“I have placed copies of the documents found with the film before you for discussion,” Secretary Allcott went on. “But before we begin, I want you to watch the entire film, snippets and talk of which seem to be making the rounds on the Internet, rumor mills, and every media outlet and publication in our country and beyond. This explosion of publicity is the reason I have called this rather impromptu meeting.”
The secretary nodded to a man operating a computer, which projected DVD media onto a large screen at one end of the room. The lights in the room dimmed and Frank’s grandfather began his narration of the Omega film as everyone in the room glued their attention to the movie. Faces in the room grimaced and contorted as the film demonstrated the horror of war and the killing power of the baseball-size Omega detonations. The film ended, the lights came back up, and most of the people in the room seemed to relax from the tension the film had evoked.
“The narrator of the film was William Dugan, Detective Dugan’s grandfather, a nuclear physicist and Army Air Force consultant during the Second World War,” Allcott said. “Recently, Detective Dugan inherited the house and property formerly owned by his grandfather, and discovered this film and several files pertaining to the film. We think the movie was used to convince Japan to surrender in August of 1945, after we had used up our only two atomic bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki. The question that remains is this: Is the Omega formula a real weapon capable of the incredible killing power depicted in the movie, or was it only a clever fabrication produced by talented film makers in the 1940s? Detective Dugan, can you address this question?”
Frank looked around the table and then looked straight across at the secretary.
“Madam Secretary, you know about as much as I know regarding this,” Frank said. “I discovered the Omega files and the film mere days ago.”
Frank reached for the manila folder on the table in front of him. He opened the folder, shuffled through several of its papers, and removed about a few sheets.
“The originals of these papers were in a file folder I discovered at my grandfather’s home in Catonsville, Maryland,” Frank said. “I shared them with the FBI to find out if any sense of danger or validity could be obtained by examining them and perhaps testing the chemical formulas in the files. As far as I know, no one’s come up with a weapon like the one demonstrated in the film. My own conclusion is that the Omega formula was a clever ruse leaked to Japan to hasten the end of the war, and nothing more. My thoughts about it? There’s no such thing as an actual Omega formula weapon; never was, and never will be.”
An army general raised his hand and looked toward the secretary.
“General DeBaker,” the secretary said.
“Those scenes showing the killing of those animals and people looked awfully real, in my estimation. And I’ve observed plenty of that first hand,” The general said.
“I believe that’s the basic concern here, detective,” the secretary said.
“Precisely the reason the film would’ve worked,” Frank said.
“Do we believe this film is the reason why they surrendered?” the secretary said. “Japan was a country of people dedicated to fighting to the bitter end. Men in the know at the time laid odds against a surrender after the two atomic bombings, especially since we opted to hit targets that were not strategically the most important. We decided to stay away from religious areas and places where American prisoners were being held, a decision leaving us almost no high-impact choices.”
“Why are we just finding out about this weapon now?” a man at the far end of the table asked.
The secretary looked at Frank.
“I discovered a secret room at my grandfather’s estate. A room I never knew existed. A fallout shelter containing the documents we have here.”
“What caused you to find it now?” another man said.
“I was examining one of the antique cars in the garage and accidentally pushed a button that opened a hidden door to the shelter.”
“You never knew about it before then?” a woman to Frank’s left asked.
“I was never allowed in the garage unsupervised as a kid. I never got a chance to explore it as I did recently.”
A woman to Frank’s right raised her hand.
“Senator Cranston,” the secretary said.
“I think this thing is still a weapon, whether it works or not,” the senator said. “You leak this to an enemy, he has to seriously consider its reality. He has to think his army, or his countrymen, could possibly be wiped out in a single stroke. He’s back on his heels and concerned that he’s up against something he can’t defeat, counter, nor survive.”
“I like that aspect of it, senator,” the secretary said, “but if they called our bluff, what then?”
“Then we’d have to kick their ass the old fashioned way,” General DeBaker said.
The room filled with polite smiles. The secretary stood.
“Any further questions?” the secretary asked.
No one volunteered.
“I thank all of you for coming today and apologize for the brevity of this meeting, but time is of the essence. And a special thanks to you, Detective Dugan,” the secretary said. “I have authorized each of your departments to have copies of what we have. I can’t stress enough the need for Top Secret confidentiality regarding what these documents contain. I want those chemical equations and formulations checked out thoroughly by the best military and scientific resources at our disposal. And I want it done under the utmost secrecy. If such a weapon is possible, God help us if it should find its way into the possession of terrorists, unfriendly politicos, or power-seeking countries. We all have a lot to think about. Please contact my office if you come up with anything pertinent to this; anything whatsoever. Detective Dugan, you contact my office post haste if you discover any further Omega formula information.”
“Absolutely,” Frank said as he rose, followed by everyone in the room.
One of the marine guards opened the door for Secretary Allcott as she exited the room, followed closely by the other ranking attendees. Braewyn Joyce and Tom Gardner were in the last group to leave and kept their attention on Frank until they disappeared into the hall. Senator Cranston stayed back and confronted Frank.
“Gloria Cranston, Detective Dugan,” she said and extended her hand.
“Honored to meet you, senator,” Frank said and took her hand briefly.
The senator and Frank were the last to leave the room. While Frank mulled over that almost anyone else would’ve pawned their mother’s silverware for a personal audience with an assembly of so many powerful people sworn to defend the security of the United States, he hoped to heaven he’d never have to see any of them ever again.
Frank’s waiting escort approached him and the senator.
“Just a little tip for you,” the senator said, stopping Frank in the hallway. “Your house in Catonsville will be examined down to its last plank. If you think the Department of Defense is going to rely on you coming forward with any new information on this, you’d better prepare yourself for stark governmental reality.”
“Thanks for the heads-up,” Frank said and tightened his jaw.
“You were brought here for two reasons. One, to put you on the hotseat about what you know. And two, to get you out of the way.”
“Get me out of the way?”
“This very minute, the government is tearing through your house.”
Chapter 24
Frank’s rental car was blocked in its parking space by a black SUV. Frank could see no one inside through its dark-tinted windows. He jogged fifty yards to the entrance gate to get a guard to help him get the SUV moved. The guard made a two-minute call from the guard booth and returned to Frank.
“They’re coming to move the vehicle, sir,” The guard said.
Frank shrugged off his sport coat and quick-stepped it back to his car, his sweat-soaked shirt clinging to his body. When he got there, the black SUV was gone.
A
n hour later, as Frank pulled up to 1505 Elm Terrace, the house and grounds were crawling with people and government cars lined the street.
Braewyn Joyce approached Frank’s rental as he motored to the end of the driveway and parked. Frank glared at her as he jumped out of the car.
“How did you get here so fast?” Frank asked.
“We know shortcuts.”
“Is this place going to be salable when they finish?”
“They’re being careful, detective,” she said. “I told them to only search for things relating to the Omega weapon.”
“Good of you,” Frank said and strode past her to the front steps of the house.
“I pulled everyone out of the house,” Braewyn said. “They’re all in the garage.”
Frank spun off the porch steps and ran past Braewyn and into the garage. Inside, he saw the concentration of the investigators in the mechanic’s pit and in the safe room beyond. He leaned back against the side of the Corvette and folded his arms.
“There is some good news,” Braewyn said from the garage door.
“I should never have let you and Tommy boy in this place.”
“You did the right thing.”
“I have people crawling like army ants over private and personal things. I should’ve closed up that room and never taken a single thing out of it.”
“Having your life turned inside out is never pleasant, but I have sworn an oath to protect this country. If anyone’s going to have a superior defense weapon it’s going to be America.”
“If you’re through with reciting the bullshit Bureau line, what could possibly be good news?”
“Well, we found this Japanese-American gentleman whose father was in the Imperial leadership of Japan during the war. I had a chat with him by phone.”
“Interesting,” Frank said and steered Braewyn out of the garage.
“He was only a boy then, but he remembers his father, a high Imperial Council member, discussing Japan’s options with his family after the two A-bomb attacks.”
“Where is this guy?” Frank said ambling over to the backyard bench as Braewyn followed and stood nearby.
“He’s in a senior facility in Manhattan Beach, California. The man’s in his eighties, but still sharp.”
“He said his father agreed with the Emperor and the other elder statesmen about surrendering, but the military and others wanted to fight on, even to the death, if it would preserve their honor. And they didn’t agree with Truman’s terms of the surrender, especially the part about the removal of their Emperor.”
“But they still surrendered.”
“Yes. But only after they viewed the Omega film.”
“Holy crap, the trick actually worked,” Frank said and pumped both fists.
“They didn’t think it was a trick,” Braewyn said and sat next to Frank. “There were two reasons they quit: The fear that the Omega weapon would eliminate the entire population of Japan, and they beheld, for the first time, a side of the United States they’d never witnessed before: our willingness to kill our own people to test the weapon and demonstrate its power. Seeing we were willing to sacrifice American citizens convinced them that fighting on would be futile.”
“Did he say how they came by the film?’
“Many years after the war, his father told him about that. Coastal defenders found it in an American observation plane that had crashed on the beach in Tokyo Bay. They turned what they pulled from the wreckage over to the authorities.”
“Any survivors of the crash?”
“He didn’t say.”
“Amazing,” Frank said and smiled, but he wondered why Braewyn was buying the Japanese informant’s story. Why is an FBI agent sharing this information with me? Is she trying to draw more out of me by showing her trust?
Frank’s smile faded and he turned to Braewyn.
“Anything on Colonel Chernac?”
“Celine found out he works in NSA’s cryptography division. A code and language expert. No one admits he’s a spy, naturally, and no one would divulge his whereabouts. If he uses unorthodox means to obtain information, NSA likes the results.”
“Any chance you can get these coyotes out of my hen house soon?” Frank asked.
“I’ll round ‘em up,” Braewyn said and stood.
Braewyn hurried to the garage and Frank watched her shapely hips roll from side to side until she was out of sight. He gazed at the ground and shook his head.
How could someone so sexy and beautiful be such a colossal pain in the ass?
* * * * *
Frank’s cell phone rang and he brought it to his ear.
“They picked up Dickie K near Sandy Point on the bay,” Alasdair said.
“The bastard was having a day at the beach?” Frank said climbing the central staircase at Elm Terrace.
“Not exactly out for a dip in the Chesapeake. He was floating in the bay face down. It’ll be on the news.”
“There’s justice for you.”
“I went to see the barracks commander down that way. Knew him from the old days. He showed me a business card they found in Dickie’s pocket. Came from one of those storage places.”
“Which one?”
“Not sure yet. The water blurred a lot of the writing on it. State police are working on recovering the name of the business.”
“We’ll need to bring them in on this investigation,” Frank said as he reached the top of the stairs.
“I know. Even if we find the storage company they may want an authorized signature and ID to allow access to the unit. The state lads’ll know how to get around that. I can wangle us a search warrant, or something that looks like one.”
“Business card have a number on it?”
“No phone number you can read.”
“Any other numbers?”
“Matter of fact, it does, four digits. And that part’s large and readable, handwritten with a marking pen. Could be a PIN used to open a gate to the facility. Storage units are all padlocked by their owners. Management can help us with get access, though. They also found an old set of lock needles on Dickie. Might explain how he got in your garage.”
“I’d like to verify that,” Frank said. “Have them bring them with the business card.”
“Will do,” Alasdair said.
“Keep me posted and let’s have dinner tonight,” Frank said and waited several seconds for a response, but none came. “Okay, okay, I’m buying.”
“Well, why didn’t you say so,” Alasdair said. “I’ll pick us out a nice place.”
“You make sure it’s in the continental United States.”
* * * * *
By 6 P. M., the state police lab had recovered the name, address and phone number of the storage facility on Dickie K’s business card and shared their findings with Alasdair. It was U-Stor-It facility in Parkville, a suburb north of the Baltimore city line.
Frank, Alasdair, and two state police officers met at the storage facility two hours later. The four men assembled in front of the company’s office window and peered inside.
“Dark in there, but it looks like they’re open,” one of the troopers said.
Alasdair reached into his jacket pocket, took out a leather pouch and handed it to Frank.
“Take these before I forget,” Alasdair said.
Frank pulled out a couple of the lock needles from the pouch and examined them.
“They look like miniature harpoons with wooden handles,” Alasdair said.
“Yeah, I’ve seen antique sets like these before,” Frank said and slid the 6-inch needles back into the pouch and tucked it in the breast pocket of his jacket.
They entered the storage facility office and Alasdair presented the tattered business card to the elderly man at the counter, plus a photo of Dickie K.
“I’m the man who called earlier,” Alasdair said. “You the man I spoke to?”
“Had to be,” the man said. “Only fella here.”
The man, who identified
himself as the manager, was a small, skinny fellow with a New England accent and a sour demeanor. The presence of the policemen seemed to instill a grudging cooperation in the old man as he looked over the photo and studied the business card, then referred to a computer screen on his desk. A moment later, he retrieved a paper from his printer.
“Can’t do anything with this PIN number. No, sir. Only the renter uses that. Only opens the gate anyways. Ay-ah, but this fella in the picture took one of our largest units,” the manager said. “Said he was an antique collector. Said his name was Korbel, like the wine. Like it says here on his file. Offered him our fire and theft insurance, but, says here, he declined.”
One of the state troopers placed a typed document on the counter, which the manager glossed over like a speed reader and tucked into the file drawer.
“Did you understand the search warrant?” Frank asked.
“Get to see plenty of them in this business. Usually come from spouses, but they all look pretty much the same. Always cooperate with the police.”
The manager ducked behind the counter and picked up a heavy-duty pair of bolt cutters, then led the group out of the office and down the gated drive to the rows of storage units.
“How long has he rented the unit?” Frank said as they walked.
“‘Bout best part of three years now. Pays on time. Check’s always good,” the manager said.
“Whose name is on the checks?” Frank said.
“Hm… an antique company out of Ellicott City. Main Street Antiques, ay-ah, that’s the name,” the manager said.
“Do you remember the last time you saw the guy?” Frank said.
“The last time I saw him was the first time I laid eyes on him.”
“Doesn’t he bring things to his unit once in a while?”
“Mister, he can come and go as he pleases here. He don’t need to check in with us to use the facility like you do. He can come any time, day or night. He knows how to use the keypad that opens the gate out there,” the manager said and stopped at a large unit the size of a double garage. “Here ‘tis.”
The Omega Formula: Power to Die For (Detective Frank Dugan) Page 11
