False Truth 7 (Jordan Fox Mysteries)

by Diane Capri

  When they made it back to the Jeep and restashed the equipment, she checked her phone—again. “I still haven’t heard back from my military contacts. I don’t know what to do. I’ve promised Patricia a story about drones in the military.”

  “You know you don’t have to turn it in for six today, right?” Drew never worried about anything, it seemed. He settled into the driver’s seat. He pulled the Jeep onto the road.

  “True. I have a little time.” Jordan checked her watch and her left leg bounced. “I could ask if we can run at eleven.”

  “That’s true too, but what I meant was, you don’t even have to turn it in today. At all. We’re interns. The producers don’t have your story listed in the rundown for either newscast. I checked.” Drew reached to the cup holder in front of him and took a long, casual sip from his water bottle. “Unless they ask you to turn a day-of story, which is not what Patricia asked you for, interns have the luxury of turning in a story whenever they get around to it.”

  Whenever they get around to it? Any journalist who takes the job seriously knows stories have deadlines for a reason—to inform the public as quickly as possible. Besides, Jordan didn’t have the same charm that Drew relied on. She needed points daily. “But I want to prove I’m way beyond student status. I’m here to treat this as a job, not like some field trip for a journalism class or something.” And I’m competitive and I need to beat you…

  Drew put the water bottle back. “Suit yourself.”

  His phone rang. “Yep. I’ll bring Jordan back to the station and then I’ll come find you. We should be back there in five minutes.”

  Great. She was getting dropped off like some kid. “What is it?”

  “Antonio.” Drew maneuvered the Jeep through the one way streets, timing all the traffic lights so they didn’t have to stop even once. “The desk has some assignment for us. He said he’d explain when we get back. So I’ll let you try to figure out what you want to do with your drone story from here.”

  Fine with her. She was tired of having Drew tag along on her story just because Antonio didn’t have anything exciting for them.

  Back in the newsroom, Jordan rounded the assignment desk to find Drew standing proud and glowing as he listened to Antonio, which was probably bad for her.

  “Good news?” She feigned a smile twice the size of her real one.

  Drew wiped the grin from his face, clearly trying to play it cool. “Antonio and I are gonna fly to Tallahassee next week to interview the governor.”

  Jordan’s stomach twisted, but she feigned enthusiasm. “That’s awesome! How come they’re flying you there? It’s only a four-hour drive.”

  Blasé Antonio took over, using his on-air reporter voice, “We’re flying with the governor. On his plane.” Antonio should feel important. This was a big deal. “It’s the only time he was available for an interview. When we get to Tallahassee, we’ll cover a march protesting state university tuition hikes.”

  Great. So while Drew was preparing to soar on a private plane, Jordan would be trying to figure out how to scramble out of this corner she’d backed herself into.

  She didn’t have phone numbers for her military contacts—just email. One of the men was retired, so calling MacDill Air Force Base wouldn’t help. And she knew the other man didn’t work weekends.

  Jordan slumped at a desk to think. The clock kept ticking and she came up with nothing. She splayed her hands and ran her fingers through her hair. Still nothing.

  She’d have to break down and call Theresa, who was out on some boring story about a noise ordinance violation. Jordan hated asking for help. Hated it with a passion. But in the end, she put success above pride and made the call.

  “Hey, sorry to bother you again.” This bass beat from high-powered speakers boomed in the background on Theresa’s end.

  “No worries, any distraction from this story is welcome,” Theresa shouted to be heard over the noise. “What’s up?”

  “Hang on.” Jordan didn’t want to shout her failures loud enough to be heard by Patricia and everybody in the whole newsroom. She hurried into the stairwell and dashed down the stairs and outside.

  The grey skies made the air feel heavy, but a quick glance around confirmed she was alone. “I’m trying to figure out a military contact I can talk to for my follow-up on the drone story. I just want them to say something about how drones are used in the military. They don’t need to give me classified information…”

  Theresa shouted back and Jordan strained to hear. “You should be able to find someone to speak vaguely on that topic at the very least. Nothing from your contacts?”

  “No,” Jordan said, her voice fading into hopelessness.

  “What?”

  She shouted, “No!”

  “Hang on. I’ll give you this woman’s email and phone number.” Jordan heard a car door close, then a quieter background, and finally, a rustling noise which indicated Theresa was rifling around in her bag for something. “You can email or call this Lieutenant Colonel in the Air Force. I’ve worked with her before. Margaret Succi. She’s done a couple of interviews on-camera with me once. I’m sure she’d be happy to help. I just sent you her number.”

  Jordan found a bench where the smokers often gathered and sat. “Are you sure? I didn’t want to burn any of your bridges by asking about sensitive topics. And on a weekend, at that.”

  Theresa must have stepped out of the vehicle because the booming speakers almost swallowed her next words. “Nah, they’re used to reporters being nosy. Go for it. Bye!”

  After Theresa hung up, the silence from Jordan’s phone seemed surreal.

  She emailed Lieutenant Colonel Margaret Succi using Theresa’s name and asking for an interview. Then she trudged back upstairs.

  When five minutes passed without a response, Jordan called her office. It was 3:55 p.m. Six o’clock was not gonna happen for this story. With any luck, Jordan had a chance of turning something for 11 tonight. But only if Succi came through. And soon.

  After ten minutes of sitting on hold and fidgeting and watching drone videos online, a human voice. Thank you, God.

  “Lieutenant Colonel Succi, can I help you?” The voice was pleasant, and matronly, and ever so welcome.

  Jordan explained her position at Channel 12 and that she needed a brief comment on the role of drones in the military.

  “Well, I typically don’t do interviews on the weekend. I happen to be on call this weekend though. Where did you say you got my name?”

  “From a colleague here at News Channel 12. Theresa Palma. I’m sorry to bother you on a Saturday night, but Theresa said you wouldn’t mind.”

  CHAPTER 16

  “Theresa Parma, sure.” Colonel Succi seemed amused. Theresa had that effect on people everywhere, apparently. “Want to meet me here in my office?”

  Jordan hesitated briefly. If she took this meeting, she might miss Hugo’s private lesson with Calhoun. Maybe she’d make both, but Succi was more important. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

  “I’ll call the media office and tell them you’re on the way.”

  Jordan scooped up her bag and hurried to Patricia at the Assignment Desk with renewed energy. “I have an interview with an Air Force official at MacDill. Can I grab a van to take?”

  Patricia scanned the desk in front of her and tossed Jordan a set of keys. “Take number four.”

  Twenty minutes later, on the dot, Jordan waited in the Lieutenant Colonel’s office. Succi sat behind a wooden desk lined with neat stacks of white paper. An American flag hung on a pole behind her. She’d greeted Jordan with a firm handshake. “We need to be quick, okay? We can skip the preliminaries.”

  “That works for me,” Jordan replied.

  She’d set up a camera on a tripod, pointed it toward Lieutenant Colonel Succi’s desk, and told her about the high school drone club and how she was trying to develop the story by reporting on how the military uses drones.

  Jordan started with a soft
ball to warm up. “According to published reports, there are about ten-thousand drones of various types in the military inventory now. What kind of activities are these drones being used for?”

  “Here’s the thing,” Lieutenant Colonel Succi said. Her weathered face was kind but her tone was serious. “Drones are weapons. They aren’t easy to fly. They can cause problems with civilian air navigation. In short, drones are dangerous. People can get seriously hurt.”

  Jordan didn’t mention her three near misses yesterday on the field, but she nodded her agreement off camera.

  Succi leaned forward like she was telling a secret, even though she knew the camera was recording. “High schoolers playing with drones like they’re a video game scares the hell out of me. They crash and when they do, people and property get hurt. The amateur drones are growing more and more sophisticated, developing so quickly we can’t keep track of them. Y’know, they call them amateur drones at these clubs like Boden High School, and that language is where the root of the danger lies.”

  “What do you mean, Colonel Succi?” Jordan winced. The question was lame, but she couldn’t get a grasp on Succi’s concern well enough to ask a better one.

  “Drones are the future of modern warfare. They’re current warfare, too.”

  Jordan’s next question was a little better. “But drones are restricted solely to military use, right?”

  “If you ask me, they should be.”

  The phone on her desk buzzed. “Sorry, lemme grab this.”

  Jordan turned off the camera and scribbled a few notes while Colonel Succi talked and nodded into the phone. “Sure, of course. No problem.”

  Succi hung up and cleared her throat. “Well, that was the Public Information Officer. Anytime the press comes, we have to report it and unfortunately, word from the national level is that at least one aspect of this topic is off limits to the media. I’ll need you to scrap the video you’ve recorded.”

  Jordan’s mind blanked for a moment. So close. She was so close to having a really, really impressive interview. She sat up straighter in her chair and leaned forward. “Colonel Succi. Are you positively sure there isn’t anything you can say about drones in the military, or even just about multirotors in a high school setting? One public statement I could use?”

  “I’m afraid I can’t. You can’t use any quotes from me at all. I’m so sorry. It’s a restriction coming from the national level.” Succi’s tone was still kind, but firm, like the professional military officer she was. Jordan could beg all she wanted, but Succi wouldn’t budge. “Hopefully I’ve given you some inspiration about how to pursue your high school angle though. Good luck.”

  Jordan thanked her and packed up to leave. She shuffled back to the news van, shoving back tears. There was way too much to do. No time to cry, even if she wanted to. Which she most definitely didn’t.

  She was an intern. The story wasn’t due today. If Patricia asked her, she’d report that she wasn’t ready. She’d acquired new drone video, but her interviews would come later. This wasn’t a lie. The interviews would come. Somehow.

  It was only 4:55. Jordan wasn’t needed back at the newsroom so soon. What could she do to move her story forward now?

  “You know what?” Jordan started the Jeep and rumbled its engine. “Let’s take a little field trip back to the evening drone lesson, shall we?” The Jeep’s wheels rolled onward. Jordan took that as a yes. “That’s right. You and me, Jeep. Let’s see why this Hugo guy is spending his Saturday nights with a high school boy. What is it that they don’t want a Channel 12 news reporter to know, hmm?”

  The Jeep said nothing.

  CHAPTER 17

  Jordan justified spying on Hugo’s private high school drone lesson. “Hugo tried to hit you with the drone. It’s a private lesson, not a school event. And Calhoun wouldn’t have told you if he’d expected you to ignore him.”

  Besides, she needed to drive past the track and field since it was on the way back to the station. Taking a look wasn’t illegal.

  Neither was being discreet.

  The sun would set soon. She approached from a side street, keeping the Jeep behind a row of trees that lined the track and field. Then, she quietly pulled over and killed the engine.

  She opened the door, slid out with her still camera, and crouched down among a row of chest-high bushes, watching the track and field through a hole in the fence. There was Calhoun, holding a drone and its transmitter.

  Jordan instantly recognized Hugo’s confident stance and long stride from the back. Besides Hugo and Calhoun, there were three other guys. All seemed to be around Hugo’s age, all dressed in jeans. One was short and stocky. One was blonder than the rest, and one a little fatter than the others.

  Jordan crouched low, steady and silently watching.

  Until Hugo turned around. She gasped.

  Rapidly, her synapses flashed through the mental images she’d acquired this week.

  The front of his dark baseball cap displayed a big capital Boston “B.”

  The same Boston “B” the roofie guy at Infidel Brewery sported Wednesday night.

  The same strap of dark facial hair around his chin.

  The same size.

  The same preppy style clothes.

  Hugo was the guy.

  Hugo tried to drug a woman in a bar.

  Hugo disappeared without a trace and took the evidence with him.

  Hugo keyed Claire’s car.

  It had to be the same guy. Her gut was rarely wrong.

  She hadn’t recognized him yesterday without his cap. Now she did.

  A couple of beats later, Jordan realized Hugo had recognized her, too.

  At the drone club meeting yesterday. He must have.

  Which was probably why he didn’t show up this afternoon for his lesson with Calhoun. He probably drove past, saw the Channel 12 news truck, and kept on going.

  She slipped her phone out of her pocket to shoot video because she couldn’t risk going back to the Jeep for a better camera.

  All four men were gathered around Calhoun, whose demeanor was completely different now than it had been at the school practice yesterday. He was serious, focused. He seemed older and more articulate, too.

  They asked him rapid-fire questions. Calhoun answered just as promptly.

  “What’s a drone’s absolute farthest range?”

  “What about if it’s raining? Is that a relevant variable?”

  “How much weight can a drone carry? And what’s that converted into kilograms?”

  One of the men pulled out a calculator. All took notes.

  This was now like a college-level course on drones, being led by a teenaged professor. And Professor Calhoun was loving every minute of it.

  Why were these men spending Friday night playing with remote control toys on a high school track? Jordan shrugged. Drew might say it was just a guy thing that she’d never understand.

  But their interest was strange. And too intense. And they’d spent a lot of money on these drones, too. Not just hundreds of dollars, but thousands. They were more skilled at flying than the young students, too.

  Jordan had quite a bit of experience with dangerous men in the past few weeks. Not only did Jordan’s News Nose say these four were dangerous, her entire body vibrated with the certainty.

  She saw two quads, one hexa, and Jordan spotted the huge drone from practice yesterday that almost crash-landed on top of her.

  Hugo’s white octo with the purple and green pattern.

  The remaining daylight was fading quickly, but there was still enough to get a few quick shots of that monstrosity zooming through the sky.

  Hugo maintained steady altitude of the octocopter before taking it higher and holding, and higher and holding. His control was masterful. No false moves at all. Which meant he’d tried to attack her yesterday, too, just as she’d suspected.

  “Remember, watch the monitor, not the copter,” Calhoun called out to Hugo. “That way, in the future, when th
e rotor’s out of your sight, you can still watch where it’s going from the camera’s viewpoint.”

  The camera. The octo had a freaking camera. Crap.

  “Good. Nicely done.” Calhoun’s voice carried easily across the field. The clouds held the sound down low instead of losing it to the atmosphere. “Beautiful. You’ve got her flyin’ high.”

  When the octo circled around, and flew directly over Jordan, all her muscles tensed. Her legs wouldn’t hold up much longer. She had to get out of there.

  She waited for the octo to move to the other side of the field, then she crawled out of the bushes and crept back to the Jeep, crouching low and staying in the shadows wherever possible.

  Jordan crouched beside the Jeep, waiting for any kind of ruckus on the field that would provide enough noise to cover the door closing and the Jeep’s engine staring up. She should’ve parked farther away. Now you think of that.

  The longer she waited, the quieter it got. She peered around the Jeep just in time to see Hugo pointing in her direction. Had the octo’s camera spotted her or the Jeep with the giant Channel 12 logo on the side?

  She hopped into the Jeep, closed the door, and started the engine.

  All four men ran toward her, full out.

  She stomped the gas pedal and screeched off.

  CHAPTER 18

  They couldn’t run fast enough to catch her, but they’d arrived in vehicles, too. And if the octo’s camera had spied the News Channel 12 markings on the side of the Jeep?

  No time to think about that now. She concentrated on her driving and putting as much distance between the Jeep and the field as possible.

  Every quick look in the mirror failed to find a vehicle following. Could the octo be following her every move?

  The Jeep wasn’t Hermes, her speedy little subcompact car. For future reference, she needed to remember: The Jeep did not accelerate as quickly. And it wasn’t as tight in the corners, either.