by GJ Fortier
“Thank you,” Yeoum said curtly. He took the board and laid it on the floor, taking another bite of hash browns.
“Hey, Schultz,” Tiong said. “You know, that sounds stupid. Do I still have to call you Schultz?”
“’Fraid so,” he frowned. “That’s the one thing that the other fellers kept sayin’. That I better not tell y’all my name. That y’all’d turn me in to the cops if I did.”
“Aw, c’mon, man. Do you think that we’d do that?” Tiong asked innocently.
Schultz gave him a rare knowing look.
“Okay, have it your way.” Tiong took another bite. “How come you’re being so nice to us?”
Schultz looked down at the floor. “I don’t know. I ain’t got nuthin’ against you fellers. Emmitt said—” His eyes flew open wide when he realized his mistake, but he not-so-quickly made something close to a recovery. “That’s his code name. Emmitt. Like I’m Sergeant Schultz, he’s Emmitt.”
“Okay,” Tiong said.
“Anyway,” Schultz continued. “I figure, we’re almost to”—he stopped himself—“the place, and I didn’t know when y’all’d get another good meal.”
It was all Yeoum could do not to make a derogatory remark about their “good meal,” but he allowed Tiong to continue without interruption.
“So California isn’t the last stop then?”
Schultz shook his head. “I don’t know. They didn’t tell me.”
“Well, thanks for being so friendly to us,” Tiong said as he stood. “I really appreciate—” In a flash he covered the short distance between them and grabbed the shotgun, knocking Schultz to the floor.
The man stared up at Tiong in utter disbelief as he chambered a round and leveled the weapon at his chest.
“But I thought—”
“Shhh!” Tiong held a finger to his lips. When it was clear that Schultz understood his predicament, he added, “Would you like a biscuit?”
* * * * *
DON STARED AT THE images Jimmy had up on the monitor inside the communications trailer in the parking lot of the Lightning Quik Mart. The Air Force had begrudgingly turned over temporary custody of the equipment to Eddie's investigation with the assurance that Colonel Talbot would take responsibility. Don was becoming more and more impatient as Jimmy tried to enhance the resolution of an image from the lab just after the clone was removed from the nursery. “Look at the right side of his back below his kidney.”
Don studied the picture. “Perez is going to kill you if you don't come up with something usable. What're you focusing on this stuff for? We know what happened.”
“Look,” Jimmy snapped. “I’ve spent five-plus days going over the security feed. There’s nothing usable from the time of the attack, and there’s only about eight minutes before they spray-painted the lenses that we can see anything at all. Talbot says it’s next to worthless.”
“Well, have you at least made any headway figuring out who impersonated General Stillman? Who called and ordered all of you out of the complex?”
“Not yet,” Jimmy said, his frustration growing. “It was piggybacked on at least a dozen satellites, but it originated in the southeast, that much I’m sure of.”
Don whistled. “Whoever it was would have to be pretty capable to pull that off.”
“What I’m tryin’ to show you here is a lot more important! Fer cryin’ out loud, would ya just shut up and look?”
Don frowned at the Canadian and turned his attention to the monitor again. “Okay, so Orson has a dimple on his butt. So what?”
“SIS,” Jimmy spoke into the microphone. “Split the screen and display the copy of Commander Tyler's physical condition report, including all known scars.”
“Right away, Jimmy,” the female voice replied as the requested material flashed on the screen.
“That's not a dimple.” Jimmy pointed to a diagram of the human form showing Rob’s scars. “He was shot there nine years ago on some classified mission.”
Don scrutinized the area. “It does look more like a scar, now that you mention it.” He straightened up, and they looked at each other. “I still don't understand why this is so important right now. There are people dead and missing that you should—”
“Shhh!” Jimmy tapped some keys, bringing up a different image, this one of Orson's left hand. “Greg was emphatic about how sure he is that the real Commander Tyler is here and the clone was with June. He even kept pointing out the cut on his hand that he stitched up right before the scan.”
“Yeah, I’ve seen it and I’m convinced, too,” Don said, not understanding where Jimmy was going. “Maybe you should go and talk to Rob yourself.”
Jimmy punched some keys and zoomed in on the image. “Look at this.”
Don tried to focus on the blurry image. Batting his eyes, he realized what he was seeing. There was a dark spot on the fleshy part of Orson's hand, between the thumb and index finger. He smiled. “Nice one, Jimmy. It looks good, like Rob’s scar in fact, but not too much detail. You had me going for a second there.”
Jimmy stood. “That's not me! That's real!”
Don’s expression soured. “Seriously, Jimmy, this is no time for practical jokes. Perez will hurt you if you keep wasting time on stuff like this.”
“But—” Jimmy tried to protest but he was startled by Talbot's unexpected voice.
“Stuff like what?”
They turned to see the colonel climb through the open door.
“Stuff like what, Jimmy?” Talbot asked again, leveling his gaze on the Canadian.
“Umm.” Jimmy scrambled to clear the screen. “It’s nothing. You’re right Doctor Cook. I should be doing some serious work.” He smiled nervously and looked at the colonel. “I was bored. Been staring at the security images for so long, I needed to have some fun.”
Don eyed his reaction closely. Sure, Jimmy could get himself into hot water with the Air Force for goofing off. He has several times already, but he wouldn’t be intimidated by Talbot over something like this. He thought about his conversation with Greg at the hospital and his concerns about the man who was recuperating there, the man they believed to be Rob Tyler. He suddenly found it impossible to stop the wheels in his head from turning.
Talbot, however, had more pressing concerns. Keeping his face grim, he looked at Don. “The FBI found the professor and Doctor Tiong.”
“Where?” they asked in unison.
“Inside a cargo container sitting on the dock in Ensenada, about to be loaded onto a ship bound for China.”
“China?” Don asked. “Who was taking them to China?”
“We don’t know.”
“You don’t know?” Jimmy shouted in his normal disrespectful tone. “How could you, with all your spy satellites and interdepartmental United States friggin’ cooperation possibly not know?”
Talbot shot him an angry look. “Watch yourself,” he warned. “The rednecks who were driving the truck didn’t know who hired them. They were paid in cash and were either too smart or too stupid to ask any questions.”
“Are they alright?” Don asked.
“They’re fine, physically.”
“What do you mean ‘they’re fine physically’”?
“Well, Tiong seems fine, but Yeoum hasn’t said a word. The only person he’ll talk to is Tiong.”
“Well, that’s no surprise,” Jimmy said, giving Don a knowing look. “When will they be back?”
“Not for a while,” Talbot replied. “They want to see Perez and he’s still tied up with Doctor Phillips in Florida.”
“What about the chimps?” Don asked.
“They were with them in the trailer,” Talbot answered.
“Thank all that’s good in the world,” Don sighed. “Are they okay?”
Talbot nodded again. “As far as I know,” he said. “That only leaves one individual unaccounted for.”
“Orson,” Don said.
“You mean June doesn’t know where he is?” aske
d Jimmy.
“Either doesn’t know or won’t say,” answered Talbot.
“June wouldn’t keep it from Eddie if she knew,” Jimmy scowled.
“And you would know this for certain, how? You’ve known the woman for what, less than two years? She is an environmental activist, isn’t she?”
“Hold on just a minute,” Don interrupted. “Let’s not go off half cocked and start pointing fingers. She’s been with Perez and his team for five days, and I haven’t heard that she’s been placed under arrest.
“And any moron would know that an activist wouldn’t have anything to do with animal experimentation,” Jimmy added.
“Unless it suited her agenda,” Talbot shot back.
Jimmy didn’t have an answer for that one, so he changed the subject. “How did the FBI find Juan and the professor?”
Talbot smiled. “Well, it seems that Doctor Tiong left a few things off his resume’.”
33 In the Beginning …
11 September 2010
JUNE WAS JOSTLED FROM her musings when she realized that the Mazda Miata she rented was bouncing to the rhythm of her nervous leg. When she forced herself to stop, she felt her fingers tingling. She was gripping the gearshift so tightly that her knuckles were white. Releasing it, she rubbed her hand vigorously on her thigh to start the blood flowing again. She looked at the house across the street from where she was parked. Rob had made her memorize the address when they were on their excursion to Florida, just over a month before.
She’d barely had time to get a good night’s sleep in the hospital before Special Agent Eddie Perez, accompanied by Cal Warren and Geri Hughes, had arrived in Apalachicola. She had been very forthcoming to both the NCIS agents and the local sheriff about the events that had transpired after the truck crashed, as well as the fact that she had no idea who she could trust. But Eddie had been in no rush to make her feel too comfortable until she had answered all of his questions and he was satisfied with what she had to tell him. She had spent the next week sequestered in a private room while Eddie coordinated with local investigators in examining the storage facility, the hotel room where she and Rob had stayed, the stores they had visited, and the hangar at the airport. The Coast Guard had found the plane itself off of Stock Island in the Florida Keys the day after he left, which was the same day an area marina reported that a sailboat had been stolen.
Everyone involved had been stunned by her story. She told Eddie everything that Rob had told her of his plans to go to South America where he could formulate some kind of plan, but she had not a clue where he might go from there. She was relieved when they informed her that of all the people who had been in the truck when it crashed, the only casualties besides Benny were Jo Turner and the driver. When she asked about the rest of her team and the clone, Eddie told her that they were all safe, but he wouldn’t provide any details.
She learned that Covington’s injuries were severe enough that he had been transported to a trauma center in Jacksonville, where he was in intensive care. Initially, there had been some doubt whether he would recover at all. But he did, and it did much to strengthen June’s position when he refused to answer questions and immediately invoked his right to counsel.
It was a week later, after being held in protective custody and subjected to countless interviews with a multitude of government agencies, that Eddie had told her the fate of the others in the truck and what had happened inside Sistema Chac Luum. He’d also told her about the cross-country adventure that the professor and Tiong had been subjected to, along with her “babies.” The most shocking news of all, though, was that Rob had recovered from his coma. He had been released from the hospital and allowed to return home to his family. June insisted that they had made a mistake, and that the real Rob Tyler was still on the run somewhere in South America. So adamant was she that they forced her to under go everything from lie detector tests to a battery of psychological examinations over the next two weeks. But she remained convinced. No matter how much they insisted, even assuring her that the entire cloning team agreed that the man who had been in the hospital in Georgia was Commander Rob Tyler, she wouldn’t be swayed from her belief. They tried explaining it away using her own words. That she had actually been with the clone, that their theory about it only retaining Rob’s most recent memories had, instead, worked in reverse. They claimed that the clone retained only base memories of his past. In the end, she lied and agreed with their conclusions, but only to gain her freedom. Even then she had been instructed, under threat of imprisonment, not to attempt to contact any members of the cloning team, Rob, or his family under any circumstances. It was further dictated to her by Senator Kitchens himself that if she spoke of any of the events during her time with project Pine Tree with anyone at all, she would find herself in a very unpleasant place for the rest of her existence. She was to go about the business of getting on with her life. She was forced to accept the fact that she would never see any of them again.
She had collected her belongings and had been given her mustering-out pay, including a hefty bonus. She had then set out to return to work with the chimps in their new homes. One pair went to the Gombe Stream Chimpanzee Reserve in Tanzania. The other pair was sent to Kitera Forest Reserve at the North Carolina Zoo in Asheboro, which was only a four-hour drive from Summerville. Besides being dehydrated and hungry, once the chimps had been recovered and separated, they didn’t seem to have any lasting effects from their ordeal.
Regardless of the threats that had been issued, she felt she would never have closure until she saw the man living in South Carolina with her own eyes, and spoke with him. She needed to know, if only for herself, what the truth of the matter was. Undaunted by the possible consequences, she woke up early that morning and made the drive, vowing to get to the truth or die trying.
The sound of children playing caught her attention. Looking over, she saw the pair, a boy and a girl, with fair, freckled faces and bright orange hair, playing ball with a yellow Labrador retriever in the front yard. Her heart nearly skipped a beat at the sight. Rob’s description of them was dead-on. “This must be the place. You came this far, you can’t back out now,” she said out loud. She glanced at the dashboard. The clock read 10:17 a.m. I’ve been here for half an hour. If I don’t go soon, somebody’s gonna call a cop.
She checked over her shoulder for what seemed like the thousandth time to be sure that she hadn’t been followed, then looked back and watched the children scamper into the garage. The pair were followed closely by the trotting lab. She waited for a few minutes to see if anyone would come out. When no one did, she reached for the door handle, wincing when the pain in her bicep reminded her why the doctor had recommended that she wear a sling for a further two weeks to allow the gunshot wound to heal properly. But she found it to be more of an inconvenience than it was helpful.
She got out and slowly made her way across the street, taking care not to step on the manicured lawn. As she approached the open garage door, she heard the unmistakable sound of children giggling from behind a yellow 1969 Ford Bronco parked next to a maroon Ford Taurus. “Hello?” she called, inching her way to the opening.
All at once, the kids burst from the shadows, each armed with a massive squirt gun.
“Oh, please don't shoot me!” she screamed.
Too late. The kids took deadly aim and proceeded to hose her down from head to toe, laughing hysterically all the while. June tried in vain to ebb the flow by holding her hands in front of her, but with no success. When the torrent subsided, and the laughter died down, the boy screwed up his face. “Who are you?”
Wiping her face with her sleeve, she was thankful that the weather forecast was on the cool and breezy side, and she had decided on a pair of jeans and a red and white flannel shirt instead of the sundress that she had been considering. “Is this the Tyler residence?”
The little girl’s jaw dropped as her brother asked, “You're not here for daddy's party, are you?”
J
une had no time to answer before a door inside the garage opened and a woman’s voice was heard. “Who are you two murdering now?”
From behind the Bronco came a petite woman with shoulder-length auburn hair, dressed in jeans and a Hawaiian blouse. She took one look at the drenched woman and then at her children who were attempting, unsuccessfully, to hide their watery weapons behind their backs.
Looking back at the stranger, Carol couldn't contain her grin. “I am so sorry! We're having a birthday party today for my husband and they must've mistaken you for one of our guests.” She glared unconvincingly at the twins, which did little more than elicit more giggling. “Let me get you a towel.”
After fetching several hand towels from the laundry room, the embarrassed but amused mother of June’s attackers continued to apologize.
“It's okay,” June insisted. “I work with animals. Believe me, I've been covered in much worse.”
“Is there something I can do for you?” Carol asked as she helped June dry her hair. “Other than dry cleaning, I mean.”
“Are you Carol Tyler?”
“That's me. And if you’re selling something, I guess I’m obliged,” she said cheerfully.
June looked again at the twins. “And that would make you C. C. and you Christian, right?” She looked at each one in turn.
The kids bobbed their heads up and down as they heard the door in the garage open again, and a familiar voice call. “Carol, are the kids with you? 'Cause I lost sight of ‘em.” As he came around the Bronco, Rob froze. “June?”
June was wide-eyed at the sight of him. She tried to speak, but was unable to formulate words.
Carol looked from the stranger to her husband. “You two know each other, I take it?”
“Button, this is June. From, you know, from Georgia,” he answered.
Carol turned back. “Doctor Phillips? June Phillips?”
June summoned strength enough to speak and extended her hand as she found her voice again. “It's very nice to meet you. I've heard so much.”
Carol shook hands, a confused smile on her face. “Likewise.”
“What're you doing here?” Rob asked, and then thought the question sounded rather crass. “I mean, it’s great to see you, but—”
