“Also, Mrs. Claus will likely become well known.”
“She can handle it.”
“Good.”
“What’s next?”
“Remember the Rockwell audit from about ten years ago?”
“Uh…yeah.”
“Now, don’t swear, I know you don’t like it out there, but I need you there a few days from now.”
“Fuck, I don’t like that place.”
“Bring your swim trunks—a float in a pool or soak in a hot tub would do you some good. You could use a little color too.”
<> <>
The stale air in the rarely used conference room modified, taking on a musky blend of Aqua Velva, number-two pencil lead, and sweat. General Stone’s blue uniform coat, bearing a silver star on each epaulet, lay on top of overwrought cardboard boxes stacked on the floor. Other boxes sat on the blue metal table that occupied space in the center of the room.
A silent gaze at Colonel Ritter from Stone brought a pause to their conversation.
Although standing at attention, head still, Ritter averted the scrutiny, looking instead for cracks in the fading white wall paint. The Colonel’s chest ached from Harrison’s kick, and he assumed Stone intended to bring his time at Saint Mary to a close. The general’s next words appeared to confirm his distress.
“Your meeting with Harrison confirms my suspicions,” Stone said, his voice weary.
Ritter blinked and looked at his superior. Stone looked unkempt. Stubble covered half of the hard edges on his face, and ever-increasing wrinkles created abrupt ridges on his shirt. But he also appeared calm.
“Harrison is the key to Taylor’s operation.” Stone sighed, and then said, “At ease, Colonel.”
“Yes, sir,” Ritter said, fresh air filling his respiratory system again. “Are we certain Taylor is the anonymous informant?”
Stone nibbled on the broken tip of a new pencil. “Actual confirmation, we don’t have. But the connection is obvious. He’s still missing.” His face reddened, but his voice remained poised. “Yes, Taylor’s been planning this for some time. He sent the female hybrid to school in Tucson—Harrison is employed there—and Taylor and Harrison worked together to suppress the Aurora breach. Yes, Harrison is the key.”
“What about Zemdarsky’s tie to Senator Vaughn?”
“Secondary. No, no, Harrison’s the key.”
“Have we interrogated or scanned the female hybrid to get at the truth?”
“That’s about to get under way. But I’m more concerned about finding Harrison.”
“Shouldn’t we be looking for Taylor?”
Stone pushed a folder across the table. “This will explain why Harrison is the priority.”
Ritter picked up the folder but did not open it.
“Let’s face facts. If Taylor wanted to go public about Saint Mary, he wouldn’t need an outsider’s assistance, unless he needed something from him. Something pretty important. Something indisputable. Something tangible. You know the kind of evidence I’m referring to?”
“Hardware.”
“Harrison is involved for a reason. If we find him, if we concentrate on him, we can eliminate the whole problem. The others are just loose ends.”
Ritter nodded and opened the folder. Inside, he read an old memorandum on dried-out paper with faded type. Despite the many years working inside Saint Mary, Ritter never grew accustomed to the remarkable knowledge that revealed itself on a regular basis. This moment was no different from many others, except that, in addition to aching, his chest now felt tight.
He finally understood why William Bernard Harrison was involved.
“The Protocol One resolution in that particular matter was likely premature,” Stone said. “If Taylor’s hunch about Harrison is right, and they go public, then we have a major, major problem on our hands.”
“Yes, sir. We must find Harrison immediately. Maybe Colonel Bennet should add him to the drug-ring conspiracy. Put his face on every front page in the country.”
“But wait for a moment, Colonel. Think tactically. I believe Taylor is right about Harrison, so bringing him in right away would be a mistake. We do need to find him, but before we haul him, he needs to help us find our missing property. Including him in our disinformation now will not help us at this point.”
“What can I do, sir?”
“Holcomb uses an alias, Ronald Sheraton, and Harrison uses Wesley Hiatt. Use this information to track down the FBI agent and to locate Harrison’s evidence that he has concealed in the safety-deposit box and storage unit.” Stone rose from his chair and put on his coat. “Taylor will turn up. It’s only a matter of time. Besides, Holcomb may lead us right to Harrison, assuming we can track him down. And as for Harrison, I just hope his memory is good.”
<> <>
At Security Post Alpha, near Saint Mary’s underground entrance, the guard personnel recognized the personable and casual Colonel Ritter, acknowledging him with smiles and nods. Ritter entered a private control booth adjacent to the security station and booted up one of several desktop computers inside the room. While it processed his access code and presented the security menu, he took a seat and used his left foot to close the booth’s soundproof door, shutting himself off from the rest of the staff outside. He unlocked a drawer in the desk at which he sat and withdrew a Beretta 9 mm. After verifying it contained a loaded magazine, he slipped the weapon into his waistline.
A chirp from the computer signaled it was ready. Ritter scanned the security camera images on the monitor of laboratories, offices, and various other rooms within the Saint Mary complex and then found the one of interest to him. He clicked on the image for that room, and the computer chirped at him again.
“Shunt code override? No problem,” Ritter said, typing the additional access commands. The text on the screen faded to black. A brief flicker transitioned into a video image. He tapped the arrow keys, adjusting the angle of the camera he now controlled.
Another drawer contained the headset he needed. After plugging it in and putting it on, Ritter pressed the A key. Static hissed through the headset for a second or two, and then it dissipated. He guessed at the correct volume level for now, and then regulated it as needed as the activity progressed inside the room under his observation.
Three minutes and nineteen seconds later, he leaned forward and put his right index finger on the computer’s power button, ready to depress it in an instant. Sitting there with his thumb on the button, sweating now, he hoped his standing with Saint Mary was not about to change.
<> <>
James Evans ran a finger along the dusty base of a one-way mirror. A mistake. There was nowhere to wipe his finger. So, with regret, he thought about wiping it on his unsullied clothes. But just then, a smile formed on his pallid face. A guard’s camouflaged fatigues hid the dirt well as James gave him a friendly pat on his back and shoulder.
“You’re dismissed, Sergeant,” General Stone said to the guard as he joined James Evans in the observation room adjacent to Janice’s detention cell.
Stone pushed the top button on a gray panel near the room’s exit. A steel door rumbled out from the wall’s interior and crept along its track. A muffled, baritone click signaled the door had sealed them off and they were ready to begin.
“Are you certain you can find out?” Stone asked.
James straightened his new dark-blue cardigan sweater, unsure if he liked the color. Noticing a loose thread dangling from one of the sweater’s buttons, he furrowed his brow. “If my sister has hooked up with Harrison and Taylor, well then, gotcha! We’ll know yesterday.”
“She looks asleep.”
James stepped up to the mirror again. Janice lay on a cot, wrapped in a tight green wool blanket. Her white tennis shoes sat perfectly aligned on the floor at the foot of her cot.
“She is,” James said. “It will be to our advantage. My scan shouldn’t tip her off. Her subconscious will accept me as if I’m part of a dream, a visitor in need of a guided to
ur. All aboard.”
“And what if she awakes?”
“No problemo. I’ll still get what we need. It’ll just take a little longer.”
Stone took a couple of steps back, and then said, “Do it.”
James took deep, relaxing breaths while he aimed and focused his blue eyes on his target. The target lay there, unaware, well within range. The glass partition and thick cement walls presented no barrier to his weapon.
James’s eyelids fluttered, and then they opened wide. He made a slow turn, looking up and behind, into one of the corners of the room.
“Something wrong?” Stone said.
James continued his gaze. The outline of the camera, recessed and shielded by a plate of glass, hung there in the corner, barely discernible, just a hidden, amorphous shape of black and gray.
“It’s deactivated for this session,” Stone said.
“Certain?”
“Yes, James, it’s off. Do what you must, there will be no record.”
James’s focus returned to his target. “Sister, tell me about your life…tell me…”
<> <>
Janice sat inside a classroom, one of the ceiling lights, near a corner, flickered and died. Other students also occupied the room. A woman, the professor, stood before the audience and lectured. She searched for chalk—just a nub would do. Scribbling on the blackboard came next. “Legislative” topped the list, then “Executive,” and lastly, “Judicial.”
With the chalk and the lecture over, the group talked about less formal topics—club meetings and campus events. The bulletin board, the one with all the beautiful, bright colors, had further information posted on it.
In, out.
Inside another classroom, Janice sat in the front row, center. Her notations were quick and thorough. Someone passed her a note, not meant for her, but for another. She passed the note along without reading it, but wondered if it concerned the test.
In.
The professor erased the blackboard.
Out.
The students stood and exited. Janice slid her notebook and textbook into her backpack and zipped it up. “What about the test?”
“Don’t worry about it,” the professor said.
“I was concerned about the test.”
“Precisely what concerns you?”
“I just feel like I don’t know anything, and that I’ll fail. I can’t fail.”
“Just answer truthfully and you’ll do fine.”
In, out.
Brick buildings surrounded a sprawling lawn crowded with students. A tall bearded man, wearing a sullied white tunic, stood in the center of the crowd. He shouted, “I will not be kicked around like some Judean dog! After all I have done for you and your dad by not revealing you to David. Is this my reward? To find fault with me because of some wench?”
Another man, also bearded, but well dressed in a suit-and-tie ensemble, ignored the shouting. He handed out voter registration forms.
Janice took one. A warm breeze blew hair across her face. She pulled it aside. “Are you a teacher?”
“I’m an older student,” he said. “Be sure to register and vote.”
The man in the white tunic approached, interrupting, grabbing the forms. “Blasphemer!”
“Are you a registered voter, sir?” the suited man said.
A roadrunner scooted up to them, stopping by the man in the suit. It sat. Janice watched the bird, admiring its colorful, mascara-like eyeliner. The bird clicked its tongue, and then trotted away, vanishing into the crowd.
In, out.
Another classroom. The professor called on Janice to answer a question. She fumbled through her notes, back and forth through the pages. Silence, giggles, stares. Someone blew his or her nose. The professor cleared his throat.
“The answer, Miss Evans.”
Janice picked up a textbook. She opened it and scanned highlighted passages. Some were yellow. Some were pink. Despite her embarrassment, the colors made her smile. Looking up, she said, “I was afraid this would happen. I don’t have the answer, sir. I don’t know how or why they did that. That makes no sense to me. Was this covered?”
Someone sneezed.
The professor walked toward her. “This was on the midterm. You got an A. Certainly you remember. The truth is simple to remember.”
“I don’t recall, sir. Sorry, I don’t have an answer for you.” Janice’s eyes moistened as the professor drew nearer. She looked away.
“Why are you crying, little girl?”
“I’m not, sir.” Janice wiped her eyes, sniffling, and then she met the professor’s stare. “Are you a substitute?”
Another voice, this time from the back of the room, said, “Sir, I checked my notes too; Harrison and the others weren’t covered before. Must be some new material.”
Heads swiveled to the back, to a chubby red-haired girl.
“My mistake,” the professor said.
In, out.
White walls. The scent of ammonia. Metallic surfaces.
Janice, about twelve years old, squeezed a fuzzy teddy bear. Brown. Not dark brown, but light, almost tan. Beige, perhaps. And it looked brand new. It had a pink bow tied around its neck.
General Taylor stood beside her.
She tugged at his coat.
He hugged her.
In, out.
Men and women, technicians in blue smocks with plastic shields covering their facial features, gathered around Janice, who still held the fuzzy bear. One aimed a test tube at her and jiggled it. She squealed, looked away, and covered the teddy bear’s eyes.
Taylor distracted her. “What do you want to be when you grow up?”
“I don’t want to look.”
The technician moved closer.
Taylor held her hand and helped cover the bear’s eyes.
Janice, whispering, said, “I…I…want to be good.”
Taylor stood and patted her head.
Braver now, Janice peered at the technician and the test tube. “That’s where babies come from, don’t they?”
“We all come from these,” the technician said. “Will you be a good girl and do as you’re told?”
“But what if—”
“Will you follow orders?” the technician said, jiggling the test tube at her.
In, out.
White walls. The scent of ammonia. Metallic surfaces.
Janice put the bear inside a box; she no longer needed it. Turning to Taylor and the technician, she said, “Lawful orders.”
The technician put his hand on Taylor’s chest, pressing him away until he disappeared.
“Why only lawful orders?” the technician said.
No response from Janice.
Shouting now, the technician repeated his question. “Why only lawful orders?”
“You know whose laws, don’t you?”
“What do you mean?”
In, out.
White walls. The scent of ammonia. Metallic surfaces. Janice and the technician. Alone.
“Saint Mary’s laws, of course,” Janice said.
“You’re lying.” He repeated, whispering, “You’re lying.”
Overhead, a light flickered and died.
“Saint Mary’s laws.”
“Rest, Janice. I will be back to check on your health later. Don’t leave me.”
“I’ll be here, waiting. We are alone, James. So alone.”
“Don’t lie to me.”
“I haven’t. Trust me.”
“Don’t leave me all alone.”
“I haven’t, James. Trust me.”
In, out.
Empty blackness. A deep, dark cave.
<> <>
James felt the pressure and opened his eyes. His forehead and torso pressed against the one-way mirror. He stepped back and stretched, rolling his neck and shoulders. As he squinted at the mirror, his focus returned. A line of dust had creased the bottom front of his new cardigan. “Damn.”
“What is it?” Stone sa
id.
Brushing himself off, James said, “She’s clean, sir.”
“Are you certain?”
“Taylor and Harrison don’t mean anything to her. Taylor was a father figure to her at one time, but not for a while. Only Saint Mary holds any meaning. Just like me. We are both alike.”
“That has yet to be seen. Perhaps Taylor intended to use her, but didn’t get that far.”
James watched his sleeping sister. “That’s possible.” Janice appeared delicate, fragile, and so easily breakable. “She would never join him. It would mean throwing everything away. She’d be alone. She knows where she belongs.”
Stone sighed. Although still uncertain for the moment, he accepted James’s analysis. He turned to him and said, “In that case, I have a new assignment for you.”
“Harrison?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Not here, I’ll brief you in my office.”
Chapter 38
A Big Chalkboard
Professor Moresby snared a thicket of folders under his left arm. Sheaths of papers and photos crept out from his precarious grip. The documents dangled in danger of falling out, in total, onto the floor. Their condition went unnoticed by the MIT-educated physicist and astronomer, who shuffled along a narrow and deserted tube in the aging bowels of the Saint Mary complex. The fluorescent lighting cast an uncomfortable glare on his fading retinas, but this did not stop him from accomplishing his mission: finding a big chalkboard.
The professor paused in front of a door, squinting, trying to read the blue sign mounted across it. He attempted to adjust his eyeglasses, but then realized he had not worn them. Chuckling, Moresby reached into his lab coat and felt for the spectacles.
“There we are.”
Sliding on the eyeglasses, he read the sign—Section R/R Trng—and decided the room held promise. Finding it locked, however, he pressed on.
Five doors later, he found an unsecured, unlit room and stepped inside, nearly smacking into a row of filing cabinets in the process.
“Such a storage problem. Ha, too many secrets, heh, heh.”
“Halt,” someone said from behind.
“Oh my,” Moresby said, turning and clutching his chest. Papers, photos—aerial views of crop circles—tumbled to the floor.
Truth Insurrected: The Saint Mary Project Page 28