Now the bottoms of his feet were bruised.
There wasn’t much else to do for hours on end.
Bud knew, from personal experience, that the secret to surviving a long sentence in solitary confinement was to sleep the day away.
That was why inmates in every prison in the world slept as much as their bodies would allow them.
It was the waking hours which were stressful beyond belief.
The waking hours were the ones one spent worrying. Wondering about loved ones. About what was going on in the outside world.
And they dragged, unmercifully so.
Bud hadn’t spoken to another soul for three days now.
After Tony was taken away, they’d grilled him almost nonstop for two days straight.
He hadn’t broken; hadn’t told them what they were looking for.
Instead, despite the hunger, the thirst, the lack of sleep, he’d stuck to his story.
He simply didn’t know anyone named Gwen.
And since he didn’t know who she was, he couldn’t possibly know where she was, now could he?
Finally, they began to think he might be telling the truth.
And since the interrogation was going nowhere anyway, they decided to call in a lie detector technician.
The lie detector was an investigator’s oldest friend.
And sometimes his oldest enemy.
Which one was the case typically depended on whether the lie detector confirmed a suspect’s guilt or exonerated him and sent the investigator back to square one.
In this case, it confirmed what Bud had been telling them all along.
That he didn’t know Gwen’s whereabouts.
Bud suddenly became useless to them.
He’d been returned to his cell to nurse his wounds and to bide his time while they determined what to do with him. His meals and water were restored and he was allowed some peace.
Tony, in his cell down the corridor, wondered how long they’d been there.
Bud, lying on his bunk, knew exactly how long.
He looked at the ceiling and smiled.
Chapter 37
At the University of Missouri’s Springfield campus Professor Wayne Hamlin sat at his expansive oak desk and pondered his schedule for the coming week.
A rap on the door diverted his attention.
“Come in.”
It was his intern. A sophomore named Stacy. A young girl from Manhattan who grew up aspiring to be a show girl, but then developed a love for geology.
She was a looker and would have taken Broadway by storm.
But in her chosen field she’d do the world a lot more good, for she was passionate about science in general and geology in particular. Professor Hamlin hadn’t had many students of her caliber of late, and she was a logical pick when she was one of the volunteers to become his intern.
“Reservations are made, Professor. You’ll catch the redeye at one twenty a.m. Sorry about that, but it’s the only direct flight to Washington, D.C. tomorrow. Otherwise you’d have a three hour layover at O’Hare, and I wouldn’t wish that on anybody.”
“A redeye is fine, Stacy. I’ll be able to get some sleep on the way. And thank you.”
“Don’t mention it. Tell me again why you’re going to Washington? I thought you hated Washington.”
“I do. But I’ve been invited by a good friend, and I’m afraid he’s the type who won’t take no for an answer.”
“Well, everything here is tied up. Dr. Davis will cover your classes, I’ll take care of your office, and everything else can just pile up until you get back.
“I figure you need a break anyway. Go see your friend, do some sightseeing, play tourist. We’ll still be here when you get back.”
“Thank you, Stacy. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“Not well. You’d stumble through life bumping into things and saying ‘excuse me’ a lot. But you don’t have to worry about that.”
She smiled.
“You’re such a wonderful guy, somebody will always come to your aid.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he said. “The sad part is I don’t know how much of that is you yanking my chain, and how much is absolutely true.”
“I made your return trip for Thursday night as you asked. But I also paid a little bit more of your money and bought you an option to change it if you need to stay longer.”
“You know me pretty well, don’t you young lady?”
“Uh huh.”
“Well, don’t worry. I despise Washington, D.C. so badly I won’t stay a minute longer than I have to. If I change my itinerary at all it’ll be to call the airline early and say ‘Get me the hell out of here.’”
“Anything else I can do for you while you’re gone?”
“Yes. Make sure Dr. Davis sticks more or less to my lesson plan, will you? Last time he subbed for me I had to help the kids unlearn everything he taught them. It put me three days behind.”
“I’ll do that. If he starts to deviate I’ll steer him back on course. You said your wife is in California visiting her sick mom. Is anybody keeping an eye on your house?”
“Yes. I have a detective friend with Springfield PD who’s gonna have somebody drive by a couple of times a day, just to make sure there aren’t any suspicious cars in the driveway or people climbing in the windows or anything. And Julie will be home tomorrow anyway.”
“Got snacks for the plane?”
“I will before I board.”
“Got your medication?”
“Three days’ worth already packed in my bag.”
“Sounds like you’re all set.”
Stacy looked at her watch and said, “I’ve got to get to class. I’ll see you later.”
“Thank you. You’re a lifesaver.”
“Remember that come evaluation time.”
The aging professor felt a stab of pain in his chest and placed a hand over his heart.
He had a bad ticker, but this was nothing but heartburn. He’d gone through this drill often enough to know the difference.
Bad hearts ran in his family, on both sides. He knew that some day he’d have a third heart attack, and since his heart was weakened from the first two, the third might be the killer. He’d been offered a pacemaker, but declined it on religious grounds.
“A pacemaker wasn’t in God’s plan,” he told his cardiologist. “If God wanted us to live forever he’d make us all look like my first wife. It took her way too long to die.
“As for me, I’ll meet my maker when my time is up. No pacemakers, no life support, no regrets.”
His doctor was a bit surprised by his attitude.
“You only live once. My philosophy is to make it last as long as possible. After all, there’s plenty of time to be dead later.”
“Well, that’s where you and I differ, Doc. My philosophy is you only die once. Might as well face it like a man and do it with dignity.”
He finished his cup of coffee and headed out the door.
His mind was a jumble of questions. What was behind the mysterious phone call from Bud Avery? Bud wasn’t a drama queen. Never had been, really. He’d always been one of the most level-headed people he knew.
Yet there had been just a bit of panic in Bud’s voice. Was somebody really after him? Was he really in danger?
And why must Wayne travel all the way to Washington to get the answers Bud could have given him over the phone? It wasn’t fair to treat an old friend in such a way.
If this was a practical joke, Wayne would kick his friend’s ass. He might be old with a bad heart, but he could still take that little pipsqueak in a fair fight.
Then he remembered that Bud wasn’t a joker. This, whatever it was, was a serious matter.
And if Bud was correct, the fact Wayne hadn’t heard from his friend in the past ten days meant Bud was in prison or was dead.
Wayne didn’t like either option.
Chapter 38
Wayne was beat. He wasn’t as young as he
used to be, and the flight wore him out. He’d tried to sleep, and ordinarily he’d have been able to do so.
But the screaming baby two rows up had other plans.
Oh, it wasn’t the kid’s fault. He understood about teething problems and pain, and that babies who hurt tend to wail a lot.
He didn’t even blame the parents.
They were young, this was their first child, and they were still learning as they went.
The husband was Army, traveling on orders to their first duty station, and therefore had no say-so on which flight his unit booked.
It was what it was. No hard feelings. He even shook the soldier’s hand when he changed seats and thanked them both for serving their country.
The flight attendant moved him up about ten rows, where most of the baby’s wails were drowned out by jet noise and the usual bustle of activity.
He adjusted to his new seat, leaned back, put on his ear buds, and listened to Sinatra while he drifted off to sleep.
And he just about made it there, too.
Then the bratty ten year old kid in the seat behind him got bored and started kicking Wayne’s seat to the beat of his own music.
Wayne gave up at that point and read a book.
Times March, by his favorite author, Roxanna Holliman.
By the time the 737 touched down in D.C. Wayne was lost in an intriguing plot involving a lustful relationship between two time travelers, Albert Einstein and the Roman Empire.
An hour later he was in his hotel, sound asleep, so tired he forgot to shower or even to remove his trousers.
The following morning he was up bright and early, and wanting to fulfill his friend’s request so he could get the heck out of D.C.
He was lucky. He didn’t have to wait for a cab. There was one waiting for him as he walked out of the hotel. He ignored the doorman who held out his hand for a tip he didn’t even earn.
At the Office on the Go on H Street he took out the notes he’d made during his phone call with Bud.
At mailbox number 54565 he tried the combination: Right 32, left 45, right 38.
It didn’t work.
He tried it again.
Still nothing.
He went to the counter to ask for help and stood in line behind four other people.
Two of the four were irate because they’d been locked out of their boxes.
“Rent was due yesterday,” was the clerk’s reply.
Leave it to Bud to drag his friend halfway across the country, only to stiff him with the mailbox rental.
Wayne shook his head and pulled out his wallet when it was his turn in line.
“Your rent is paid through the next month,” the clerk told him. Did you turn it from right to left or left to right?”
“Right to left.”
“Oh, well there’s your problem,” the man said. “Our dials turn from left to right.”
Of course.
Wayne stuffed his wallet back into his trousers and shuffled back to the mailbox.
At least he saved forty bucks.
Again, he tried the combination. Left 32, right 45, left 38.
The box opened easily and he peered inside.
There was a large manila envelope and a thumb drive.
He removed both and sat at a nearby desk.
Inside the envelope were several sheets of paper which contained a bunch of numbers.
The data could have represented a number of things, but without the proper context was meaningless.
Luckily, Bud included a note of explanation.
Dear Wayne,
If you’re reading this I’m probably dead. This is serious business and I trust you to treat it as such.
The papers are representative of data on the drive. It’s all Greek to me. But I know it’ll make perfect sense to you.
It relates to core samples taken at various locations around the Yellowstone Caldera. As I said, it makes no sense to me. But I have a client whose geologist friends are disappearing or turning up dead at an alarming rate.
The victims all have one thing in common. They are all scientists who are aware of the data and know what it means.
Apparently the government is heavily involved.
I believe they don’t know what to do with information which appears to show a good portion of the United States is getting ready to blow sky-high. So instead they’ve chosen to bury the information and just let it happen.
I think that’s un-American.
I understand there’s probably nothing they can do to prevent the eruption from taking place.
But surely they can take steps to evacuate those areas most vulnerable. They might not be able to save every life, but they should save as many as they can.
They work for us. And as one of their employers I don’t want to let them sit upon their hands and do absolutely nothing.
I hope you’ll agree.
Beware the network news media. I believe it’s under the thumb of the government.
I believe a better way to go is to spread this throughout the country’s universities. Put it in the hands of student activists and let the local news stations pick it up. Your students will plaster it all over social media and the whole world will know about it within hours.
In the meantime, beware who you trust. More and more people are turning up dead and I don’t want you to be one of them.
Best of luck,
-Bud-
Chapter 39
Wayne Hamlin was a brilliant man.
One of the top in his field.
As a scientist, he knew better than to jump to conclusions. He looked through the sheets of paper he’d taken from Bud’s envelope.
He could plainly see the rising numbers. The widening gaps between what was “acceptable” and what might not be.
The trend lines, all pointing in the same direction.
Still, the scientist in him wanted to see the complete data set.
But not there. Not at the Office on the Go.
Sure, he could rent one of their computers for an hour or so for twenty bucks.
Sure, their computers were in semi-private cubicles.
But if Bud was right, viewing the data, or even having knowledge of it, could be dangerous to his health.
Wayne loved Bud Avery like a brother. They’d known each other for years. He knew of all of Bud’s many quirks and flaws.
But there was one fact which Wayne couldn’t deny, no matter how much he wanted to.
Bud Avery knew his stuff. He never went off half-cocked and he was almost always right.
No, this was not the place to review the complete data set and search it for flaws or errors.
He’d do that in the privacy of his hotel room, on his own laptop computer, the door securely locked.
But first he’d take another step. One which, on the face of it, might appear to an outsider to be a paranoid move. But he’d do it anyway.
He went back to the counter, to the same clerk who was now bored and reading the paper because he’d finally defeated the line.
“I need a flash drive. A quality one. One that won’t stop working the third time I use it.”
“How many gigs?”
“Sixteen should do it.”
The clerk placed a packaged drive onto the counter and rang up the sale.
“That’ll be twenty four seventy five.”
Wayne almost pulled his debit card from his wallet.
Almost.
Then he thought better of it and took out two twenties instead.
“Give me the change in postage stamps.”
“Yes, sir.”
“How much to use one of your computers for an hour?”
“Twenty dollars even.”
“And how much for a plain manila envelope?”
“Two dollars and ninety five cents.”
He pulled out more cash and grumbled, “You guys are bigger robbers than the cabbies, you know that?”
The clerk smiled.
&nb
sp; “Sorry, it’s the price you pay for doing business in such an exciting and vibrant city.”
“Yeah. Okay.”
“Use computer number seven over there. The timer won’t start until you log in. It’ll give you a five minute warning, but be careful. If you don’t extend your time before it cuts off, it won’t save anything.”
“What’s the log on password?”
“Number 7.”
“Of course.”
It didn’t take him an hour, or anywhere near it, to make a second copy of Bud’s thumb drive.
He placed the second copy in the envelope along with all of the paper copies Bud left him. If the paper copies were a sampling of what was on the drive he no longer needed them.
He put his own mailing address on the envelope and loaded it down with postage stamps. He put on way more than he needed, when he could have taken it back to counter boy and had it weighed, and then applied the exact amount.
But counter boy would have offered to mail it for him, and he had other ideas.
God, he hoped he wasn’t becoming a paranoid old fool.
He walked outside and down the street until he found a curbside mail box, then deposited the envelope inside.
Only then did he hail a cab back to his hotel.
On the ride, Wayne looked out at the streets of a city that held precious few pleasant memories for him.
Despite his hatred for D.C., he’d been here many times.
As a scientist, he’d been involved in many government research projects over the years. He’d testified in front of Congress on three separate occasions.
Each time they cast aside his scientific expertise and made their decisions based on which lobbying group was willing to pay the most to their re-election campaigns.
It was a sad fact for scientists in modern-day America. Congressmen and Senators were only out for their own self-preservation. And for the lobbyists who supported them.
Oh, sure. They put on a good show about caring about what pollution does to the environment. About what soil erosion does to long-term crop outputs. About how changing weather patterns will cause certain animals and insects to become extinct. About how a disappearing bee population will cause future generations to starve to death.
The Yellowstone Event (Book 2): A National Disgrace Page 13
