The Omega Formula: Power to Die For (Detective Frank Dugan)

by Paul Sekulich

  “Uh-oh. Detective Frank Dugan is here. Who’s been murdered now?” Dekler said.

  “The spirit of sensibility, professor.”

  Dekler rose and came around the desk and took Frank’s hand.

  “Good to see you,” Dekler said. “Get tired of life among the coconut palms?”

  “Just visiting. But I find myself needing a little help with physics, especially as it applies to electricity.”

  “Well, lay it on me.”

  “If you were going to create a powerful ray, say like a laser, what would ohms have to do with its construction or use?”

  “Boy, you don’t beat around the bush, do you?” Dekler said and stepped over to a blackboard. “Would this ray be used for manufacturing or in the field of medicine?”

  “Killing.”

  Dekler stared at Frank, narrowed his eyes.

  “Like small varmints, insects, bacteria?”

  “Let’s say more like bears, or gorillas.”

  “Hmm…and this has to employ the use of ohms…Well, ohms, as I’m sure you’re aware, are units of electrical resistance,” Dekler said and began scribbling symbols, letters and numbers on a blackboard. “And if we were to create a powerful electrical charge, and resist it with equal power, it will build, like a compressed spring or a pressurized gas. Assuming the potential speed of the resisted charge is phenomenal, like that of the speed of light, or 186,000 miles per second, upon release it could produce a powerful ray at any desired frequency. The possibilities are infinite.”

  Frank wrote out Dekler’s equation on the board on his pocket notepad.

  “Could the released wave made by your equation kill?”

  “This equation is merely a guide. Like E=MC². Actual quantitative values would have to be introduced for it to make sense and actually work. Probably other elements as well.”

  “And if so, could it kill?”

  “It could kill anything alive with a cerebral ganglia or a brain.”

  “How about its effect on solid objects?”

  “It would likely pass through inanimate matter, like most radio waves and x-rays do. Ohms deal with electricity. Brains and hearts need electricity produced in the body to function. If you can block that electrical current, you can easily stop oxygen-bearing blood flow to the brain, a condition called global cerebral ischemia. Or interrupt oxygen directly from getting to the brain, called massive cerebral infarction. In either case, death would occur rather instantly. Lack of oxygen to the brain is ultimately the reason all animals die.”

  “That’s all I need to know. You are still the Solomon of science.”

  “Look, let’s get something straight. This idea you have may be possible, in theory, but implementing it is quite another matter. It would require incredible knowledge, astronomical resources, and a hell of a lot of luck, to effectively produce. Archimedes posed that he could lift the moon if he had a long enough and strong enough pole. A theory yet to be tested.”

  “I have no intention of trying to make such a device.”

  Dekler pursed his lips.

  “You’re not going terrorist on us, are you, Frank?” Dekler said.

  “180 degrees the opposite, doc.”

  “It’s illegal and immoral to kill gorillas, you know.”

  Chapter 20

  Frank left UMBC’s Loop, turned onto Route 195, which led to Interstate 95 south. He drove 25 minutes to the Maryland State Police facility in Beltsville where the annual police marksmanship tournament was being hosted. The last thing he wanted was to take hours away from his father’s homicide investigation, and now the Omega mystery added to the compromise of his available time. But Roland wanted Frank to compete for the coveted National Police Marksman of the Year Award, the trophy from which he believed would bolster his upcoming re-election campaign for sheriff. Frank had never worked for a person he respected or liked more than Roland Brand, ergo, a lower priority or not, he was going shooting.

  One stroke of luck was on his side. When Roland emailed Frank his registration information, it included his starting position at the tournament. Frank would compete in the number three slot, allowing him to leave the field early and get on with more urgent matters.

  Frank had no delusions about winning the tournament. It was going to be tough, and every hotshot and deadeye in America would be there. Events there would include slow, timed and rapid fire aggregates, plus the obstacle course which led contestants down a simulated street where plywood cut-outs of bad guys would pop out from around corners, while similar depictions of innocent bystanders would intermittently appear from out of nowhere. The trick was to plug the baddies and not the bystanders.

  Now that he’d secured his carry permit, he holstered his Browning in his shoulder rig and prepared to blast away several mags of 9mm ammo, and try not to embarrass himself by blowing away a plywood old lady who pointed an umbrella at him.

  * * * * *

  When Frank got back to the house, the sight of Braewyn Joyce leaning on her car at the curb on Elm Terrace had him torn by two emotions: dread and lust. Braewyn nodded at Frank’s arrival and walked up the driveway toward the house. It was after eight, but there was plenty of daylight left to see her as she moved in fluid strides ahead of his car. Frank pulled the rented Santa Fe parallel to her, Braewyn’s perfect body now better revealed in her tailored navy pants suit and a white blouse than in her former roomy attire. He was attracted to women who dressed conservatively, even preppy, and found tasteful fashion every bit as sexy as any bikini or thong. Especially since Roland, on a trip with Frank to the Stuart beach one day, described the large array of thongs within sight as “Florida fanny floss.”

  Frank killed the engine and slid out of the car.

  “If I were a doomsayer, I’d think, ‘What new hell is this?’” Frank said.

  “You have good instincts for not-so-good news,” she said.

  “My crap meter has been going off full time lately,” Frank said and bounded up the steps to the front door of the house and opened it. “Welcome back, Agent Joyce.”

  Braewyn followed Frank onto the porch.

  “Should we invite your partner Tom to join us?” Frank said and tilted his head toward the FBI car.

  “He’ll be fine.”

  “Come in? Have a drink?”

  “No, thank you. Let’s just talk out here.”

  Frank stepped over to the rail where Braewyn stood.

  “You said you’d have questions.” Frank said.

  “We have a lot of questions,” Braewyn said. “Since you are William Dugan’s grandson, we thought you might know something about this Omega formula. Number one: Have you seen the film yet?”

  “Yes.”

  “I thought you’d get a hold of a copy somehow.”

  “No thanks to you.”

  “I have my orders. So what did you make of the film?”

  “I’m a homicide cop from Florida. What makes you think I’d know about some freaky, sci-fi weapon from World War Two?”

  “It’s a matter of national security,” Braewyn said. “If such a device exists, this country certainly doesn’t want a foreign power to have it.”

  “Foreign power? Hell, if Latvia had something like that there’d be a world of trouble.”

  “I agree,” Braewyn said. “So, can you help us?”

  “If I think of a way, I’ll contact you. Leave me your card.”

  “Just so we’re clear, my visit today will be, in your jargon, the good cop version. What follows me may not be so friendly,” she said.

  “Going to waterboard me?”

  She reached into her pocket and pulled out a business card.

  “Call me if you come up with even the smallest shred, okay?” she said.

  “The FBI, with all its resources, needs me? And here I grew up thinking the FBI was invincible… infallible.”

  “Sometimes the best laid plans come up short.”

  “Like in that little incident in Waco with David Koresh? Or that
pesky Al Capone, who had to be left to the IRS to obtain a conviction? That’s not reassuring.”

  “Look, detective, you don’t have a lot of options here.”

  Frank stared at Braewyn for a long moment, then shifted his eyes toward the garage.

  “The question is, how are you going to act on it?” Braewyn said. “Homeland Security, the CIA, the NSA and others are going to want answers. And trust me, they won’t go away until they get them.”

  “I don’t know anything about what’s on that film.”

  “This is where my crap meter goes off,” Braewyn said. “I think you know more, maybe a lot more. And I can’t, for the life of me, understand why you’re hiding it.”

  Frank respected people with good instincts, especially smart people. Braewyn had both attributes and was beautiful as well, a combination which tended to weaken his resolve. He was tempted to tell her everything he knew, but William’s oft-quoted Ben Franklin warning from long ago played in his head: “Three may keep a secret if two of are dead.”

  “And I thought we were going to be friends,” Frank said.

  “Be a friend to yourself, detective. Be truthful and tell us what you know. I came back here today because it will be a lot easier to tell me what you know now than to have to face what’s coming. ”

  “What’s coming?”

  Braewyn descended the porch steps and turned back to Frank.

  “One more thing,” she said. “The government people who will be coming at you from Washington will not be the only ones. The film, if it ever gets into the wrong hands, will stir up every power-seeking faction on the planet. You’re going to be asked a lot of questions, detective. Your film has caused quite a stir in Washington. Brace yourself for those who may not stop at only asking questions. If there actually is a formula for that weapon, you’d better be the one to find it and hand it over to your country. We’re in a race to prove or disprove the validity of the Omega formula. And time may not be on our side.”

  Braewyn strode over to the driveway and headed for the street. Frank watched her get into her car and drive away. Tom Gardner stared back at him from the passenger side.

  Frank’s world had zoomed from complicated to chaotic in a matter of minutes. He jumped from the porch and started for the garage when something in the street caught his attention.

  Television and radio news vehicles were arriving in a caravan and lining up in front of the house.

  * * * * *

  The writing on the vehicles ranged from the call letters of television news channels to the names of newspapers, and even talk shows.

  Frank wasn’t sure why the media was there. His father’s murder wouldn’t have generated a buzz on this scale. The Omega Formula film? How did it get leaked to the press? And so soon? He thought of fleeing into the house and barring the door, but past experience told him that evading the media was as impossible as running from the flu.

  Fending off the media always proved to be exhausting. Frank had been interviewed with television coverage in high-profile cases he’d handled in the past, but the prospect of a full frontal assault by the paparazzi, news people, and talk show preppers was overwhelming. Frank felt himself being sucked under in an emotional whirlpool. He was swimming for his life and now had to fight to make every stroke count.

  Frank defiantly stood his ground and glowered at the encroaching mob.

  “All of you get off my property and move back to the street,” Frank yelled. “I’ll join you there in a moment.”

  The dozens of media reporters and cameramen retreated to the curb where neighbors were now pouring out of their homes and flowing in among the news cars and vans. Frank wiped the sweat from his face with his shirtsleeve and joined the crowd at the end of the driveway. Boomed microphones came at Frank from every direction and hovered over his head like venomous snakes. Video cams pointed at him as their red tally lights blinked away, reminding him of the eyes on The Terminator cyborg.

  “Why are you here?” Frank asked.

  “The Omega Formula film,” a reporter said.

  “How did you hear about it?”

  “We have our sources,” another reporter said. “Bernstein and Woodward aren’t the only people who have resources.”

  “What’s that got to do with me?”

  “Come on, detective,” a woman in the front row said. “Give us more credit for uncovering facts.”

  Ben Franklin was so right, Frank thought.

  Frank knew the mantra of the press: Get the five Ws at all costs. He was certain these sensation hunters had at least rudimentary ideas about the What, the Why, the When, and some of the Who. They now were digging hard for the Where and the How.

  “What you may have heard about was an old film made by men during the Second World War who wanted Japan to believe we had a super weapon that could annihilate their population,” Frank said. “They thought it might end World War Two without further allied bloodshed. Turns out, they were right, and it did persuade the Japanese to surrender, but it was all a hoax, a clever deceit. There is no such thing as the Omega formula or an Omega weapon, and there never has been.”

  “We were told people and animals were shown being killed in that film. Said it didn’t look like trick photography,” one reporter said from the back of the cluster of media people.

  “It had to look good,” Frank said. “It had to look real. The Japanese hierarchy was not composed of fools. They had to believe in its authenticity. The men who fabricated the film were betting everything on its effectiveness.”

  “We know the idea of a ’death ray’ has been explored in the past. Could this be a refinement of earlier efforts?” a woman on the left asked.

  Frank reached deep into his interrogation and rebuttal skills, including those that employed partial truths.

  “Research has come up with nothing but failed attempts to make such a device, going back to scientists like Tesla and Edison. I’m sure you realize that fantasy comic books and science fiction movies depicting such technology aren’t based in reality. Even recently, our modern military has tried to develop such weapons with no success.”

  “What about the Omega formula plans?” another reporter asked.

  “Omega plans? I know of none. There was nothing whatsoever found with the film that could create such a weapon,” Frank said. “Now, all of you kindly leave. I’ve told you what I know. I’ve told you the truth.”

  Frank turned back toward the house and hiked up the driveway.

  One thought chanted in his head.

  Grandpa, what impossible test have you laid on me?

  Chapter 21

  The following day Frank called to make arrangements with Martin County to extend his leave while Roland Brand groused on about the problems his absence was causing the sheriff’s department. Frank assured him he would return as soon as possible and urged Roland to rely on his partner, Carl Rumbaugh, to take up any pressing homicide matters. The suggestion amped up Roland’s railing to another level. Frank ended the call mid-tirade.

  He dialed Braewyn Joyce’s cell number.

  “Special Agent Joyce.”

  “Frank Dugan.”

  “Detective Dugan. What can I do for you?”

  “I have something I want to discuss with you. In person.”

  “Omega something?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I can be there in an hour.”

  “With… Chatty Tom?”

  “It’s bureau policy.”

  “See you in an hour.”

  Frank contacted Alasdair and asked him to join the group for what he believed would be a pivotal moment in the Omega film issue and all of its dangling question marks.

  “They’ll be here in an hour,” Frank said. “Think you can get here before they arrive?”

  “I’m out the door,” Alasdair said.

  * * * * *

  When Alasdair pulled up at Elm Terrace, Frank met him in the driveway.

  “I think I may have to give what I hav
e to the FBI,” Frank said. “Everything’s in the Omega file in the fallout shelter, but it’s all about failed experiments and other nonsense. Nothing worth crap about any super weapon. What do you think?”

  “I agree,” Alasdair said. “They’re a bad bunch to have on your back.”

  “Good. I wanted your take on that before I spill what I know to the government.”

  “Let them have it all. It’ll take you out of the picture.”

  “Not sure of that, but it could relieve some pressure. Last thing I need is the FBI complicating my life. I’ve got a murder to solve.”

  Minutes later, Braewyn and Tom arrived, and the current situation brought on by the leaked video information was discussed. Afterward, everyone moved into the garage and shut the door. Frank pulled Alasdair away from the FBI pair and stopped in front of the grille of the Corvette.

  “You still think we should go ahead with this?” Frank asked Alasdair low.

  Braewyn casually sidled to within earshot. Tom Gardner followed.

  “I don’t think you have much choice,” Alasdair said. “The whole world’s going to converge on you soon and you may need help defending yourself. Be better to turn it all over to the American pros than let it land in the wrong hands.”

  “Okay,” Frank said and stepped over to Braewyn and Tom. “I’ve had a night to think things over. I’m placing everything I have with you.”

  Frank led the group into the shelter and switched on the light. He noted the amazement on Braewyn’s face, her eyes darting to everything in the secret room.

  Frank sat at the desk and retrieved the Omega Formula file folder and handed it to Braewyn.

  “The film and what’s in this folder is everything I know,” Frank said.

  “You’re sure?” Braewyn said.

  “Yes. You’ll need to scan these privately and make copies. Give the originals back to me and a keep what you need for yourselves,” Frank said, knowing full well he’d never see any originals or copies coming back from the FBI, ever.