Serpentine

by Peter Parken

  But maybe the substitute surgeon had indeed been a bad omen for him. Once inside, they discovered cancerous tumors in the region surrounding the gall bladder. So, they simply closed him up again. He was still in recovery and Shelby didn’t envy the surgeon who had to give him that news when he awakened.

  She did love surgery—it was always different. No operation was exactly the same and the patients all had their unique characteristics. She enjoyed the “lifesaving” nature of surgery the most. Sure, there were disappointments, too, but there were far more victories than defeats, and she was the kind of person who always focused on the positives. She felt she had one of the best jobs in the world, because most of the time what she did was give people hope and make them happy again. A second lease on life, and who couldn’t be happy about a job that allowed you to do that for people, even if they were people you didn’t really know?

  Shelby removed her scrubs and headed on down to the cafeteria. Time for lunch and after such a busy morning she was darn hungry. Hadn’t had time for breakfast—she’d slept in. Wanted to stay in dreamland after such a lovely date with Nate the night before. The alarm had gone off, she set the snooze button, and then five minutes later hit it angrily with the palm of her hand when it buzzed its rude reminder. She didn’t set it again, preferring instead to relive their dinner date in her mind and take her chances that she’d wake up on her own.

  Half an hour before her shift started, she awakened for the third time, in a panic. No time for a shower, she just threw some clothes on and ran to the car. Normally, Shelby walked to the hospital, but her lazy extended wake-up wouldn’t allow that this morning.

  Despite the frantic morning, she smiled at how nice it had been just to lie there in bed and remember the nice time she’d spent with Nate. She was very attracted to him, she had to admit, and he was so different than anyone else she’d ever dated.

  Even though he was good looking and very successful, he wasn’t the least bit into himself—modest to a fault, and interested in virtually everything that Shelby had to say. Nate was a very attentive man and seemed to possess an incredible memory. She would mention something very insignificant, something that normally wouldn’t stick in someone’s mind, but he would remember it and raise it later on in the conversation.

  That kind of amazed her—it demonstrated to Shelby that he was paying close attention to her and, if he remembered something minor like that, he would surely remember the big stuff. Most of the men she’d dated couldn’t even remember the big stuff—probably because they were too busy thinking about what they wanted to tell her about themselves.

  Shelby really hoped that Nate would join her for the skydiving rally. She knew he’d enjoy it, especially someone like him who earned his living designing thrills.

  Remembering back to his gentle kiss when he left, she felt a smile come over her face. It was so nice to have a date end that way. She compared that short moment to other dates—when she’d been groped in cars, or had her ass squeezed on the dance floor.

  And trying to explain to some lout why she really wasn’t interested in wrapping her mouth around the penis of someone she barely knew. Sorry, dude, not that kind of girl. You can find those girls anywhere, but I’m not one of them.

  She remembered feeling insulted—and kind of dirty—after being out with guys like that. Guys who started out nice, but then turned out to be pigs.

  She often wondered after those dates what it was about her that made men think she had such little self-worth. What messages was she sending out? But after deliberating about it, she cut herself some slack. It wasn’t her problem—it was theirs. She was a classy lady, but some men just weren’t capable of recognizing that. Or, they just didn’t care about that—it wasn’t what they wanted. Maybe they were somehow convinced that every woman was cheap, or just some piece of meat.

  For guys like that, there were never second dates.

  But for Nate, she hoped there would be a second…and a third…

  She entered the cafeteria, chose a corned beef sandwich and cream of asparagus soup, and took a seat at the corner table near the window. It was almost empty today—most people must have chosen to go out for lunch. Shelby regretted that she still hadn’t had the courage to return to the Sunshine Café since the day that strange man made his appearance and threatened her.

  That reminded her of the papers in her purse. Manipulating her sandwich with one hand, Shelby struggled to open her purse and pull the sheets out with the other.

  First, she laid the sketch face up and gave the man another look. She shivered, folded it up and shoved it back in her purse.

  Then she started scanning the list of the twenty-five coaster victims that Nate had provided her with. She finished her sandwich and started in on the soup—delicious. She was savoring every morsel of this food today.

  Just like last night, she used her finger to guide her eyes down the list of victims. Which reminded her for a second of Nate. She’d noticed last night, just for a moment, that his eyes seemed to wander slightly—when he’d asked her about what she’d noticed on the list, one eye was looking at her while the other one was still trained on the list. She made a mental note to ask him about that. It was a bit weird. Or, on second thought, maybe she should wait until they knew each other better—he might be self-conscious about it.

  As she sipped her soup, she ran down the list quickly. Then flipped to the other pages—the ones that contained the photos and bios. She saw her friend and seatmate, Cheryl Sanders, and couldn’t stop the tear that suddenly blurred her vision.

  Shelby hadn’t known those people all that well, but Cheryl had been the exception. They always sat together on rollercoasters and, once every month or so, got together for lunch or dinner. And the others—well, they would meet at some Coaster Crazies club meetings that sometimes had guest speakers, and almost always at those meetings there were film showings of rollercoasters from around the world.

  She actually remembered one film that featured another one of Flying Machines’ coasters—the Boomslang in Tokyo. It was known for its sharp jolting curves and breakneck speeds, and had been on the list of rollercoasters for the Coaster Crazies to visit sometime in the future.

  Since they always got to chat together at these meetings she got to know the others a little bit. And she remembered some things about each of them. Of course, the Coaster Crazies were a worldwide group and there were 5,000 members, and even locally there were about a hundred in just the Alexandria chapter of the club. The twenty-six chosen to make the inaugural ride of the Black Mamba were drawn by lottery. She thought sardonically, yes, weren’t we the lucky ones. So, since there were so many members in just her chapter alone, it was impossible to really get to know people.

  But Shelby had always used little memory tricks to help her remember people’s names, things like word association or images. Like, with Cheryl Sanders, when she first met her she used Cheryl’s hair color to help remember her last name—it was sandy blonde.

  She looked at another name on the list: Rod Hockney. For him, she always thought he looked like a hunky hockey player, so that locked his name in her memory. She chuckled as she continued on down the list. One lady’s name was Virginia Semen, and it hadn’t been hard for her to come up with images to remember that one.

  Her finger stopped again—at the same name that had made her hesitate last night. She didn’t know what it was, but something just didn’t seem right. She flipped to the bio pages and saw his photo. Yep, it was the same guy she knew casually. She’d only chatted briefly with him a couple of times.

  She read his bio—a dentist in Washington.

  That didn’t sound right. Shelby wracked her brain.

  Out of all the names on the list, this was the only one that was giving her a funny feeling. And if he’d been a dentist she would have remembered that.

  She looked hard at the name: Alexei Draminov.

  The photo was right, but the bio didn’t seem right—and the name, jus
t like last night, left her cold. There was something wrong.

  Shelby sat back in her chair and folded her arms across her chest. What image or word did I use to remember this man’s name? I know I used something.

  Yes, he was indeed Russian. She remembered that. But, an American, born and raised in the United States. He still had family back in Russia, she recalled, and was pretty sure they were in Moscow.

  He had the stereotypical Russian features: stocky, wide in the chest, square-shaped head, and strong jawline. Very distinct eyebrows and cold hard eyes. But he was a pleasant man, very friendly, but a little bit shy. Laughed easily, those cold Russian eyes twinkling behind thick-lensed glasses.

  Shelby retrieved an image—standing beside the coffee machine during an intermission at one of their meetings. There were several of them, talking about what they did for a living. She replayed the scene in her mind—could hear the others talking. And then Alexei spoke.

  He worked for the government! He wasn’t a dentist!

  She also recalled him talking about the forty-minute drive it took him to get down to Alexandria from the Fort Meade area of Maryland.

  So, he wasn’t a dentist, nor did he live in Washington! The bio was way off base.

  Then she fixed his face in her mind and remembered back to when she’d first heard him introduce himself. Tried to remember what words or images she’d used to remember his name.

  A dragon!

  Shelby whipped her cellphone out of her purse and turned it on. Waited for it to warm up, then went to her ‘favorites.’ Clicked on the website for the Coaster Crazies. Then she entered her private membership number and password. Up came the ‘Members Only’ page, with buttons for upcoming activities, news, and videos of various rollercoasters.

  There was also a complete listing of members worldwide. Shelby clicked on that and the list came up. There were 5,000 members, but the list could be refined by country and alphabetically. She clicked on the United States, and then went to the ‘D’ section of the list.

  She scrolled. And there he was.

  His name wasn’t Alexei Draminov. It was Alexei Dragunov.

  ‘Dragon.’

  Chapter 32

  John Fletcher donned just a casual suit today—he’d worn his best suit yesterday at Linda’s funeral. These were only two of several new suits that the insurance money had bought for him. Of course everything now would be brand spanking new, and until his house could be rebuilt the insurance money would at least pay for accommodations and all those basic needs he would have—such as clothes.

  Today didn’t deserve a really good suit. It was just a meeting, not the burial of his lifelong lover.

  It was such a sad day for John yesterday. But everyone was great. They all came over to him and gave their condolences, but they didn’t really know what to say afterwards. Conversations were short—quick messages and hasty retreats. They held his hands and whispered how they’d felt about Linda. Offering their help with anything he might need. All of them trying not to look too sad—but also trying not to look too happy either.

  Funerals were always a delicate balance. He didn’t blame people for feeling uncomfortable; he’d always felt that way, too, at funerals for friends over the years. What could you really say to make someone feel better?

  John was living in a rented house just a few blocks from where the charred remains of his home were. At least he was still in the neighborhood, with all the memories that he and Linda had. He knew those familiar surroundings would make him sad, but he wanted those reminders. He wanted to feel sad. And angry. Anger was the new love of his life.

  John Fletcher had nothing to live for now. He was looking forward to the imminent end of his life, when he’d be able to join Linda again. But he had things to do first.

  He wanted justice. And justice wouldn’t come from the justice system. He’d pretty much given up on that. Any system that forced him to sign a falsified report that incriminated an innocent company and its executives wasn’t much of a system. There was no hope that he would get anywhere working through proper channels.

  He’d worked through channels his whole life, looked the other way when the TWA 800 lies were spouted to the world; called the police on his own son twenty years ago and sent him to prison with his testimony; and signed the phony report for the Black Mamba accident. And then the minute he tried to do one little thing to rectify his mistake—by asking Linda to make an anonymous phone call to tip off the Flying Machines executives—he’d gotten her killed.

  Working through the system over the years had brought him nothing but grief. And now he was without the person he cared about the most in the entire world.

  And he was still without Vincent. John had hired a lawyer in London to take whatever steps were necessary to track down his son. Vincent had a right to know that his mother had died. John knew he was in Europe somewhere, so maybe a few posts in the newspapers of the major cities would get some results. The London lawyer would take care of that. He also authorized him to hire a private investigator to see if any trails could be uncovered. There had to be some trails—credit card transactions and Internet communications alone; unless he’d changed his name, which would make things more difficult.

  It hurt John to know that Vincent was unaware that his mother was gone. And Vincent didn’t even know that his dear old dad had a year left to live. Not that he’d care about that, but John was sure he’d care that his mom was gone.

  John was meeting with the Flying Machines people down at their office in Alexandria. Shelby Sutcliffe would be there, too. That sweet feisty woman—he liked her.

  He wanted to help them. John wanted to do one important thing before he died. And he wanted to be able to tell Linda when he saw her again that he got the people who had killed her. And he was going to get them—if it took until his dying breath, he would get them.

  After the NSA spook visited his office and told John that they had taped Linda’s anonymous phone call from the telephone booth, John was a bit worried that they might have to look over their shoulders. But he’d been naïve—didn’t really believe in his heart that anything bad would happen to them. Then the guy had tried to trick him into telling him who else he’d told about the wreckage in Key West.

  John knew that the track had been melted. And he was ordered to sign a fake report, to deny his own professional investigation. He’d seen the melted track for God’s sake. He knew that something horrible had happened there—it wasn’t an accident at all. He just didn’t know why such a horrific act was committed.

  Then that fateful night when he was out on the street with his vandalized Lexus, he saw that other vehicle do a U-turn and speed away. In the hospital, the police officer confirmed that the license plate had been for a military vehicle. And he knew that Fort Meade was the closest major military installation, the same place where the NSA was based.

  It was all starting to fit. Those twenty-five people on the Black Mamba were murdered. His wife had been murdered. Someone was very desperate to try to keep things covered up. Something was going on, but John didn’t care as much anymore what that actually was, and he didn’t really care about getting justice for the rollercoaster victims either.

  That wasn’t what was driving him. He wanted to just do the right thing one last time, and if that led to uncovering what was going on, so much the better.

  No, more than anything, he just wanted to squeeze the life out of the person or persons responsible for Linda’s death.

  For the first time in his life, John Fletcher felt absolutely no fear.

  He was already dead. And his bucket list was a blank page.

  *****

  Nate was waiting for everyone to make their appearance in the boardroom. Shelby had just arrived a few minutes before and Tom was in his usual seat. Still to show up were Ron Collens and the newest member of their informal little team: John Fletcher, from the NTSB.

  Nate had some papers on the table in front of him and he waved one of
them in the air. “Tom, looks like a big mistake was made in checking the bios for the victims. You had the name spelt wrong. A guy named Alexei Draminov should actually have been ‘Dragunov.’ The guy you’d listed was a dentist—Shelby caught this mistake, and she says the real guy worked for the government.”

  Tom fidgeted with his hands. “I don’t know how that could have happened. Let me see that?”

  Nate slid the sheet of paper over to him. Tom looked at it, and then glanced at Shelby. “Are you sure about this?”

  She nodded. “Yes, absolutely.”

  Ron Collens came into the room and took a seat across from Nate. “Sorry I’m late, guys. Was just finishing up that little thing you asked me to check on, Nate.”

  “That’s okay. We’re still waiting for our special guest to arrive, anyway.”

  Tom folded the sheet of paper with the two names on it, and shoved it inside his suit pocket. “Let me run a check on that new name, Nate. Sorry about the mistake.”

  Nate waved his hand. “No, don’t bother. I asked Ron to take a look at it for us.”

  Tom pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped his brow.

  Are you okay, Tom?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine. It just seems extra hot in here today.” Tom got up and walked over to the wall thermostat, giving the dial a spin. “No wonder—it’s eighty degrees in here!”

  Just then, the door opened and in walked Cary Grant. Nate was shocked at this first glance of the man—Shelby had warned him about the matinee idol looks that John Fletcher possessed, but he still wasn’t prepared for it.

  He got up and shook John’s hand, then introduced him to Tom and Ron. John sat down beside Shelby and took her hand in his, squeezing it gently. “So nice to see you again, dear, and thanks again for visiting me in the hospital. It helped me more than you know.”