by Peter Parkin
Two blinks.
“Do you work for Virgin Galactic?”
One blink.
“Were you hired to kill me?”
Two blinks.
“Was it related to industrial espionage?”
One blink.
“Was a political campaign involved?”
James hesitated for a few seconds.
Two blinks.
Lloyd then named several politicians as a control experiment, and got one-blink answers to each name.
Then he dropped the bomb. “Was it related to Lincoln Berwick’s campaign?”
James paused again. Then his eyes started darting from side to side. He didn’t blink. He just kept rolling his eyeballs, avoiding Lloyd’s glare. Lloyd could tell that there was something wrong. The man’s breathing was becoming labored, and for a second or two his eyeballs rolled up out of sight into his forehead. Stress and anxiety were taking their toll. And, perhaps Lloyd’s last question.
Lloyd knew he didn’t have much time left.
He raised his voice slightly and asked again. “Was it Senator Lincoln Berwick?”
James just stared up at him. Eyes glazed over and unblinking.
“Okay, James, or whoever the hell you are. I think I’ve got my answer.”
Lloyd raised his hand up close to his chest, hidden from view in case someone was peeking in through the window. He squeezed his outstretched fingers together tightly, mimicking the shape of a dagger. He pointed them downward towards James’s throat, teasing him.
Taunting him—to death.
“I lied. Now I’m going to kill you.”
That was all it took. His eyes rolled up into his forehead for the last time, and James Whitehead let out a fitful gasp. The intermittent beeping of the monitoring machine stopped, replaced by a steady forlorn hum. Clearly, the man’s heart had given up the fight. Scared to death.
The nurses, accompanied by a doctor, rushed into the room and pushed Lloyd out of the way. He didn’t protest. They had work to do.
But he knew it was too late. And he didn’t care.
*****
“So, you’re saying you’d never met or seen this man before?”
Lloyd shook his head emphatically. “No, never.”
The two detectives sat in front of him, clipboards in hand. Lloyd was sitting on the edge of the bed and now fully dressed. To avoid Cassidy having to listen to their line of questioning, he’d sent her off to the carpark to bring her Subaru around to the front of the hospital. She would then just wait for him there. Better for her not to hear his answers.
One of the detectives, a guy named Derik, checked his notes. “The name on his identification was James Whitehead. He also had business cards with Virgin Galactic logos. But we checked, and that was all bogus. We’ve run his fingerprints through the national database—no luck there either. We have no idea who he was.”
Lloyd shook his head. “I don’t know what to tell you.”
The other detective, Chris, scratched his forehead, clearly puzzled. “We found his gun in the passenger side of the wreckage. His fingerprints were on it, not yours, which is why we posted an officer outside his door. Do you think he was planning to kill you? Did he threaten you that way?”
Lloyd folded his arms across his chest. “No threats. He just wanted me to turn down a deserted road, which is when I accelerated and sent us into that tree. That was my only hope. I had no idea what he was planning, so I wasn’t going to take any chances.”
“He wasn’t wearing his seatbelt.”
“I undid it before we hit the tree.”
Chris nodded. “Very smart, very cool thinking on your part. We see from your records that you’re a graduate of West Point.”
Lloyd nodded. “Yeah. They teach you to be cool at that school.”
Derik smiled. “Nice to see your training paid off.”
Chris wrote something down on his notepad. “Tell me, what do you think he wanted with you?”
Lloyd grimaced.
“I don’t know. Could have been industrial secrets—maybe he wanted to threaten me to get some information. At NASA we’ve had some serious technology hacks over the last few months, and several scientists have been shaken down with blackmail for certain information regarding specialized components. None of those scientists are employed with us any longer, but there were a few holes we had to plug afterwards. There are numerous private and public scientific corporations out there, as well as high tech companies, that would benefit from the specialized knowledge we have.”
Chris grunted.
Derik leaned forward in his chair. “Why were you in his hospital room, pretending to be a friend?”
Lloyd leaned his imposing frame forward as well, matching the detective’s move. “Wouldn’t you? If someone had tried to take you at gunpoint, wouldn’t you have wanted to know why?”
“Well, yes, but you could have left that to the police.”
“I’m a take-charge guy. Couldn’t help myself.”
Chris lowered his voice for the next question. “Did you…do anything while you were in there?”
Lloyd used the full power of his piercing blue eyes and stared the detective down. “What are you implying?”
Chris fidgeted. Lloyd was fully aware of the effect that his blue-eyed stare had on people. It conveyed absolute dominance—and, strangely enough, a sort of innocence.
After a few moments of silence, Chris persisted. “Well…did you touch him? Was that your intention? To cause him harm?”
Lloyd shook his head. “No, detective. He was a virtual vegetable. Posed no danger to me any longer. All I wanted were a few answers if I could get them.”
Derik closed the cover of his clipboard and stood. Chris followed his partner’s lead.
“Did you learn anything from him?”
Lloyd sighed. “No. Nothing at all. The man couldn’t talk, so I gave up.”
He lowered his eyes, feigning regret. “Then…he just…died.”
23
Their flights came in to La Guardia within an hour of each other. Lloyd from his home in Houston and Bill from Bermuda where he’d been setting up a new off-shore captive. Sandy had driven down from Boston to meet them and got there with ample time to spare. Time enough to have a decadent breakfast at the airport and several cups of rocket fuel coffee. He hadn’t slept well for the last several nights, so the coffees were mandatory.
They looked good. He hadn’t seen them in several years, but those years had clearly been kind to them—as they had to Sandy as well. But he could see that Lloyd’s face hadn’t yet completely healed from his accident—well, “accident” was a kind word for what had happened to him. Still a few cuts and scrapes that were gradually turning into scars—and within a few days he’d probably look as good as new.
Bill bore no signs whatsoever of the attempt on his life and his niece’s. The thugs had barely laid a finger on him before he made sure they met their demise. Bill was still Bill. No outward emotion, no signs of concern. Just a hearty handshake, the kind you’d expect to get if you were meeting him in a boardroom for the very first time. Sandy knew that Bill would take a while to warm up—small talk was not his forte. Never had been.
At first, not much conversation in the car as Sandy drove them to Judy’s house in Queens. Sandy kept his eyes on the road as the other two men absently glanced out the window.
Then Lloyd broke the silence.
“Thanks for warning me, Sandy. I should have listened to you, been more on guard.”
Sandy winced at the reminder. “I really didn’t expect you to take me seriously. It’s hard even for me to believe now, even after all that’s happened.”
Lloyd folded his arms. “Sounded like a crazy conspiracy theory. And, as you remember, back in West Point we were all taught to be fearless. I gues
s even after all these years it’s hard to forget those feelings of invincibility.”
Bill spoke up for the first time from the back seat. “Poor Hank and John. They didn’t see it coming, did they? I phoned Hank just before it happened to him. Asked him to give me a call. I guess I didn’t make it sound urgent enough. Should have included a warning in the voice mail message. I think I was afraid of sounding too alarmist—or too crazy.”
Sandy shook his head. “Should have, could have—we could all say that about a lot of things, Bill. Don’t beat yourself up over it.”
“Sandy, I just saw Hank a couple of months ago. We had dinner and a few drinks. He was in New York on some business, and we always tried to connect when he was in town. He looked really good…and really happy. His family was everything to him—seemed to have his priorities straight. More than I can say for myself.”
Sandy was surprised at the rare moment of introspection from Bill. The untimely deaths of their two old classmates must have activated a nerve, one that had been numb during all the years that Sandy had known him.
Sandy decided to change the subject. “I don’t think you guys ever met Judy. She attended Barnard College, which some of us at West Point arranged joint parties and dances with. You two ran in a different circle when we were in school together.”
Lloyd chuckled. “My God, there were so many damn cliques back in those days, it was hard to remember which circle you were supposed to be in.”
“Ain’t that the truth? Anyway, I dated Judy until Linc sabotaged our relationship. He stepped in and took my place, until Judy realized what an asshole he was. She then moved on to John, and they got married. Depression and booze eventually killed that union, and they divorced about ten years ago. A daughter, Cynthia, around fifteen, spitting image of her mom. Judy works as a teacher and gymnastics coach. She was a world-class gymnast in her day.”
Lloyd asked a question, in almost a whisper. “You mentioned she has John’s tape, the tape that was meant for you. Did you let her listen to it?”
“Yes.”
“How did she react?”
“Not well, but better than I expected.”
“You told her that Bill and I were in the van that night?”
“Sorry, but—yes.”
“Oh.”
“She’s a big girl, Lloyd. What’s past is past. We have to be concerned now about the future and making sure we all have a future. She’s in the same peril as you guys. She knows too much and now, with that tape, I know too much.”
Sandy turned down Judy’s street and pulled up in front of her house.
“Okay, guys, get your bags out of the trunk. She knows you’re going to stay here for a few days, and she’s perfectly okay with that. In fact, right now she’s so scared she welcomes the company of strangers with skills like yours for a while.”
24
After getting Bill and Lloyd comfortable in their guest rooms, Judy played hostess for the afternoon. Sandy would be staying just for the one night and agreed to take the couch in the living room.
Small talk dominated the afternoon. The disturbing reason why they were all together had been left for later.
Judy was heartened by how pleasant the strangers were. She knew and had loved Sandy, so he wasn’t a surprise at all. But Bill and Lloyd were charming and respectful, and she found that to be in sharp contrast to the knowledge she now had of how the two of them were involved in the rape and death of a fourteen-year-old girl decades ago.
A secret that neither of them relished, but one that must have haunted them incessantly over the years. They were now successful adults; one with a family, and the other no doubt wishing he did have a family.
Judy was enchanted watching how easily Cynthia interacted with the men. And how they charmed her in return. But, she couldn’t push the thought out of her mind that Cynthia was about the same age as the girl whose death they’d caused back when they were wilding in a party van.
The paradox was striking, as was her own acceptance of their bad judgement so many years ago. And the bad judgement of her own husband as well, in that same van.
She consoled herself with the thought that for John, Bill, and Lloyd, the consequences were unintended. And, that John had tried valiantly to save the poor girl’s life.
Judy was also fully aware of the contrast, that the boy who had callously caused that girl’s death was the one and only Lincoln Berwick. The others were just innocent—sort of—and had been weak bystanders. But, she hoped, weak no more.
She’d cooked a delicious roast beef dinner, which they all enjoyed along with a few glasses of Zinfandel. Cynthia had gone over to a friend’s house after the meal; a sleepover with ten of her closest buddies.
The adults were now sitting in the living room, relaxing.
“Later” had arrived.
Judy studied the three men. Now that the small talk had subsided, Cynthia was gone, and all of their bellies were full, she had the chance to comprehend how astounding—and spooky—this rendezvous was.
“I’m sorry, guys, but, this is just too weird. Do you not see it?”
Sandy scratched his chin. “See what?”
“You could all be brothers. Look at you. Blondish hair, blue eyes, all around the same height, athletic physiques. Goddamn, it’s uncanny. And weird.”
The three men, as if on command, glanced at each other, then quickly looked back at Judy again.
Lloyd took a sip of his wine. “Can’t deny it, Judy. You’re right.”
“Now, to make things even weirder, just add John and Linc. And with the photos I’ve seen of Hank Price, he was in the mix too. What’s the deal? All six of you!”
Sandy rubbed his forehead, then stood. “I was the product of artificial insemination. I know that both John and Linc were too. What about you two? Do you know?”
Lloyd nodded. “I was too.”
Bill folded his arms across his chest. “So was I.”
Judy gasped. “Excuse my language, but, what the fuck?”
Sandy talked as he paced the room.
“I dug up some old files that my parents kept in their archives. The sperm bank that they used for me was a place called Legacy Life Ladder Inc., located right here in New York. The contract had my parents agree that I was to attend West Point when the time came.”
Lloyd stood as well. “Jesus, my parents told me the same thing. Same sperm bank.”
Bill jumped in. “I knew my parents used a sperm bank, but I had no idea which bank it was.”
Judy chuckled. “I would bet a year’s salary that it was the same place.”
Bill nodded and lowered his voice. “The coincidence is too much, the fact that we were all products of a sperm bank. Wondering if the same bank was used for John, Hank, and Linc as well.”
Sandy poured himself another glass of wine.
“It gets weirder, folks. I’ve been connecting a few dots along the way. And Linc seems to be in the center of the dots. There’s a deputy mayor in Boston, Christopher Clark, who was on the payroll of two people who are high up in Lincoln’s campaign, not just the presidential campaign, but while he’s been a senator—Bob Stone and Meagan Whitfield. Both of whom are also shareholders in this secretive sperm bank, which apparently is referred to as Triple-L.”
He could see he had their full attention.
“You all know I lost my family in that Quincy Market terror attack. Well, I’ve been doing some digging. Mr. Clark was paid off, money deposited in an offshore bank account by Whitfield and Stone. Paid off to allow the security detail to back off, and paid off to allow those ice cream wagons to enter the promenade the day of the attack. And these two characters are now running Linc’s presidential campaign, as well as being shareholders of the sperm bank that we probably all came from.”
Bill raised his voice for the first time, to an angry level
that Judy hadn’t heard since he arrived. “Are you saying that the Quincy terrorist attack was set up? Planned? A false flag?”
Sandy nodded. “Seems that way.”
“Why?”
“Have you listened to Linc’s speeches over the last couple of years? Have you seen his campaign ads? It seems as if he’s been creating paranoia, a climate of fear. And presenting himself as the only candidate who has solutions. Could this be a case of creating a crisis and then offering solutions? The birth of a brand?”
Lloyd wrung his hands together and cracked his knuckles, so ferociously that the sound reverberated around the room. “This is nuts! Sick! Can’t be possible, can it?”
“It is sick,” Sandy agreed. “But, we seem to be in a sick world right now, where power is everything. Let’s face it, these connections and coincidences are too hard to ignore. Follow the crumbs.”
Bill took another long sip of his wine.
“Sandy, you were booted out of the Honor Guild, but Lloyd and I are well aware of how we were controlled. Pushed along career paths that we had no say in. Consultants were assigned to us, who guided us, mentored us, and then cleared the path for our…rather spectacular careers. Without their help, we probably wouldn’t have succeeded.
“I know that Hank had the same special help, and no doubt Linc did too. His path was carved out in politics, and ours were carved out in the sciences and business worlds. Seems like fate was simply manipulated for all of us.”
Judy jumped in. “Sandy, how do you know about these Whitfield and Stone people?”
“I have a contact in the Mafia…or, as they prefer, Cosa Nostra.”
“Jesus!”
“I know. But, they do know things, and, tit for tat, they are more than willing to help out.”
“What’s the cost to you?”
“Hopefully not much more than mutual respect. I do respect them, in a perverted kind of way. But, hear this. My family was slaughtered, and by hook or crook, someone is going to pay for that. I have very little else to live for now.”
Judy nodded sadly. “I understand.”