“Well, in your case, probably not. You have no insurance so your records probably won’t be viewed anytime soon as you’ve got no balance, either. But if they are, it would be a cursory search, not the history of the account. And if nothing were found, a data-entry error would be assumed. No one would bother wasting time in the backup. Of course, this is in theory, since it didn’t really happen.”
“Theory, of course. Okay, thanks, that helps, and should function as a misdirection.”
We ate peacefully and thoughtfully, walking through problems with the whole predicament. The salad was excellent, as was the view as I tried to sneak glances at Janet while we ate. I was lucky to have her on my side, intelligent and cautious, helping to keep me reigned in.
After our lunch had been properly demolished, the dishes were cleared away and she leaned forward. “Okay, so another thing that might also be an issue is your involvement with the attempted robbery at that bank, including the police questioning. Your fingerprints will be part of evidence even if you weren’t charged with anything, since they would have been on the weapons used in a crime, as well as any recordings of the questioning process. As much as I hate to advocate tampering with evidence, you should consider it. I mean, you don’t have a criminal record from this incident, but the information itself would still be part of the case.”
I had forgotten about that incident, and she made sense. “Hmm yes, I’m not sure how to track that down, but I’ll definitely look into it. Thanks…I think.”
“Hah! You’re welcome. But of course, only in theory. I would never suggest doing anything like that.” She smirked, shrugged her shoulders, and dismissed it, letting me take the initiative for whatever storm I called on myself. Nothing new there, it had been a crazy hurricane of recent events anyway.
She then continued, “I’ve also made some discreet inquiries into Dr. Bryson, but haven’t heard anything yet. It may take weeks to get more details, and I can’t really push since I don’t know where he may have friends.”
“No, that’s fine. We need to find out as much as we can, but keep your distance while doing so. I have a bad feeling about whatever he’s doing, and that was a pretty large show of force at the construction site. I’m guessing military funding is involved, and they are protecting their investment. If any of this is even remotely close to what I can do, then you know it’s huge. You need to be as careful as I am.”
“Yeah, but I’ll actually do a good job at it.”
“Oh, it pains me so!” I gasped and held a hand over my heart, feigning indignity and hurt.
“Just kidding, but I need to get ready for my shift tonight. I’ll let you know as soon as I hear anything about Bryson, and you be careful with any other theoretical activities that may occur.”
We both stood and hugged, and I walked her to the door.
“Thanks again, I will be careful; you do the same,” I said as we parted ways. I took a walk to think about my next moves, grabbing a backpack and a few supplies from my car along the way. This included some latex gloves, a few 4th of July smoke bombs, and a lighter. The precinct I needed was within half a mile, the same one I had been interviewed at after the bank robbery. I shielded while in an alley and looked for the police station’s garage entrance. I found it, moved quietly past the guard and the lowered entry bar, and found myself at a locked door controlled by a keypad and card-entry system. There was a camera overlooking the door and surrounding area, so I simply waited as the time ticked by.
I slipped on the latex gloves I’d brought and wiped down all items in my pockets to minimize any fingerprints. I kept watch on the door as officers came through, usually in groups. I could see into the entryway and other officers were usually around, so I couldn’t chance physically bumping into one of them.
After an hour and a half, a single officer finally exited with hallway empty behind him. I quickly and quietly closed the gap and opened the door slightly wider so I could fit, then let it shut behind me. I heard the magnetic click as the locks reengaged and began looking through the rooms. Around the corner was a large caged area with a big sign that read: EVIDENCE ROOM – All items MUST be signed out. This door had the same construction, entry system, and cameras as in the garage.
I took a few items from my pocket, fiddled with them, and left one on the floor around the corner and out of sight of the camera. I stepped back to the door of the evidence room and waited as heavy purple smoke snaked its way from a smoke bomb, leaving a slight hiss in the air. A fire alarm exploded into action, causing the hornet nest to burst into a frenzy of activity. Soon the evidence-room door slammed open as an overzealous officer exited with weapon drawn, looking toward the purple haze filling the hallway. I stepped inside before the door closed and left him to look around all he wanted.
The computer was still logged in, and I began typing as fast as possible. I opened the record search and looked for the date of the attempted bank heist. The list populated the screen accompanied by an evidence parcel number. I cleared the screen, quickly dropped a fast-acting laxative into the nearby hot coffee mug, and stepped into the inner area to search the evidence shelves.
Soon the alarm outside turned off. Hopefully, they’d assume it was a prank from a fellow officer because nothing was on the security cameras, but being in the evidence room itself meant I might have some visitors. At last, I found the row I needed, narrowing my search to a few boxes and unsealing them. There were some spent casings from the guns involved, which I hadn’t touched, but firearms themselves were there too. I couldn’t even remember which ones I’d touched, so I opened each bag, quickly wiped them all down, and returned them. There were multiple DVDs, some marked with the bank’s name, but not many, because much of the video had been wiped or disabled at the time.
The door opened, and the on-duty officer entered, accompanied by someone who looked like his superior and was yelling at him for leaving his post. Finding no one else in the evidence room, the supervisor left.
I looked at the other stack of DVDs—each labeled INTERVIEW—with the date, bank, case number, and other letters. I grabbed them all, since I didn’t know which were mine, and slipped them into the backpack. I also grabbed all the manila folders containing related papers, quietly slid them into the pack as well, and made my way back to the front. I had seen the officer take several sips from his coffee, and he now looked pretty uncomfortable. Pretty soon he lowered the gate covering the evidence exchange, locked it, and hurried to the bathroom. I followed close behind until I was out of the evidence locker, then snaked through the hallways, looking for an empty room with a computer and hoping one was still logged in.
I checked a few without luck, but finally found one. The mostly empty coffee mug was cold, lights were off, door was open, and computer screen saver was on. Moving the mouse didn’t bring me to a log-in screen, but directly to the desktop where the internal police records were easily accessible. I again searched by date, rather than by my name, to leave as little evidence as possible to what was being looked at. I painfully opened each record pertaining to the bank incident and deleted any references to witnesses, including my name and related records, then did the same with every other file that referenced the matching day. This way a search wouldn’t just point to the files that related to me or the bank, but to anything on that day.
I started to leave, but realized I might as well take advantage of my time at a police computer terminal, so I searched for Malcolm Bryson, but came up empty. I found plenty on Peter Matroni, though, but nothing linked to Bryson. I then searched for the “Institute for the Advancement of Science and Prosperity.” Immediately, there was an entry for a dispute over building permits, but clicking on it bought up a lock icon asking for further credentials alongside the logo of the United States Army.
Curiouser and curiouser, cried Alice. So that verified military bankrolling, and now I know the specific branch.
I could go no further, but that was certainly an unexpected twist. After clearing the
screen, I reversed back to the parking garage exit and out of the building. It was getting dark and cold at night for December, even as far south as Atlanta. I set the backpack in my seat and drove to some areas frequented by the Atlanta underworld, where the forgotten lived in abandoned buildings. I found a barrel with a fire and some homeless men standing around it. They eyed me cautiously as I walked up to them, but relaxed once I handed them a bottle of bourbon, pulled papers and DVDs from my pack, and added them to their barrel fire.
Things had gone well today. I’d removed as many links to me as possible, and that alone brought more dark thoughts of how long it could last.
Chapter 17
Two more weeks passed without incident, although I sold my car and purchased a reliable used Honda through the trust. I was mostly sheltered from being discovered, though any deep digging could turn up details of the trust and its beneficiaries. I had to believe those legal hurdles would prove daunting.
I exited my morning shower to a beeping phone with a text message:
Janet: Found some dirt; will meet @ your place 12:30? New address, right?
I replied in the affirmative, having an hour to spare. I pulled together a quick meal, some wine, and waited for her to arrive. It wasn’t long before she pulled up to my apartment, shabby as it was.
“Hello there,” I said as she walked to the door.
“Hi.” She smiled, adding, “A bit of a step down, don’t you think?”
“Yes, certainly, but I needed a place where I could anonymously pay cash, no questions asked. This worked. I have wine and food to apologize for putting your feet in such precarious circumstances.”
“Ahh wine, then all is forgiven. In vino veritas.”
“In wine there is truth?” I asked. She laughed and nodded. I guess I know Latin?
Once inside, we started on the food with little conversation, though we both ate a bit fast to get ready to share all our information.
Wiping her mouth, she started, “Okay, so Bryson was a bit tricky, but I was able to find him. He’s listed in our system as a Doctor Malcom Bryson, with a PhD in biomedical sciences from what he explained to one of our nurses, so she wrote it into the file. Of course that doesn’t mean it’s true, but now it’s part of his permanent medical record, assuming you’re not planning to snoop around and change it.” She crossed her arms and looked at me with a smile.
“Not unless I need to.” I smiled back.
“I tried searching across all medical records in our chain of hospitals, and there are no matches to him. This just means he wasn’t admitted to our hospitals before. I also couldn’t find anything by inquiries to any partner facilities. But here’s the funny thing: he was admitted to our emergency room about twelve days after you had been brought in.” She looked thoughtful. “I thought that was a bit of a coincidence. And biomedical sciences would definitely be related to nanotech.”
“I agree. There’s too much of this type of connection between us and this whole research agenda, whatever it is.”
She continued, “He was admitted because he had been beaten by a security guard at a local university. He was caught breaking into their biophysics laboratory.”
“Oh, wow,” I replied. “Why in the world would he need to break into a lab? He already has everything at his fingertips, but yet he needed more equipment? Something about that is strange.”
She smiled playfully, “Oh, but it gets better. There was an investigation, and during this process Bryson apparently had some connections because some military personnel showed up and told everyone involved that he would no longer be questioned. The charges were suddenly dropped, and he was discharged into their custody. I can’t view anything in his hospital records other than a few generic notes, though. Everything else is sealed, including his x-rays, charts, and billing information.”
I sat stunned. “I have more questions than answers now.”
Some of her humor left. “Yes, and when I tried questioning the staff who were there at the time, most wouldn’t discuss it. One of them mentioned their being threatened by the government if they spoke about it, and not in a good way. Even calling the police to ask about the incident that was first filed with them ended up hitting a wall; I was told it wasn’t their jurisdiction and was now a ‘military matter.’ I didn’t want to push because that might raise flags or may have already done so. Everything about ‘Bryson’ seemed to be cleaned up nice and tidy, and no one will talk about it. The only other thing I could do was talk to a friend who was in the Army until a few years ago. He said he would ask around surreptitiously, but nothing yet.”
I drummed my fingers, thinking. “I think you’re right, you may have drawn attention if the military was involved. Was it the Army?” I then told her about the U.S. Army logo asking for more identification while I had been in the police station.
“Yes, it was the Army. I hope I didn’t open up my friend to problems.”
“No idea, but it’s possible that the IASP research is being funded by the Army, which would explain the soldiers and mercenaries at the construction site. And Bryson doesn’t seem like the type to care if he was developing military tech as long as he got to play with his toys. I was able to take care of everything else I needed while at the station.”
She started to reply when her phone rang, and she was called into an early shift due to a no-show, so I walked her out to her car. It bothered me that Bryson had suddenly been on the radar at the same time I was found—didn’t seem like much of a coincidence given my memories in the dreams. The Army’s involvement was not a pleasant clue, either; the whole thing stunk to high heaven.
“Janet, I can’t thank you enough…” I started, but then she leaned in and kissed me. It was unexpected, but certainly not unpleasant.
“That’s for trusting me with all this; plus you’re not bad on the eyes.”
Then she slapped me, more playfully than anything. “And that’s for not trusting me sooner!” She laughed and got into her car as I stood there dumbfounded while she drove away.
I must have stood there for a few minutes. Even the slap was welcome, coming from her, but the kiss was better. Far better. I took a deep breath and went back inside. I stretched out on my bed and wondered about the strange turn of events I now faced, but none of those thoughts were about Bryson.
My phone buzzed, snapping me awake as I realized I had fallen asleep. It was an unknown number so I ignored it. Pretty soon a voicemail popped up. It was Janet: “Please call me back at this number ASAP!”
I dialed, and she picked up immediately. “Sam, listen, we have a problem. I bought a burner phone to call you from because I can’t alert anyone by calling from my own cell. I wasn’t called into work because of a no-show. The military was waiting for me, and they ordered me to cease all inquiries into Bryson, or I’d be detained. They said it was a national security matter!”
“Crap, Janet, this is bad. Real bad. For now, do what they say. I mean, I’m all for stirring up a hornets’ nest, but not while you’re standing on it.”
“Yeah, no kidding, I’m dropping my enquiry, but I’m sure I’m being surveilled. I was drilled for a few hours about whom I talked to and why, but I just told them I’d seen him come into the ER, wanted to follow up on his condition, and was curious. I’m pretty sure they don’t believe me, but pushing would make them look extremely suspicious, not to mention I asked if I should get an attorney.”
“Assume the worst, that you’re being followed or tracked, and be very careful from this point on. We should limit our contact as well. I am sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry, just be careful. I’ll be here if you need me, but we can only talk through this phone. Be careful what you say, obviously, and I’ll do the same, Sam.”
“Will do. I will find a way to track him down.”
I wasn’t sure what to do. Who knew what was really going on?
I tried finding more information for several days, which turned into a week, and nothing. Then we were in an
avalanche, a free fall into hell with no possibility of reprieve. A frantic call at 2:00 a.m. shook me to the core: “Sam, I’m being followed! I’m in the hospital parking garage and don’t know what to do!”
By the time I got there, Janet was missing, and no one was helpful. I didn’t know what I didn’t know. The voicemail was possibly all I had left of her.
Chapter 18
I hurried my way to the coma ward, relieved to find Marcy on duty.
“Marcy!” I exclaimed, startling her by both my urgency.
“Sam, what’s wrong?” she asked in alarm.
I spoke hastily: “It’s Janet; she left me a voicemail about being followed, and she was in the parking garage. I got here as fast as I could, I can’t find her, and she’s not answering her phone. Her car is still here, and I think there’s a problem.”
“Whoa, whoa, slow down! I’m pretty sure she doesn’t disappear on us like you did to her!” she said, and then added, “Oh, I’m sorry, it’s just a running joke around here after she said she thought you disappeared on her while in a coma.” She motioned for me to continue, and I ignored her comment.
“Marcy, trust me I need to get someone quickly to view those tapes. The police won’t help unless a person’s been missing for twenty-four hours, but if there’s evidence of foul play, they’ll get involved immediately.”
Without hesitation she got up, grabbed my hand, and off we went. She led me through some corridors until we arrived at the security station door. She knocked, and an older man, perhaps his late sixties, answered the door. His security uniform fit well, and he was in great shape. He looked like a guy who had been in the military and could probably still deal some serious whooping if needed. He smiled when he saw Marcy.
“Marcy, baby, coming to see me for a change!”
“Not now, Joe, we have a potential major problem. Janet may be in trouble, and we need to see recordings from…” and looked at me for details.
Invisible Threads Page 11
