by Peter Darley
“What’s his name?”
“Adam Brody. He’s been on the case for weeks in San Francisco, but he hasn’t been able to locate Fong yet. I called him after I called you. All I got was his answering service.”
“Will you let me know as soon as you hear anything?”
“Of course. I didn’t want to say anything in front of Tyler.”
“Why not?”
Charlton eased his mouth closer to the sheriff’s ear. “Because he’s the one they’re looking for, and he has no idea. That’s the way I want to keep it. It was Tyler and his brother who helped take them down.”
“Thanks for telling me this, Charlton. I’ll do whatever I can, but I think this is way over my head. Forensics said something was used to break in through the back door and the door to the guest house. Whatever it was burned through the wood and the lock mechanisms. They’d never seen anything like it.”
“It’s way over everybody’s head, Al,” Charlton said. “Even SDT didn’t wanna be involved.”
“What’s SDT?”
“Some investigative division that operates from Langley. That’s who I got this Tong information from.”
The conversation was interrupted by Charlton’s cell phone ringing. “Lemme get this, Al. I’ll be with you in a moment.”
“You bet.” The sheriff turned away to rejoin the officers.
Charlton answered the call. “Faraday here.”
“Mr. Faraday, it’s me, Adam Brody. I just got your message.”
“Brody? Where the hell have you been? I called you hours ago. I thought they’d got you too.”
“I’m sorry, sir. I don’t quite follow you. Who did you think had got me?”
“The Tong, who else?”
“No danger of that, Mr. Faraday.”
“How can you say that? I’ve come home to a goddamn massacre. All of my security boys were slaughtered.”
There was a moment of silence on the line, and then Brody said, “I’m so sorry, sir. That’s terrible. But I can assure you, it wasn’t the Tong. Fong had nothing to do with it.”
“How do you know?”
“Because he’s dead, sir. They burned him weeks ago, that’s why I couldn’t find any trace of him. He’s been a John Doe in the morgue all this time.”
“Well . . . what happened?”
“It took me awhile to get to the bottom of it. After Los Angeles, he went to San Francisco to find safe haven with the Tongs. Seems they weren’t in favor of the business he’d been doing in L.A. They considered his actions a disgrace to their names, and they killed him.”
Charlton shook his head in bewilderment. “Then who—?”
“I don’t know, sir, but the Tongs are not your enemy, I can assure you.”
“OK, come on back to Dallas. I have to go. There’s half the damn police department here.”
Charlton ended the call and looked ahead into the horizon. All this time he’d feared the Tongs without knowing they were his allies where Fong was concerned. So who, or what, attacked the ranch?
Twenty-Four
Interrogation
Jed Crane pressed ‘send’ for the tenth time and disconnected his iPhone from the computer. It had been an essential task. Creating ten anonymous email addresses to send copies of his photos of Brandon Drake would ensure the data, complete with their time and date of origin, would be preserved. He had every intention of taking the phone to the highest level of government, although he knew he couldn’t place his complete trust in anyone. Using a Florida internet café ensured the location of the duplicates would be untraceable.
He picked up his backpack and stepped out onto a Fort Lauderdale street, pondering his strategy. He’d just spent a week working on a ship importing coffee to Port Everglades for a private corporation. The job had given him access back to mainland America, and his payment for services rendered would enable him to afford a bus fare to Washington, D.C.
Nevertheless, he knew he would be placing himself in serious jeopardy. He faced immediate arrest the moment he appeared, notwithstanding the possibility of interception by Wilmot’s goons.
Walking along the busy street, he thought of Juanita and how alone she must have been feeling since he left. He was determined to do whatever he could to help her, once he’d exposed Wilmot.
He passed an electronics store and saw a caption on the screens of each in a line of high-definition display televisions:
Massacre at Faraday Ranch
Jed froze and watched through the window as a female reporter interviewed Tyler and his father. He couldn’t make out what they were saying, but the caption told him enough.
He hurried along in search of a newspaper vendor, and found one within minutes. The story was front page on all newspapers.
After purchasing a copy of The Washington Post, he walked away reading the story, and a chill went through him. The article focused on the mystery behind the attack and the confusion caused by it. Nobody had a clue who was responsible.
But he knew.
In a heartbeat, his agenda changed. Washington D.C. would have to wait. He needed to get to the Faradays in Dallas, and cursed the fact that he couldn’t fly due to his fear of being identified.
***
Abraham Jacobson sat, exhausted, in a depressing, Langley interview room. The bare, white walls seemed to be closing in on him. Having slept very little during the last four days while under detention by, first the FBI, and now the CIA, he didn’t know how many more times he could endure the same questions. Overnight, his entire world had been turned upside down.
Agent Wentworth Cullen, a thirty-something operative, had been particularly trying in his approach. He undoubtedly didn’t believe him, which had led to mind-numbing repetitions of the questions. Jacobson knew the agent was trying to trip him up. He’d been locked in the interview room alone for the last two hours, and was beginning to lose track of time.
Suddenly, the door opened and Cullen entered. Jacobson looked up, startled.
“All right, Professor. Let’s do it one more time.” Cullen activated the recording equipment on the table. “Who broke into Mach Industries?”
“One more time, Agent Cullen, I told you. And why was I brought here? I told the FBI everything that happened.”
“Mach Industries is a military operation. If someone pulled a heist, we need to ascertain which foreign power was responsible, and your story is just the wrong side of ridiculous. Now, let’s try it again.”
Jacobson shook his head in despondency. “Brandon Drake came to my home with apparent amnesia. I took him to where he used to work in an attempt to prompt his memory.”
Cullen flicked his thick black hair from his eyes and leaned forward with an intimidating glare. “Brandon Drake is dead and buried.”
“Then I suggest you save us all a lot of time, go out to Aspen, and exhume his grave. I can assure you, you won’t find Brandon Drake in there.”
“Yeah. We might just do that.”
“I really wish you would.”
“Even if what you say is true, you smuggled an unauthorized man into a top secret facility, and a fugitive, at that.”
“I’m aware of that, but what was I supposed to have done? This was a man I’d worked closely with for a year, loved like a son, and trusted implicitly. He needed my help. I had no way of knowing what he was planning. He wasn’t the man I once knew.”
“So, what did he tell you?”
Jacobson exhaled, his patience at an end. “Only what I’ve already told you. He said he had no memory of me, or of the last four years of his life. The last thing he recalled was the grenade in Afghanistan, and then he said he woke up in a facility in . . . the Mojave Desert, I think he said.”
Cullen’s eyebrows rose. “Mojave?”
“Yes. He said the Brandon Drake I used to know was a manufactured persona created by Garrison Treadwell, and that intelligence personnel faked his death and restored his true persona.”
“And this happened in Mojave
?”
“According to him.”
“So you took him to Mach Industries to see if anything prompted his memory, then he went psycho, looted the joint, and took off in the TS-3 with the items we’ve logged?”
“That’s right.”
Cullen stopped the recording and removed the memory card. “Thank you, Professor. You’ve been very helpful.”
“That’s wonderful. Now, when are you going to release me?”
“Soon, hopefully. But you’re not off the hook, yet.”
“I figured as much.”
Cullen stood and made his way toward the door.
“Are you saying you believe me now?” Jacobson said.
“Let’s just say . . . I’m keeping an open mind. If it makes you feel any better, we’ve found the TS-3.”
The professor looked up eagerly. “You have? Where?”
“It’d been abandoned in a wooded lot, north of Route 29.”
Jacobson felt a note of relief. It wasn’t a surprise that Drake had discarded the TS-3, given its size. It was larger than the original Turbo Swan, and would’ve required a large truck if he’d wanted to ferry it around. But at least it was safe.
“I want a lawyer,” Jacobson said.
“All in good time, Professor.”
Cullen exited the room, leaving Jacobson to his thoughts. The mention of Mojave had changed the young agent’s attitude almost immediately. It had to have been why he’d disclosed the information about the TS-3. Jacobson cursed himself for not remembering about Mojave sooner. For now, he could only sit in the tedious room, contemplating his potentially-bleak future.
Cullen moved briskly through the corridors. He arrived at the office of Deputy Director April Hayes as she was stepping out. A reasonably attractive woman in her late forties, her shoulder-length, dark blonde hair complemented a conservative, impeccably-professional appearance.
“Agent Cullen,” she said, surprised. “What can I do for you?”
“It’s important.”
After a moment, she opened her door again. “I have a meeting in ten minutes. It’ll have to be brief.”
“Sure.” He followed her inside and took the memory card out of his pocket. “I’ve been interrogating Professor Jacobson. He’s just told me something I think the director should be aware of.”
“Oh?”
“He’s still adamant about Brandon Drake being alive. But now he’s remembered something Drake allegedly told him.” He handed Hayes the memory card. “It’s all on there. According to him, Drake said he woke up in a facility in the Mojave Desert, and that he’d been subjected to some kind of mind control operation by intelligence personnel.”
Hayes’ eyes narrowed.
“SDT Director Wilmot was involved with the Mojave facility when it exploded, wasn’t he?”
“Yes, he was.”
“Well, what if there was more to it than he’s letting on?”
“You believe the professor?”
“Being realistic, a man in his position would have no reason to assist in a heist. His record is cleaner than the Blue Lagoon, his story hasn’t faltered once, and now this.”
“You think Director Wilmot is dirty?”
“I don’t know what to think, except this demands further investigation.”
Hayes agreed and glanced at the memory card. “I’ll get this to Director Brenham. In the meantime, I don’t want you mentioning this to anyone. Are we clear?”
“Of course.”
“All right,” she said. “I have to go.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The atmosphere was particularly tense as they exited the room.
At 8:00 p.m. Director Jack Brenham sat alone in his office listening to Jacobson’s interview for the seventh time. By now, he was no longer hearing it. His mind reeled, certain that Jacobson was telling the truth. Everything fit with Mojave and the mind control claim. He’d kept a lid on his discovery of Treadwell’s brainwashing experiments. Only a select few of his highest-ranking officers had ever been made aware of it. If it ever got out, it would have created a national panic.
If Drake had been subjected to memory revision in Mojave, Wilmot had to be at the helm. That would mean he’d been with Treadwell’s outfit all along. If Wilmot was running Treadwell’s faction, it stood to reason that Wolfe had not been a traitor. It had been a devastating revelation at the time, but what if it wasn’t true?
Brenham needed hard evidence to support what he now suspected, although it would have to be handled shrewdly. Wilmot could not be alerted. Brenham had no idea how far this corrupt faction extended, but it had to be rooted out and destroyed, once and for all.
Despite Jacobson’s appalling judgment, his actions might have unwittingly uncovered a serious threat to national security. It was essential that the professor be brought into the fold. He was now a vital witness.
Brenham sat back contemplating his strategy. It wouldn’t be easy. If an internal terrorism movement was operating, everyone in the intelligence community was a potential suspect. At all costs, the press had to be kept in the dark, although Brenham knew Wilmot had to be taken down, no matter what.
Twenty-Five
Bombshell
Tyler gazed out the window in his office at the Faraday Corporation, his mind numb with the effects of shock. It had been four days since the massacre at the ranch, but he was unable to focus on work. They had no access to their home while forensics were combing the place. Consequently, he had no choice but to stay at the Ritz-Carlton with his father, Belinda, and Emily. The hotel was beautiful, but the dark cloud that hung over the circumstances quashed any sense of novelty. Tyler loved his home more than anywhere in the world.
The office door opened, and he turned with a start. He smiled just as quickly when he saw whose head was poking through. “Hey, Alex.”
“Belinda and I are gonna grab a bite. Wanna join us?” Alex Dalton said.
Tyler shook his head. “Thanks, but I really don’t have much of an appetite.”
Alex stepped through the doorway with a sympathetic stare. “You’ve got to eat something, Ty. I know you’re not doing great, and that’s understandable. Belinda’s going through it too. Her mind isn’t on anything.”
“I know. I haven’t seen my dad today. He left the hotel early. Have you seen him?”
“Briefly. He’s workin’ his ass off, nose to the grindstone, but I could tell he wasn’t himself.”
“He’s a strong man. The strongest I’ve ever known.”
“You got that right.”
Tyler’s desk phone rang. “Let me get that?”
“Sure.”
Tyler pushed the speaker button. “Tyler here.”
“Hi, Mr. Faraday. This is Sandy at the front desk.”
“Yes, Sandy.”
“There’s a man down here who says he needs to see you.”
“Who?”
“He didn’t give his name, but he says it’s extremely important he sees you.”
Tyler looked across at Alex feeling particularly intrigued.
“Maybe it’s someone who knows something,” Alex said.
“My thoughts exactly.” Tyler turned back to the speaker phone. “All right Sandy, send him up.”
Belinda stepped into the office behind Alex. “Hey, are we doing lunch?”
“Yeah, but I think we should stick around for a minute,” Alex said. “Tyler’s just had a call.”
“Oh? From whom?”
“That’s what I’d like to know,” Tyler said. “Whoever it is, they’re on their way up.”
They waited anxiously for several minutes until an unshaven, un-groomed man with a backpack appeared in the doorway. His casual clothing seemed almost tattered.
However, Tyler’s jaw dropped as he recognized him. “Oh, my God . . . Jed?” He walked across the room and hugged his former comrade-in-arms. “Where the hell have you been?”
“It’s a long story. We need to talk,” Jed Crane said.
�
��Hi,” Belinda said, and held out her hand. “We met briefly before. It’s good to see you again, Jed.”
“You too, Belinda.”
Alex offered his hand to Jed. “Hi. I’m Alex Dalton. I work with Tyler.”
“It’s good to meet you, Alex. I hope I don’t sound out of line, but I have some extremely personal information for Tyler and Belinda.”
“You got it. Belinda, I’ll be in my office.”
“OK.”
Alex closed the door behind him. Tyler, Belinda, and Jed sat at the desk.
“So, Jed. What’s going on?” Tyler said.
Jed looked at Belinda, and then back to Tyler. “What I have to say is going to come as a shock to both of you. I want you to be prepared.”
There was a tense pause. Finally, Tyler said, “OK, let’s hear it.”
“Brandon . . . is alive.”
Belinda’s mouth fell open and her hands began to tremble.
Tyler stood rapidly in response to the most heart-wrenching bombshell he’d ever heard. “What?”
“I have proof, Tyler.”
“But how can that be? Belinda and I saw the crash. There’s no way he could’ve survived.”
“Did you see his body?”
“No, they said he was a mess. They said he didn’t even have a face left, so they advised against it.”
“He’s alive, Tyler, and his face is just fine.”
Tyler sank back into his seat, unable to process what he’d just heard.
“Let me take it from the beginning,” Jed said. “Back in Utah, Agent Cynthia Garrett tracked me down to a motel. I woke up in the night to find a bomb under my bed.”
“Oh, my God.”
“Yeah. Anyway, I diffused the bomb and took it with me to L.A.” Jed was quiet for a moment, almost cagey, and then said, “I was the one who blew up the fish factory. I just couldn’t live with the idea of those child-raping monsters getting away.”
“You’ll get no argument from us there,” Belinda said.
