The Yellowstone Event: Book 1: Fire in the Sky

by Darrell Maloney

  “And when that day comes they retire with great fanfare and a certificate thanking them for their faithful and loyal service.

  “It’s been that way for a very long time. Everybody in Washington has a dream job for as long as they want it, no matter how poorly they do that job.

  “That’s why they hate guys like you and scientists like Hannah that might come along and actually make them accountable to the citizens to do their jobs.

  “Picture it. Imagine how much work would be involved if the Yellowstone volcano became public knowledge. The citizens of the United States would panic and would force them to actually do something. They’d not only actually have to work, but their work would have to be effective.

  “They’d actually have to earn their pay if you went in and upset their applecart.

  “So yes. Absolutely. They’d kill you and me and Hannah and every living relative of all of ours to keep this secret from getting out.

  “And they wouldn’t even feel bad about it.”

  Chapter 52

  Tony downloaded the data from his thumb drive onto Bud’s secretary’s computer. As he was copying it, Bud called over, “Be sure you don’t delete the file when you’re done. If the government comes in here I want them to see that you were making copies. They won’t know how many, but they’ll know there are more copies out there.

  “And it’ll scare the crap out of them.”

  “Okay.”

  “Tony, you mentioned the other day that you had to be back at work in a few days. How much time do you have?”

  “They’re expecting me back on the twelfth. Will that give us enough time?”

  “I’m guessing probably not. What’s the name of your employer?”

  “Benson Pharmaceuticals. I’m one of their IT managers.”

  “Okay. While that’s copying, call your human resources office. Find out what their fax number is.”

  “People still use fax machines?”

  “Most human resources offices do, yes.”

  “Why?”

  “Why what?”

  “Why do I need to get their fax number?”

  “You ask too many questions. Do you trust me?”

  “Yes. I guess I have no choice.”

  “Then just do it. I’ll show you why in a little while.”

  Bud went to a five-drawer file cabinet and opened up the center drawer, then started rifling through it.

  After a couple of minutes he found what he was looking for; a folder marked “Doctor Letterhead.”

  From the folder he produced three sheets of very impressive stationary.

  Across the top of the stationary were emblazoned the words:

  BUD L. AVERY, M.D. FAAN

  Clinical Neurologist

  Steinhelm Institute Springfield, Missouri

  On one side was the emblem of the American Medical Association. On the other an emblem for the Steinhelm Institute of Neurology.

  The rest of the page was blank.

  But it wouldn’t be for long.

  Bud went on his computer and typed something out, then loaded the stationary into his printer and printed out what, judging by the look on his face, was truly a masterpiece.

  Tony finished his own task at about that same time, and Bud handed him the letter to read.

  It said:

  To Whom It May Concern,

  This is to confirm that an employee of yours, Anthony Carson, has been referred for treatment to my office.

  At this time we’ve been unable to determine the exact nature of Mr. Carson’s ailment, but we have been able to determine it is neurological in nature and could be serious.

  Mr. Carson is currently under my care and is undergoing a battery of tests to determine what is causing his condition, and the best course of action to treat same.

  Tests and treatment could take as long as several weeks. Please excuse him from his present duties for the time being, and feel free to call my office any time for updates. My office number is (417) 334-5332.

  It was signed “Bud Avery, M.D.”

  “Wow! How many different hats do you wear, anyway?”

  “Only three. Bondsman, investigator and attorney. I’m not really a doctor. But pretending to be one can come in handy sometimes.”

  “Isn’t impersonating a doctor against the law?”

  “Only if I practice medicine. Just claiming to be a doctor isn’t. It’s not ethical, but if it’ll keep you from losing your job while we’re in Washington I don’t mind doing it.”

  “But what if they call you on the number you gave them?”

  “Then I’ll answer it. It’s a Springfield area code on my spare cell phone. It’s a phone I almost never use, so if a call comes in I’ll know it’s your H.R. people. I’ll answer it accordingly and give them a spiel of medical mumbo jumbo. Unless they’re doctors themselves they won’t understand a word I’m saying.

  “Did you get their fax number?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay. Go fax it to them while I go online and book our flights to Washington.”

  Tony walked over to the machine based on Bud’s finger pointing alone. He couldn’t have identified a fax machine if his life depended on it.

  As Bud logged onto a travel site to book their flights he watched his young friend from the corner of his eye, amused at Tony’s attempts to operate a machine he’d only heard of before.

  Finally, as Bud was printing their boarding passes, Tony figured it out. He brought Bud the confirmation page to prove he’d accomplished his mission.

  And he was quite proud of himself.

  “Okay. Now what?”

  “Now, young man, we make a bee-line to the airport. Our flight leaves in just over an hour.

  The flight into Dulles International Airport was a bit bumpy but was otherwise uneventful.

  Tony slept most of the way, his recent lack of sleep finally convincing his body it was time to play catch-up.

  He awoke just before landing and told Bud, “I think I might have made a dreadful mistake.”

  “Oh? How so?”

  “I had a dream that Hannah was still in Norwood. And it dawned on me that I never even bothered to look for her. I just assumed that since she never called me that she was still missing. Should I go back and look around Norwood to see if she’s still there?”

  Bud wasn’t moved.

  “No. If she was there looking for you the motel clerk would have told you. Or she would have come to the jail looking for you. In fact, the motel clerk wouldn’t even have your stuff because she would have taken it when she checked out. Or she’d have extended your stay and it would still be in the room.”

  “Yeah. I guess.”

  “We’ll be landing in just a few minutes. Put your seat belt on.”

  Chapter 53

  The bowels of Washington D.C. look much like any other urban setting. And in many ways they’re exactly alike.

  In other ways, though, D.C. is in a class all its own.

  Most of the office buildings within a stone’s throw of the national mall are stuffed to the brim with fat cat financiers and lobbyists.

  Everyone, without exception, has their own agenda. Everyone, without exception, is either trying to peddle influence, trying to purchase some, or trying to schmooze someone into doing something that may or may not be legal.

  It is said that everyone in Washington has two things: something to hide, and a price.

  Officially, Washington D.C. is the center of power in the free world. A peerless example of democracy done right. A shining star for the world to follow.

  A melting pot where all the world’s oppressed can gather to be free.

  Actually, D.C.’s primary product isn’t freedom.

  It’s corruption, and it’s been that way for a very long time.

  For everyone in both political parties, from the president to the newest representative, is in it for himself. Votes are for sale to the highest bidder; the currency not cash but rather influence
and favors.

  C Street occupies a place roughly in the center of the cesspool that is Washington. And that’s appropriate, for it’s as mired in corruption and graft as any other spot in the city.

  At 1849 C Street NW a towering office building houses the Department of the Interior. The department has had a troubled history, being caught up in the great Teapot Dome Scandal of 1921.

  And it’s never really gotten much better.

  Over the decades it’s been caught selling off government land to shady developers, spending national park money for bureaucrats’ personal gain, and seemingly trying to find ever more clever ways to undermine public trust.

  During George W. Bush's administration an Interior Department Inspector General named Delaney was disgusted with the culture at the Department of the Interior. So disgusted, in fact, that he cited a "culture of fear" and of "ethical failure." Delaney also said during an interview that, "Short of a crime, anything goes at the highest levels of the Department of the Interior."

  Perhaps he just never found evidence of such crimes.

  The United States Geological Survey actually maintains their headquarters in Reston, Virginia.

  But they come under the leadership of the Department of the Interior.

  “Something as big as making scientists disappear from the face of the earth couldn’t happen unless their superiors at Interior knew about it and gave their blessing,” Bud explained to Tony.

  “That’s why we’re starting here.”

  The two were checking into a chain hotel Tony had stayed in a dozen times before. He’d never paid more than eighty bucks a night, even on typically higher weekend rates.

  The clerk handed Bud’s credit card and driver’s license back to him and said, “Welcome, Mr. Avery. We hope you enjoy your stay. Your nightly rate is two hundred and eighty dollars. Breakfast buffet is complimentary and off the main lobby.”

  “Holy moley,” Tony whispered to Bud as a bellman grabbed their bags and led the way.

  “Are you sure you can afford this?”

  Bud smiled and said, “I can’t. But I don’t have to. You see, I’m collecting receipts and will send you an itemized bill once we finish this.”

  He looked at Tony and winked.

  “The question is, can you afford it?”

  Tony gulped and replied, “Yeah. I guess. If you’ll accept a couple of hundred bucks a month for the rest of my natural life.”

  “Deal. I’ll just consider it an annuity to supplement my retirement pension.”

  Chapter 54

  By the time they got settled into their room it was way past dark and much too late to get anything accomplished.

  And that was okay, because it had been an incredibly long and trying day for both of them.

  Both of them needed a good night’s sleep, for there was no guarantee the next day would be any better.

  Hours later the sun rose on a beautiful morning in the nation’s capitol.

  Bud’s feet hit the floor first, and by the time Tony started to stir he’d already had his shower and gone downstairs for breakfast.

  He was standing in front of the hotel’s sealed window, watching the pigeons pace back and forth on the sill, when Tony propped himself up on an elbow and asked, “How long you been up?”

  “About two hours. Do you always sleep until nine o’clock?”

  “Nine o’clock? Holy crap! I wanted to get up around seven.”

  “Well, you failed miserably, my friend. But at least your head should be in the right place. Are you a breakfast eater?”

  “Not normally, no.”

  “Good. That’ll help us make up some time. Why don’t you shower and dress. I’m going downstairs to see what information I can gather. I’ll come back and pick you up in forty five minutes.”

  “Then what?”

  “Then we pay a visit to the people who will know what happened to your wife.”

  Tony wasted no time getting ready, and was waiting for Bud when the cranky old man returned.

  “You ready?”

  “Yep. What do I need?”

  “How many thumb drives did you bring?”

  “Three.”

  “Give me all of them.”

  “But…”

  “Look, Tony… either you trust me or you don’t. If you trust me, then do as I say. If you don’t trust me, then why in hell did you fly halfway across the country with me?”

  Tony reached into his pocket, took out three thumb drives, and placed them all into Bud’s outstretched palm.

  “Thank you. Give me a minute.”

  Bud opened a dresser drawer and took out a pair of black socks, balled up together.

  Then he took one of the drives and slipped it into the balled socks.

  Tony said, “Don’t you think that’s one of the first places they’ll look?”

  Bud said nothing, but placed a finger to his lips to shush him.

  “Okay. Let’s go.”

  The men took the elevator from the 11th floor to the hotel lobby, then patiently waited their turn in line behind a rather obese lady with a poodle who was complaining at length that there was no place nearby to buy her poochie’s favorite food.

  After the desk clerk promised to send a concierge to fetch some for her, he sent her on her way and motioned Bud forward.

  “How may I assist you gentlemen?”

  “This will be easy for you,” Bud smiled. “My poochie here has already eaten. Haven’t you, poochie?”

  He turned to Tony and smiled.

  Tony managed an “arf, arf.”

  “Actually, all I need is an envelope,” Bud said.

  “Certainly, sir.”

  Bud slipped one of the drives inside the envelope, sealed it, and wrote upon it:

  BUD AVERY OR TONY CARSON

  ROOM 1105

  He handed the envelope back to the clerk and made a simple request:

  “Please give this to whichever one of these guests comes asking for it.”

  “Certainly, sir.”

  The pair stepped into a yellow cab for a short ride to the Department of the Interior, then stepped out again a mere five minutes later.

  “That didn’t take long,” Tony as they stood on the sidewalk in front of a rather large and intimidating office building. “We could have walked.”

  “If we walked I wouldn’t have been able to slip one of the drives under the back seat of cab number 1414,” Bud said.

  “You’re really passing those things out like candy,” Tony replied. “Don’t you think we’ll need at least one of them?”

  “Yep. That’s how many we have left. The other two are close by if we need to retrieve them. Consider them insurance policies.”

  “What if they clean beneath the back seat of the cab and toss it in the garbage?”

  Bud responded with his own question.

  “Have you ever shoved your hand beneath the back seat of a D.C. cab?”

  “No. Why?”

  “Because if you had, you’d know they never, ever, clean beneath them.”

  “Now what?”

  “Follow me.”

  As they walked into the lobby of 1849 C Street NW, Bud took a tiny spiral notebook from the pocket of his sports coat and reviewed the notes he’d gathered earlier.

  After the pair passed through a metal detector the security guard on the other end offered to assist him. Bud said, “I’m Bud Avery. I’ve got an appointment to see C. Hastings Townsend.”

  “Fifth floor. Turn left off the elevator.”

  “Thank you, young man.”

  Chapter 55

  Tony held his tongue until they were in the elevator and the door closed shut behind them.

  Then he could contain his curiosity no longer.

  “Okay, I’ll bite,” he said. “Just who in the world is C. Hastings Townsend?”

  “He’s more than likely a pompous and pretentious ass,” Bud replied. “In my lifetime I’ve noticed that most people who use an initial for t
heir first names and spell out their second names almost always are.”

  “Uh… okay. Thank you for that little tidbit. But that doesn’t tell me who he is.”

  “He’s the director of the U.S. Geological Survey, who just happens to maintain two offices. One in Virginia and one here. We’re lucky in that he’s here today.”

  “And we’re just gonna march into his office unannounced and start making demands that he release my wife?”

  “Yeah, pretty much. Unless you have a better idea.”

  “No, not really. But it can’t be that easy.”

  “Probably not. But it’s someplace to start. At the very least it’ll put them on notice we know they have her and want her back.”

  They strode down a hallway covered on both sides with paintings of national parks. Some were the natural creations of God, like the Grand Canyon and Yosemite. Others were man-made, like the National Mall and Mount Rushmore.

  Oddly enough, Tony didn’t see a single depiction of Yellowstone.

  Tony followed Bud through a double door into a rather ornate office furnished in Queen Anne furniture.

  His first thought was, “So this is why my taxes are so high,” but he wisely said nothing.

  “Good morning to you, dear. Bud Avery to see Doctor Townsend.”

  The receptionist seemed friendly enough. She checked her boss’s appointment schedule, applied a checkmark to it, and said, “Please have a seat, gentlemen. Doctor Townsend will be with you momentarily. Would you like some coffee?”

  “No thank you, dear.”

  Tony was still struggling to awaken. A cold shower hadn’t helped much. Maybe coffee would.

  “Sure. Cream and sugar, please.”

  She got up and walked into an adjacent room.

  Bud took the opportunity to chide his young charge.

  “Cream? Sugar?” he whispered. “You big sissy.”

  He smiled, hoping to lessen Tony’s apprehension.

  It didn’t work.

  Tony had his coffee only long enough to take a couple of sips when a heavy wooden door opened before them.