“Hi Walt. This is Jack Carson.”
I knew Carson very well. He was the top crime reporter for the Kansas City Star. He must have a police scanner because he was johnny-on-the-spot at most every crime scene Ox and I worked. Inevitably, he would press us for information about what was going on, and without exception, I would always reply, “No comment.”
I knew the guy was just doing his job, but the last thing I wanted was to be the source he quoted in the next day’s paper.
I figured he had gotten wind of my encounter with Otto Kruger and was fishing for a story.
“Look, Jack, I’m not a cop anymore. If you want information on a case, call the precinct.”
“That’s not what this is about. I’d like to come by and talk to you.”
I was still in my clothes which were wet and stained from the coffee that was sloshing around while Otto was rocking my car. “It’s not a good time. Can’t we just talk on the phone?”
He hesitated. “I’d rather not. What I want to discuss is rather sensitive and you never know who might be listening.”
His comment aroused my curiosity. “Give me a half hour.”
Thirty minutes later, Carson was sitting in my office.
“I know what I’m about to tell you will sound crazy, but please hear me out.”
For the next hour, Carson told me how Dale Fox, whom he knew only as Falcon, had come to him with the incredible story of being a pilot in a clandestine, black ops program whose mission was to alter and control the world’s weather by spraying chemtrails of deadly poisons into the atmosphere. He gave me details of their three meetings, and ended by sharing what he knew of the accident which had prevented Falcon from delivering the evidence which would verify his claims.
When he finished, I sat in stunned disbelief.
“Why are you telling me all of this? What can I do?”
“The reason I’ve come to you is the officer who covered the wreck was your old partner, Ox. You must know if I went to the cops with this story, they’d laugh me out of the precinct and my credibility would be gone forever. All I’m asking you to do is talk to Ox and ask him to take a closer look at the accident scene. On the surface, it appeared to be just another traffic mishap, but knowing the background of the situation, wouldn’t you agree his untimely death just as he was about to blow the whistle on a covert government scheme is quite a coincidence?”
I had to agree that it was.
“I’ll talk to Ox, but I can’t promise anything.”
“That’s all I ask.”
I gave Ox a call, but he was at the hospital getting his wound dressed.
I finally reached him an hour later.
“Hey, Partner, how’s the head?”
“I’ve got a killer headache and five stitches. This thing is gonna leave a scar.”
“I’m sure it will only enhance the vision of your rugged manhood.”
“Thanks a lot.”
“I need a favor.”
“Another one! I just saved your ass. How many do you want in one day?”
“Just one more, I promise.”
“Well, as long as it doesn’t involve a 300 pound gorilla coming at me with a traffic sign, I might consider it.”
“You worked a case the other night, a Dale Fox wrapped his car around a tree.”
“You’re the second person who’s called me about that case. The crime reporter, Jack Carson, called too. What’s going on?”
“It’s a long story. What I’d like you to do is have the crime scene guys take another look at the car, particularly the brake line. Remember the young couple who bought a house from Maggie and ran into the back of a semi on the way to sign the contract?”
“Yeah, I remember. Their brake line had been cut just enough to cause it to rupture. Do you believe something like that is going on here?”
“It’s certainly a possibility. What about family? Have you notified his next of kin?”
“Dead end. His parents are deceased, he had no siblings and he was never married. The guy was all alone.”
That certainly lined up with what Falcon had told Carson. He said the pilots were chosen from the top ranks of the Air Force, Navy and Coast Guard. One of the qualifiers was lack of familial connections. They wanted men who were ‘hardened’ and had no qualms about spraying toxic substances into the atmosphere. He actually referred to them as ‘Tanker Terminators.’
“Even more reason to take a second look. Will you do it?”
“I will. I just hope you’re not getting me mixed up in another of your crazy cases.”
I didn’t have the heart to tell him I just might be doing that very thing.
Later that day, Ox called back.
“You were right on, Partner. The brake line had ruptured, causing him to lose control on the curve. The bad news is there is not sufficient evidence to support the idea the line was deliberately cut. It could have just been worn and ruptured on its own.”
“Well, we both know someone with skills can cut the line just enough for the thing to rupture when pressure is applied.”
“True enough, but in this situation, there is nothing to suggest that happened, so the case is closed. Sorry.”
“Thanks, I appreciate you looking into it.”
“Glad to help.”
Just as he was hanging up, I had another thought. “One more thing. Did you get an address on the guy and has anyone from the department gone by his place?”
He thought for a moment. “Yeah, I got an address, but no one’s been there. Once it was determined it was an accident, there was no reason for us to pursue the matter further. You want the address?”
“Yes, please.” As he was looking it up, I recalled my days as a landlord. More than once a tenant had died or disappeared and I didn’t know about it until the rent was late and I came knocking for payment.
Ox came back on the line. “Got it. An apartment on Brookside, south of the Plaza. I’m guessing you’re going there.”
“Probably will. I need to tie up a few loose ends.”
As far as the cops were concerned the case might be closed, but for me, it was just beginning.
CHAPTER 3
The moment I hung up from Ox, I dialed Kevin McBride, my brother-in-law and partner in Walt Williams Investigations.
“Hey Walt! How’d it go with Otto Kruger? Was he playing ‘hide the salami’ with some chick like his wife suspected?”
“Indeed he was and I got it all on camera, but that’s not why I’m calling. Can you come over? We need to talk.”
“Geese Walt, Victoria will be home any time now and I was thinking about hiding some salami myself. Why can’t we just talk on the phone?”
I had already considered that possibility, but then I remembered Jack Carson saying, “You never know who might be listening.” If Dale Fox was about to expose a government conspiracy, it wasn’t a stretch to believe Big Brother was listening to anyone and everyone even remotely connected to the case.
“Come on, Kevin. This is important. You can dip your wick tonight.”
“Okay, okay! Give me a half hour.”
Thirty minutes later, Kevin was in my office listening to what I knew about the chemtrail conspiracy.
He listened quietly and when I finished he just shook his head. “It was bound to happen sooner or later.”
“What was bound to happen?”
“One of those pilots would have an attack of conscience and the balls to tell the world we’re being poisoned by our government.”
I was in shock. “So you believe in this conspiracy thing?”
“I believe chemicals are being sprayed into the air. For Chris’ sakes, Walt. All you have to do is look up most any day of the week and see dozens of fluffy trails crisscrossing the sky. The official word is those are water condensation trails, but that’s bureaucratic bullshit. We have them almost every day here in Kansas City, but it was much worse in Phoenix.”
Before coming to Kansas City, Kevin l
ived in Phoenix for thirty years and worked as a private investigator.
“Angel hair,” he continued. “That’s what we would call the stuff which fell on us after the sky had been obliterated by the chemical emissions. They looked like very long cobwebs, but unlike cobwebs they would completely dissolve into our skin when we touched them. When we held a match to them, they would blacken and curl like plastic or some polymer burning. Scary stuff!”
I was stunned by what my partner was saying. “If that’s true and the stuff was falling everywhere, why didn’t someone report it?
“Oh, they did!” he replied. “The Air Force denied they were spraying chemicals and the EPA said there was nothing to worry about. So who you gonna call next? Ghostbusters?”
“Unbelievable!”
“No kidding. If it’s the government doing the dirty work, it’s not going to do much good to go to them for help.”
“Back to our present situation. If Dale Fox was telling the truth, there just might be some evidence in his apartment. The cops think his death was an accident and didn’t even take a look. Are you interested?”
“You bet I am!” he replied with a grin.
“Got your lock picks?”
“Does Howdy Doody have wooden balls?”
Dale Fox’s apartment was on the second floor of a brick four-plex on Brookside.
It took Kevin less than a minute to pop the deadbolt and get us inside. The place was a typical bachelor pad, small living area with a TV, an eat-in kitchen, bedroom and bath.
Falcon’s kitchen looked a lot like my own before Maggie and I were married. There was a carton of milk which expired two weeks ago and a loaf of bread with green stuff around the edges in the fridge. A can of Spicy Hot Spam, a can of chicken noodle soup, and a box of saltines were on the shelf beside the stove. Typical fare for a single guy who spent most of his time flying jets across the country.
We found nothing of interest until we opened the drawer of the nightstand beside his bed.
“Bingo!” Kevin exclaimed as he pulled two photos out of the drawer.
I looked over his shoulder. The first photo was of airplanes with no visible names or lettering. On the back were the words ‘Pinal Air Park, Arizona.’
The second photo showed the interior of a huge jet which seemed to be filled with canisters of some kind.
“This must be some of the evidence Fox was going to give to Jack Carson,” I said, taking a closer look.
“So what do we do with it?” Kevin asked.
I thought for a moment. “We can’t just take it. We’re not even supposed to be here and if we did take it, we could never prove where we got it. Let’s leave it here. I’ll call Ox and tell him what we’ve found. He can say he received an anonymous tip that there was incriminating evidence in Fox’s apartment, then when they search and find it, it can be used as evidence --- if this conspiracy thing ever goes anywhere, and that’s a big ‘if.’”
“Sounds good to me,” he said, tucking the photos back where we’d found them.
I called Ox and made arrangements to meet him in the precinct parking lot after his shift. For the second time that day, I didn’t want to chance a phone conversation which might be overheard.
“What’s up?” he asked, sliding into the seat beside me.
I told him the story and what we had found.
Like me, he was stunned. “Holy Crap, Walt! You’re telling me the government is filling the skies with poison and this Fox guy was one of the pilots and was going to blow the whistle. Then you’re saying he got whacked before he could verify his story and the proof is in the nightstand by his bed!”
“That’s it in a nutshell.”
“Do you know how utterly ridiculous that sounds?”
“Of course I do, but don’t you think it would be worth your time to get those photos and establish a chain of custody just in case it isn’t?”
He shook his head. “How in heaven’s name do you get mixed up in all this weird stuff?”
“Just lucky I guess. Will you do it?”
He sighed. “Yeah, I’ll do it, but I think you’re way out in left field on this one.”
At ten the next morning, my phone rang.
“Walt, it’s Ox. We went to Fox’s apartment and went over the place with a fine toothed comb and guess what --- no photos! Nothing but some stale milk and bread. Are you sure you and Kevin aren’t smoking something?”
“But --- they were there yesterday!”
“Well, they’re not there today. Sorry, Pal.”
“Someone must have been there after we were. Probably the same people who sabotaged Fox’s car. You can see that, can’t you?”
“What I see is a crazy theory and no proof to back it up. I really am sorry, Walt. Well, I’ve got to concoct some story as to why I wasted the department’s time. Talk to you later.”
The missing photos were just one more bit of evidence Jack Carson was on to something. I was really pissed they had disappeared.
It was a good thing I had photographed them with my phone.
CHAPTER 4
I had just hung up from Ox when the phone jingled again.
“Walt, Jack Carson here. Sorry to bother you but I was just wondering if you persuaded Ox to take another look at Fox’s accident.”
So much had happened so fast I had totally forgotten to keep Carson in the loop. Since he was the one who opened this can of worms, I figured I should bring him up to date.
“Actually, I’ve got a lot to share with you, but I don’t think we should discuss it on the phone.”
“I agree. I know you like Mel’s Diner. How about we meet there and I’ll buy you a piece of pie?”
Carson had certainly done his homework. Mel’s was indeed my favorite greasy spoon. “Sounds good to me. I can be there in fifteen minutes.”
“So you’re telling me the accident was caused by a ruptured brake line, but there’s not enough evidence to confirm it was tampered with?” Carson asked, shoveling a huge bite of coconut cream pie into his mouth.
“That’s what the CSI guys are saying, so as far as the cops are concerned, case closed.”
“Quite a coincidence don’t you think, that a brake line would rupture on the very night Fox was bringing me evidence of a conspiracy?”
“That’s exactly what I thought, so that’s why my partner, Kevin McBride, and I took a look inside Fox’s apartment.”
“You did? How in the world did you get keys and permission?”
“Do you really need to know that?” I asked with a grimace.
“Never mind,” he replied with a knowing nod. “So did you find anything?”
“Sure did,” I replied, pulling out my cell phone. “We found these photos in the drawer of his nightstand.”
“Son-of-a bitch!” he exclaimed, examining the photos. “The unmarked planes and the canisters inside which hold the chemicals. It’s just like he described them to me. So where are the actual photos?”
I sighed. “That’s another story. We left them where we found them and I persuaded Ox to get a team together to go through Fox’s apartment. We wanted them to be found by the cops to establish a chain of custody.”
“That’s real smart,” Carson said. “So the cops have the photos now?”
I shook my head. “Ox’s team went through the entire apartment and didn’t find a thing. Now, unfortunately, both he and I look like fools.”
“Damn!” Carson muttered slamming his fist on the table. “They cleaned the place out after you left and before the cops arrived.”
“So it would seem, but who is ‘they’?”
“That’s the question, isn’t it? This all fits with what Fox shared with me. Apparently he and a number of other pilots have questioned their superiors about what they had been ordered to spray. They were told in no uncertain terms to keep their mouths shut and do their jobs --- that it was a matter of national security. He even went on to say the planes were equipped with a cyber program called Flash Poin
t or FP-03. He said the program was a self-destruct sequence that could be remotely activated from any ground, water surface, under water base or mobile air unit. He said the signal is encrypted through three satellites and cannot be blocked or jammed. They were told FP-03 exists so damaged planes could be detonated over safe zones instead of going down in populated areas, but the pilots were pretty sure this was a fail-safe program to prevent pilots from turning over incriminating evidence to any public, private or civilian authorities.”
“I can imagine that would be pretty effective, knowing at any moment, ‘they’ could blow you and your plane to smithereens.”
“Exactly! And if they’re willing to blow up a plane rather than to have its clandestine mission revealed, I’m sure they wouldn’t think twice about whacking a pilot who was about to spill the beans.”
“So what now?” I asked. “We have no real evidence of any kind. Everything Falcon told you is hearsay. If you try to go public with what we have now, you’ll just be written off as another nut case.”
“Sadly, you are exactly right, but I’ll tell you this, I’m not going to give up. I’m going to keep digging. Dale Fox was brutally murdered for trying to expose the truth and I’m not going to let that brave man die in vain.”
On the way home, I kept thinking about the photo of the canisters inside the belly of the huge plane and wondered what kind of chemical was being spewed into our beautiful blue skies every day.
Then I remembered going out onto my front step one afternoon. My tenant, Leopold Skinner, or the Professor as he likes to be called, was gazing into the air.
“Beautiful day,” I remarked.
He pointed to the white trails streaking the sky. “It was,” he replied, “until the government intervened.”
He went on to talk about the toxins which were polluting our air, but I was preoccupied with other things, and like most Americans, I had seen the trails in the sky for years. Besides, who in their right mind would even consider the possibility our very own government, sworn to protect its citizens, would do something so despicable.
The Chemtrail Conspiracy Set (Lady Justice Book 22) Page 2