Truth Insurrected: The Saint Mary Project

by Douglas, Daniel P.

  “So you have nothing to report?”

  “Nope, nada.”

  Stone sighed and looked again at an e-mail on his computer screen. The message relayed some sketchy details about an FBI agent named Sheraton who absconded with Major Blair’s dental records in Wichita. After he read the final portion of the message about an accident with the train, Stone typed a quick reply ordering a check of local hospitals and the airport for an FBI agent named either Holcomb or Sheraton.

  “Problems, General?” Professor Moresby said, his sarcastic tone failing to escape General Stone.

  “Nothing that we won’t have wrapped up soon enough. But you know what might help? Why don’t you meet with Dr. Schmidt? Two heads will certainly be better than one when helping Janice recover sufficiently for our use.”

  “I couldn’t agree more,” Moresby said, rising from his chair. He looked at James and then said, “Maybe we can talk later? Hmm?”

  James nodded politely and then sat in the empty chair. “What now, sir?”

  Stone rubbed his face. His features softened. They firmed up again when he spoke. “I am finding it hard to know who to trust anymore. Take Moresby, for example. He’s been here forever, he’s neck deep in the upcoming operation, and he’s going around as if nothing is wrong. His closest ally, General Taylor, has vanished at the same time a major security breach is threatening to swallow us whole.”

  Stone paused and leaned back. Staring somewhere just below the hybrid’s neck, he spoke again. “I don’t mean to unburden myself on you or cause you to doubt my ability in any way. On the contrary, I just want you to know how much I appreciate your hard work. I’m finding a true sense of resolve and loyalty in you that many of my other colleagues seem to lack. And in one particular case, those deficiencies have brought about a major crisis. We all thought he was loyal. Just demonstrates that even the most trusted aren’t, or shouldn’t be, above suspicion.” Stone shook his head. “And to think, less than a week before his official retirement, too.” His head kept shaking. When it stopped, Stone had stood and moved over to the corner of his desk, where he sat and looked James squarely in the eyes. “Find General Taylor and find out what he’s done and what his plans are.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I don’t care how you do it.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Meet again with our source in Las Vegas. He and a security team are arranging to bring in this police officer, Ridley. I want him isolated and under our positive control until we obtain Protocol One authorization. Scan him again. I don’t care if you send him into seizures—get more from him. We must find and stop Taylor at all costs.”

  “I’m on my way.”

  As James exited, the telephone on Stone’s desk rang. Hearing the news from Colonel Ritter in Tucson, Stone clenched his fists. Through gritted teeth he said, “You lost him? Inexcusable, Colonel!”

  Stone kicked his blue leather office chair, slamming it into a metal filing cabinet.

  “What do you mean he became suspicious?”

  Eyeing another target, Stone picked up a pencil from his desk and snapped it in half.

  “Return here now, Colonel…Gunfire?…Then bring the body and car back here with you. We’ll dispose of it…Yes, surveillance on Harrison’s apartment and office.”

  Stone gripped a desk lamp. He wanted to yank it from its power outlet and throw it against the wall, but refrained.

  “Just get the fuck back here!”

  <> <>

  The windows of the Travelodge’s rooms vibrated as an airliner clamored into the night sky from nearby Tucson International Airport. From inside one of the second-floor rooms, Harrison listened to the noise move farther away until it became imperceptible. Lights out and curtains drawn, a pale glow from the street and parking lot lights below crept in from behind the curtains. Harrison sat on the bed, angry, wondering what went wrong.

  During the escape from the park, he had concentrated on evasion. Harrison had ditched the Dodge at the Tucson Mall, and he’d reached the motel by taxi.

  Now, a rush of anger engulfed him. Mostly, he was mad at himself, but betrayal fueled his growing rage.

  Ritter.

  Harrison recalled what little Ritter had told him.

  It became obvious to Harrison that his adversaries knew Holcomb was involved. Merely by Ritter’s presence, it was clear they also knew an anonymous informant was Harrison’s contact.

  How did they find out?

  Another plane’s ascent disrupted his concentration. As the sound dissipated, he felt the immediate need to contact Ridley. He reached for the telephone on the nightstand. Reluctantly, he switched on the table lamp and then dialed the information operator for Las Vegas. The operator connected him to the Las Vegas Metropolitan Police Department. After a few transfers, Harrison finally spoke with a dispatcher who could pass a message to Ridley.

  “Just tell him that Wes Hiatt called, and it’s very urgent that I speak with him. It’s regarding his late brother-in-law. He can reach me on my cell.”

  Harrison hung up the phone. Next, he called Holcomb’s cell phone, but it went to voice mail. He provided a previously agreed on duress signal: “Hey, buddy, we need to check out that new club soon. Call me, Bubba.”

  Uselessness seeped into Harrison’s consciousness, making him feel heavy, unable to move. Guilt approached him next, guilt about endangering his friends.

  Harrison lay back onto the bed. His whole body ached. He lay there for several seconds until another realization came to him. Sitting up, he wondered if Saint Mary had captured Echo Tango.

  Whoever he was.

  His capture could explain how Ritter knew Harrison relied on an anonymous informant and about Holcomb’s participation. Harrison presumed his adversaries had likely acquired these details through interrogation.

  ET’s probably dead by now.

  With his informant eliminated, resolution of the case was entirely up to him.

  I’m a weak link.

  Saint Mary existed. Harrison no longer doubted this. They had eliminated others: FBI agent Eugene Chamberlain, five Roswell MPs, the airman from Nellis, Eric Gonzales, Major Blair, and…

  God knows who else since 1947.

  Harrison’s stomach sank. The list could easily include Ridley, Holcomb, and himself. He believed they would kill anyone.

  Shit!

  And all he could do was wait.

  <> <>

  Exiting the service elevator soon after eleven o’clock, Ridley walked through the police station and made his way to the front desk area. Once there, he saw Officer Ferris waving at him from the watch commander’s office.

  “What did you need?” Ridley said.

  “You got a phone message,” Ferris said, handing Ridley a pink message pad.

  Ridley took the note and read it.

  “By the way, Nick, some of us are getting together at Mobley’s for a little celebrating. You interested? I could give you a lift if you need one.”

  Ridley stared at Ferris. Memories of the missing audio records came to mind. “No thanks, I’ve got some family responsibilities to attend to.”

  “Sure, I understand. Maybe some other time then, huh?” Ferris patted Ridley on the shoulder and walked out of the room.

  Ridley watched him leave. Once Ferris was out of view, he headed for the locker room to change. Although he wanted to call Harrison from the station, he decided to wait until he reached the safety of his apartment.

  After changing clothes, Ridley drove home on his own motorcycle. An unusual rattling noise had been emanating from his Suzuki Intruder ever since he’d helped Harrison escape in the desert. Unlike the persistent impression that he could do little to nothing about Eric’s death—an enigmatic notion that infiltrated his normal sense of duty from somewhere behind the shadow of his subconscious—he knew exactly how to address the bike’s rattle. A good mechanic he knew would be available after Christmas. At the very least, he could get that fixed.

  In the me
antime, his family needed him.

  Ridley pulled into the parking area at his apartment complex and cruised into a space. He tapped his back pocket. His badge was there. Running a hand along his waistline assured him his gun rested in a holster there.

  From the bottom of the stairs, he noticed that someone was waiting for him just outside of his apartment. Moving closer, hand on gun, Ridley realized who stood before him. Recognizing the man, he managed a smile and laugh.

  “Ho, ho, ho, merrrrry Christmaaaassss,” Lieutenant Walter Maxwell said.

  Ridley laughed again. “Lieutenant, what are you doing here?”

  “Aren’t you going to wish me a merrrrry Christmaaaassss, Nick?” Maxwell wobbled, and then sat down, leaning against Ridley’s front door. Maxwell wore a Santa Claus hat. Askew, the hat looked as if it was ready to fall off at any moment. Maxwell also gripped a carton of eggnog in one hand and half-full bottle of rum in the other.

  “Of course. Merry Christmas, sir.”

  “Oh please, Nick, Nick, Nick…” Maxwell paused for a belch to pass. “You can call me Walter.”

  Noticing Maxwell trying to stand, Ridley moved forward, saying, “Okay, let me help you, Walter.”

  “Oops,” Maxwell said upon seeing the Santa hat fall to the ground. He frowned.

  “I’ll get it.” Ridley grabbed the hat. He struggled to replace it on Maxwell’s swaying head, but managed to do so after a couple of attempts.

  “There you go, Santa, but shouldn’t you be home getting ready for the big day? It’s almost Christmas Eve, you know.”

  “Nuts to that, home is where Mrs. Claus is.”

  “And how is your wife?”

  “She kicked me out. Don’t ever, ever get married, Nick.”

  Ridley had never heard that Maxwell’s marriage was troubled, but was not surprised. Many cops made for lousy husbands. “I’m really sorry to hear that.”

  “This vacation sucks. Wanted to go to Florida, but noooo…Want a drink?”

  Looking at his apartment’s front door, Ridley thought about calling Harrison, and then realized how much Maxwell needed assistance. “How did you end up here? You didn’t drive, did you?”

  After vaporous laughter, Maxwell said in a low voice, “I had to. Santa can’t fly without his reindeer. Shhh…You won’t give me a ticky, Nicky?”

  “Nope, but you’re lucky you didn’t have an accident. Come in, Walter.”

  “Thanks, Nick. You’re a real saint. I really hoped I could talk to you about this.”

  Ridley guided him through the front door, saying, “I hope I can help.”

  Once inside, Maxwell looked around. “Where’s the pisser?”

  “Not far. Straight through there.” Ridley pointed to an alcove next to the bedroom door.

  While Maxwell carefully set the rum and eggnog on the coffee table and then went into the bathroom, Ridley walked into the kitchen. He pulled a phone book out from a cabinet and thumbed through it until he found the section for taxi service. He paused.

  Why would Harrison call?

  He looked at the front door.

  No, “Hiatt” called. That’s a signal.

  Ridley had left the door unlocked. Shaking his head, Ridley set the phone book aside and then walked to the front door, locking it. Turning around, he saw Maxwell reappear and zip up his fly.

  Dropping onto the couch, Maxwell said, “Care for that drink now, Nick?”

  Ridley glanced at the rum and started to shake his head.

  “Oh come on, join your boss in a toast to the holidays.”

  “Well, maybe some eggnog.” Ridley grabbed two clean glasses from the dishwasher, and then joined Maxwell in the living room.

  “It’s all yours. I’ve had too much of it already. Getting too fat. Like my wife.”

  “I’ll pour.” Ridley filled one glass with eggnog, but was unable to serve the rum.

  Maxwell swiped the bottle away and raised it in a toast. “Here’s to a long life, without a nagging wife.”

  Ridley raised his glass and sipped the eggnog. Its taste and smell provided him with the first tangible reminder that Christmas was at hand. He accepted it, letting the reminder stir fond memories of a holiday he always enjoyed.

  “Here, have some more before it spoils,” Maxwell said, topping off Ridley’s glass with more eggnog. After filling Ridley’s glass, Maxwell took a swig of rum, and then said, “Wouldn’t want it to spoil. Just because I work a lot, doesn’t mean I’ve spoiled anything.”

  “Is that the problem? Because if it is, we can talk more about that, Walter.”

  His head bowed, Maxwell suckled the bottle.

  Ridley repeated his inquiry. “You want to talk about it?”

  “Talk about what?”

  “Your wife, she kicked you out.”

  “Oh yeah, what a bitch. Don’t you ever get married, kid.”

  “So you’ve said.” Ridley took another pleasant drink of eggnog, and then said, “But this isn’t about me. How long have you been married?”

  “Just shortly before we started fighting,” Maxwell said, smiling. He leaned back into the couch and placed his feet on the coffee table. Balancing his drink on his chest, he said, “She doesn’t understand what it’s like to be a cop. You know how it is. We bring it home with us. Ain’t right, but it just is. Says I talk to her like I’m interrogating a suspect.”

  “And having seen you do that, I can see why she’d be pissed.”

  “So emotional too. Everything’s a melodrama. Damn cat’s ear mites.”

  “You have a cat?”

  “She has a cat. Can I help it if the cat’s ear mites don’t upset me like they do her?”

  Ridley suppressed a yawn. “Uh-huh.”

  “We deal with so much shit. Can she really expect me to get upset over ear mites? Didn’t want the cat in the first place. Now it’s breaking up our damn marriage. Nick, you getting any of this?”

  Opening his eyes, Ridley said, “Sorry, I guess I’m more tired than I thought. Walter, a cat can’t break up a marriage.”

  “Well, this cat is.”

  “No, no, no.” Ridley scratched the back of his head.

  “I just don’t see why she gets so emotional all the time.”

  “See, that’s the paradox that most cops have to deal with in their personal relationships. Here’s how I see it…” Feeling warm, Ridley paused and removed his coat. “She gets upset because she feels like you don’t care about her.”

  “I care. I care a lot.”

  “I know you do, but chances are you don’t show it.” Ridley yawned and felt dizzy. “Uh, it’s not something you do on purpose. You are right, cops do deal with a lot of shit. We shield ourselves from it by desensitizing our emotions.” Ridley closed his eyes.

  “What do I have to do to make this work? I mean, there’s been a lot of water under the bridge. I don’t want to give up, but sometimes I feel like, maybe, there’s no choice.”

  As Ridley breathed heavier now, his next words came in spurts. “You have to, have to, not all that water under the bridge.” Weakening, Ridley mustered what strength he could. “Not all of it was bad. Rebuild on the good.” He opened his eyes.

  Maxwell stood next to the front door, unlocking it.

  “Don’t do that, Walter.”

  “It’s okay, Nick. How do you feel?”

  “Dizzy. Whoa.”

  The front door opened.

  Fight or flight?

  In an instant, Ridley’s heart raced. He tried turning on the seat, but lost his balance and fell to the floor.

  Carpet fibers tickled his nose hairs. Cold air swept across his face along with the smell of leather and shoe polish. He opened his eyes and saw black boots. Through feelings of nauseated sickness, he heard the front door close. Male voices came next. Catching muffled fragments of their calm utterances, Ridley heard “All clear…He’s armed…Nobody else…Headquarters…Isolation.”

  Then, a black gloved hand, or boot, pushed him onto his side.r />
  “Here, Nick, let me give you a hand with that.”

  Fight or flight?

  He smelled rum, felt a warm exhalation on his cheek. Maxwell knelt beside him. His large frame obscured the others.

  Fight!

  Ridley’s rage exploded. His fist hit Maxwell squarely in his crotch, sending him bowling over into the coffee table. Ridley rolled, drawing his gun from the holster.

  “No guns!” It sounded like Maxwell. “No!”

  Confusion. A muffled kick sent Ridley onto his back. His gun was gone, thrown from his hand. A red puddle formed on the carpet next to him. “Oh, God, no.”

  The voice again. “It’s not authorized. Oh, damn.”

  Ridley panted and heard ringing in his ears. He tried to speak, but could not. He saw men, in black, holstering their weapons. One had a silencer.

  The voice came again. “Find the casing and the bullet if it came out. We got work to do.”

  Ridley’s lungs heaved. The blackness spread. He pressed his arms against his stomach, tightening himself ever further into a panting, bleeding ball.

  Chapter 32

  Death Warrants

  Professor Moresby looked at his watch. At nearly three in the morning on Christmas Eve, he remained alert. After decades with Saint Mary, his routine had been a fog of late nights, odd hours, and little sleep, so this night was no different from the thousands that had come before.

  General Stone, on the other hand, faced utter exhaustion. Red, glazed eyes hovered above stark black circles. His pupils seemed fixed on a single point.

  Moresby noticed Stone reacted solely to audible stimuli and maneuvered with stiff mechanical movements as they walked through Saint Mary’s underground complex at Wright-Patterson Air Force Base.

  Stone led Moresby to a secluded communications office, a compartment reserved for class-five security clearance conversations with project members located elsewhere. Once inside the secure office, Stone activated a video conferencing console. Both men placed their right hands on biometric panels next to a keyboard. The panel scanned their hands, and then General Stone punched several buttons on the keyboard. They waited for a response. The monitor glowed, and a blue screen appeared that displayed the emblem of the US Department of Defense.