Stone exited the elevator, and a voice accented with Bavarian origins bounced through the corridor. He followed the sound to the medical lab and found Dr. Schmidt issuing instructions to two attentive assistants. Stone’s relative ease evaporated. His face reddened, and his eyes bulged like volcanoes threatening to erupt when they saw it: a chalkboard, a really big chalkboard, with circles, lines, and dashes inscribed on it.
“Goddamn it, Moresby!” Stone said.
Schmidt and the assistants swung their heads toward the source of the eruption. Stone rushed forward, cursing again, uninhibited now by his usual sense of politeness. He grabbed an eraser and deleted the markings from view. He looked at Schmidt. “Where is he?”
The doctor pointed at the office, its door closed, in the corner of the lab. As Stone moved past Schmidt, he ordered the removal of the chalkboard and did not wait for a response. He barged into the office and slammed the door shut. The professor sat at a desk, headphones over his ears, likely listening to a recording of recent abductee interviews.
“Yes?” Moresby said, turning in his chair and removing the headset. “Oh, good morning, General. What can I do for you?”
Words stuttered from Stone’s mouth. “You goddamn idiot! How the hell could you leave those symbols on the chalkboard?”
Moresby clicked off the digital recorder. “I’m sorry. I guess I must have forgotten. I’ll go take care of it right now.” He stood up.
“Sit down you old fool!” Stone said, lunging, shoving Moresby into the chair, and then grabbing the lapels of his lab coat. “I already erased them. Jesus Christ! Let’s get something straight right now. I don’t care how long you’ve been with the project or how much you know. There is no room for mistakes, and I won’t tolerate any, not on my base. If we didn’t need you for tonight’s operation, I would—” Stone broke off, releasing Moresby, searching for the right words.
“Murder me?” the professor said. “That is something you attend to, isn’t it? You clean up after us. Erase our mistakes, eh?” He spoke with a sturdy voice, but his body trembled.
“You should be more mindful of what you say, old man. We don’t need any more traitors.”
“But a thug is always welcome. Is that what you’re saying?”
“I am not here to debate you. We have a mission to accomplish. I am dedicated to that purpose, but I don’t think you share the same conviction.”
“‘Conviction,’ General Stone, is an entirely appropriate term. I, for one, have grown weary of participation in a criminal conspiracy. Do you realize how far we have strayed from any reasonable principles? That’s assuming you ever had any to begin with, of course.”
Stone headed for the door, saying, “I’d be careful—North Range can be a hazardous place.” He opened the door. “You never know when something unexpected might happen that changes your whole existence.” Stone slammed the door closed, rattling its frame.
Looking at Dr. Schmidt, Stone noticed she also appeared agitated, a normal mood for the extraterrestrial biological entity research scientist. Her assistants exited the area, wheeling away the chalkboard. Stone waited until they departed, and then he said, “Dr. Schmidt, tell me you have good news.”
“We are ahead of schedule.”
Of course you are, you Nazi.
“You set a fine example for others. Do you have any questions?”
“None.”
“Remember, your priority tonight is the EBEs. I don’t know what kind of condition they’ll be in. Just be prepared. And if we take casualties, the medevac teams will handle those. Under no circumstances are these facilities for treating our own wounded. Instead, we will airlift them to a field hospital that will be set up a few miles from here. Those are my orders.”
“Yes, sir.”
After a long sigh, Stone gave the doctor an approving nod. “Has the hybrid had her exam?”
“She is due here any moment.”
“Remember, in private please. And I want to know immediately if anything doesn’t check out. Her condition is especially important, more so now than ever before.”
“Yes,” Schmidt said, lowering her head. “I know.”
“No time for grief, Doctor. Where’s a phone?”
Schmidt raised her age-blemished right hand and extended a serpentine index finger. “My office is right over there.”
Stone unclipped the identification badge from his uniform and ran its magnetic strip through a scanner on Schmidt’s office door. After entering, he telephoned the chairman.
“The operation is on schedule,” Stone said.
“And the press?”
“Colonel Bennet’s report is favorable.” Stone paused and held his breath. After exhaling, he said, “Also, the Eighth Army is on heightened alert, and Fort Bragg is on deployment readiness. My understanding is the action is cautionary, due to the rising tensions and military movements in the Far East.”
“Have all the transports arrived?”
“Most. We still have three C-17s in Ohio, and the mobile air-traffic units have yet to depart from Nellis. They are scheduled to leave there at 1300 hours.”
“Well, let’s stay on top of it. I’ll check with my Pentagon contacts to see if this situation will impact our resources.”
“Yes, sir. The information so far is that no other domestic units are on alert or preparing to ship out. I’m sure it will turn out to be nothing very significant. Just some saber rattling to keep the red hordes in check.”
“Okay. I am—”
Frantic knocking on the office door drowned out the rest of the chairman’s words. Stone glared in the direction of the noise and said, “Sir, can you hold just a moment?” Finishing his reluctant request, he noticed the source of the disruption.
Yanking open the door, Colonel Ritter rushed in, breathing heavily, apologizing for the interruption.
“What is it?” Stone said, squeezing his palm over the telephone.
“Received online alerts…accessing FBI files…army discharge records…air force crash documents…”
The Colonel’s urgency made sudden sense to Stone. “Taylor?”
“Must be him, yes, and probably Harrison too! The signals resolve to Tucson. They must be in Tucson trying to access records, to gain evidence again of what we already recovered.”
“Do we still have a security team there?”
“Yes, sir.”
Without hesitation, Stone removed his hand from the phone. “Mr. Chairman, we found them!”
Chapter 51
Captured
A white, full-sized van slowed and then parked next to the office of the Four Points Motel in Tucson. Four men, dressed in different navy-blue polo shirts, tan tactical pants, and combat boots, sat inside the van. With practiced expertise, the burly men with crew cuts checked their weapons and equipment. Afterward, each of them donned a blue windbreaker with “Police” emblazoned on the front and back. The “officers” exited the van one by one. Their leader carried recent photographs of William Harrison, Edward Taylor and Margaret O’Donnell with him into the motel’s reception area. He identified himself to the clerk as a “state police officer,” and then handed over the photographs.
Seeing the law enforcement officials standing before her, the nervous female clerk provided an immediate response. “Yes, they are in room 112—it’s on the far end of the building. I can give you a key.”
“That won’t be necessary,” the lead man said. He collected the photographs and said, “Thank you for your cooperation and stay inside while we make an arrest.”
The clerk nodded, looked over her shoulder for a brief moment, and then nervously back at the men in front of her.
“Something wrong?” the leader said.
“Uh, no, just wondering,” the clerk said, looking over her shoulder again, “should I take cover in the back room?”
“It couldn’t hurt, ma’am. These people are dangerous.”
While the clerk withdrew into the back room, the four police off
icers exited the area. Three of the officers walked to the far end of the building, while the fourth drove the van, meeting up with the others there.
The four men assumed positions along the short length of wall between the parking lot and the room. The leader looked back and counted down from five on his left hand. After the countdown, the men rushed the door, the leader kicking it in with ease. Pieces of wood splintered and jettisoned off the frame, followed by a resounding thud as the door swung against the interior wall. Its doorknob punctured the wall and it stuck in place, facilitating uninhibited access into the room.
The four officers recognized General Taylor, who jumped up from his chair and withdrew his hands from the laptop computer on the desk in front of him. Behind him, a woman screamed, and a man put up his hands. Before any of them had any time to resist, the officers forced them to the floor at gunpoint and handcuffed them.
An officer grabbed the woman’s red hair and said, “What’s your name, bitch?”
“Fuck you,” she said.
The officer shoved her head into the room’s dirty shag carpet. “Your choice, bitch, give up the name or suffocate in this cesspool.”
Coughing and choking, the woman fought against the man and twisted her head to one side. “Margaret O’Donnell. FBI.”
“That’s what I thought, bitch.” Turning to other man on the floor, he said, “And your name, fucker?”
“Its Harrison, asshole. William Harrison.”
“Jackpot!” the leader said. “Let’s get out of here.”
One of the officers grabbed the laptop, ripping the network cord out of the wall jack. Another officer searched the rest of the room. He found a revolver in the nightstand, dental records inside a briefcase under the bed, and a duffel bag containing a human skull in the bathroom. He loaded the evidence into the back of the van then helped the others load the prisoners. The van’s sliding door rattled shut, and then the vehicle departed the parking lot, its tires squealing when it hit the road’s pavement.
<> <>
Behind a tinted window in the rear office of the motel’s lobby, the female clerk watched the van leave. Sighing, she turned around and looked at the man and woman wearing business suits emerging from the back room behind the lobby. Along with the clerk, they watched the van drive away with keen interest.
“Now, what are your names?” the clerk said. “My manager didn’t really say who you are or why you are here, just that I should help you if needed.”
The man, short, rotund, and moderately bald, smiled, anticipating the usual, and apparently humorous, remark that typically followed his and his partner’s introduction. “I’m Special Agent Sapp.” He paused, swiveling toward the tall—much taller than himself—brunette standing next to him. “This is Special Agent Tarr. And we are with the FBI.”
“Tarr and Sapp?” the clerk said.
“Yes, yes,” Sapp said, winking at his partner.
“Oh, boy, sounds like a sticky situation,” the clerk said amid her own laughter.
Tarr peered down at Sapp, who also chucked. “I think you enjoy doing that.” She snapped her fingers at the clerk, who, by now, snickered teary-eyed. “May I use your phone, please? I have a call to make to the White House.”
<> <>
Half-eaten plates of baked chicken, rice, and mixed vegetables mingled with checklists, personnel rosters, and computer printouts. The items sat in a cluttered arrangement on the conference table in the command building’s large briefing room at North Range. The odors from warm electronics and even warmer officers overwhelmed the normally hospitable scent of coffee and cafeteria food. As with many such gatherings of the working group, no distinct discourse was under way. The pockets of conversations and consultations accumulated into a steady and fluent drone of utterances and occasional chortles.
Above the din, however, General Stone announced, “They have all three of them!” He brought the phone back up to his ear and listened further. The other members of the working group seated at the conference table hushed each other and nodded.
“What a relief,” Admiral Horner said. He joined his colleagues in a gratuitous exchange of handshakes.
The chairman, sitting at the head of the table, reclined and smiled. Above his head, the television broadcasted CNN. Images from yet another civil war somewhere in Africa danced across the screen. Samples of machete wounds, dismembered bodies, and empty, wretched faces appeared amid scenes of struggling relief workers supported by UN forces, including some from the United States. The news anchor transitioned to a live broadcast by a reporter at Fort Bragg. The reporter stood at a fence line. Behind him, in the distance, Eighty-Second Airborne Division troopers boarded transport aircraft, but not before being personally reviewed by the President. Given the President’s unannounced visit, the reporter speculated the troops intended to travel to Taiwan.
Stone hung up the phone and addressed the group. “The capture proceeded without any problems. The three subjects are already enroute from Davis-Monthan. The best news is that our security team also seized key evidence at the scene.”
“This is very good news,” the chairman said.
Unable to contain his satisfaction, Stone looked at his delighted colleagues and grinned. His gaze settled on the chairman. “Sir, will you advise the Circle?”
“Yes, of course. We can anticipate their arrival with a renewed sense of achievement. They will certainly be pleased.”
Another ring from the phone brought Stone’s hand to the receiver again while the others continued expressing relief to one another.
“Yes, I see,” Stone said. “Thank you for the information. Yes, Colonel Bennet, I will pass it along.” As he hung up, Stone’s solemn gaze caught the end of CNN’s segment on Fort Bragg. He focused his attention on the chairman. “Taiwan has agreed to a show of support from the United States. A brigade of Eighty-Second Airborne troopers are preparing for transport. Standby alerts have been issued to numerous other bases.” His words also caught the attention of the other officers.
“Goddamn Chinks,” Admiral Horner said.
“Yes, this is unfortunate,” the chairman said, “but it won’t detract from our mission. At this point, we can even afford to reassign a few of our transports if requested. We will proceed as scheduled. In fact, this flurry of activity concerning the Far East should serve to shield us further.”
The statement prompted a succinct chorus of consensus. The news about Harrison, Taylor, and Maggie, and even Taiwan, replenished their confidence, leading most of them to count on continued success through the course of the evening. The security matter was all but resolved, and at this point, their entire focus was aimed at tonight’s Operation Rainbow. Barely eight hours remained before the experimental would head aloft to lure in unknowns. They discussed and clarified final details of the operation and made assurances that all would proceed as planned.
Secretly, not all of those present at the meeting remained convinced the extravagant plan would succeed. Some of them still wondered, but they concealed those concerns and continued as yes-men. With Taylor’s capture, one reality endured: Saint Mary would never allow a weak link to slip through its fingers.
Chapter 52
We Have Lied and Twiddled Our Thumbs
The last transport to arrive, a C-117 from Nellis, carried the remaining mobile air-traffic-control units. It finished its taxi to an area just north of the tower complex, offering a welcome end to the stinging rage from its engines. Ground crews swarmed around the aircraft, and within a few minutes, the first navy-blue vehicle emerged from the cavernous cargo section. Watching the vehicles unload, Stone accepted the plane’s late arrival and dismissed his anxiety over the short delay.
From the south, another aircraft entered its final approach. Dwarfed by its predecessor, the approaching Lear Jet descended through the blue tones of a winter sky that grew ever richer from diminishing sunlight. The plane touched down onto the dusky runway and taxied without delay to the security detail in fron
t of the command building, where General Stone also waited.
Four men escorted three gloomy captives and seized evidence off the plane. Stone wanted to approach Taylor immediately, but decided to wait until the prisoner arrived in his cell. Too many nonessentials hovered around for Stone to carry out a secure conversation. He noticed Taylor and Harrison ignored him and just stared straight ahead. Margaret O’Donnell made eye contact. She sneered and stiffened her back. Her long red hair flowed in the wind behind her.
“Oh yeah, screw you too,” Stone said to himself. He turned to Colonel Ritter, who stood behind him, and said, “You’ve done a good job. The online alert program you helped develop achieved this result. You’re to be commended for your efforts in that area.”
“Thank you, sir. Yes, Taylor’s signal was most helpful.”
“One more thing. Get Janice, even if briefly, to scan Harrison. I want to find out what he knows about the power cell. He must know something. James just must have gotten it wrong.”
Ritter nodded slowly. “Yes, sir.”
Stone leaned up from the Humvee he rested against, and then strode inside the command building. He rode an elevator down to the detention area. As Stone entered the cellblock, one of the men escorting the prisoners advised him the seized evidence was inside the storage cabinets. Nodding curtly, Stone said, “Yes, yes, time for that later,” and then he continued on his path. Through the one-way mirror in the anteroom of Taylor’s cell, Stone saw moisture forming in the general’s eyes. Yes, you have a lot to cry about now. He entered the cell.
Silence hung over them for several long seconds. Taylor, wrists handcuffed behind his back, fidgeted in his chair.
Finally, Stone broke the silence. “Edward, why?”
His voice cracking, Taylor said, “When you’ve lost your only son, you will understand.” A sword jabbed at Stone’s chest. He shook off the emotional pain. “Is that what changed you, Edward, the death of your son?”
“Generations come and go, but what are they worth if truth and justice have lost all meaning?”
Truth Insurrected: The Saint Mary Project Page 38