The Veritas Deception

by Lynne Constantine

  “Don’t forget that we have Jonas too. He’s overheard and seen plenty in all his years of service. He’ll work with us,” Jeremy said.

  Evelyn nodded. “Okay. It just makes me sick that I enabled him all those years. I feel like I need to do something to make it right.”

  “You have. You helped us. If Jeremy hadn’t confronted him, he would have kept going. He knew we had him, and he took the easy way out,” Taylor assured her. She exhaled. “It may not be right, but I’m glad he’s dead.”

  Jack steered the conversation back on track. “So, nothing about Malcolm’s involvement. We say he told you he was being pressured; he resisted; they killed him. What about the letter he wrote to you?”

  “I burned it.”

  “Good.”

  “The coins. They still haven’t turned up?” Jack asked.

  Jeremy’s face darkened. “No. I don’t know what he did with them, but they’ve got to be hidden in his office somewhere. I’ve searched and searched. There must a hidden compartment I haven’t found yet. The only good news is that no one else there would know what they are.”

  “Could he have hidden them in his body?” Taylor asked.

  “If he did, they would have been found after the ashes cooled from the cremation. I hired someone to be there when they manually inspected the ashes. Nothing.”

  “I guess that covers everything. We’re not mentioning the coins either. Everyone’s on board, yes?”

  Yesses all around. He thought of something else. “What about Parks? Has anyone seen him?”

  “No,” Evelyn said. “He’s disappeared. The paper hasn’t heard anything either. He had money stashed everywhere. My bet is he’s on an island far away from here.”

  “What are you going to tell Karen Printz if she asks?” Jack turned to Taylor.

  “I’m going to tell her the truth: I don’t know where he is but I worry that it’s related to Crosse.”

  “Looks like we’re ready.” He looked around the room. Normally it would have made him nervous to be involved in a conspiracy with three other people, but he knew it would be okay. He trusted Jeremy and Taylor with his life. And Evelyn, well, he supposed she had proved herself by helping them. But that wasn’t the only reason he wasn’t worried. She had too much at stake to say anything to anyone. Public knowledge of her involvement in the Institute would ruin her professional reputation, and besides, she would have nothing to gain by not going along with them. Once they got this interview behind them, they could get on with the real work—figuring out who Damon Crosse’s puppets were and exposing them.

  CHAPTER NINETY-ONE

  Brody Hamilton sat in his favorite chair, a plush leather recliner, holding a glass of Scotch in one hand while the other scooped up a handful of peanuts from the bowl perched on his lap. He loved being back in his Charleston home surrounded by all his comforts.

  “Hand me that remote. Hurry up.” His wife gave him an annoyed look and placed the remote in his outstretched hand.

  “What are you so anxious about?” she asked.

  “The interview. It’s about to start. Sit down now if you want to watch, but hush up, you hear?”

  His wife was an incessant chatterer and it drove him crazy. Couldn’t get five minutes into a show without her big, loud mouth talking over the television. As his grandpappy would say, she could talk the hind legs off a donkey. He’d learned to ignore her over the years, but tonight, his nerves were raw and he had to stop himself from telling her to shut up. But of course, he didn’t. There were fifty million reasons not to—all in her name right down the street at First Fidelity. Besides, she was a good old girl at heart. She knew when she’d married him that he was hard dog to keep on the porch and she didn’t mind. He could have his fun, long as he came home again when he was done.

  She sat her ample behind down on the sofa and pulled a box of Oreos onto her lap. Just as the program started, she piped up.

  “What a pretty thing. I didn’t know the senator’s wife was so young. She his second wife?”

  “Quiet, Coralee! I can’t hear what she’s saying. Ask questions later.”

  She gave him a wounded look and stuffed another cookie in her mouth.

  Karen Printz was talking now.

  “Taylor, thank you for agreeing to come on tonight. I know you’re usually the one behind the camera.” She favored the audience with a smile and explained, “Taylor and I used to work together. She was my producer.” Here a tender look at Taylor. “Still miss working with her.” Taylor murmured a thank you and looked duly humble.

  “So, Taylor. The whole country believed that you had been kidnapped. Can you tell us what actually happened?”

  “My husband, Senator Phillips, made a powerful enemy. He was approached by Damon Crosse who tried to bribe him in exchange for certain votes.”

  Printz was leaning in toward Taylor, shaking her head.

  “When my husband refused, his life was threatened.”

  “Do you know what he wanted him to vote on?”

  Brody felt his stomach drop and tightened his hold on the remote, then pushed the volume up. What had the damn fool Phillips done? How much had Phillips revealed before they killed him? Brody had been on pins and needles ever since he’d read about Crosse’s suicide. He still couldn’t believe that he had taken his life. Things must be pretty damn bad for him to off himself. He was left wondering who knew about his own connection to Crosse and if it would come out. He hadn’t spent the last thirty years creating alliances and building his political career to have his own dirty laundry aired for the whole world to see.

  “No. I don’t think it was a specific thing. He more or less wanted someone he could control. I’m assuming for business interests. Malcolm didn’t share the details with me, I don’t think he wanted to upset me. When the threats didn’t stop, he told me that if anything happened to him, I should trust Jack Logan.”

  Here Printz’s expression turned mischievous.

  “The same Jack Logan you used to date?”

  Taylor’s expression remained neutral. “That was a long time ago, Karen. Malcolm knew that Jack was an old family friend. And he trusted him to help us.”

  Brody took a long swallow of his Scotch and relaxed slightly. So far so good. Nothing about him. The interview went on, Taylor recounting the days in hiding, finding her half-brother, and the incredible story about his mother being held hostage.

  A look of horror came over Printz’s face. “Are you telling me that Damon Crosse imprisoned a young medical student and forcibly impregnated her?”

  “Yes, Karen. It’s all detailed in the diary of Maya Deering, Jeremy’s mother.”

  Brody was flabbergasted. “Well I’ll be a monkey’s uncle.” His wife started to talk, but he put his hand up to silence her.

  Maya Deering. She must have been part of the medical group during his training at the Institute. Crosse had kidnapped her? No wonder Jeremy hated Crosse and had defected. Now it was all making sense. He looked back at the television as the interview continued.

  “An investigation has already begun. The FBI is also trying to determine if anyone was complicit in helping Crosse when he kidnapped and murdered Maya Deering,” Taylor said.

  “Are there any suspects?” Printz asked.

  Taylor folded her hands on her lap. “I’m afraid I can’t comment on that while it’s still an ongoing criminal investigation.”

  “All right then, let’s talk about the origins of this institute,” Printz began.

  Taylor took a sip from the glass of water on the table next to her, then spoke. “We believe that Crosse’s adopted father, Fred Crosse, was actually Nazi scientist Friedrich Dunst.”

  It was too much for Coralee. “Nazi’s! What the heck? Can you imagine? What in the world was going on at the place? I never heard of the programs there. What has this got to do with the senator? You think that girl is touched in the head?”

  Brody had never told
his wife about his time at the Institute or anything about his dealings with Crosse. The way she ran her mouth, it would have been suicide. From what he could tell from the interview, Phillips had taken the same approach with his own wife. It was concluding now. He relaxed. There was nothing for him to worry about. He looked at Coralee, her eyes huge with amazement and black cookie crumbs around the corner of her mouth. He winked at her and said, “Truth is stranger than fiction, darlin. Stranger than fiction.”

  CHAPTER NINETY-TWO

  Her son was perfect. Everything about him enchanted Taylor. Their eyes locked as he suckled, and she was filled with a rapture so exquisite, she thought her heart would burst. When he had had his fill, she laid him on her shoulder and rocked him, their hearts beating in concert. He was soon asleep and she stayed that way a long time, savoring his closeness and the peacefulness. Reluctantly, she stood and put him in his crib. Beau remained on the floor beside him like a sentinel, ever watchful and protective. He had been like that from the moment she’d brought the baby home.

  She tiptoed out of the room, and into the kitchen, where Jack was going through emails. After the Printz show had aired, the station had been inundated with mail and e-mail from people claiming to have been brainwashed by the Institute. Jeremy, Jack, and she had read each and every one, and none seemed legitimate. As journalists, they knew these kinds of stories brought out the cranks in droves. But they couldn’t dismiss the possibility that now that Damon was dead, some of his graduates might come forward. They’d put up a website specifically for people with information about the Institute. So far, nothing helpful had come through, but they weren’t giving up.

  In the meantime, they were working with Jonas and Evelyn to try and find the churches and orphanages that had brought children to the Institute. It was slow work, as so many years had passed, but they’d just gotten a call from Jeremy that he’d located a nun who remembered Crosse taking some of the children under her care. This was the first break they’d gotten so far. They were also looking into the backgrounds of the individuals on the list of names Jeremy had found. It had been six months, and they were still no further along than when they’d started.

  Jack looked up as Taylor walked in.

  “He sleeping?”

  She smiled. “Like a baby. Any luck?”

  He shook his head. “Nothing.”

  Pushing his hair back from his forehead, she leaned down and kissed him. “You’ve been at it for hours. Time for a break.”

  He yawned and nodded in agreement. “You hungry?”

  “Starved.”

  “How ’bout I order some pizza and we watch a movie?”

  “Perfect.”

  “What kind of movie are you in the mood for?”

  She gave him a long look. “Anything that doesn’t involve Nazis, conspiracies, or car chases.”

  “In other words, a chick flick?”

  “Just for that, I get to pick.” She walked into the family room and pulled out a DVD from the cabinet. “Here you go.” She handed it to him.

  He groaned. “Gone with the Wind?”

  “That’s right. And no falling asleep till the bitter end.”

  “Fine, but I’m getting anchovies on the pizza.” He picked up the phone and ordered.

  “Hey, what did you decide about the job?”

  Karen Printz had called her last week. She’d recently taken on a new job as the prime host of a weekly news show on the UBC network. She wanted Taylor to come produce for her.

  “I told her I didn’t want to come back full-time. I don’t want to take so much time away from the baby, and I can’t get back into that crazy rat race.”

  “And?”

  He could read her so well. She smiled. “And, she countered with an offer to let me produce one show a month. I was going to talk to you about it tonight, see what you thought.”

  “What do you think?”

  “I want to do it. One show a month is manageable, and I love working with her. It would be good to get back into it. It will still leave me time to help you and Jeremy with looking into Crosse’s empire, and it will keep me connected, so that when we’re ready to go public, we’ll have more allies.”

  He was nodding. “I totally agree.” He grabbed her hand. “Come on, let’s go see how Miss Scarlett’s getting along.”

  CHAPTER NINETY-THREE

  Crosby Wheeler perused the contract between Taylor Phillips and UBC while he reached under the desk and stroked Peritas’ soft fur. It was all in place now. He opened the file drawer and placed the contract in the folder he had prepared weeks earlier.

  He had been in the studio audience the night her interview was recorded, had been sitting in the very wheelchair that his beloved mentor had graced. His arms hung limply at his sides, his right hand curved like a claw, useless and slack against his stomach. He’d watched through thick glasses as everyone averted their eyes, avoiding looking directly at him. A “nurse” sat next to him, glancing over at him occasionally to make sure he wasn’t in need of anything. He suppressed a smile, congratulating himself on his disguise. He may as well have been invisible.

  Predictable—the shallowness of human beings. As if by acknowledging him, they might embarrass him or themselves. Better to pretend he didn’t exist, then to confront the fact that he was a cripple while they walked around, able-bodied. Never mind. It all worked in his favor. He had to remind himself not to move. Most likely no one would notice, but one could never be too sure. Crosby Wheeler was used to personas. After all, no one had yet figured out that he was the same elusive gentleman otherwise known as Damon Crosse.

  It had been risky but he was used to risk. He had to use the precise dose. The good thing about tetrodoxin was that if one recovered from the poison, it had no lasting effects. The bad thing about it was that it was highly lethal, and any miscalculation would result in a quick death. Its ability to mimic death to the degree that it fooled even EMS personnel made it the right choice. It was referred to in some circles as the “zombie drug”—those who were dead suddenly and inexplicably resurrected. The concept had a certain poetic irony. Of course, he didn’t wait days to wake up on his own. He needed to fool only those transporting him to the morgue. The medical examiner had received a text alerting him to Damon’s imminent arrival. The ME administered the necessary antidote as soon as his body was brought in. Damon’s body was replaced by a nameless unfortunate, then sent on for cremation after the autopsy had been completed.

  And the coins. They were safely in his possession. Peritas had been his courier. It hadn’t been difficult to get them down his throat—they were small enough. A quick text to his connection at the dog shelter assured that they would be retrieved at the other end. Now he had twenty-five—only five away from the full set and then he really would be invincible. With all of them thinking he was dead, it would be that much easier to employ his methods to find wherever Jeremy had hidden the last five.

  He had watched Taylor, curious as to what she would reveal. She was quite good-looking he had thought dispassionately, appraising her as he would a piece of art or fine furniture. He felt nothing for her. She was his flesh and blood, yet he could muster no emotional connection. How interesting. She’d made Malcolm out to be a hero. And why not? It would only reflect badly on her and her child if the truth came out. She was smart to protect herself. The apple didn’t fall far from the tree. Pity he hadn’t raised her. Her portrayal of Friedrich and the Institute had infuriated him though. She had reduced him to a stereotype, had said nothing of his brilliance, his dedication to science and progress. But, what did he expect? She was a victim of her own mediocre upbringing. But his grandson would be different.

  He would wait and watch, see what his interests were, what his passions became. When the time was right, he would use those interests to bring his grandson to him. It was what he did best. Let them have their false sense of security and believe that his threat had died with him. He could wait as long
as he had to. After all, he was a patient man.

  As for his fortune, it was safe. He kept most of his money in Wheeler’s name. And no one knew that Catherine Knight was only a figurehead for his own vast media empire—he had owned it all from the beginning. Omega was the only outlet he ran publicly, under his Crosby persona. How he would love to tell Taylor that when she accepted the job with UBC, she had become his employee. Oh well, she would find it out eventually.

  Damon Crosse had left no will, so the Institute would go to Jeremy, as would Alpha Pharmaceuticals which, he supposed, would continue to finance the Institute if Jeremy so desired. He hated walking away from Alpha, but in time, he would woo his key scientists away when he opened a new lab. As for continuing to exert his control, his political connections were all through Wheeler anyway. His work would continue. It was a shame that he had to walk away from the Institute, but it had already succeeded in its mission and nothing would stop what he had started all those years ago when Friedrich and he founded it.

  He pressed a button and remotely engaged the lock on his office door. He pulled out his smartphone and tapped the icon. He watched as Taylor rocked the child. He was a beautiful boy, with curly, black hair and smooth, ivory cheeks. His eyes were closed and he sucked his thumb while his mother sang a soft lullaby. It had been easy to install the camera in the nursery. The real estate broker had been one of his.

  “Sleep soundly, young master. One day, you will hold the world in your hands. Until then, sweet dreams.”

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Behind every endeavor is a group of supporters without which the journey would be much more difficult and lonely. I have been blessed with an abundance of encouragement and help from dear family, friends, and subject matter experts generous and willing to share their knowledge and resources.