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

by Paul Sekulich

  Cezar and Vlad went back to the Learjet and sat at the lounge table on one side of the aircraft. William’s poem was spread out on the table and carefully examined by both men. A map of Kansas was also opened to the area surrounding Kansas City.

  “We have to figure this out and we have to do it now,” Cezar said. “What does men in their seventies, boys on the moon, flying with eagles, brains on paper, and Martian men have do with a weapon of mass destruction?”

  “Mars was a war god,” Vlad said. “Obvious to me that it has to do with warfare, maybe military.”

  Cezar looked hard and long at Vlad, then back at the papers on the table.

  “There was a reference to “the deep six,” a naval term. What is related to the military around here?” Cezar said and checked the Kansas map for answers.

  “Leavenworth?” Vlad said.

  “Hardly a place with world class weapons. No navy installations are nearby. They’re a bit short on coastline here. McConnell Air Force Base is in Wichita. They stockpile conventional bombs, but it’s not a place you’d associate today with mass destruction weapons.”

  Cezar tapped his finger on the map at Wichita.

  “Wait,” Cezar said. “Maybe we’re not thinking in the right time frame. This could’ve been a strategically important place in the 1940s. Boeing had a plant there that built B-29s. There may be a connection between that base and the Omega weapon.”

  “This isn’t going to be as easy as we thought,” Vlad said, “even though we have all the clues.”

  “No, it’s not going to be easy, and we don’t have all the clues” Cezar said then leapt from his seat. “We’re not using our heads. The answer’s back in the terminal.”

  Ten minutes later, Cezar and Vlad stood before the Miles-For-Less counterman.

  “Could you do us a big favor? We need to catch up with our friend. Would you be so kind as to determine where he is? The car he rented has OnStar, doesn’t it?”

  The clerk shook his head.

  “I’m not sure I can─”

  Cezar shoved another five hundreds over the counter onto the desk in front of the clerk who looked around cautiously and then pocketed them with the dexterity of a carnival magician.

  We’ll be back in a few minutes. We have to pick up our bags downstairs.”

  The clerk picked up the phone. Cezar smiled and nodded at Vlad as they walked down the corridor and disappeared among the crowd.

  * * * * *

  The Wichita tarmac was simmering with heat waves rising from the surface like desert mirages. The FBI jet docked up to the terminal and Braewyn and Roland rushed through the passageways to get to the car rental agency where a Ford Crown Victoria was waiting to take them a step closer to Frank Dugan. Braewyn signed the paperwork for the car, picked up the keys, and checked her cell phone.

  “The Kansa City Police have him on Route 335 heading south for Emporia,” Braewyn said. “They sent us the Impala’s plate number as well.”

  “What’s the plan?” Roland said.

  “We head for Emporia,” Braewyn said. “90 miles northeast of us. Let’s go. The rental people are waiting for us outside with our Crown Vic.”

  “Then what?” Roland said as they quick-stepped to the rental lot.

  “We could get the locals to pull him over when we relocate his position,” Braewyn said as she spotted the Crown Vic and the rental attendants. “But that’s not the plan. We’re making sure we can follow Frank, but it can’t look too easy.”

  Braewyn held out her paperwork to the rental attendant.

  “I’m lost,” Roland said, as they were escorted to the Ford sedan.

  “If we can follow Frank, so can someone else,” Braewyn said.

  Braewyn and Roland jumped into the car and wheeled out of the parking lot.

  “I knew it. I’ve known it all along,” Roland said. “The sonofabitch is crazy as a drunk lab monkey.”

  * * * * *

  Frank knew the police were aware of his last location and that their information was being forwarded to the FBI and likely other authorities. His attempt to tiptoe across the country in anonymity achieved all the success of the Ford Edsel. In fact, he hoped he wasn’t making his itinerary too obvious.

  Frank knew better than to use his cell. For a seasoned cop on the run, that would be a stupid thing to do. It was bad enough he’d used a rental car with OnStar, but at least that was excusable, since most people didn’t have the service, and it wasn’t standard issue in every GM vehicle.

  The sign ahead welcomed him to Emporia. From there he’d head south to Wichita.

  Frank didn’t know if he’d been tracked yet, and if he had been, how close were his pursuers. He remembered an old marine joke:

  “Run as fast as you can from the enemy until you catch them.”

  * * * * *

  When Cezar and Vlad returned to the Miles-For-Less agency the clerk they had bribed was gone. In his place was a young woman.

  “Excuse me,” Cezar said. “Where is the young man who was here a few minutes ago?”

  “He’s on his lunch break,” she said. “May I help you?”

  “He was trying to reach a customer of yours for us. A friend.”

  “There is a note here,” she said.

  Cezar took the note she handed him, walked away from the kiosk and unfolded it.

  “Good news, sir?” Vlad said, watching Cezar read.

  Cezar showed the note to Vlad. The paper contained a single word:

  Emporia

  Chapter 64

  Emporia was 90 miles from Wichita and Frank estimated he was almost two hours away. But he was in no rush. Frank was hungry and hadn’t eaten since munching on those lovely smoked almonds on the plane.

  Frank parked the midnight blue Impala behind a box truck on a side street and got out. Stretching his legs felt good after all the sitting. A leisurely walk down 6th toward Merchant Street took him into the aromas of home-style summer cooking, like pit-charred barbeque and grilling burgers. His nose soon led him into the door of The Kansas Kookery where he stayed for 45 minutes and ate more baby back ribs than Nero after the Coliseum games. His stay there was not on his schedule, but he needed the food, and he had plenty of time to get to Wichita before late afternoon.

  * * * * *

  Braewyn drove the Ford rental inside the city limits of Emporia and searched for any sign of a dark blue Chevrolet Impala. She drove east on Route 50, which became 6th Avenue, and followed their last information regarding Frank’s location. The intersection of 6th and Constitution was the target.

  “Here’s Constitution coming up,” Roland said. “Slow down.”

  “I don’t see any Impalas,” Braewyn said, straining to look in all directions.

  “I see a car rental place,” Roland said. “Miles-For-Less. Isn’t that the one where he got the car in Kansas City?”

  “That’s what Jack Ortiz said,” Braewyn said. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”

  “He has to know the cops are on to his location,” Roland said.

  Braewyn circled the block and found a parking space near the corner of 6th and Merchant.

  “I’ll go on foot from here,” she said. “Take the wheel, sheriff. I’ll make this quick.”

  * * * * *

  Frank found the Lyon County Historical Museum east of Mechanic Street on 6th Avenue. He stepped to the information desk inside the door. A tall young fellow, with “Eddie” printed on a badge on his shirt pocket, looked up at Frank and smiled.

  “Howdy, sir,” the amiable man said with an accent like a country singer. “What can we do for you today?”

  “Can you tell me the best way to get to Wichita?” Frank asked.

  “You betcha. ‘Bout an hour and a half hop south of here,” the clerk said. “Now, me personally, I’d take I-35, the faster way, but they’s others who’d argue against that and claim that U. S. 50 be’d the best way to go.”

  “I’ll take your way.”

  “Well, a bloc
k west of here is Commercial Street,” Eddie said, pointing with two bony fingers, “which becomes Route 99. You go right onto that and you’ll hit old 35 just north of here and turn left. Follow the signs to Wichita from there and you’ll do pretty fine.”

  * * * * *

  The clerk at the Miles-For-Less agency confirmed to Braewyn that Frank Dugan had rented an Impala in Kansas City, Missouri and paid his bill with a Capital One MasterCard. Braewyn put a call in to Jack Ortiz to place an official FBI demand on Frank’s credit card company to determine any new charges, especially ones at car rental agencies. She also inquired about nearby rental agencies and was given a list by the clerk.

  Roland was waiting in the Crown Vic on Merchant Street when she returned with the latest on their friend and lawman.

  “I think we’ve temporarily lost him,” Braewyn said.

  “How about checking with OnStar?” Roland asked.

  “I could, but that would be cheating.”

  “Come again?”

  “I shouldn’t use means at my disposal to track Frank if a civilian wouldn’t also have access to it.”

  “You’re going to even the playing field with killers?”

  “It’s the way Frank wants it.”

  “So now his loonyness has rubbed off on you,” Roland said.

  Braewyn gazed out the windshield.

  “Maybe.”

  * * * * *

  Eddie Parks punched numbers on the phone at the Lyon County Museum desk and waited.

  “Emporia Gazette,” the pleasant woman’s voice said.

  “This is Eddie Parks from the museum.”

  “Yes, Eddie. Did you want to speak to someone about your ad?”

  “No, but I do need to speak to someone about that detective fella that everyone is hunting for.”

  “The missing man from Florida? What about him?”

  “He left my place not a minute ago. Said he was going to Wichita.”

  “I’ll contact the AP and the police,” the woman said. “Anything else?”

  “Yeah. He’s gonna take 35 south.”

  * * * * *

  At 3 P. M., Cezar Nicolai sat in the airport lounge at Kansas City International, northwest of Kansas City, Missouri, and sipped on a margarita as he pored over a map of Kansas. Vlad Torok, beside him, chugged on his Heinekin, and stared at a Royals baseball game on the wide screen TV above the bar.

  “At last count,” Cezar said, tracing routes on the map with a pen. “Dugan was going into Emporia. He’s got to be going south or west from there.”

  “Maybe what he wants is in Emporia.”

  “If it is, he’ll stay put, and we’ll have to drive there. It’s seven hours away.”

  “No airport there?”

  “Nothing big enough for us,” Cezar said, tracing roadways on the map. “If he moves, where can he go?”

  Vlad studied the screen on his phone. “Wichita is 90 miles from there. Much bigger town.”

  “And Wichita has something that relates to World War Two.”

  “Should I tell the pilot to warm up the Lear?” Vlad asked.

  “Give me a second…”

  The baseball game was interrupted by a special news announcement.

  “KTKA-TV has just learned that Frank Dugan, the Florida detective being sought by the FBI, has recently left Emporia and is heading southwest on the Kansas Turnpike toward El Dorado National Park.”

  A photo of Frank popped on the screen.

  “He is driving a late model, dark blue Chevrolet Impala,” the announcer continued. “The special agent in charge, Braewyn Joyce, has ordered all authorities to stand down any attempts to intercede at or stop the car. Detective Dugan was formerly regarded as missing, and is now being sought for questioning and is not wanted for any crime. Anyone observing him should immediately contact the FBI’s hotline at 800-FEDBASE.”

  The baseball game resumed and Cezar looked at Vlad, the corners of his mouth slightly upturned.

  “When plans fail, embrace the luck,” Cezar said.

  “Go after him?” Vlad said.

  “If we follow the turnpike southwest we don’t hit El Dorado Park,” Cezar said using a swizzle stick to chart a southwestward course on the map on Route 35. “We end up somewhere south of there. I have a strong idea where our man is headed. It’s the only place possible. According to Hapburg’s memos, it’s where they tested the Omega formula.”

  “Now warm up the Lear?” Vlad asked.

  “Warm up the Lear. Gather the men and make the flight plan for Wichita, Kansas.”

  “What’s there, sir?”

  “The McConnell Air Force Base.”

  Chapter 65

  Braewyn learned the latest on Frank from Jack Ortiz and sped west on Route 50. Her hopes of overtaking him were slim since he was driving a fast car and had a 45-minute jump on their Crown Vic.

  “He can’t speed on this road and risk being pulled over.” Roland said.

  Access signs to the Route 35 Kansas Turnpike approached on the right.

  “Take the ramp,” Braewyn said to Roland.

  “That goes back to Wichita,” Roland said.

  “I know. Take it.” Braewyn said.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Call it intuition,” Braewyn said. “Just do it.”

  Roland turned onto the access ramp.

  “Hang on, Victoria,” Roland said. “We’re riding with a psychic.”

  * * * * *

  Darkness fell as Frank rolled into Wichita. The Prairie Inn Motel, on the east side of town, was no five-star Hilton, but it was clean and affordable. Frank paid for a room on the second floor that faced the parking lot, and went to the motel’s restaurant and lounge for a drink. Tomorrow he would know if he was right about his decision to come to Kansas. Tomorrow…so near, and yet it seemed like a lifetime away.

  “Johnnie Black on the rocks,” Frank said to the portly bartender.

  “Coming up,” the bartender said. “You here for the air show?”

  “Air show? No.”

  “It’s not until next week, but a lot of folks get here early to get the best rooms.”

  “No, I’m here to see an old friend.”

  The bartender placed Frank’s drink on a napkin in front of him.

  “You from out of town?”

  “From L. A.”

  “Hollywood, eh? Always wanted to go there.”

  “Weather’s nice.”

  “Do you ever run into any of those movie stars?”

  “Occasionally. They look a lot different when they’re not in the movies.”

  “In disguise, huh?”

  “Sometimes. Like most folks, they’d rather not be bothered.”

  “Forgive my manners. I’m Elwood. Would you care to see a menu, sir?”

  “No, thank you,” Frank said. “Name’s Jesse.”

  “Welcome to Wichita, Kansas, Jesse. You holler if you need anything,” Elwood said and moved down the bar to wait on a couple seating themselves at the far end.

  Frank sipped his drink and watched a few rounds of Roller Derby on one of the four bar televisions, and did the only thing he could do to pass the time.

  He waited.

  * * * * *

  Cezar had no problem discovering where a Frank Dugan was staying in a town with a limited number of possibilities near the McConnell Air Force Base. In fact, he hit pay dirt on his third call to a row of motels on south Rock Road.

  “What’s next?” Vlad said.

  “We watch him. Everywhere he goes, we go. Looks like he’s got business with the air base.”

  “How’ll we get inside?”

  “There’s a museum there. They welcome tourists.”

  “I hope they don’t watch a lot of TV,” Vlad said.

  “It’s Mr. Evans they want, not Colonel Chernac.”

  “Maybe we’ll stay lucky,” Vlad said.

  “Maybe?” Cezar said. “They will try to defeat us, and they will always outnumber us, but I didn�
�t get rich by being afraid of risks. This means too much to me. Frank Dugan will lead us to the Omega formula and we will take it, and control the balance of world power.”

  “Where can we live that’s safe?”

  “You’ll love Dubai.”

  Vlad smiled at Cezar’a words, but Cezar knew there was reservation displayed on his friend’s face. He had never seen Vlad Torok back down from anything or anyone. For the first time in their long relationship, he caught a whiff of faltering confidence in his partner. Cezar knew Vlad would follow him into Hell, but he sensed that he had given the Spartan that dwelled in Vlad a pre-battle pep talk before they marched to defend a latter-day Thermopylae. His friend would not disappoint him, even though Vlad might fear that the Persian army would be coming to meet them at the Gates to Hades.

  Chapter 66

  Frank looked at his watch. It was 10:13 P. M. The bar and lounge were almost filled to capacity. Elwood, the bartender, was having a busy night making drinks Frank had never heard of. What the hell’s a Redheaded Slut, a Slippery Nipple, and an Alabama Slammer?

  Words flowed to Frank’s ear from a familiar voice.

  “It’ll be a comfort for you to know that I’ve left the entire Martin County law enforcement service in the hands of Carl Rumbaugh and Greg Martinez,” Roland said, standing behind Frank.

  “Elwood, a draft beer for my great uncle here,” Frank said. “Cheapest you’ve got.”

  Roland wrapped an arm around Frank’s shoulders and gave him a healthy body shake.

  “Good to see you too,” Roland said. “Before you ask, Agent Joyce is with her real friends, the FBI task force surrounding the motel.”