Project Chiron

by Ryan King

  "Maybe they just want Mr. Winters for questioning," said Justin.

  "But they're painting him in the media as a mass murderer," said Bolton, "and the police are doing nothing to refute that impression. Not a good idea unless you want to have to pay out on a massive lawsuit. Especially when you're slandering and defaming a very respected lawyer."

  "Well, at least he'll get his payday at the end," said Justin, "presuming, of course, he didn't do it."

  "Oh, I don't think he's ever going to get his payday," said Bolton with a smile. "As a matter of fact, if I hadn't given up gambling years ago, I would lay a grand on them not finding Mr. Winters or any of his lost friends...ever."

  "I admit the staties are a little slow when it comes to police work," said Justin, "but that's a bit of a stretch."

  "They don't want them to be found," said Deborah suddenly.

  "Exactly," smiled Bolton. "Now the million-dollar question is why?"

  ***

  The car was silent as they drove away from the police station.

  "You don't believe all of that, do you?" Justin finally asked.

  "I'm not sure what to believe," Deborah answered.

  "Certainly not the sort of thing we want to get involved in."

  "Something very bad is going on here, and it somehow involved my brother."

  Her partner looked at her hesitantly. "I know you don't want to hear this...but maybe it's time we handed this all over to the chief."

  "Okay."

  "I mean, he can put resources against this and contact the guys at Justice, and...wait...did you just agree to turn this over to the chief?"

  "I said okay, didn't I?"

  Justice sat back in his seat and smiled. "We're coming back on the reservation."

  "I told you not to say things like that."

  Her partner was thinking. "Maybe when we tell the chief, you should let me do all the talking. I'm not sure he likes you very much."

  "Good idea," Deborah answered. "You take the lead on this from here on. Don't screw it up."

  "Not a chance." Justin smiled.

  Chapter 56

  The Winters Estate had been passed down through the family since it was bought in the late 1830s from an upstart merchant named Edgar Luroue. Much of the land had been lost and sold off during the years, but the old homestead and central house still remained as well as a little more than twenty acres.

  Jack had rented the place out to a nice family after his father died. He had just started work at his practice in Lafayette, which was too far to drive from Baton Rouge each day.

  There was one area of the estate that, by agreement, the rental family steered clear of. Jeremiah Winters had built a small office cabin on the top of a hill along the edge of the property. It overlooked a small stream and was isolated from much of the world.

  Jack's father had often gone there to work. Many Supreme Court decisions had been crafted and solidified in that small cabin. Jeremiah called the small cabin “The Refuge” and even had a modest wood-burned placard made to hang over the door.

  Eric St Keel made his way through the woods in a tracksuit. He had been able to leave his security detail behind by telling them he was going for a run through the woods in the nearby state park. If he wasn't back in an hour, they would call him and shortly after come looking for him.

  The clock was ticking.

  Part of him wondered what he was doing out here. He had, of course, been to The Refuge numerous times, but it had been many years. The man Jeremiah had called Johnny might just be crazy or looking to rob him.

  Still, the message had intrigued him. Jack is innocent. He wanted that so badly to be true.

  He stopped walking and looked around. It had seemed so clear at first, but now nothing looked familiar. Where was the hill? What about the stream?

  "Over here, Governor," said a deep voice.

  St Keel turned to see Johnny standing next to a tree nearby.

  "I hope I'm not making a mistake," he told the old man.

  Johnny shrugged. "Not for me to say. Follow me though if you want to find out." Without waiting for a response, the man turned and began walking up the nearby hill.

  St Keel hesitated for a moment and then followed after him. He led him up and over the hill and found the small cabin not more than a hundred yards from where he had encountered Johnny.

  The old man opened the front door and motioned for the governor to enter.

  Staring at Johnny for a long moment, St Keel walked into the cabin.

  His first thought was confusion. There was an enormous black man standing in front of him flanked by a beautiful girl with raven hair right behind him.

  "You came," said a voice to St Keel's left.

  He turned to see Jack Winters smiling at him with emotion in his eyes.

  "Didn't see how I had much choice," St Keel said. "I owe your father a great deal."

  "You could have turned us in; most would have."

  "Maybe," the governor shrugged. "Maybe not. Perhaps you should start by telling me what is going on."

  They all sat and told their story. St Keel didn't interrupt or show surprise. His face was a mask of calm.

  "Is that everything?" he finally asked when Jack was done with his story.

  "Isn't that enough?" asked Deloy.

  The governor looked around at each of them. "Don't misunderstand me. It's quite a tale."

  "You don't believe us?" asked Rena, her color rising.

  Johnny held up his hand to calm her. "Oh, he believes us. In fact, he's not even surprised."

  "Is that true?" asked Jack.

  St Keel stood and moved to look out the window. "I didn't know about any of this, but I knew something was going on at that island. Something that was being kept from me. Many things make more sense now than they did before."

  "So what happens now?" asked Rena.

  "We blow the top off everything," said Jack. "I go and tell everything. The governor will ensure I get that chance."

  St Keel turned from the window and looked at Jack with sad eyes. "It's too late for that."

  "What do you mean?" asked Deloy.

  "Everything that would corroborate your story is either gone, destroyed, or hidden. You speaking out would get you nothing but arrested at best."

  "At least it might save my friends."

  "Maybe, but likely not," said St Keel. "Besides, you’ll be in prison. These sorts of people could make you disappear inside of a day in prison."

  Johnny looked at him sternly. "These are some friends you have, Governor. Mr. Jeremiah might not understand."

  "It is what it is," said St Keel hotly, the comment hitting its mark. "What I'm telling is you can't try and fight this, not head-on."

  "What do you recommend?" asked Rena.

  "You hide or lay low," said St Keel. "I can try and help you."

  "Hide?" asked Jack. "Are you serious?"

  "Hey!" yelled the governor. "I came here, didn't I? You know the risk I'm taking by even being here? For not turning you in? I'm on your side and I'm telling you the facts of life, son. If you want to stay alive, you have to do as I say."

  "There has to be another way," said Rena.

  St Keel's phone rang, startling everyone in the room.

  He looked down at the phone. "I have to go."

  "Yes, you do," said Jack.

  St Keel sighed. "Son, keep your head down. Bide your time." Without waiting for an answer, he walked out the door.

  Everyone turned to look at Jack.

  "What are you going to do?" asked Rena.

  Jack's lips tightened. "They murdered my friends. They kidnapped and tortured my friends and me. I'm not laying low. I'm going to make them bleed."

  "Well, all right then," said Johnny. "I guess we need another plan."

  "Can we trust him not to give us away?" asked Deloy.

  "We're going to have to," said Johnny. "We got no place else to go."

  Chapter 57

  There was a knock on S
t Keel's door. He looked up to see his pretty secretary.

  "Governor, there is an FBI Special Agent-in-Charge Fred Maclan on line one for you. Says it's important."

  "Thanks. Fred and I know each other." He picked up the phone. "Fred, how’s it going? Still trying to pretend you know how to play golf?"

  "I'm afraid I had to give that up, Governor. Just not enough time in the day."

  "You're telling me. What can I do for you?"

  Maclan hesitated for a few seconds. "We should go have lunch together today and catch up."

  "Fred, as much as I would like to, I'm swamped right now with the campaign and everything. I can put you in touch with my secretary and we can schedule something."

  "It really needs to be today," Maclan answered. "We have lots of catching up to do. No need to go through anyone, best if it's just the two of us."

  St Keel sat up a little straighter in his chair. He looked at his watch. "O...kay. It's a quarter after eleven now. How about we meet at noon?"

  "Good. Let's go to Donovan's on Fifth. Both of us should be able to walk there."

  "Fred," asked St Keel slowly, "this is strictly a social call right? Do I need to bring any of my people along?"

  "Definitely not," answered Maclan. "Come alone. See you soon." Maclan then hung up.

  St Keel looked at the phone. Definitely not. To which question had that been the answer?

  He responded to a few more emails, but found himself frequently checking his wall clock. His mind was preoccupied with what Maclan could want. The man was a bore, but he had given him some advance warning on things before. Maclan was old school and believed that no one in power should ever be completely surprised.

  Rising, St Keel grabbed his jacket. It was a little early, but he could walk slowly and think. As he strode out of the office, he passed his secretary. "I'm going to grab a bite to eat. Be back in an hour or so."

  His secretary looked confused. "Do you want me to have them bring the car around?"

  "No, I'll walk. It's a nice day."

  "Do you know where you're going? Mr. Ross always likes to know."

  "Back soon." St Keel waved as he moved quickly towards the elevators.

  Twenty minutes later, he was sitting at a small table in the back of the best Italian restaurant in Baton Rouge. A glass of water and a cup of coffee sat in front of him. He let his mind drift and watched people walk by outside on the sidewalk through the nearby window.

  They bustled or strolled or stood and talked. Quite a few were on their smart phones. Most appeared relaxed. Oblivious to the things going on around them. St Keel realized he was a little envious of them.

  "Governor?" said a voice nearby.

  St Keel looked up to see the tall aristocratic form of Fred Maclan in an impeccable suit. Rumor was that he came from Massachusetts and that Maclan and his family were worth a fortune. Must have broken his father's heart when he went into the FBI rather than the banking industry.

  "Fred," said St Keel with a smile. He rose and shook the man's hand and offered the seat opposite him. They both sat and a waitress took Maclan's drink order.

  "What are you thinking about for lunch?" St Keel asked. "The chick parm is fantastic."

  "Nothing for me, I'm sorry," said Fred. "Actually, I need to get back to New Orleans pretty quick. Things are crazy there right now."

  "You sure? My treat."

  "No, thank you. Please go ahead and order yourself."

  St Keel did. The chicken parmesan.

  "So what's going on?"

  Maclan looked around slowly to make sure no one was listening. "Sir, I just wanted to give you a head's up on something. I hope it goes without saying that we never had this conversation?"

  "Of course."

  Sighing, Maclan looked down at his hands. "The Justice Department is going to open a major investigation into the Jackson Winters' case and the missing persons involved."

  "Justice Department?" asked St Keel. "I thought that was a state case."

  Maclan nodded. "It was, but there are indications of something more going on. Corruption, obstruction of justice, false official statements, you name it."

  "How does this tie into Jackson?"

  "A couple of my agents"—he paused and his jaw tightened—"stumbled upon some information. They presented it to me. At first I wanted to squash it, but the amount of evidence was a little too much to overlook."

  "I'm afraid I don't understand."

  Maclan leaned forward. "There is something strange going on down at Bog Island, and it appears to involve state and maybe federal persons. There is evidence of a cover-up and possibly foul play."

  "So Jackson isn't a mass murderer?"

  Maclan shrugged. "We don't know yet. Frankly, that's one of the odd things about this case. No serious investigator should have yet made that leap. There are no bodies, there is no murder weapon, there is no motive, and the primary suspect is on the loose. Who's to say this isn't still a missing persons' case?"

  "And you're telling me this because you know of my ties to Jackson's father," said the governor. "I appreciate that, Fred."

  "And...because it also appears to involve your chief-of-staff."

  "Lucas?" said St Keel. He realized he wasn't surprised.

  "We have nothing concrete yet, but every string we pull seems to somehow tie back to him. FBI agents are on their way to Bog Island now. A lot will depend on what they find there and what the people they interview say, but all indications are that something wrong has been going on."

  St Keel sat up straight. "Will I be implicated in this?"

  "Not as long as you knew nothing about it," said Maclan, letting the question hang in the air, "but you certainly will not come off unscathed in the public eye. Everyone knows that you and Lucas Ross are friends and he's more than just your chief-of-staff."

  "I didn't know about whatever it is you are talking about, but...I probably should tell you something."

  Maclan leaned forward.

  "I saw Jackson Winters yesterday. I spoke with him."

  The FBI agent's face relaxed in surprise. "Spoke to him? And you didn't call the police?"

  "No," said St Keel. "And while we're in the circle of discretion here, I trust this conversation didn't take place."

  Maclan sighed and leaned back in his chair. "What did he say?"

  "Surprisingly, many of the same things you are saying. He is adamant that he is innocent. That there is some sort of experimentation lab going on down there on the island. That they captured and tortured and murdered some of his friends while two others are still there being held captive."

  "Sounds like quite a tall tale. Do you believe him?"

  St Keel shrugged. "I believe he's innocent. As far as the other stuff, who knows?"

  Maclan pulled out a business card and slid it across the table to the governor.

  "I've got your number, Fred."

  "It's for Jackson. We can protect him. I understand why he's laying low, but we need to talk to him to figure out what is going on."

  St Keel took the card and put in his pocket. "I'm not sure I'll see him again."

  "Well, if you do, please encourage him to call me. It's only a matter of time before someone sees him. The police may not be as understanding as we are, and you know how accidents can happen."

  The governor nodded.

  Maclan looked at his watch. "I'm sorry, sir, but I have to go. My team should be at Bog Island any minute now."

  The FBI agent stood and paused before turning away. "Governor, can I give you a word of advice?"

  "Go ahead."

  "Get rid of Lucas Ross. The sooner the better. I'm not sure what they'll find down on that island, but he's connected to lots of bad things...not just this issue. Sooner or later, folks like that always go down. Make sure you don't go down with him."

  Maclan turned away and walked out of the restaurant.

  The waitress returned and set a savory smelling chicken parmesan in front of the governor. It was
actually his favorite.

  He found he was no longer hungry.

  Chapter 58

  The last few days had been a torturing hell for Lucas Ross. He felt like he had been juggling flaming chainsaws with the Bog Island cleanup, media misinformation, calming the pharmas down, and greasing palms in the state police and Justice Department.

  At last it seemed like everything was under control. No one was going to find anything down at Bog Island except a guide dog training center and a well-run state wildlife preserve, albeit ravaged by the recent hurricane.

  "Sir," said Bridgett on his intercom phone. "The governor would like to see you in his office. He says it's urgent."

  Lucas sighed. Dealing with that man was so much like dealing with a spoiled toddler. Granted, a very powerful and influential toddler. He imagined this was what tutors or governesses of young princes had felt like in centuries past.

  "Tell him I'm on my way."

  The General walked from his office down the wide hallways to the governor's office. He passed through open cubicle areas and neat break rooms. Everywhere he went, casual conversations ceased and work productivity increased exponentially. Few met his gaze.

  Lucas knocked perfunctorily on the frame of the governor's open door and walked in.

  "Please close the door," St Keel told him.

  His chief-of-staff eased the door shut and sat in the oversized chair across from his friend.

  St Keel stared at him. His hands fidgeted in front of him.

  "Whatever it is, just say it," said Lucas. "We'll figure it out together."

  "I've gotten word that there is a Justice Department investigation into the Jackson Winters’ case. They are also going to be looking into whatever is going on down at Bog Island."

  "Gotten word from whom?"

  The governor waved his hand. "It doesn't matter. The point is that everything is going to come to a head soon. I'm afraid whatever it is you have been doing is going to blow up and it will splash all over me."

  "There's no need for you to worry. I've got folks in the Justice Department that can squash this. Right now everything ties back to Jackson Winters. He's the real criminal here; everything else is just a distraction. Bog Island is a red herring as far as we're concerned."