“You must be here about the dental records,” the man said.
Holcomb looked over his shoulder, then to the man standing behind the counter. He stopped breathing and put out his hand. “Yes, and you must be Dr. Crenshaw, so nice to meet you.”
“I am,” the man said, shaking Holcomb’s hand. “I pulled Jeffrey’s records out of storage. Under normal circumstances, I would have destroyed these old records years ago, but I’ve held onto them just in case Jeffrey’s remains were found.”
“Thank you for doing that, sir.”
“Quite frankly, though, I was under the impression that someone from the air force would be out to pick them up.” Crenshaw looked Holcomb up and down through smudged glasses.
The hair on Holcomb’s neck stiffened.
“I don’t think I caught your name?” Crenshaw said. “Are you the person who called earlier?”
“No, sir, I’m with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. The name’s Sheraton, Ronald Sheraton. You see, Dr. Crenshaw, the FBI routinely assists the air force in these matters. The bureau has the best forensic specialists in the world, thank goodness.” Holcomb felt warm. “My, these are festive decorations you have in your office.”
A broad grin crossed Crenshaw’s face. “Well, I honestly can’t take credit.” He paused and pointed at the receptionist. “Maxine, here, was in charge of the decorations.”
Holcomb saw Maxine smiling at him. He smiled back. Crenshaw smiled at both of them. The longest-running rendition of “Silent Night” Holcomb had ever heard continued playing in the background. The only movement in the room consisted of the gentle wafting of garland strands near the heater vents.
Holcomb finally chimed in and said, “Well, Doctor, Maxine here says that you’re about to close. I can imagine you must be anxious to start your holiday, so if you’d like, I’ll be happy to go ahead and take those records now and get out of your hair.”
Waving his hand at Holcomb, Crenshaw said, “Come on back.” Crenshaw led him down the hallway to an office. “I have the file in here. So, is it true the air force may have found Jeffrey’s remains?”
“Uh, the records should be able to help us determine that. I really don’t know much about the case. I was just asked to stop by here.”
“Oh, I understand. Still, it was such a tragedy for the Blairs, not being able to lay their son to rest. I was surprised to hear the air force couldn’t find their own dental records.” Crenshaw opened the center drawer of his desk.
“It’s a very rare occurrence, but it happens from time to time.”
“Here you are.” Crenshaw retrieved a folder from the drawer and handed it to Holcomb. “I hope it helps you out.”
“I’m sure it will. Say, Doc, when was the last time Jeffrey came for a visit?”
“As I remember, it was about six months before the accident. He so hated air force dentists. Anyway, he was home on leave and just wanted a simple checkup. Yep, that was the last time I saw him.”
“Well, thank you so much for your help. We can only hope for the best.” Holcomb turned to leave, easy breaths returning to him.
From his desk, Crenshaw smiled and wished Holcomb a merry Christmas and happy New Year.
Over his shoulder, Holcomb said, “You too, Doc.” He walked toward the exit, exchanging brief holiday wishes with Maxine.
Stepping outside and heading for the Ford Taurus, Holcomb tightened his grip on the folder. Shallow breaths returned, and his blood pressure shot up. He fought the urge to run, and to swear. Instead, as he reached the sidewalk, he politely nodded at the two air force officers going in the opposite direction on their way to Crenshaw’s office. The officers passed him silently, except for the rhythmic tapping of their shoes on the sidewalk.
A few more steps and Holcomb peered over his shoulder. Through the front window of Crenshaw’s office, he could see Maxine smiling and pointing at him. Holcomb turned back around and said, “Aw, shit!”
He dashed to the Ford, pressing the unlock button on the key fob repeatedly before he got there. In slick movement, Holcomb yanked the door open, jumped in, started the car, and pulled into the street. The abrupt forward momentum of the car swung the driver door closed, but the sound of screeching brakes made him slam the car to a sudden stop. A white delivery van blocked his way. Holcomb waved to the driver to move forward, indicating his vehicle was clear. An angry stare from the van’s driver returned his gesture. The white van crept forward, inching out of his way.
Holcomb floored the accelerator, cornering around the delivery van. The Ford spun sideways and stopped, facing back toward Crenshaw’s office. The two air force officers sprinted to a dark-blue sedan.
“Damn,” Holcomb said. He cranked the steering wheel and gunned the engine.
Chapter 30
On the Run
Harrison drove his black Dodge Charger through light eastbound traffic in Tucson, making his way toward Agua Caliente Park. Mostly cloudy skies dropped random rays of afternoon sunlight onto the city’s streets. Tired, almost sleepy at times, Harrison struggled to stay alert, especially to detect anyone who might be following him. Backtracking once, he shook his head and wished he could just drive straight to the park. However, security concerns and instinct kept him from doing just that. Instead, he stopped at a Starbucks and purchased a venti-sized Pike Place Roast. Sipping his drink, he sat inside the cafe for about ten minutes and watched his surroundings inside and out. He got back into his car and headed toward the park, but not before backtracking on occasion to identify any potential tails.
Confident no one followed him, Harrison pulled into Agua Caliente’s gravel parking lot. Two unoccupied coupes, one red and one silver, parked side by side, sat at the far end of the lot to his right. With no one visible in the area, Harrison guessed that any visitors had likely strolled to the lake a short distance from the parking lot.
He backed the Dodge into a space near the park’s entrance and turned off the ignition. Harrison sipped the Pike Place Roast and rubbed his thigh, but he did not have to wait long for an interruption.
A late-model maroon Lincoln Town Car with tinted windows approached and crept its way to the far end of the parking lot. After making a wide U-turn near the parked coupes, the vehicle returned to the end of the lot near Harrison, eventually stopping adjacent to his car.
Mild waves of anxiety fluttered through Harrison’s gut. He knew Echo Tango sought secrecy, and the privacy of the park, with its out-of-the-way location and quiet surroundings, facilitated that purpose. The flutter suggested that, perhaps, they would have been better off meeting somewhere not so secluded. He shook off the feeling, took a deep breath, and waited.
The Town Car’s door opened, and the driver stepped out. Harrison could only see the man’s back. He had brown hair, graying slightly on the sides, and a medium build. He wore casual civilian clothing. The man closed the door and turned around. Harrison had no trouble recognizing the man.
Sam Ritter.
Seeing an old acquaintance from his FBI days, Harrison calmed down some, but one thing still nagged him. He watched Ritter sit at a nearby bench and fold his arms.
After getting out of the Dodge, Harrison paused to look around. A couple strolled hand in hand from the direction of the lake along a footpath, heading toward the far end of the parking lot. Taking note of the couple, Harrison limped in Ritter’s direction. So many questions pushed their way to be the first in line.
“You look tired. Please, take a load off,” Ritter said, pointing at the bench.
A wintry breeze swirled around them.
Harrison buttoned his coat and coughed. “How long has it been, Sam?”
“Well, I’m a colonel now. Guess it’s going on six years or so. Bet you never thought you’d see me again, huh?”
“I didn’t know who to expect today, let alone you.”
Ritter nodded. “Fate has a way of influencing our circumstances.”
“I have many questions about those circumstances. Particula
rly, why you’ve chosen to meet with me now.”
“I was anxious for an update on what evidence you’ve managed to gather, and how strong a case we may have.”
That nagging feeling tweaked Harrison again. He looked at Ritter and said, “I have done some additional checking, but mainly followed up your leads.”
“Good, good. And Major Blair?”
“He’s in a safe place.”
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Holcomb slammed the brakes on the Ford Taurus.
The backpack containing Blair’s skull flew off the front seat and onto the floorboard. The dental records shot against the dashboard and emptied their contents across his knees and the front seat. An X-ray flipped and hung for a moment against the windshield before tumbling onto the seat.
Holcomb accelerated again but had no clue where he should drive to escape his Air Force officer pursuers. He had never been to Wichita before.
As the Ford bounced and shuffled over a set of railroad tracks, he found himself in a decaying industrial section of the city. Within seconds, the dark-blue sedan behind him hit the tracks and became airborne. It landed with a sharp jolt on the wet ground and slid sideways into a thick cement loading dock, where it came to an abrupt stop.
“Yes!” Holcomb said, believing his escape was now possible.
But the collision only temporarily halted the chase car’s pursuit, and it accelerated away from the loading dock.
Gaining some distance, Holcomb turned left down a narrow street that ran between long rows of warehouses. The metal-sided buildings blurred past him as an intersection drew nearer.
A glance rearward revealed no sign of his pursuers. Holcomb swung the car left, through the intersection, but hurriedly swerved right. The blue-sedan screamed by him, barely avoiding a head-on collision.
Scraping against a line of trash Dumpsters, Holcomb struggled to keep the car from careening out of control. Recovering, he saw his pursuers turning back in his direction. They passed from view as the street Holcomb followed curved to the right. The road curved back to the left and then straightened out, paralleling a fence along the railroad tracks.
“Damn!” Holcomb said.
A train moved toward him, not far from a crossing he spotted and quickly judged to be a possible escape route. Buildings and the lack of side roads channeled him relentlessly forward. He looked in the rearview mirror. The other vehicle emerged from the curve. Holcomb looked ahead again. The timing would be close.
As the train’s loud horn pierced the air, Holcomb gunned the Ford’s engine, and then backed off. He tapped the brakes twice. Just ahead, the crossing came ever closer. Flooring the accelerator again, Holcomb winced at the pummeling from the train horn’s deafening sound waves.
Now or never.
Holcomb tightened his grip on the steering wheel and cranked it to the right. The car swerved, and then straightened when he counter steered. He pressed down hard on the accelerator, and with solid forward momentum again, the Ford Taurus bounced with violent jolts across the railroad tracks.
The train’s front coupler connected with the car’s left rear panel and tore into it. The force of the impact tossed the car sideways, knocking it clear of the crossing and into a metal railing that gave way under the pressure and weight from the tumbling car.
Holcomb jerked against his seat belt in multiple directions. His smartphone tumbled out of its case on his hip. Unable to focus on anything, he was tugged and shoved, then felt an airborne sensation followed by an intense flash of white light all around him. He exhaled involuntarily as airbags pressed against him in a life-saving embrace.
Gathering his wits, Holcomb smelled an odor, like tree sap. Over his right shoulder, where the right rear passenger’s door used to be, he saw a brown, oily telephone pole. The car sounded like it sizzled. Shaking his head, he realized the train decelerated but pressed onward, blocking his pursuers from crossing the tracks.
He reached down, fumbling for a moment, and unbuckled his seat belt. The pressure around his midsection eased, and he leaned over to the passenger side of the car. He collected Blair’s dental records and grabbed the backpack with the dead aviator’s skull inside. After squeezing out of the car, Holcomb fled, not realizing his smartphone remained in the car and feeling certain his freedom would be short-lived.
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Ritter rested his arms on his thighs. “And the other evidence?”
“Secure,” Harrison said. “I took some time earlier today to write an initial summary, but I hoped to get further details from you. I’m also interested in your plans for resolution of the case.”
“Before we proceed, I need to make absolutely sure all of the evidence is secure. What measures have you taken?”
“Safe-deposit box and a storage unit.”
Ritter sat up straight. “And other than Holcomb, who have you told about the operation?”
Harrison hesitated. Ritter knew Holcomb too, and mentioning him confirmed that he must have observed the two of them at the Sundowner Inn. Harrison struggled with an honest answer to Ritter’s question, but was concerned about protecting Ridley. “Sam.” Harrison paused and picked his next words carefully. “I have not given anyone else any details of the case.”
“Does this include Nick Ridley?”
Harrison glanced at Ritter, and saw him staring straight ahead. “Yes. He’s involved, but I haven’t given him any details. You know, of course, his brother-in-law died in one of the recent accidents.”
Ritter nodded slowly. “Can he be trusted?”
“I believe so, yes. He saved my life.”
Ritter looked at the couple walking toward them, and then said, “Are those the only ones who are involved?”
“Yes. There are lives at stake here, Sam. So, what about you? Who have you involved in all this? And more importantly, why are you doing this, Sam?”
“I have my reasons,” Ritter said, fidgeting. He crossed his arms.
To Harrison, Ritter’s body language telegraphed obvious deceit. Harrison’s leg ached and irritation crept into his voice. “I’ve been honest with you. I’ve stuck my neck out for you and so have others, and all you can say is, ‘I have my reasons’? I want the whole story.” He rubbed his eyes and face, fighting back exhaustion and frustration. “What’s with the witch hazel?”
Ritter looked lost. He pursed his lips, widened his eyes, and looked away. “Witch hazel? What’s that got to do with it? It’s just time for the truth to come out.”
Wrong answer.
“Okay, but why me, and why in this manner? Why not come forward yourself with the information instead of sending me in pursuit of things you already know about?”
“Simply because it is safer that way,” Ritter said, shifting again.
The strolling couple drew closer, no more than within fifty yards away now.
“Safer for whom?” Harrison said, his concerns mounting.
“Safer for us all, of course. Now then, about the evidence.”
Harrison stood.
“Where are you going?” Ritter said.
“Nowhere, just stretching my leg.”
“Oh yes, that’s right. How is the injury?”
“Just aches now and then.” Two cars, far end of lot. Young couple.
Harrison looked at Ritter and said, “Tell me, Sam, what did you think of the new personal ad I left for you?”
Ritter twitched, and then nodded. “Quite informative.”
Harrison smiled and said, “Thanks, Sam.” He pointed at the Dodge Charger and said, “I have something else for you in my car.”
Ritter looked away from Harrison toward the car and never saw the impending attack launched at him.
Harrison raised his good leg and struck Ritter with a firm kick in the chest. The impact sent a rush of air out of Ritter’s lungs and mouth. The strength of the blow knocked the bench rearward, and Ritter tumbled backward onto the ground, clutching his chest and heaving in and out.
Harrison almost lost his balan
ce, but he regained control by grabbing onto Ritter’s feet. Harrison pushed away and hobbled back to his car.
As he feared, the young couple sprinted toward him. They changed direction, though, and headed for one of the coupes parked at the end of the lot. The silver coupe came to life, spinning its rear wheels as its previously hidden driver accelerated across the gravel surface.
Pulling the car keys from his coat pocket, Harrison heard the commotion while he struggled to reach his car. Heart pounding, Harrison flung open the driver’s side door.
Easy breaths.
The coupe continued its collision course toward Harrison.
The Colt slid easily from its holster. Harrison leaned over the hood and aligned the sights with the driver’s chest. Exhaling, Harrison flipped off the thumb safety.
One, two.
The two rounds struck the coupe’s windshield in front of the driver. The car swerved left and skidded to a stop. Gravel flew through the air and pelted Harrison and his car.
Three, four.
Twice more he fired into the coupe’s front-seat area.
Harrison jumped into the Dodge and started the engine. At the far end of the lot, the young couple entered the red coupe.
Harrison slammed the transmission lever into drive and stomped down hard on the accelerator.
Chapter 31
Fight or Flight?
General Stone, furious, sat at his underground desk, deep below the ARDCom surface buildings. The Saint Mary Project was within days of conducting the most important mission in its history, and failure surrounded him. Failure was unacceptable. He struggled to maintain his composure.
Professor Moresby sat across from him, a smug expression on his face. The professor portrayed no hint of strain, no weakness.
When an irritating knock came at Stone’s office door, interrupting his meeting, the general gave a firm, but calm response. “Enter.”
James Evans walked in and stood next to Professor Moresby.
“Well?” General Stone said.
“Janice is in no condition right now to be scanned,” James said. “Schmidt believes one more day, perhaps longer.”
Truth Insurrected: The Saint Mary Project Page 23