"What do the airport people in the Bahamas say?"
"Nothing. They spent a few days on it, then closed the case. They didn't mention the jet at all, which was curious in itself. According to them there were no other planes in the area…"
"So what do you want me to do exactly?"
"I was just hoping you might be able to tell me which airbase a military jet flying in that airspace could have come from? Then I can contact the public liaison officer at the airfield, and see if he can help me answer my questions."
"So who was the guy who died? Someone important?"
"Could be, we don't know yet. That's one of the things I'm trying to find out." A small lie, but Kerrin had decided to leave out most of the details. It wasn't necessary to get James involved if there was anything dangerous going on…at least not yet. Maybe later.
"Off the cuff, I would guess that the plane could have come from any one of three or four bases." James said. "Listen, I've still got some contacts. Why don't you leave it with me. I'll make a few phone calls tomorrow, and get back to you. It shouldn't take long."
--------------------
Day Nine
The next morning Kerrin spoke for an hour with his wife. He hated leaving her alone, but thankfully nowadays she was so much more independent.
Before the accident Dana had been a software designer. Luckily, her old company had given her a new job where she was able to work from home. She only needed to go into the Washington office once or twice a week, for meetings or to discuss her work with her colleagues. At first Kerrin had been too overprotective towards her. It had taken him longer to come to terms with her disability than she had. Then at Dana's suggestion, they had hired a maid who came round each day and helped out around the house. Knowing she also kept a caring eye on Dana, he didn't feel so bad about leaving her alone for a few days at a time. Which was good, because he was going to have to spend a few more days in Florida.
It was only 10.45am, but already the beachfront at Fort Lauderdale was busy, people cruising the beach front in their open top cars, college kids hanging out on the beach, and runners jogging up and down, trying to burn up the calories and lose a few pounds.
He finished his eggs and hash browns at the street side café, and sat back in his chair with a fresh coffee, trying to plan what he should do next. It was important that he try to separate his personal feelings from what was going on. If he was going to get anywhere, he had to be objective, had to distance himself from what had happened. And at the moment there was no real proof that the explosion that killed Martin was not just an accident.
Kerrin had spoken to his sister late last night, and asked for the addresses and phone numbers of Martin's old work colleagues. The next step was to drive up to Miami and visit their families.
He checked out of his hotel, and then drove to the petrol station and filled up with gas. It was a fantastic day, and on impulse Kerrin decided to take the coast road from Fort Lauderdale to Orlando.
The cell phone in his pocket buzzed, and Kerrin whipped it out.
"Hey DeadEye, it's James. Got some news for you!"
"Already? That's fast!"
"What do you expect? Anything for a pal…anyway, I've got to leave in a minute so I'd better make this quick."
"Okay, so what have you got then?" Kerrin asked, pulling over to the side of the road, and taking out his note book and pen.
"I spoke to one of my friends who still flies in Florida, and he agrees with me that a jet would only be able to cover that area from one of four different airbases, Avon or MacDill in Tampa Bay being the most likely. Anyway, being such a nice guy, I called all of them and spoke to the duty public liaison officers…gave them an official police line, about us investigating the mysterious disappearance of a private jet taking off from Miami…did they have any aircraft operational in the area …and did they see anything on radar at all?"
"And…?"
"Well, it took a while, they all had to make a few checks, but the official line is that none of them had any jets in that area at that time. Nothing. And according to the duty officer at MacDill, there would be no other airfields that would send a jet down there without them knowing about it."
"But, that doesn't make sense…we have an eye witness who saw it!"
"How reliable is the eyewitness? More reliable than Uncle Sam? Officially there was nothing there…Listen, I have to go, is there anything else I can do for you?"
"Actually, now that you ask, there is one more thing…"
Kerrin quickly explained about the suicides he wanted to investigate.
"Woahh, boy. What exactly is going on here? Is there just the slightest possibility that old DeadEye is not telling me everything?"
"Could be. Don't know yet. Anyway, can you get me a copy of the police reports on the suicides…just to look at them?"
"I can't promise anything, but I'll try. I have a friend in the Orlando Homicide department…but you owe me big time, you know that don't you? Anyway, got to rush now boyo. Speak to you later."
It was true. If he could get a look at those files, Kerrin would owe him big time.
--------------------
Major Anders was a little nervous. The public liaison officer at MacDill Air Force base had just left his office. It seems that things were not as clear cut as he had hoped they were.
Regrettably, he knew he should call his contact in New York. He would have to know.
He poked his head out of his office and told his secretary to hold any calls. Returning to his desk, he sat down heavily in his chair and breathed deeply, trying to control himself. When he felt a little calmer, he dialed the number in Manhattan, and waited for the phone to be picked up. Once again, the phone rang quite a few times before it was eventually answered.
"Major Anders, how pleasant it is to speak to you again so soon…" the man said, obviously surprised that he was calling.
"Thank you, sir. I thought it necessary to inform you that the hole-in-one my golf partner scored in his recent round of golf may have had a witness after all!"
"How exactly do you mean?" the voice asked.
"A police officer has been making enquiries…trying to find out if we had any one out playing golf at the time…"
"And did you?"
"No…officially not. We made that very clear…"
"Good."
There was a moment's silence, then the voice continued.
"Perhaps it would be a good idea if you were to transfer your golf partner. Somewhere far away, just in case he were to brag of the hole-in-one to anyone. We wouldn’t want this to go any further, would we?"
"No sir. Absolutely not. I'll see to it right away."
Chapter 7
Orlando
Florida
When Kerrin left the outskirts of Miami, he had the beginnings of a rough plan in his mind. As a policeman turned journalist, over the years he had had his fill of conspiracy theories. Modern America was a paranoid nation. It seemed that every second person in the country believed that around every corner, behind every piece of news, or political event, some sinister conspiracy lay lurking in the shadows. Once upon a time, he too had even believed in such things.
But over the years, Kerrin had seen and been through a lot. From his years on the force, his work at the Post, and living through the pain of the car accident, his views on life had matured faster than most. He no longer believed in the 'greater plan', or the corporate monster wishing to devour and control every waking moment of the free individual. Instead he just believed in life. Day to day life. The fight for survival.
Conspiracy theories were the product of a nation gone mad on science fiction or fantasy magazines, a generation that was no longer able to find satisfaction in the day to day routine of everyday life.
People no longer took the initiative to fill their lives with interesting activities. Instead, happiness came from TV, alcohol or drugs, and when something went wrong with their own lives, when more than one or tw
o bad things happened in quick succession, well …conspiracy theory!
Kerrin wasn't one of those people. It would take a lot for him to accept any form of conspiracy theory. On the face of it though, there did seem to be something fishy about the recent events surrounding the Gen8tyx Company, although he didn't yet know whether or not they were related to the explosion in his brother-in-law's plane. However, it struck him as odd that the air force had denied the existence of any military jets in the vicinity of Martin's plane when it had crashed. Normally the public liaison officers of the USAF would have co-operated openly with the sort of police request for information that James had made.
He thought about that a lot during the drive up to Orlando. The only witness to the jet being there was the testimony of the old fisherman. Reporters and policemen alike go a lot on their gut instinct, and Kerrin had no reason to believe that the old man had made it up. His instinct told him he was telling the truth. So why had the air force denied it? There could only be two reasons.
Firstly, the plane had been there on an exercise and the military could not admit it. Which was strange, because if it had been on a secret exercise it would surely have been easy to admit that 'an exercise had taken place but that they could not discuss the matter further'. That was standard procedure.
All things considered, the likelihood was that when they said there had been no exercises taking place at that time, they had told the truth.
Secondly, the other possibility was that the plane had been there, but no records had been kept of its flight. In which case the liaison officer at the base where the jet came from may not have known about it, and he could have been telling the truth. However, the order to authorize a flight and then make it disappear from the records would have had to come from someone very high up. Someone very high up indeed.
He played with his thoughts, mulling them over in his head as he drove, and the more he thought about it, the more he was convinced that Old Ben had not imagined what he saw.
The natural conclusion was that the plane had been there, but the air force had denied it. Which meant, that if he trusted his reasoning, the records of the flight had been deliberately lost: in other words someone had ordered a flight which the US Air Force kept no record of…
"Conspiracy Theory"…"Conspiracy Theory"…the words echoed in his brain. "Shit, this is getting me nowhere…," he swore to himself.
He pulled into a Denny's and ordered himself a salad and some coffee, sitting himself down in the corner away from the rest of the diners. He needed to think.
Okay, so he was suspicious of the events surrounding his brother-in-law's death, but before he would allow himself to make any link to the deaths of Martin's co-workers, all of which could have perfectly natural explanations, he needed to investigate them for himself.
Even if it did turn out that the team had been murdered and they had not committed suicide, who was to say that it had anything to do with the company they had just left? That would be too obvious.
According to what his sister had told him, there had been six members of the original core team that David Sonderheim, the founder of Gen8tyx, had brought together. Five were now confirmed dead. The other one was missing. If in the next few days he also wasn't found dead somewhere, Alex Swinton would become one of Kerrin's main suspects. He was either in hiding and in fear of his life, or he was running away, scared of being caught and probably guilty as sin. Either way, Kerrin would need to talk to him.
For now though, Kerrin needed to speak to the families of those that had died. He needed to find out for himself how they died, and ultimately, why?
--------------------
The request Kerrin had made to view the police reports of all those who had committed suicide in Orlando, combined with the question about the military jet, intrigued Captain James Callaghan of the Miami police department.
He knew how the mind of a policeman worked, and he knew that reporters didn't ask questions without a reason. So Kerrin, an ex-policeman and now a reporter, would have a very good reason. James would love to know what it was.
When he got back to the station, after dealing with a break-in at a local drugstore, he shut his office door and put in a call to his buddy over in Orlando.
"Hey Andy, how-ya-doing?"
"James, good to hear from you, man. What's up?"
"Oh, you know, just the same things…hey did you hear about that bank robbery down in the Keys last week? What did you make of that?"
"Shit, yeah, a kid of twelve walks into the local bank and holds them up? Shoots the bank manager and leaves?"
"Yeah, but did you hear the latest?"
"Nah,…what?"
"The bank manager was his uncle! They caught the kid…the uncle had been abusing him, and the boy had had enough. In a way, you can't blame him, can you?"
"No. Would have done the same myself…Bloody weirdoes…"
"Talking of weird shit…have you heard anything about four or five guys working for the same company in Orlando, who all committed suicide in the space of a week?"
There was a moment's pause at the other end of the line.
"Yeah, funny business…I had to go and interview one of the families myself. Pretty sad really, the guy lost his job, then injected himself with some drug one night in his old office…He left a note. Clear cut case really. Nothing suspicious… Why do you ask?"
"Oh, somebody from the same company got killed down here, and the wife reckons that somebody was murdering them all. Nothing to do with suicide…Say, mind if I take a look at the files myself?"
"Hell no, anything to help. Listen, I can fed-ex them to you this afternoon. You should have them first thing tomorrow. Is that fast enough?"
"Cheers. Owe you one buddy."
"You sure do."
His friend Andy in the Orlando force was a good man to have in a tight spot. When he had worked in Miami they'd been good friends.
About an hour later, James was sitting at his desk writing up a report from the morning's patrol, when the phone rang.
"Hey James, it's Andy."
"Problem?" James hadn't expected Andy to call back so soon.
"You could say that. Don’t know what to make of it either. All the files on those deaths have walked. Disappeared. No E5 forms filled out to say who took them. And on the computer system, the reports have all been given top security Federal access codes. I can't get into them without the passwords, and if I did, it would get flagged up automatically at the FBI offices in Tampa. I can't help you buddy, and I can't chase it without some questions being asked. Say, what's this about, James?"
"I don't know. Best leave it alone I guess."
"Well, I tried. So when are you going to pay us a visit?"
"Soon. Anyway I owe you one. Thanks."
James hung up, and turned to the window, getting up out of his chair and leaning against the window frame. Outside in the street some kid was writing his name on the sidewalk with a piece of chalk. He looked up and saw James watching him, then got up and ran away.
So why were the Feds interested? And where were the files? Files just don't go missing. There were procedures…if somebody borrowed a file, they left a form saying where they were, so others could get access to them too.
Something funny was going on, but unless Kerrin gave him something more to go on, there was little more he could do from this end. He would call Kerrin and give him what he had.
Kerrin already knew that if he needed more help, he only had to ask.
Chapter 8
Tom Calvert's House
Mrs. Calvert sat in the chair opposite him, cradling a large cup of coffee between her hands. She sat on the edge of her chair, her eyes studying Kerrin carefully. Kerrin could see that she had been crying before he arrived, and her eyes were still red and puffy from the tears.
She was rather a plain woman, in her mid forties, and quite plump. Her shoulder length brown hair had lost its vitality, and she wore no makeup. Kerrin guessed that l
ooking good was probably the last thing on her mind just now.
"Thank you for seeing me at such short notice. As I explained to you on the phone, I'm a relative of Martin Nicolson, one of Tom's colleagues. Martin was my brother-in-law. I'd met Tom myself once or twice when we all played golf together."
"How is Martin?" the woman asked him.
"Dead. He was killed in a plane accident last week…"
The woman stretched out and placed her cup on the coffee table in front. She rose to her feet and started pacing around the room. Tears began to flow from her eyes.
"Not another one…it's the company. David bloody Sonderheim and his bloody genetic wonder drugs…mark my words, that was no accident…they killed him just like they killed my Tom!"
Kerrin waited a while, letting the emotional wave roll over her. She stood at the end of the sofa, her arms wrapped across her stomach as if trying to comfort herself.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I'll be okay in a minute or two."
She walked out to the kitchen, returning with a fresh handkerchief, dabbing at her eyes.
"I'm fine now…"
"I think I should tell you that by profession I am a reporter with the Washington Post. My sister, Martin's wife, asked me to find out what is going on, and make sure whoever is responsible for these deaths is brought to justice. I promised her I would."
"The Washington Post?" She looked worried…"I've got two children…I don't know…"
"Mrs Calvert, I can assure you that if anything is written about this, then no danger will come to you or your family. At the moment, all I want to do is find out what's going on. And why Martin, …and Tom…died."
"Okay…Okay…," she agreed nervously.
"Now, what I would like to ask you is this: the police are convinced your husband committed suicide. What makes you think he didn't?"
"Tom…suicide?" she laughed through her tears, coughing a few times as the two emotions collided. "Did the police tell you that Tom was a devout catholic? Catholics aren't allowed to commit suicide. It's against their religion. They believe they will go to hell if they do…Or did they mention, that at college he was on the Anti-Drug Crusade, and that three years ago he started a Big Brother Support Program in a nearby suburb for people trying to kick drugs? Did they mention that? So, you can see how absurd it sounds when you're told that your husband just killed himself by taking a drug overdose?" she stood up again, and Kerrin was forced to look up at her as she spoke. She was red in the face, the anger boiling beneath her words.
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