“Put out an APB. Continue to investigate.”
“This is a case for the FBI.”
“Don’t worry. Believe me, they’ll be involved.”
“Kincaid may have left the state, which means Cindy Dean is already dead.” Chapman stepped forward.
Sable held up a hand. “We have a handle on it.”
Chapter 19
The next morning Sable stared across his office at his bookcase. Rows of well-worn law books lined the shelves along with dark blue binders containing a complete set of state regulations. He turned his attention back to the official file on Cindy Dean. Unfortunately, he couldn’t put his suspicions in the file. Sable took a controlled breath and glanced at Dean, who fidgeted and squirmed slightly. To increase the tension, Sable purposely had refrained from speaking. Hitting the intercom button, he said, “Please bring General Dean a cup of coffee with extra cream and sugar.” Double sugar—a habit his inquiry had picked up.
Dean frowned but said nothing.
“Right away, sir,” Beth Arnold said. “Is there anything before I go to the doctor? Coffee?”
“Sure, thanks.”
Dean looked directly at Sable.
Sable coughed and cleared his voice. “We’re seeing a lot of each other lately. I’m sorry it’s under these circumstances.”
“Thank you.”
“I’d like you to know we’ll be working with the FBI to get your wife back.” Sable kept his face passive.
Dean maintained solid eye contact, but then shifted his gaze to the awards and citations on the wall. “Have you made any progress?” he asked, his voice dripping with concern.
“No. Can you think of any reason Dr. Kincaid would kidnap your wife or steal government documents?”
“Not really.”
“Oh?”
“These sci—analysts, eggheads is a better description. They’re mentally unstable.”
“Really?”
“Yes. Kincaid presented a major disciplinary problem, didn’t meet the job standards, and was being fired.” Dean handed Sable a manila envelope.
“What’s this?” Sable unfastened the brad and pulled several sheets from it. He sensed Dean’s underlying dislike for him. Well, the feeling was mutual.
“Counseling documents accumulated over the last year. You’ll note he’s signed each.”
“Interesting.” Sable scanned the documents. Each signature was a reasonable facsimile, but they weren’t Bill’s.
“Why do you say that?”
“According to FBI and DIS background files, Dr. Kincaid’s classified as a very stable security risk.”
“Their files aren’t up-to-date.”
“In fact, the fort’s personnel office shows all his previous performance appraisals were exceptional.”
“The changes hadn’t been posted to those records yet.”
“I see. Why would a small post like Fort Greely need a chemist with his qualifications?”
Beth entered the office with the coffee. “Anything else?”
“No, thanks.” Dean gave Beth an unconscious once over.
Sable savored the aroma first, cradled the cup, and then took a sip, watching Dean’s movements. “The question?”
“Oh, yes. On occasion, Arctic Warrior tests chemical and conventional munitions.” Dean sipped his coffee and held the cup poised in his hand. “They test all sorts of Army equipment against the Alaskan environment.”
“How is it I haven’t heard of this Arctic Warrior?”
“Mostly classified. Our project oversees these tests and provides a chemical analysis of the rounds before and after firings.” Dean’s right eye twitched nervously.
“May I keep these?” Sable gestured to the statements.
“Sure, they’re copies.”
“You mentioned Dr. Kincaid had a performance problem. Why did it take so long for his supervisor to take action?”
“You know personnel offices require evidence.”
“Then why didn’t they have any record of suspensions or reprimands?”
“I’m not sure, I’ll check with my assistant and get back with you.”
“Then the supposition could be drawn Kincaid kidnapped your wife for revenge.”
“You’re making the assumption, not me. The evidence—”
“Well, runs contrary to what I found.”
“Are you doubting my word?”
“No, but then why didn’t Major Johnson know about Kincaid’s performance issues?” Sable lifted his cup, ran his finger around the rim, and took a swallow. “He said Kincaid’s work was going extremely well.”
Dean sipped his coffee slowly.
“You haven’t answered the question.” Sable kept his unblinking stare leveled at Dean.
Dean’s eye twitched again. “Major Johnson is not the direct supervisor of any of the scientists and was not up-to-date on his performance.”
“It’s strange your assistant director doesn’t have his hand on the pulse of the organization.” Sable put his coffee aside and opened his computer. It whirred and warmed up.
“I refuse to answer any more questions on Kincaid. I’d never have suspected him if I hadn’t seen the letter.”
“A plant by someone wanting revenge. Someone placed the letter the wrong side up in the tray and the printer drum’s residue electrostatic impression held a letter to the utility company.”
“A plant?”
“Slick, but whoever tried to fake the evidence made a fatal mistake. They copied it onto his hard drive last night.” Sable selected his processing program, the Dean file, and typed some notes.
“How can you tell?”
“The computer time log reflects the time copied and the word processor shows an earlier creation time, although they were on the hard drive.” Sable hunched forward over the desk.
“Then it has to be Nelson.”
“Nelson’s fingerprints weren’t on the computer and his computer’s in for repair.”
“Then it has to be Blackston?”
“Judge Carl Blackston?”
“None other.”
“Now, why do you think it’s him?”
“Last night, I found out he and my wife were having an affair.”
“Who told you this?”
“I received an anonymous phone call from one of her friends.”
“Convenient.”
“What do you mean? Look, I don’t like your attitude or having my word doubted. If necessary, you’ll be taking statements from my lawyer.” Dean wiped his forehead with a handkerchief, his eyes flashing angrily.
“Anytime you wish, though you’re not under suspicion. I’m trying to get to the bottom of this case.”
“So you say.”
“I am investigating the kidnapping, and maybe, the murder of your wife.” Sable leaned back in his chair, trying to maintain his facade. “Some questions may get pointed. It’s the nature of the investigation. You want us to find your wife, don’t you?”
“Of course.” Dean started to stand, but the trooper motioned for him to sit.
“I’m not finished. Now back to this ‘affair’ Judge Blackston was having with your wife. He called me early this morning with an interesting story—”
“Story?”
“Could you tell me your side?”
“Nothing more than you already know. I called the judge with the aid of Defense Investigative Service Agent Chapman for a warrant to search Kincaid’s house.”
“Really? He said you threatened blackmail. He said you had explicit photographs of him and Cindy.”
“Wrong. He’s lying to cover his ass.”
“Why would he?”
“You can check with Agent Chapman. He’ll back me up. Nothing happened.”
“Count on it.”
“If you talk to the judge again, you might remind him such statements border on defamation.” Dean seemed to regain his composure.
“A few more questions and we’ll be done,” Sable said. “Fi
rst, why were you and the military in on the search of Kincaid’s house?”
“Because of stolen documents.”
“You’ve no law enforcement authority to be involved in the search of a civilian dwelling and neither does the military.”
“I am ultimately responsible for the security of my project at Fort Greely and the agents work directly for me.”
“I see. How is it the DIS is involved in the theft of a couple of secret documents? Also, why and how did they respond so quickly to this incident?”
“Those questions involve classified information and I believe we’re through for now. Next time, my lawyer will be with me,” Dean snarled, jumping to his feet.
Sable felt the anger creep into his voice, but he forced himself to remain calm. “We are through when I say we are. I still haven’t decided if I’m going to hold you and the agents for the murder of Dr. Nelson. And the next time we see each other, you’ll need your lawyer. Now we’re through.”
“I’m innocent. So don’t threaten me or I’ll have your badge for harassment.”
“You can try.”
“You should be out there trying to catch Kincaid or Blackston.”
“Kincaid was framed and Blackston has an iron-clad alibi.”
Dean spun on his heel and strode from the office.
* * * *
Dean entered the command post. He shivered. The makeshift room was almost as cold as it had been earlier in the morning. He had a bitter taste in his mouth from the interview. Though the evidence appeared planted, Dean’d still outsmarted the backwoods hick. Right now, he had bigger problems—how to reconstruct Arctic Warrior. If he didn’t have the project operational soon, the Secretary of the Army would find someone else to replace him. And he didn’t want to think about that.
A specialist hit a switch and the Yukon stove roared to life, metal rattling. Dean found Johnson and Caldwell pouring over blueprints. He leaned over their shoulders. “What’s the body count?”
“It’s not as bad as we thought.” Johnson paused. “Twenty so far.”
Dean seated himself at the table. “Word on Kincaid?”
“None, but I have other bad news.”
“What is it?” Dean pulled up a chair and pulled out a cigarette.
“When we told the scientists the project would be shut down because of the accident and we needed them to help with the clean up, they all either quit or retired.” Johnson tapped out a cigarette from his pack and lit it.
“Tell them we have contracts.”
“I did. Most of them told me to shove it up my ass and other disagreeable innuendos.”
“Send in federal marshals to remind them.”
“I already did. They reminded the marshals that civilian employees can quit any time without notice.”
“How’s the clean-up?”
“Well ahead of schedule—only a couple of days more and we can start rebuilding.”
“Good. Cremate the bodies. We can’t detoxify them.”
“Did they have families?”
“Some do, but our main problem is Kincaid.”
“Is my conference room ready?” Dean asked.
“Briefing in thirty minutes; principle players—DIS and Gamma Force.”
* * * *
The military personnel and civilians stood when Dean entered the room. Large, cushioned, executive chairs bordered the long oaken table that took up most the conference room. As he selected one and sat, he noted his eyes felt gritty. “Take your seats,” Dean said. “Now what do you have on Kincaid?”
“Nothing,” Johnson said.
“You’re joking.”
“No, sir.”
“Reports of strange illnesses?”
“None.” Chapman stood. My men have checked all the clinics, gas stations, and restaurants on the roads from here to the Canadian border, to Anchorage and to Fairbanks. Nothing.”
“Airlines and trains?”
“Nada.”
“Charters, friends, or relatives?”
“Ditto.”
“I don’t know if you realize, but this is a major catastrophe. Kincaid can spread the virus throughout Alaska in a matter of days.”
“He has to be dead.”
“It’s too much to hope for. If he’s dead, I want the body. Also, bring in anyone he’s been in contact with.”
“You can’t do that, sir.” Ramsey stood. “The public has a constitutional right to due process. Only the CDC can intervene.”
“Don’t tell me what I can or can’t do.” Dean snapped a pen in half and slammed his fist on the table. “With the government, there is no such thing!”
“Tell me about that car that was at Kincaid’s. Why did he have that woman’s car?”
“I’m following it up.”
“Keep me updated.”
When the meeting broke up, Dean pulled Chapman aside. “Have you taken care of the Sable problem?”
“He’s been neutralized, permanently.” Chapman chuckled and walked away.
“Oh,” Dean called after him, “get Nelson’s body.”
Chapman turned. “Right now, the trooper detachment’s like Fort Knox.”
“I’m sure they’ll be busy after Sable’s been eliminated.”
Chapter 20
Outside Tok, two men in a dark sedan with white government plates pulled into a gas station and parked opposite the gas pumps. Both slid out of the vehicle and approached the attendant on duty.
“What can we do fer yuh, gentlemen?” the man asked, as he appraised the two men in suits. They looked as out of place in Tok as a reindeer herd in the Mojave.
“We hoped you could help us.”
“Well, gas and service is what we’re here fer. Yuh need gas?”
“Just information.” The shorter of the two flashed his badge and held a picture in front of the young man’s face. “I’m Defense Investigative Service Agent Chapman. Have you seen this man? He’d have passed through here on either Saturday or Sunday, driving a red Blazer.”
“What do you want him fer?”
What now? CIA, FBI, DIS, XYZ.
He thought of the fancy badges he’d seen in Anchorage. With the badges and a good print job, he could put together an identification like theirs.
“Questions concerning a kidnapping.”
“Sorry, I’s never see’d him before in m’life. Besides we’ve been closed for the last few days.” He shrugged his shoulders and ran his fingers through his silky, white hair.
“Where’s the old-timer who owns the station? Maybe he’s seen this guy.”
“Nope! My Grandpappy up and died a couple of weeks ago. I’m the owner now.” He kept his face somber. “Sorry, I couldna helped yuh. How about lett’n me check yer oil or wash your windows. It’s on the house.”
“No, but if you see him, please call us.” The lead agent handed him a business card.
“Yuh got it.”
As the agents drove off, the young man ripped up the card and threw the fragments into the trash can. He smiled broadly and thought aloud, “Nope, I’d never turn him in. Not in a mill’on years. Specially after the present he gave me an’ my missus.” Though it had been tough going, it was great to be forty-five years younger.
Chapter 21
“I’ve taken care of Sable.” Chapman pulled a seat up to Dean’s desk. He looked at the clock on the wall. It was three p.m.
“Then he’s dead?” Dean looked up and saw the flap of the tent flutter and he felt the cool welcome of the breeze’s touch.
“No, but he soon will be.” Chapman pulled a half-empty pack of cigarettes from his pocket, tapped a cigarette out and offered one to Dean.
“You certain?”
“Yeah.”
“Thanks.” Dean smiled then pulled out his gold-plated lighter. “Are there any problems?”
“No. Only his house is loaded with C-4.”
“There’s no chance of a screw up?”
“Not a chance. There won’t be a sliver l
eft of his cabin or him.” Chapman took a deep drag, savoring the taste. “I even took care of his dog.”
“You killed his dog?” Dean came out of his chair, his hands slamming on the desk.
“Don’t get excited. It was only a mutt.”
“You’re lucky I still need your help.”
“Or what?” Chapman stood and leaned toward Dean.
“Or else.” Dean slipped his hand to his holster. “Don’t you ever kill another animal, especially a dog.”
Chapman’s hand went to his pistol. “Don’t ever threaten me. You can’t afford it. I’ve taped all our conversations. If something happens to me the tapes will go straight to the Feds.”
* * * *
Sable stepped from the cruiser, breathed in the fresh air and stretched—he’d had no sleep since the day before yesterday, but it was good to be home, even if it was only for lunch. A small yard of neatly trimmed grass and weeds surrounded the cabin. “I’m glad you came along to keep me awake.”
“It’ll be great to taste some home cooking.” Sergeant Thomas braced himself with his cane and hobbled from the vehicle.
“Oh, I didn’t tell you. I’m cooking.” Sable rolled his shoulders, rotated his neck, and ambled up the path. A cool breeze brushed his face. “I sent Amy and Bobby to Taku. They’re staying with my parents.”
“Smart move—especially after what happened last night.” Thomas’ shoes crunched over the gravel.
“I think I have it under control.” Sable placed his hand on the doorknob, put the key in the lock and stopped. Something didn’t seem right.
“Something wrong, Sable?”
“King’s not here?” Sable started to twist the knob, then released the tension.
“Maybe he’s got a girlfriend.”
“He doesn’t.” Sable stepped down from the porch. “Here King, here boy.” Something was definitely wrong.
“He could be inside asleep.”
“He has hearing like radar.” Sable walked to the front room window and looked past a taffeta curtain.
“See him?”
Blocks of plastic lined the door, each attached to an interlinking wire. “Call Masters and tell him to get Gangstad. We need him to defuse a bomb.” Sable pulled his gun and gestured for Thomas to do the same. “Dean’s raised the stakes.”
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