by Ian Edward
CHAPTER FORTY THREE
It was unusual for Jackson Donnelly to dream. The previous night he’d not only dreamt but he’d done so vividly, drawing on his memories of the night Rhonda Lagan had died. He’d been on the coastal road in the dead of night, the steep, sheer cliff falling away at the point where the road rounded the land’s end.
He’d phoned Rhonda earlier, intriguing her with talk of secret information she would find of interest. He’d been right that she’d agree to meet immediately. Twenty minutes later, his car gained on hers, his timing perfect so that he’d be in the right place as she travelled past the road’s most dangerous spot.
He’d pulled his car across the oncoming lane to overtake her. But then, with his vehicle alongside hers, he’d spun the steering wheel sharply, the side of his car crashing against hers and pushing her toward the cliff edge. The desired result was achieved much more easily than he’d expected. Rhonda Lagan, caught totally by surprise, lost control. Her car crashed against the roadside railing. Attempting to pull back, she swung the wheel too sharply.
The car spun and then flipped on its side, smashing through the railing and toppling over the edge.
Donnelly drove on. No other cars in sight. No witnesses.
He imagined the shriek of the young woman as her car plunged through darkness. He felt a sense of power. He visualised the car smashing into the rocks below, metal and glass shattering and cast outwards in a cloud of debris. The crash of the waves on the rocky shoreline.
But Donnelly’s dream was invaded by something else. The moaning, distorted faces of night creatures. Hundreds of them. Calling, whispering.
Mocking.
He’d woken in a cold sweat, shaken and puzzled. He wasn’t one to have nightmares.
He’d certainly never felt fear or remorse over his actions.
So what was this?
A warning? A premonition of impending danger?
In fact, he’d experienced nightmares before, years ago, the one and only time the police had been about to move in on him. The nightmares had destabilised him. As a result he’d skipped town, avoiding arrest, and the case against him on that occasion had fallen apart. Premonition. Over the years he’d felt a curious but familiar sense of unease that served to warn him of danger. A strange gift, something the devil himself might’ve granted. It had always kept him one step ahead of the law.
The gift, if you could call it that, had served him well from his teenage days of petty crime on the streets of New York to his days as a major player in the underworld of the Big Apple. He’d also served in Vietnam and had kept in touch with Logan Asquith, taking on assignments as Asquith built his secret group within the Defence Department. It was the reason William Westmeyer had sought him out, and brought him on board as a member of his inner clique.
But never before had he dreamt of hideous, mocking faces.
Donnelly paced his apartment, convinced this was a premonition of disaster. Melanie Cail’s suspected sabotage of the Institute’s security had brought unwanted attention. It had put them under a microscope.
The solution, then, was obvious. Attention had to be diverted away from the Institute by exposing Melanie Cail. And then she had to be terminated, as had Rhonda Lagan when her snooping veered so close to the truth.
CHAPTER FORTY FOUR
For half an hour the members of the Task Force had reviewed the facts to hand. O’Malley conducted the meeting in an easy manner, but at the same time was brisk and concise in dealing with the issues. Seated with him at the long, narrow table were senior detective sergeant Wal Hester, specifically for his experience with missing persons, and his expertise in forensic techniques; researcher Megan Shorter; senior detectives Brian Kavanaugh and Mike Stanley; and Adam.
After the review, O’Malley delivered a summary of the case, and its implications. ‘There is strong circumstantial evidence of a link between the Westmeyer Research Institute with three drownings off the N.S.W. and Queensland coasts over the past nine months. And these have an uncanny similarity with drownings, two years ago, in Florida.’
O’Malley paused here and nodded toward Wal Hester. The senior detective dimmed the lights and activated a powerpoint presentation on the wall mounted screen.
The first picture was of a multi-level, chrome and glass building in a leafy setting.
O’Malley resumed his address as Hester lingered. ‘With Megan’s assistance, Wal has undertaken extensive research of the Institute and the background of its chief executive. The first point I need to make is that we’ve uncovered a stronger link between the drownings here and in America.’ O’Malley’s gaze settled for a moment on Adam, then swept over the whole group as he delivered the next surprising point: ‘Westmeyer established his Institute in Washington D.C. in the mid 1980’s, a small operation working on projects for the U.S. Department of Defence. Later on, Defence was just one of several clients, including pharmaceutical firms and U.S. universities. In the early ‘90’s the Institute was relocated to a country area outside Everglades City. By then it had become a major research establishment.’
Another pause and a murmur from the detectives.
O’Malley resumed: ‘Two years ago the Institute was relocated again – this time to Queensland. And the first local unidentified floater was found soon after, in Morrissey.
‘We are in no doubt, then, with the additional light cast by Adam’s anonymous caller, and our discovery that Westmeyer’s boat was active at the time of the drowning – that our answer lies at the Institute. Wal? Over to you.’
Hester moved to the head of the table. The screen displayed a young man in military uniform. ‘Westmeyer graduated with honours, in Medicine, from the Uni of Washington DC in the early 70’s. He volunteered for service in Vietnam. This appears to have been in response to a now defunct Defence Dept. initiative. In return for specialised military service, outstanding young professionals could anticipate possible Defence funding for their future special projects.’
‘I haven’t heard about that one before,’ said Brian Kavanaugh.
‘A little known endeavour, long since abandoned,’ Hester replied. ‘Westmeyer went missing in action in ’73 after a patrol he was with was wiped out. He was found, along with an Australian conscript, wandering the Mekong River 12 months later. He was discharged with honour and returned to Washington where he received a Defence scholarship, part of his deal, to study genetics and biochemistry. He worked for a while with the Research division in Bethesda, before being funded to set up his own laboratories.
‘The young Westmeyer was a brilliant and creative scientific researcher, but he was also a restless spirit with an attitude, and something of a womaniser. We don’t know what happened during those twelve months in Vietnam, other than he was supposed to have been a prisoner. Strangely, there are no details pertaining to this in Defence records.
‘By the early 90’s he’d moved to Everglades City, with several financial backers and a blue chip client list, spending much of his time lecturing and networking with the international science community. At this point he appears to have become more entrepreneur than scientist. Then, two years ago – another move, across the Pacific to Northern Rocks.’
‘Any idea why he would make a move like that?’ asked Kavanaugh.
‘On the surface of it, economic considerations. However, given Westmeyer’s link to these drownings, we suspect there’s another reason.’
‘What about the other members of Westmeyer’s senior staff?’ Adam asked.
‘Brian and Mike are working on that,’ Hester said, ‘and they’ll have profiles to hand in the next 24 hours.’
Mike Stanley spoke up. ‘One early point we can share is that Westmeyer’s long term chief of security, Tony Collosimo, a native of Chicago, is also a Vietnam veteran.’
‘Same division?’ wondered Adam.
‘No. Different division. Different year. No indication they ever met over there. And Collosimo’s a few years younger. But they were both sta
tioned in the Mekong Delta and they had the same area commander. It doesn’t mean much – but it is another link between Westmeyer, and one of his staff, with the U.S. Defence Department.’
The pictures on the screen had changed a number of times, showing a younger Westmeyer collecting a biochemistry award, and now a recent aerial shot of the Institute grounds.
O’Malley addressed the group once more. ‘Strong circumstantial evidence, but it won’t get us a court order to search the Institute premises, and it’s hardly enough to approach the U.S. Attorney Generals office about Westmeyer’s history with Defence. We have nothing concrete, which brings me to the strategy that Megan, Wal and I have devised. A plan to gain access to the Institute, legally, whilst our external investigation continues.’ O’Malley motioned to Hester.
The screen showed a data analysis sheet, on the Institute’s letterhead. ‘This,’ O’Malley informed them, ‘is confidential research data from one of Westmeyer’s labs, secretly faxed from various locations to the media, and to educational and scientific centres. The timing of this apparent act of sabotage couldn’t be better for us. It offers us a Trojan Horse, one we couldn’t have created ourselves.’
CHAPTER FORTY FIVE
Flying low, the chopper cast its shadow over the Range Rover. The vehicle stood in the clearing at the end of the access road.
Through the open door of the chopper, Trish Watts trained her binoculars on the vehicle and was able to identify the make and registration number. She radioed the information back to home base. As she did, Ron Mahoney changed direction and altitude to search the other clearings in the area.
Within the hour they’d established that the four-wheel drive was the only vehicle left unattended. It had been hired by Kate Kovacs, in Settler’s Gorge.
Mahoney began the flight back to base while Trish used the radiophone to speak to Harold Letterfield. ‘They’re out here somewhere, Harold, and we all know that means they’re in danger.’
‘I’m organising a search right now with the State police,’ Letterfield said. Even as he spoke, his mind played over the result of the last search.
Westmeyer had agreed to see Melanie Cail at her insistence. Collosimo escorted her to his boss’ office, and remained standing by the door. Westmeyer was behind his broad desk, also standing.
Jackson Donnelly hovered.
Although offered a chair, Melanie declined. She thought to herself – well, if this is the way it’s going to be, like a Mexican stand-off, then so be it. ‘Further to what I said on the phone, Mr. Westmeyer, the Brisbane Chronicle is planning a story-’
‘We know that, Ms. Cail,’ Donnelly cut across her, speaking through clenched teeth. Westmeyer gestured for Donnelly to hold off.
‘Yes, well, the Chronicle is sending their science reporter to cover the story, but they’ve asked me to work with them, and add some local colour to their report. What I’d like to suggest, and I thank you for agreeing to meet with me on this, is that I spend some time on site, walking and talking with you and your staff-’
‘You have the hide of a rhinoceros,’ Donnelly cut in again.
‘I’m sorry…?’
‘Do you think we’re such morons that we don’t know it was you who faxed that material, to hand yourself a big story?’
Melanie glowered at him. ‘How dare you make such a ridiculous claim. I certainly didn’t have anything to do-’
‘We know you’ve been seeing Stephen and that you had access to information in his apartment. Yet you have the gall to come parading in here, wanting us to help you profit-’
‘I did no such thing and I’ll take legal action if you make any such accusation.’ Melanie looked to Westmeyer for support but was unable to read his expression. ‘Look, I didn’t even know about this until I received a phone call from my own editor, saying he had Brisbane requesting assistance. I actually see it as a way of trying to help-’
‘Help?!’ Donnelly spat the word.
Collosimo, listening intently up to now, stepped forward. ‘You’re saying you had no knowledge of this?’
‘Of course I didn’t. And my personal relationships are none of anyone’s business. What proof-?’
Before she could finish, Collosimo answered. ‘We have no proof. But right now we’re regarding anyone who has contact with our staff with a degree of suspicion. Mr. Donnelly has a perception that, in addition to your possible access to the data, you have something professional to gain in reporting this story. And, true to his suspicions, you are here, advancing your career prospects.’
‘That’s not my intention.’
‘You said you wanted to help,’ Westmeyer said. ‘What did you mean by that?’
‘If I spend time here, I can report the situation from the Institute’s point of view, as it’s unfolding. I can show this was an isolated incident, and that in reality the Institute has excellent security measures in place. I believe the staff here are professional and loyal and security conscious. I won’t misreport, but if I find the integrity here that I expect then my reports will convey that. Yes, it’s a fantastic story for me, but why not, at the same time, take the opportunity to show the Institute in it’s best light.’
Donnelly sneered. ‘Bullshit.’
Exasperated, Melanie leaned toward Westmeyer. ‘Do I have to put up with him?’
‘Tell me, Ms. Cail, would you allow me to vet your articles?’
‘Yes.’
Westmeyer looked to his security chief. ‘Tony, what do you think about this? From the security angle.’
‘I don’t see a problem. While she’s on the premises, Ms. Cail would be restricted to our low-level security areas, she’ll be in the company of staff, and my team will keep a watchful eye.’
‘You can’t be considering this, William,’ Donnelly said.
‘I’m going to give it a trial. But I expect a fully supportive editorial slant, Ms. Cail. And nothing I don’t approve of to go to press.’
‘Not a problem.’ She shook hands with both Westmeyer and Collosimo. Donnelly held back, his face a mask of barely controlled indignation.
Later, Westmeyer called Collosimo back to the office. ‘You can call in extra help if need be. I want Ms. Cail watched like a hawk day and night, on site and off.’
‘You still think she’s responsible for the leak?’
‘Sure of it. And I don’t believe for a minute she has any intention of portraying us in a good light. Not newsworthy enough for that foxy little superbitch.’
‘Then why allow her-?’
‘I’d rather we had her close to hand. Better, Tony, to know your enemies and lull them into a false sense of security.’
‘Have you told Donnelly that was your plan?’
Westmeyer chuckled. ‘No. Sometimes I like to keep him on edge. It keeps him sharp.’
After Collosimo left, Westmeyer leaned back in the wide leather chair and rubbed his forehead as though it would erase his anxiety. Donnelly had been waiting and listening in the adjoining executive washroom. He re-entered the office, the trace of a self-satisfied grin on his thin lips.
‘I’m uncomfortable…with this plan of yours, Jackson,’ Westmeyer said.
‘It’s necessary, and efficient. You know that.’
‘I never wanted this sort of …thing…to happen more than once.’
‘This will be an end to it, William. Trust me. We deceive the media into believing the saboteur has been exposed; and to expedite matters, we create proof that Melanie Cail is that saboteur, and we implicate Collosimo as being involved. That gets Hunter off the hook. Then we do away with Cail and the security man and the matter is at an end. No need for you to give it another thought. You and Hunter have to concentrate on the final stages of the project. You leave the nasty part to me.’
Westmeyer winced. That was what sickened him: the sordid details he knew very well that Jackson Donnelly would enjoy.
Melanie drove back to her office. She couldn’t believe how well this was going. Eddie Cochrane wou
ld be thrilled. The Brisbane Chronicle bosses would be impressed. She was certain now she would get the Brisbane job. Certain.
Donnelly was a problem. He was onto her. It would be a worthy challenge for her wit and her charm to manipulate the others in spite of his opposition.
Strangely, it did not occur to her to suspect she was being followed.
CHAPTER FORTY SIX
Daniel swam with the current, gasping for breath, allowing the pull of the river to propel his escape. His mind was surprisingly sharp given he was in the midst of a physical and emotional ordeal.
How had the Keepers found him? How could they already have been here in Northern Rocks, waiting? Even Daniel hadn’t known this was where he’d be headed – not until the news broadcast the day before yesterday.
And then it struck him: the news broadcast, with the photo of the girl he’d recognised. She, too, had been part of the Com. The Keepers had seen the same news program – and they’d guessed, correctly, that if Daniel also saw it then he would’ve headed for the town…
His heart sank. To have come so far... His only hope was to outdistance them with the river’s help. Adrenaline kicked in.
He swam harder and faster…
The road didn’t follow the path of the river. It twisted back on itself, switchback style, into the woods. At Warren Ethers’ command, the Keepers split into two groups, each on opposite sides of the river. A police siren was heard in the distance.
Ethers led one group, Scanlon the other, and the two leaders kept in touch by cell phone. They scanned the water as they moved.
After a while, Ethers stopped and aimed his binoculars back toward the bridge. He could see figures, pointing out over the water. He could just make out what appeared to be a police uniform. ‘Damn.’