Braewyn sat at the utility table and fingered through the papers in the file while Tom looked over her shoulder. She looked quickly at each page then closed the file.
“We’re going to need help with the chemistry,” Braewyn said to Tom.
“Celine’s offered to help,” Alasdair said. “She knows how the NSA operates and she knows top people on the outside.”
“We have our own experts,” Braewyn said.
“We done here?” Frank said.
“Alasdair’s right,” Braewyn said to Frank. “The world’s going to come calling. And I’m betting they won’t all be good cops.”
“I’m betting they won’t be cops at all,” Frank said.
* * * * *
The FBI agents and Alasdair left and Frank went into the house, got himself a beer, and sat on the sofa in the parlor. A minute later, his cell rang. The display showed the call was from a Maryland exchange.
“Hello,” Frank said.
“We located the halfway house where Dickie K is staying and found him MIA,” said the voice of John Dellarue. “People there say he’s been gone for days. Pulled a job and booked, my guess.”
“Thanks, John,” Frank said.
“No word on the Reo yet. We’ll keep the bulletins running.”
“Can’t ask for more.”
“Part of the job. Take care,” Dellarue said and hung up.
Frank suspected Dellarue was somehow involved in more than just a stolen Reo, but he needed proof before he could press harder on the captain. For now, play nice, play dumb, and see what develops.
Frank called the Martin County Sheriff’s Office. It was 9:45 AM. They would’ve already studied their assignments and slugged down the first few cups of coffee for the morning. Frank trusted that Roland would be at his most receptive after his second cup and third cruller.
“It’s Frank again.”
“Well, spank the baby, if it isn’t our wandering detective. Get tired of solving all the cases in Maryland?”
“Not yet, but I’ll be back soon to solve some of yours,” Frank said. “Wanted to give you a heads-up.”
“I’ll alert the day watch, the Enquirer and the Miami Herald.”
“Anything earthshaking going on?”
“Yeah, I need to go over a couple of things with you.”
“Job things?” Frank asked.
“National Security Agency things.”
Sonofabitch. The bastards are already on a background check, and the Omega film was revealed only two days ago.
“NSA? Why the hell are they hounding me?” Frank asked.
“Don’t know, but they had a lot of questions. Call ‘em up and get these guys off our necks. I got better things to do than screw with the NSA.”
“They leave a number?”
“I don’t know what you’ve got yourself into up there in Maryland, but these guys mean business. They’re down here digging into your background like genealogy scouts,”
“I found a Second World War film and some military documents left by my grandfather and–”
“Listen, Frank, I want these monkeys off my back. They have questions and you answer them, understand? Here’s the man you need to talk to: Anton Chernac, Colonel Anton Chernac, who left a goddamn, million-digit, international phone number. I’ll text it to your phone.
“I’ll take care of this.”
“And when you get that done, how about hauling your ass back down here and doing a day’s worth of hometown police work?” Roland said. “I kinda like a full staff on the job down here, detective.”
“Rumbaugh isn’t picking up the slack?”
“Rumbaugh couldn’t pick the fly shit out of celery seed down at the spice company,” Roland said.
“His father thought this was the perfect job for him,” Frank said, knowing he was pushing a hot button.
“Mayor Rumbaugh is the result of a stupid and uninformed electorate. It’s what’s wrong with this country. I can’t wait until the next election to get his ass out and send him back where he belongs: Back working at his brother’s funeral home. He can only screw up a dead body up so much.”
“I’ll get this Chernac guy squared away, chief.”
* * * * *
Frank leapt to his feet and hurled an accent pillow from the sofa against a wall of books across the parlor. It hit so hard it stuck in the space between the volumes and the shelf above.
His cell phone rang. Frank clicked the receive button and put the phone to his ear but said nothing.
“I got this idea,” Alasdair said.
“You’ve discovered fire?”
“You going to be nasty or would you like to hear it?”
“Ah, I’m pissed about the heat I’m getting from the office. Shoot.”
“What’s going on in Stuart?”
“NSA’s already picking my life apart.”
“In Florida? Come on.”
“What’s your idea. Cheer me up,” Frank said.
“How about if I place an ad in the paper and online as a collector looking to pay top dollar for vintage Reos?”
“I like it. Put it out there.”
“Think our perps will bite?”
“No, but worth a shot.”
“That’s pretty negative.”
“Do it,” Frank said. “I’ll be in Bermuda.”
“Bermuda?” Alasdair said.
“It’s on my bucket list.”
“Aye, Bermuda. You’ll love Hamilton this time of year.”
If the intel the press got came by way of cell phone hacking, Frank would do his best to throw them off in his phone conversations with those he trusted. Information coming from other quarters was out of his control. It was a troubling fact that made him wonder if the media didn’t have better detective techniques than those used by law enforcement.
It was time to stop being the prey and become the hunter.
Chapter 22
Talking to Colonel Chernac, even on the phone, was like going to the principal’s office in grade school. Frank was antsy about unsecured phone conversations anyway, and this one was likely to be one-sided and demeaning. But Frank made it clear, early into it, that he was not a scoldable child and turned on the toughness he was known for.
“We looked at the film,” Colonel Chernac said. “The actual 16mm film, not the digitized version.”
He saw the original film? How? Through the FBI?
“And you deduced what?” Frank said.
“It looked real to us.”
Frank tried to identify Chernac’s accent. Maybe eastern European.
“People in the film looked like they died?”
“They looked quite dead.”
“Maybe they were actors. I see actors killed in movies all the time. They look quite dead too.”
“And the prairie dogs?” Chernac said. “Were they merely acting?”
“Got me there,” Frank said.
“Our chemists are working on the experiments. That may tell us more.”
He’s seen the file?
Frank had another reason he didn’t like these phone conversations with strangers, especially strangers with international phone numbers: He couldn’t see their faces and body language, something he was expert at interpreting. There was also the question of identification. He wanted to see Chernac’s credentials.
“I think we need to meet face-to-face,” Frank said.
“We shall, soon enough,” Chernac said.
“Contact me with the time and place.”
“You’ll be well-informed, I assure you.”
“Good.”
Frank ended the call and pulled a business card from his pocket.
* * * * *
“I don’t know a Colonel Anton Chernac,” Braewyn said on the phone. “If he’s NSA, as you say, we don’t cross paths often.”
“He claims to have seen the original film. He get his info from the FBI? And has he seen anything in the Omega files?”
“I seriously d
oubt that any single individual would be asking such intimidating questions at this stage of the game,” Braewyn said. “Copies were made and distributed only to a handful of specialists and higher-ups on a need-to-know basis. But it’s possible. NSA’s specialty is code-breaking, you know.”
“The government hires people from overseas with accents?”
“We hire people from all over. We need and use folks who can speak and understand more than one language. Did you think all our enemies only speak English?”
“All right, all right. I found the bastard sneaky, …rude,… arrogant.”
“Part of the job. They’re not Welcome Wagon, they’re the National Security Agency.”
“Got it.”
“Our agency tested everything we were given on this Omega weapon. The results were not what people expected. My superiors think you know more than you’re telling.”
“And you?” Frank said.
“If I were implicated in a murder, you’d have to do your job and suspect me until you could eliminate me from any complicity, wouldn’t you?”
“I understand. I don’t have to like it. By the way, the media have already paid me a visit. A whole boatload of them. Security on this apparently sucks.”
“Be careful, Detective Dugan. Remember, if the press obtained information about this, it’s not only our government you have to worry about.”
Frank hung up and his gut told him she was right.
* * * * *
Frank trudged into the hot stuffy hallway, where drawing a breath was a chore, and cranked the thermostat down to 68 degrees. The kitchen had the only cool thing in the house and Frank headed straight for it and stuck his head in the open door of the 25-cubic foot Kenmore refrigerator. He stayed there ahhhing for a full minute before taking out a cold beer and his head and closing the fridge.
It was then that he looked out the kitchen window and noticed two men in business suits standing in the back yard. He adjusted his pistol in the back of his waistband and opened the back door.
“Get you guys a beer?” Frank asked as he strolled outside and set his beer down on the back porch railing with his left hand. His right hand fondled the grip of his 9mm.
“Are you Frank Dugan?” the shorter of the two men asked.
“I am.”
“We’re from the Department of Homeland Security,” the larger man said. “We need to ask you a couple of questions about this Omega Formula film.”
“And I need to ask you one. Got some ID?”
The two men pulled out their bi-fold wallets and held them out for Frank’s inspection.
“Okay, ask away, but I don’t know much more than you do,” Frank said.
The large man wiped his sweaty face with a handkerchief.
“You fellas need a beer?” Frank asked.
“No, thank you,” the big man said. “You think this Omega weapon exists?”
Frank released the pistol grip and picked up his beer.
“I think it was all a big ruse to make the Japanese think it was real.” Frank said and took a long sip.
“The killing depicted in the film looked pretty convincing,” the smaller man said.
“That was the whole point, wasn’t it?” Frank said.
“Could be,” the smaller man said. “The secretary has set up a meeting in DC to discuss the film with other agencies along with the military chiefs.”
The larger man reached into his suit jacket and took out a folded paper.
“This is a subpoena to appear at that meeting, Detective Dugan,” the man said and handed the paper to Frank. “This has become a matter of national security. That film of yours has caused a lot of concern in Washington, especially with the president.”
Frank opened the paper and noted the date.
“Day after tomorrow?” Frank said.
“The director wants to resolve this immediately,” the large man said.
“I want this thing cleared up as much as the government does, gentlemen,” Frank said. “I’ll be there.”
“You know,” the smaller man said, “if there’s something you feel like telling us right now…”
“See you at the meeting,” Frank said and swept his arm toward the driveway.
“We understand how hard it can be to discuss things about family business, but–”
Frank raised his hand to cut off the good cop routine being played by the larger man. He was a pretty fair interrogator himself and knew how to play the game with tight-lipped perps. Frank stepped to the men and stared directly at them without a blink.
“I have told you the truth,” Frank said.
The men nodded, filed down the driveway, and disappeared around the corner of the house.
Frank went back inside and picked up a bottle of Jameson Irish Whiskey from the bar in the dining room and took a huge belt of it, followed by chugging his beer until the can nearly collapsed.
The air conditioning at last began to make its welcome presence felt as Frank sat on the sofa. He pulled his pistol from inside his belt, gripped the piece firmly and cradled it in his lap. He put his head back on the sofa cushion and closed his eyes.
What the hell was he going to say to a room full of the nation’s top military chiefs and defense agencies when they asked him about the Omega formula?
Frank despised government bureaucracy. Collectively it was like dealing with a huge animal with a tiny brain, centered in its id. It only did what it perceived as necessary to thrive, and preserve its power. Like lawyers who perpetuated senseless and costly litigations to keep their billable hours ringing on their registers, he distrusted any group that voted on behalf of themselves and their own interests. Lawyers became judges who interpreted the laws and benefits approved by politicians who often started their careers as lawyers. It was an out-of-balance continuum. Congress voted on its own absurd salaries, and even more absurd lifetime pensions and perquisites, ad nauseam. Frank knew it wasn’t right nor fair to the American taxpayer. He became a cop to protect the righteous and enforce fairness. His decision about what he’d say at the meeting would be easy.
He would to tell the government as little as possible.
Chapter 23
The Pentagon was everything Frank had imagined it would be: enormous, severe and immovable. He was met at the gate to the North Parking Visitor Screening Facility by a marine master sergeant who studied his subpoena and then provided him with a Department of Defense “Red Badge” building pass attached to a lanyard he was instructed to wear around his neck. It was required to be worn in plain view so everyone could see he did not have a security clearance, and that his presence in the building required an escort. The marine led Frank to a visitor’s parking area where he left the rental car and plodded the hot hundred yards to the main entrance of the building.
Once inside, Frank used his visitor badge in a turnstile and entered the four digit PIN code he’d been given by the security officer. Once he gained access to the lobby, the personnel at the Pentagon Force Protection Agency desk determined his business, scanned him for weapons, and checked for cell phones, cameras or any other suspicious or disallowed items. They looked over his subpoena and called the contact name on the document. A DD Form 1466 was issued to him, which allowed him further access into the building, but required an escort at all times.
Minutes later, the larger of the two men who had visited him at Elm Terrace appeared and led Frank to the elevators.
The meeting room was located several levels down and guarded by two marines. The spacious area was alive with more than thirty people who began to turn their attention Frank’s way as soon as he entered the door. He was seated at the center of a long conference table. The room was filled with several high-ranking military officers, high-profile politicians, cabinet heads, and other men and women in conservative business attire. A female stenographer sat near the conference table ready to record the proceeding.
Overnight Internet research had informed Frank that there were more than 15 U
. S. organizations involved with intelligence and national security. He would be meeting with several of the more well known ones today. The subject of the meeting would center around the Omega film, whose rumoring was bouncing all over cyberspace. Leaked information such as that shown in the film would be classified as “open source” information, now public and impossible to withdraw or label as secret or even classified in the military sense of the terms. But the Omega files, now in the hands of the FBI and other security agencies, would be put in a cool, dark place and tightly closed with a classified level of secrecy stamped all over them. The last thing the government wanted was for those files to make their way to the Internet.
Frank recognized Mary Allcott, the Secretary of Homeland Security, and the Secretary of Defense, Van Jeffries, plus a few of the familiar politicians from their TV news interviews. Braewyn Joyce with Tom Gardner nodded at Frank from across the room. The rest of the attendees were new to Frank, although one heavily decorated army general stood out as someone he’d seen recently in the news.
Secretary Allcott called for everyone to take their assigned places around the table and brought the meeting to order.
“Please, be seated,” the secretary said and took her place directly across the wide table from Frank. A manila file folder lay on the table in front of him.
“I have called this meeting and have asked the CIA, the FBI, the NSA, Homeland Security directors, scientific specialists, and the joint chiefs of the armed forces to attend. I thank all of you for coming. We are here to discuss a film and certain documents, which are making a lot of buzz in the media lately,” Secretary Allcott said. “A buzz that may involve the security of this nation. Detective Frank Dugan, has kindly agreed to come here today, from some distance, to answer a few questions about these recent events, since he’s close to the source of this rather intriguing discovery from the Second World War.”
Frank mused that he had “kindly agreed” to attend like Nathan Hale had kindly agreed to go to the gallows.
The Omega Formula: Power to Die For (Detective Frank Dugan) Page 10
