by A. K. Smith
At the time, the offer presented to Steve, seemed the best of both worlds: a chance to serve his country in the Intelligence area of government, and to enjoy the world as a civilian. A full ride to college, both undergrad and graduate school, and a part time job seemed like winning the lottery.
In return, his involvement could not be divulged, not to family, friends, wife, or children. At the age of twenty-five, living in a 10 x 20 space for four months with his roommate, he never suspected they each belonged to a secret Intelligence division.
****
Steve would never forget the day he discovered the truth.
The thick snow fell in clumps, piling up on tree branches. A wintery mix of snow and ice coated the roads. Winter break started the next day and he needed to drive the back road through the Catoctin Mountain Park to Site R. Inside the park, after going through two electronically locked gates that dead-ended into an old stone tunnel, he turned on the restricted road. Coming around the bend on the unplowed pavement he slid on the ice, fishtailed out of control, and slammed into another car.
Speech escaped him. Standing on the prohibited street with snowflakes falling on his black knit cap, blue eyes peered out at him. Tim burst into laughter and Steve followed. In minutes they figured out the connection.
When other college students partied at fraternity houses, attended sporting events, or recited stories of drunken nights and wild girls, he and Tim studied high-level classes on marine biology and survival skills at what they called “the library.”
Tucked in the picturesque countryside of Maryland, six miles from the infamous presidential retreat, Camp David, “Site R,” known to the public as the Raven Rock Mountain Complex remained hidden in the middle of six thousand acres of dense woods. Steve nicknamed RRMC, “the library.”
Raven Rock’s history fascinated Steve. Known as the “underground pentagon,” RRMC appeared more secretive than Area 51. It started with President Truman in 1950, even back then, military engineers had the capability to construct elaborate underground cities. Workers blasted deep down into the earth to create a hidden fortress. Old miners and their children told stories of workers being picked up in a van and blindfolded each morning until they reached their work site. Steve believed four three-story buildings existed in the main part of the underground complex and in a threat of a nuclear war, RRMC would be used as a military command post for leaders and high-ranking government officials.
Steve shared all his discoveries with Tim. But, in the last year before Tim died, he wondered why Tim didn’t confide in him. He suspected Tim was assigned a classified project without him. He asked Tim, but he laughed it off, claiming Steve needed to stop watching secret agent movies.
When he discovered Tim covering his tracks about several dive trips to Belize, Honduras, and most recently to Mexico, he needed to understand.
He convinced himself—the month before Tim’s death—Tim was working with The Collective without him. Their mission, since they joined The Collective, always revolved around the DNA Project. The possibility of being excluded from a big discovery, filled him with anger. The exclusion ate away at him, at first a little at a time but it progressed, the unknown and rejection escalating to high paranoia.
Anxious, a month before the Blue Hole diving accident, Steve reported his concerns to a field operative. They assigned Steve to investigate Tim.
The unexpected diving trip for Ryder alarmed him. He replayed his last conversation with Tim.
Steve walked into the office at the bar at closing time. Tim slid the silver briefcase under his desk. “What’s in the briefcase?”
Tim met his eyes, a serious look on his face but remained silent.
“What are you hiding, did you find something?”
Steve moved closer to the desk. Tim blocked him with his arm.
“Steve, trust me, let it go. It’s personal. Nothing to do with you.” With the briefcase in his hand, he walked out the back door of the bar and drove away.
****
After Tim’s death Steve searched for the briefcase. He ripped apart the bar, the office drawers, old boxes and cleaned out storage closets in the cellar. After a year of investigating random places, he figured the case would never show up, until Kendall came in and asked for the key from the dive bag. The Collective questioned him for hours about Tim’s trip to Belize. He never mentioned the briefcase. He thought he would find the briefcase in Kendall’s house when she left for Mexico. He hadn’t expected his anger to kick in. Why did Tim withhold information from him after all these years? Why didn’t he trust him? His rage took over.
Chapter 31
The hands of the clock on her kitchen wall moved slowly, the only evidence time was passing. Curiosity crawled out of her skin. The odds of resting her head on her pillow tonight, in a house that had been broken into, and not thinking about the items in Tim’s briefcase, were astronomically unlikely. She dressed, leashing Harvey as if to take him on a walk.
Unlocking her office door, her face felt flushed and her arms were blotchy.
What if somebody was actually observing her right now—her head turned side-to side—waiting for her to show the briefcase. Is that what the break-in was about? Her mind swirled, why now, why after eighteen months since Tim died was someone looking for the briefcase… She had not told anyone about its existence except Scout and Steve. Scout lived in Mexico. Steve…well, she wished she could confide in him but…the link had to be Steve Crawford.
She shook her head trying to figure out what Steve would want in the briefcase…True, he was the only other person who knew about the key, but the thought of Steve breaking into her house didn’t make sense.
Turning on her office light she prayed the briefcase would still be in her locked drawer. Her hand shook as she fit the key in the lock. Kendall exhaled, her shoulders going up and down as she sank into her office chair. The briefcase was still there. Sweat was lying on her upper lip and under her shirt. Tapping her teeth together, she got up and locked her door.
She opened the briefcase behind the desk and took out the computer zip drive, leaving the maps and IDs in the case.
Her mind fixated on Steve. Had he told someone about her asking for the strange key? Perhaps he told the wrong person.
She put the zip drive in the small front pocket of her jeans. She locked the drawer, sat back down. Unlocking the drawer again, she pulled the briefcase out, opened it and delicately placed all the contents on the floor behind her desk. With her iPhone she took a picture of each item.
Nodding her head in affirmation, she put everything back in the briefcase, locked the drawer, checked it twice, grabbed a binder and headed out the door.
Her secret was trapped inside a box too small. She desperately needed to talk to someone before she exploded.
****
Kendall’s house glowed with the brightness of a hundred lights. In her mind, the illuminated house downplayed the secrecy of the briefcase. Light gave her courage.
Harvey next to her, Kendall, sat cross-legged on the bed, staring at her laptop. A glass of white wine, sat untouched on the bedside table. She put her iPod in, selected Jason Mraz and turned it up loud.
She turned off the Wi-Fi. Her mind was battling thoughts of hackers and computer surveillance.
She held the unusual memory stick in her hand before plugging it into the side of her computer. Black rubber surrounded the stick like the rubber on an underwater camera. Here goes. She watched it upload. Let’s see what this is all about.
Ten documents labeled by date flashed on her computer screen. Six documents dated years before Tim and Kendall met; the other four ranged from the beginning of their relationship to one dated three days before Tim died.
Inhaling deeply, she touched her mouse, pulling down to the right and clicking without hesitation on the last icon, a video file. She squeezed her eyes to hold back tears as Tim’s face filled the screen. The background was the upstairs office over the garage. She hit play.
/> “This message is for my wife. Kendall, if you’re watching this video, I’m so sorry not to be with you. Obviously, something happened to me for you to be hearing this. I know life’s been hard for you. I’m sorry, my love, I’m sorry I kept a secret from you, but I’ve been sworn to secrecy to protect a division of the US government. I hoped they will share this video with you. I can’t disclose the details about my job, but it’s not important to us. Something I did, not who I am. You know who I am, Kendall, you’re the only one who really knew me.” She wiped the tears running off her chin.
“Stay close with Ryder, he’s not your blood, but he is a part of me and I want him in your life. UWMA, Kendall, UWMA I love you, Lambie.”
Her brows furrowed as tears ran down her face and her open mouth. She gasped for air. A division of the US government? Some type of CIA agent? The badge said Navy. UWMA. Was this truly happening?
Lambie. Tim sent her a message no one else would figure out. For years, she and Tim joked around calling each other “Lambie” after watching a Lifetime movie about a deranged young girl in love with a married man whom she called “Lambie.” “Oh, Lambie,” Tim would say…and Kendall said, “Don’t ever call me ‘Lambie’,” but Tim wrestled her on the sectional and after they made sweet, tender, passionate love…he jokingly called her “Lambie.” Tim decided right then and there it would be their secret password.
Excited, Tim stated if they called each other “Lambie” in public, or on a phone call or in an email, don’t ignore the word, it was their code word. At a large gathering it would signal the desire to leave…on a phone call it would mean things are not as they seem. He said, “If someone snatched you for ransom, and you said, ‘I’m okay, Lambie, don’t worry,’ I would realize it’s definitely not okay and call the police.”
She laughed like mad and asked if she should be concerned she would be kidnapped. And he grinned and said, “Well, you never know.” Over the years, at a party, Tim would come up to Kendall, kiss her on the cheek and say aloud, “I love you, Lambie.” Kendall knew he wanted to leave. They used it to their advantage and it became a game. When one of them became stuck in an unwelcome discussion, the other would say, “What do you think, Lambie?” and help create an escape from the conversation. Never used as a term of endearment, only to make a point.
Tim used the word to convey a message to her. She had no idea what he wanted her to grasp. UWMA, Tim’s “until we meet again,” also emphasized something important. And he had used it in the dive log as well.
She closed her eyes and yelled aloud, “What are you trying to tell me?” Harvey sat up, came over and nuzzled her face. With a determined look, she got out her notebook and wrote down every word Tim said in the video. Taking notes she opened the first file dated ten years before she and Tim met. A series of numbers, possibly a formula of some kind. She couldn’t make sense of it. The next several documents consisted of a series of dates and presidents’ names beside them. She Googled the first date and the first president listed.
Abraham Lincoln—March 1865, a month before his assassination. The list continued, comprised of presidents’ names, and beside each name a date. All dates linked to a time when they held office. President Obama, the last name on the list included a date from three years ago.
The fifth and sixth documents appeared to be a report of statistics. Possibly a list of temperatures, or pH levels. The seventh record caught her attention. Once again, a series of digits filled the page. Trying to make a connection, halfway down the page, three numbers jumped out at her. Her photographic memory kicked in. She realized she had seen those numbers before. She tried to remember where.
20.83984890 20.83984890,-86.88778710
20 50 23.46
86 53 16.03
The last three documents contained image files. She clicked. It was a slideshow of scanned pictures, a few older black and white snapshots and newer ones in color. The first black and white photo dark and poor quality appeared a century old. Five men in white collared shirts and dark pants stood with a handsome, bare-chested man in a tropical jungle. The man looked familiar, as well as the man in the middle of the group.
Analyzing the second color photo, realization hit her. Dwight D. Eisenhower, stood next to the bare-chested man. She knew Eisenhower from a photograph of him hanging in the Grand Hall at Western Maryland College; she passed by it hundreds of times. He had been a member of the “Friends of the College Foundation” for many years.
John F. Kennedy was clearly recognizable in the next photo, and as Kendall continued examining picture after picture, she found Bill Clinton, Ronald Reagan, George H. W. Bush, George W. Bush, and the most recent image of Barack Obama and the first woman to be photographed, Hillary Clinton. The locations were diverse. Sometimes a jungle was the backdrop, but most snapped next to a sandy beach and a startling blue colored body of water.
Except for Hillary Clinton, men dominated the photos, sometimes in ties and suit jackets, some in t-shirts and bathing suits. The anomaly was the bare-chested man who looked out of place. Maybe a native of the area, a local family member, a descendant of the bare-chested man from the first photograph. This one man stood out from the businessmen and the president.
She went back to each document and printed each page out to her air printer.
She pored over the documents for hours, making notes, trying to make a connection, and then she jumped off the bed and ran downstairs to the front hallway. A beautiful photograph of the night sky from their honeymoon, hung on the wall. Tim surprised her with the image on their five-year anniversary. She remembered a clue written in her anniversary card.
She lifted the print off the wall. On the back of the frame the same three series of numbers Tim had written in her card,
20 ° 50.- 23.46 N
86° 53’ 16.03 W.
The beautiful wood-framed gift recreated the exact night sky of their honeymoon in Puerto Morelos. Including a constellation map showing the positions of the moon and stars. The numbers matched 20° 50.- 23.46 N 86° 53’ 16.03 W. It was longitude and latitude.
She ran back upstairs, with Harvey following on her heels feeling the excitement. Now realizing one document was a list of different locations, giving longitude and latitude. She sat down again, making notes.
Chapter 32
Kendall bailed from her car and rushed up to the University steps. She was late for her nine o’clock Director’s meeting. Again. Tim’s secret life consumed her mind, and work seemed trivial. Before she left the house she secured her notes and the briefcase in her safe, the zip drive in her purse.
Most of her notes were locations. International destinations with names she barely recognized; islands or areas next to a large body of water. Typing in the longitude and latitude degrees, minutes, and seconds in Google Earth pinpointed exact locations. Nothing made sense as she marked them on a world map with colored thumb tacks.
The locations ranged from Mexico, Central America, South America, and even Antarctica and to her surprise, right here in Maryland. One coordinate appeared exactly on the college and the other further to the west in the Catoctin State Park, near Thurmont, Maryland. The other curious spot, Puerto Morelos. At first glance, it seemed it marked the location of the cenote she and Ryder just visited, but looking at the proximity of the sea to the coordinates, it was further south of Puerto Morelos.
With everything going through her mind, she needed to focus on her job at least for a few hours.
Kendall groaned as she walked into the Director’s meeting. She was behind schedule on finding commencement speakers.
****
Kendall was thrilled; she could announce Conrad Nathaniel would be the Commencement speaker. It didn’t hurt when she called, he mentioned he knew Tim, and after agreeing to speak at graduation, he promised to tell her a story of how Tim saved his life free diving. She hadn’t realized Conrad Nathaniel was splashed all over the media headlines while she was vacationing in Puerto Morelos. Apparently, his invention o
f underwater breathing went viral. A film crew was making a documentary about the Nathaniel family and Conrad Nathaniel’s achievements, and a short video was leaked hitting over four million views. Obviously, he was involved in cutting-edge stuff. Both the committee and student body would be excited she had secured him as speaker. She smiled as she hit send on the email with the YouTube video and announcement.
Two voice mails blinked on her cell phone. One from Steve asked if she would meet him for dinner. The next voice increased her heart rate and she smiled. Scout. Something about his voice warmed her heart. He wanted to say hello, make sure she returned safely to Maryland, and hoped everything was okay with the break-in. However, his last line she replayed three times to make sure she understood it correctly. He said, “I understand why you didn’t have time to call me back on your last night or meet for dinner, but I really wanted to say goodbye and make sure everything is okay with you and…” a long pause…“And, there’s something else I wanted to discuss with you. Something I think you need to know. Please call me back.”
Scout must be mistaken, because he never called.
He was off diving and asked her to call tomorrow. Anxious to speak with him, she would have to be patient. She also wanted to ask him about the longitude and latitude numbers she found near Puerto Morelos.
First things first. Her instincts nagged at her. Did Steve take a call from Scout and not tell her?
Why?
Chapter 33
“I’m so glad you decided to go out to dinner with me, Kendall.” Steve, wearing a snug-fitting black shirt, and strong but appealing cologne, turned heads. Even the college-age waitress at the trendy new eatery in Gettysburg noticed, and forever the playboy he poured on his charm. When Kendall agreed to meet him at this new upscale contemporary joint, not too far from Jackson’s Easy, she had one goal in mind. Get him drunk. Steve, always a heavy social drinker, opened up as he imbibed and if possible, became more charismatic. Truth serum.