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

by Paul Sekulich

  “You got the file? You killed Nicolai?”

  “No. Long story for later,” Frank said and paced the room. “Right now, what’s up?”

  “I found something else in the basement and took it with me when I left the house. I didn’t want to leave it behind. I think it may be important.”

  “What?”

  “I’m not sure this phone connection is safe,” David said in a whisper.

  “Give me a hint, but don’t be specific,” Frank said. “What did you find?”

  “Another film.”

  Chapter 61

  It was well after 11 P. M. when the Mercedes arrived at the Dugan house on Elm Terrace. Cezar instructed Vlad to park across the street where they could take a good, long look at the place to see if there was any activity inside.

  “There’s a light on in the one of the front rooms,” Vlad said.

  “There may be someone staying there, but more likely the lights are on a timer,” Cezar said. “Check the mailbox.”

  Vlad slipped out of the car and gently eased the driver’s door shut to muffle any noise. He pretended to check a rear tire for a few moments, then casually strolled over to the curbside mailbox and opened it. It was full of letters and advertisements. He closed the box and returned to the car.

  “Doesn’t look like anyone’s been here for a while,” Vlad said through the open door.

  “Get in,” Cezar said. “I’m going to order a pizza.”

  * * * * *

  The pizza delivery man had rung the bell several times, but no one was answering the door at 1505 Elm Terrace. He tried banging on the door with his fist. Still nothing. He set the insulated cover with the pizza down on the porch glider and made a call on his cell. After a short conversation, the man grabbed the pizza, marched back to his Honda Civic, and roared away, never noticing the two sets of eyes watching intently from the Mercedes across the street.

  “Park the car in the back, out of sight,” Cezar said.

  The Mercedes slowly rolled up the driveway and idled in front of the garage. After a few seconds, the purr of the engine fell silent.

  “Isn’t this the house where we had our chat with Joe?” Vlad asked.

  “The same.”

  “But you said Celine told you about this place.”

  “Not the house, a tiny hidden room. Something Alasdair told her about.”

  Cezar and Vlad exited the car and studied the windows of the house.

  “Let’s chance it,” Cezar said.

  A minute later the two men were in the garage. Wood from a piece of the door frame lay splintered on the floor.

  “She said it was down those steps in the last bay under that truck.” Cezar said and led Vlad to the mechanic’s pit formerly covered by the Reo.

  Vlad stooped by the open metal door to peer under the Tahoe.

  “It looks like where you’d work on your car,” Vlad said.

  “Oh, it’s much more than that,” Cezar said and descended the concrete steps to the bottom of the pit with Vlad, bent low behind him.

  “Is this place going to help us with the formula?” Vlad asked.

  “Move that tool cart and push on the electric outlet behind it.”

  Vlad followed the directions and turned sharply toward the noise that came from the wall next to the steps.

  “Follow me,” Cezar said with a note of satisfaction in his tone.

  Cezar felt his way down the dark, narrow tunnel and groped the interior walls of the shelter until he found the light switch. The room’s single, austere bulb dimly lit the space. Cezar surveyed the room and smiled. He rifled through the desk and rapidly assessed its few papers for their value, and discarded them just as quickly.

  “Anything good, sir?” Vlad said from the doorway, his body filling the tunnel.

  “No. Nothing. The place has been ravaged.”

  “What is this room?”

  “A safe room, old style. My God, we were right here, Vlad, and didn’t find this. Joe Dugan knew it was here, and I’ll wager it was full of useful information then.”

  Cezar gave the shelter a thorough look around, and spent a moment at the victory calendar on the wall over the desk. He leaned on the small utility table a few steps away and squinted at the back of the enclosure where the light trailed off. He stooped to see if there was anything under the kneehole of the desk, and let his eyes sweep the room from his low perspective. He rose and patted Vlad on his firm shoulder.

  Cezar shot out of the room and up the steps. While he waited for Vlad to struggle his way back into the garage, Cezar stopped for a long moment to stare at the Chevy Tahoe. He peered inside and spotted a yellow paper protruding from under the visor. He took it down and studied it.

  “Find something?” Vlad said, emerging from the pit.

  “A car rental agreement. Made out to a Frank Dugan,” Cezar said and returned the paper to the visor.

  “Take the Tahoe?” Vlad asked.

  “I’d like to change vehicles,” Cezar said as he stepped to the front of the vehicle and placed his hand on the hood, “but this one may not be a good choice for us. Dugan’s been here recently. This car’s is still warm. Besides, this one has OnStar.”

  “This is his ride and he’s not in the house?” Vlad said. “What gives?”

  “Celine said he keeps other cars here. Like that Explorer over there,” Cezar said and pointed to the vehicle. “Dugan must be out. A car could’ve been here in this center bay. If he’s here, I can’t believe he wouldn’t have answered the door for the pizza man, but let’s not press our luck. He’ll be back. And we don’t have a hostage to bargain with now. If he catches us here, I guarantee you, bullets will fly.”

  “Why don’t we snatch a couple of license plates off some other car and put them on the Mercedes?”

  “You know, you’re almost as clever as that charitable Mr. Evans.”

  “Take the plates off the Explorer?”

  “Better not. Dugan might notice and call the police.”

  Cezar slid into the car and watched Vlad clamber into the driver’s seat of the luxury rental like a fireman on an alarm call. The Mercedes eased out of the driveway and slowly motored down the dark street. Cezar reminded Vlad to keep the urge to speed in check as they drove toward the interstate. Cezar consulted a map on the GPS monitor and directed a carefully orchestrated getaway to Route 140 west.

  * * * * *

  Frank saw David Hapburg waiting in the rest area on the Harrisburg Expressway near York, Pennsylvania. As he approached, he could see David’s head jerking toward every set of headlights that pulled in or out of the parking area. Frank roared up next to Hapburg’s familiar Jeep Cherokee, shut down the Corvette’s throbbing engine and jumped out.

  “We have to stop meeting like this,” Frank said as he climbed into David’s car with an envelope in his hand.

  “You own a classic Corvette?” David said, his right knee dancing up and down spasmodically.

  “I had a need for speed,” Frank said. “You okay?”

  “When will this mess be over?”

  “Soon, I hope,” Frank said. “You staying around here?”

  “My sister’s in Lancaster. She and her husband run our family furniture business there and they want me to come work for them. I think I will. Got no reason to stay in Detroit. My job’s not that great, and I want to sell the house and get the hell away from all this spy business.”

  “How’d you know I was in Maryland?”

  “Your boss. Sheriff Brand, isn’t it?”

  “That’d be him.”

  “He said he was sure you’d want me to know. Told me if I wasn’t on the level he’d personally put me in the county’s wood chipper. Like in the movie Fargo.”

  “He’s a hands-on kinda guy,” Frank said and pulled a photocopy from the envelope and handed it to Hapburg. “Would you happen to know who the man is standing next to my grandfather?”

  “That’s Simon Hapburg, my grandfather.” David said and placed his
finger on one of the men in the picture.

  That was the confirmation Frank wanted to hear.

  “What do you think they’re doing in this picture?”

  “Not sure,” David said. “Maybe working on a type of space tool. Looks like a shovel… or a hoe.”

  “Yeah, what I thought too.” Frank said.

  “They both did work for NASA, so it fits.”

  Frank stuffed the picture back into the envelope.

  “I’ve got something to show you,” Frank said and took the silk map from his pocket and unfolded it for David to see. “My grandfather took pains to hide this. Know anything about it?”

  “Yeah, I do. It’s the kind of map they gave our flyboys going on missions into enemy territory. Silk could get wet and still be okay to read.”

  “I know that much, but is there anything about this particular map?”

  David looked more intently at the map in the bluish light straying into the car windows.

  “Oh, yeah. My dad had one like this. They crashed a plane on the coast of Japan. On purpose. That’s where they planted the Omega film. The one like you have. The pilot of the plane was given this map in case the pick-up submarine couldn’t hook up with him.”

  “Did he make it out alive?” Frank asked.

  “Yeah. The sub got him. Japs thought he drowned in Tokyo Bay. Ballsy sucker, but he got back okay. My dad told me Simon went to see the guy in Oregon after the war. That’s where we got the map.”

  “Okay, so what’s up with this new footage?”

  “I’m not sure, but I know it’s not the same as the film you have.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I looked at a few feet of it with a magnifying glass. Looks like it’s about the making of a movie, like maybe horror or science fiction. Had all these movie slates popping up.

  “You seem to like movies a lot.”

  “I do. I go to the movies every week, and I’ve got every movie channel on satellite TV.”

  “And where is this horror flick?”

  David dug under his car seat and pulled out a paper bag and handed it to Frank.

  “Feels about the same size as the first one,” Frank said as he took the 16mm reel can out of the bag and opened it.

  “Yeah, I thought it was that one until I read the label.”

  Frank looked closely at the label in the low ambient light.

  On the metal reel can was a single phrase:

  O. F. Takes

  Chapter 62

  Cezar watched Vlad screw the newly acquired Maryland plates on the Mercedes over the existing plate. They had pulled off the 695 Baltimore Beltway in Pikesville, Maryland and hunted for a car whose tags wouldn’t be missed right away. They’d driven several miles west to Reisterstown before Cezar spotted an ideal candidate in the back of a closed used car lot on Route 140 and took its tags. He granted that the move was chancy, but driving around with the original rental agency license plates seemed much riskier.

  “If we make it to Westminster tonight,” Cezar said, “I’ll feel like we’re safe. I could use a night’s sleep.”

  “Is that house safe?”

  “I’ve paid well to make it so. It’ll be safe, my worrisome friend.”

  “Should we take a flight out in the morning?” Vlad said.

  “No. Detective Dugan is in Maryland. We need to track his every move while he’s here,” Cezar said.

  “How?”

  “His cell phone.”

  “We can get access to cell locations?”

  “I know a high ranking cop who will help us with that.”

  Cezar switched to the Internet on the onboard computer and pulled up the latest NBC news. One of the lead stories concerned two men who had been taken into custody, but later overpowered three air marshals and were on the loose. A multi-state police search was in progress to find and apprehend the pair. And the authorities had something that strongly favored their success: video footage from numerous airport surveillance cameras.

  “This is not how I want my 15 minutes of fame,” Cezar said.

  “Time to adjust the battle plan, sir?” Vlad said.

  Cezar Nicolai’s sullen face said it all.

  A tense night lay ahead.

  * * * * *

  As soon as the Corvette pulled up to the garage it was immediately apparent someone had visited the Elm Terrace address. Frank saw the splintered wood of the garage’s open door frame, and had his Browning drawn before the Corvette’s engine came to a stop. He slipped out of the driver’s seat and took a cautious peek into the garage. Seeing no one, he stepped inside. His eyes shot to the mechanic’s pit and he darted down its steps to examine the space. The opening to the fallout shelter was closed tight, but the tool cart had been moved.

  Inside the shelter, he saw evidence of intrusion, files open and in disarray on the desk, and chairs moved from where he’d left them. He found a magnifying glass in the shelter desk and decided to carefully look at the new film a few frames at a time. Frank had to agree with David’s assessment. It looked like someone was making a sci-fi horror film. The thing that jolted his attention was the bombing of the prairie dog colony. Not only was it real-looking, but an actual location was cited on the movie slates. Road signs were filmed as well as prominent landmarks. It was filmed near Wichita, Kansas on a lonely stretch of dusty prairie. A place he hoped he could later find and examine.

  Frank closed the shelter and did his best to nudge the garage’s busted door into a closed position, even though he realized locking it again was going to require a carpenter. Right now he had a plane to catch and he knew getting a direct flight to a small town in Kansas was impossible. Kansas City, Missouri, the closest city with a big time airport, would have to do.

  From Kansas City, he’d have to resort to a less traceable means than flying. Frank was prepared to take a horse if he had to.

  * * * * *

  The TV announcer’s voice immediately caught the attention of Cezar Nicolai who stopped chewing his late breakfast. The graphic in the background showed a picture relating to the news topic. Vlad and Cezar both caught a glimpse of the brief shot of Frank Dugan as they sat at the dining table in Westminster, Maryland.

  “…and now the FBI has extended its search for the Florida detective to all across the United States,” the announcer said. “His latest location was in the Kansas City, Missouri area where he rented a car with no known direction or destination yet determined. Detective Dugan was recently rescued from being trapped in a sunken submarine. Authorities believe he may be under mental distress from the ordeal. If you see this man, do not approach him. You are asked to contact your local police or FBI office.”

  Contact phone numbers appeared on the screen for the FBI hotline and the police.

  “We have to find him and follow him,” Cezar said. “Everything hinges on time now and I’m certain our time’s running quite short.”

  “Another plane trip, sir? The airports are crawling with people looking for us,” Vlad said.

  “The Lear’s ready by now,” Cezar said and handed his cell to Vlad. “Call Beckham and get him here. Tell him to meet us and file a flight plan for Kansas City, Missouri. There’s a small airfield here in Westminster. He knows it. We’ve used before.”

  “Got it,” Vlad said and hit a button on the phone.

  “We need to move right now. Get a crew together. Maybe two or three more men. Call Yan Bantich to get them and meet us at Kansas City International.”

  Chapter 63

  Scrambling an FBI Learjet in an emergency was a lot easier than Braewyn had imagined. Within hours they were in the air and hurtling toward the America’s heartland at just under Mach 1. Braewyn Joyce consulted a map of the central United States. Roland, seated next to her up front, looked on as she traced routes with her fingers from Kansas City, Missouri into Kansas.

  “Last count, he left Kansas City and headed southwest toward Topeka,” Braewyn said. “We’ll get updates when we land.”
/>   “Where are we landing?” Roland said.

  “Wichita.”

  “That’s a good piece ahead of where he is.”

  “By the time we arrive, I figure he’ll be somewhere near that area,” Braewyn said. “By the way, My superior suggested that I not get involved in this case. Wanted me to take vacation time.”

  “You obviously refused,” Roland said.

  “Yep.”

  “You’re ignoring FBI protocol?” Roland said.

  “They sent me out in the field to flush out the quarry, then want me to go back and stay in the barn when the real hunting starts. So screw protocol.”

  “You think we can catch him?”

  “To tell you the God’s truth,” Braewyn said, “I think he wants to get caught.”

  * * * * *

  The Learjet 31 touched down at Kansas City International and minutes later Cezar and Vlad were in one of the airport bars checking the news reports. No updates were forthcoming on their stray detective. They headed for the rental car kiosks on the concourse.

  Vlad took a cell call as they hurried through the airport.

  “The new men are here,” Vlad said. “I told them to keep in touch with us until we need them.”

  “Good.”

  “How safe are we here in the open?” Vlad said adjusting his Nike baseball cap and sunglasses.

  “The travelers in the crowds will never even notice us. We’re back east news. We need to be on our toes around security personnel. The hats and shades should do the trick.”

  “And you look a lot different without your mustache,” Vlad said. “I hardly recognize you.”

  Under the pretense that they were supposed to meet with Frank, they questioned all the major car rental agencies. They scored a hit at a small outfit called Miles-For-Less, but their company had already been visited by the police and the counterman there was reluctant to render any more information about their customers. The clerk’s reservations eased and he became somewhat more informative after Cezar peeled off several hundred dollar bills on the counter. The bribe got him a peek at the computer screen where Frank Dugan’s transaction was displayed. It showed that he’d rented a Chevy Impala earlier that day and he was using the rental “for pleasure,” but little else.