disgusting prison cell. Asked us if we took anything from the crash site. If we knew anyone who was hiding anything they might have found. I feel like suing them.

  “Now they’re saying we’re all quarantined due to some virus going around. But that’s bullshit. None of us are sick. But that doesn’t matter. We have to find Steve. Everybody came back except for him. They claim he’s really sick and is being treated at a hospital nearby. It’s complete shit. It’s all lies. He’s been secretly arrested or something.”

  “C’mon,” Ruby said. “For real? Is this a joke?”

  “I wish. Shit, wait! Someone’s coming,” the deck ape said quickly. “I have to go. Listen, there’s a guy in New York you need to contact for us. An independent investigative reporter. We told him what’s going on, but he needs corroboration, more info from a credible source. Here, take down this number. You got a pen?”

  “Wait. No. Listen. You don’t want me. I’m actually off this,” Ruby said. “I’m on leave now. You need to contact my coworker down there. His name is Mark Thanh. He’s in charge now. He relieved me yesterday. Are you in contact with him?”

  “What are you talking about? There’s nobody here except us. It’s just our crew.”

  Ruby took a deep breath, trying not to lose her patience.

  “You need to talk to Mark Thanh. I know he’s there. I saw him myself. He drove me to the airport. He’s a wiseass Asian guy from New York?”

  “I don’t have a damn clue who you’re talking about,” the deck ape said in a kind of plea, emotional now. “Please. We haven’t seen him. We haven’t seen anyone. There’s nobody else down here. Please take down this number quick. I don’t know if they’re listening.”

  Ruby rifled through her glove box.

  “Okay. Shoot.”

  “The reporter’s name is Eric Wheldon,” he said after she had taken the number down. “You can see him on YouTube. He has a channel.”

  “An internet reporter? You mean like some conspiracy guy or something?”

  “He’s the real deal, Lieutenant. He works with a lot of whistle-blowers, especially military. One of the guys here had a brother in the merchant marines, and he was screwed until he told Wheldon, who got the story in the Washington Post.”

  “I don’t know if I can do that,” Ruby said.

  “You need to talk to him and verify everything you know about the crash and how they got us stuck here on the base and especially that Steve is missing, okay? Contact him, please. I have to go.”

  “I really don’t think I can help you,” Ruby said.

  “You have to. You’re the only one who can,” the deck ape said.

  Then the line went dead.

  27

  “Hey, Wally,” Ruby said into her phone as she pulled from the parking lot out onto the Dixie Highway.

  “What’s up, Rube?”

  “Have you heard from Mark since he relieved me?” she said.

  “Mark? No, not since he got sick down at that base you guys were at.”

  She stopped abruptly as she almost went through the red light.

  “Hey, wait. You feeling okay? You’re not sick, too, are you?” Wally said.

  What the hell was going on? she thought.

  “Ruby?” Wally said.

  “No, I’m fine,” Ruby said. “What’s the matter with Mark?”

  “Apparently, he’s got a really bad flu or something, they said. He can’t even come home because of a quarantine now. Something like that. That’s what the boss told me. I thought you knew.”

  “Did we send another team?” she said.

  “No. Jackie and Irrizarri just got back. They wouldn’t even let them on the base. They’re postponing the entire investigation until after the doctors clear the base.”

  Ruby remembered the diver’s video. The old polished businessman. The tougher-looking middle-aged guy. The younger scruffy kid with the headphones. The black guy with the hoodie.

  What in hell was on that plane? she thought as her phone started pulsing with a new incoming call.

  “Thanks, Wally. I’ll call you back,” Ruby said abruptly.

  “Hello, is this Lieutenant Everett?” said a new voice.

  It was a man’s voice. An older man now. Not the deck ape.

  A horn suddenly honked from behind her because the light had turned green.

  Ruby screeched off the strip road into an empty Chick-fil-A parking lot and stopped.

  “Who the hell is this?” Ruby said.

  “My name is Eric Wheldon. I’m a reporter. I got your number from the Surmount crew. You’re in Naval Safety, right? You went to investigate the crash in the Bahamas?”

  She suddenly felt dizzy. How could this be happening? What was she supposed to say?

  “I don’t know how you got my number,” Ruby said, “but I can’t help you, sir. Please don’t call me again.”

  “Lieutenant,” Wheldon said calmly. “Please don’t hang up. I know. A reporter calls out of the blue. Panic time. But it’s not like that. Let me explain.”

  Ruby sighed.

  “I used to work for the State Department,” Wheldon said. “I
quit when I witnessed some very corrupt behavior by the federal government. Then I worked as a reporter for a major paper and saw a lot of covering up of that same exact corruption, so I quit that, too. Since then, I’ve been reporting on my own and helping whistle-blowers to get their stories out to the public.”

  “I’m sorry,” Ruby said. “This is too much. I didn’t get any sleep last night. I’m about to drop. I—”

  “I understand,” Wheldon said. “All right if I call you back this afternoon? It’ll give you time to see my work on my YouTube channel. Bottom line, I think something serious is going on with that ship and crew. Especially with the rescue diver who saw the plane. They seem to have renditioned him.”

  “They what?” Ruby said.

  “Taken him off base to a secret black site. A different country, most likely, for forced interrogation.”

  What in the hell? Ruby thought, struggling to keep up.

  “What was up with that crashed plane, Lieutenant?” Wheldon said. “Steve dived down and saw it. Now Steve is gone. I’m thinking there’s a connection there.”

  “Listen, Mr. Wheldon,” Ruby said, rubbing at her forehead. “Let’s get something straight. I’m no longer assigned to this investigation. I can’t be of any help to you.”

  “Too much too soon,” Wheldon said. “Okay, I understand, Lieutenant. If you would just check out my videos and see what I do. Then you can call me back.”

  “I have to go,” Ruby said.

  “Just one thing, though. If you talk to anyone, talk to me. Whatever you say to the so-called ‘real press’ will go straight to the people doing this. It happens every single time. They don’t protect sources anymore. Industry wide, they’re under pressure from the government. They’ll roll on you so quick it’ll make your head spin.”

  “I have to go now,” Ruby said again, suddenly desperate to get off the phone.

  “Lieutenant, one more thing. If you don’t want them to track you, take your battery out of your phone. They can still follow you by the cell towers if the battery is still in it.”

  “Track me? Me? What did I do? Who would track me?” Ruby said, incredulous.

  “They, Lieutenant. There really is a They. You’re about to find that out, I think. When you do, call me first thing, okay? I can help you,” Wheldon said.

  28

  Gannon’s noon flight out of North Eleuthera was only an hour to Miami. But he had to wait two more hours for the connecting flight, so he didn’t get into Tampa until almost five.

  At six, he was sitting at a bar in Tampa’s Airside C terminal when he saw his son coming through the crowd in front of the food court.

  Gannon stood, smiling. Declan was fair-haired like he was but stood several inches taller at an impressive six foot three. He had actually filled out a little, too, Gannon noticed proudly as he came over. He was thicker at the shoulders, at the neck.

  Gannon wasn’t a hugger, yet he found himself hugging his strapping son right there in the middle of the bright bustling concourse.

  He held him for a second after, looking at him. His mother’s straight nose, her hazel eyes. Gannon smiled as he remembered him as a hyperactive kid, holding him on his knee for hours at family events so he wouldn’t take down the Christmas tree. It had been six months since he’d last seen him.

  Then he thought about his wife, Annette, who had died when Declan was just a freshman in high school.

  How proud would she be of this solid young man here? he thought. Just beside herself, he knew. Over the moon.

  Especially about the tryout. How many times had he come home from work to see them in the backyard hitting Wiffle balls to each other. She had actually been the biggest baseball fan in their family.

  “Look at you, huh?” Gannon said, finally letting him go. “You weren’t kidding about working out, were you? You’re a monster. You’re like hugging a soda machine.”

  “Dad, I can’t begin to thank you for all of this,” his son said, looking out at the concourse. “I mean, look at us. We’re actually doing this!”

  “No worries. You just rest that sweet arm,” Gannon said, patting it gently.

  “Just you wait, Dad. You won’t believe your eyes. When do we leave here, by the way? At seven?”

  “Yeah, a quarter after. It’s a Delta flight. Gate whatever it is over there,” Gannon said, pointing at a cluster of seats to the right. “We go to Atlanta first and should get in to Phoenix around midnight. I couldn’t get a direct flight.”

  “No problem, Dad. Are you kidding me? Direct flight. I’d take a Megabus. I’d just about given up and then here we are right out of the blue.”

  “Yep, it’s right out of the blue all right,” Gannon said, hiding a smile as he took another pull of his beer.

  When Declan left to hit the head, Gannon saw that the gate was filling up with people, so he strolled over to check that their flight was still on time. Declan was already sitting at the bar with two more fresh beers by the time he arrived back.

  “Hey, Dad, look,” he said, pointing at the TV above the bar. “They’re talking about your neck of the woods.”

  Gannon looked up. A cable news channel was playing. On the screen was a petite blonde female reporter with the sparkling blue Caribbean behind her. Gannon’s eyes went wide as he read the caption beneath her.

  Plane Crash in the Bahamas, it said along the bottom of the screen.

  Gannon waved over the bartender.

  “Could you turn that up, please?”

  “What’s up? Did you hear about this?” Declan asked him.

  “A little,” Gannon said, straining to listen.

  “...fifteen nautical miles off the coast of the Bahamian island known as Little Abaco when the US Coast Guard out on long-range patrol out of Miami Beach came upon it.”

  Golly tamale, here we go, Gannon thought, holding his breath as they showed footage of a coast guard cutter.

  “The plane, a Cessna Denali seen here,” the reporter continued as they showed a stock photo of a prop plane, “is a seven-passenger single-engine turboprop with an impeccable service record and a range of eighteen hundred miles.”

  Gannon’s mouth dropped open.

  A Cessna what? A little turboprop? he thought. What the hell were they talking about? It was no prop plane. It was a jet. It was a huge corporate Gulfstream 550 jet.

  Were they talking about another crash? he thought, completely confused.

  “The plane belonged to this couple,” the reporter said as the screen changed to show a skinny curly-haired white guy and a pretty East Indian woman.

  “Ben and Chandra Tholberg of Miami, Florida.”

  Who the hell were they? Gannon thought, even more stunned.

  There was no woman on the jet. It had been men. All men.

  “The Tholbergs, who lived in Coral Gables, had a vacation house in Puerto Rico that they were returning from. Officials said Mr. Tholberg, an account executive at Century Bank and Trust in Coral Gables, had been an experienced pilot, so it will take some time before the mysterious cause of this tragic crash is known. Back to you, Brian.”

  Gannon kept blinking up at the screen even after it cut back to the studio.

  “What’s up, Dad? Did you know them or something?” Declan said.

  Something, Gannon thought, his mind reeling.

  “You okay, Dad?”

  Gannon finally pulled his eyes off the screen and looked around at the airport bar. It had a tiki theme. There was straw on the wall behind the bottles and surfboards everywhere.

  “No,” Gannon finally said, mustering a smile. “I mean, yes. I’m fine. It’s the, um, woman. She looked just like this girl I knew in high school. This aggravating Indian girl who used to sit behind me in math class.”

  He quickly gulped at his beer. He thought about Sergeant Jeremy. What he had said to him about
the FBI poking around, asking questions.

  He had one himself.

  Why would the US government completely lie about a plane crash? he thought, glancing back up at the TV.

  29

  There was heavy evening traffic on the Beltway, so even with the lead car blooping the siren, it took them almost an hour from Dunning’s house to get to the base. The driver had radioed ahead, so the uniformed guards at the gate were at crisp attention as they came right through.

  It turned out to be some pretty perfect timing. Through the tinted window, Reyland could see the lights of the AC-130 turning in the dark sky as they came alongside the hangar. As they slowed just beside the tarmac, Emerson, riding shotgun with the driver, turned to see if he should open the door, but Reyland shook his head.

  “I’ve been meaning to ask you something, Mr. Reyland,” Dunning’s very attractive black-haired daughter, Belinda, said as they stopped.

  She was sitting opposite from him across the rear of the limo beside her devastated mother, Catherine.

  Reyland folded his hands in the blue serge lap of his Brooks Brothers suit.

  “Please, like I said, anything,” Reyland said.

  “I know you’ve told Mother here, but I’d like to hear it from you. How was it that my father died exactly?”

  Reyland blinked at the thirtysomething. She was tall and chic and stunning in her all-black and sunglasses. Like other rich women, she had been a ballerina once and still retained that thin, gracious, model-like comportment.

  A flash of memory came to him. Stopping by Dunning’s villa once with some paperwork, he’d come upon Belinda soaking wet in a white one-piece with her other smoking-hot private high school BFFs by the pool.

  Reyland swallowed.

  “The doctors at the hospital in Rome said it was a massive stroke, Belinda,” he said quietly. “They assured me that he wouldn’t have felt anything. He just went to sleep and that was it.”

  Reyland watched Belinda slowly absorb this.

  “Will we get a chance to see him?” Belinda finally said.