Project Chiron

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Project Chiron Page 7

by Ryan King


  "Also," continued Lucas, "get a copy of that boat contract and see who he rented it to."

  "Already done," said Devin.

  Lucas continued. "If we can pay the guy to forget the whole affair that might even be best. How much can a boat like that cost anyway?"

  "More than you'd think," answered Devin.

  "But cheaper than dealing with a police cleanup," said Lucas. "The last incident nearly wiped out our discretionary fund."

  "Understand, do you want me to do anything about Urchart?"

  Lucas thought. "Does he still have the situation contained?"

  "He does, but by procedure, he's supposed to report these sorts of incidents," Devin explained. "So far nothing."

  "We can use that to our advantage," Lucas answered. "He'll do anything to keep us from finding out, which means keeping everything bottled up. With that said, you might want to be thinking about who to replace him with should things go south."

  "Got it," answered Devin. "Uh, there's something else."

  "Like all of this isn't enough?"

  "The name on the boat contract is Jackson Winter," explained Devin.

  Lucas shook his head. "Is that name supposed to mean something? Oh shit...no, it can't be."

  "Yes," answered Devin. "Jackson Winter is the son of Jeremiah Winter. Jack's a lawyer in a firm up in Lafayette. Pretty good one from what I can gather."

  Putting his hand over his eyes, Lucas murmured. "The only son of Supreme Court Justice Jeremiah Winter is missing after renting a boat near Bog Island?"

  "That's about right."

  "Okay," Lucas said, "you do everything to control things at the marina. Are you there?"

  "On my way."

  "Good, I think you need to stay there until this is under control. I might even need you to go over to Site Iaso if this gets any worse."

  "Understood."

  "Call me tonight on this line to give me an update," Lucas directed.

  "Got it," Devin answered and hung up.

  Lucas Ross sat thinking. Eventually, they wouldn't be able to keep the lid on the disappearance of Jeremiah Winter's son. Jeremiah was one of Governor St Keel's longest and dearest friends, and some reaction might be expected. The question was did this in any way endanger operations at Site Iaso or the Chiron Project itself?

  Lucas pushed the page button.

  "Yes, sir," answered Bridgett.

  "I need you to come in here," he said. "We need to work on a potential situation."

  Bridgett walked in and closed the door behind her.

  "Can you be subtle with your journalist lover?"

  The beautiful and leggy brunette smiled and looked offended at the same time. "Sir! Really?"

  "Okay, I figured as much," he said. "Now listen, you tell your boy that you have it on good authority from a very reliable but unnamed source that the only son of Jeremiah Winter is missing."

  "Missing?" she asked. "How? Where did he go?"

  "Your source doesn't know," he answered, "but there have been some whispers that he's never really gotten over his father's death. Had trouble at work supposedly. Dealing with grief, dabbling in drugs, that sort of thing. Wouldn't surprise anyone if he just ran off. Poor man might have even had a nervous breakdown. Totally understandable, lots of people worried, hope he's okay. Might even be suicidal, that type of hype. Got it?"

  "Easy," she answered, giving him a sexy smile that promised more if he wanted. "Anything else?"

  "No, that's all," he answered briskly. He wouldn't fall into that trap so easily. Bridgett was good, one reason he'd recruited her, but not that good.

  Bridgett nodded before turning and walking out of the office.

  Lucas pulled up his non-attributable Internet connection and logged into their private security connection. It gave them access to a wide variety of databases only available to law enforcement and government officials.

  He needed to know everything he could about Jackson Winter.

  Chapter 15

  FBI Special Agent Deborah Mitchell stared at the man hard. "Are you sure? It gets crowded here I know; maybe you missed him."

  "I wouldn't miss Moses," said Cliff, who ran the Kingston Shelter in the Vieux Carre section of New Orleans. "He always makes a point of saying hello when he stops by. It's got to be at least six months since I've seen him."

  Deborah hung her head. She had heard the same thing from a half dozen other shelters Moses frequented on occasion. He often disappeared for stretches at a time, but never for this long.

  She handed him her card. "Give me a call if he comes in?"

  "Sure will," Cliff answered. "Hope your brother is okay."

  Deborah walked back to the car where her partner Justin waited. "Well?"

  "Well, what?" she asked.

  "Oh, come on," he said. "You're asking about your brother, aren't you? You'll get in trouble with the chief again if he finds out."

  "I didn't use my badge," she said with a snort. "I won't claim the hours if that makes you feel better."

  Justin looked back over his shoulder as his partner pulled their sedan away from the curb. "What would make me feel better is getting out of this part of the city. Unlike you, I don't exactly blend in."

  She looked at him in shock. "That is a damn racist thing to say, you know that, right?"

  "I'm just saying that I'm the only white person I've seen in an hour. These folks look at me like they're wondering how I'd taste slow cooked and slathered in hot sauce."

  "Well," she answered, "it wouldn't hurt you to get a little sun every now and then you know. A tan would do you good."

  He pulled at his sleeves. "I told you before my skin is very sensitive."

  "That ain't the only thing," she muttered.

  "What was that?" he asked.

  "I said let's drive on over to 7th Ward. We don't have anything else going on. We go back to the office and we'll just get more paperwork."

  Justin knew why she wanted to go to 7th Ward but decided not to say anything. If it had been his crazy brother missing, he would likely have done the same.

  "At least it's not as bad as it used to be," he said.

  "What's not?"

  He waved his hand at the rundown neighborhood they were driving through. "Everything. That whole Take Back the Streets campaign has really done a number on cleaning the place up."

  "A little too good to be true if you ask me," she said.

  Justin shook his head at his partner. "You have to be one of the most pessimistic people I've ever met."

  "It's not pessimism," she said. "Its suspicion. Which is a good trait in our line of work."

  "Whatever it is," he answered, "why can't you just accept that it's a good thing?"

  "Who runs it?"

  "What? The program?" Justin asked.

  "Yeah."

  Her partner shrugged. "I don't know. Who cares?"

  "I can tell you that no one and everyone is running it at the same time," she answered. "Department of Labor has a piece but will send you to Department of Social Services, who will send you to Department of Interior, who will send you to the Department of Corrections if you're not careful."

  "What's your point?"

  "My point," she stressed, "is that no one is really in charge. When everyone is responsible, no one is responsible."

  "I'd say it's working just fine," Justin answered. "These lots used to be filled with people living out of shopping carts and cardboard boxes."

  "Where did they all go?" she asked.

  "Some work program somewhere," Justin answered, waving his hand vaguely in the distance. "Most are probably working an oil rig in the gulf or repairing levees up north. Regardless, they're better off, as is everyone else."

  "You ever see anyone recruiting?" she asked.

  "Recruiting? They're not joining the military."

  "Right, but they're also not getting drafted or taken against their will. That means someone is convincing them. How?"

  Justin shrugged again. "Do
n't know. Don't care." He snapped his fingers as he thought of something. "And to answer your question, I have seen some of these recruits. Over in the north part of the French Quarter, there is a place where they get classes, medical care, food, and shelter."

  "I've seen it, too," answered Deborah, "but there was something missing. Did you notice?"

  "Live music and free beer?"

  Deborah dropped her head and sighed. "How in the hell did you get hired by the FBI? You don't notice shit."

  "But I got a great personality," Justin answered, cutting his eyes at her. "Unlike some other people I could mention."

  "Those people at the French Quarter are all old or young or sick."

  Justin thought for a long moment. "Yeah, I guess you're right. Just means they're taking good care of them. It's not like you could push them out into the fields to pick cotton against their will or anything."

  Deborah hit him in the shoulder. "How did I end up with a partner who was a racist bigot? A bunch of black homeless people picking cotton in the fields against their will?"

  "Wait a minute," he protested. "I'm sure some of them are Hispanic. That's not racist."

  Deborah let out a long breath. "Anyway, my point is, where is everyone else? Where are the healthy men and women over eighteen and under sixty?"

  "Like I said, somewhere better off I'm sure."

  I wish I could be sure, Deborah thought.

  Moses Mitchell would be twenty-two the next day.

  Chapter 16

  Jack spent the next two days recovering, sleeping as often as he could. Although Rena said his wound was healing nicely, his ordeal had taken a lot out of him. Guilt and worry for his friends was never far from his mind.

  "Rena, I'm ready to travel," he urged the second night.

  "Are you so ready to leave us?" she asked, teasing while checking his bandage by the light of an oil lamp.

  Jack felt an odd tension around Rena. He often noticed her looking at him when she didn't think he was paying attention. He found himself doing the same, and it was hard to get her out of his thoughts.

  He found himself staring at her and she returned the look. "I'm grateful for everything you've done, but I've got to get back."

  Her lips tightened. "So, I guess you'll go off. Maybe have your other fishing trips with Levi? Shoot each other with abandon and not even think about us?"

  Filled with uncertainty, Jack dropped his head.

  She suddenly reached out, grabbing his face in both hands, and kissed him forcefully.

  Jack's surprise turned to eagerness, and he deepened the kiss, his hands tightening around her slim waist

  Pushing him back, she placed her hands on both sides of his face again, her eyes only inches from his. "There is no Levi, is there?"

  He opened his mouth to deny the lie, but saw in her eyes that she knew it wasn't true. Jack shook his head and dropped his eyes.

  "Who really shot you?" she asked, her hands trembling slightly.

  Jack hesitated then shook his head. "Some mercenary-looking guy; they killed two of my friends and took the others somewhere as prisoners. Shot me while I was trying to get away." He felt a surge of relief at being able to tell Rena the truth. "I'm sorry I lied to you, but I didn't know you. I didn't know if I could trust you. It's so crazy, I'm not even sure I believe it all myself."

  Rena nodded. "It's okay, I understand."

  A thought clicked in Jack's head. He looked closely at Rena. "You understand why I didn't tell you and you're not surprised by my story. You know about these guys?"

  Standing up, she turned away from him. "They came a few years ago. Said if we keep to our business they'd leave us b, and, so far, that's the way it's been. We even get an annual stipend."

  "The way what's been? And what the hell does it have to do with me and my friends?"

  "I don't know for sure," she said. "I've heard they have a camp where they keep people. Poppa says not to ask questions we don't want to know the answers to."

  Jack's jaw tightened. "They killed my friends! Who knows what they're doing to Charles and Amanda and Heather? I've got to get them help. Can you help me get to the mainland?"

  "What will you do when you get there?"

  "I'll go to the police," he said. "They'll come here, shut this all down. You can't do something like this in America. It's insane!"

  Deloy filled the doorway. "Rena, time for bed."

  Rena said, "Be there in a minute."

  Her father stood there staring at them before walking away.

  She turned back to Jack and gazed at him for a long time. Finally, she seemed to make up her mind and whispered, "We'll leave tomorrow morning in the boat. Don't mention anything to Poppa, okay?"

  "You sure?" he asked. "I don't want to get you in trouble with your father."

  She nodded and stood. "I'll deal with him. You just be ready."

  Jack reached out and took her hand in his.

  Rena nearly pulled away from him, but then she came back and kissed him almost frantically before turning away and leaving.

  He thought for a moment he had seen tears in her eyes.

  It took Jack a long time to get to sleep. He wondered if he should ask Rena to come with him, to stay with him. They had only known each other for a few days, but he had feelings for her that he hadn't had for anyone in a very long time.

  He drifted off to sleep thinking of her.

  Waking with a start, Jack saw the morning light filtering through the window. He quietly dressed and crept out of his room to find Rena at the stove fixing breakfast

  "I thought we were sneaking out," he whispered.

  "No need," she answered flipping eggs. "Daddy went out early. He's going to work on the traps, said I could borrow the boat for the day."

  Jack sat and poured himself some coffee from the pot on the table. "Um...Rena...you know..."

  "Just eat, Jack," she said, putting a plate before him and turning away and then walking outside.

  "Uh, okay," he said, making a note to talk to her more later.

  Rena returned as he was finishing his breakfast "You ready?" she asked, not smiling.

  Jack nodded. "I guess so. Look, Rena..." He tried to pull her into his arms, but she moved away.

  "Don't, Jack," she said. "We're different people from different worlds. It was fun to pretend for a while, but it's over."

  He stared at her, his heart sinking. "Rena, I wasn't pretending. I really think I care about you...I think you're the most amazing woman I've met in a long time. I don't want this to be the end."

  She was crying now. "Damn you, don't say that! Don't! You don't mean it!"

  Something wasn't right. "Why are you acting this way?" he asked.

  Looking out the window, she answered quietly, "Poppa was sick. Would have died if not for the medicine he got from the camp they built. I owe them everything for saving him."

  "I'm sorry...I guess, about your father," mumbled Jack, "but he seems fine now, right?"

  "Let's just go," she said, wiping her eyes as she strode outside.

  Jack followed her and saw her father standing on the porch waiting. In the clearing in front of the cabin was a flatbed truck painted green. It had a large metal cage in the back. Standing in front of the truck was Urchart and three men.

  "Hello, Mr. Winter," he said. "We parted so poorly."

  Jack felt as if he were going to faint, "Rena, wha—"

  Deloy grabbed him by the arm and led him roughly down the steps. "Don't talk to her. She saved your life and took care of you. No need to make her feel bad. She didn't ask to be brought into this, and neither did I."

  "But why?" he asked. "I don't understand."

  "Because," Urchart said, "what we are doing here is more important than you or I or any of us."

  Mercenaries came forward and took Jack by the arms and bound his hands in front of him with plastic restraints. He cried out in pain as his shoulder wound pulled against the stitches.

  "You killed my friends,
you bastard," Jack grated through gritted teeth.

  Urchart smiled. "Not all of them. They miss you, I'm sure." He walked up, turned Jack around, and poked painfully at his healing wound.

  Jack couldn't help but cry out.

  "I knew I hit you! Told them as much. Damn good shot if I don't say so myself."

  "Yeah, well done there," said Rena sarcastically.

  Urchart looked at her hesitantly, as if uncertain if she were serious or not.

  "That's island humor," Jack said, staring hard at Rena. "It's an acquired taste."

  They loaded him into the cage in back of the truck and locked it shut. Urchart and the soldiers climbed into the front four-door cab and pulled away leaving Rena and her father standing in the grass.

  Jack locked eyes with Rena as they pulled away.

  I'm sorry, Jack, she mouthed at him, tears in her eyes.

  His last image of the cabin was Deloy trying to put his arm around her. She threw it off angrily and ran inside.

  Chapter 17

  Moses couldn't believe he had evaded them for this long. Two days was the longest he had previously been out and he was now going on four.

  Don't get cocky, said Billy.

  "No," whispered Moses, looking out on the sad scene before him. "Must be as still and quiet as a mouse."

  This is why you haven't been caught yet, said Delores. Chasing others, probably figure they'll get around to you in due time.

  The bad men were loading the young man who looked like he was injured into the back of one of the camp transport trucks. Moses knew the vehicle intimately. Each time he'd been captured he'd been taken back to his cell in it.

  Or one like it, said Billy.

  And they'll likely do it again soon, said Nate. Unless you figure things out.

  Moses' eyes narrowed at the dark-haired girl on the porch. She had also tricked him, offered him friendship and shelter and food, but the next morning had betrayed him. Moses rubbed the back of his head, remembering where the girl's father had hit him with a club.

  Do you like being free, or would it just be easier if you go and turn yourself in? asked Nate. We both know they'll likely kill you this time, but maybe that's for the best, right? Surprised you're not dead already with all the things they've done to us."

 

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