No Return

by Brett Battles

  “Lieutenants Adair, Lemon, and Briley are not real people.”

  As crazy as things had gotten, what Casey had just claimed took things to a whole new level. “But I met Adair’s children. They were at Commander Forman’s house.”

  “Whoever’s kids they were, they weren’t Lieutenant Adair’s.”

  Could they have just been props? “How do you know about Adair for sure?”

  “This is what I do, remember?” Casey said. “I look at this kind of information all the time. I know what it should look like. People’s lives are messy, even the most organized ones. These guys have backgrounds that are just too perfect. Sure, there are flaws on their records, but the flaws are perfect, too.”

  “And you’re sure?” Wes asked, still finding it hard to believe.

  “If it had been only one of them, I might not have picked up on it. But when I looked at all three, the patterns were obvious.”

  “What about the other two? Faith and Bruce?”

  “Since I didn’t have as much to go on with them, and the names are not entirely unusual, I wasn’t able to track them down. But I’d be willing to bet, given time, I could uncover a history for each man that mirrored the others.”

  Wes stared at the horizon, stunned.

  “Are you there?” Casey asked.

  “Yes. Sorry,” Wes said. “Why would they say Adair died in the crash, then?”

  “My only guess would be that it had something to do with SCORCH. Maybe there was a problem with it that caused the crash. Given the upcoming vote, maybe that commander you talked to decided it was necessary to hide what happened.” He paused. “I don’t know. It’s the best I could come up with.”

  “No,” Wes said. “That’s good. There’s something there, but we’re missing pieces.”

  “Like who was really flying the plane.”

  “That, for sure. What about that name I gave you? Jamieson?”

  “I only had a little time for that. Not the most common name in the world, but certainly not that unusual, either. There are over thirty in the Navy alone.”

  “I was afraid of that,” Wes said.

  “There are also three professional baseball players, several dozen doctors on the West Coast alone, the CEO of a telecom company.…” Wes could hear pages flipping. “There’s also a Senator Jamieson from somewhere back East.”

  “A senator?”

  “Yeah. That one definitely stands out. I could find an Internet café and check him out if you want.”

  “No,” Wes said, not wanting to get his friend any more involved than he already was. “You’ve done plenty. Find someplace to lay low, and don’t show your head until you get my message.”

  “If you’re sure.”

  “I’m sure.”

  THE RIDGECREST PUBLIC LIBRARY WAS JUST A stone’s throw from the park. Wes skipped the Internet terminals for the time being. If it turned out he needed to get on the Web, he’d save that for last.

  Instead, he found a dedicated computer containing the library’s catalog and began his search there. Not surprisingly, there were hundreds of references to the senator in the library database. Wes made note of the latest guide to the U.S. Congress, three magazine articles, and the obligatory, ghost-written autobiography.

  He located the guide first. The page on the senator was mostly a recap of his voting record through the guide’s publication date, short descriptions of bills he had sponsored, and a three-paragraph biography.

  Senator Sean Jamieson was sixty-one, widowed, and the father of three children. He’d started out in Washington as a member of the House of Representatives when he was only thirty-three. Eight years later he won the Senate seat of a retiring lawmaker, and had remained in that office since then. Over the years, he’d been a member of many different committees, including Transportation, Finance, and Governmental Affairs. According to the bio, for the last two terms he had served on the Armed Services Committee and the Appropriations Committee.

  That caused Wes to pause. Appropriations. The bill that included funding for SCORCH was up for a vote with them. If the system had been the reason the test flight had gone down, it could cripple the bill’s chances. He read further, trying to discern how the senator might vote on the measure, but there was no clear indication.

  He returned to the computerized index and looked for anything pertaining to the bill, then cross-referenced entries for both the bill and the senator. There were several, all news articles. According to the index, most of the articles had been digitized and were available on one of the library terminals.

  Wes hesitated. If he didn’t get on the Internet, he would be okay, right? He decided to chance it, and found an empty terminal close to an emergency exit.

  The first five articles only mentioned the senator in passing. In the sixth article it became clear the senator had some doubts. But it was the seventh that contained a direct hit.

  “There are many questions remaining about several of the programs covered in this bill,” Senator Jamieson said during the Appropriations Committee hearing today. While he didn’t point out any particular program, he has previously voiced his concerns with projects such as SCORCH, which he believes has not yet proven itself reliable.

  Jamieson, a former Army Ranger with a long family history in the military, has continued to advocate for not only a strong military, but a smart one. One, as he says, that “doesn’t waste money on projects that will not serve our modern military needs.”

  Jamieson and SCORCH.

  But so what? Wes thought.

  All right. The senator wasn’t the biggest fan of the system. And potentially he was one of the on-the-fence votes. But why would Lars have written his name on the paper? It had to be something else, didn’t it?

  Wes reread the article, then an unexpected thought hit him. He grabbed the piece of paper where he’d written down the locations of the references for the senator, then headed into the stacks. Thankfully, the book he was looking for wasn’t checked out. He pulled it down and began thumbing through it.

  On page 229 he stopped.

  Slowly he looked from side to side, sure that someone had to be standing nearby ready to grab him. But the aisle was empty.

  As he looked down at the book again and confirmed what he’d already seen, a chill ran up his spine.

  Quickly, before someone showed up, he peeled off the security tag, then slipped the book behind his back and under his shirt, tucking it into the waistband of his pants.

  WES APPROACHED THE DESERT ROSE MOTEL from the back, parking the Triumph against the building, out of sight, then walked around the side to a passageway that led into the courtyard.

  He was relieved to see that the police were no longer stationed outside Tony’s room. Now there was only crime scene tape stretched across the door.

  What he was looking for was a motel phone. He was hoping he might find an open room. But before he got very far, he spotted a phone mounted on the wall of a small shed near the swimming pool. It was a little more exposed than he liked, but it would do.

  He walked over, picked it up, and dialed Alison’s room.

  “Hello?”

  “Are you alone?” he said.

  “Wes? What’s going on? Have they found them?”

  “No. Not that I know of. Is there anyone there with you?”

  “No. Why?” she asked, a bit of caution seeping into her voice.

  He hesitated, then said, “Look, I know you’re mad at me, but I just—”

  “Who said I was mad at you?”

  “I can hear it in your voice.”

  “I can’t help it if you’re hearing things.”

  “Alison, please. I just need your help.”

  A brief silence. “Ask Danny.”

  “Please.”

  “This whole thing’s gotten me shaken up. I just don’t feel up to doing anything.”

  He paused, then said, “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s fine. I’m sure Danny will be free.”
<
br />   “That’s not what I mean.”

  Her voice was still cool. “What do you mean?”

  “I haven’t exactly been up front with you. I should have … I mean, it shouldn’t have taken …”

  When he didn’t go on, she said, “You should have what?”

  “I’m sorry. I should have told you about Anna and me a long time ago.”

  Silence, then, “Why didn’t you?”

  “I didn’t want to hurt you. You and I have always been friends. And I didn’t want to ruin it with her. You know me, I overthink things sometimes.”

  “Yeah, you do that, don’t you?” she said, then, “You don’t owe me anything.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  Neither of them said anything for several seconds.

  “Thanks,” Alison finally said. After another moment she added, “What do you need?”

  Wes would have smiled if he could. “Find Danny, then I need the two of you to meet me at that place we ate last week. John’s Pizza.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “I’ll tell you when I see you. I promise.”

  A pause. “All right,” she said, the coolness in her voice gone but annoyance starting to take its place. “What about Dione and Monroe?”

  Truthfully, he would rather Alison brought Dione than Danny, but he didn’t want to jeopardize Dione’s position with the network. Unlike the rest of them—all freelancers—she was staff. If what he had in mind didn’t work, it would hurt them less than it would hurt her. And as far as Monroe was concerned, she was useless and never a consideration.

  “We need to keep this small for now,” he said. “Be there in fifteen minutes and make sure no one’s following you. That includes the police.”

  He knew she wouldn’t be able to let that one go, so he hung up.

  WES HAD EXPECTED ALISON AND DANNY TO drive over in one of the two SUVs, but was surprised when they arrived with Dori in her Lincoln. His first instinct was to grab his two friends and tell Dori to come back for them later. But then he stopped himself. If she was willing to help, both she and her car could be useful. He got off the Triumph and climbed into the back of the car, next to Alison.

  “What’s so Jason Bourne that we had to sneak over here?” Danny asked.

  When Wes didn’t immediately reply, Alison asked, “Something happened, didn’t it?”

  “I need your help.” He made sure to look at each of them. “All three of you.”

  “What’s going on?” Danny asked.

  “I … I think I know who has Anna and Tony.”

  To say the others were stunned would have been an understatement.

  “Are you serious?” Dori asked.

  “Yes.”

  Alison reached for her pocket. “We should call the police.”

  Placing a hand on her arm, Wes said, “We can’t. Not yet.”

  “Why not?”

  “The police already think I might have something to do with pretty much everything that’s been happening. If I tell them what I figured out, they’ll just—”

  “Why would they think that?” Danny asked.

  “The break-ins? The disappearances? I’ve been involved in all of them.”

  “As a victim,” Alison pointed out.

  Before Wes could say anything, Dori said, “They might not see it that way.”

  Wes nodded. “Exactly.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Alison insisted. “They’d still have to check any lead you gave them, wouldn’t they?” She paused. “What am I thinking? Tell me what you think happened, and I’ll tell them.”

  “It’s not that simple,” Wes told her.

  Alison looked like she was about to explode. “Why not?”

  “Just listen to me.” Wes gave her a moment to calm down. “Do you trust me?”

  “Of course,” Alison relented. “We all do.”

  Nods from the front seats.

  “Are you willing to help me get the proof we need?” Wes asked.

  “If it’ll get Anna and Tony back, absolutely,” Alison said.

  “What do you need us to do?” Danny asked.

  This was the moment of truth. Either Wes took them fully into his confidence, or he got out of the car and did what had to be done on his own. Which left him no choice at all, really, because he was one hundred percent sure the second option would fail.

  He took a deep breath. “I was right about the pilot from the crash.”

  It took him nearly ten minutes to get the whole story out. Then, as soon as he finished, he described the plan he’d come up with.

  “We could definitely do that,” Alison said, immediately on board. “It would take me thirty minutes to rig it, tops.”

  “It’s all right if we use your car?” Wes asked Dori.

  “Yes. Absolutely,” she said. “If it’ll help your friends, anything. I’ll even drive. This Commander Forman has met all of you. He’ll be less guarded if I drive up.”

  As much as he didn’t want to put someone he didn’t know well in potential danger, he knew she was right. “Okay. Thanks.”

  “I don’t know,” Danny said. “I’m not sure I buy the Navy kidnapping people.”

  “Not the Navy,” Wes said. “An element within the Navy. There’s a difference. This is unsanctioned. It’s illegal.”

  “Still …”

  “Danny,” Dori said, “I think Wes might be right. You don’t live here. Some pretty crazy things have happened.”

  “You believe Forman could have done this?”

  Dori nodded. “After hearing Wes out, yeah, I do.”

  “I believe it,” Alison added in quick support.

  “Even if it’s not true,” Dori said, “it’s worth finding out, isn’t it?”

  “I guess,” Danny said, still not sounding completely convinced.

  “Is that a yes?” Wes asked.

  Dori reached over and put a hand on Danny’s thigh. When he looked at her, she smiled and nodded again.

  “Okay. Fine,” Danny said. “I’m in.”

  Wes felt a flood of relief. “Thanks. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this.” He checked the time. “We should get a move on it. You all head back to the motel and get the car ready. I’ll call Forman.”

  As Wes climbed out, Alison reached over and touched him on the arm. “We’re going to get her back. This is going to be okay.”

  He nodded, and tried to smile.

  I hope you’re right.

  COMMANDER FORMAN STARED OUT THE WINDOW of his office over Armitage Field, fuming. It had been a stupid idea from the beginning. He had told Laredyne as much. But they had been insistent, and in the end, Forman had thought, What harm could it do? At worst, they’d be right where they were before the flight, and at best, they might have turned things solidly in their favor.

  What harm could it do? Forman shook his head in disgust. The twisted pile of metal that had once been an F-18 proved how faulty that line of thinking had been.

  Pilot error. That’s what he had put in the report, and in a way it hadn’t been a lie. If the pilot had followed Andersen’s protocols, he would have never tripped the glitch in the software the engineers at Laredyne had yet to find a fix for. The error then triggered a massive systems shutdown. That son-of-a-bitch pilot had decided on his own that a test run meant trying everything out instead of following the road map he’d been given.

  And now Andersen himself was a problem. Forman had thought he’d played the lieutenant commander perfectly, taking an interest in the man’s career, promising a transfer to a Pentagon job, then using the influence that had gained him to guide Andersen when he wrote the protocols. Then, after the crash, Forman had moved quickly to solidify Andersen’s culpability, creating what he thought was going to be the perfect scapegoat.

  But the lieutenant commander hadn’t stuck to his script. His task had been simple. Make sure Wes Stewart wasn’t a problem. Forman had picked up early on that Andersen had some underlying resentment toward his old friend
. But no, instead of shutting Stewart up, he had actually turned on the commander.

  Still, it wasn’t the end of the world yet. They just needed a few more days. Once the Senate Appropriations Committee vote was over, Forman could finish the mop-up operation and move on to more important things. Like discussing how his actions deserved an even cushier post-Navy job at Laredyne than the one he’d been promised.

  And if things did take a bad turn, he had Andersen to throw into the fire.

  His desk phone rang. He punched the speakerphone button.

  “Yes?”

  “Call for you, sir. Mr. Wesley Stewart.”

  Forman paused. Stewart. The other problem. The commander had yet to figure out if he really needed to do anything about him yet.

  “Put it through.” He picked up the handset. “What can I do for you, Mr. Stewart?”

  “We need to talk.”

  “Talk? About what?”

  “I want you to release my friends.”

  “Your friends? I’m sorry. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “You don’t? Well, how about this. Jamieson. Know what that means?”

  Forman sat up. He did need to take care of this problem.

  “Interested in talking now, Commander?” Stewart asked.

  “I don’t know what it is you think you know, but if it’ll help clear things up I’ll meet with you. Why don’t you come to my office and we can—”

  “I have a better idea. Be in the parking lot behind the La Sonora restaurant at seven-thirty tonight. Alone.”

  “Really. I don’t think we need to …” Forman didn’t finish the sentence.

  The line was already dead.

  THE MAN WAS AWAKE, SHOWERED, DRESSED, and fed by the time his phone rang.

  “Hello?” He nodded as he listened. “No. That makes sense to me. When the opportunity is there, you go for it.… Don’t worry. Everything will be in place. I’ll be at the rendezvous point waiting.”

  He hung up and allowed himself a smile. Finally it was going to be over. Tonight he’d be sleeping in his own bed, his wife curled up beside him.

  He walked down the hall, opened the door to the master bedroom, and flicked on the light. As he’d expected, the girl hadn’t moved. That drug was some good stuff.