by Sally Denton
He filled his daily diary and personal notebook with references to the upcoming operation, often using codes and abbreviations. “Meet
D.C. [Dan Chandler] in Palm Springs” he wrote. “Obtain required maps.” Under a heading called Work to Blue Fin—his nickname for an aircraft he had recently purchased that had blue-colored tail assemblies—he listed the numerous modification requirements: “Camera and monitor; green box; long and short range comms.; antennas; auto-pilot; ground power check; electronic installations; welding to cowl flap; seats removed and reupholstered; cover rear windows w/curtains? plus tint?” Under the heading “Misc. Support Equipment” he listed: “Telephone scramblers; bear cats; M-10s; 6 magazines for automatics; security; steel building; concrete pad [apparently for a helicopter landing associated with the operation]; M-79; 6 bug/frequency units; 3 vests; 5 lb. CO2 fire extinguisher; raft; emergency rations; cooler loaded with ice; flight helmets; heavy duty plastic bags; tape; extension cord; axes (2); aviation oil; 12 volt battery in marine case; toilet; and heavy duty vacuum cleaner.”
For Project Aqua, Bradley had rented a landing strip near the Chesapeake Bay in Maryland. His requirements for this operation were even more specific and military-like: “Block unrequired access roads; obtain fuel and windsock; check property boundaries; hire contractor for installation of 6-foot chain link fence around property; radio and scanner installations; training of all personnel; field-testing under similar conditions; dry runs of entire operation; establish code and procedures for communications and response; registration of new trucks; install extra heavy duty suspension on all pick-up trucks ASAP; language work for Roger Barnard.” He spent thousands of dollars on the airstrip location that he called Aqualand, including the installation of a remote telephone answering service. Aqualand became his pet project—its secluded location, airstrip, capability of docking large boats, and its proximity to both Washington, D.C., and Philadelphia, made it an ideal location as an off-loading point from which to distribute drugs to the East Coast.
Christmas was Bradley’s favorite time of year for importing marijuana. It had come to be a tradition with him, as he found that police, like everyone else, were on relaxed work schedules. He believed the holidays resulted in unfocused attention by law enforcement in general, alleviating his increasing paranoia. Mostly, though, Bradley was sentimental, and he found it painful and sad to be away from his children during the Christmas season. His life in hotels was becoming boring and lonely—an emptiness that was exacerbated by his bitter divorce.
In the autumn of 1979, Ralph Ross received a copy of an FBI memorandum. The fifty-five-page document signaled the beginning of an investigation into Illegal Gambling Practices, Prostitution, Murder, Extortion, and Narcotics under RICO. Several subjects of the investigation, including Jimmy Lambert, Drew Thornton, and Bill Canan, were named in the memorandum.
At that time Ralph was not convinced that Bradley Bryant and Drew Thornton had split their organization. He thought that rumors of their break-up were brushfires thrown up as a smoke screen.
Yet insiders swear that following their tempestuous battle in Savannah Bradley and Drew never again spoke a word to each other. Those close to one or the other claim that beginning on that steamy summer day, the two childhood friends entered into a vicious competition that would eventually destroy them both. Lines were drawn, loyalties divided. Bradley, the master of finance and distribution, and Drew, the wizard of procurement and transportation, would build their own structures—each vowing to eliminate the other. Intimates of both contended that Drew was never able to collect his hundred-thousand-dollar debt from Bradley. At least not in cash.
The airplane crash in Santa Marta was a debacle that left the Colombians disenfranchised and alienated many of Bradley’s subordinates, some of whom chose to realign themselves with Drew.
Regardless of the relationship between the two smugglers, attempts to untangle the web became increasingly difficult. Some were Bradley’s people, and some were Drew’s. Still others were contract agents who worked for both sides, making it impossible to determine whether the two organizations were competing or were in cahoots.
Ralph ultimately decided that whether or not bad blood existed between the two men was inconsequential. He had been a cop long enough to know that such a falling out would eventually work to his advantage. Ralph was more interested in Drew than Bradley, mainly because of Drew’s law enforcement background and continuing influence with the Lexington police.
He was satisfied that the FBI’s RICO case, which targeted Jimmy Lambert and Drew Thornton, would at least chip away at the right prey. The Kentucky connections of Drew and Bradley had been so overlapped and intertwined as to be inseparable. The high-level financiers and distributors in Lexington remained the same, and Ralph’s instincts told him that Jimmy Lambert was a common thread between both groups. With Lambert in the hands of the FBI, Ralph decided to begin surveillance on some of Bradley Bryant’s and Drew Thornton’s known Lexington associates and the locations they frequented.
On Christmas Eve 1979, Bradley flew to Atlanta to meet with Johnny Trussell. Trussell had broken off relations with Bradley after the Colombian fiasco, and resented the fact that he still had not been paid any of his fifty thousand dollars. But Bradley had a hard sell.
“We have a new organization,” Bradley told Trussell. “It’s tighter. Better people. Drew’s out and some new people are in. But you don’t need to know who they are. It’ll work this time. I have five contracts to fulfill, and I really need you as a pilot.”
Bradley bragged about his ground crews, his off-loaders, his transportation personnel, his electronic equipment, his Maryland airstrip, his new airplanes, his network of wholesalers.
“We have three tiers,” Bradley said. “The transporters, like you, who are responsible for bringing the load into the country. The personnel who take care of finding the landing strips, aircraft maintenance, purchasing and storing heavy trucks for unloading the planes. And, third, the distributors. Everyone will get rich. All you have to worry about is flying it in. Can you fly a Herky Bird?” Bradley asked.
Trussell nodded yes, then asked: “When do I get paid?”
“When the deal is done,” Bradley replied.
That’s what Trussell didn’t like about the organization—waiting for the profits to trickle down after the Colombians were paid and all the pot had been sold in the United States. Bradley’s credit with Trussell had lost some credibility.
Trussell wanted his money up front.
Bradley agreed to a small advance of twenty-five hundred dollars, which he counted out for Trussell in one-hundred-dollar bills, and Trussell reluctantly acquiesced.
Bradley gave Trussell instructions to meet someone on December 27 in Atlanta—“someone you’ll know,” Bradley said, refusing to identify the individual—“and fly him wherever he tells you to.”
Bradley flew that day from Georgia back to Philadelphia. Upon his arrival, he called Don Leach. Like Trussell, Leach had avoided Bradley since August, after being held hostage in Colombia. Though Leach had disassociated himself from Bradley, he thought it prudent to remain on amicable terms.
“I need a gun permit,” Bradley told him. “Can you help me out?”
Leach acquiesced. “Meet me at Winstons,” Leach told him, referring to the Valley Forge, Pennsylvania, restaurant where Leach was working as a bouncer. “I’ll get you a permit from the Tredyffrin Police Department.”
“Do you know where I can get a silencer?” Bradley asked, pushing his luck.
“No,” Leach replied.
At the same time, one of Bradley’s employees, a Savannah pilot named Gary Scott, knocked on the door of a Bulloch County, Georgia, farmhouse.
“Are you interested in renting one of your pastures for a day?” Scott asked the farmer. “I’ll make it worth your while.”
“What do y
ou mean?” the farmer asked.
“I’ll give you fifty thousand bucks if I can land a plane here next week, on January 2. It’ll only be on the ground a little while.”
“Don’t see why not,” the farmer replied.
The farmer watched from the doorway as Scott drove his white Corvette down the dirt road. As soon as the sports car was out of sight, he called the local sheriff.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“I was visiting some friends in Lexington one night a few weeks ago,” Mary Shasta began, speaking with deliberate calm.
Ralph Ross had arranged to meet with the psychic who claimed to have knowledge about Melanie Flynn’s disappearance shortly after learning of her existence from the FBI.
“So it was sometime in August 1979, right?” Ralph interrupted.
“Yes. About the middle, I believe.”
“Anyway,” she continued, “we were watching the news on television and suddenly two men appeared on the screen. I recognized them as the men who had been appearing in my dreams for the past two years… dreams I was having about the disappearance of Melanie Flynn.”
“Who were the men?”
“I had never seen them before,” she said, “except in my dreams. I was very shaken when I saw them on television, but I tried to nonchalantly ask my friends who they were.” Her friends told her that one was a former Lexington policeman named Andrew Thornton.
“Did you know Melanie Flynn?” Ralph asked her.
“No. I read about her disappearance in the newspaper, and I suddenly began dreaming about her frequently. She was often with those two men in my dreams. But I didn’t know who the men were until I saw them on television.”
“Did you tell anyone about your dreams?”
“Just my husband, family, and some close friends,” Shasta answered. “Until now, two years later. After I recognized the two men from my dreams on television, I decided to go to the FBI. I had a friend in the FBI—a man who goes to my church. And I decided I should tell him about my dreams.”
“Let’s talk about the dreams,” Ralph said. “When did they begin?”
“In January 1977. Right after Melanie disappeared. The same dream continued every two or three weeks, until May 1977. Then, in June 1977, the dream changed.”
“Describe the dreams to me.”
“I envisioned a petite, young woman underwater, her hair floating like seaweed. I knew it was Melanie Flynn because I had seen a picture of her in the paper. That’s all I saw… the same image, from January until May. In early June 1977, I envisioned Melanie seated, her right leg crossed over her left. She was in a large bar area of a dimly lit, but very plush, nightclub. She was wearing a black satin jumpsuit, backless. She was laughing and puffing on a cigarette, which she held in her right hand, between her upper index and middle fingers. Her body was partially turned, with her right elbow resting on the back of a chair. That dream ended with a vision of Melanie underwater again.
“A few weeks later,” Shasta continued, “I dreamed that Melanie and I were together in a large apartment. She stepped out of the shower, and I noticed she was smoothly tanned all over her body. Her wet hair fell just above her collarbone and was slightly wavy. She was petite, yet very well built, her body firm and muscular. She had large brown eyes, a small turned-up nose, full lips, a sexy and mischievous smile that showed nice teeth.
“In the dream, I was trying desperately to convince Melanie to leave the apartment and accompany me…that I would take her someplace where she would be safe. Melanie was hesitant and confused at first, truly not knowing whether or not to trust anyone.
“During this discussion, we were interrupted by a tall man who entered through the bedroom door. He stood about six-two, and had dark curly hair and a mustache. He was also a well-toned, muscular person. The man seemed angry and suspicious of Melanie and me. We told him that Melanie was helping me pack my belongings, but he apparently didn’t believe us. He started toward Melanie, cursing.
“A sandy-haired man restrained him long enough for Melanie and I to escape through the bathroom window. We ran across a large, dry yard around the corner of the building, and entered a white station wagon.”
“The next night in my dreams,” Shasta continued, “I envisioned Melanie standing outside an apartment door. Snow covered the steps and a portion of the breezeway. She was wearing a pant-length white coat made of real or imitation sheepskin. Then, during July, August, September, October, November, and December 1977, I again simply dreamed about Melanie’s nude body underwater, her hair floating around her.”
The dreams abated for a while, coming less frequently and with less detail. Until January 1978, when she dreamed of a specific location.
“There was some type of a boardwalk, and at the end a large door that was painted black, with one square window. I couldn’t see inside through the window, so I opened the door and walked in. To the left I saw a lounge where a large, fat man was tending bar. Several round tables and chairs were scattered throughout the bar. Past the bar was another doorway, which looked the same as the doorway I had already entered. There by that door gathered several men around a large table. They were extremely tense and it seemed to be a frightening atmosphere.”
The dreams stopped for six months, she told Ralph. Disturbed by the visions, Shasta decided to discuss the case with other professional and respected psychics. She was encouraged by her mentors to concentrate on the significance of her dreams in order to better understand their implications.
It wasn’t until late June 1978 that the visions began again. “I saw Melanie’s body wrapped in white cloth and dumped in a large utility bag. Again, the underwater images became prevalent in my dreams. In late August 1978, I envisioned a small-featured woman with short red hair. She picked up a framed photograph of Melanie. The woman was focusing on Melanie’s face and upper torso. The woman was teary-eyed and obviously grieving for Melanie.
“Four months later in mid-December, I saw the same tall, dark curly haired man who had appeared before. He was threatening Melanie, and she was backing up against a steel girder. The beam had large bolts in it, reminding me of an old bridge. Melanie’s hands were grasping the girder so tightly that her knuckles were white. The ring finger on her left hand appeared slightly larger than her other fingers.”
On January 3, 1979, Melanie appeared to Shasta in a vision. “She referred to me as ‘kid’ and repeatedly expressed how very cold she felt… almost freezing. She was surrounded by swirling, muddy water.” A week later, Shasta envisioned some divers in a lake who were searching for Melanie. Cone-shaped obstacles were constantly tearing the wet suits. The divers were concerned that rising water would make the body bag surface. Later the same evening, Shasta saw Melanie stuffing a white three-by-five index card into some hidden location in a bedroom. On the card were written the letters “Z, C, and B” and some numbers that Shasta could not recall upon waking.
“On January 17,” she told Ralph, “I saw a petite young woman slumped across the back seat of a car with red interior. The woman was wearing black shoes and a silky black blouse with a small print. She was lying horizontally across the seat. Then, on January 23, I saw the chunky sandy-haired man standing with the tall dark-haired man atop a rocky area. There was no foliage, and the rock was covered with ice and snow. The dark man was wearing a black and white tie, and the blond man was wearing jeans, a black turtleneck sweater, and tan corduroy jacket. Each was especially concerned about saving his own skin.”
Two days later, Shasta dreamed about an underwater rock cliff. “The cliff had jagged shelving and appeared at first glance to be two separate rock formations, although it was really only one. I couldn’t distinguish the depth of the formation, but it seemed to form a deep horseshoe cavern midway into the section. A steel bar or rod had been placed across the shelving. A chain was wrapped around the bar and extended several feet down
. Attached to the chain was a large canvas bag with brass ring seals. A body wrapped in cloth was inside the bag, which was totally encased in water. Fragments of hair were floating in the bag, and two gold earrings were in the bottom of the bag.”
In February, Shasta told Ralph, she envisioned Melanie grasping the shoulders of the dark-haired man. “She was shaking him, and was shouting and crying, telling him how desperately she wanted to live.”
The dreams were frequent from that time forward. Sometimes Melanie would appear to her, vaguely, during which times Melanie displayed varying emotions such as fright, frustration, anger, spite, and determination. Shasta also sensed a fierce competition between the dark-haired and light-haired men. “They competed for women, and in many other ways as well,” she told Ralph. There was no dispute, however, that the dark man—the man she eventually came to believe was Andrew Thornton—wielded the most power.
“On July 1, 1979, I envisioned a large gathering of people. They were proceeding up a large stairway. In a hallway, people were lined up as if waiting to be seated in a classroom. Through a doorway was an auditorium that had been converted into an elegant funeral home. Outside, the weather was that of early winter.”
That was to be Mary Shasta’s last dream. But its intensity affected her more than the others, for it was at that time that she first perceived an occult overtone. Her dreams about Melanie Flynn, she told Ralph, had propelled her further into religious faith. She found herself delving into the study of cults, devil-worshiping, and the spiritual struggle between good and evil, becoming increasingly convinced that her psychic powers had led her dangerously into a world of evil—a world that could only be counteracted by devotion to God.