by J W Brazier
He blushed, thinking, I must be glowing red. He started to speak, but his voice squeaked. Ann grinned. He coughed and tried again.
“Pardon me, and no, it hasn’t been that long, and no, I do not, Miss Ann Taylor. I save my beguiling ways for breathtaking beauties, like you.”
“Ha! Sure you do. I’m thinking you say that to all the ladies.”
Dean smiled at her. Enjoying Ann’s company felt as natural as breathing—and right. He prayed it was true.
“Ah … Ann, when I called earlier, you seemed addled, even frightened, by GEM-Tech’s visit. I was wondering, since it’s still early, could we go somewhere to talk about it before dinner?”
“Sure, I’d love to, and it so happens I’ve the perfect place.”
“Great, I’ll tell you about my interview with Ian Taylor. He’s quite a character.”
“Well, given his past connection to my mother, I’m eager to learn more about him.”
As they walked to her car, Ann grabbed Dean by his arm and pulled him toward her, cupping his head in her hands.
What in the world? he thought.
Her lips brushed past his cheek to his ear, appearing as if two lovers were whispering.
“Don’t look back. GEM-Tech security is following me. There’s a black Suburban at the end of the building. Please, let’s go.”
Dean nodded and followed her quick pace, still enamored by the brief touch of her lips and the smell of her skin and hair. After they got into her car and pulled away, Dean gave a quick glance behind him and saw that the black Suburban had eased out, following at a distance.
“I see our friends are interested in our welfare,” he said.
Ann cut her eyes at him and gave a forced smile. She didn’t seem amused by his offhand humor. As they drove on, she kept glancing up into her rearview mirror.
“Could they’ve put a tracking device on my car?” she whispered.
Rather than answer, Dean attempted to distract her mind away from the potential danger: “Ann, what do you know about Operation Chameleon? I’ve never seen UN foreign military patrolling an American city. A terrorist training exercise of this caliber isn’t normal. The mainstream media isn’t reporting any of these activities, as if White River is surrounded by protective bubble. My boss says his contacts in New York, DC, and LA are blowing this exercise off as a non-issue. They’re saying it’s an overblown local National Guard weekend gathering.”
Ann shook her head even as her eyes continued to check the rearview mirror. “Sorry, Dean, I can’t help with that … but I do know someone who might. Oh, speaking of the UN, have you gone through that weird scanner process for the OWN card or implant?”
“Yes, I’m afraid so. I really had no choice. White River has stopped using or dispensing cash, and on Monday, out goes all other plastic. I’m sure we’ve all forfeited a piece of our liberty.”
“Did you get the chip implant or card?”
“No way will I take their chip. Just the card. And you?”
“Same, no chip, but the whole idea is an eye-opener. Like you said, our constitutional freedoms, or what’s left of them, just got a lot smaller.”
As Ann looked up to her rearview mirror again, Dean leaned forward and looked in the passenger side mirror. The Suburban still followed. Ann accelerated past sixty miles per hour in a forty-five zone. Dean turned and looked back, but didn’t comment.
“Ann, the more my investigation uncovers, the stranger it gets. I’m still a long way from a final picture.”
“Was Ian Taylor any help?”
“Well, yes and no. He’s unwilling to name the DNA source that made Project Phoenix a success, if you’d call cloning a human ‘successful.’ He said it wasn’t time to reveal that name, but soon—whatever that means. I’m thinking he’s waiting for the okay from someone, but he didn’t say who and wouldn’t elaborate. I do believe when that time comes, he’ll be involved in a big way.”
Dean noticed that Ann stole shy glances at him as she drove. Her feminine wheels seemed to be turning.
“Trust me, Dean. All will become clearer soon. I believe that.”
“Funny you should say that. Ian Taylor said the same thing.” Seeing that they were leaving town, Dean asked, “Okay, I give up. You’re headed out of town. So where are we going?”
Ann smiled a mischievous grin. “I’ve arranged a surprise dinner with friends.”
Dean raised his eyebrows. “Oh, and with whom, may I ask?” He felt trapped and unprepared; he’d dressed casual for the evening.
“Well, it would’ve been a surprise, but since you must know, it’s our new mayor and his family. They’re friends of mine.”
“What! The mayor? Ann … I’m not dressed for a formal occasion.”
She laughed. “Oh, don’t worry. Do you see me dressed for a presidential ball?”
He glanced at her attire and saw an opening with her comment: “Miss Taylor, you’d look good anywhere, in anything.”
She rolled her eyes, but then turned and smiled at him. “Thank you, Mr. Cohen. You’re not bad yourself.”
Did she seriously just say that? he wondered.
Smiling Dean looked out his window. Ann’s words acknowledged what he’d longed for: a chance.
Chapter 23
Dean checked his watch; Ann had driven over twenty minutes from town. His meeting the mayor for the first time, at an unexpected sit-down dinner, still left him with misgivings. First impressions were important and being caught unprepared made him uncomfortable. At least the Suburban had decided to give up its pursuit of them.
In their interlude of silence, he admired the passing peaceful scenery. The mayor made a wise choice in choosing the beautiful vistas of country living over city life, he thought.
Every so often, he stole glances at Ann and hoped they’d go unnoticed.
“Ann, I’ve lived within New York City a long time. Arkansas’s natural beauty and fresh air makes me want a simpler lifestyle. I think I could become accustomed to country living. There’s no contest when I contrast it against city noise, smog, concrete, and steel.” He rolled his window down and took a deep breath.
“Sounds like your inner country boy is kicking at the eggshell to escape.”
Dean grinned at her analogy. “Wow, can you smell that fresh-cut hay?”
“See? I told you: you’re a country boy at heart.”
He looked at Ann. Such a beguiling woman. He enjoyed the relaxed and honest atmosphere between them—without games, pretenses, or guarded boundaries.
Ann soon turned off the highway and onto a paved drive that led through a main gate. She glanced at Dean. He gave a little smile, hoping he didn’t look as nervous as he felt. She steered right, following a wide circular drive, and stopped in front of what Dean assumed was the Austin home. Ann turned to face him, her face aglow with a playful grin.
“Are you ready, farm boy?”
Dean chuckled. “For the record, this ‘farm boy’ is uncomfortable with dinner on short notice … and with people I’ve never met. But, yes, I’m ready.”
Ann reached out a patted his left hand. “You’re not in New York City, and you’re with me. Besides, I asked them could if I bring a friend.”
“Oh-ho, you’re a sneaky one! Then the mayor doesn’t know that I’m a journalist?”
“Well … no. But his wife Brenda does and might’ve told him.”
He forced a smile; too late for further protests.
“Relax, Dean, you’ll do great. Joshua is a nice man. He’s down to earth. Trust me, you’ll like him, so stop worrying.”
“I so hope you’re right, but if he throws me out the door, don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He took a deep breath. “Okay, let’s go.”
Side by side, and hand in hand, they climbed the porch stairs. A woman—Brenda Austin, Dean assumed—opened the front door, and Dean took note of her radiant youthful beauty, shimmering brown hair, and cheerful smile.
“My goodness, Ann,” the woman said. “It’
s so good to see you again! It’s been too long. Come here and give me a hug, girl.”
Dean stood at arm’s length, silent, and waited while the two women hugged and chatted in whispers. Then Ann turned and put her hand on Dean’s shoulder.
“Brenda Austin, I’d like you to meet Dean Cohen, the man I told you about.”
Brenda smiled, reached out, and grasped Dean’s outstretched hand. “Welcome to our home, Mr. Cohen. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“The pleasure’s all mine, Mrs. Austin. Thank you for inviting me to your home and to dinner on short notice. And, please, call me ‘Dean.’”
“Oh, you’re welcome,” Brenda said. “Glad to have you. Come on in, you two, and make yourselves at home.”
Inside the foyer, a youthful man walked out of the living room toward them, followed by two huge shaggy white dogs.
“Honey,” Brenda said, “meet Ann’s friend I told you about, Mr. Dean Cohen, from New York City. Mr. Cohen, this is my husband, Joshua.”
Dean nodded, trying to hide his surprise. The mayor of White River and his wife weren’t the type of couple he’d imagined. He expected Joshua to be much older and shorter, bald, and sporting a suit and tie. Joshua looked the quintessential rugged cowboy: tall at about six-two, and in his late forties, early fifties, he guessed.
“Mr. Cohen, pleased to meet you.”
Dean grasped Joshua’s hand. Out of habit, Joshua’s obvious character traits registered with Dean. His grip was strong. Steely hazel-greens looked Dean straight in the eyes when Joshua spoke, a good sign of strong character. Joshua and his wife appeared genuine. Neither exhibited a pretentious façade.
Meanwhile, the Austins’ inquisitive four children had come and lined up to peek around dad, no doubt wanting to check out the stranger. Joshua turned toward them.
“These are our children, Mr. Cohen,” Joshua said. “Starting with the oldest first: my son Clay, and then his sisters, Courtney, Danielle, and little Meagan.”
Four shy grins greeted Dean, along with a few mumbled hellos.
“Kids,” Joshua said, “go wash up. Supper will be ready soon. Oh, and take the dogs along with you upstairs, please.”
“Yes, sir,” all four chimed and then dashed away.
Dean watched as Courtney and Danielle whispered to each other and giggled as Meagan followed, yelling, “Wait for me, guys!” Clay rolled his eyes and headed toward the living room, where Dean noticed a video game on pause. Brenda walked with Ann into the kitchen, and Joshua faced Dean.
“Mr. Cohen, I—”
“Mayor Austin, please, it’s ‘Dean,’ if you wouldn’t mind.”
“Alright, Dean, fair enough. In my home, it’s ‘Joshua.’ Let’s go into the living room. I have a good friend I’d like you to meet. His wife Sherry is in the kitchen. They’re also joining us for dinner.” Dean nodded and followed Joshua, glancing into the kitchen at Ann, already chatting with Brenda and the wife of Joshua’s guest. Joshua’s son Clay came scurrying out of the living room headed for the upstairs staircase.
“I put the video game away, Dad. I’m going to my room and then to wash up.” Joshua smiled.
“Thank you, son. We’ll call you when supper’s ready.”
In the living room, a giant of a man unfolded from his chair.
“Dean Cohen,” Joshua said, “I’d like you to meet our pastor and good friend, Steve McAdams.”
Dean’s hand appeared childlike as it rested between the big pastor’s vise-grip fingers.
“Hello, Pastor. It’s a pleasure, sir.”
“Good to meet you, Dean. So what big assignment would coax a journalist out of New York City to a small town like White River?”
Dean’s eyes widened. “Well,” Dean said, “so much for trying to stay incognito, but I’m curious. Unless Mrs. Austin passed on that news from Ann, how’d you know I’m a journalist here on assignment?”
Joshua and Steve both grinned. Dean looked back and forth between them, then shrugged.
“Pearlette!” Joshua and Steve said in unison.
Joshua patted Dean’s shoulder. “Dean, it’s like this. If there’s anything going on in White River, Pearlette Jones will know. She’ll spread news, gossip, and her opinions to customers without prejudice. She’s harmless and means well, but that’s Pearlette. Pearlette’s a treasure, I assure you.”
Dean nodded. “I see. So … her restaurant is the town’s unofficial information center?”
Joshua chuckled. “Yes, and more. She has a loyal customer base that expects it, feeds off it, spreads it, and has for years. Pearlette and Gus are professional chefs and their food is top notch. Steve enjoys everything on their menu, as you can see.” Joshua patted his big friend’s protruding stomach. “Steve’s wife and Pearlette have tried all manner of diets on him for years, but nothing works.”
Steve grinned, rubbing his bulging midriff. “Gus Jones cooks the best barbecue in the county.”
The mood seemed relaxed, so Dean figured he’d use that liberty to mix business with pleasure and ask a few questions. He was, after all, on assignment.
“Mayor—I mean, Joshua, I hope you and Steve won’t think me rude, but may I ask you both a question?”
Steve and Joshua looked at each other and smiled.
“Dean, we’d be surprised if you didn’t,” Steve said.
Joshua nodded. “Let’s all have a seat.”
“Okay, great,” Dean said as he sat down. “Then I’ll start with you, Pastor Steve. In Little Rock, I could find almost no one who had heard of anything out of the ordinary happening here in White River. But there was one cabdriver who had heard of some weird happenings, but not about the terrorist training exercises. Since the military operation began, the cabbie said, graffiti has started to appear in White River. The ink these pranksters use to deface property is … blood, from what the cabbie said. Strange, I know, and it got my attention. Do you know anything about this? Is it as simple as a prankster’s scare tactics?”
The two men said nothing at first, but just stared at Dean. Think before you open your big mouth and ask the wrong question, Cohen! He’d assumed news of the phenomena would’ve already circulated.
Steve’s face remained impassive, but Joshua rubbed his temples and looked distressed. Steve stood and walked to the living room fireplace.
“Dean,” Steve said, “you among all people know how rumors can take root and spread quicker than poison ivy.” Steve sighed and nodded. “But … what you’ve asked, I’ve heard about, but not seen with my own eyes.”
Joshua stood and shoved his hands in his pockets. “I have, Steve,” he said in a somber tone, as if he regretted having to acknowledge that truth.
The big pastor’s eyes cut toward his friend. “What?”
Joshua nodded. “I’d planned to talk with you about it, but wanted to confirm if the rumors were true. Before I left the office this evening, the county judge called. Steve, it’s true. And here’s where it gets strange. He said the blood won’t go away after cleaning. It keeps reappearing. Why is it appearing at particular locations, Dean? That, I can’t answer. But I had the blood analyzed, thinking the prankster used animal blood. In light of these military exercises, it could be scare tactics by juveniles or, God forbid, genuine. We’re still investigating.”
Considering he’d stirred the pot, Dean ventured to ask another question: “Joshua, White River resembles a city under armed occupation. Why are military and United Nations personnel roaming your streets?”
Joshua’s sober expression spoke volumes. Dean guessed he knew more than he would discuss at a friendly dinner.
“First,” Joshua said, “tell me why you’re in White River, and I know it’s not because of a military exercise. When journalists catch the scent of a story, they’re like bloodhounds. Your voice gives you away when mentioning the UN, which tells me you’re sniffing another connected trail … or am I wrong?”
Dean nodded. “You’re correct, Joshua. Glenn Boyd, my editor, sent me to inte
rview a Dr. Deborah Holland in my earlier visit to White River. She’d sent my editor a packet of documents and tapes. My surprise came when Ann showed up instead of her mother. In Dr. Holland’s documents, she made certain claims that my boss wanted me to investigate. What I can say, for now, Dr. Holland worked at GEM-Tech. She played a central part in a secret genetic research project that took place in White River over thirty years ago.”
Joshua’s left eyebrow cocked upward. “Genetic research? Cloning humans, I bet?”
Joshua and then Steve laughed, but Dean sat poker-faced. Joshua stopped laughing and looked at Dean.
“Dear Lord,” Joshua said, “you’re not suggesting that GEM-Tech actually conducted human cloning experiments are you? Here, in White River?”
Dean opened his mouth to respond, but was cut off by a female voice.
“Yes, he is saying that.”
Dean turned. Ann stood in the doorway. Dean rose, crossed the room, and stood beside her.
“Ann, are you sure?” Dean asked. “A dinner might not be the right place and time to discuss your mother’s work.”
She looked at him. “Dean, do you trust me?”
He didn’t hesitate: “Yes, Ann, I do.”
She looked into his eyes and smiled. “Good. Somehow, I knew that already. You’re among my friends. I trust them. They can help.”
Dean shrugged and gave a little smile. “Okay then.”
Thankfully, he’d had an impulsive thought before leaving his hotel: Bring Deborah’s tapes. So he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out his copies.
“Given what we already know and what is happening in White River, I suggest we share these. I’ve the feeling we’ll need all the help we can muster.”
Ann nodded and took her mother’s tapes. Her next move, though, caught him off guard. She pressed upward on her toes—and kissed Dean’s cheek. As his eyes widened, he wanted to linger, enjoying the waves of new sensations in such a simple kiss.
“I agree,” she said, “and thank you for trusting me and my friends.”