The Babel Conspiracy

by Sylvia Bambola

  The tall, blond laughed. “I’d welcome the help. We’re at war here, and stretched thin.” Then leaning across the desk he added, “But don’t get your hopes up, Mike. Most terrorists are trained and fanatical. They either hit, run and disappear, or sacrifice themselves, kamikaze style. They rarely plant an inside man. If that’s what happened here, we’ll have a shot at him.” He picked up the files. “If not, we may never find out who did this.”

  After Pete left, Mike slid Haddad’s file across the desk toward Buck. “Good luck.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Yes. Watch out for Trisha.”

  “You’re asking for trouble. Leave it alone, Mike. Don’t go where only fools tread.”

  Mike watched Buck’s leathery face fold in sympathy. In all the years he had known him it never occurred to Mike that Buck had ever been in love. Now, Buck’s blazing eyes said there had been someone once, someone special. “Are you speaking from experience?”

  Buck frowned. “Trisha reminds me a little of her. Maybe that’s why I feel so protective. And my woman, like you, wasn’t free, either. So I know what I’m talking about. There’s no happiness in this, Mike. I foresee only heartbreak for you. And Trisha, too.”

  “I’m just asking you to look out for her. Nothing more.”

  “In that case, I’ll look out for both of you.”

  • • •

  At that moment Trisha would have welcomed a guardian angel in any form. Nolan’s death had left the P2 project in jeopardy. She had relied heavily on his judgment and knowledge. Now, it would all be on her shoulders.

  She rubbed her neck, already tightened by the new strain, as she finished reading Audra’s notes. She couldn’t hand Mike another disaster. What would Nolan have advised? His notes concerning his meeting with Audra had been burned in the crash.

  Trisha looked at the file in her hand. Audra’s latest experiments were promising. But Audra had been right. They weren’t conclusive enough to commit it to use in the reactor casing.

  Trisha tossed the papers onto her desk. There was little she could do but stick to her original decision: complete testing of a titanium X casing on the reactor in actual simulated flights. It was a short cut, a gamble.

  But so was everything related to this project.

  • • •

  Joshua floored the gas making the car groan under the steep climb it was ordered to make. This was do or die. Either they saw something from the top of the ridge that overlooked the flatland below or they were heading back to Everman. When he reached a level patch of ground he pulled to the side and stopped the car. Then he and Cassy got out.

  “See anything?” Cassy said, as Joshua pressed binoculars to his face.

  “No.” He did a one-eighty and stopped. “Wait . . . what’s this?”

  “Let me see!” Cassy pulled the field glasses from Joshua’s hand and peered through them. “Good grief! Is that what I think it is?”

  Joshua didn’t answer. He was busy retrieving his phone from his cargo pants. He pressed zoom and took a video of the area. Then he pressed ‘send’. Based on his GPS the Mossad would take satellite photos for their analysts to study.

  “Come on. Let’s drive closer,” Cassy said, handing the binoculars back to Joshua. “Now we can get some real evidence! Maybe this will make Uncle Phillip sit up and listen!”

  “We’re not going there,” Joshua said, heading back to the car. “If it’s what we think, the camp will be patrolled by armed guards. There are just two of us and only one gun. I’ve already sent it off to someone I know. They’ll take aerial shots and get us the proof we need.”

  Joshua thought for sure Cassy was going to argue, but she just pursed her lips and slid onto the front seat. They drove several minutes before she turned and said in a near whisper, “That’s how Chad died; going into a situation outmanned and outgunned.”

  • • •

  Mike stood in the hall watching Renee as she leaned against the bar. She made a sucking noise while draining her glass, and there was something sloppy about the way she used her elbow to support herself.

  Except for the occasional sound of the glass tapping the bar, the house was quiet. The servants were nowhere to be seen and the front door was unlocked.

  He wondered at the ease in which he had entered, undetected. What if he was a thief? Or worse?

  He looked at the beige dress that clung to the superb body, at the hair smartly swept to one side, at the diamond earrings glittering like miniature stars on her lobes. She must have been dressed and waiting for hours.

  After his meeting with Pete and Buck, Mike had spent time with Trisha, who had come with him to Everman to touch base with Audra Shields and discuss her report on titanium X. Then the three went over every possibility, over every available avenue, and finally Mike agreed with Trisha’s decision. Audra was to begin immediate construction and subsequent testing of a titanium X casing on the reactor itself.

  He had seen Trisha safely to his helicopter, along with a trusted pilot who would take her to Gibs Town. Mike himself would return tomorrow since he planned to work at the plant most of the night. He had come home only to pick up a few things.

  Even now, Buck waited outside in the company car. Since Nolan’s death, Pete had insisted Mike ride only in inspected vehicles that were kept under twenty-four hour guard. Cars, Peter claimed, were favorite terrorist targets.

  But irate wives could also be dangerous.

  Two weeks ago, when he was home last, Renee made him promise he’d take her to the Everman Ball. The mayor of Everman, along with every petty bureaucrat within a hundred miles would be there. He had promised because Renee was persistent.

  That was before Nolan’s death.

  Now, he was in a crisis situation, and balls and petty bureaucrats seemed extraneous. He had tried telling her that on the phone. Even so, she insisted she’d wait.

  Renee never relinquished ground gracefully.

  As he studied her profile, Mike knew a confrontation was inevitable. He took a deep breath. “Hello Renee. You still here? I thought you’d be at the party by now.”

  Renee removed her elbow from the bar. “It’s about time!”

  She had begun using that tone since her return from the Garbys. He assumed it was due to her failure to induce him to go to D.C. and aid Garby’s campaign. In a weak moment, she had told him how cold they had been throughout her stay, as though punishing a naughty child. There had been no talk of a return visit; no invitations issued.

  The first time she saw Mike after her return she assaulted him with her tongue, screaming he had ruined her and that she’d never forgive him. He guessed that was why she was so anxious to go tonight. Both Senator Garby and Alex Harner would be there, and obviously Renee hoped to redeem herself by bringing him along.

  “Look at the time!” she screamed. “You still have to shower and dress . . . we’re going to be so late. How could you do this to me! You promised!”

  “Weren’t you listening on the phone? Didn’t you hear what I said about Nolan?”

  “Yes . . . it’s a shame but . . . . ”

  “But what?”

  “Look, I’m sorry about Nolan, really I am. And I don’t want to seem callous, but will brooding bring him back? Oh, Michael, this is so important to me! Come on now, hurry and get ready. If we leave soon, we shouldn’t miss too . . . . ”

  “Renee!” Mike’s voice cracked like a whip, snapping his wife into silence. “I’m not going tonight. A man has died! My company is in turmoil. There are armed guards crawling all over the plant. I have a schedule to meet, and if things don’t go just right I could lose everything. It would be nice if just once you’d take as much interest in my company as you do in the Garbys.”

  “Michael, stop being a bore. There’s a big wide world out there. The sun doesn’t rise and set over Patterson Aviation.
Now be a good boy and get dressed.”

  “You haven’t heard a word I said. I’m not going.”

  The green cat-eyes narrowed. “I . . . see. Well then, I’ll say, ‘good-night.’ I suppose I won’t be seeing you for another week or two?”

  “I suppose not.”

  “Then . . . a girl will have to find comfort where she can. Won’t she?”

  “Don’t boast, Renee.”

  “I’m not boasting, darling. You know I don’t need to. I suppose you’ve taken your comfort wherever.”

  “You’d be surprised at what little solace I have had, in the way you mean, anyway.”

  “You poor dear. She must be awfully dull, your research girl. That type is. Pious, quaint, old-fashioned, dull.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Trisha. It seems that somehow she’s converted you. Oh, don’t look surprised. I know something’s going on between you two. It’s the way you say her name, the way you talk about her. So, you see, your secret is out. But I don’t mind, though I am surprised, you mixing business with pleasure. And she’s not the least bit your type. Not long ago you’d never look twice at a woman who wouldn’t put out. Well, I always did say variety was the spice of life. I guess that’s what you need, a little change. Call me after you’ve wearied of your new celibate life, after your knees begin to ache from all that praying you must do together. I mean, what else could the two of you be doing?”

  Disgust crept over Mike’s face. “You’re sick, Renee.”

  The beautiful redhead picked up her beige clutch-bag from the barstool. “I know. We bring out the best in each other.”

  Her spiked heels made a clicking noise that echoed through the room as she walked away. It was a strange, lonely sound that seemed to haunt him even after he went upstairs and began rummaging through drawers. But the next sound he heard ripped apart that specter as a loud explosion shook the walls of the house.

  “Renee . . . oh, god!” He sprinted down the stairs and toward the explosion.

  The four-car garage was a mass of crumpled sheetrock, jagged metal, shattered glass, fire, black billowing smoke and . . . among the debris, two piles of burning, twisted metal: one his car, the other . . . Renee’s.

  • • •

  “How was the funeral?” Joshua said, handing Trisha a tall glass of lemon water.

  “Sad. But almost the entire plant showed up. I hope that gave Mike some comfort.”

  “Seems like he’s well loved.” Joshua noticed a strange expression cross Trisha’s face. “Or at least well respected. But all funerals are sad. That’s why I thought a little dinner at my place would brighten things up.”

  He glanced at his brother, David, who sat stony-faced beside Trisha. “Was I wrong?”

  “No, it’s a lovely gesture and I was happy to come,” Trisha said, as she worked up what looked to Joshua like a forced smile. “I’ve been away so much that it’s nice to touch base with friends.”

  “I know you can’t talk about where you go and why, so I won’t bother asking.” Joshua didn’t think his brother looked like he was pleased to be touching base. He shot a glance at Cassy who stood beside the large, carved oak bar in the corner pouring herself a glass of wine. When he caught her eye, he hoped she saw the silent plea for help on his face.

  Her nod told him she did.

  “All the pundits have declared my uncle president. First time in history, I think, when everyone, even the opposition’s camp, publicly voices a winner before the election even takes place.” Cassy carried her stemmed glass to one of the elegant silk-upholstered chairs and sat down. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  Trisha straightened and for the first time seemed to take an interest in the conversation. “I just hope he’ll do more than President Baker has about all the rioting. I can’t believe the looting, arson and mayhem going on all across the country, even in Everman. It’s open season on police now. No wonder they have begun backing off and letting entire neighborhoods burn to the ground. Can we blame them?”

  “I’ve operated on two policemen in the past three days,” Daniel said. “And I’ve treated a half dozen more for injuries.”

  “All this violence on police is causing a slow motion police strike that’s sure to end in even more lawlessness. Now, why would a president not want to stem this chaos by supporting the police?” Trisha sipped her water and shrugged. “I don’t get it.”

  Joshua stood by Cassy’s chair and let his hand rest on her shoulder. Follow-up by the Mossad revealed a large camp-like complex complete with barbed wire fencing around the entire perimeter and four guard towers positioned at each corner.

  Without exposing his source, he had given Cassy some of the aerial shots in order to convince her uncle of the necessity of coming forward with his information. She was still working on it.

  So was he. For the past two days Joshua had tried getting his mind around the “why” of it. Unlike Trisha, he had his suspicions; suspicions so unthinkable he had put off revealing them to headquarters.

  But that was about to change.

  It was too apparent to ignore any longer. He had already determined that the only logical reason for encouraging lawlessness in a free society was to concoct a reason for grabbing power.

  All the pieces were there and beginning to fit.

  He excused himself, went to his room, and after closing the door, sent an encrypted text to headquarters: Riots may be pretext for creating need for Pres B to declare martial law. Internment camps for those who resist.

  • • •

  Two days later, Mike knocked on the door marked twelve. When it opened, Trisha stood before him wearing faded jeans and a sweatshirt, her thick, black hair pulled into a ponytail. She looked so beautiful that for an instant he felt his depression lift.

  “You just arrive?”

  Mike nodded.

  “How are you doing,” Trisha said softly.

  In addition to Mike, all of PA had a hard time coping with the facts surrounding Renee’s death. A bomb planted in her car had blown off the side of the house as soon as she started the engine. The explosion had been fierce. Two explosions, really. The bomb planted in Mike’s car was set off by the one planted in Renee’s when she started the engine. Whoever did the job wasn’t taking any chances and had wired both cars.

  The explosion was so great that the windshield of the waiting company car was shattered, and Buck needed five stitches in order to close the gash on his forehead.

  Renee never knew what hit her.

  “Take a walk with me?” Weariness oozed from Mike’s request.

  It was beginning to grow dark as they made their way to the beach. Tiny crabs scurried over the shadowed sand. Here and there driftwood and shells pockmarked the shore and took on strange new shapes in the dusk.

  Trisha stopped to remove her sneakers. They were close to the water and the waves lapped their feet like playful puppies. Mike seemed unconscious of his wet shoes or that they made a squishy noise as he walked.

  “My mother died when I was four,” he said suddenly, as though in the middle of a conversation rather than beginning one. “I hardly remember her. She was beautiful though. I used to look at her picture when I was young and wonder what it would be like to have a mother like all the other kids.” He paused for a second visualizing the photo.

  “It left a void when it came to women. I once heard my aunts talking about how my father had married my mother for her money, that their marriage was a business arrangement. I knew my mother had come from a rich family.

  “I was in my teens then and I remember feeling shocked. My father had never remarried, and the way he used to talk about mom, well, I just assumed they had loved each other. Maybe they hadn’t, I don’t know. I never learned anymore.

  “My aunts wouldn’t talk about it when I asked them. And my father
said, ‘of course I loved her,’ when I asked him. But you know, Trisha, in all these years, I’ve never forgotten that, and for some reason I never felt the same about my father after that.”

  “No one’s parents are perfect, Mike.” Trisha knotted her sneakers together then draped them over her shoulder.

  “I know. And I have no right to judge him. I was a terrible husband. I . . . didn’t know how to be a better one. Or maybe I just didn’t care enough. But I wish Renee could have had better. I wish she . . . .”

  “I know,” Trisha said softly, slipping her hand into his like a friend offering support. “Come sit with me.”

  They walked silently, their fingers entwined all the way up the path and along the old cracked airstrip, then along the gigantic hangar. Finally, Trisha stopped by a flat grassy area and sank to the ground. Mike settled beside her.

  “Have you been able to sleep?” she said.

  “Not a wink.”

  “Neither have I. So why don’t we stay and watch the sun come up?”

  He looked at her sideways, at her profile. She looked so beautiful in the moonlight. “I’d like that.” Truth was he didn’t want to be alone. He didn’t want to think. He didn’t want to remember that horrible sound of metal and wood and sheetrock all exploding and crashing into a heap.

  “When my dad died I was shattered.” Trisha slipped her hand over his. “When you’re young, you never think about death. It’s something that concerns tomorrow, never now, never today. I thought of all the times I should have told my dad I loved him, all the times I should have paid more attention to him, spent time . . . thought of all my neglect.

  “I loved him dearly, but you can neglect people even when you love them. I was so busy going to school, studying, trying to get ahead. Always time for everything but him. He loved to play golf and he wanted to teach me. It was something he wanted us to do together. But I never learned. I never had time.

  “I . . . cried for months. Even bought a set of golf clubs but never used them. It’s funny what we do sometimes. Then one day I realized what was really bothering me was my guilt.”