Death & Other Lies

by Carol L. Ochadleus

  The agents shot quick looks at each other and nodded toward the door. Once outside, they both lit a cigarette taking a moment to form their opinions.

  “I don’t know about you, but I believe the guy,” Special Agent Brent Baggins said slowly, the smoke curling above his head.

  “Yeah, well maybe he’s telling the truth, and maybe he isn’t, I’m not sure yet,” his partner Special Agent Diabeque nodded. “Just how much can we give him to whet the pump?”

  “I’m not sure, but I’ll check with the inspector and see what she wants us to do. All we know is the Intel division said his name has bounced all over the internet about the possible attack here in London. He’s involved somehow, so he’s not going anywhere soon. Unless the home office wants us to let him go to track his movements. Still, I can’t figure how an American geek like him is involved with a terror group like Khourmy’s thugs. Just doesn’t fit the profile.”

  “Can’t say, but I know home is sweating bullets about this latest warning. Pretty sure something big is coming, and they don’t have a clue what it is. They want us to follow every lead, especially him.”

  Agent Baggins shrugged his curly brown head toward the room in which Matt sat. “Intel doesn’t have much to go on, and they think this guy has something.”

  “Yeah, I hope they are right, but if you ask me, we’d be better off spending our time taking the guy to the pub, maybe a few pints would loosen him up. He’s wrapped up tighter than your queen’s private laundry. Know what I mean?”

  “Here now, don’t go poking fun at the Mum. She’s not to blame for letting terrorists into the Isles. Them blokes in Parliament need a few lessons in counter-espionage. If they’d loosen those purse strings a bit, we’d have a better network for catching the crud in our fair land before they can get a foothold and run amok all over England and Europe. You’re just jealous anyway; you don’t have any royalty where you’re from.”

  “Nope, you’re right, we don’t have royalty, but we’re not supporting some gem-studded free-loaders by our tax dollars either.”

  “Hey, watch your mouth, our royals earn their keep, and we’re proud to be a part of their heritage. Your country’s been overrun with dictators and the economy is in the loo, who are you to talk about what’s right or wrong.” The argument was an old one between the two agents and was picking up steam once again. If not overheard by Inspector Dare, it would probably have continued as in the past, long after their day’s duty ended and wound up with them at the pub battling it out with their fellow drinkers.

  Tricia Dare heard the rising voices and stuck her head out of her office. “Any progress with the guy in the holding room?” she asked pointedly.

  “Naw, we’re just taking a break to figure out the next move,” Agent Baggins answered her. “How much info does the home office want us to give him?” he asked quickly, trying to smooth over the pissed look on the Inspector’s face.

  “Tell him only what you have to, but get him to talk, and do it now, gentlemen! Your politics can wait.” Her tone was crisp, and there was no missing her ire.

  Both agents quickly snuffed out their cigarettes and headed back in to work on Matt. “You want to be the good cop this time, or can I?” Baggins asked his partner.

  “Naw, you always blow the role, let me do it.”

  THE NAME ON THE CALLER ID on his phone threw Phil for a moment. Jan Gabor didn’t ring any bells. Better let it go to voicemail, he thought. As he played the message back, the sound of a woman’s voice pricked a distant memory. “Hi Phil, this is your cousin Janet from Nevada. I had some trouble finding you, so my news is a bit late. Please give me a call as soon as you can. It’s important ... about your brother Eddy.” She left her number and hung up with a “toodles.”

  New name, he thought. She must have gotten married again. How many was it, four or five husbands? Phil was curious about her message, but after giving it some thought, he figured his lazy, worthless brother was probably in debt to his cousin, and if he called her back, she was going to try and put the squeeze on him to bail Eddy out. No way, thank you. Let the little shit wiggle out of a mess on his own for a change. All of his life, Mom babied Eddy until the day she died. Always saving his ass. Maybe if she had paid as much attention to me as she did Eddy, she would have seen which was the better son and put the asshole in a home and forgotten him. But nooo, it was always “Eddy this and Eddy that, and Phil, be nice to your brother, he has difficulties.” Yeah, he has difficulties alright, he’s a damn screwed up little shit, Phil thought again, and he wasn’t about to waste his hard-earned money trying to help him.

  After all, he was already doing more than enough for the little shit. After he got his money from Zand, he would give Eddy a few bucks to keep him happy for a while.

  It was two days later when he received a second message from Jan.

  “Phil, I haven’t heard from you, and I hate to break the news to you like this about Eddy, but there’s been an accident. It’s important you call me.”

  “GOD DAMN LITTLE RODENT, I can’t believe he went and got himself drowned,” Phil ranted to the ceiling. “What a piss-ant.” No sentimental emotion softened Phil’s outburst. After learning of his brother’s death, Phil was surprised but not shocked to learn what had befallen his only sibling. “Stupid asshole, what the hell was he thinking by trying to break into a casino. I told him to stay out of trouble; I had a deal in the works, and I would have shared it with him, but no, the jackass went and got himself killed.”

  When the initial impact of his brother’s death faded, a brick hit Phil in the back of the head. THE BIBLE!!! What happened to the fucking book and the computer chip? Oh hell, don’t I have enough problems? Now he’d have to fly out there to dig around in Eddy’s junk and find the damn book.

  Couldn’t life just once give me a break? “Stupid jerk,” Phil continued his tirade. “I give you something of great importance to hold for me, and you fuck it up as usual. If you weren’t dead already, I’d wring your neck myself,” Phil threatened the now decaying Eddy.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The reunion was emotional. Elizabeth had her girls back. It was several minutes before they settled down and complete sentences could be spoken. The tearful scene caught Ben like a punch to the gut. Not many things in his life ever affected him as much as this reunion. Three separate people clung to each other, but each knew they belonged to one another’s soul. Ben ached to move, to join the group hug and be a part of the energy in front of him but found himself frozen. Why hadn’t he realized it before now? He yearned for love and belonging. He wanted to be a part of a family, their family to be precise, to be a part of their private circle. This was not the time he knew, but one day soon, he would try to share his feelings with Elizabeth. There was no question he would have to go slow, but he hoped she could grow to feel for him what he finally admitted to himself he felt about her and her girls. He loved them all deeply and probably had for many years.

  Smiling, Ben quietly backed out of the room to give them time to be alone together. Life sure was mysterious; he practically whistled as he headed down the long hospital hall. One day he was content to spend his life committed to his career with his waning years spent listening to his favorite operas and watching the sun go down alone. The next, he was hoping to begin a new chapter with a new family. “Damn,” Ben said to himself, “life sure is crazy, but it can be good.”

  “MATT LETS GO OVER THIS one more time,” Agent Baggins slammed his hand down on the table, and the overhead tube-lights flickered in response to the release of energy. We know you are involved with a group of terrorists working out of London. Your name has popped up in conversations ricocheting all across Europe. We have picked up Intel planting you right in the midst of a terrorist attack, and we haven’t got time to play guessing games with you. It sure is mighty coincidental you happen to be in the Isles when we’re under attack and you just conveniently forgot it all. Talk to us, or you will never see your sweet little home acro
ss the pond again. What’s the plan, and where is it going down?”

  They went over, and over the same topic for hours, Matt had no idea what was going on or if he did have anything to do with it. While the façade he hoped he was maintaining would belie their accusations, deep inside his reeling mind, Matt’s greatest fear was in spite of what he believed to be true about himself, there was the possibility he was involved in some kind of terrorist activity and would spend the rest of his life in a London prison. What other explanation could there be for him even being in England?

  Agent Diabeque sat across from Matt and held his hand up to stop the attack from his partner. “Take it easy, Baggins. Can’t you see the guy is trying to help us? Look, Matt,” his palms up in a pleading gesture. “Interpol has known for some time something is in the planning stages, and all reports point to London as a target. There is chatter all over the Internet, and all agents watching known terrorist cells have reported a dramatic increase in activity in the last few days. Something big is brewing. It has been mentioned hundreds, and possibly thousands of people could be involved. Do you know anything that can help us?”

  The memory of Franny’s dire prediction and his unexplained nightmares kept playing over and over behind his eyes. Tell them! Tell them, his mind screamed until he thought they could hear the words themselves. Yes, but if I do, he reasoned to himself, and I am involved in something terrible, I could spend my life in prison ... and if I’m innocent how can I defend myself and prove to them I don’t remember anything. Outwardly Matt just stared at the table, unable to answer their questions or his own.

  Slowly he made a decision and started to speak, his words mesmerizing the two agents. “I had a dream,” he started in a low voice. “A nightmare really. Hundreds of people were stricken by something terrible. They were dropping to the ground and appeared to be in convulsions of some sort. I walked among them untouched by whatever evil knocked them down. They tried to plead for help, but no words came out, just their faces strained with the effort, and their bodies writhed in silence. I think it was in an airport ... it was a huge place, I couldn’t see the end of the room, and it seemed to go on forever.”

  “Heathrow!” both agents declared at once. “When is this going to happen?” Baggins asked slamming both hands on the table this time.

  “I don’t know. Honestly, I don’t. It was a dream, that’s all I can tell you. I don’t even know what I am doing there or why I would have such a horrible nightmare. I am telling you everything I can. If it helps you save people, use it, but it’s all I know.” Matt was getting hysterical with the pressure from inside his head and from the agents without. He threw his life on their mercy and hoped what he relayed to them would appease the evil humors in his mind, and he would be released from the pain crushing his skull.

  “Okay, calm down. You say it was a dream. Why do you think you would have such a dream?” Agent Diabeque asked, motioning to Agent Baggins to hand him Matt’s file.

  “Nothing, I have nothing more to give you,” Matt answered truthfully, the voices finally silenced in his head. The agent leafed through the reports. “We know you’re associated with a lab of some kind in the States. You’re a kind of scientist, right? Your name has been linked with some really bad people. Are you providing terrorists with biological warfare? Is that what you make? Are you working on a bio attack?”

  “No, of course not,” Matt shouted. “I can’t answer all those questions, but I know that’s not me. I just know it.”

  “Okay, Matt, talk to us about your work. How is it involved with the people in your dream; is it a bomb, a biological agent, a poison, viruses, or what? Talk to us Matt, people’s lives depend on it.”

  Agent Diabeque stepped out of the interrogation room to brief Inspector Dare on the small bit of information they gained. If they were right, and Heathrow was the target it would have to be closed and inspected from top to bottom for bombs or biological agents; though God knows how it could be accomplished in such a mammoth facility was beyond his knowledge. He was thankful it wasn’t his problem as he knocked on the inspector’s door.

  Inspector Dare listened intently as the agent relayed what they learned. She wasn’t, however, as convinced as her agents, the guy’s dream was a true premonition to be followed blindly, nor should they close down the largest and busiest airport in the world. The magnitude of such an undertaking made her head spin. Interpol would be the laughing stock of Europe if they went ahead with such a huge endeavor, on the sole basis of a dream, and it fizzled out.

  More than anything else, the inspector wanted to play this right. Not only was her entire career at stake, but if her beloved London was in jeopardy, the thought of anyone hurting its people was not acceptable. It was not going to happen on her watch if she could help it. But close down Heathrow? What if they were wrong and in error, they aimed a huge portion of their resources toward protecting the airport? Taking the focus off of other possible targets that would be left vulnerable. London was a large city with hundreds of sites bustling with activity. Heathrow, it was true, was busy and could easily have thousands of people passing through it in a day, but was that enough for terrorists to choose it as a target for their evil? In her long career in police work, the inspector had followed her gut on most occasions, and it usually worked out right. But she needed a lot more to go on than a nightmare and a hunch. Pacing within the confines of her small, cluttered office with its stacks of files and folders, she efficiently used her years of experience to come to a decision.

  “We must be extremely certain before we notify the Secret Service, London Police, or airport security that we have something more substantial than a dream,” the inspector said. “And, I don’t want word of this to leak to the local US Fed’s office. Even if he is American, they’ll muck up the waters. Just because this guy works in a lab isn’t enough to assume he has any role in a terrorist attack. Put out a notice, however, to increase surveillance of all international and domestic chatter targeting airports and Heathrow, laboratories, biological agents, etc. Got that?”

  Agent Diabeque nodded.

  “Anything else from him?” the inspector asked.

  “I honestly believe he is telling us what he remembers. He has no idea of what is going down. The hard part is trying to determine if his dream is merely a memory of something he doesn’t want to remember, or an overactive imagination where he wants to play a superhero.”

  “Well we can’t play psychiatrists all day, can we? Get with HSS and tap into every source you can.” The inspector jabbed her thumb toward the telephone on her desk, “and find out all you can about this guy, not just where he works, but what he does there. What does he work on? Get it all. Something tells me you may be on the right track, but if what you say about him is correct, we’re not going to get much more from him without more forceful encouragement. Get going and let me know what you find out. Time is of the essence, gentlemen. Tell Baggins I want to see him. Maybe we should put the guy in the back room and turn off the lights. If given a chance, he might have another enlightening dream for us.”

  For the first time in days, Matt felt relief. He had shared the dark images in his head with no idea where it would take him, and was yet to be determined, but at least for the moment, he felt good about the decision. Left alone in the small interrogation room, Matt mulled over the facts he had been given about his life and who he was. A scientist? Doing research? Well, that certainly surprised him, but, yeah, he could picture himself in a lab. Small bits of mental flotsam were floating before his mind’s eye. People, places, a small card and tinkling, sparkling glass. Like jigsaw puzzle pieces behind a thin sheer veil, they wove in and out, not staying long enough for identification of where they belonged in the picture, tantalizing him with a hint of the truth. It’s all in there. He knew it was. His world, his reality was still there in his head. But how much time was needed to get it out? Matt was ready to remember. He was on the brink. Good or evil, scientist or terrorist, he was ready to kn
ow it all.

  “Bring it on,” he said to himself, “bring it on.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Rashid Zand was hungry, and the waitress was nowhere in sight. Lazy American bitch. Angry at being kept waiting, Zand tried to control the turbulence inside himself. Allah was testing him again, he knew. He could hear Allah’s voice in his head. “Patience, my son. Your time for glory is coming. They will all know you.” Zand lowered his head, listening to the words of his master. Yes, they will soon know me. His lip curled up slightly in a half smile. Soon his name would be respected throughout the world. They would know of his deeds and his honor to Allah. If he could just complete his assignment soon and be gone from this stinking hell on earth.

  New York was teeming with humanity. People jostled him and pushed him around. No manners, no respect. He lived in this horrible country for years, and each day the stink of filthy Americans clung to him like fleas on a dog. Stupid people like Phil Forester, they are all stupid and greedy. These people, in this city, they should be the ones to die, he thought, as the thousands in 2001. Thousands more should perish ... but Allah had his ways, and it was not his place to question his leaders or their plans. He almost wished he would be able to dance and celebrate when their newspapers spread the word of his deeds, and these stupid infidels mourned and wailed.

  The young waitress arrived at his table and saw only a boyishly good-looking young man. He was not dressed in the typical attire of a sloppy college student. She thought him neat and clean-cut. Impressed he was not wearing jeans in shreds or a t-shirt emblazoned with cartoons or politics, she pushed a loose strand of hair back behind her ear and gave him her prettiest smile.