Majestic

by Unknown

  Brody sneered. “We went ta doctor in a town close ta here. He stitched us up and we tole what happened. He has a record of that.”

  Willy tried not to show any concern on his face. “So what? That’s not proof.”

  Matt spoke up again, giggling as he did. “They know you deal drugs?”

  “Drugs? Get lost.”

  “We lef a lil stash here fore we ran out that night.”

  Willy’s eyes involuntarily darted around the cavernous room, wondering where they could have possibly left something.

  The first thought that came into his head was that they were bluffing. These punks had been desperate for drug money that night, so it was highly unlikely they’d already had drugs on them. But, his second, more paranoid thought, was whether or not he could afford to take the chance.

  “Who cares? Everyone in this town has grass.”

  “T’aint grass, man. Sumpin mush more serious than that. You do jail time fer what we planted.”

  Willy stared into their eyes, from one to the other. Assessing them.

  Both had steely gazes; no nervousness, no hesitation. He believed them. The little buggers perhaps weren’t as dumb as they looked or sounded. Maybe they’d indeed been astute enough to stash something before they ran, something that they could use against him either for vengeance or for money. They could have hidden the stuff anywhere—it was a huge studio, with lots of equipment and cubbyholes. It would take him forever to search everything.

  “That TV station that had you on the news—they probly love ta hear our story bout you, how you look, how you threw us, and how much drugs you got.”

  Willy sighed, and asked the question he didn’t want to ask. Hadn’t wanted to show a weakness. Once they sensed that, these scum would probably pounce on the opportunity like rabid dogs. But, thinking fast, he realized that he had no choice. They had him over a barrel and he couldn’t afford the publicity. The ramifications would be too great. He needed to make this go away.

  “What do you want?”

  “Five thousan dollars be mighty nice—morrow afternoon, round 4:00. Side the bench in front of the yout hostel on Baker Street, there be a garbage can. Put the moneys in a bag and drop the bag in the can. We be watchin.”

  Willy nodded. “Okay, but that’s all you’re going to get. I want you to leave town right afterwards.”

  Then, he decided to try to put some fear of God—or of Superman—into them.

  “If I see your ugly mugs still hanging around I can’t promise that I won’t become Superman again. Get my drift? But, I won’t drop the bag into that can unless I see an envelope sitting on top with my name on it, with a note inside telling me where I can find your stash. We’ll do an exchange. One of you should guard the can to make sure no one picks up the envelope by mistake until I get there.”

  Brody nodded. “Souns fair. See you morrow, an don be fuckin late.”

  Chapter 20

  Allison was sitting in Chad Powers’ lavish office, waiting for the egomaniac to arrive. His secretary knew her, so there was no problem with letting her wait for him inside.

  She glanced around the cold, massive room. It suited Chad’s personality. Not one photo of a smiling family member, and she really never expected to see any.

  No, instead, the walls were plastered with pictures of missiles—big ones, small ones, pointy ones, cigar-shaped ones. All menacing looking. Weapons of mass destruction that the U.S. was always so adept at accusing everyone else of having.

  Chad’s business was munitions manufacturing; specifically, deadly missiles that could be launched from submarines, destroyers, F15s, F16s, F18s, and any other fucking F-type plane in existence. She knew that his company also manufactured the monster minute-man missiles that lay in wait in the underground silos of Wyoming and the Dakotas, programmed to launch at a moment’s notice at Russia, China, or North Korea.

  Before Chad had taken the helm, his father and grandfather had guided the company through the turbulent years of the 20th Century, including being front and center in the design of the outer shell structures for Fat Man and Little Boy before they were dropped mercilessly on Hiroshima and Nagasaki in 1945.

  Chad was proud of his company’s history. Allison thought his sense of pride was pathetic.

  She noticed that his desk was solid chrome, including the table top itself. No papers or files anywhere in sight. There wasn’t even a computer terminal. She surmised that a man like Chad probably spent more time barking orders than actually doing anything.

  Allison had flown into Atlanta for this one day only. Normally, she just flew commercial in the executive class cabin, but since today was to be a quick ‘there and back,’ she took her company’s private jet—a Gulfstream that allowed her to sneak in and out of private executive terminals when she was in a hurry.

  And, today, she was in a hurry. She didn’t want to spend any more time in this foul city than was necessary. She resented just having to be in Atlanta for the monthly Majestic 12 meetings, so she really didn’t enjoy this extra unplanned one.

  But, it was necessary. She had to know for sure. And, she couldn’t know unless she was here in person, staring into Chad’s evil eyes.

  Since this wasn’t an official Majestic 12 gathering, she wasn’t meeting with Chad at the CDC offices. Instead, she was in downtown Atlanta on the fortieth floor of the headquarters for Chad’s company.

  Suddenly, the door opened and the despicable hulk entered, his wide shoulders barely clearing the door frames.

  No hello, no pleasantries.

  “Got your message this morning that you were flying in. This better be important—I have a busy day ahead of me.”

  “Well, good morning to you, too, Chad. Do I at least get a smile with my cup of coffee?”

  “No smile, but you can help yourself to the coffee over there.” He pointed to the Keurig machine in the corner of the room.

  Allison walked over to the machine, inserted a strong K-Cup from Jamaica, and pushed the buttons.

  “Do you want one, Chad?”

  He shook his head, and gave her an annoyed look. He was already sitting at his desk, twiddling his thumbs. Waiting patiently to hear what it was that was so important to cause Allison Fisher to fly in on her private jet.

  Allison thought wryly that if the egotist would at least allow some paper or a computer to reside on his desk he wouldn’t have to sit there idly playing with his thumbs.

  She walked back to the guest chair with her coffee, sat down and took a long sip of the fragrant java.

  “So, what is it you want to talk about, Allison?”

  She crossed her legs and couldn’t help but notice Chad’s black eyes flick downwards for just an instant, capturing for himself a quick glimpse of the sexy curve of her thighs.

  “Have you set things up for William Carson’s visit next week?”

  Chad nodded. “Yes, don’t worry. He’ll go to our clinic at the CDC and be in and out in less than three hours.”

  “Please, I want your word that he’ll be okay.”

  Chad sighed. “God, Allison, is he some kind of father figure to you? Don’t get your knickers all twisted up. He’s far too prominent for us to let anything happen to him. Could open a can of worms. And, you already recorded my promise to you, so leave me the fuck alone.”

  “So, what exactly are you going to do?”

  “I told you already—we’re going to try to help him, to make sure this doesn’t happen to him again. I’m sure he doesn’t want it to happen again, either, and we can’t afford to have these incidents being made public. Up until now, we’ve been lucky. If he hadn’t had that damn x-ray, we wouldn’t have this problem right now.”

  Allison placed her cup down on the chrome desktop. Chad quickly slipped a coaster underneath it.

  “Well, he and the rest of the ‘Korean Five’ have been pretty instrumental to us. Because of them and many others, we learned a long time ago how dangerous these…things…are. If we didn’t have those r
elatively innocent encounters to warn us off, it could have been a lot worse.”

  “I agree. Again, all we’re going to do is conduct some non-invasive tests and if we have a solution for him, we’ll use it. Totally safe, I can assure you.”

  Allison nodded. “Okay. Remember, he thinks it’s just a routine check-up for the hotel spokesperson role, so be careful not to alarm him in any way with things that aren’t routine.”

  “Agreed.”

  She moved on to her next concern. “Chad, I know the vote won over at our meeting the other day, against my wishes, but I wanted to appeal to you once again for us to take a different tack with Senator Hartford. I know John personally. I can convince him to shelve his plan to expose us. I’ll come clean with him, and show him the error of his ways.”

  Chad shook his head emphatically. “No, Allison. The vote was taken and the majority ruled. I’m sorry.”

  “I take over the helm from you in a year’s time. Why don’t you give me just this one, in deference to me as your successor?”

  “I don’t owe you a damn thing—in fact, I think you’ll be dangerous for Majestic 12 when you take over. You think far too much, care far too much. We can’t have that. I wish the charter allowed me to stay on for another seven years, that would be far more secure for the group and for the country.”

  Allison leaned forward, and rested her elbows defiantly on the edge of the ugly chrome desk.

  “Well, from my standpoint—and from that of many others—you don’t think hardly as much as you should. You’re reckless and ruthless. A good man is going to die because of you, and I could prevent that if you’d just let me talk to him. Senator Hartford should be the next President of the United States, and you’re going to rob the American people of that.”

  Chad starting twiddling his thumbs again. “Well, it won’t be the first time that’s had to happen. Need I remind you of history? Of Texas in 1963, and California in 1968?”

  He sighed in exasperation. “I’m getting bored with this discussion. Are you finished yet?”

  Allison suddenly inserted her index fingers inside her ears and then quickly pulled them back out again, popping her ear drums as she did. Chad didn’t notice a thing.

  She wanted to hit him between the eyes with a direct question, and let him ponder afterwards why she was asking. Allison knew it might be a dangerous question, but something inside was driving her to ask this arrogant prick what needed to be asked.

  “No, I’m not finished. I have a question for you. Were you familiar with an investigative journalist by the name of Darren Sheppard?”

  Chad swallowed hard as she stared almost hypnotically into his cold dark eyes. He hesitated, then shook his head. “No, should I be?”

  A scene suddenly flashed in front of Allison’s eyes—and she knew that it was coming directly from Chad’s brain. His memory of an incident; either his interpretation of what he had been told had transpired, or...

  The terrified face of Darren Sheppard—a face she recognized from the Wikipedia article—eyelids clenched shut as another man’s gloved hand held a pistol to his temple. The trigger finger pulled, and a shower of Sheppard’s blood and brain matter blew out through the other side of his head.

  She now had the real story behind the Darren Sheppard “suicide.”

  Allison wanted to mind-fuck Chad Powers one more time before she flew back to Chicago. And, she had to do it quickly before this strange telepathic power used up its usually short few seconds of fuel. “Do you miss my father, Chad? Did you enjoy working with him?”

  He nodded. “I had a lot of respect for your father, Allison. I miss him dearly. I wish you were more like him. And, of course, your dad, having served on the HMS Diana, suffered the same effects from the ‘enemy’ that William Carson got hit with in Korea. He had to live with that and keep it secret right up until that tragic car accident took his life.”

  Chad's vivid memory suddenly transmitted itself into Allison's brain one more time.

  The image of a powerful Ranger Rover flashed across the essence of Allison’s mind. Very clear, very graphic. The car was silver and racing at breakneck speed.

  Allison's question had triggered Chad's imagination, giving her the answer she needed. He was playing the highlight reel in his head—his own recollection of what had happened—and Allison was seeing it as clear as if she were watching TV.

  She could see her father’s distinctive red Mercedes rounding the corner going north. In the same frame, she saw the Ranger Rover heading south on the opposite side of the bend.

  Suddenly, for no apparent reason, the Range Rover moved over into her father’s lane. As they both rounded the corner heading towards each other, it was apparent that the Range Rover’s nerves were steelier than the Mercedes’.

  The sinister driver never wavered out of the lane, not even by a fraction of an inch. It was a dangerous game of ‘chicken,’ and only one driver was playing it.

  At the very last second, the Mercedes swerved into the left lane to avoid a head-on collision.

  And the car’s momentum, unforgivingly, carried it over the cliff, plummeting two hundred terrifying feet to the rocky shore of the Pacific Ocean below.

  The last thing Allison saw in the video playing in her brain was a massive fireball.

  Chapter 21

  It was 3:00 in the afternoon. The Sun was shining, the air was hot and muggy, and relaxing on the porch was what Willy preferred to continue doing right into the early hours of the evening.

  But…he had someplace else to be at 4:00.

  “Do you want some more lemonade?”

  He turned and smiled at his wife—still pretty in her mid-sixties, a relative ‘spring chicken’ compared to him. She was holding out the lemonade pitcher.

  Of course, she’d made the lemonade herself—none of that store-bought crap for her. It had to be authentic; real lemons squeezed by real hands, mixed with natural British Columbia spring water, topped off with just a touch of sugar.

  She always threw in a pinch of cinnamon as well—Willy wasn’t too crazy about that part of her recipe, but he humored her. All in all, it was still delicious.

  “Sure, Helen, fill me up.” He held out his glass and she poured. Then, he reached for the remote control unit on the table and punched a button, causing the ceiling fan on the porch to move itself to top speed.

  “Thank God we have this covered porch and that fan. I don’t know what it is, Willy, but every summer just seems to get hotter and hotter.”

  Willy wiped his sleeve across his forehead. “I know. Warm weather is nice and we’ll sure miss it once winter rolls around again and we’re out there shoveling snow, but this incessant heat is getting a bit ridiculous.”

  “Well, my tomatoes in the back are doing really well. They seem to like the heat.”

  “No, Helen, I think they like you. Everything thrives under your touch…even me.”

  Helen stood up and very quickly sat back down again—this time in Willy’s lap. Then, she cupped his face in her hands and kissed him. She pulled back and looked into his kind eyes.

  “What a nice thing to say! I sure am lucky to have you—we’ve been together a long time, but it seems like just yesterday when we were sneaking across the border like a couple of rebellious kids.”

  “Well, you were still just a kid when we did that—only twenty for God’s sake. But, me—I was already a dirty old man at forty-two! That was a long time ago, wasn’t it?”

  Helen smiled. “And Wyatt was just growing inside of me when we made our dash to Canada.”

  “Your parents sure hated my guts, though. I don’t think they ever forgave me for stealing you away from them—which is too bad, because I liked your folks a lot.”

  Helen shook her head. “We’ve talked about this before, dear. They did like you very much. My dad and mom were Republicans though—it was in their blood. Patriotic to a fault. It wasn’t that they didn’t like you, it was that they didn’t like what you stood for and w
hat you stood against. Their generation had been brainwashed to salute, obey, rally round the flag, and to serve country first. They were too blind to see what our generation saw.”

  Willy gave his wife a kiss on the tip of her nose. “You’re right—I guess I just took it personally.”

  “They did come around eventually, dear—not to agree with what we did, of course, but they did accept our right to do it. We had some great visits with them when they came up here during those early years before they died—got to spend some quality time with their new grandson, and with us of course.”

  Helen shifted her butt a bit, and Willy pulled her right leg over on top of his.

  “I kinda like you sitting on my lap. Feels like old times.”

  “Well, I’ll just have to do it more often, then.”

  Willy smirked. “But, what will the neighbors think?”

  “Who cares?”

  “Helen, darling, I love your attitude. Still the hippie I fell in love with!”

  He glanced at his watch. “Oh, I have to get going.”

  Willy eased himself forward on the chair, and stood while lifting Helen into the air at the same time.

  She shook her head in amazement. “How on earth can you still be so strong at your age? And, your looks, too—you don’t seem to age at all. In fact, you look more my age. You’re the miracle man—and I’m proud to say you’re my man.”

  Willy laughed. “I think I’ve just got ‘Dick Clark’ syndrome.”

  “Don’t say that, he’s dead now!”

  He gently eased her down into her own chair again, then went back and retrieved the plastic pouch that had been lying on the floor underneath his.

  “Where are you off to, Willy?”

  “Oh, just popping down to see the lawyer—some legal stuff to document for the spokesperson role for that new hotel.”

  Helen clapped her hands. “Oh, Willy—I’m so excited for you! You’re going to be a celebrity. Well, you already are, but you’ll be an even bigger one! You deserve it, darling.”