Taming the Telomeres, a Thriller

by R. N. Shapiro

  Angie downloads the release and buzzes Andy on her speakerphone. "I just printed it off. Full steam ahead, right?"

  "Yep. Obviously sabotage would’ve made our jobs 10 times harder.”

  "So are you calling Bob Garrison, or should I?" Angie asks.

  “I’m on it,” Andy says, his mind churning with all the different things that he wants to push forward on as far as legal strategies. Calling his aviation expert, Bob Garrison, is just one of a dozen other items in his brain’s rolodex under “plane crashes.”

  Chapter 26

  Foreign Made

  Inside a secure room in the Embassy off Massachusetts Avenue, the three men each listen to the taped conversation on small headphones.

  * * *

  Wait a second. Isn't it one or the other? We either have terrorism or we have a covert intelligence operation.

  Not necessarily, Your Honor. We suspect there is active surveillance already, so we need to determine who may be monitoring their electronic communications. I don't really want to divulge any national security information unless you require us to do so.

  Mr. Braningham, I'm still not going to sign. If you want to disclose more, perhaps I'll change my mind.

  Judge Bondakopf, Agent Solarez will address your concerns.

  * * *

  The man in the center listens for another couple of minutes and jots notes on the pad in front of him. He then takes the headset off and drops it on the table.

  "Jiang, you have done incredible work. The FISA Court is a totally secure courtroom, and I am sure FBI agents sweep that room before every hearing. Since the Snowden leaks, we have been unable to successfully hack the federal computers to obtain the FISA applications and orders. How did your team get this intelligence?" Mr. Chun, the supervisor, waits for Jiang’s response.

  "Sir, first, our team placed no listening devices inside the courthouse. Does that make it even harder for you to imagine how we did it?” Jiang says.

  "You had no listening device inside? How can that be? This was recorded in chambers. Please explain."

  "I said my team placed no listening devices inside the courtroom or judge’s chambers. We conducted surveillance on this judge and two male judges because we knew they were the three FISA judges in the D.C. area. What better way to get critical information on the counter-intelligence efforts of the NSA and CIA than from their own top-secret hearings?

  “We studied the shoes that the male judges wore each day until we could predict which pairs would most likely be worn. My team embedded a very tiny, non-detectable listening device into the soles of at least five pairs of shoes for each of the male judges. This was more effective than bugging their cell phones because we weren’t sure they’d carry a phone into the hearings. We also mounted a tiny wireless relay device outside the window to increase our listening abilities."

  "How did you get that device mounted?" Chun asks.

  "Quite simple, actually. An agent posed as a window washer. The plan for the female judge was even better. After extensive surveillance at her regular courtroom, we determined that she keeps her cell phone with her at all times in her purse. Given the phone is manufactured in our country, we’ve had access to every component in the phone. We easily obtained her cell phone number, and when she appeared at FISA court we remotely activated the recording device built into her cell phone. When the hearing was over we turned the recording function off, waited a bit, then hacked into the phone again and commanded it to wirelessly transmit the entire recording to our listening station."

  "Amazing, Jiang, particularly the part about using our mobile phone technology against the Americans. Chun says with a smile. “In light of this new intelligence information, will we be modifying our surveillance of these subjects?”

  “Since the judge signed this order, we have already altered our operations, and I’m implementing several new plans to ensure that any electronic surveillance is undetectable,” Jiang replies.

  "This information is highly valuable to our ongoing operation. I will report this to the director. Excellent work," Chun says. “Continue to provide me weekly updates.”

  "Yes sir, with pleasure."

  Chapter 27

  Jailbreak

  "She’ll have the cell phone you gave her, right?" Andy asks Barb. She is in the hallway, out of earshot of Amanda, and Andy is at his office.

  "Yes, and he has a cell phone too. But it’ll be the first time she's been out of this hospital on her own, and I just worry…after what’s happened..." Barbara mindlessly paces.

  “At some point we’ve gotta let go, at least a little bit. She's recovering great, and he's going to use a hospital-supplied van and wheelchair.” Andy says.

  A security guard still sits at Amanda's hospital room door because of the fairly constant pressure from the press for interviews and pictures. Amanda's celebrity status has been the talk of not only the talk shows and news networks, but People and Us magazines.

  Barb moves the phone away from her mouth. "All right guys, it's okay so long as both of you have your cell phones and Amanda is back here by dark.”

  As part of the deal with Barb and Andy, Amanda is to remain in the wheelchair the entire time they are gone even though she is perfectly capable of walking. They move down the hall with Kent pushing the wheelchair to the elevator. Fortunately, the hospital has a basement level they can access by the service elevator, avoiding the press. Minutes later, Kent is driving out of the garage with his special cargo.

  “How long will it take to get there?" Amanda asks.

  "About 20 minutes."

  At the entrance to the farm there is a white split-rail fence on both sides of the gravel entryway and fronting the farm. A small sign says "Crossroads Farm" and has a horse silhouette above the name. Kent drives the van slowly down the long drive past a horse stable. They pass a small old house, then a farmhouse with a New England style covered front porch.

  "Who lives here?" Amanda asks. She notices the long open porch with a hammock and a few rocking chairs.

  "I do. Manuel lives in the other house beside the stable, which he maintains, and my buddy Zander also helps part-time. My dad pays Manuel, and we board some other families' horses with ours."

  They continue on down the lane to another stable. Kent parks the van, opens the side door, and turns on the pneumatic lift that holds Amanda's wheelchair. He lowers the wheelchair to the ground beside the van, pushes Amanda a few feet away from the van, and closes it back up.

  "Let me introduce you to a couple of the horses."

  He pushes the wheelchair into the middle of the stable where horses begin nickering, having recognized Kent's presence. Kent enters one of the stalls and walks out with a horse toward Amanda.

  Amanda stands up from the wheelchair.

  "I told your aunt that I’d keep you in the wheelchair, so please sit back down."

  "There’s nothing wrong with my legs. I'm going to pet this beautiful horse."

  Amanda runs the back of her right hand along the jaw line of the horse and then along her neck, admiring her beautiful brown-and-white coat.

  "Do you know anything about horses?" Kent asks.

  "Not that I remember. I probably did a pony ride at some birthday party but I don't know if I’ve ever ridden a horse before."

  “This is Roxy. She was my mother's horse."

  "She’s beautiful," Amanda says, still stroking her neck.

  "Let me show you my horse," Kent says, walking Roxy back into her stall, releasing the lead from the halter, and closing the stall door. He walks across the aisle to the opposite stall. Moments later he produces a gelding with a white blaze between his eyes and nostrils. The only other white on him is the four white socks above his hooves; the rest of him is nearly black. "This is Voodoo. My mom got him for me when I was 14."

  "Why'd you name him Voodoo?"

  "I was learning to play ‘Voodoo Child’ by Jimi Hendrix on guitar, so I thought it was a cool name."

  "I really wa
nt to ride Voodoo."

  "Amanda, there’s a snowball’s chance in hell you’re riding this horse tonight. You must have lost your mind. Well, I guess you did lose your mind, sort of, but riding is out of the question," Kent says, a bit agitated.

  "You ride him then," Amanda virtually orders.

  "Well, I don't know. I came here to introduce you to the farm and show you the horses.” Kent mildly protests while stroking Voodoo’s neck.

  Amanda watches with intense interest as Kent walks Voodoo over to the area where the saddles are stored.

  After saddling Voodoo, Kent slips off halter and replaces it with a bridle. He finally walks out of the stable leading Voodoo loosely by his reins, and a few steps away from the stable he swings up into the saddle. "I'll just ride in a loop."

  Kent trots off about 50 yards into the open grassy field. He begins a loop counterclockwise to warm up Voodoo, and then breaks into a gallop, gradually increasing speed. Watching Kent and his horse, Amanda feels privileged. She realizes again that she's the only survivor of the plane crash and knows that some karma was behind it.

  "He’s a great horse, isn't he?" Kent says, slightly out of breath from the brisk ride around the pasture.

  "I enjoyed watching you ride," Amanda says, really meaning it.

  Kent dismounts Voodoo and walks him back toward the stable. Amanda wishes she didn’t have the halo on her head because she feels like getting closer to Kent. But it would be pointless with the halo. As they enter the stable, Amanda notices that another man has walked through the opposite side.

  "Hey there, Manuel. How are you?" Kent says.

  "Didn't know you were coming out here today," Manuel says. Amanda can tell English is not his first language.

  "This is my friend Amanda. She got sprung from Loudoun Memorial to see the horses." Kent says, as he untacks Voodoo and returns him to his stall.

  "Yes. I've heard about you, Amanda. You are all over the news.”

  "You have beautiful horses here.”

  "Yes, we love this stable and the farm. Hopefully we can stay here, but I really don't know what will happen." Manuel says.

  “What did he mean by that?” Amanda asks as Manuel walks into one of the stalls, and she and Kent walk out the other side of the stable.

  “The farm has been for sale for months. My dad doesn’t really want to sell, but he says he needs to. Between this and the café, the expenses are adding up. Can I show you around the main house?”

  “Sure.”

  “Then get back in the wheelchair, halo girl, I can’t leave it here.” He pushes her the short distance along the gravel drive toward the main house.

  When they near the porch Amanda says, “I’m getting out here. I’ll be fine.”

  The exterior of the house is hardy cedar plank with wooden entry stairs that creak slightly as they both walk up the porch steps. They go in through the front door.

  “This is the great room,” he waves his hand toward the room. “Nice fireplace, isn’t it?”

  “Does your dad live here?”

  “No, he has an apartment in town, near the café, a block or so behind the Red Fox Inn.”

  Kent walks down the hall, pushes open his door and walks into his room. Amanda follows a few steps behind. Once inside she notices a very cool wooden guitar rack holding a line of six instruments.

  “What’s that instrument with the metal on the front?”

  “That’s a dobro, it’s like a guitar but has a little country rock sound to it,” Kent explains. He picks it up and strums it a few times to demonstrate. It rings with a twang. The bright silver metal along the guitar face gleams.

  “Cool. Hey, you’ve got one of those old fashioned players, too. What’s it called again?”

  “A record player, or turntable. Yeah, I collect some old rock. I have like 50 vinyl records. Hendrix, Led Zep, Stones, Mott the Hoople. Bowie, Van Morrison.”

  “Can you play something on it?”

  Kent grabs a Led Zeppelin album, places it on the turntable and presses the play button. The music begins playing at a moderate volume. Amanda, still standing in the middle of the room, scans the place. Stacks of books scattered along a three-shelf bookcase, a few posters. Not too sloppy, not too neat either. Numerous incense sticks stand upright in a small glass container on the night stand. On the wall, Amanda notices small index cards taped to the wall. She steps a little closer and reads the handwritten words:

  * * *

  Nothing’s beautiful from every point of view. - Horace

  * * *

  Money often costs too much. - Ralph Waldo Emerson

  * * *

  “Are these just reminders or your favorites?”

  “Both I guess. When I read something or hear something I like, I write it down. Some are on the wall, and some I put in my journal.”

  Kent never takes a seat, appearing slightly uncomfortable, and Amanda is uneasy herself. The song has not even ended when he tells Amanda he has another place he wants to take her, and within a couple minutes, they're out the door, back in the van and heading down Route 50.

  "We’re heading to Red Rocks State Park, about 10 miles away." Kent says.

  "Yeah, what's special about it?" Amanda says.

  "You’ll just have to see for yourself," Kent says.

  Kent fiddles with his phone and a playlist of tunes begins.

  “This song sounds almost like orchestra music,” Amanda says.

  “It's called ‘Oh Yeah’ and was written by a British guitarist, Peter Bluemon. The guy started Fleeting Woodwinds. My dad wrote some music for that band and some others. In England, they were as big as the Beatles and Stones in 1969. Peter was amazing on guitar. But at the band’s peak around 1970, he just left to live in Germany on a hippie commune. My dad was one of his best friends in London, so he went with him. They both lived at this commune for a couple years. I’ve read a lot about how Peter Bluemon freaked on too much acid when he was there, but my dad never talks about it.”

  They both listen to the chorus:

  * * *

  But don’t ask me what I’m gonna do,

  you won’t like the answers I am giving you…

  Oh Yeah.

  * * *

  "Acid? What do you mean acid? Why would someone want acid?"

  "I don't mean spill acid. I mean LSD, it’s a drug. It was called acid in the 60s. Lots of people, including musicians, took it. Peter never rejoined the Fleeting Woodwinds, and my dad never wrote any more songs after they went to Germany either."

  “Do you think it made their music better? You know, the acid?” Amanda asks.

  “Good question. I’ve never taken it, so I can’t say.”

  Finally they pull into a very small parking area in Red Rocks State Park.

  "I’m not using the wheelchair if we're not going far."

  "No hiking. There is a scenic overlook just a couple hundred yards away. You'll probably be okay without the wheelchair if we take it slow.”

  “So what are we overlooking?”

  “You’ll see.”

  Chapter 28

  Overlook

  Kent and Amanda walk down a pathway toward the overlook. Leaves of every color form a slightly padded walkway under the tree canopy. Kent has his phone in his hand.

  "I brought my ear buds so we can listen to my favorite playlist when we get there."

  "Cool. This is beautiful out here."

  They walk a few more steps and Amanda impulsively taps Kent on the shoulder. Kent turns, and as soon as he is facing her, Amanda leans forward, halo and all, and presses her lips against his. Kent seems taken aback. Because of the halo, he moves his hands to half hold her around the shoulders. She pulls a few inches away from him, staring into his eyes.

  "Surprised you, didn't I?"

  "Pleasantly."

  She leans forward again and softly brushes Kent's lips, and he kisses her back, his tongue darting inside her mouth. She responds, and their tongues caress.

  No word
s are exchanged as they continue walking down the path toward the overlook, hands clasped. The only sounds are the crinkling leaves underfoot and an occasional whistle of the breeze through the tree branches.

  They clear the canopy and Amanda looks at the breathtaking view before them.

  "Wow! It seems like you can see for miles. How far can you actually see?"

  "Not sure. But on a clear day you can see some tall buildings in D.C.," Kent says, pointing with his right hand.

  The small town of Middleburg lies in the foreground. They are sitting on a well-worn bench that was once a tree trunk, mounted just a few feet from the edge.

  "It's pretty windy right here,” Amanda says.

  "Yeah, I guess that's typical when you have wind blowing across an open area like this. I come up here every once in a while and put on my headphones and just think."

  "I know a little about your dad, but what about your mom? You really haven't talked about her," Amanda says.

  "Well, she was one of my heroes. I guess you know she was a doctor at the hospital." Kent says.

  "Yeah, my aunt told me she was an emergency room doctor at the hospital and she died of cancer. What happened?"

  Kent lifts the single ear bud out of his ear and holds it in his hand.

  "I'll never forget the day she and my dad came into my room after school. She told me she had breast cancer and that she was going to have chemotherapy and radiation. I remember the look on her and my dad’s face like it just happened. They were brave about it. I’d never once thought about cancer before. So I go on the internet, searching everything I can find. What the treatment is, what the survival rate is." Kent chokes up and Amanda decides not to ask any more questions. They both look out over the valley for a while.