“So did I. I haven’t had any like these since I was a kid.” For a moment, Bill’s mind drifted to his experiment at the lab, the boiling dark, amber fluid as it swirled, coiled and danced in the light. God, he was so tired, lonely, and depressed. The color of his experiment, Proteus 49, reminded him of the flecks he’d seen in the eyes of a young woman, Lee McNeal, he’d met earlier in the day—eyes so haunting and lonely.
“Get some rest.”
“I’ll try.”
“Sunday.”
Sable placed his hand on Bill’s shoulder and began ushering him toward the door, but an electric charge ran up his arm, stopping him. For the first time in many years, special senses, long buried, came to the surface. He sensed danger for Bill, but couldn’t put a name on it or picture it. “Don’t go to work tonight.”
“You see something?”
“A feeling.” Sable’s voice cracked. “Something’s going to go wrong at the lab. Don’t go.”
“All right, I won’t go,” Bill lied. He was so close to a solution he had to chance it.
As Bill left the office, Sable picked up the phone and dialed. “Conner, Sable.”
“You must want something again,” Agent Darin Conner said. “I’ve already helped you too many times.”
“You owe me.” Sable cradled the phone to his neck. “I need to call in a favor.”
“Name it.”
Sable relayed the information he’d collected. “Let me fax you a morgue shot and fingerprints of the soldier we cornered the other day.”
“Well, what do you expect me to do?”
“Our search for his identity has come up blank. You can easily find out who he is.”
“If I do this, our slate’s clean.”
“You know better.” Sable picked up a pen and tapped it on the desk. “Can they withhold the information from the families?”
“Yes—under the guise of national security.”
“And if I tell the families what I’ve found out?”
“Don’t, and if you do, I won’t visit you in prison.”
“Only if the Feds catch me.”
Chapter 5
Sable picked up his phone from the desk. He dreaded making this call. He paused and took a deep breath, then dialed his home number.
“Sable residence.” Amy’s voice was bright and cheerful.
Sable clutched the phone. “Honey, I have to work late again.”
“But it’s Friday. Tonight’s our special night.” Amy sounded irritated. “Our agreement?”
“I know, but this is important.”
“It’s always important.”
“I’ll only be an hour.” Sable gave her the highlights of his current case.
“Why doesn’t Bill go to the Feds?”
“I’ve already checked with them. They can’t do anything. Besides, if he did, he could get into deep trouble.”
“Next time you see Bill, tell him ‘thanks a lot.’”
“I invited him and Red over for Sunday dinner.”
“Bill’s okay, but why the letch?”
“Because the letch is also a friend.”
“Really?”
“He saved my life.”
“Yeah, I remember the story about the mountain climbing fall. I guess it’s okay,” Amy said begrudgingly. “He can come.”
“I’ll be home in a couple of hours,” Sable said.
“Love and kisses.”
“Ditto.”
“I’ll wear my sexiest.” Amy’s voice was low and throaty. “Hurry home.”
“Make it forty-five minutes.” Sable imitated her.
After Sable had locked the files up in his wall safe, he strode down the hall to the reception office. He had no other choice than to call the wives and let them know what he had found. But he couldn’t do it officially.
“Good evening.” Sergeant Thomas had one leg propped on a chair. It was covered with a cast stained by dirt and covered with signatures and drawings.
“Evening—still hurt?” Sable stopped at the front desk and signed out. He gazed at the sergeant. Thomas’ uniform and hair were impeccably neat, even though he was close to retirement. The sergeant rubbed a large jagged scar running the length of his cheek. It reminded Sable of his last case and a twinge of guilt haunted him when he saw the cane propped up on the desk. Thomas had taken a bullet for him.
“Slightly, but it itches like hell.”
“When’s it coming off?”
“Next Wednesday?”
“Good.” Sable pulled a pen from the pencil cup, signed the cast then replaced it. “You know—”
“It’s okay.” Thomas shrugged. “Your missus’ll be mad as hell with you working so late.”
“It couldn’t be helped.” Sable let a smile drift across his lips. “Nature of the profession. “
“Life’s too short. Family should come first.” Thomas folded an empty candy wrapper into quarters. “Job—second.”
“I know, but it’s hard.”
* * * *
Sable left the detachment and stopped at a pay phone. He covered the mouthpiece with a handkerchief and dialed Charlotte’s hotel.
“Wilderness Hotel, Lana speaking.”
“Please put me through to Charlotte Aston’s room.”
Sable listened to the ring. When Charlotte picked up the phone, she dropped it.
“Hello,” she said sleepily.
“This is a friend,” Sable said with a French accent. “I have news of your husband and his friends.”
“Who is this?” Charlotte was instantly alert. “What about my husband?”
“I’m a friend.” Sable choked, almost losing his accent. How he hated telling someone their loved one was dead. “I don’t know how to tell you this—”
“Tell me what?” Charlotte’s voice quivered with panic. “Has something happened?”
“Your husband is dead and so are the others.”
“If this is a joke, it’s not funny.”
“No—I’m sorry.”
“How can you be sure?” Charlotte’s sobs were louder.
“You husband and his friends died in a laboratory explosion at the Arctic Warrior.” Sable gave an abbreviated version. A tear ran down his cheek and he wiped it with his sleeve.
“Can I see his body?” She stumbled over the question.
“General Dean cremated them.”
“Who are you?”
“A friend. I’ll send copies of photos and records for your case against the Army,” Sable rasped hoarsely. “I have to go.”
“How can I reach you?”
Sable hung up the phone. He didn’t feel like going home.
He slid back into the unmarked patrol cruiser and his cell rang. He popped it open. “Sable.”
“Charlotte Aston’s on the other line. She wants to talk to you—says it’s urgent,” Sergeant Thomas said.
“Patch her through.”
Sable listened to her as she sobbed through her story. He felt a heavy weight in his stomach. What could he do for her? Very little—he felt helpless. “I’m very sorry, but there’s very little I can do. It’s out of my jurisdiction.”
“Could you attend a meeting with the post commander, the head of Arctic Warrior, and my lawyer tomorrow morning at the fort?”
“Sure. “When and where?”
“Ten—commander’s office.”
“I suggest you get a lawyer.”
Chapter 6
Sable woke to find himself nestled against Amy’s back. He rolled over and studied her sleeping beside him, her forget-me-not-colored eyes hidden. She lay sumptuously nude on the bed, nestled in the covers with her tanned thigh and milky white breast exposed to the cool, morning air. He sighed, kissing and nuzzling her neck. Her long hair, loose over her shoulders, glistened in the muted light. There were a myriad of hues in it: blonde with streaks of sand and brown.
The phone rang, and Sable dreaded who was on the other end.
“What time is it?” Amy
groaned softly into her pillow, and then turned to him, snuggling on his shoulder.
The phone continued ringing.
“Five-thirty.”
She groaned. “It’s too early. Tell whoever it is to go away.”
Sable kissed her forehead, stroked her hair, then said, “I love you.” He picked up the phone and stifled a yawn. Somehow he knew it was Bill. “Sable residence; it’s your time and your dime.”
“Last night we had a disaster at the lab.” Bill’s voice broke and he sobbed. “They’re all dead. Everyone.”
“Are you all right, is Red all right?” Sable kept his voice firm and neutral as he pushed himself up from the bed and grabbed for a pad of paper he kept by the phone.
“Yes. But they’re all dead—all the men, my friends—the project is in shambles. Hopefully, none of the bioforms escaped.”
“Slow down. I need you to give me a blow-by-blow description.” Sable’s hand shook as he put pen to paper.
Bill took a deep breath and exhaled. “Last night, we had a thunderstorm. It shorted out the complex’s circuitry. Experiments exploded, and labs burst into flames.”
“What are these bioforms—do you mean biological agents like anthrax, small pox, or Ebola.”
“No, but as dangerous. I don’t think anything escaped.”
“You did.”
“I doubt if Red or I’m infected.”
“Are you sure?”
“We’d be dead by now. The project has fail safe procedures and won’t let out viruses.”
“You made it out.”
“The project’s mission was to build a super soldier. A guy who healed quickly, ran faster, and was stronger.”
“Where are you now?” Sable crooked the phone between his shoulder and ear as he began to pull on his clothes.
“Home,” Bill said. “Can you put us up at your house? You can help intercede with the Army so nothing happens to us.”
“Not safe. Get checked out by a doctor before you contact people. Besides, your boss is one nasty customer. I don’t trust him as far as I can carry an anvil.”
“Where would I find a doctor in the middle of nowhere?”
“The Kanashig Village Clinic. It’s a hundred miles from here. After it, I can have you stay with a friend of mine, Jon George. His Tlingit name is Klēd-jēlch—White Raven.” Sable briefly pondered the village’s name. Kanashig had an interesting name bastardized by the whites from yán-dei yaa kanashgit which meant ‘on the verge of darkness.’
“Tlingits are only in the southeast of the state.”
“Well, the Yanayadel started a village here centuries ago,” Sable said. “Put some miles between you and the project and get a lawyer.”
“Gotcha.”
“Wait to see what happens when the dust settles.”
“Canada would be best to cool my heels.”
“Too far. I want to be able to reach you.”
“Kanashig sounds perfect.”
Sable gave him directions. “Don’t call me, I’ll call you.”
“Got it.”
As Sable hung up the phone, it rang and again his senses tingled. “Sable residence.”
“Sable, I think you know a Lee McNeal,” Thomas said.
“Yes. Is she okay?”
“They think so, concussion and the like. She had an accident outside Kanashig. The ambulance rushed her to the medical center there.”
“Let Masters know I’m on my way. Should be out the net for a while.”
Amy slid up behind him and nuzzled his neck. “What’s wrong, dear?”
Sable told her.
“Not Jon’s granddaughter.”
Sable nodded.
“Go.”
As Sable turned on the lights, he couldn’t help worrying about Lee and her grandfather. Lee was Jon’s only remaining family. He had adopted her shortly after the deaths of his daughter and son-in-law. Jon was now eighty and he didn’t know if his friend could take the shock. Over the years, Jon had doted on her, and she had turned out okay. Lee was a child prodigy, entering college at fifteen. By the time she was twenty-three, she had a bachelor’s degree in biology, a masters’ degree in biochemistry, and a Ph.D. in arctic research biology.
* * * *
Sable shoved the hospital’s stainless steel, double doors open and headed to the emergency room. He stopped as he recognized the nurse. She hunched over Lee. Her shoulder-length dark brown hair was up in a ponytail. Even after all these years, his feelings for her tried to rise to the surface. He squashed them.
Sable felt panic.
“What in the hell are you doing here?” She scowled at him, checking him from head to toe.
“I’m here investigating Lee’s accident,” Sable said in his best troopers’ voice. She brought many memories he forced down. Becky had a slightly turned-up nose and oval face full of light freckles, partially hidden by a light tan from her Cherokee heritage.
Her lips formed an “Oh,” but she said nothing.
“Where am I?” Lee tried to shove herself up.
“At my clinic,” Becky said.
Years ago in Anchorage, Sable had introduced her to Bill. After a long stint in the Alaskan bush, she had been lonely, fragile, and had fallen in love with Bill. However, when she found out he had been going out with other women behind her back, she ended the relationship.
“Ugh. My head’s splitting.” Lee looked up at Becky. “Was I at a party?”
“Your tire blew. You hit a tree and it won.” Sable pulled out his notepad and pen, rolled the pen in and around his knuckles, clicked it, and began writing.
“How did I get here?”
Lee gave Sable the once over.
“An ambulance.” Becky slipped on latex gloves and then carefully checked the gash on Lee’s forehead.
“Ouch, watch it.” Lee flinched. “Where’s my truck?”
“Mangled with a tree,” Sable said. “And in better condition than you.”
Lee felt her head and grimaced. “I remember a bright flash, this big blue ball rolling over my truck, then another flash, a loud bang and a tree coming at me.”
“Must have been the storm Friday,” Sable said.
“I sewed up a small gash.” Becky ignored him.
“Will it leave a scar?”
“Only a small one. It’ll accentuate your beauty. Give you a rough and tumble appearance.”
“Does Grandfather know?” Lee pushed down the sheet.
“I called him; he should be here soon,” Sable said. He turned toward Becky. “I’ll need a blood test on her.”
“She wasn’t drunk, Bob.” Becky placed her hands on her hips.
Sable cringed. “It’s the law.” She’d used his nickname “Bob.” He hated “Bob.”
“I remember you. You’re Grandpa’s friend.” Lee stretched out her hand.
Sable accepted. “Good to see you—alive.”
Becky gestured to the door. “Out. Lee will answer your questions later.”
As Sable stepped into the lobby, Jon George met him. “Is Lee okay?”
“She’s okay but she’s under armed guard of the Nazi nurse.” Sable offered his hand.
Jon laughed, “Xhoots’een—the man who talks to animal—it’s good to see you.” Jon’s black hair, marred with only a few strands of gray, fell over a face of finely chiseled features. Though Jon was in his eighties, he looked like a man in his fifties.
“Klēd-jēlch—White Raven—it’s good to see you. Uásse-i-tú-eti?” Sable translated the greeting in his mind—How are you? How is your heart?.
“Ka-denchro-denik, chetsinach tuu chrat—I am well—my heart is strong.” Jon hugged him and patted his back.
“Tléi ee wdasháan—You don’t show any signs of age.”
As they started toward the room, Becky came out of the emergency room and put up her hand to stop him. “Family only.” Her smile was malicious.
“Xhoots’een is family.” Jon grabbed Sable’s arm and dragged him to the door
.
As Sable stumbled, following Jon, he could almost feel Becky’s eyes bore through his back.
“How’s my Song Bird?” Jon George glided gracefully into the room. When she was younger, he had been inspired by seeing her bright and cheerful face each morning—to him, she was like a song in his heart.
“Klēd-jēlch not singing and with a big headache.” Lee took a sip of water.
“You’re alive and that’s what counts.” Jon’s white shirt accentuated his trim, muscular figure.
“Got an aspirin?”
“Tylenol. It’s next to the pitcher,” Becky said.
“Thanks.” Lee popped the pills in her mouth, and then chased them with a large swallow of water. “I feel as if I’ve been on a three-day bender.”
“I’d watch what you say in front of the cop.” Becky pushed the button to raise the bed.
Sable slipped his notepad and pen back in his pocket. “I’m here only to make sure you’re okay.”
Lee nodded gratefully.
“She’ll be out this afternoon.” Becky turned to leave. “I’ll be back later. I need to see another patient.”
“Still young and pretty as ever,” Jon said.
“Me or Becky?”
“Both.” Jon George stepped toward her and kissed her on the forehead.
“How’s the village?” Sable asked.
“Nothing’s changed. We have a good supply of salmon, moose, and caribou this year.” Jon pulled a chair up next to Lee and sat. Sable remained standing.
“Are the children still moving away?” Lee asked.
“Yes, like you did.”
“Well, they have to go where the work is.”
“And they’re breaking with tradition.” Jon frowned.
“In a way, it’s good.”
“The old ways still have a place.”
“The old ways can’t fit into modern society.” Lee placed a straw in the glass and took another sip of water.
“We’ve hashed this out before. There can be a melding of the two.”
“Okay, okay—you win,” Lee said and paused. “Is Dan-e-wåk—Silver Eyes—still stirring up the village?”
“As usual, Dan-e-wåk’s warning of danger, but no one’s listening.”
“See, even our people aren’t listening to the ícht’a.”
“Ícht’a still have a place.” Jon hunched forward. “Wouldn’t you say so, Xhoots’een? Your uncle Chlawūch-tschāk is a village shaman.”
Dark Project Page 3