by Peter Parken
“Which U.S. cities will be impacted?”
“We expect casualties in both Green Bay and Milwaukee. Nothing beyond that. In total, we expect maybe five thousand deaths.”
Tetford nodded. “Continue.”
“Each of these little bots will be loaded with Hydrogen Cyanide. Once the bots are released, they’ll be programmed to fly to the western shore of Lake Michigan and then simply self-destruct. On destruction, the cyanide will be vaporized and begin to spread. The good thing is, Hydrogen Cyanide doesn’t survive well in water—so we’ll be able to say that the terrorists intended to poison our water system, but didn’t understand the science as well as they thought. So, we’ll have some deaths in cottages along the lake and in those two cities I mentioned, but our water supply won’t suffer from our ‘false flag.’ And the attack will justify U.S. troops controlling the shores of the Great Lakes, on the “lookout” for more attacks—and we’ll be perceived and thanked for actually “helping” Canada with their security. Our tunnel will go undiscovered and our troop presence will provide us with even more options if we wish to use them down the road.”
Generals Tetford and Halperson abruptly stood and headed for the door. No goodbyes, or even any thanks for a job well done.
Tetford looked back at Carl before leaving. “Make sure you tie up those loose ends.”
Chapter 35
“He’s identified the guy. He’s no longer the ‘mystery man.’ Ron’s friend at Anonymous tracked him down from the NFL roster—the prick’s name is Carl Masterson. He’s fairly high up at the NSA. Lives and works in Maryland.”
Tom stood up and walked over to the window in Nate’s office. It was early in the morning and there was still heavy commuter traffic outside. He solemnly watched the congestion, and then said, “That’s great news. Now we just have to decide what to do about him.”
“Ron’s discovered a few other things as well. This Dragunov guy was fired three months ago from the NSA—apparently he sent an email to Moscow that might have been his downfall. Something to do with a plot called Operation Backwash, which apparently involves the water up in Canada—the Great Lakes region. Ron thinks the email was sent to Edward Snowden, and it was tipping him off to something that Dragunov stumbled onto.”
Tom started pacing the office. “This sounds like one tangled web.”
“It has been from the beginning, that’s for sure. I’ve asked Ron to join us—he should be here in a few minutes. His friend had some more information that he wanted to pass along. He’s on the phone with him right now. Maybe he can fill in the blanks a bit for us when he gets here.”
*****
“Okay, there’s something strange going on, Ron.”
“Well, we already knew that—tell me something I don’t know!”
Ron could hear Chet tapping on his keyboard at the other end of the phone. “Brace yourself. I’ve hacked into Carl Masterson’s phone records. Traced the recipients for all the phone calls he’s made, and there’s one that pops out at me. One of your partners, Tom Foster. I’ve tracked twenty phone calls made to his cell phone in the last three months. And I did a reverse check—almost as many calls from Foster back to Masterson.”
“What?!”
“Sorry to tell you this news, but I figured you’d want to know right away. The records don’t lie. I don’t know what’s going on, but I would hazard a guess that Tom Foster was the ‘inside man.’”
“Jesus! He’s not only a partner, but he’s also one of our best friends! I can’t believe this! What would he have to gain from this?”
Ron could hear Chet rapping his fingernails against the mouthpiece. “Nothing financial, that’s for sure. I checked his bank accounts—no unusual deposits. Unless he has an offshore account somewhere that might be out of reach for us to find.”
Ron could feel the blood boiling in his veins. His right hand was squeezing the phone so tightly that his fingers had turned white from the lack of circulation. “Chet, I can’t thank you enough for this. Leave it with me. Anything else you find out, let me know right away.”
“Okay—be careful, my friend.”
*****
Ron Collens marched down the hall towards Nate’s office—he felt like he was back in the Seals, stalking a known terrorist. Readied for the kill, hands swinging confidently by his side, face flushed from the adrenaline.
He felt betrayed—they’d been going through hell, and this “friend” of theirs had probably been setting them up every step of the way, allowing their nameless, invisible enemy to always stay one step ahead of them.
Lives had been lost, their company was in peril, Shelby had been threatened, John Fletcher had lost his wife—and who knew what other dangers awaited them all, just because they wanted to clear their names in a tragic rollercoaster accident. And their partner, Tom Foster, had been doing his damnedest to make sure they never did. But why? What was his connection to all this?
He swung open the door to Nate’s office and stormed in. His eyes went to Tom right away, sitting in the guest chair in front of Nate’s desk, jotting down notes while Nate talked.
Ron closed the door behind him and, in a raised voice, said, “Don’t give that guy any more information, Nate!”
Through blurry eyes, he saw the stunned look on Tom’s face. That look turned to fear when Ron walked over to him and grabbed him by the necktie with one hand. He used the necktie for leverage as he exerted his considerable strength to yank Tom out of the chair and up into the air. The man started choking as the terrifying sensation of being hanged began to send warning signals into his brain. Ron brought his other hand up, too, giving him more leverage as he hoisted Tom well above his head.
Tom was choking and gasping—he brought one feeble hand up to his necktie, trying desperately to relieve the pressure. With the other hand he started banging on Ron’s head. Ron ignored him and started swinging the man back and forth, increasing the tension on his neck. Tom’s legs were kicking out in every direction.
Ron was vaguely aware of Nate yelling something and could sense that he was on his way over to the scene. Then he dropped him—actually just flung him outward. Tom crashed up against the coffee table and lay prone on the floor gasping for breath.
Nate grabbed Ron by the shoulders and spun him around. “What the fuck are you doing? Have you gone stark raving mad?”
Ron backed away from Nate and turned his attention to Tom on the floor.
Out of breath, Ron said, “You might…be better off asking our friend…that question, Nate.”
Tom was starting to come around—he’d raised himself into a sitting position on the floor and loosened the necktie that just a few seconds ago had been functioning as a noose, strangling the life out of him.
Looking puzzled, Nate looked down at Tom. “What’s Ron talking about, Tom?”
“I…haven’t…got…a clue.” Tom was rubbing his neck and stretching it from side to side.
“Explain yourself, Ron. You’ve just come close to killing our friend here, right in front of me.”
“He’s no friend of ours, Nate. That’s just an illusion. I’ve just been told about phone records that show the NSA spook, Carl Masterson, and our Tom Foster here in regular communications together, long before the Black Mamba crashed.”
Tom struggled to his feet. “There…has to be…some mistake.”
“No, there’s no mistake with those records, Tom. You’re the mistake. You’re the inside man.”
Tom raised his arms out towards Nate in protest. “Nate, I told you about that engineer of ours who went missing after the accident—Bill Shanahan. He was the one up in the sling that day of the final inspection. Don’t you remember me telling you that? He might have used my cell phone to make those calls to the NSA guy—to cover his tracks.”
Ron took a step towards Tom, causing him to flinch and slink backwards. “You pathetic prick—I never said anything about a cell phone. I only said I had phone records. What made you say it was a cell phone?”
&
nbsp; “Well, I just assumed…”
“You assumed nothing! And as far as Bill Shanahan is concerned, before I came to this meeting I went down to your department and checked with the two other engineers who were at Adventureland on that final inspection day. They’d been doing last minute checks in the mechanical room that day. I asked them if they recalled Bill being there—both said no, that the only other person there was you. And that you were doing all the outside work.”
“They’re just not remembering correctly.”
“Both are pretty smart guys—but more to the point, they said Bill was down in Dallas doing an inspection there. I checked—he indeed was. His expense accounts back that up. Then I checked the maintenance records for that day of the final inspection, which you signed off on—and they show him being there, inspecting the track and the train. So, how could he have been all the way down in Dallas and way up north here in Virginia at exactly the same time? Someone doctored the records. Explain that, Tom?”
“I…can’t.”
“Was Bill your patsy, Tom? And did you have him killed? The same way you callously went along with killing twenty-five innocent people on the coaster?”
“I…”
Nate stepped forward and grabbed Tom by the lapels of his jacket. He pulled him to his feet and threw him back against the wall. “What the fuck did you do, Tom? And why?”
Tom started dribbling. Nate reared his fist back and smashed it into his nose. The blood started pouring instantly. Nate hit him again—this time in the solar plexus. Tom doubled over and began spitting blood.
“You murderous son-of-a-bitch! I can’t believe what I’m hearing! I’ve known you forever!”
Tom suddenly stood proudly erect and pushed himself forward off the wall. “You guys…are making…a mistake. We have to…look into this. I’m being set up. You have to admit…we’ve been up against…incredible forces since this began. I would never have done the things you’re alleging. Give me three hours—that’s all I ask. I think I can follow a trail from what you’ve told me.”
Ron looked over at Nate, hoping that he wouldn’t give in to his friend’s request. But he did.
Nate growled, “You have three hours and no more. Only because we’ve known each other for so long. After that, I’m calling the police. Don’t make me regret this.”
Tom’s face showed instant relief. It made Ron sick to see it. He wouldn’t have been so generous.
Tom held out his hand to Nate. “Thank you, buddy. I’ll prove myself to you.”
Nate shoved his hand away. “Get the fuck out of here. I’ll shake your hand after you prove Ron wrong.”
*****
Tom Foster moved fast. Packed a small suitcase, grabbed his passport and headed for the door. Sophie was still at work—a part-time job with a real estate office. And Joey and Katy were in school.
On his race home from the office, he’d arranged for a bank transfer of several hundred thousand dollars to a bank in Bangkok, Thailand. Sure, it could be traced, but they’d never find him there. A soul could get completely lost in Bangkok. He’d move the money around to different banks once he was settled in, but it didn’t matter—they couldn’t touch him there.
And while his sick affliction had brought all of this down upon himself, he figured if he was still going to live out his years he might as well live like he was meant to live.
Tom had thought of suicide, but realized at the last minute that he just didn’t have the courage.
So, he’d live in Thailand, where every perversion he’d ever imagined would now be available to him on a daily basis.
Yes, it was a curse—but it was the only life Tom had left now.
Chapter 36
The hangar was sitting just a short taxi ramp in from the private airstrip. And it wasn’t much of an airstrip. Just long enough to handle the typical jump-planes. It was dark and deserted, after the bustling activity all day with legions of people getting things ready for the next day’s big rally.
The two interlopers had no problem gaining access to the building. A cheap lock that was easily compromised, with no visible signs of entry left behind. They were pros—and also expert skydivers themselves, having served with the Airborne Rangers.
The two men, outfitted in black from head to toe, headed straight for locker number 213. They knew this was her locker because a rental fee was being charged monthly against her credit card, and the online reservation form she’d completed identified the number assigned to her.
There was a combination lock, but that wasn’t a challenge either. One man donned earphones and held what looked like a stethoscope up against the lock as he slowly turned the dial. Within minutes, the lock was open and the contents of the locker laid bare.
They dragged out a thick package—a sack containing precious cargo that had been carefully folded by its owner, with not only extreme care, but also special expertise—life-saving expertise.
One of the men shone a flashlight inside the locker. “Ah, ha—she has a tandem chute as well.” He pulled that sack out and laid it on the floor several yards away from the other one. “Okay, you go to work on the single chute and I’ll deal with the tandem.”
They quietly went about their tasks—pulling the chutes out of the sacks and completely unfolding them. Then just re-folded them again, but slightly different than the way they came out. An errant fold here, another one there—they knew exactly which folds would cause the chutes to be impaired. Like most expert skydivers, they knew that the cause of most skydiving fatalities was incorrectly packed parachutes.
After finishing with the main chutes, they followed the same procedure with the reserve chutes—taking them out of their sacks, unfolding them and re-packing them in a slightly different fashion. Just enough to cause catastrophic failure.
Everything went back into locker number 213 in exactly the same spots. Nothing looked out of place. And the two men knew, with cold confidence, that whichever parachute she chose to use tomorrow would fail.
*****
Nate was on his way. It was about a half hour drive out to the private airstrip, and he didn’t know whether he was looking forward to it or not. He was anxious to spend the day with Shelby, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to do it floating down from a height of 15,000 feet.
Why did Shelby have to belong to a group called the Virginia Sky Pilots? Why couldn’t it be something like the Virginia Movie Buffs?
Well, he knew that was just the way she was—she was a daredevil and even the terrifying Black Mamba accident hadn’t kicked that tendency out of her. Sure, she was afraid to go on a rollercoaster again, but that hadn’t depleted her thrill of adrenaline rushes in general.
Nate chuckled to himself. There he was, a rollercoaster designer, who was afraid to jump out of a plane! And as for Shelby, he still wouldn’t change a thing about her—her daredevil attitude was one of the things he found attractive about her, probably because he had long outgrown that stage and sometimes wished he had it back again.
And…it was just simply one more aspect of Shelby Sutcliffe that he loved. So, he didn’t mind joining her for one of her passions. Although he hoped that their next date might be just a simple movie!
They’d actually seen each other quite a few times since that first dinner date two weeks ago—mainly on lunch breaks and after work for drinks. Both of them had been pretty busy, so no time to devote an entire evening to each other. Nate hoped that would change soon.
Today was actually a good escape from the other things on his mind—well, one thing in particular: Tom Foster.
He’d been missing now for five days, ever since that meeting when Ron and Nate had roughed him up. The evidence against Tom for being the ‘inside man’ had been overwhelming, but, despite that, Nate had agreed to give him three hours to straighten it out.
He’d leaned in favor of loyalty towards his long-time friend and partner. And—he just hadn’t wanted to believe it. He was in denial. Nate should have listened to Ron an
d called the police right away.
When he finally did call the police, it was too late. Tom had left the country and he’d been traced to Thailand—along with 600 thousand dollars of his family’s money. The trail grew cold in Thailand. The police surmised that he’d just disappeared into the quagmire that was Bangkok, and he certainly had the funds at his disposal to change his identity and obtain a new passport.
Tom’s wife, Sophie, was distraught, as were the kids. Nate had paid Sophie a visit to try to find out whatever he could. She knew nothing, but took the opportunity to grill Nate about what happened to cause Tom to leave. Nate didn’t tell her anything, but left the hint with her that the reason he couldn’t tell her was that it was now a police matter.
Nate still found it almost impossible to believe—that someone he’d been so close to for most of his adult life could have betrayed him and committed such a horrific act.
What was the connection between Tom and that NSA guy, Carl Masterson? Why had they been communicating with each other? And was Tom really the one who had applied the Thermate to the underside of the track and attached the fuses? So much for his apparent fear of heights.
Nate knew that his inability to be objective about Tom had caused them to miss their best opportunity yet to find out what this was all about. He only had himself to blame—Ron had done the proper due diligence which had incriminated Tom, but Nate had given the prick the benefit of the doubt. And then he had just fled the country.
He should have tied him to a chair and beat the shit out of him—and then the truth out of him. That’s what he should have done.
He shook his head—shook the thought out of his brain. Today was an escape into the wild blue yonder, and he had to concentrate on just enjoying himself and letting the distraction work.
And what a distraction this was going to be! Flying through the air with the greatest of ease with a beautiful blonde strapped to his back!
He’d only been driving for fifteen minutes when he saw the sign for the turn-off to the Virginia Sky Pilots airfield. As soon as he saw it, his stomach started doing somersaults. And his mouth suddenly became dry. Hell, now he wouldn’t even be able to give Shelby a proper ‘hello’ kiss!