Connelly didn’t answer.
“What about you? Do you want kids?” As she asked the question, she realized she had no idea what his answer would be. They’d never discussed it.
“Yes.” He said it immediately and decisively.
“Oh.”
She returned to filling her order and turned this new information over in her head.
“What are you thinking?” he pressed.
“I’m trying to decide whether to get Naya a cashmere sweater or a boxed set of Law & Order DVDs,” she lied.
She felt his eyes on her but didn’t look up.
“Watch the road, Connelly.”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
When they reached the office, Naya was waiting for them with a tray of wraps from the coffee shop downstairs. And, more importantly, a carafe of fresh coffee. Connelly beelined for the food; Sasha went straight to the caffeine source.
Naya shook her head. “How about some lunch, Mac? Jake had the kitchen make you a brie and green apple sandwich.”
“Brie and apple?” Connelly said around a mouthful of roast beef.
Naya shrugged. “She claims it’s good. I haven’t tried it.” She plucked a turkey and Swiss wrap from the tray.
“I’ll eat later,” Sasha said. She couldn’t eat now—she’d never been able to eat when stress hormones were flooding her body. It had made her first year of law school a bit of a challenge.
“Suit yourself,” Naya said. She handed Sasha a manila folder. “Here. This is what I’ve managed to find on your girl. Well, maybe your girl.”
Sasha flipped the folder open. A copy of the personnel file records were clipped to the front of the folder along with a picture of an unsmiling Celia Gerig. Naya had crossed through the information they knew to be inaccurate with a thick black marker. The social security number was highlighted, along with the woman’s educational background.
“What’s the rest of this?” Sasha asked, leafing through printouts of what appeared to be threads from an Internet chatroom. “This Preppers Pennsylvania stuff?”
“I couldn’t find any property records or other public records in her name or social, but I ran some Google searches. She’s not on Facebook, Twitter, or Google+, unless she uses a pseudonym, but I found a ‘cgerig’ on a prepper forum, posting on a Pennsylvania-specific sub-forum—Preppers PA. This ‘cgerig’ uses an avatar of the American flag, not a profile picture, so I can’t say for sure it’s your girl, but it if is…” Naya trailed off, shaking her head at the thought.
Sasha looked up at her. “What’s a prepper?”
Connelly abandoned his sandwich and came to peer over Sasha’s shoulder at the papers.
Naya’s voice lacked its usual confidence when she answered. “I haven’t had a lot of time to dig into it, but I think preppers are survivalists. They’re all about preparing for catastrophe and being self-reliant if—or, I guess they think, when—the government collapses.”
Connelly nodded his agreement.
Sasha remained confused. “So, I have a case of bottled water and a flashlight in my hall closet. Am I a prepper?”
Connelly shook his head. “These people are a bit more enthusiastic about it than that. They have secure locations set up in remote areas; they stockpile nonperishable food, clothes, antibiotics, gasoline, ammunition and weapons, you name it.”
Naya chimed in, “Yeah, this cgerig was posting looking for a good source for vacuum-packed heirloom seeds in case she has to bug out and leave her vegetable garden behind.”
“Bug out?”
Naya laughed. “I picked up some of the lingo. When SHTF—uh, that’d be when the shit hits the fan—a prepper needs to decide whether to bug out or bug in. Bugging out is what Leo was talking about. Grab your go bag, your family, and a container of extra fuel and jump in your car, headed for your secure outpost, away from society and all the chaos.”
“And bugging in, I assume, that’s sheltering in place?” Sasha asked.
Naya nodded. “Bar the doors and windows, fire up your generator, keep your weapon handy, and hunker down until everyone else dies or whatever.”
Sasha considered this information. “So, Celia Gerig may be affiliated with a group of preppers. Do we think she’s dangerous?”
Naya shrugged. “It looks like any other group, Mac. Some people really seem to be throwing themselves into it: they’re organizing meet ups, making up secret passwords, and sending coded messages. They talk about converting their currency into gold bars or silver ingots and learning how to field dress deer. Some people are dabbling—they want to plant a garden, can some vegetables, maybe learn how to purify water. I’d say based on what I’ve seen, Celia Gerig, if this is even her, was in the second group. But, I don’t know for sure. She could be skinning a rabbit somewhere as we speak.”
Sasha grimaced.
Connelly cleared his throat. “There’s nothing inherently bad in preparing for a disaster. That’s a good thing, actually. But we need to find out, fast, if Celia Gerig was actually a member of a fringe group.” The muscles under his cheeks twitched.
Sasha cocked her head and took in his grim expression. “These preppers are on some kind of list, aren’t they?”
When Connelly had still been working for the Department of Homeland Security, she and he had engaged in several heated, ultimately unproductive, debates about whether it was appropriate, or even useful, for the government to surreptitiously gather information about private citizens based on, say, their membership in an environmental group or their ethnic-sounding surname.
Sasha’s defense of the First Amendment had repeatedly bumped up against Connelly’s commitment to national security, and, finally, the subject became one of those topics that couples just avoid. Only, in their case, it kept popping back up at really inopportune times—like when a rogue employee disappeared with an indeterminate number of government vaccines needed to prevent a pandemic.
Connelly exhaled and glanced down at her. “Can I use Naya’s office? I have to make some calls,” he said, by way of answer.
That was fine with Sasha. She had some calls of her own to make. She nodded, and he walked across the hall, stopping only to kiss the top of her head as he passed her.
As the door shut behind him, Naya pounced.
“What’s going on, Mac? This is obviously more than an employee helping a competitor.”
Sasha flung herself into her desk chair. “That’s for sure, but, to tell you the truth, I have no idea what’s going on. We think ViraGene’s behind it. But if Gerig is a prepper, who knows? All we know is she’s missing, along with a bunch of vaccines.”
Naya pulled out the chair across from her. “She stole vaccines?”
“We think so. Not just any vaccines, though. The vaccine for the Doomsday flu. The government’s stockpiling it at Fort Meade.”
Naya narrowed her eyes. “Well, ViraGene makes an antiviral, right? It makes sense that they’d want to screw up the contract for the vaccine. And having the shipment show up short would go a long way toward doing that, don’t you think?”
“I do. At least that’s what I did think. But, this prepper stuff adds a wrinkle.”
“First of all, we don’t even know if Gerig is a prepper. And, say she is, it could just be a hobby, unrelated to her corporate espionage career.” Naya cracked a smile.
Sasha’s return smile was weak. “Or it could be the beginning of another Ruby Ridge. You know that’s what Connelly’s thinking.”
“What are you thinking?”
The question stirred up all the anxiety and worry Sasha had spent the weekend tamping down. Sasha looked at Naya for a long moment then said, “I’m thinking this is getting too ugly, too fast. And I’m not up for anything other than a civil lawsuit between two corporations.”
Naya’s voice was softer and had a note of concern when she asked, “So, what are you gonna do, Mac?”
“The first thing I’m going to do is call Gavin Russell. We have to find out whether we even have
a problem.”
Gavin Russell, formerly of the Clear Brook County Sheriff’s Office, had struck out for greener pastures and better coffee after the dust settled in Springport. He’d refused the promotion from deputy to sheriff, taken an early retirement package, and opened a private investigator’s office across the street from the courthouse in the space recently vacated by the town doctor.
He answered Sasha’s call on the second ring.
“Russell Investigations.”
“First of all, it’s Saturday, why are you in the office? Second of all, you still don’t have a secretary?” Sasha asked.
“Hey, Sasha,” he laughed. “As to your first question, you’re one to talk—I see you’re calling me from your office. And, as to the second, I can’t convince Gloria that I’ll pay her better than the new judge. I’m still working on her, though.”
Sasha smiled, surprised at the fondness she felt for the former deputy and the judge’s secretary. “You’ll wear her down,” she said. “So, how’s business?”
Russell’s voice rumbled across the line, and Sasha could picture him, his chair tipped back on two legs and his feet propped on his desk. A cup of shade-grown Cubano at his elbow.
“Good. It’s a piece of cake, actually. Mainly, I’m doing what I used to do for the sheriff’s office—serving subpoenas, tracking down witnesses, that sort of thing. But, I can charge less and still make more than I was earning. And the oil and gas people are like an untapped market.” He chuckled at his own pun.
“How so?”
“Well, the riggers aren’t local, most of them, anyway. And they’ve been up here a long time, months on end. Some girlfriends and wives are starting to get worried. One of them found my website and hired me to follow her guy around for a few weekends. Took a bunch of pictures of him playing cards and watching football at The Hole in the Wall, and she was delighted. She told all her friends, and now everybody wants me to follow their guy.”
Sasha wasn’t sure that was a great idea. Her last messy case had involved broken marriages and photographic evidence of bad behavior. “That sounds kind of dangerous, Gavin.”
“Naw, I tried to explain to these ladies—there’s not a huge single woman population up this way. Trust me, I know. Their guys aren’t going to get into that kind of trouble, not in Springport. But, they just want the peace of mind and are willing to pay top dollar for it. Speaking of long-distance relationships, how are things with Leo?”
“We’re working on it,” she said simply.
“Good. He’s a good man,” Gavin proclaimed. Then, his tone changed, and he said, “But, I know you didn’t call me just to shoot the breeze. What’s up?”
“I might need to hire you. Can you still access state databases?”
Gavin answered slowly. “Do I still have personal access to the state databases? No.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“To answer your question, then, yes. But, what exactly do you need?”
“I’m not sure. I have a corporate client that’s trying to find an employee. She used fake references and a phony address but her social checks out. Her last whereabouts were in New Kensington, outside of Pittsburgh. Naya’s going to run down all the publicly available information, but we have a bit of a time crunch. Are there any databases you know of that would help?”
“Does she have any known prior arrests or convictions?” Gavin said.
“None that I know of, but to check the criminal dockets on our end would be a nightmare.”
Each of the sixty-seven counties within the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania maintained its own criminal docket sheets, which were theoretically searchable on-line, but it would be tedious and time-consuming for Naya to run the searches one at a time, and there was always the risk that some county clerk had mistyped a letter when entering the data or that a county wasn’t completely up to date with its dockets. No, Naya’s time was better spent running down other leads. Especially if Gavin could go straight to the source.
“Okay. Give me the name and social. I’ll call you back with anything that pops.”
“The name is Celia Anne Gerig. That’s G-E-R-I-G and her social is—”
“Celia Gerig?”Gavin repeated, cutting her off. Surprise registered in his voice.
“Don’t tell me you know her.”
“I know a Celia Gerig. She’s local. If it’s the same woman, I took her to my prom.”
CHAPTER 9
Celia woke up late and bone tired on Saturday afternoon. She checked her watch. She’d slept past noon. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d done that. She didn’t feel refreshed, though. She felt wrung out and flat.
She pushed herself up on her elbows and blinked the sand out of her eyes, trying to figure out where she was. As the fog lifted over her brain, the events of the previous evening returned: the dead car battery and the run-in with Ben; the drive north to the rendezvous point; the meeting; the vaccination. It all came back, and she realized she was in Lydia’s guest room.
After Ben had jumped her battery, she’d had to drive way up north to the rendezvous point to deliver the vaccines to George and Lydia. With Ben’s warning in her ears, she hadn’t stopped to get a bite or even use the restroom for fear the Civic wouldn’t start again if she did. By the time she reached the old union hall, she was exhausted, hungry, and sore from sitting hunched over the wheel.
She didn’t recognize any of the cars in the crowded parking lot, but she was tired, and it was dark, so she just slung her purse over her shoulder, hauled the larger bag from the trunk of her car, and headed across the uneven lot for the side door to the basement, hoping George and Lydia would be there as promised.
When she walked through the door, she nearly fell over. Not only were George and Lydia there, but there must have been somewhere between thirty and forty other people milling around in the brightly lit room. Her heart started to race, and she felt the heat rise on her face.
Who were all these people? What had she just walked into? She gripped the straps of both bags, hugging them tight to her body, and stood in the doorway wavering.
She swayed from side to side and tried to decide whether to plunge into the crowd or back her way out the door.
George and Lydia pushed through the sea of milling bodies and appeared at her elbow.
“What is this?” Celia asked. Her voice shook.
George smiled and patted her arm.
“A good thing. We told Captain Bricker about your success in acquiring the vaccines. He’s privy to some news that led him to move up the timetable on the inoculations. That’s why all the bigwigs are here,” he said, easing the strap of the larger bag off her shoulder.
His explanation cleared up exactly nothing. She’d always been a bit player in the organization—a dabbler, really. Not because she wasn’t interested, because she was, but because she lacked any special skill or background that would enable her to take a leadership role. George was former military. Lydia, his girlfriend and second-in-command, was a nurse. Celia was just a nobody who wanted to learn how to take care of herself.
So when George had asked her to stay behind to talk after their November troop meeting, she’d been more than surprised—she’d been shocked that her troop leader was interested in talking to her personally. Flustered, but excited at the prospect of doing something, she’d agreed to apply for the job at the distribution center and acquire the vaccines.
Throughout the mission, George and Lydia had always been careful to say ‘acquire’ or ‘obtain,’ never ‘steal.’ And, although Celia knew darned well that what she’d done was stealing, she’d adopted their usage, too. Still, she hadn’t felt overly bad about her actions, because George and Lydia had repeatedly told her how important it was to the organization that they get the vaccines.
Now, looking out at the room full of troop leaders that were here because of her, and what she’d done, she didn’t feel bad at all. She felt puffed up with pride.
“He’s here,”
Lydia whispered in a conspiratorial, awed voice.
“Who?” Celia asked.
“Captain Bricker.”
A jolt of excitement coursed through Celia’s body, and she felt her eyes go wide. Captain Jeffrey Bricker was the head of Preppers PA, but in the nearly eighteen months that she’d been a member, Celia’d never shared the same air as him. She’d seen videotaped talks that he posted on the members portal of the website, and she’d read his weekly newsletter, but she’d never personally met him. Judging by the shimmer in Lydia’s eyes, she wasn’t the only one.
“He’s here? Really?” Celia asked.
“Really. And he wants to meet you,” George said. He laughed at her star-struck expression and steered her down the two steps that led to the floor and through the crowd.
They approached a tall, handsome older man. Even from behind, Celia recognized his close-cropped blond hair shot through with silver and broad shoulders from the videotaped speeches he’d posted on the website.
George tapped the captain on the arm, and he turned toward them. In person, his bright blue eyes were even more arresting.
“Sir, this is Celia Gerig,” George said, gesturing toward her.
As the captain searched her face, Celia felt her cheeks flush.
“Celia, your mission is going to save untold lives. To say thank you seems entirely inadequate, but you have my personal thanks,” he finally said, taking her hand and shaking it in the two-handed manner of a politician.
Celia stammered, “You’re welcome.”
He swept his gaze wider to include George and Lydia. “All three of you are to be commended for your service. We’ll be moving into the next phase this weekend. As a show of my gratitude, I’ve decided you may each designate one civilian to bring to the camp with you if you choose. Do you have any non-preppers you’d like to save?”
George and Lydia were holding hands. They looked at each other and then shook their heads no in unison.
Indispensable Party (Sasha McCandless Legal Thriller No. 4) Page 7