Dark Angel: The Eyes Only Dossier
Page 4
Jon Darius—some of the phrases were the same ones he'd been using since college— spiritually deadening, environmentally catastrophic, to name just a couple.
And after reading that article, I suddenly had the feeling that Darius hadn't been after the mayor at all at my uncle's party.
He'd been after Beltran's brother—Maurice, the city power superintendent.
Still, I wondered why.
And more, I wondered if Maurice Beltran might have something to say about the attack.
Seattle City Light and Power 12 Republican Street Seattle Washington 98000
Maurice Beltran
Superintendent
District Supervisors
Raphael Arnold
Johnson Black
Michael Bradley
Alison Graves
Timeo Jones Jennifer Krc
Alan Lans Jr.
Laura Lenz
Janice Liberti
Karen Lobosco
Eileen Macy
Anne Mainberger
Craig Marchand
Gerald Nunnelly
Alison Peters
David Rutenberg
Dorothy Sanchez
Malloy Simkins
Yokio Tamamura
Vincenzo Volpe
Board of Governors
Marguerite Gosha
The Honorable Jon Hipps
Edgar Sonrisa
Leopold Steckler
January 11, 2017
Mr. Logan Cale
The Pacific Free Press
21 Second Avenue South
Seattle Washington 98732-3332
Dear Mr. Cale:
Thank you very much for your recent letter. Unfortunately, I will not be able to grant your request for an interview at this time. The authorities have classified the events that took place at your uncle's party as terrorist activities, and thus, under the James-Cheney Act of 2008, I am not permitted to discuss them with media representatives.
Regarding the Colville Indian tribes, that situation is being closely examined, and I can promise you and your readers that this administration is firmly committed to seeing justice done after so many years. I'm afraid that access to those files, however, is strictly limited to workers who have been cleared by the Homeland Security Department.
Notwithstanding the above, I do wish you the best of luck with your article.
Sincerely,
Maurice Beltran
Superintendent
Seattle City Light and Power 12 Republican Street Seattle Washington 98000
Maurice Beltran
Superintendent
District Supervisors
Raphael Arnold
Johnson Black
Michael Bradley
Alison Graves
Timeo Jones Jennifer Krc
Alan Lans Jr.
Laura Lenz
Janice Liberti
Karen Lobosco
Eileen Macy
Anne Mainberger
Craig Marchand
Gerald Nunnelly
Alison Peters
David Rutenberg
Dorothy Sanchez
Malloy Simkins
Yokio Tamamura
Vincenzo Volpe
Board of Governors
Marguerite Gosha
The Honorable Jon Hipps
Edgar Sonrisa
Leopold Steckler
January 21, 2017
Mr. Logan Cale
The Pacific Free Press
21 Second Avenue South
Seattle Washington 98732-3332
Dear Mr. Cale:
Your persistence is admirable.
My admiration, however, does not extend to the point where I can permit you to contact our employees surreptitiously. Just to make it clear to you and your paper, the information you seek is classified as vital to our national security, and thus falls under the James-Cheney Act of 2008. Any unauthorized use of this information will result in prosecution under the terms of that act, and I have been assured by our district Homeland Security personnel that the letter of the law will be strictly observed.
Sincerely,
Maurice Beltran
Superintendent
Darius's invitation resonated with a lot of people.
Maybe it was simply the fact that they were tired of the blackouts, tired of the constant interruptions to their lives, tired of feeling impotent and unimportant. Whatever the reason, on the day of the march, they lined up by the hundreds.
I remember seeing them, all queued up for the buses, sector cops looking on, nightsticks in hand, wearing full riot gear on a day when the temperature hit eighty degrees by nine o'clock in the morning, and having a chill of foreboding run down my spine.
But nothing happened. In Seattle, at least.
When they got to Grand Coulee, though, everything went wrong.
I didn't understand.
According to the papers, it was May 22—prodded by Darius, no doubt—who had turned a peaceful protest march, by all indications a wildly successful protest march, a legitimate expression of civil disobedience—into a violent melee that cost forty-five people their lives.
Why?
I tried e-mailing Darius again, to get a response from him. Nothing. No reply to e-mails sent to any other member of the organization as well.
Weeks passed without another word from the group. May 22, it seemed, had disappeared off the face of the earth, leaving no tangible evidence of their presence.
But it occurred to me that there was the virtual avenue to explore as well.
Darius had lied to me. He'd used me, and the Free Press to publicize his march, when protest wasn't his goal at all. Protesting hadn't been his goal when he tried to kidnap Maurice Beltran from my uncle's party, either.
He'd been out to make a much bigger statement.
He'd been out to blow up the Grand Coulee Dam.
May 22nd's goal was to restore the natural order of things. They were going to destroy Grand Coulee to do that —never mind the thousands of people that would have died in the subsequent flood if they'd succeeded.
What does all this have to do with you?
Take a look at that flyer -the one announcing the anniversary protest march, at the very beginning of this section. Note the name at the bottom -Sector 12's councilman, Arkady Hermann. Hermann is new to the job — elected just last year, to replace Councilor Robert Dominguez.
Now look at the greenworld e-mails again. Note the ones from Herrmann -the Herrmann who worked in a councilor's office. The Herrmann who organized the first Grand Coulee March.
Is it the same man?
I can't be sure. The spelling is different. And I can't access records related to either man from here right now.
But one thing I know for certain.
Darius said May 22nd would try again.
It's up to you to find out if this march is their latest attempt.
I used to wonder why people actually paid money for that rag. They must realize it's a joke—the articles, the pictures, the so-called sources, all of it. It would be too depressing if the public actually believed those things.
On the other hand …
Sometimes, they do get it right. The breeding cult story—that's White and his people, for sure. Sketchy wrote that article a while back. He told me the editors have been pressing him for weeks to find a new angle on the story. “Something fresh,” they said. “Hot. Sexy.”
What wouldn't they give to see these.
The body belongs to Max.
The letters are Minoan—a script called Linear A, that dates back to somewhere around 2000 B.C. They started appearing on her body a couple of weeks ago—it turns out they're part of her genetic makeup, like the barcode on her neck. Programmed into her, apparently, by a guy called Sandeman.
According to Joshua—or as the Weekly likes to call him, Dogman—Sandeman was the guy who actually started Manticore, and ran it until the military took over. For the longest time, Joshua call
ed Sandeman “father.” The symbols popping out all over Max's body are a message from him.
The symbols have multiple meanings, so they're hard to translate, exactly, but the gist of what's there is pretty clear. The message is something like this:
“When the shroud of death covers the face of the earth, the one whose power is hidden will deliver the helpless.”
It sounds like something you find inside a fortune cookie. I've been looking for Sandeman to find out exactly what he meant—what the shroud of death is, and when it's coming.
Thing is, Sandeman's a hard guy to track down. I put the word out on the Informant Net—tried all the university records, medical records, passports, birth certificates, death certificates, etc., etc. Came up with absolutely nothing on the Sandeman.
And then right here in Terminal City, we found this.
The letter was crumpled up in the back of an empty file cabinet—in an abandoned lab right here in Terminal City. A lab that belonged to ARG—Advanced Recombinant Genetics. Sandeman's lab—the place he came after Manticore. From the date on the fax, it seems as if he left ARG right about the time he left his house, heading for parts unknown.
Seems like he left on bad terms with this Marcus—who sounds like part of White's cult as well. But that letter was the only thing we found.
Not much to go on, I'll admit. But it was a starting point.
DECRYPTION: SECURE 8 DECRYPTION STAMP: 5/8/21 ORIGINAL TRANSCRIPT: 5/01/21 L = Cale, Logan, P = Payton, Brian
FILE BEGINS
P: Hello?
L: Yes, I'm looking for Brian Payton.
P: You got him.
L: The Brian Payton who was a reporter for Post Express, back in the 1990s?
P: That's me.
L: Good. Mr. Payton, my name is Logan Cale. I'm a journalist myself, out in Seattle, and I'm working on a piece—
P: Seattle? You're calling me from Seattle?
L: Yes.
P: Jee-sus. Haven't talked to anybody from the West Coast in years. I used to get out there all the time, back in the day. What's it like out there now? Martial law still, right?
L: Yes, sir. Still the protectorate.
P: And a curfew? You still have a curfew?
L: That's right.
P: Christ. Never thought I'd see the day. A curfew in the United States of America. Guess you live long enough, you see everything.
L: Yes, sir.
P: But I assume you didn't call me up to bitch about your lot in life. What can I do for you?
L: Your name came up in regard to a piece I'm working on, regarding the Davenport Genetics Institute? Do you remember—
P: Are you going after them? You better be armed for bear, son. Those bastards play dirty.
L: Sir?
P: The Morales girl. What they did to her. What they did to me, and the story.
L: Back up a second, if you would. All I know about Davenport is the kidnapping—the scandal that came with that.
P: Scandal? That wasn't a scandal. That was a whitewash.
L: It closed the place down though—didn't it?
P: They closed down when they were damn good and ready. A few years after the kidnapping, yes—but none of them ever went to jail.
L: So the charges against them were true?
P: They were true, and they weren't the half of it. They got away with murder.
L: What do you mean?
P: Just what I said. And the Morales girl wasn't the only one. She was the first one that got away, though. The others—they killed them all. The girls, and their babies.
L: I see.
P: Mr. Cale? You all right?
L: Yes. This conversation is connecting a lot of dots for me, Mr. Payton. Would you mind if I taped our talk, so I can refer to it later?
P: That's no problem. Got nothing to lose, now.
L: Good. Then let me ask
you a few specific questions. Did you ever hear of anyone named Marcus in connection with the institute?
P: No.
L: He may have been one of the people running the institute.
P: No. No Marcus. I remember Dr. Hill, and Dr. Crater, and Sandeman, and—
L: Sandeman was at the Davenport Institute?
P: That's right. Listen, let me save you some time here. Send you my notes on the story.
L: Your notes.
P: Yeah, I have a whole file folder full of stuff. It includes my interview with Morales. The entire transcript. You want it?
L: Absolutely I want it.
CONTINUES
TO: FILE
FROM: PAYTON
DATE: 8/10/96
RE: MORALES INTERVIEW, SESSION 2
Payton: So let's just pick up where we left off, all right Miss Morales? Morales: All right. You could call me Josie, you know. Payton: All right. You want a glass of water, Josie? Morales: Water would be nice. Payton: Hold on.
Payton: Okay. So yesterday, you were talking about meeting this guy-Morales: John. I never even knew his last name. I met him at El Rubio's. Payton: You waited on his table? Morales: That's right. Payton: Go on.
Morales: Well, you know. I mean, we were hitting it off, you know? And he was with some friends, and they left, and he hung out at the bar until I finished.
Payton: And then?
Morales: We hung out, you know. Went dancing, and drinking, only now that I think about it, I was doing all the drinking, and he was just asking me questions, all these weird questions, like where was I from, how old was I. What about my parents, my grandparents, were they still alive, were they healthy, where were they from—weird stuff.
Payton: All right.
Morales: I mean, now it doesn't seem so weird, you know?
Payton: No. Those questions make perfect sense. He was trying to find out your family's genetic history.
Morales: That's right. I thought we were like—hooking up, you know? And he's thinking about me like a lab rat.
Payton: I know.
Morales: Bastard.
Payton: Why don't you go on?
Morales: Well, so I don't hear from him the next few days. Then he shows up at the restaurant again—only this time he's with an older guy. And he's all weird and formal like.
Payton: This is John you're talking about? Who was formal?
Morales: Yeah. I think it was because of the guy with him.
Payton: Who was the older guy?
Morales: Sandman. The guy I told you about yesterday.
Payton: Sandeman.
Morales: Whatever.
Payton: And what did they say?
Morales: They told me about the institute. They asked me to come down and see it.
Payton: Did they offer you money then?
Morales: Yes.
Payton: How much?
Morales: A thousand dollars for the day. Just to come talk with them. Only they said I'd have to sign these forms—
Payton: The nondisclosure forms.
Morales: Yeah. Those. So I said sure. I mean, a thousand dollars. I was like-whatever. Stupid, right?
Payton: You couldn't have known.
Morales: So that's it. The next day they sent a car for me, and I went down. Signed the forms, and they made me the offer. Fifty thousand if I participate in the program.
Payton: If you get pregnant.
Morales: No, see, that was the trick. Fifty thousand if I have a baby for them. It wasn't just the getting pregnant part. Should have had a lawyer look the damn thing over.
Payton: Yeah. I hear that. Anytime anyone asks you to sign anything, have a lawyer look it over.
Morales: Yeah.
Payton: And you said yes?
Morales: Of course I said yes, what are you fucking crazy? Fifty thousand bucks— that's more money than I'm ever gonna see in my life. Only thing was, I miscarried two months in. So I go to see the bastards, and they say no baby, no money. But I'm free to try again.
Payton: Jesus Christ.
Morales: Exactly what I said.
>
Payton: Back up a second. What did they say when they made you the offer—why did they want you to do it?
Morales: Well, I don't remember a lot of that, to be honest. After they mentioned the fifty thou, I couldn't think about anything else, you know?
Payton: Do you remember any of it? Think back. You're sitting in their office— whose office were you in? Sandeman's?
Morales: That's right. He was there, and John was there, and some creepy old man came in about halfway through and patted me on the head. Uggh. Gave me the creeps—that was the only time I had second thoughts about the whole thing, you know? When that old man touched me.
Payton: Do you remember his name?
Morales: Ummm. No, sorry.
Payton: And nothing at all about what they said?
Morales: Something about how I was an excellent physical specimen—I remember that.
Payton: Well. You're a good-looking young woman.
Morales: You should have seen me before, mister. I feel like I've aged about twenty years in the last two.
Payton: It doesn't show.
Morales: Thank you.
Payton: You're welcome. So—you told them you'd get pregnant, and you signed the papers, and then …
Morales: And then, I got pregnant.
Payton: How?
Morales: What do you mean how?
Payton: Artificial insemination, or—
Morales: Hell no. Nothing artificial about it. John and I went into one of the hospital rooms there and did it—I mean, it was a few days later, they calculated the best time for us to hook up, my period and all, and we did.
Payton: And the same thing the second time?
Morales: Same thing. And I lost the baby again. Only this one was farther along-second trimester. I could feel him kicking around.
Payton: You're sure it was a boy?
Morales: No, but—I had that feeling, you know. I don't like thinking about it, because even though part of the deal was that I had to give up the baby, I was feeling something already. Maternal instinct, I guess they call it. I had a name picked out in my head, too. Antonio. Tony. Like my grandfather. Even though they wouldn't let me see him again, I still …