“I’m on it.”
“I’m going around back.” Sable brought his gun up to a forty five-degree angle and slid up against the wall.
“Wait for me.”
“They’re gone.”
“Be careful anyway.”
Sable picked his way around the bushes, his heart racing. When he got to the kitchen door, he moved around it, moved to the nearest window and looked in. Again, wires were plugged into large, tan blocks. He leaned up against the logs. The scent of freshly dug earth filled his nostrils and he peered to the right at his garden, where lumps of soil formed a four by two foot cairn. A bent paw, King’s paw, jutted from the dirt.
“Rotten bastards,” he said. He promised himself Dean and his men wouldn’t escape.
After Gangstad cleared out the explosives, Sable sent Thomas home. Masters joined Sable in the front room.
“Dean really wants you dead,” Master said.
“No shit. He doesn’t care who gets in the way either.” Sable slid back in his easy chair. “What can you tell me?”
Masters closed his notebook and placed it in his breast pocket. “There was enough Army C4 to have sent your cabin into orbit.”
“Fingerprints?”
“All over it. They must have figured all the evidence would be destroyed in the blast.”
“Want to bet it’s Huey and Louie?” Sable asked.
“Who?”
“Chapman and Strickland. Their fingerprints will be in AFIS.”
“What are we going to do?”
“They’ve pushed one button too many. Let’s go on the offensive.” Sable rose from the chair.
“Illegal stuff? Need help?”
“Thought you’d never ask. Normally, I don’t do this, but extreme conditions require—”
“Extreme measures.”
“Let’s dig up what we can find on this general.”
“His house, of course.”
A quarter mile from Dean’s house, Sable pulled off onto a side road and parked in the trees. “From here we go on foot.”
“Why do you think he killed his wife?” Masters followed Sable into a copse of alder and birch.
As they dodged fallen logs and branches, Sable outlined his unauthorized surveillance of Dean and his meeting with the Agent Conner, who he now guessed was dead. They found a small path that wound through the maze of roots and branches. When they reached the edge of the trees, Sable studied the area. A large, white ranch-style house with brown trim was surrounded by a neat yard with hedges. “Nice of him to leave it unattended.”
“Very nice.” Masters unsnapped his holster. “He must be making big bucks.”
“He has them, too. It started with insurance payments,” Sable said and crossed the lawn toward the rear of the house. He pulled out two sets of surgical gloves and handed one to Masters.
“Smash a window? Make it look like a burglary.”
“No, let’s not tip our hand yet.” Sable pulled a gun pick from his pocket, showed it to Masters and sidled up to the back door. First he ran a nail file around the crack of the door to check for an alarm.
“You were planning this?”
“Not today, but—” Using the pick, Sable grunted, heard the tumblers click and was in the house in a matter of seconds. “I knew I would have to resort to this sooner or later.”
“I know what we find can’t be used in court, but at least it might give us an idea how to nail the bastard.”
“We need to take care.” Sable looked in and saw the floor’s highly polished surface reflect the light. He slipped off his shoes and crept in.
“I’ll take the bedrooms.” Masters slipped on latex gloves. Sable followed suit.
“Find their photo albums, and if you stumble onto pictures of a motorcycle, bring them,” Sable said. “I’ll be in the den.”
As Sable entered the hallway, he felt as if he were in a military museum. Plaques, medals, and commendations lined the walls. In a glass trophy case lay several pistols backed by yellow fabric. An outline showed a missing .38, probably the weapon that had killed Cindy. It was the small things that would get Dean.
Military history books and war novels lined a massive shelf which filled an entire den wall. Mahogany paneling, reminiscent of a museum, darkened the room. There were several large easy chairs, and at the far end of the room was the computer. Sable slid into the chair behind the monitor, turned on the computer and nodded to himself. Slowly but surely things were coming together. The system was the same as Bill’s. The password block flashed. Sable scanned the desk for a hiding place. He turned over a paperweight with an eagle insignia but found nothing. He tried several other objects but still came up empty. Finally, he turned over the keyboard and found written on a piece of taped paper the word “A7RMYX.” He let out a sigh and typed in the password. The machine beeped and the screen said, “Incorrect password.” He hoped he wouldn’t have to pull the battery to reinitialize the system. He typed in Dean’s initials along with the password and it booted up.
“Look what I found.” Masters entered the room and placed two photographs next to the computer.
“Gotcha,” Sable said. In one picture Dean posed with a helmet under his arm next to the motorcycle and in the other, Dean straddled the same Harley. “If I were a murderer, where would I dump a bike where no one would look?”
“In the Clearwater,” they said almost simultaneously.
“Look in the drawers and see if you can find an envelope.” Sable selected the word processor from the menu.
“What for?”
“The young informant Annie,” Sable said. “You know, Ms. ‘Annie Nomis’ who is going to send us the photographs in the mail.” Sable reviewed the document file. Titles covered military and business subjects. As he scanned down the list, his gaze came to rest on a file called “kill.doc”.
“Sure enough,” Masters said. “I’ll use water for gluing the stamp and flap so there will be no DNA trace.”
Sable selected the document. “Bingo, the kidnap letter.”
Car tires crunched tires on gravel and echoed through the house.
“It’s time to leave,” Masters said, “posthaste.”
Chapter 22
“A statewide manhunt is being conducted by authorities for the kidnapper of Cindy Ann Dean. Early Sunday morning, 28-year old Mrs. Dean, of Delta Junction, was driving to Fairbanks when she was kidnapped. The kidnapper has been tentatively identified as Dr. William Ray Kincaid, a longtime Alaska resident, graduate of Alaska Pacific University and presently employed at Fort Greely. No reason has been given for the kidnapping and details surrounding the incident are still under investigation. Anyone with information should call our hotline.” The radio announcer paused, then said, “This is KWZT with the evening news. More news at nine.”
Sable turned off the radio and cursed himself for having to leak the fake investigation on Bill. The aroma of perking coffee spread through the office from the break room. As he entered it, it somehow seemed smaller. Before he could pour himself a cup of coffee, his personal cell phone buzzed. He pulled it from a belt case and popped it open. It was Lee.
“It’s your dime,” Sable said.
“We’re on speaker phone with Jon and Becky.”
“How’s the patient?”
“Alive, kicking, and cantankerous as ever,” Becky said.
“You’d never recognize him,” Lee said.
“He’s ten years younger,” Becky said. “It’s a side effect of the viruses.”
“Then I need to come over right away—bring in the CDC.”
“We have it under control,” Jon said.
“But we’re not sure if he was contagious or what the gestation period is,” Becky said. “Bringing in the CDC will draw unwanted attention.”
“I thought we lost him for several minutes,” Lee chimed in. “His heart stopped and Becky wasn’t able to revive him.”
“I pronounced him dead, but his heart began beating after ten minutes
,” Becky said. “I thought his brain’d be mush. It wasn’t.”
“Keep yourselves quarantined from the rest of the village. And find a place to hide that’s far away from the village.”
Jon interrupted. “Let’s get to it. Why’s Bill involved in a kidnapping?”
“He’s not.”
“But the radio said he is,” Lee said. “He’s been here all the time since Saturday.”
“I know.” Sable gave them a quick overview. “For now, there’s nothing I can do but play along.”
“There’s got to be something we can do,” Lee said.
“Let me handle it,” Sable said and paused. “I have some bad news—”
“Red’s dead,” Becky said softly. “I heard it on the radio.”
“A general gone awry, killed his wife and trying to frame Bill.”
“Damn,” Jon said. “What can we do to help?”
“Give the press the truth about Bill and then get lost.” Sable’s voice became hard. “Now.”
“Bill can leave and we’ll stay,” Becky said. “In fact, I’ll be glad when he leaves.”
“Whoa. Listen to Bill’s side of the story. He never cheated on you,” Sable said, and with the phone in the crick of his neck, he poured himself the cup of coffee he needed so badly.
“So you say.” Becky’s voice was sharp and combative.
“Becky, enough,” Jon said then paused. “So, Robert, you think General Dean will send in investigators to apprehend Bill.”
“Dean wouldn’t dare waltz into our village,” Lee said.
“Though I agree, I wouldn’t put anything past the rotten bastard,” Sable said and continued, “even quarantining the village.”
“The premonition,” Jon said.
“Whose?” Sable asked.
“You remember Dan-e-wåk’s,” Jon said.
“After what I’ve seen so far, I’d heed Dan-e-wåk’s advice.”
“We’ll consider it,” Becky said.
Chapter 23
Dean stooped and picked up the morning edition of the Anchorage Tribune from the steps. He had it flown in each day from Anchorage. He stopped when he saw the headlines announcing his most dreaded fear—“SECRET ARMY RESEARCH PROJECT HIDDEN NEAR FORT GREELY. Leading Scientist Framed as Part of a Secret Cover Up,” he read under the banner. Everything he’d worked for—his job, his plans, were in jeopardy. Dean slammed his fist on the door. He forced himself to continue reading while feeling the heat rise in his face. His muscles grew tenser with each word. He turned and threw the newspaper across the room, then rushed to the phone. With each ring, he gnashed his teeth.
“Arctic Warrior. Major Johnson speaking. May I help you?”
“We’ve got problems. Kincaid’s spilled the beans to the Anchorage Tribune.”
“Damn. How in the hell did he get past us?”
“Not sure. Have the DIS locate the following people: Jon George, Rebecca Ann Stone, and Denali Elizabeth McNeal. When we find those people, we’ll find Kincaid. Isolate them before the press or troopers get to them.”
“The damage has been done, but we can try to contain it. Have Ramsey and the DIS in the conference room at zero nine hundred.”
“WILCO.”
The other end of the phone was quiet for several seconds.
“Do you want me to notify the SECDEF?”
“No, we need to eliminate any loose ends before he finds out.”
The doorbell rang incessantly. Then thuds reverberated from the door. “I’ve got to go,” he said.
When Dean looked out his front window, he saw several police cars in the driveway. An officer was at the door. Though he couldn’t recognize the man from the back, he knew him. The doorbell rang again, followed by several more thuds.
After Dean opened the door, he faced Sable and several other policemen. “What the hell do you want?”
“This is not a social visit.” Sable pulled a folded sheaf of papers from his pocket.
“I told you I wouldn’t talk to you without a lawyer.” Dean folded his arms. “Now leave.”
“You can call your attorney if you like.” Corporal Sable appeared unruffled. “And tell him I have a warrant to search your house.”
“And on what grounds?” Dean stepped aside in acquiescence, motioning for Sable to enter. His mind quickly searched for any detail he hadn’t thought of. He’d hidden the boots at the project.
“We had an anonymous tip you framed Dr. Kincaid,” Sable said. He then turned and gave directions to his men.
“This is ridiculous. I’ll have your badge for this.”
“Go for it.” Sable’s men spread out into the house and started their search.
Dean clutched his fists and felt his jaw become a fine line of muscle.
Dean stalked to the phone, fists clenched at his side. He called his attorney, then rushed to his den to see what Sable was up to.
Sable looked over Masters’ shoulder. “Well, what do we have here?” Sable asked. “The same brand of computer and printer as Kincaid’s.”
Masters smirked.
“Coincidence. Kincaid and I bought the same brand from the PX. It’s all they carry, so what?”
“And at the same time and same place,” Sable said. “I checked with the store.”
Sable lifted a sheet of paper to the light. “Interesting, the kidnap note was on the same type of paper down to the water mark.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Sable watched Dean holding his breath. “And we found only one sheet at Dr. Kincaid’s—the kidnap note.”
“I’m not a cop, so it doesn’t sound suspicious to me.”
“Each printer has it own signature, striations, smudging, etc.” Sable proceeded to outline the procedures of image processing on a printer’s drum.
“So?” Dean raised an eyebrow.
“We’ve tested his printer and the letter wasn’t done on it.”
“That’s your problem.”
“No, it’s yours.”
Masters turned on the computer and the password block popped up. “Could we have your password please?”
“Get it from my lawyer.”
Masters typed in the word he’d used the other day.
Sable watched Dean as the menu popped up.
Dean shrugged. “It’s no skin off my nose if you go through my computer files.”
When Masters accessed the document directory, Sable scanned the list. The file was missing. He went to DOS, found the deleted file and retrieved it. “Take the computer and printers with us.”
“Bullshit,” Dean said. “What do you need them for?”
“To check for deleted files. Because they’re deleted doesn’t mean they’re gone,” Sable said. “Yes, everything’s falling nicely into place.”
“I don’t know what you’re getting at.” Dean maintained a poker face. “Why are you telling me this?”
“To let you know we’re on to you.”
“Do you recognize these?” Sable pulled copies of the motorcycle picture out of a file folder.
“Posing with a friend’s motorcycle,” Dean said without hesitation. “Where’d you get them?”
“Someone sent us these in the mail.”
“Sable.” Mason limped into the den. “We’ve got a good casting of motorcycle tire tracks in the yard.”
“If there are any questions, ask my lawyer,” Dean snarled.
“Don’t worry; we will.”
Chapter 24
Arctic Warrior was partially back in business. Though Dean’s stomach churned, he ran his hands calmly over the smoothly polished conference table, then, cupping them with his thumb underneath, he ran his fingers outward from the center. He sighed. They’d never find the body. He pushed himself back in his chair, looking expectantly for Colonel Ramsey to march through the door. He glanced at his watch. “Have you found anything new?” Dean asked.
“Yes.” Chapman turned on the projector and motioned to have the lights dimmed. A square of white light illumina
ted the screen. “Our best intelligence places Kincaid in the village of Kanashig.”
“Startling revelation. I saw it in the morning newspaper. Tell me something significant, like, you have them in custody?”
“No, we’re observing the situation.”
“Have you lost your mind? Each minute he’s free, he’s a danger to the project.”
“Don’t worry. No one can leave the village without going through us.”
“Okay, continue.”
“This is Dr. Denali Elizabeth McNeal, an Arctic research biologist.” He clicked to the first slide. The reproduction was of a black and white photograph worn with age. “Her uncle Jon George lives in Kanashig.”
Chapman clicked on a more recent slide. McNeal posed in a dark brown pants suit in front of what Dean surmised was the Arctic Wildlife Center. “She is forty three, unmarried, has several Ph.D.s, and, until recently, was the director of the Mount McKinley Arctic Wildlife Research Center.”
“The same center we hired from?” Dean gripped the edge of the table when Ramsey walked in, brushed dust from his uniform, and sat. Ramsey’s executive officer, Major Wheeler, followed closely behind.
“Now, where does she work?”
“She’s unemployed.”
Another slide depicted McNeal in front of test tubes, beakers, flasks, and condensing columns. “Recent funding cuts curtailed her research project.”
“Move along,” Dean said.
Click. A petite brunette with freckles and light green eyes came to the screen. “McNeal’s friend is Rebecca Ann Stone. Mrs. Stone is a physician’s assistant for the village.”
“Okay, so why is she involved?”
“This is where it gets interesting. Rebecca Stone is an ex-girlfriend of Dr. Kincaid.”
“Now, I’d say the odds are against it.”
“He must have gone to her for help.”
“You’ve cut the phone lines?”
“Yes.”
“Make sure they stay down!”
“Any sign of Kincaid?”
“We think he’s staying at Jon George’s in Kanashig, but I’ve got a piece of information that’ll make your day.”
“Don’t hold us in suspense.”
“Sable’s friends with Kincaid, Nelson, and George.”
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