The Omega Formula: Power to Die For (Detective Frank Dugan)

by Paul Sekulich

  “In Stuart?”

  “In Miami.”

  “Who knows anything about the Omega formula in Miami?”

  “I can’t discuss this with you, Frank.”

  “Why the hell not?” Frank said. “I’m in the middle of this. Maybe I can help. Throw me a bone.”

  “I’ll tell you this much,” Braewyn said. “We got an anonymous call from a public phone we traced to Michigan. The caller said there was a man, besides you, who had information on the Omega weapon. Recommended we check him out.”

  “A man named Cezar Nicolai?”

  Braewyn looked away. “I have to go.”

  “The caller in Michigan was a fella named David Hapburg. He sound scared?”

  “Please thank your sheriff for trying to get you in here to see me, and for his kind offer to lend me an office.”

  “And you chose our elegant lobby?”

  “I was getting ready to leave when you showed up. You have my number should anything new come to light,” Braewyn said and placed her hand on the door to leave.

  “Yeah, I’ve got your number,” Frank said.

  Greg Martinez stepped into the lobby and handed Frank a sheet of paper.

  “Roland said you might find this interesting,” Greg said and left.

  Frank looked at the paper and twisted his lips to one side. Braewyn took her hand off the door’s panic bar and stepped back toward Frank.

  “What’s the paper?” Braewyn asked.

  “Email from the office. Picture of Chernac at his retirement party. The real Chernac,” Frank said and handed Braewyn the paper.

  Braewyn looked over the copy and studied the photo.

  “So that’s Anton Chernac,” Braewyn said. “Back when he was alive… with all his office buddies…and uh-oh… what have we here?”

  Braewyn lifted the paper closer to her face and stared intently at the photo.

  “What do you see?” Frank said.

  “The woman standing at the right of Chernac, the one holding his arm. Caption says here her name is Ross… C. Ross.”

  “C. Ross? So what?” Frank said.

  “Her hair is lighter and longer here, but…”

  “What are you saying?”

  “I knew a gal named Ross a while back who looked a whole lot like this one.”

  “So?”

  “Her married name is Celine MacGowan.”

  Chapter 43

  Long after Braewyn left, her words clawed at Frank’s insides. He’d have to delve into Celine’s past and find out who she actually was before Alasdair came into her life. My God, does Alasdair know about her past? Frank would start with Celine’s NSA years. Why did she pretend she didn’t know Chernac? If she knew him, she had to know he was dead. Why did she leave the NSA?

  Frank would need to call upon Roland’s friend, Mark Hollenbeck, to dig up more answers.

  Frank didn’t have a lot to go on regarding the Celine Ross investigation, but his instincts told him to lay out what he knew to Alasdair, in person, while he had the chance. He didn’t like going in with thin suspicions based on even thinner information, but he had to know what Alasdair knew, and his friend was only a few miles north of Stuart.

  * * * * *

  Vero Beach was windy and cloudy when Frank drove up to meet Alasdair after his dive. Gusts hitting 30 miles per hour turned gentle waves into churning whitecaps, still prominent even at twilight. When Frank arrived, Alasdair was seated on a bench on the dock, a pile of equipment around his feet.

  “Well, where’s all the treasure?” Frank said.

  “No treasure yet,” Alasdair said and stood. “But we verified the wreck site.”

  Alasdair began picking up his equipment.

  “I’m amazed you guys go in the water in this weather,” Frank said, hoisting up duffel bags of the dive gear.

  “It’s calmer down deep,” Alasdair said, shifting the weighty duffle bag’s strap, slipping off his shoulder. ”It’s a wee windy, not a big electric blow. Long as we can hook up a safe anchor line to guide us, we dive.”

  “You’re a wee maniacal.”

  “That Chernac character still on your case?” Alasdair said as he plodded beside Frank down the rickety pier at the Vero Beach Marina.

  “That Chernac character ain’t Chernac. He’s some other character who’s still on my case.”

  “You’re kidding,” Alasdair said and shifted the hefty gear bag to his other shoulder.

  “Celine ever talk about him?”

  “She never discussed anything about her job with me. She was about to leave the NSA when I met her.”

  “And after she left?”

  “She was still forbidden to discuss anything about her NSA work. What’s with all the questions?”

  “Fill you in later,” Frank said. “I want to hear about the dive.”

  Frank felt his jacket pocket to make sure he still had the email photo of Chernac and Celine. He found it hard to believe that Alasdair could be involved in anything underhanded, and espionage had to be out of the question. He decided that the upcoming marina bar, after a couple of drinks, might be the best place to reveal his recent findings.

  The two men trekked across the windblown parking lot toward the restaurant and bar that served the ocean-side marina and resort. A page from a tumbling newspaper whapped against Alasdair’s leg and the strong wind held it there for several strides. Frank bent forward and low to protect his face from the biting, sand-laden gusts, which jostled his cell phone out of his shirt pocket. He fumbled the cell and watched it fly from his free hand and smash on the asphalt.

  “Shit,” Frank said as he bent over to pick up the plastic components of the phone skittering and blowing about in a six-foot radius. “The one time I forget my belt clip ...”

  Alasdair clunked down his diving bags and helped Frank retrieve the scattered parts. He picked up a rectangular case piece and the phone’s battery. Frank gathered the rest and examined the pieces closely in the bluish, mercury vapor lighting of the parking lot. One of the pieces, a small round object, brought a frown to Frank’s face.

  “Since when has Verizon included bugs in their smart phones?” Frank said.

  “What?” Alasdair said.

  “A bug was in my phone,” Frank said low, holding up the tiny bit of electronic technology for Alasdair to examine.

  “A high tech one, at that. You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  “High tech?” Frank said. “You recognize this?”

  “They’re fairly common. Got over a mile range,” Alasdair said. “I’ve used them in surveillance jobs. Someone could track your conversations almost anywhere. Who had a chance to plant that?”

  Frank dropped the tiny transmitter on the asphalt and stomped it twice.

  “God, anybody. When I was in the hospital, after I left my desk at the office, when…wait a minute. When Chernac, or whoever the hell he is, drugged me in Jensen Beach. He kept asking me the same questions he had asked me before. Then I got popped with a knockout needle. It made no sense. But what does make sense is that he needed a chance to bug my phone. It was the perfect opportunity.”

  “There is one question that needs to be answered then,” Alasdair said as Frank began re-assembling the phone on the bumper ledge of a pickup truck.

  “What’s that?”

  “What’s been said since the bug’s been in your phone?”

  “I don’t know. A lot.”

  “Think, man. It could be important.”

  Frank snapped the halves of the phone case together and pressed a button to activate it. Miraculously, it came back to life with a melodious measure of digital tones.

  Frank scrolled through his call log. He could see there were many conversations going back to his abduction, conversations he wouldn’t want any third party to hear, not to mention an enemy.

  * * * * *

  Frank knew Alasdair needed to be told about Celine, even it didn’t turn out all rosy or productive. He sat his beer on the bar and took
the email photo from his back pocket, unfolded it and placed it in front of Alasdair. At first, Alasdair appeared to be puzzled about the significance of the picture, then he read the caption underneath.

  “What the hell,” Alasdair said and jumped up from his stool knocking it backward. “You think my wife’s in on your Omega hunt?”

  “She knew Chernac. The real one. She told me, right in your house, that she never met him, But who’s the woman in the photo holding his arm? She knew him all along.”

  “So what? Alasdair said. “That doesn’t make her Mata Hari.”

  “It sure doesn’t make her Mother Teresa either.”

  “I think you’re jealous I found someone.”

  “Where’s that coming from? You mean to marry? Hell, you fell in love with every woman who let you get to second base.”

  “It’s better than your life, chasing one-night broads, or sitting home all alone having a wank.”

  “You know damn well why I don’t run to marry. I’m surprised you’d play that low card.”

  The bartender approached and eyed the two men.

  “Everything okay, gents?” the bartender asked.

  “Everything’s fine,” Frank said, never taking his eyes off Alasdair who stood tight-jawed and glaring at him.

  “Put yourself in my place for a minute,” Frank said. “How would you explain the problem I have with this?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe she forgot she met him. Even though she’s in that photograph, she still might not know him. You’ve had your picture taken with people you didn’t know. So have I. Proves nothing.”

  “I hope you’re right and I’m wrong. The last thing I want is for this Omega crap to come between us. But he was the guest of honor at his retirement.”

  “I’ll ask Celine about it.”

  The two men sipped their beers.

  “I think that jealousy comment was out of line,” Frank said.

  Alasdair nodded. “Sorry for that. Anger talking.”

  “After Amy and the kids were murdered,” Frank said, “the thought of another wife has never entered my head.”

  “It’s been over ten years, lad.”

  “I’m not dead. I have desires. They just haven’t pushed me to that first big move.”

  “You mean like asking a gal out?”

  “Kissing a woman again.”

  Frank slapped a twenty on the bar and strode out of the marina restaurant and into the parking lot.

  The one person in the world he could trust may now be involved with a person of interest. Frank felt Alasdair was wrong to misplace so much anger on the implications of the photo, but he also knew his friend was right about one thing.

  Frank was alone now.

  Chapter 44

  Frank entered the sheriff’s station and went straight to his desk He stood near the back wall and let his eyes wash over the latest wanted posters.

  “It’s Saturday night, Frank,” Carl Rumbaugh said. “You forget to stay home?”

  “Crime’s an eight-day-a-week job, in case that fact’s eluded you,” Frank said, without facing Carl.

  “You got a call from some guy in Michigan. Memo’s on your desk.”

  Frank gathered up the stack of pink phone messages and thumbed through them until he came to the one from David Hapburg. He looked at his watch, then picked up the phone and dialed the number on the slip. The phone picked up in one ring.

  “Hello,” David said, caution in his voice.

  “It’s Frank Dugan. Are you all right?”

  “Right now I’m okay. Not sure about later.”

  “What do you mean?” Frank said and sank slowly onto his desk chair.

  “That guy I was telling you about. Cezar Nicolai. He just called me. Wants to come by, look for more of Simon’s files. I found some new stuff you might find useful. I don’t want him to get it.”

  “This guy been to your house?”

  “A while back…he―”

  “He may have bugged your place. He likes listening in.”

  “I don’t know…maybe…there’s no time―”

  “Your message said you called the FBI.”

  “I’m scared this guy is going to kill me.”

  “He’s not going to kill you. He thinks you have something he wants. Tell him you’ve given him all you have. Then tell him to hit the road.”

  “I’d like to, but he’s―”

  “He’s what?”

  “He’s got some video tapes.”

  “Of what?” Frank said and wiped his forehead.

  “We were stupid kids, you know, messing around.”

  “What’s on those tapes?”

  “Me and a couple of guys, you know, experimenting.”

  “You mean with each other? Sex stuff?”

  “Uh, yeah, like that.”

  “Bad stuff?”

  “A lot of stuff. Stuff you wouldn’t want your mother to see…or your wife…or especially not your employer. Not anybody, really.”

  “So he’s threatening to blackmail you. Have you seen them yourself? Are you sure he has them?”

  “Oh, I’m pretty sure, ‘cause he emailed me a little sample.”

  “Why didn’t you destroy those things?”

  “I totally forgot about them. It was years ago. We were watching the tapes along with other porn. We were drinking and smoking weed. I don’t even remember all we did. Screwing around like teenage idiots. Looks like he took the bad ones with him.”

  “How can I help?” Frank said.

  “I’m leaving as soon as possible,” David said. “Going away for a while. Took leave from work. Didn’t tell anyone where. I want you to get these files and not Cezar. It’s important that he never sees them, but I won’t have time to send them to you. The tape sample came from Miami, but I think he’s coming here to see me tonight. I think he’s close to figuring out something. As I told you before, I don’t know anything about this Omega thing, and I don’t want to. But I know if there’s anything to it, I sure as hell don’t want this nutjob Nicolai to get his hands on it.”

  “I’ll second that,” Frank said. “You taking family?”

  “The wife and I are separated. No kids. She lives in Lansing with her boyfriend.”

  “So what’s the plan?”

  “I don’t trust this phone line, so let’s just say I want to stick the files someplace safe. I’ll leave you something to direct you to where they are. Remember our first conversation? I told you I was given something by a relative of yours?”

  The phone was silent for a moment.

  “Yeah…yeah, I do,” Frank said.

  “Find it.”

  “It’s almost eight here. Nine where you are, right?”

  “Right.”

  “I’ll be there as soon as I can grab a flight. Probably tomorrow morning before I can get there.”

  “You still have my address?”

  “I do. How will I get into the house?”

  “Go to my neighbor to the right as you face my house. Red brick place. Tell her who you are. I gave her a description. She’ll give you a key. Her name’s Etta Nelson.”

  “Call me when you get settled.”

  “I will. Listen, Frank, I gotta fly. A car’s pulling up near the curb. Not sure who it might be. I’m going to beat it out the back. Take care.”

  David hung up and Frank dialed the airport in Orlando. With luck, he might be able to catch a redeye, grab a nap on the plane, and make it to David’s house by morning.

  With luck, by morning David Hapburg might still be alive.

  * * * * *

  Frank would’ve given anything to have Alasdair with him on the trip to Michigan, for lots of reasons. To fill the empty hole in his stomach for one, and to have the best backup man in the business at his side should the going get unstable. But Alasdair was diving in Florida. This time he would have to handle things alone. His thoughts shifted to Braewyn Joyce and the FBI. Would they be able to pinpoint this arms deal in Miami? At least if
they were working another angle on the case maybe they’d be staying off him and the Omega issue. He’d take any relief he could get.

  At Orlando International, Frank identified himself and secured permission to carry his pistol in the suitcase stowed in the baggage section of the plane. He wasn’t certain of what he was in for in Detroit. Having an “equalizer” would certainly be a comfort.

  Frank caught a business charter and landed at Detroit Metro Airport before sunrise. He flagged a cab and headed out Route 94 to the city. Thirty miles and an hour later the cab drove down Lakewood Street where Lake St. Clair’s narrowest neck meets the Detroit River. Hapburg’s house had a partial view of the lake, but Frank could barely make out the mist-covered water at the pre-dawn hour. As the cab passed by Hapburg’s house it was completely dark, not even a porch light was on. Frank retrieved his gun and an LED flashlight from his suitcase and asked the driver to park well past the house and hang close while he finished his business.

  Daybreak darkness or not, Frank needed the key to Hapburg’s house, so he light-footed up the steps of the red brick house next door, reached the door but hesitated to ring the bell. The dead quiet made him want to hold down his breathing. Maybe if I at least wait until the sun is up a little more it won’t seem so damn early. He leaned on the side porch railing and, to kill a few minutes, and shined his flashlight over at David’s front porch. He spotted something there that told him he wouldn’t have to bother Mrs. Nelson.

  The front door of the Hapburg house was wide open.

  Chapter 45

  David’s front door had been pried open, the frame was splintered, and Frank’s flashlight revealed deep gouge marks consistent with the uncaring use of a crowbar. Frank double-checked his Browning to make sure a cartridge was in battery and held his 9mm ready. His heart rate moved into the 90s and adrenalin charged his muscles. He slipped his right index finger onto the trigger and stepped through the dark doorway.

  The interior of the house looked like a tank division had driven through it with winter treads. The place had been thoroughly ransacked. Drawers pulled out and thrown to the floor, sofa and chairs ripped open and flipped upside down, and rugs dragged to one side baring the unscuffed hardwood beneath. The kitchen fared worse. The refrigerator was gutted, and every drawer and cabinet was open with its contents dumped on the floor and in the sink. David might’ve been right about fearing the car that pulled up to his curb.