The Dead Peasants File

by L. Craig Harris

  She frowned. “Think how many people say things like that when they are afraid.”

  “God spared us for a reason. Maybe it's to stop Morgan from killing innocent people.” He hugged her. “Maybe I can really do something good. Wouldn't you be proud of me?”

  “Yes, of course, but I want you to come back to me – in one piece.” She looked at Dillon. “Please bring my husband back to me unharmed. Do you promise?”

  “Yes Ma'am. I do.”

  Travis pulled a thumb drive out of his pocket. He had made a copy of the Dead Peasants file on his computer, and had saved a copy of it to the memory stick. He showed it to Julia, then put it in the middle drawer of their kitchen counter. “I'm putting this little flash drive in the utility drawer. I'll be home safe in a day or so, but if for some reason I don't come back, I want you to take this to the police station and show it to them.”

  “No, I don't want to hear that. Now, I'm frightened again.” She took the thumb drive out of the drawer and handed it back to Travis. “I don't want this here. I don't want anything to do with this.”

  Travis remained calm and tried to hide the fact that he too was frightened. “Julia, I'm coming back safe. I'm just saying if I don't get back for some reason, I don't want you to give up. That's all. We've got to see this through.” He put the thumb drive back in the drawer and closed it. “I promise you I'll be careful. Now, you promise me you'll take this down to the police station if something weird happens.”

  “She stared at him for a moment, then nodded. “Okay.”

  Christopher came in the door. “You guys ready?” He stuck out his hand to Julia. “Thank you for letting us stay here, and thank you for letting us borrow Travis.”

  She didn't shake his hand, but reached around his neck and hugged him. “Take care of Travis for me,” she whispered. “Will you do that?”

  “Yes Ma'am.”

  The three loaded the car and climbed in. Julia stood by Travis's window and put her hand on her lips, then her heart. Christopher backed the car out of the driveway, put it in drive, and headed north. Clouds hung dark and low in the sky. Before they got out of town, it began to snow.

  There is no straight path from Telluride to Denver. Christopher chose a route that the map program said would take them six and a half hours. He snaked his way north across the mountains to Interstate 70 and then planned to head east toward Denver. They had hoped to arrive about four in the afternoon, with a couple of stops and a lunch break, but now the snow was going to slow their progress and make it much later. They decided to stop when night fell, somewhere on the Interstate, and go to Morgan the next morning. The plan was for Travis to go in alone and ask Merrill if he would go to lunch with the three of them. Travis just hoped he was still there. He hoped, in fact, that Merrill was still alive and hadn't been found out.

  Travis went over the plan in his mind as he sat in the back seat, looking out at the snow and the mountains. It was simple enough to go into the office and ask for Merrill. They would persuade him to testify what he had found out. They would convince him that lives were at stake, possibly even his own. He looked away from the mountain scenery for a moment and at Dillon, who was sitting right in front of him. He studied the bandage that was still on his ear. It was hard to comprehend that he got that scar by people trying to murder him. He wondered what it felt like to come that close. And his peril wasn't over either. This man was being hunted at this very moment by people who would kill him if they found him. By people who would kill all of them just for being in the car with him.

  Travis watched Christopher drive for a moment. "You're doing a good job up there, driving in this."

  "Oh thanks," Christopher said, glancing at him in the mirror.

  Travis reached up and patted Christopher's shoulder. "I just want you to know I really hope it works out between you and your wife."

  "Thanks. Me too."

  Dillon pulled his cell phone from his pocket and called his wife to check on her and give an update on where they were. "Just a few more days and I'll meet you back at home," he told her, then looked at Christopher and crossed his fingers. He disconnected, glanced back at Travis, and pointed to his forehead. "No matter what happens, I'm getting this tattoo off my head."

  "You can do that?" Christopher said.

  Dillon rubbed it. "Oh sure. It will come off. It's not easy, and sometimes it leaves a scar, but I'd rather have a scar than this. Morgan doesn't own me anymore."

  "Me too," Travis said. "I'm with you. Let's get these marks of the beast off of us."

  "It's an albatross." Dillon turned and looked at Travis. "I wish I could get it off right now."

  "What do you think, Preacher," Travis said. "Do you think this is the mark of the beast like the Bible talks about?"

  "I don't know," Christopher said. "I just don't know. I used to think it wasn't, but I'm not so sure now. It broke up my family and nearly got you guys killed. It did get our friend Ron killed. It may be silly to think of a retail company as Satan, but the Bible says in the last days, people can't make purchases without the mark." He glanced in the mirror. "It may just be the first step toward the real mark, you know, to get people used to the idea."

  Christopher turned east on the Interstate. The snow tapered and stopped. It was still cold and cloudy and the men rode mostly in silence that afternoon. They spent the night in a motel on the east side of the mountains and drove to the entrance of the headquarters at ten Tuesday morning.

  Christopher drove into the long driveway of the headquarters, pulled over to the side, and stopped the car. Travis was sitting in the front seat now. He took a deep, nervous breath, studying the scene in front of him. The building was a magnificent structure, but it looked huge, scary, and imposing. His stomach ached. A fountain shot water into the air out front. The building was ten or eleven stories, with reflective, gold-colored glass windows for outer walls. The whole building reflected the morning sun and the mountains that stood behind them. Travis had seen photos of the building, and, in fact, had one hung on the wall of his office for years, but he had never been here. Ornate gates were open and high fences with concertina wire around the top encircled the compound, making it look a little like a prison. Travis could see a marked, security vehicle sitting in the first parking spot.

  Christopher pulled into the parking lot and found a visitor's spot near the front, double doors. He glanced at his passengers. “Ready?”

  Travis closed his eyes for a moment and took a breath. When he opened them it looked to him like Christopher was saying a prayer. The men got out and walked through the crisp morning air to the entrance. Travis stepped inside first. When he did a soothing female voice said, “Good morning Travis Reed.” It startled him and he stepped back out of the doorway. The door's scanner had read his bar code and identified him. Dillon also jumped backward. He put the back of his hand over his tattoo to block it and stepped through. The voice was silent. Christopher walked through behind him.

  “So much for sneaking in,” Travis said.

  Dillon rolled his eyes.

  The lobby was cavernous and beautiful with dark wood trimming and earth tones throughout. It was open to the very top of the building, with balconies of the offices overlooking it. Travis knew one of those offices belonged to Charles Morgan and he wondered if he was looking down at him as they walked toward the elevators. The floor was marble with the Morgan Retail logo engraved in gold in the center of the room. He could hear the water flowing even before he saw the decorative, stone waterfalls that reached into the indoor trees several stories high. Dozens of people milled about, some speaking to a group of receptionists along the back wall, near where they were walking. Travis noticed at least three security guards at different points in the lobby. He tried to relax, taking forced breaths, but his breathing was shallow and his heart was racing.

  “Are you okay?” Christopher asked him as they stood in the middle of the lobby.

  “Yes, I'm fine,” Travis said.

&nbs
p; “There's the receptionist,” Dillon said, pointing toward the desk. “Just ask for Merrill and see if you can go get him. We'll wait right here for you to get back.”

  “Okay,” Travis said. “I'll see you guys in a few minutes.”

  Christopher and Dillon headed toward a seating area near the waterfall as Travis walked up to the desk.

  The receptionist was a male security officer whose muscles bulged under his Morgan uniform. He looked up at Travis without smiling. “Can I help you?”

  "Yes, I came to speak with Merrill Brandeis, in technology." Travis could feel his heart beating fast in his chest.

  The guard studied his computer for a moment. "I don't have him listed.” He paused. “Oh wait, here he is." He looked back at Travis. "Do you have an appointment?"

  "Uh, no. I'm in from out of town. I used to work with him and wanted to see his office here at headquarters."

  The guard frowned at him. "I'll have to ask if he will see you." He keyed a number on a phone bank and spoke into this headset. "I'm looking for Merrill Brandeis. Is he there?" He paused. "He's not?" He looked back at Travis, then spoke again. "Okay, transfer that for me." He waited another second or two, but it seemed like much longer to Travis. "Is this Merrill? I have someone here to see you." He looked at Travis. "What's your name again?"

  "Travis Reed."

  "Travis Reed. Do you know him? Well, can you see him this morning?" He waited. "Okay, I'll send him up."

  The guard handed Travis a sticky visitor's tag. “Put this on.” He turned and pointed to the elevators. "Merrill is in room three-forty-seven. Just go to the elevators and up to the third floor. You'll see the technology office down to your left."

  “Thank you.” Travis placed the visitors tag on his shirt, above his breast pocket. He walked over to the elevators. Another security guard watched him push the elevator button and eyed him as he stepped into the first one that opened. Travis could see Christopher and Dillon sitting in the lobby as the doors closed in front of him. He wished he could stay with them. He pushed the button on the panel and began his ascent into the building.

  The technology door was locked, so he knocked on it. After a few seconds, Merrill opened it. It surprised Travis to see him. He was sitting in a wheel chair with casts on both of his lower legs.

  “Hey Travis. What a pleasant surprise,” Merrill said.

  Travis reached out his hand. “Hello Merrill. I didn't expect to see – ”

  Merrill cut him off. “Me in a wheelchair? You didn't know about this did you?”

  “No.”

  Merrill turned and started back toward his desk. “Come on in my office. Yeah, I had a little skiing accident last month.”

  “I'm so sorry to hear that.” Travis followed him toward his desk by the wall-sized window. “It must have been a pretty bad crash.”

  He pointed to first his right leg, then his left. “Yeah, I broke Tibia on this leg and the Fibula on this one so I'm stuck in this chair for a while.”

  “I'm glad it wasn't any worse,” Travis said. "I like your office. Very nice." He could see four other workers in the room with their faces buried in their double monitors.

  Merrill rolled over and parked the wheelchair behind his desk. "I have a great view of the mountains too, when I get a chance to turn around and look."

  Travis stood by the window with his arms crossed and looked out. "Yes, this is very nice. We don't have views like this back in Springfield."

  "You want some coffee or a soda or something?"

  "No. No thank you." Travis walked over and sat on a stool in front of Merrill's desk.

  Merrill looked across at him. "Only thing is, the pressure's pretty bad here. They want everything yesterday.” He looked at his computer screen and clicked the mouse. “Like Charles Morgan always says, 'if you're on time, you're late.'" He paused. "The money's good, though. I can't argue with that."

  Travis nodded. “So, how long will you be in the chair?”

  “A couple more weeks.”

  “Well that's good.”

  Merrill shrugged his shoulders. “You have to take what life throws at you.”

  “You need to get a better chair – maybe a scooter or something.”

  “Oh I have one of those, but it doesn't fit under this desk, so I just use it at home.”

  “Is your wife okay?” Travis couldn't remember her name.

  “She's fine.” Merrill pushed his glasses up on his nose. “At least the last time I spoke to her. She moved to Nebraska last fall.”

  Travis made a pained look on his face. “Sorry.”

  Merrill kept his thin hair in a comb-over. He wore a white, button-down shirt with a company logo on the breast. He had a plastic pocket-protector in his breast pocket, with several pens tucked away in it. He tended to push-up the glasses on his nose when he started a new sentence. He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. "So what in the world brings you to Denver this morning? Is everything okay?"

  "I was in town, so I want to take you to lunch." Travis raised his eyebrows. "Do you think you can do that today?"

  Merrill leaned forward and looked at the calendar that lay flat on his desk. "Uh, let me see … sure, sounds good."

  Travis glanced at his watch. "Good. Maybe we can go a little early and beat the crowd. Is there a good place around here? My treat."

  Merrill thought a minute. "There's a good burger place up the street. It's pretty good and I can get in and out pretty easily."

  "Sounds great to me."

  "Just let me finish this update." Merrill looked at his watch. "I'm pushing out a new security update to every computer in the building. We're all connected through that server over there.” He pointed to a humming rack of blade servers on the other side of the room. “It's a lot better than going to each office, I can tell you that." He glanced back at Travis. “It's the same stuff I did back in Springfield, only we have ten-times as many computers here.”

  "Sure. Don't let me bother you." Travis said. He stood and went back to the window. "I'll just stay over here out of your way until you're ready."

  Travis could see snow falling high up in the mountains in the distance. A dark, low-hanging cloud obscured the peak. The tall buildings of Denver were off to his right and he thought he could see the top of the football stadium. He had so many questions for Merrill and wanted to start by asking him about the list, but he knew it was wise to wait a few more minutes. He turned and glanced at his old friend doing what he always remembered him doing, pecking away at his keyboard, clicking the mouse, and staring at a screen full of lines of code.

  A few minutes after eleven, Merrill clicked his mouse and turned to Travis. “Okay, let's go.”

  Travis pushed him out of the office and into the elevator. They rode to the bottom floor and went across the lobby floor. Christopher and Dillon stood when they approached them. Travis introduced everyone.

  Merrill looked up at him. “You didn't tell me you brought friends, Travis.”

  “Merrill, you remember Dillon McGee from Springfield,” Travis said.

  He reached up and shook his hand. “Oh, of course. Long time no see.”

  Dillon shook his hand.

  “What's the matter, you didn't expect to see me in a wheelchair?” He grinned at him. “Be nice and I may let you sign one of my casts.”

  Dillon laughed politely. Merrill shook Christopher's hand and asked his name again. When he rolled up to the double doors, the voice said, “Merrill Brandeese, going to lunch?”

  “Yes,” Merrill said in a loud voice. He looked back at Travis. “She always says my name wrong.”

  Travis and Dillon looked at each other. Both cupped their hands over their tattoos as they exited the building.

  The men loaded Merrill into the front seat and put his wheelchair in the trunk. They drove up the street to the restaurant, ordered their food, and found a table toward the back. They talked small at first, having a pleasant conversation. Travis knew, though, that he had to bring up
why they came; he had to find out if Merrill was going to be able to help them. He took a bite and looked over his shoulder. "Merrill, we need to ask you about the Dead Peasants file."

  Merrill swallowed. His expression changed. He had been grinning, but he lost the color in his face and he looked back at Travis with a serious look. "The what?"

  "You heard me, Merrill. We need to know what you know about the list of names on that file."

  "Like what? What do you want to know?"

  "How did you get it?" Dillon said. He was sitting next to him at the table.

  Merrill looked around the restaurant, then lowered his voice to nearly a whisper. "They would kill me if they heard me talking about that."

  "I believe you," Dillon said. He pointed to his ear.

  Merrill looked at him for a moment. “Is that a gunshot wound?”

  “That's right.”

  Merrill looked at each of the men. "I think the best thing you can do is go back to Springfield and forget you ever heard about that list."

  "It's too late for that," Christopher said. "They're hunting for Dillon. We have to stop them and we need your help."

  Merrill looked truly frightened. "I don't know what you guys have in mind, but I think it's time for me to get back."

  "You're the one guy who can help us," Travis said. He reached in his front pocket and pulled out the thumb drive and showed it to Merrill. "We've got the list right here and we're going to take it the police, but we need to know if you'll testify for us."

  Merrill didn't answer. He looked down at his plate.

  “People are dying, Merrill,” Christopher said. “I understand why you're nervous, but we've got to stop this.”

  Merrill looked up at him but didn't speak.

  "We need to know how you got this," Dillon said.

  Merrill looked over at him. “The company has a database of all employees. This is just a filter to select random names who have the corporate insurance. Morgan first asked me to create the list last summer.” He paused and looked down. “I didn't know what it was for.”