Читать книгу Book II: The Revelations (The Fallen Race Trilogy) - Colin Patrick Garvey - Страница 8

General Parker and Lieutenant Colonel Hermann arrive back in Tamawaca and notice almost immediately the media throng has thinned considerably outside the makeshift gate constructed to keep the press corps at bay. A number of them have been dispatched to cover the explosion that occurred on Lake Michigan, not far from the site of the terrorist attack. Those who do not have access to a helicopter to reach the location where the explosion occurred, however, have become more vocal regarding the lack of information provided by General Cozey and his staff. What the remaining members of the media lack in sheer numbers, they compensate for in the escalated level of disruption and cries of censorship starting to be heard. They want answers, they plead that they need answers to their unending flow of questions:

Was the Sword of Allah responsible? How many victims were there? What type of bombs or incendiary devices were used? Are there clues to the whereabouts of the perpetrators? Was there any warning of the attack or any information received by the American intelligence community that an attack was forthcoming? How could this happen again on American soil? Was the explosion on the lake only a couple hours before somehow related?

After their tireless rhetoric was exhausted regarding the people’s right to know and that freedom of the press was being curtailed, they began to ardently appeal to whoever would listen that they are not being allowed to do their jobs. Every media outlet around the world obviously reported news of the attack, but what they need now are details. They need sound bites, interviews, the who-what-how-why of the attack, and most importantly, they need to fill in the blanks for their readers and viewers as to how something like this could happen again.

The media’s earlier compliance with Cozey’s gag order was perhaps a brief bout of fervent nationalism, a surge of patriotism that allowed for a short respite from attacking a story of this magnitude with their usual ferocity and ruthlessness. They had relented because they expected, in fact anticipated, periodic reports and updates of what had been discovered thus far. When they continued to receive little to no new information, they began to feel stonewalled, ignored, and disregarded, actions the American press has never been inclined to accept lying down. They are no longer the respectful, pacified group initially humbled by the shock of the attack, but have transformed into an unruly, cantankerous mob that demands information. Unfortunately for them, no information appears to be looming on the horizon.

As Parker’s helicopter slowly descends behind the gate, neither General Cozey nor his staff are anywhere to be found. Seven or eight soldiers hold the media throng in check, but judging from the returning choppers that were out at sea, they soon will have more people to worry about.

More fuel for the fire, Parker thinks.

The scene is spiraling into chaos and it is becoming abundantly clear General Cozey is losing control of the situation. General Parker may need to have a word with him, but first he would like to view the footage on Private Rushmore’s disc and speak with Dr. Waterston, whose constant avoidance of the general has become highly suspicious.

On the return trip to Tamawaca, Augie had received a call, the matter of which he has yet to explain to General Parker. After reading Augie’s expression, however, it was obvious to Parker that whoever the caller was, they had a few interesting things to say. Augie indicated that he would explain to the general once they touched down, so he would not have to shout to be heard over the roar from the rotors.

When the helicopter is hovering only a few feet off the ground, Parker and Augie hop down from the chopper and walk quickly towards the beach.

Augie places his hand on Parker’s elbow and leans in close, urgently delivering the new information he received only moments ago, “They just finished interrogating one of the fishermen who spotted our Arabic party up north. The man cracked, sir, and rather easily I should add.”

“Were they gentle, Augie?” Parker asks with a wry grin.

“Just some minor threats, General,” Augie responds, “and no physical harm.”

Parker does not know if Augie is being serious or facetious and frankly, he does not want to know.

“The man admitted he was approached several days ago,” Augie explains, “and told that in exchange for a large sum of cash, he needed to gather a few buddies and be at a certain location on the lake the morning of July fifth. They were to take note of what they saw and report it once they came in for the day.”

“Jesus Christ,” Parker says, shaking his head in disbelief, “what the hell is going on, Augie?”

“I don’t know, sir,” Augie replies, “but it’s starting to unravel, isn’t it?”

“So the Arabic men on the boat are actually . . . real?”

Augie nods, “Seem to be, sir.”

“Then they were planted there by someone,” Parker says, his frustration mounting.

Augie nods again in agreement.

“What about the other group of witnesses?” Parker asks. “Cozey mentioned a second group who corroborated what the first group saw.”

“My guys are working on them, sir, but I suspect it’s only a matter of finding out which one of the men in the group was approached and propositioned. I’m sure he’ll have a similar story to tell though,” Augie asserts.

Parker nods, not necessarily pleased with the new development, but satisfied progress is being made in debunking the witnesses’ stories.

“Alright, let’s see what’s happening around here,” Parker says warily, uncertain where the next surprise will come from. He would not have to wait very long.

As Parker and Augie walk towards Cozey’s headquarters, they are suddenly intercepted by Private Anderson, who appears out of the darkness behind the cottage next to the Easy Does It, a tense look on his face.

He whispers in a low, conspiratorial tone, “There is something I need to tell you both, immediately.”

He leads them away from the spotlight of the television cameras and phalanx of reporters and into the shadows of the cottages. They follow without protest, knowing the look on Anderson’s face. He holds invaluable information, simply waiting to burst forth.

Anderson leads them to a walkway behind a cottage, briefly looks around, and relays what the mysterious Dr. Nitchie disclosed to him. He tells them about the lackadaisical procedures on the part of the forensic team; Dr. Nitchie’s own trivial role and the feeling he is being ignored by the rest of the team; Bason and Stringer preventing Dr. Waterston from speaking with General Parker and the duo performing “damage control” on the inadvertent scan to the Pentagon regarding the unusual radiation discovered at the site; the extraterrestrial-like radiation found on the fish, similar to the radiation identified on several of the beachfront cottages; the arm with no radiation marks or cauterization and which Dr. Nitchie speculated was taken from a medical school cadaver, and other bodybags filled with similar extremities; and Nitchie’s repeated assertion that nothing here is what it seems.

By the end, General Parker is steaming mad and appears to be on the verge of an eruption. Anderson’s mention of the medical school cadavers instantly explains something that had been nagging at Parker. He had previously pondered what type of bombs completely eradicate a human being, bombs that simply destroy every fiber of a person’s being without leaving a trace of them behind, regardless of the distance from the center of the blast. A nuclear bomb could be capable of this, but it was obvious a nuclear bomb had not been detonated in Tamawaca. The bombs were conventional, and even the most deadly conventional bomb should leave people on the outer edge of the blast radius somewhat intact, albeit charred.

When they arrived, however, they were informed there were only pieces and fragments of people remaining, which would be used to match with a relative’s DNA to determine their identities. There are no actual bodies, relatively intact ones at least, and no faces to identify. This was something that had bothered Parker from the beginning, and now he is starting to understand why.

“You said that this . . Dr. Nitchie informed you that he looked in other bodybags and found the same thing? Just . . . pieces?”

“Yes, sir,” Anderson confirms, “that’s what he said.”

Thinking aloud, Parker continues, “So . . . the ‘parts’ were taken from medical school cadavers and used to fill up the bodybags for the TV cameras, but the victims’ loved ones would be given no chance to identify the remains.”

A few seconds pass with no one saying a word. Finally, Parker asks the obvious question, “So where are the people of Tamawaca?”

He looks at Augie and then at Anderson, neither of whom attempts to offer an explanation. Too many times lately he has been asking questions that do not seem to have answers, and he is tired of feeling like they are constantly running around in circles. It is finally time to obtain some answers.

“We need to talk to Dr. Waterston,” Parker says, “and maybe our pal Dr. Nitchie.”

Parker turns and begins walking with purpose towards the forensic lab constructed next to the Easy Does It, with Augie and Private Anderson following at his heels.

“Um, sir,” Anderson says hesitantly, glancing at Augie, “I don’t want to get Dr. Nitchie into any hot water for what he told me. He seems to have risked a-”

General Parker cuts him off, “I’ll use my utmost discretion, Private, but if we need him to speak up and point out the bad guys, we’re going to have him do it.”

“Uh . . yes, sir,” Anderson says, not looking or feeling the least bit relieved by General Parker’s comment.

They walk past the Easy Does It, which looks quiet at the moment compared to the scene a few hundred yards away at the gate. They notice the floodlights that were erected on the beach have been taken down, and there does not appear to be anyone from the forensic team present. They also notice the various markers that were planted in the sand have all been removed. Much of the debris from the explosions has been cleared away, and the only signs of disturbance to the beach are the massive amounts of displaced sand and the numerous blackened craters throughout. The sound of the waves crashing onto the shore seems louder now, like it is reverberating to the horizon and returning ten-fold.

“Looks like they’ve closed up shop,” Parker remarks. “And rather quickly.”

“Sir,” Augie asks, “what exactly are you going to say?”

Parker responds over his shoulder, “I don’t know, I’ll think of that when I get there.”

A moment later, they arrive there: a sealed door that can only be opened from the inside of the lab. There is a small, rectangular, transparent window located in the middle of the door. Parker peers in and for a moment, he looks confused. His confusion quickly turns to anger and he starts pounding on the door with his fist.

A few seconds later, there is a sharp buzzing sound and the door unlocks. Parker yanks the door open and moves inside, with Augie and Anderson following behind. When all three of them are inside the lab, they look around in disbelief.

The lab is completely empty and utterly spotless. It is as if no one had been working here for the previous 18 hours. A strong smell of disinfectant hangs in the air and, amidst this sterile environment, stands Bason and Stringer.

Stringer is the first to speak, “Is there something you’re looking for, General Parker?”

She attempts to sound casual, as if the surroundings are completely normal, but Parker and company can see the cat just ate the tweety bird. Parker does not play the diplomacy game and he has no time to beat around the bush.

“For one thing,” he begins, “you can wipe that fucking smirk off your face. Where the hell is Dr. Waterston? What happened to the lab?”

“Sir, the forensic team packed up and headed back to D.C.,” Bason responds placatingly. “They said they had gathered everything they could at the scene and were returning home for additional research and analysis. They indicated that they have more tests to conduct at their base of operations.”

“I’ll bet they do. Who authorized the shutdown?” Parker demands.

“General Cozey, sir,” Bason responds. “He was initially going to wait for you to return before allowing them to leave, but he was not sure when or if you were coming back,” Bason says, his tone somewhat accusatory.

“Dr. Waterston,” Stringer adds, “said he urgently needed to return, sir. It really could not wait.”

“Where are the bodybags?” Parker asks. “Where’s all the evidence that was gathered here?”

“It has all been packaged and shipped ahead of the team, sir,” Stringer answers. “The bodybags have been transferred to the state coroner’s office, where they will conduct the DNA matching with relatives in order to identify the remains.”

“Son-of-a-bitch,” Parker hisses.

“Something the matter, sir?” Bason asks, attempting to mollify the general, but still managing to sound smug at the same time.

Ignoring Bason’s question, Parker casually asks, “Where is Dr. Nitchie?”

Anderson winces at the mention of the doctor’s name.

“Who?” Stringer asks, appearing confused.

“Dr. Warren Nitchie,” Parker replies. “He is part of the forensic team . . a recent addition I believe.”

Bason and Stringer glance at each other.

“Uh, sir,” Bason says, “I don’t believe there is a Dr. Nitchie on the forensic team.”

“I’ve never heard of him,” Stringer adds, shaking her head.

Anderson speaks for the first time, more to vindicate himself than anything. He does not want General Parker and Lieutenant Colonel Hermann thinking he fabricated the whole story.

“He replaced a sick member of the team,” he offers. “He just found out about the assignment this morning.”

Parker and Augie momentarily stare at Anderson, and he immediately recognizes by their look that he does not have a speaking part in this play. He clamps up and focuses on the floor, while a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach suddenly forms.

They know who Nitchie is, he thinks, but they’re playing dumb and acting like they’ve never heard of him. They must have found out what he revealed to me and silenced him.

“There was no one,” Stringer asserts, “who reported ill from the forensic team. As far as we know, everyone was present and accounted for, sir.”

Parker looks for some kind of “tell” that would suggest she is lying, but he does not see one. Of course, searching for a tell typically only works if a person is unaccustomed to lying on a consistent basis. With Bason and Stringer, stretching the truth could be a full-time occupation.

“Is there anything else we can help you with, General?” Bason condescendingly asks, as if they have been extremely helpful up to this point.

Parker eyes each of them for a couple of moments, letting them wonder what he is thinking.

Finally, primarily to elicit a reaction, Parker calmly states, “Let’s start with something simple. You’re both under arrest for crimes against the United States of America.”

Parker turns to Augie and orders, “Lieutenant Colonel Hermann, place them both under arrest and read them their rights under military law.”

“Yes, sir,” Augie responds, as he starts moving towards them.

Both Bason and Stringer feign utter surprise, but when they realize Parker and Augie are serious about placing them under arrest, their masks drop. Without even trying to protest or argue, they instead draw their sidearms and point them at Parker and Augie.

Bingo, thinks Parker. Guilty as can be. Now will it be worth it?

“That’s as far as you go, Lieutenant Colonel Hermann,” Stringer warns.

Augie stops in his tracks and looks at the general, who does not even bat an eyelash.

“You both just made the biggest mistake of your lives,” Parker says menacingly. Knowing where it will hurt, Parker continues, “You have committed career suicide, and your general is going down with you.”

Despite Parker’s threat, they do not seem the least bit concerned, the arrogance clearly evident on their faces.

“I doubt that, General,” Bason remarks.

“If anything,” Stringer adds, “we will gain something here tonight.”

“With a five-star general out of the way, it looks like there will be room to move up the ladder for our general,” Bason predicts.

“You know how powerful the group is, General,” Stringer states. “They can do anything they want, and they’ve assured us that, along with General Cozey, we’ll be moving up in the world as a reward for our . . substantial risk.”

Augie casts a questioning glance in Parker’s direction, but the latter remains focused on Bason and Stringer, the anger burning fervently in his eyes.

“You don’t think anyone will miss a five-star general or his assistant?” Parker asks incredulously.

Parker motions behind him towards Private Anderson, who stands there dumbfounded, thinking of ways he can save them all. Hero scenarios dance around inside his head as he briefly and prematurely envisions himself at the medal ceremony.

“They might not miss a lowly private,” Parker says, “but I’m fairly certain the Pentagon will make some inquiries related to our . .” - Parker motions towards himself and Augie - “disappearance.”

Stringer and Bason look at one another and they exchange a sly, creepy grin. Parker does not like that look.

“There will be no disappearance, General,” Stringer states, “for any of you.”

“There will be nothing left of your bodies,” Bason indicates matter-of-factly, “amid the wreckage of your private jet due to take off from Windmill Airfield in a little less than an hour. The National Transportation Safety Board will blame the cause of the crash on mechanical errors, which is being taken care of as we speak.”

“Nothing suspicious about that,” Stringer adds.

“And no need to bring anything to read,” Bason cracks, “you’ll be dead by the time we throw you on board.”

“And the pilot?” Augie asks, not entirely interested in the answer, but the longer they stall, the greater the chance of something happening far more favorable than death.

“Yours has been replaced,” Stringer answers, “with one of ours. He is a skilled skydiver, so he’ll be bailing out after he transmits a distress signal.”

Parker has to admit that for disposing of a five-star general and his assistant, the plan has a rather simple elegance, an element he would appreciate more if he was not the intended recipient of said plan. Still, he has been in plenty of tight situations before, along with Augie, and they had managed to emerge from all of them intact, albeit with the occasional battle scar or two. He begins to weigh their options, which are severely limited.

Augie has his sidearm, Anderson is not packing, and Parker has the gun he was loaned on their trip to Eisley’s house tucked in his back waistband. There is nothing useful around the lab because it has been completely cleaned out. Nevertheless, Parker does not intend to go out without a fight, and he knows Augie will not take this lying down either, especially from a couple of fuckers like Bason and Stringer.

Back in the jungles of Vietnam, Laos, and Cambodia, Augie and Parker often used the word danh tu, a Vietnamese word that essentially means “fight.” They both liked the sound of the word, and when either of them embarked on a mission without the other, their parting last word usually was an exclamatory danh tu. While totally unnecessary, for neither of them needed a motivational ploy to become energized for a mission, they had succeeded and returned back safely after each one, designating the word as a kind of “good luck” handle.

Parker is about to exclaim this very word as a signal for Augie to make a move, but before he can do so, two things happen nearly simultaneously that make it unnecessary.

First, Wagner’s Ride of the Valkyries explodes on Augie’s cell phone, his personalized ringtone causing everyone in the room to jump. And second, the lights in the makeshift lab go out, pitching the room into total darkness with the exception of a small sliver of light sneaking in through the small, rectangular window in the lab door.

The next thing that can be heard in the lab is a screeching noise that sounds like a wild animal, and then a figure suddenly barrels out from the shadows, moving with astonishing speed towards Bason and Stringer. A moment later, high-pitched screams pierce the air, screams that have no business coming from the throat of a human being.