Transparency: Bio-Tech Cavern Secrets Untold

by Matthews, D. K.

  Days afterward, they held Judy’s funeral in Washington, DC in the middle of a torrential rain. Halliday responded when he felt pats on his shoulder, but he wasn’t really there. He remembered viewing her body in the casket for the last time. He had stood over her and touched her arm. He listened hard. He couldn’t hear the chimes ring.

  Halliday left the funeral, alone, closed off, with a mindset that wouldn’t allow for future close relationships or high aspirations. Besides Special Agent Judy Solvano—a Bureau of Diplomatic Security heroine—the casualties of the Bangkok detail had been the café worker from a fatal stab wound, the assailant as a result of a gunshot wound, and Special Agent John Halliday, from unspecified mental trauma.

  Chapter Forty One

  Laurel stood beneath Genevive’s chimes. A white pickup truck pulled up in front of her.

  The security man slammed the door too hard. He walked a circle around the small park, scratching his head. She listened to him complain to the dispatcher, “No one’s ringing the chimes. You sure you don’t have a hearing problem?”

  The security man’s facial expression changed. “Roger, I’m aware that the wind doesn’t play a favorite tune,” he said, his high-pitched voice registering a complaint. “This is the third time I’ve been called up here today. Each time I find nothing. You wouldn’t be dickin’ with me, would you dispatch?”

  A long pause ensued during which the security man got some advice through his earpiece. Finally, he uttered, “Roger that,” and stomped back to the truck.

  He kicked the door before opening it. After he slid into the driver’s seat, he slammed the door so hard the entire cab rattled.

  The pickup truck stirred up a dust cloud speeding down the hill.

  Laurel played the simple melody with the chimes for three minutes. She had repeated it every half hour for the past three hours.

  She knew Genevive and the federal agents were sophisticated enough to monitor the detective’s phone. Sure, she could have found other means to contact Detective Halliday. Her mother Kiaweah once told her of an old Miwok saying, “Cover your tracks for both friend and foe. Both will learn to respect you.”

  The flash of light from the direction of the hot springs caught her eye.

  Detective Halliday stood at the bottom of the hill on the other side of the fence. Something in his hand reflected light from the overhead sun. If she saw him so could Genevive security.

  Laurel surveyed her surroundings. She gathered up her cloaked backpack and hustled down the hill.

  When she arrived, she rushed over before the detective crawled through the hole in fence. “Don’t say a word,” she ordered. “Return to the parking lot. I’ll follow you in a few minutes.”

  Detective Halliday put his tools away. He headed back to the hot springs.

  Laurel trailed a minute behind, on the lookout for Genevive security. Even worse were the more resourceful federal agents.

  Yellow police tape secured the Santa Reina Hot Springs front door. CRIME SCENE—DO NOT ENTER.

  The police had failed to lock the door. Before the security alarm rang, notifying the police, she disabled it.

  No one had bothered to feed the parrots in the atrium. Hunger, as well as neglect, caused several pairs of wings to flap in unison like an exotic fan. Usually the center of attention, Penelope cried out her favorite line, “Baby, its cold outside.”

  The naughty Rodrigo replied, “Who let the dog in?”

  Laurel chided the startled birds by making a silly face. Her transparency didn’t fool the crafty parrots.

  After feeding the parrots she took a look around.

  The break room and Jillian’s office had been torched. Laurel’s old office had been spared.

  The safe in Jillian’s office sat wide open and empty.

  Jillian had always been careful. She routinely checked all the offices before leaving. Genevive security must have started the fire.

  Laurel had seen enough. She said goodbye to the parrots. They had enough food and water for a few days. Before leaving, she enabled the security alarm.

  Detective Halliday had parked his car in the empty lot, close to the hot springs entrance. He waited in the driver’s seat.

  Laurel smelled the odor of beer as soon as she approached the driver’s window. Halliday hadn’t shaved in a couple of days. His tie stuck out from beneath the collar in the back. He stared straight ahead through the windshield as if in a fog. Having read the government report hidden in his apartment Laurel knew that the past would forever haunt him. She hoped that it didn’t get in the way of bringing down Genevive Labs.

  “I know you’re here, Laurel.”

  His words startled her.

  “I can feel your presence.”

  “You heard the chimes.”

  “Yeah, I figured out you meant it to be a signal to meet. What’s the name of that melody?”

  “I made it up.”

  “You’ve got a lot of hidden talents.”

  The detective didn’t see her grin. She wouldn’t apologize for her condition or the solitary life that she had led. In her mind she had made one big mistake in her life—Brad Palmier.

  Something occupied the detective’s thoughts, too. “What is it?”

  “Jillian had a boyfriend.”

  He couldn’t see the disappointment in her eyes or the tear running down her face.

  “Are you still there?”

  “Yes, you already know the story then.”

  “Let’s start with you telling me what you know.”

  “I used to listen in on the conversations between Jillian’s office girls in the atrium. You know how girls love to talk. Of course, they couldn’t see me.”

  The detective grunted. “You don’t have to apologize. A lot of people would love to be a fly on the wall.”

  She winced at the comparison, but he ignored it. It wouldn’t be easy discussing Jillian’s private life. “It all began quite innocently. Two of the girls at the hot springs took Jillian out to ladies night at a western bar outside of town. She’d never had much of a social life after she divorced Todd Andrews. I mean, like dating. According to Pam, a cowboy at the bar took a big interest in Jillian as soon as they arrived.”

  “The two receptionists are pretty,” Halliday said. “Jillian must have been a few years older.”

  Jillian’s birthday occurred a week after hers. They had planned to celebrate together.

  “Laurel?”

  “Jillian would have been thirty-two years old next week. Anyway, it didn’t fit. Pam, one of the receptionists, said ‘Jack’ was a hunk. You’ve seen Pam and Deanna. They’re both drop-dead gorgeous. Anyway, Jack ignored them and pursued Jillian.”

  “You’re saying he targeted Jillian?”

  “I believe so.”

  “Did you ever meet Jack?”

  “No, I heard them say that Jillian would meet him at the western bar on weekends. Then one day out of the blue Jillian confessed to me that she was in love. He never came to the hot springs. I overheard the girls’ comment on how odd it seemed. Because of my transparency I couldn’t get involved. Besides, I had never seen Jillian so happy.”

  “You can’t blame yourself.”

  “Then the rumors began. Deanna learned that Jack’s real name was Roger, who worked out at Genevive Labs on a government appointed job.”

  “Did Chief Brayden or one of his men question the girls regarding her boyfriend?”

  “I wasn’t there.”

  “That’s right; you were in Jillian’s basement the day she died.”

  Detective Halliday paused, as if to think something through. Then he said, “Did you know that her boyfriend Roger was Agent Roger Coulter of the Department of Defense?”

  “Not until a few days ago. Coulter had been lying to her all along. Jillian wouldn’t have had anything to do with him had she known he belonged to the federal government. They were the enemy to her.” Laurel paused. “Soon after she learned of Coulter’s true identity she fo
und out she was pregnant. Although it devastated her, she decided to keep the baby. I know what you’re thinking. Jillian could have been so despondent that she killed herself. That’s just not possible. Jillian would never take anyone’s life. Not hers or her baby’s.”

  She watched the detective think things through before he said, “I’m assuming that Genevive and DOD used Coulter to romance Jillian. Someone silenced her for good with the trumped up suicide.”

  “How could anyone be so callous?”

  “We don’t know all the facts. I think Coulter felt affection for Jillian. I doubt that he had a hand in her murder. Your ex-husband could have arranged it. Genevive Labs, with the DOD’s blessing, were willing to commit murder to hide the secret activities in building C14. Since the Santa Reina PD is owned by Genevive, the onus is on me to expose them.”

  “There’s one way to learn the truth.”

  “What’s that, Laurel?”

  “Break into building C14 to find out what they are doing.”

  “That’s a tall order. The security there must rival the Pentagon. Though I’m not impressed with Genevive security so far.”

  “This will help you gain entry.”

  His expression showed surprise.

  Laurel handed him the card. “Brad’s lost I.D. card should get us into C14. The man was so forgetful.”

  “Thanks, this will help a lot. Did I hear you say, us?”

  “I’m coming along, too.”

  “It’s going to be extremely risky.”

  “Remember, they’ll never see me.”

  Detective Halliday shook his head. “If they were to capture you, the gig would be up. You’d never leave the lab and Genevive would learn your transparency. I shudder to think about such power in the hands of these screwballs.”

  “I think we need to take the risk. You won’t be able to get in and out of building C14 by yourself. During our marriage Brad told me some stories about it.”

  The detective turned.

  “Believe me, Detective Halliday.”

  He nodded his head. “Tomorrow then?”

  “It’s Halloween. I said I would incapacitate Brad tomorrow, remember?”

  “We’ll meet at building C14 at high noon.”

  “Yes, during the start of lunchtime.”

  She handed Detective Halliday his phone. He said, “Thank you.”

  The detective smiled for the first time. “You wouldn’t happen to have a free sample of that transparency solution that I could use tomorrow?”

  She smiled. “Sorry Detective Halliday, it doesn’t work that way.”

  # # #

  Halliday had decided not to saddle Laurel McKittrick with questions of land fraud or her mental stability. That could wait. He knew the risks, but needed her support tomorrow at Genevive Labs more than anything.

  Either the wind had picked up or she had left. “Laurel, are you still there?”

  No answer.

  His voicemail box was full. Halliday checked the latest, an urgent message from Rich Gladstone that requested an immediate response.

  “Halliday, where have you been? I’ve been trying to get a hold of you.”

  “Sorry, I got tied up here. What’s going on?”

  “We’ve got a problem. I’m going out on a limb just calling you. I went up to Sonora. The sheriff up there bitched about Chief Brayden not returning his calls. He showed me a series of photos taken by an amateur photographer. It shows the vagrant being forced into a white pickup. I have photos of both the vagrant and the perp and the license plate of the white pickup. The sheriff traced it to Genevive’s security fleet. It’s one of forty-two vehicles.”

  “Good work, Rich.”

  “So, here’s the kicker. When I couldn’t get a hold of you I took the evidence in to the chief. Instead of praise for a job well done, the shit hits the fan. He demanded that I give him all the evidence. Told me not to utter a word to anybody or else. I couldn’t fucking believe it.”

  “Believe it, Rich. We can’t count on the chief’s support on any evidence against Genevive Labs. He’s been compromised.”

  Gladstone didn’t reply.

  “Did you find anything on Dave Garcia in Redwood Bluff?”

  “I got two positive IDs by farmers, plus one from the gal out at the Deer Spot Bar.”

  “Rich, follow the chief’s orders. Don’t approach Garcia. Keep a low profile and keep your mouth shut. Okay? I’ll take care of the investigation going forward. I’ll get back to you soon. I’m going to need your help.”

  Halliday hung up before the young detective had time to reply.

  Chapter Forty Two

  Halliday used a credit card to gain access to Jillian’s house through the rear garage.

  After checking for intruders he headed for the basement.

  He figured right that Laurel wouldn’t be there. Her underground hideout contained no unnecessary clutter. He found a storage chest secured with a clasp lock. A hard tug with a screwdriver unlatched the clasp.

  The chest contained memorabilia that looked to be several years old. An 8 ½ x 11 group photo of more than fifty people showed the Foxworth family. He identified one of the freckled girls sitting in front as Jillian.

  The chest held nothing of importance for him. The rest of the basement turned up nothing. Frustrated that he had not found a safe or lock box, Halliday returned to the guesthouse.

  After he had combed over every square inch of the guesthouse he sat down on the couch. Where else would Jillian have hidden the document that had put the fear in Palmier and company? Perhaps the documents burned in the fire after all. If he believed the chief, the document hadn’t been in the safe at the spa either.

  Frustrated, Halliday grabbed the Jules Verne book off the end table. He returned to Jillian’s basement, the safest place in town except he couldn’t replace the floor mat over the door entry.

  Halliday sat down on the couch. Remnants of Laurel’s dank odor didn’t bother him. He began reading Journey to the Center of the Earth, a story that must have made a profound impression on the young Laurel.

  Three or four hours later he laid the book down. He wondered how someone could survive being ejected out of a volcano onto a tropical island. “Just the facts” didn’t apply to science fiction. That’s why he enjoyed sci-fi stories and films.

  He laid the book on the nightstand. The story had unearthed some of his misgivings. What had happened to the adventurous soul who had traveled the world? Would Judy have condoned his hiding out in Santa Reina?

  He shut off the light about one a.m.

  Sleep evaded him. He wrestled with the couch during the next two hours. Remnants of Laurel’s dank odor more easily invaded his senses with the absence of light. It reminded him what a huge responsibility she had entrusted him with.

  Eventually he slept. A vertical world of obsidian columns interspersed with dark and narrow passages surrounded him. He stood on a dangerous precipice inside the bowels of the earth. Below, Laurel hung from a rope above a translucent pool. Dark tendrils rose out of the pool grabbing for her. Halliday tugged on the rope. The tendrils multiplied. They wrapped around her legs. The rope jerked. He had to let go or he too would be pulled into the murky depths.

  A light blinded him.

  “Get up, Halliday,” a voice called out.

  His eyes adjusted. A man and a boy stood in front of him. The boy wore a beard.

  “Your slumber time is over, detective. Get up.”

  “Breaking and entering, Coulter,” Halliday said. “You’re making a career of stepping out of line.” He shook his head. “What did Jillian see in you?”

  “Where’s your phone?”

  He glanced at the nightstand. Coulter had taken his Glock. His phone had dropped behind him in the couch. “I think it’s stuck in the cushion.”

  “Reach for it slowly.”

  “You have my weapon,” he complained while reaching underneath him.

  “That’s it… slowly.”

&nb
sp; Coulter grabbed the phone out of his hand as if it could do harm.

  Halliday sat up. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. The short fellow standing next to the DARPA agent was weird Dr. Krabbi. “Have you guys had breakfast yet?”

  “Your humors not appreciated Halliday.”

  “What do you want from me Agent Coulter?”

  “You failed to uphold your promise to Mr. Palmier. He never received your e-mail regarding the FBI report.”

  “Are you Palmier’s message boy?”

  “Answer the question.”

  “Yeah, the agent never got back to me.”

  “You’re going to have to explain that in detail to Mr. Palmier.”

  “I don’t have any details. The FBI agent never returned my calls. It’s as simple as that.”

  Coulter’s expression ached for combat. Halliday turned to the little man. “Dr. Krabbi, I’m surprised to see you here. Did you spot the one-eyed green monster running around in the backyard?”

  Krabbi’s eyes were glued on the couch. “Smell the odd odor, detective?”

  Were they on to her? “Yeah, it smells rather dank. The place needs to be aired out. Why?”

  The doctor’s acne scarred face couldn’t hide the secrets embedded in it. He looked to be fifty-some years old with a stubby chin hidden behind a long, steel-wool beard. Unable to find any phantoms, his crazed eyes searched Halliday and Coulter for encouragement.

  Agent Coulter, perhaps used to the mad doctor’s antics, wore a tired expression.

  “Our experiments in building C14 emit a foul odor,” the doctor said. “They are similar to what you smelled on the couch. We go to great extremes to remove the odor from the atmosphere in the lab. When Agent Coulter informed me of the strange odor here, it concerned me.” Dr. Krabbi pulled at his gray beard. “Quite frankly, I am… flabbergasted.”

  Halliday held back a chuckle. The way the doctor had pronounced “flabbergasted” reminded him of Daffy Duck’s fractured vocabulary.

  “Something on your mind detective Halliday?” Coulter said.

  Jillian had been in love with Coulter so, of course, she’d told the louse some of her secrets. Coulter had known about the basement all along. He turned to Dr. Krabbi and said, “You’re wondering how an experiment from your lab ended up here in this basement.”