I have to keep at this. Can’t pass out. I need to be prepared when we land; for Nick I have to stay alert.
Jeremy plopping his two hundred pounds down next to him chases any thoughts of sleep from his mind. He watches him almost nervously glance back over his shoulder twice before asking, “Mind if we talk?”
Not at all interested in talking, Cole returns his focus to the stack of notes on the tray table in front of him mumbling, “What about?”
“Just curiosity I suppose.”
Barely turning his head in his direction, Cole waits for him to elaborate further.
Pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, Jeremy asks, “I’ve been thinking about the story you told me yesterday at your apartment and it got me to wondering what changed your mind?”
At this Cole slowly puts his notes away before turning to really look at Jeremy for the first time since he sat down. “I don’t follow.”
With a smile and a further adjustment to his frames Jeremy launches into what seems like a rehearsed spiel.
“In your apartment you told me how Nick came to you with his suspicions about a cover-up in Hope and you dismissed them because you didn’t believe they added up to what he thought they did.
“But now you’ve used those same suspicions to sell Anson on there being a cover-up. I’m just wondering what changed?”
“You mean besides Nick vanishing?”
“But we have nothing real to tie that to Hope,” Jeremy reasons, “We don’t know he went to Hope. I mean, it’s a good guess, but we have nothing to prove it with. For all we know he could’ve left the city to go back home.”
“Without a word to the paper? Without telling his landlord? Without a goodbye of any kind?” Cole shakes his head, “Doesn’t seem likely and I can’t see him doing it.”
“Are you sure?” Jeremy presses, “I didn’t know Nick at all but from how you describe him he desperately wanted to be a reporter and that’s something I know a little bit about. If he realized the job was too tough, if he didn’t think he could make it, is it so hard to imagine him leaving without saying goodbye?
“Put yourself in his shoes; would you say goodbye? Would you face the man you idolize and admit defeat or would you simply choose the easier path of disappearing?”
Cole stares at him for a moment before harshly stating, “You didn’t know Nick.”
“And you think you did?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Holding his hands up in capitulation Jeremy says, “I meant no offense. Personally I don’t believe it’s possible for anyone to ever really know anyone else.”
Cole appraises his sincerity for a moment before asking, “Are you serious?”
“Yeah, I am.” He leans back in the seat as he defends his position. “Think about it Cole; we both see it all the time in our profession. How many stories have you covered where the headline reads ‘no one saw it coming’ or ‘no one thought he was capable of it’ or ‘I never thought she would do it’?
“Hell, look at the coverage of the Toymaker right now. You think anyone who knew Heath thought he was a serial killer? I kind of doubt it. Same goes for suicide bombers. The friends and family that are interviewed in the wake of the act always recite the mantra of disbelief.
“People don’t know what other people are capable of—they just don’t. We can never really know what goes through someone’s mind and so we can never really know them. End of story.”
“I guess if that’s what you believe,” Cole shrugs his shoulders saying, “Seems kind of cynical to me though.”
“Yeah,” a wistful quality creeps into his voice as he removes his glasses to clean them on his shirt sleeve. “You take the kind of photos I take and I guess cynicism goes with the territory.”
After a few minutes of silence he adds, “But hey, you never answered my question. What changed your mind?”
“When I went to his place,” Cole begins, “I found a few interesting things, among them, a Times article where Nick had circled the name General Alexander Cummings. It seemed like the kind of thing a reporter would do if they thought they had uncovered the identity of a source.
“So I went about trying to track down Cummings—ran the full background check on him and everything and you know what I found?”
Holding his hand up Cole makes a circle with his fingers saying, “Zero—nothing; and seeing as how Cummings is a military General that struck me as kind of odd.
“The article indicated that he was part of the team that is investigating the Hope disappearance, so again I could see why Nick might’ve thought this was his guy. He would have had both access and opportunity. I also found an impression of a note that Nick made.”
Pausing for effect first, Cole then adds, “It read ‘not an accident’ and it looked like Nick was excited when he wrote it. Given all of it together I started to believe he might just have been on to something.”
“But it’s all circumstantial,” Jeremy points out, “It doesn’t prove anything.”
“All the best leads start out as circumstantial. You think the Watergate story was confirmed right out of the gate?”
Adjusting his frames again Jeremy says thoughtfully, “Then we’re looking at General Cummings as Nick’s source.”
Nodding Cole confirms, “He’s the primary focus but I don’t want to just zero in solely on him at this point. We leave no stone unturned. But yeah, when it’s all over and done with, I think Cummings will definitely be the end game.”
Hope, North Carolina
He stands staring out the window, his hands folded neatly behind him; his shoulders arched backward thrusting his chest out. On the other side of the pane of glass he watches the dark shadows of night and listens to the wind howling; portending of things to come.
A solid rapping on the door pulls his scrutiny back inside. He’s standing in the office of the police chief—or what was his office until he and all the other inhabitants of this place met their fate.
The door opens and Alexander Cummings focuses his predatory gaze upon Major Slade; the man in charge of the army of Black Creek soldiers on this mission.
At 41 years of age, Major Samuel Slade has led the regimented military lifestyle in one form or another since he turned eighteen. He stands six foot one inch tall, his frame carrying 220 pounds of lean, sculpted muscle.
He has a torpedo shaped head, black hair shaved right down to the scalp, alert knowing eyes the color of gun powder, and a distinguishing scar on his upper lip where a piece is missing that gives him the look of a perpetual sneer.
He’s a veteran of both the first Gulf War and Operation Enduring Freedom where he was stationed with the Army Rangers in Afghanistan. Of course since joining the ranks of Black Creek the only attachment he still has to the Rangers is the tattoo on his right bicep and the exemplary training he retains.
Despite a stellar service record he was dishonorably discharged ten years ago. Always considered mean-tempered, after his Rangers narrowly escaped a roadside IED♦, Slade went looking for blood and found it in the guise of a civilian Afghani. He beat him so badly the man slipped into a coma and Slade was summarily removed from active duty.
Allowing a smirk, Cummings knows that it was the intervention of Chance that kept Slade out of the stockade and brought him on board with Black Creek. How many times a similar story has played out, he wonders, for it seems to him that the ranks of Black Creek are bursting with these mercenary types.
Course, it does inspire a certain loyalty. And looking at Slade now Cummings knows that no matter how his military career ended, the man is still a soldier to be valued and reckoned with.
With a nod Cummings asks, “What’s the latest news on Fiona?”
After offering a crisp salute, Slade responds in an even, confident timbre. “It’s presently 1100 miles south of Miami where the latest sat coverage shows it slowing slightly around the British Virgin Islands; might buy us an extra day. Consensus is right now that we
’ll have maybe seven or eight days till it reaches here.”
Cummings nods but says nothing.
“Sir,” Slade ventures, “We have another problem. Two more of my men have disappeared while on patrol.”
Narrowing his eyes Cummings asks, “Would they have gone AWOL?†”
“Unlikely sir,” Slade bristles subtly at the suggestion, “This makes five in total who have disappeared. My men are starting to worry that we’re not alone here. They’re getting afraid sir.”
“Tell them not to worry,” Cummings advises, “I’m sure the missing will turn up either here or onshore. In the meantime though, no more solo patrols; two to a patrol from here on in.”
“Yes sir,” Slade salutes and turns on his heel to leave. As he does he sees a tall man in black standing just outside the doorway.
Believing that he was eavesdropping on their conversation he clenches his fists and is about to confront him about it when Cummings says, “It’s all right Slade, Mr. Chase is expected.”
Throwing a shoulder into him as he goes past Slade smirks at how easily the man is moved aside.
“What’s his problem mate?” Chase asks while rubbing his shoulder.
“Not your concern. Have a seat.” His tone leaves no doubt that it is not a request and Chase quickly complies. “I’ve been hearing things I don’t like,” Cummings continues, “About your…methods.”
“Fraid I don’t follow you mate.”
Curling his lip scornfully, Cummings glares at him a moment with his iciest mien. “My men report that you’re making Edlund suspicious of you. You’re here to find out why he’s so important to all this; how do you plan on doing that if he doesn’t trust you?”
Sneering arrogantly Chase replies, “I know perfectly well why I’m here mate—information is my specialty. Sod your men, it’s under control.”
“How?”
“Huh?”
Clenching his square jaw so hard that he can hear it popping, Cummings asks, “How is it under control?”
“All right mate,” he nods as he lifts his feet up on the desk, “Here’s how it is. I keep him off balance around me by making him wonder about my motives. Your men should’ve also told you that I told him I didn’t trust you. He doesn’t either by the way.
“But the more I make him distrust me the more he’ll trust you and the more he trusts you the likelier it becomes he’ll tell you what you want to know. The enemy of my enemy is my friend and all that.”
“And if he just doesn’t trust either of us?”
“Hmm,” Chase snaps his fingers as he puts his feet back down, standing up saying, “Hadn’t thought of that mate.”
Tiring of his nonchalance Cummings retorts “You think this is a joke? We are not playing at games here.”
“Well aware of that mate,” Chase hardens his demeanor replying, “You wanted information and that’s what I’ll deliver. I have done this before and can do without people questioning my methods.
“You think you can find out why he’s here without me, you’re welcome to try; but then if you thought you could I wouldn’t be here would I? So since I am here mate—how bout you let me do this my way.”
“Fine,” Cummings snarls at his back as he’s leaving the office.
Stopping at the door Chase turns back asking, “How is it that you don’t know why this bloke is here anyway? Ain’t this your show mate?”
“Yours is not to question,” Cummings replies, “Just do as you’ve been hired to do and remember if you fail to deliver on your promises…”
Cummings glowers at him adding, “Well, people do go missing rather easily around here.”
Chapter 19
Atlanta, Georgia
Doc’s on Michael St NE has been part of a tradition for those who work at the CDC for going on twenty years now. Located mere blocks away from their headquarters, it’s a respite for their weary office workers or frustrated scientists at the end of a long day’s work.
A quiet little corner within the phalanx of college bars in the neighborhood that fill up fast with boisterous Emory University students on a nightly basis—Doc’s is a place they call their own.
On this night, just like many others before it, Wendy Rojas is seated at the bar on a high stool. Wearing a loose white blouse and a knee length black skirt that is riding slightly up her crossed legs, she’s sipping slowly from a rum and coke while playing distractedly with her bang of blue hair.
Unlike the nights before it though, this night she’s not looking to have a good time. Right now her thoughts are elsewhere as she’s remembering another night that she was here…with Lynne.
The bar is decorated in the festive colors of the season. Everywhere she looks she sees bright red and forest green. Off in a corner, behind the crowd of revelers she can just make out the glint of tinsel as it hangs from a sad looking Christmas tree.
Squeezing through the crowd, Wendy sidles up to the bar and playfully elbows Lynne who’s seated next to her. “Hey,” she says over the sound of Brenda Lee Rockin’ around the Christmas Tree, “You made it here early.”
Putting her arm around her shoulder, Lynne gives her a quick embrace saying, “I thought you’d already be here. Like you always tell me, all work and no play…”
“Damn straight,” she replies with a grin.
Holding her hand up, she grabs the barkeep’s attention and proclaims, “Let’s have something festive. Two boilermakers please.”
“How are boilermakers festive?”
“Trust me,” she winks at Lynne, “You drink enough of them and you get real festive.”
Turning on their stools they put their backs to the bar and face the room. “Joint’s jumping tonight,” Wendy observes.
“Two weeks before Christmas,” Lynne replies, “You can cut the tension in the air with a knife. There’s shopping, decorating, planning, cooking, and god help us all even family get-togethers to make it through. I would think that explains the need for a drink.”
They share a laugh before their drinks are served. Turning back to the bar they clink their shot glasses together before dropping them into their mugs of beer.
“So what are your holiday plans this year?” Wendy asks getting serious for a moment. “You know you’re always welcome to come out west with me. My folks would love to see you.”
“Thanks but uh,” she pauses a moment to flash a coy grin, “I think I have plans this year.”
“With Caleb?” Wendy asks knowingly.
“Yeah, things are really going well between us.”
“That’s great to hear Lynne.” She takes a sip of her drink before taking a measure of the crowd and saying, “Now all we have to do is find some hottie for me and we can double.”
With a chuckle Lynne bumps her saying, “I don’t think you’ll find anyone in here.”
“What!?!” she hollers exaggeratingly, “Are you trying to say us CDC government types aren’t attractive?” With a Cheshire smile she jabs, “Our cute quotient has actually gone up since you’ve been gone.”
“Verrry funny.”
“I thought so.”
She’s startled from her memories by the sound of someone taking the stool next to her. Quickly brushing the start of tears from her eyes she’s annoyed that anyone would sit down right next to her when there are so many other empty seats.
Turning to face her interloper does nothing to brighten her spirits either.
“Wendy,” he greets her.
With a tired sigh she asks, “What are you doing here Larry?”
Saying it as if it were obvious he answers, “Having a drink.”
“No,” she swivels around to face him full on, “I mean what are you doing here? As in sitting there?”
Signaling for the barkeep he answers, “I saw you sitting here—alone—you seemed lost in your thoughts. I thought you might like some company.”
She shakes her head saying, “You saw me thinking and that made you think I’d like company?”
&n
bsp; “All right,” he admits, “I wanted to talk to you.”
“About what?” she asks turning back to face the bar.
“I heard you got saddled with this whole Hope fiasco; wanted to express my sympathy.”
“You don’t have any sympathy Larry.”
“Still,” he says, “It’s a shitty assignment and a waste of your time.”
“Yeah,” she mutters, “I remember your opinion on it Larry.”
“You disagree?” he challenges, arching an eyebrow quizzically at her.
“Not entirely,” she admits, “But somebody has to check into it.”
Sipping from the remnants of his Guinness, Larry asserts, “Yeah somebody, but not us. There is no way anything medically relevant caused this disappearance. You know how I know? Same way you know. Disease outbreaks leave a whole lot of bodies in their wake; they don’t vanish people.”
He chortles under his breath, “I almost wish Charles had sent me. I’d set those morons straight in a heartbeat.”
“You know I actually suggested you go Larry.” She stares at him a second before adding, “Go figure why Charles didn’t go for it?”
He smiles good-naturedly as the barkeep arrives to take his order. “Let me buy you a round.”
Now it’s her turn to arch an eyebrow.
“I never really thanked you,” he explains, “You know for…you showing up last month to untie me when that asshole Fisher jumped me.”
To the barkeep he says, “Another rum and coke for the lady and a Guinness for me.”
“Well this is unexpected Larry. Of all people, imagine it, gratitude from the Warden.”
“Well don’t spread it around—I do have a reputation to uphold.”
They drink in companionable silence for a few minutes before Larry asks, “So have you heard anything new about Lynne?”
The question brings her memories back to the surface and with difficulty Wendy manages to shake her head and mouth “No.”
“Try not to worry too much about her,” Larry says before downing another gulp of his drink that leaves froth along his upper lip. “She’s smart and plenty tough,” he adds pensively, “Where ever that freak show has her; she’ll make it back all right.”
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