“Need your faster speed right now,” Harrison said, with heavy breaths.
“On my way!” Holcomb said. Within a few rapid strides, Holcomb outpaced Harrison and turned a corner around the hotel.
Harrison continued his pursuit, but tripped on the sidewalk’s uneven surface near a flower planter. From ahead, around the corner of the building, he heard honking horns and screeching car brakes. Gaining his stance again, he hoped the sounds meant he could catch up.
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After crossing the street, James extended his bloody left hand and retrieved the cellular phone from his pants pocket. With blurry vision, he looked ahead and hoped he could make it to the FBI agents parked in front of the hotel down the block.
Almost there.
He peered at the phone, which bounced and shook with each passing step. With left thumb outstretched, he tried to press the autodial button for General Stone. But as he tripped and fell, the phone spun out of his hand. He rolled onto his left side and looked back. Through the crowds on the sidewalk, he watched Holcomb stop and kneel. The agent took aim at him and shouted for people to get out of his way.
“No!” James said, struggling to his feet. He lunged, reaching for the cell phone covered with his own blood.
A single gunshot rang out.
The bullet impacted James’s right thigh. The hybrid collapsed onto the sidewalk again and clutched the phone. He pushed the button. Tears streamed down his cheeks. In the distance, Holcomb waved people out of his way so he could take another shot.
The receiver clicked.
“Stone, go ahead.”
Screaming, James said, “It’s in his office!”
“What?”
Another gunman came into view. Harrison. Across the street, Harrison knelt against a concrete planter to improve his aim. The barrel of his handgun looked like a black, bottomless cave.
“The power cell is inside a globe in Harrison’s office!”
“James?”
Fire—red, orange, yellow, and silver—billowed out of the cave at James.
“Yes, and—”
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“James! James, are you there?” Stone said.
Nothing but silence and intermittent static responded to his question.
“Shit!”
Stone hung up and dialed. Three rings and several toe taps later, Colonel Ritter answered.
“Something has gone wrong in LA,” Stone said.
“Sir?”
“Just get down to Harrison’s office and retrieve the globe he keeps there.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Colonel, how long will it take?”
“Not long. I’m not far from there now. We’re still going over the bank—”
“Just get on it right now, and contact me when you get there.” Stone slammed down the phone and then redialed.
“Maxwell, go ahead.”
“Where’s Evans, goddamn it!” Stone said.
“General?”
“Yes, dammit, where are you, and where is Evans!”
“Several of us are just getting off the freeway near a surveillance location on Los Feliz.”
“Is James there?”
“He should be at one of the locations we are heading—”
“He just called me, and then the phone went dead. Get your ass there as fast as you can.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And Maxwell, if he is dead, you get his body out of there ASAP. Don’t question me on this. Get his body back to North Range and clean up any fucking mess you find there.”
“Yes, sir!”
<> <>
People ran and screamed, trying to distance themselves from the gunmen. Harrison knew why, but understood the real threat lay in a lifeless heap, its brains and bone matter scattered on the sidewalk.
But he also understood that an exigent escape for himself and Holcomb stood foremost ahead of any of their other priorities.
A moment later, Harrison realized that Holcomb understood too. The FBI agent ran up to him, huffing and puffing, mumbling something about a good shot, followed by, “No time for this—we have to get the hell out of here!”
Rushing back toward the parking lot adjacent to the Metropolitan Suites, Harrison holstered his Colt and dug car keys out of his pocket. He relayed them to Holcomb.
“What, this again?” Holcomb said.
“Dark blue Chevrolet Caprice, far side of the lot, near the street.”
Holcomb sprinted ahead.
Behind him, Harrison heard the distinct sound of screeching brakes.
<> <>
The two FBI agents on surveillance a block away heard the gunfire. They rushed in, halting their sedan on the street next to where James had come to rest. The agent in the passenger seat jumped out. Several witnesses rushed in, shouting in near unison, “They ran that way!”
The agent signaled for his partner to drive ahead, and then he looked at the mess on the sidewalk. Noticing the orange tint in the dead man’s blood, he said, “What the hell?”
<> <>
A metallic gray sedan crunched its way onto the sidewalk and stopped directly in Harrison’s path, interrupting his hobbling. The driver’s door cranked open, and a chunky, white-haired man with a white moustache wearing a navy-blue three-piece suit tumbled out, aiming a handgun at Harrison.
“FBI!” the man said.
“No shit,” Harrison said, putting his hands in the air. He saw Holcomb pull his car out of the parking lot ahead. “Really, I’m not one of the bad guys.”
“Just shut up and get on your knees!”
Harrison winced. The abrupt reaction stemmed not from any pain endured from kneeling, but instead from the sudden appearance of General Taylor running up behind and directly at the FBI agent.
That’s going to hurt.
The full weight and speed of Taylor’s impact against the FBI agent sent him hurtling forward onto the ground. A sturdy whack on the back the head with a snub-nosed .357 magnum revolver sent the agent straight into unconsciousness.
“Get in and you drive!” Taylor said, scrambling to his feet.
Harrison complied and piled into the FBI agent’s still-running vehicle behind Taylor. Before Harrison could pull the transmission lever into “drive,” Holcomb pulled up next to them in the dark blue Chevrolet Caprice and slammed on the brakes. Wide-eyed consternation seized Harrison’s gaze.
“I don’t know yet, Art, just follow us!” Harrison said, and then he floored the accelerator. They sped away, heading for the nearest freeway on ramp. Holcomb fell in behind them.
<> <>
Alone in Harrison’s office, Colonel Ritter wandered toward the globe. He spun the sphere, admiring the nostalgic antiquity of it. The rotation stopped, and the lines on the land mass that stared up at him no longer existed, fracturing many years ago.
How times have changed.
A chirp from his cellular phone interrupted Ritter’s memories.
“Ritter here…Yes, I’ve retrieved those other items already…Yes, I understand…I get the feeling I’m standing in front of it right now…Stone ordered me to retrieve the globe inside Harrison’s office…Perhaps it’s what may be inside the globe that matters… I’ll just have to stop at an antique store or pawn shop before I head back to North Range first…”
<> <>
Between erratic maneuvers, Harrison fumbled for and then answered his ringing cell phone.
“I’m pretty sure we picked up a tail,” Holcomb said without delay. “Looks like just one car. Where are we headed?”
“As much as I wanted to avoid it, we may need to call in Zemdarsky for some help. His son runs an air charter business out of Long Beach Airport, so I suggest we head that way. If anything, it gets us out of the area and to an initial rally point.”
“Alright, I’ll take this guy for a little ride and meet you at the airport.”
“Be safe, brother, and good luck.”
“You too. Remember. ‘Rock around the clock.’”
“Got it!”
In the rear view mirror Harrison saw Holcomb peel off down a side street. A sedan followed him, but it looked clear after that. Harrison entered the freeway and headed south towards Long Beach.
Once into the flow of traffic, Taylor ended his phone conversation and said, “Where are you going?”
Harrison shook his head and then said, “Right now, barring any bright ideas from you, I’m heading to the Long Beach Airport.”
“Why that airport?”
“My partner, Pete Zemdarsky, has a son who owns an air charter service there. I figured they could help us out. Besides, he’s a good friend of Vaughn’s husband, they go way back.”
“I know.”
“I bet. Look, if Pete’s son can help us, what’s our destination after we leave Long Beach?”
“Initially, the Tucson Airport, and then to Las Cruces to meet with Senator Vaughn.”
“I get the Las Cruces part, but Tucson? Certainly Saint Mary will get to the globe before us.”
“Saint Mary has a cover business near the airport.”
Harrison waited. After several seconds of silence, he said, “And?”
“Your globe should be there.”
“Should be? You’re not sure?”
“More than anyone else you should know that faith can be elusive. The senator and the American people will have my testimony, the video file of James Evans executing the alien, the Roswell document with its enumerable engineering reports, and hopefully, the power cell.”
“And don’t forget the Blair evidence.”
“We need to make arrangements to retrieve Ms. O’Donnell and her evidence after we meet with Senator Vaughn.”
“I have the code phrase and know how to get in touch with her, so don’t worry.”
“You better call your partner, then, while I book an airline ticket to Russia”
“Huh?”
“Disinformation. An empty trail. Part of a cover story I worked out with Janice.”
“Got it. I think.” Harrison fumbled again for his cell phone. He paused and looked at Taylor. “Are these safe to use? Wouldn’t they be tracking our calls?”
“Normally, but thanks to some help on the inside, we’ll be safe for now.”
“Okay, good to know.” Harrison dialed Zemdarsky’s number and a cheerful voice greeted him.
“Willy my boy, so good to hear from you!”
“I’ve been busy. How’s the family and Beano?”
“Wonderful and stinky in that order. It’s nice to enjoy the Holidays with the kids. And your foul beast, I suppose. How’s the case going?”
“Oh, it’s going. In fact, I’m back in Los Angeles stirring up trouble.”
“Oh, wonderful, you should visit!”
“I’m pretty sure I can arrange that.”
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An hour and a half later, Harrison stood on the tarmac near the Long Beach Airport’s executive terminal. A Cessna Citation CJ3, piloted by Henry “Hank” Zemdarsky, warmed up its engines just a few yards away. Pete Zemdarksy and Taylor waited for Harrison on the steps leading up to the plane.
A sinking feeling in his gut and ache in his heart kept Harrison from turning his back on Holcomb and boarding the plane. Repeated attempts to contact him by telephone failed. No word from his former partner since he led the follower off their track made Harrison imagine the worst.
“We have to go,” Taylor said, shouting over the rising whine of the Cessna’s jet engines.
Harrison’s eyes met Pete Zemdarsky’s. Taylor walked up the stairs and into the plane.
“We’ll go when you’re ready to go,” Pete said.
Harrison nodded. He gazed around the terminal in one last futile effort to find a flash of headlights or some other indication his old partner had joined them.
Nothing.
Harrison sighed. He limped to the plane and followed Pete up the stairs.
Chapter 45
Balls to the Wall
“So, this is the notorious ‘Echo Tango?’” Pete said.
Harrison glanced at his informant. Taylor reclined in one of the black leather passenger chairs aboard the Cessna. He had passed out from exhaustion after departing Long Beach. Now, at 24,000 feet over southern Arizona, he remained asleep with a cozy wool blanket draped over him.
“He is,” Harrison said.
“Well, you tell an amazing story, and so does that engineering document. I can’t believe what’s in there, especially the reports from your dad.”
“I know it’s all so hard to believe.”
“I guess you really have been busy, after all,” Zemdarsky said, smiling and winking.
“We have,” Harrison said. But his partner’s cheeriness did not raise Harrison’s spirits. He thought of Holcomb, of all they had been through together, and his heart ached. Ridley’s presumed death haunted him too. Guilt overwhelmed Harrison and his eyes welled up.
Zemdarsky reached out and put his hand on Harrison’s shoulder. “I’ll call George Vaughn and get us in with the senator. She’s a fighter, that one. She’ll kick ass for us, I know it.”
Harrison nodded and wiped his moistened eyes. “Thanks, Pete.”
Several minutes later General Taylor stirred and awakened. He sat upright and looked at Harrison, saying, “How long have I been out?”
“Since soon after departure.”
“And where are we now?”
“Almost to Tucson, should begin our descent in a few minutes.”
Taylor looked at his watch and then said, “He’s made good time.”
“The pilot said something about flying the plane ‘balls to the wall’ after we reached cruising altitude. I think Pete’s son was trying to impress an old air force fighter jockey.”
Taylor chuckled and smiled. “Emphasis on old.” His eyes drifted out the nearest window. “I miss those flying days. Life was…”
“And yet here we are, chasing down an alien flying saucer power cell while Saint Mary pursues us.”
Taylor’s gaze returned to Harrison. “Indeed.”
“If Art and Nick Ridley are in their custody, where would they take them?”
Taylor yawned, rubbed his face, and then said, “North Range. Area 51’s replacement facility in northeast Nevada. They have detention facilities underground and lots of empty space above for people to disappear.”
“We must convince Senator Vaughn and her ally in the White House to conduct a rescue mission. We must convince them to occupy North Range and halt Saint Mary in its tracks.”
“You think big. I like where you are going with this.”
“I intend to take the fight to them instead of running away. Even if it’s just me, my dog, and my .45, I will personally invade North Range myself and take back what belongs to us all.”
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Thirty-five minutes later, Harrison and Taylor hailed a cab in front of the executive terminal building at Tucson International Airport. Henry Zemdarsky made further flight arrangements while his plane took on extra fuel for the run to Las Cruces and beyond.
“Are you sure you can’t use some help?” Pete said. He looked forlorn while standing several feet behind Harrison and Taylor on the sidewalk.
The two men paused their entry into the cab. Harrison turned and said, “Stay with Henry, we got this, buddy.”
“Okay. I’ll just stay here with Henry and the plane while you guys go and fetch…”
Taylor turned and glared. Harrison just smiled.
“…Donuts.”
The pair piled into the cab and Pete stepped inside the terminal.
After settling into the back seat with Taylor, Harrison turned to the General and said, “Pete’s such a kidder, he likes to kid around.”
Taylor ignored Harrison and provided the cab driver with the address for a nearby office complex.
“That’s right up the road,” the cabbie said. Then, under his breath, he said, “Hardly worth my effort.”
Harrison r
eached into his wallet and handed the driver two twenties. “That should help make it worthwhile.”
“Oh yes, it does, thank you.”
As they neared the vicinity of the office complex, Harrison instructed the cabbie to park across the street from its location. Conveniently enough, a donut shop occupied the area where Harrison had directed him to park.
Harrison handed the driver another forty dollars and asked him to purchase a dozen donuts and four large coffees to go. “Get yourself something too and keep the change.”
“Yes, sir!”
After exiting the cab, Taylor and Harrison made a path toward the ordinary-looking two-story office complex. “We going inside?” Harrison said.
“No, just to the parking lot outside. We are looking for a black Ford Explorer with Virginia license plates.”
“What kind of cover business is here?”
“Avionics sales, repair, and supply.”
“Good fit with the environment.”
“A former Circle member, now deceased apparently, once resided in Tucson and used this space for meetings with working group officers. It’s hardly used for any covert activities now, but it’s still on Saint Mary’s books.”
They approached the parking lot and found their target. While closing the distance to the Ford Explorer, Harrison said, “How we getting in?”
“The key is in the tailpipe. The globe should be on floor behind the driver’s seat.”
“Got it. You keep watch and I will get into the car.”
“But—”
“I got this, General.”
While Taylor stood lookout, Harrison moved in and crouched behind the vehicle. He swiped his index finger into the dark exhaust tube and felt nothing.
“Crap.”
“What,” Taylor said, whispering.
Harrison shoved his finger farther into the tailpipe. This time, the tip of his finger danced across an object within; but this action only succeeded in pushing it deeper into the tube. “Shit.”
Harrison grabbed a ballpoint pen out of his coat’s interior pocket. With cautious manipulation, he maneuvered the tip of the pen into the pipe, tilted it downward, and then dragged it rearward. A small metallic ring with one key attached came with it. “Got it!”
“Headlights get down!” Taylor said, his voice hushed.
Harrison pressed his body to the cold asphalt and then he squirmed into position underneath the Ford. His right leg throbbed. Taylor dodged somewhere out of view.
Truth Insurrected: The Saint Mary Project Page 33