The judge’s use of Sable’s rank was intended to put him in his place. “Your honor, this is concerning a missing woman.” Sable held out the photograph of Cindy Dean for the man to see.
“You’re way off base and I don’t know her,” Blackston carefully answered, but Sable knew it was a ploy for time.
“Who is it, dear?” The voice of Lana Blackston seemed far away.
“It’s not what they said at the Castle Lodge,” Sable said.
Blackston barely blinked, but his voice became a whisper. “Can we do this outside?”
“Sure.”
“It’s a trooper with a warrant for me to sign.” Blackston stepped out on the porch and closed the door. “I hope we can keep my wife out of this.”
“The truth will set you free.”
“Yes, I know her.”
“She disappeared last night.” Sable waited while Blackston pulled a pipe and tobacco pouch from the pocket of his leisure jacket. He packed the bowl then lit it and his cheeks hollowed as he drew on his pipe.
“I don’t know how I can help you. I was at the Governor’s reception last night until two a.m.”
“I know you didn’t have anything to do with her disappearance. Still any light you can shed on the case would greatly help—such as if you knew of any enemies she had.”
“She told me if anything ever happened to her, her husband was her killer,” Blackston said, as clouds of nauseous, blue smoke, with a faint aroma of cherry, emerged slowly from the pipe. “After she told me that, I had Dean checked out. He’s extremely dangerous.”
“So what did you find out?” As Sable pulled out his notepad, the judge frowned.
“It seems Dean may have killed his mother and first wife.” The judge listed much of the same information Conner had given him.
“Did Dean know about your relationship?”
Blackston sucked his pipe. “No. We were careful. There was no way he’d known.”
“I was able to track you down.”
Blackston shrugged.
Chapter 15
The troopers had told Dean they had found his wife’s car. Now, Sable wanted to catch him in a lie.
Dean drummed his fingers on the arm of the couch and surveyed the waiting room at trooper headquarters. It was small and Spartan. He had been waiting an hour. He forced himself to remain calm. It was a typical tactic used to unnerve potential suspects. And he was one. The husband was automatically a prime suspect. To him, this was normal, Neanderthal, police logic.
“You can go in.” The receptionist gestured. “Down the hall on the right.”
Dean stood and mouthed a “thank you.” At the end of the corridor, he peered through a half-open door. The trooper sat beside a large stack of papers, making sure it was perfectly aligned with the right side of his desk. In the center of the desk was a laptop computer. Next to it was a pad of paper. Dean knocked and waited.
“Please come in.” Sable stood and extended his hand. “I am sorry I kept you waiting. You know how it is with phone calls and paperwork.”
Dean took the trooper’s hand. The clasp was solid but not forceful.
“Have a seat.” Sable’s raven hair fell over his eyes and he flipped it up.
It was Sable’s piercing blue eyes that unnerved Dean. There wasn’t an ounce of fat on Sable and the eyes watched his every move. He seemed gregarious and unimposing. It troubled Dean. Sable was dangerous.
“You’ve found my wife’s car?” Dean kept his voice even.
“Actually, the Fairbanks detachment found it.”
“Did you find Cindy?” Dean asked. He’d gotten past their first trick.
“It’s why we need your help,” Sable said.
“Definitely.”
“Good,” Sable said. “At least we know it wasn’t robbery.”
“How?”
“Her wallet, money, and luggage were still in the car.”
“You’re considering this a kidnapping or murder.” Dean almost choked on the word and quickly realized his mistake.
“Not yet. She’s a missing person.”
“What are your alternatives?”
“Of course, we’re exploring them all. Because of your position, someone may have targeted you.” Sable typed some notes in the laptop. Dean hated he couldn’t see the screen. “Anyway, the vehicle is being checked for fingerprints and they’re making casts of tire tracks.”
“Tire tracks?” Dean smiled inwardly. Maybe the troopers would find the judge’s prints in the car.
“Men’s footprints and motorcycle tire tracks.”
“Do you have any leads?”
“It’s strange, but…” Sable’s voice trailed off, followed by several seconds of silence.
“Strange?”
“There were no woman’s footprints at the scene.”
“What do you make of it?” Dean cursed to himself. He should have brought a pair of her shoes to fake some.
“We’re taking soil compression tests to see if a heavy object was taken from the car.”
Luckily, Dean had used an old pair of his father’s boots he’d kept. They were a size too large, but he’d forgotten to get rid of them. He kept his voice calm. “Then foul play is suspected?”
“Possibly. The driver’s seat was set for a larger person, possibly a man.”
Shit, shit, shit. He’s forgotten to set the seat back. Time seemed to pass slowly and Sable hadn’t said anything.
“Well?” Dean asked.
“Before we get to that, I’d like to ask you a few routine questions.”
“Routine questions?”
“Mr. Dean, you understand at this time we do not suspect that you had any part in your wife’s disappearance?”
The hell you don’t.
Dean said, “Do I need a lawyer?” He had noted the use of Mister instead of his rank.
“No,” Sable said. “You’re not even a suspect at this time.”
“Then go ahead.”
“When did you first discover your wife was missing?”
“Sunday morning when I returned from the post.” Dean folded his arms and leaned back in his chair. “Her car wasn’t in the driveway and she didn’t leave a note.”
“What made you think she wasn’t shopping?”
“I did, at first.”
“Then what happened?”
“When I found her clothes missing, I became worried.”
“What next?”
“I searched the house—no note.”
“Why didn’t you contact us immediately?”
“I thought it was a lover’s spat and she was at a friend’s.”
“Of course, you called her friends?”
“No.”
“No?”
“I’m not familiar with all her friends. Besides, she took her address book.” Dean felt his cheek twitch and he rubbed his eye with his index finger.
“Really?”
“Look, my wife loves me and I love her. We’ve had a great marriage, so I don’t know why she left.” Dean wiped away a tear he had been working on. He restrained himself from smiling.
“What type of job takes you out all hours of the night?”
“The Army.”
“The Army I know normally goes home at five.” Sable drew a doodle in his notepad.
“Not when you’re a general. We had an accident at work and since I’m the director, I had to be there.”
“What type of work does your agency do?”
“Classified. You know how the military is—I can’t discuss it.” Dean re-crossed his legs. “And second, what does this have to do with my wife’s disappearance?”
“Well, it may have everything to do with it. Being out at all hours can put significant stress on a marriage.”
“Cindy understood my job,” Dean said, realizing he’d referred to her in the past tense.
“Well, it’s hard to believe you didn’t notice anything.” Sable pushed back from the desk. “According to my investigat
ors, everything was neatly packed. It had to take your wife hours to pack her clothes—most of Saturday night.”
“Sunday was the first I knew anything was wrong.”
“Do you have a motorcycle?” Sable moved back to the desk and resumed typing notes. He leveled his gaze with Dean’s.
“No, I’ve never owned one.” Dean folded his arms tightly. “In fact, I consider them a death trap. I thought I wasn’t a suspect?” Dean stared at Sable. He had found the Harley several years ago at a garage sale in Chicago and never registered it.
“You’re not,” Sable said simply. “These are routine questions that’ll help us cover all the bases and eliminate you as a possible suspect.”
“It’s not too reassuring,” Dean said. “Should I get my lawyer?” He knew some of these questions were out of line for someone who wasn’t supposed to be a suspect.
“I am trying to gather all the facts,” Sable said. “By the way, what is your shoe size?”
“Size eight. Why?” The nosy hick trooper could stick it in his craw and choke on it.
“A casual question.”
“You’ll excuse me, but…” Dean paused. “I’m a very busy man. I have to get back to work on the emergency I mentioned. If I didn’t have this problem, I would be out looking for Cindy myself.”
“Don’t get involved. It’ll muddy the case.” Sable looked at his fingernails.
“I want to help.” Dean had to find another patsy as well as the judge—confuse things a bit.
“Don’t.” Sable hunched over the desk and looked at the laptop. The silence was deliberate but Dean refused to be unnerved. Dean cleared his throat.
Sable ignored him.
“I have to leave,” Dean said.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Sable said. “I have a few more questions.”
“What are they?” Dean sighed.
“Does your wife carry large sums of cash?”
“I thought you said all her money was there.”
“She had two thousand in traveler’s checks, but no cash.”
“She never carried cash.” Dean had worn rubber gloves when he’d stripped her purse of her cash. Eventually, the police would have to give the checks back.
“That shoots that,” Sable said. “I’d like to get a good photograph of your wife. The license photo never does justice.”
“Major Johnson will get you some.”
“We’ll put out an APB this afternoon.” Sable pushed away from the desk, stood, and offered his hand. “Thanks for your patience. If we have any more questions or find out something new, we’ll let you know.”
Dean clasped the hand and met Sable’s gaze as if offering a challenge. He bet himself they were checking insurance policies right now. He gladly retreated from the office feeling even more confident.
Chapter 16
Dean maneuvered the hovercraft through the trees and up to the central command post. He’d almost missed it because of the camouflage netting. Special security posts, authorized to use deadly force, had been set up within a mile of the project. He was still seething because the soldiers were taking the game too seriously. Still, he couldn’t fault them for rigidly following his orders.
Apparently, Johnson had heard the hovercraft and waved. Johnson strode to the craft and offered his hand for Dean. “Good morning, sir.”
“Did you take care of the problems on the tape?”
“No one was at home.”
Dean turned and straightened his uniform. “Who do we have here?”
“The Defense Investigative Service agents you arranged for.”
Dean extended his hand to the ugly-looking one. “Sam Chapman, I presume.”
“Chapman.” The man’s expression didn’t change. He nodded to the other man. “And he’s Don Strickland.”
“Strickland.” The tall, lanky one tilted his head in acknowledgment.
“There’s a problem,” Johnson said.
“Not the project.”
“I had to bail these folks out this morning.”
“What the hell?” Dean folded his arms. “What now?”
“We had a run-in with Sable,” Chapman said and covered the confrontation.
“You call that minor?” Dean motioned for them to follow. “The man is becoming a thorn in my side.”
“Give the word and that thorn can be eliminated. Sable must have done something to piss you off.”
“You could say that.”
“Well?”
“You have it—the word,” Dean said.
Johnson leaned over and whispered in Dean’s ear, “Do you think that’s wise?”
“Damn straight.”
“Was the shutdown accidental or sabotage?” Agent Strickland asked.
“So far, there’s no way to tell.” Johnson lifted the flap to the command post tent. “The best guess is lightning caused it.”
As they entered the tent, the musty smell of damp canvas invaded Dean’s nostrils. Lights flickered as the generators coughed in the background. In the center stood a long line of tables covered with blueprints, stacks of paper, telephones, and computer stations. Copiers, shredders, and electronically secure faxes lined the back wall. At one end, Write Boards and briefing charts were set up next to a row of chairs. At the other end was a Yukon stove.
“God—I love Army life.” Dean smiled at the bustle, the smell of gasoline, and canvas.
“You’re not going to like the damage estimate.” Johnson led Dean to Caldwell.
“How much is this going to cost me?”
“At least ten mil to begin with—maybe more,” Johnson said. “For just the clean up.”
“What’s the progress?”
“Maintenance teams made it to the third level.” Caldwell was seated behind a large wooden table where numerous blueprints and schematics had been spread out. He laid his pencil down.
“Then they’re at the mainframe?” Dean hunched over the table and surveyed the plans. “Is it operational?”
“No. Lightning fried a lot of circuit boards.”
“What happened to the safety measures?”
“There were none—hence a cascade effect. It’ll make our job even harder. The system was supposed to lock down only the laboratories on the lowest level. But it went haywire and shut down everything and removed all the air.”
“Then no one’s alive?” Johnson asked.
“You got it.”
“The mainframe hard drive’s okay?” Dean sat in a nearby chair.
“Minimal damage. We can recover most of the data. And your back-ups are stored in vaults.”
“Then recent work’s lost?” Dean swung the chair to face Caldwell.
“Yes.”
“Have you found the duty logs?”
“Gone—computerized,” Johnson said.
“How many did we lose—best guess?”
“When we compare the personnel roster to the bodies, we’ll have the answer.” Johnson pulled up a chair.
“How many?” Dean leaned back in his chair.
“Ten scientists and two guards.”
“Fifty percent.”
“The others were off duty.”
“Bring them in. They can help.”
“Are you sure no one escaped?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Take Strickland and Chapman to their tent and let them get settled.”
As they left, Dean felt a burning sensation in the pit of his stomach. The project had been extremely costly. Now with the repair work, replacement of equipment and personnel, and redoing the experiments would be another year wasted. The list was endless. DOD was going to fire him.
After Caldwell wandered away with an assistant, Dean saw Dr. Jensen. He stood, ambled over, and tapped him on the shoulder. “How’s clean-up going?”
“The central shaft is clean. We’re ready to enter the lower level.” Jensen jotted down a few lines in a notebook and as he turned, Dean saw the dark circles lining his eyes.
“Contaminat
ion?”
“Yes, on a lab coat. We haven’t had a chance to do an analysis yet.”
“Why wasn’t I told immediately? Did you find a body? Whose is it?”
“We didn’t find a body. It was Kincaid’s coat.”
“Then he got out.”
“Not through the lasers. They were still operating on auxiliary power. We’ll find his body inside the complex.”
“If there’s the slightest chance he’s alive, I want it investigated.” Dean clutched the edge of the table.
“There’s no need. If Kincaid had to, he could have gone through the escape hatch—and he didn’t.”
“Did you check for tampering?”
“Haven’t had the time. My men found the jacket minutes ago.” Jensen flexed his legs.
“If anyone could have made it through the gauntlet, my money’s on Kincaid.”
“I’ll have my team check, but the lasers would’ve killed anyone before he got to the top.” Jensen picked up his portable field telephone and started issuing instructions.
Colonel David Ramsey entered the tent, strode up to Dean, and saluted. “Security precautions satisfactory?”
“Yes, excellent.” Dean bit his lip. Ramsey knew damn well they were. It had taken considerable trouble getting to the project.
“Is there anything else you need?”
“Yes. There’s a chance Doctors William Kincaid and Leonard Nelson may have escaped from the complex.”
“Sabotage?”
“No, but they may be infected with deadly viruses.”
“Want us to find them?”
“Roger. Kincaid keeps a canoe a mile from here. See if your soldiers can find him, Nelson or their canoe.”
“What’s the virus?”
“Viruses. Consider them hot, very hot. Use deadly force if necessary.”
“Sir, under the Posse Comitatus Act, soldiers of the U.S. Army cannot hunt down fugitives.”
“Who’s in charge?”
“You are.” Ramsey came to parade rest. “It’s time to bring in the CDC.”
“Do as I say or I’ll relieve you from command.”
“My personnel could restrain or stop anyone who’s a threat to the project.”
“I don’t care what mental gymnastics you use.” Dean turned away. “Do it.”
Questions passed through his mind. If Kincaid had survived and he’d been infected with viruses, it meant he could contaminate others. It could mean illegally rounding up at least a hundred Alaskans. To save his career, he’d have to take extreme measures. Dean sent his runner to bring Agent Chapman.
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