Transparency: Bio-Tech Cavern Secrets Untold

by Matthews, D. K.

  “Over here by the chimes.”

  Halliday crawled toward the chimes, determined to find her. To see her.

  “Wait, detective.”

  “Where are you? I can’t see you. How do I know who you are?”

  “I’m Laurel McKittrick. I’m real.”

  “Show me then.”

  “I’m not able to at the moment.”

  He wasted no time. “How did you meet your ex-husband?”

  “At the hot springs. Genevive management had an offsite meeting there. I assisted with the activities. I’m sure the pathological liar told you different.”

  He detected no hesitation. Her voice emanated from the chimes. He couldn’t locate her. “I received your files along with the photo.”

  As the wind picked up, the chimes touched. Their union cast out a soft resonance.

  “You must have many questions. It all began when the chief scientist in building C14 made a startling discovery while experimenting with a new prostate cancer drug. That set off a series of experiments. The scientists didn’t know that the resultant refuse created a bizarre quirk of science that could have a grave impact on humanity. As I mentioned, the scientists at building C14 have been dumping their waste material down an ancient well that feeds underground streams. I was fortunate to find a cave that led to the underground streams.”

  “Laurel, you must know I can’t take you seriously if you won’t reveal yourself.”

  “I can’t right now,” she said. “We don’t have much time.”

  As in not much time to stop them? Or not much time to live? Did she know something he didn’t?

  “The photo I sent you of the phosphorescent plants is from the cave beneath Building C14. The plants grow off of the nourishment of the waste that falls from the top of the well. Look near the bottom of the photo. You’ll see a human skull.”

  How could he have missed the skull? “Are you sure? Couldn’t it be an artifact? An Indian’s skull from centuries past?”

  “Not when it wasn’t there a month ago.”

  Damn.

  “When the cave plants are exposed to light they are energized, similar to the process of charging a battery. The result of this charge is that the plants become—”

  A disturbance off to the left caught Halliday’s attention. Laurel’s voice muted.

  A large beam of light searched the area around the chimes. Halliday saw no evidence of Laurel.

  “We know you are there,” a voice blasted out of a bullhorn. “Stand up in the light so we can see you. We don’t want to hurt you. We will resort to force if you do not cooperate.”

  Halliday rose up. The spotlight trained on his raised hands. Two men advanced from the direction of Laurel’s voice. She remained undetected.

  “How many are you?”

  “I’m alone,” he yelled out.

  “Jimmy, what do the sensors indicate?” the voice called out.

  The long pause ended with three short beeps.

  “He’s alone,” Jimmy’s shrill voice cried.

  How was it possible they hadn’t detected Laurel?

  “Walk toward my voice.”

  The spotlight blinded him. He obeyed.

  “Stop,” the voice barked. “Do you have a weapon?”

  “Yes,” he said.

  “Lay it on the ground in front of you.”

  He laid his Glock down.

  “Who the hell are you? What are you doing up here?”

  “I’m Detective John Halliday with the Santa Reina PD.” He held out his badge.

  The spotlight turned off. He only saw a ball of light. A blur holding a lit lantern walked up. The man took his badge.

  “Detective Halliday, I’m Sam Waylen, night shift security chief here at Genevive Labs. You mind telling me what the hell are you doing up here at this time of the morning?”

  He’d stir the pot. “I talked to your boss, George Altman earlier today,” he said, recalling the name of the head security honcho. “Your security sucks.”

  Waylen wheezed like a long-term chain smoker. “Mr. Altman didn’t mention midnight visitors. Damn odd.”

  Halliday tried to focus. The heavyset Waylen wore the same orange vest with SECURITY printed in black across the front. The lantern’s dispersed rays gave the man’s face an eerie pallor. “Official police business. My task was to test your border security.”

  The lack of light made it impossible for Halliday to read the man’s face.

  “I don’t know about this,” Waylen said. “You’ve put us in a difficult position Detective Halliday. Why didn’t you inform us of your visit? We’ve got a 24/7 security hotline.”

  “I didn’t know your hotline number.”

  “Well, Detective Halliday, it all sounds suspicious to me. I’m going to let you go. Rest assured that Chief Brayden will receive a call tomorrow.”

  He added, “Boy, your ass is going to be in a sling tomorrow.”

  With his vision restored Halliday moved in a step on Waylen. “Sam, listen. I am the law in this county. You are a security guard that has no lawful jurisdiction. Do you understand that?”

  “I have a job to do here, detective.”

  Halliday pointed his finger at the man’s chest. “Frankly, I’m not impressed with your security measures. You’d better prepare to have Security Chief George Altman put a bite in your sorry ass.”

  Sam’s cheeks hardened. His eyes narrowed, shoulders stiffened. He stepped back to view Halliday from a different angle.

  “Santa Reina Police Chief Brayden ordered me to check Genevive’s security network. I’m working with Brad Palmier and Altman to ensure an uneventful visit of the environmental extremist group next week. I’m sure you are aware of the extremist’s plans to hold a demonstration outside the gates of Genevive Labs.”

  “Yes, Mr. Altman notified us,” Sam said in a more respectful tone. His hands rested on his hips. “That wasn’t professional, you sneaking up on us.”

  “Well Sam, an extremist group isn’t going to give you a friendly call before it attempts to infiltrate Genevive’s perimeter, is it?”

  Sam’s face attempted to resolve Halliday’s aggressive stance. “We’re done here. Jimmy, please give Detective Halliday a ride back to his car.”

  “Where’s he parked?” Jimmy said, in that whiney voice that kowtowed to Special Agent Coulter’s whims last night in the cornfield.

  “I’m parked over at the hot springs parking lot. What happened to your nose, Sport? Been looking in the wrong places?”

  Jimmy moved in close to Waylen. He glanced at his supervisor like a nervous dog yearning for the command to take Halliday’s face off.

  Waylen said, “Just take him to his car.” He whispered in Jimmy’s ear. The big man handed Halliday his gun. He spit on the ground and said, “I’m going to send you a bill for any fence repair required.”

  “Not a problem, Sam.”

  Before he got in the white Ford pickup Halliday looked around for Laurel or her ghost.

  He saw no sign of either.

  Chapter Twenty Two

  Halliday took his time changing into his work suit in the back seat of his old Saab four door sedan. Beneath muted parking lot lights Jimmy, the security man, lit up a cigarette in the white pickup ten yards behind him.

  These arrogant assholes had the audacity to think they could escort a PD detective back onto the highway? He could dangle handcuffs under Jimmy’s nose or…

  … Just following orders, huh, Jimmy?

  Halliday climbed into the front seat.

  He started up the engine, studying the security truck in the rear view mirror. To fuel the fire would be stupid as he had already crossed the line. He’d blow smoke in Jimmy’s eyes.

  The engine revved in neutral. He framed Jimmy’s face in the rear view mirror. In first gear, the Saab inched forward. He cranked the transmission into reverse and did the same.

  The rocking motion caused Jimmy to squirm in his seat. Halliday repeated the maneuver several t
imes. The young security man’s expletives were evident in the rear view.

  Halliday jerked the stick into reverse. He stomped on the gas.

  The Saab’s tires screeched. The car sped straight for the security truck’s front end.

  Halliday grinned at Jimmy’s wide-open mouth.

  Jimmy raised his hands in front of his face. At the last second Halliday cranked the steering wheel. The Saab missed the pickup by the width of Jimmy’s skinny red neck.

  Halliday stopped and yelled, “Yee haw.” Words Jimmy would understand.

  The smell of burnt rubber trailed behind as Halliday exited the parking lot with Jimmy lagging behind.

  The Saab rumbled over the unpaved shoulder of the hot springs road. It stirred up dust in Jimmy’s face for a half mile or so. When he sped out onto Genevive Parkway the pickup couldn’t keep up. Halliday cranked it into fifth gear. He flew down the highway. The security hack released his frustration by flashing his bright beams before he exited at the Genevive Labs turn off.

  Halliday camped his foot on the accelerator. As the Saab shot along the lonely parkway, hedged on both sides by a black wall of pines, he tried to assemble his thoughts.

  If Laurel was real then she had accomplished things he couldn’t explain. No one could hide out in Santa Reina. How had she infiltrated Genevive Labs security? Why hadn’t they detected her?

  He didn’t believe in ghosts. Laurel hadn’t been resurrected by clever computer software geeks. That left his investigation incomplete. He had not “made” the suspect, the first order of business.

  His head swam in a sea of confusion. On a whim he exited the highway at an all-night western bar.

  The high ceilings reminded him of a barn. The odor of horses was provided by the customers, two cowboys who could use a bath. They slouched at a table with cowboy boots resting on the backs of unused chairs as they drained glasses of Coke mixed with the contents of a bottle in a brown paper bag. One of them cracked a bodacious fart as Halliday passed by.

  “Enjoy,” he said as he headed to the empty bar.

  He grabbed a stool.

  “Howdy partner.” The female bartender appeared out of nowhere. The big buxom gal in her mid-thirties leaned forward to show off her endowments. “My name’s Gina, what’ll you have?”

  “Scotch and soda, ma’am. Make it a double.”

  She set the drink down in front of him. “Bad night, huh mister? You a cop?”

  He downed half the drink in one gulp. “It shows?”

  She eyed him like she was shopping for new western attire. “I can’t imagine anyone else in this neck of the woods coming in here in a business suit after 2:00 a.m. unless it was those sci-fi misfits from down the road.”

  “You get many customers from Genevive Labs?”

  She let out an unfeminine grunt. “One of their security pukes masquerades as a local. He sips beer over there in the corner. Flirts with my barmaids. They call him Bayou Boy. He has a girly voice.” She snorted. “My gals caution him to whisper. I’m afraid a cowboy’s going to mess up his face. Then Genevive security will be over here stirring up more trouble.”

  Jimmy gets around. He grunted. The two cowboys kept glancing over at him.

  “Anyone else from Genevieve Labs stop by?”

  “You know, up until last weekend a pretty young thing who worked at the hot springs would show up. A handsome cowboy would accompany her on Friday nights. Those two were lovey-dovey. He wasn’t a local, though. Someone said he worked at Genevive Labs.”

  It was one of Jillian’s girls, no doubt.

  The two drunken cowboys heehawed at a joke aimed at Halliday.

  “You let those yahoos bring their own liquor in here?”

  She finished polishing a beer flagon shaped like a boot. “I charge them five dollars per can of coke. It works. Sheriff Barnes is okay with it.”

  The bartender must have figured that he wasn’t in the mood for further conversation. Or she thought he would ding her on a vague legality. Before she wandered off he called out, “Gina, can I have two more doubles?”

  She placed another beer flagon in a glass cabinet and said, “That bad, huh?”

  He could use a listener. Gina might take Laurel’s ghostly attributes the wrong way, though. He finished off the drink.

  She set the two double scotches in front of him, said, “I’ll leave you to your misery.” She disappeared in what appeared to be an office through a doorway behind the bar.

  The scotch helped him reach conclusions. Laurel had descended into the depths of the earth. Laurel had read the minds of Jillian and Palmier. Laurel had evaded Genevive security’s electronic sensors.

  That was it. Laurel had applied her rock climbing skills to scale the chimes. The sensors didn’t detect movement up that high. The security guys had never thought to shine their spotlights up there. It made sense. How did she access the hill undetected?

  He downed more scotch hoping it would uncover more of the mystery.

  A grunt caused Halliday to swivel around.

  One of the cowboys stood with a wild-eyed gaze, his head thrown back. “Hey, I want to know, when are you fucking cops gonna do something? Friggin’ people are disappearing all over the San Joaquin Valley.”

  The drunken cowboy had caught him by surprise.

  “Burt Hooten’s no bum,” he said, swaying on his feet. “He’s a friend of mine. I grew up with him. Yeah, he did drugs. Don’t everybody?”

  The name didn’t sound familiar. Gladstone hadn’t mentioned a Hooten in his MP report. “Has anyone reported your friend missing?”

  “That’s a fucking joke.”

  “One of our detectives is working on missing persons,” he said. “Do you know Lamar Festus?”

  “I know he lives over in Redwood Bluff. He got his dog stole by them Genevive pukes. I drive up and down the San Joaquin Valley. Every town I go through I hear of somebody down on their luck gone missin’. Don’t you fuckin’ po-lice talk to each other?”

  It didn’t pay to argue with a drunk. Halliday glanced behind him. He didn’t see the other cowboy. “I’ll let the detective on the case know,” he said. “What’s your name?”

  The cowboy fidgeted. “You don’t need to know my name. I sure as hell ain’t the one am guilty. Another thing, I’m tired of them Genevive fuckers takin’ all our land away. Killin’ off all our animals. Shit, I can no longer go huntin’ for any deer.”

  “If you give me your name and address the detective in charge of the case will contact you.” He swiveled back to the bar to fetch his last drink.

  The cowboy mumbled, “I’m sick and tired of you fuckin’ cops doin’ nothing.”

  In the bar mirror, Halliday caught a glimpse of the other cowboy coming up behind him. He rotated his body. The man’s fist deflected off his forearm.

  He felt a dull thump to the back of his head.

  The bar turned upside down.

  He hit the floor. A fist crashed into his face. He doubled over as a heavy boot had landed in his side. The cowboy who had blindsided him called out frantically, “We’re up shit creek now, Billy. The whole force will be after our asses.”

  “Fuckers don’t care,” Billy said. “They let them kill Burt. Who’s next? Me? You?”

  Chapter Twenty Three

  Halliday awoke after sunrise in an unfamiliar bed. The sun’s rays diffused through angled slits in the high covered windows. They caught his eyes no matter which way he turned. In the background a lonesome cowboy wailed a tune that would incite a dog to howl.

  Halliday’s head throbbed while his side ached. He cursed himself for ignoring the angry cowboy. Even Rich Gladstone wouldn’t have left himself open to a blindside attack.

  The buxom bartender named Gina leaned in the doorway. She gave him a sideways glance. “Did you get any sleep partner?”

  “A couple of hours. Thanks for looking after me this morning.” He grabbed at his sore side. “Now I know why cowboys wear pointed boots.”

  The gl
ee in her eyes yielded. “Are you gonna be all right, detective?”

  “The name’s John Halliday.”

  She offered her hand. “Gina Rowling.”

  He shook her hand.

  “Well, John, I don’t know what the hell you said to bring out the fight in those cowboys. It’s a good thing I heard all the commotion.”

  “I told the short one he should take a bath and trim his mustache.”

  This time she did laugh. “When I pulled my shot gun out from beneath the bar those two cowboys hightailed out of here like the devil was chasing them.”

  “Do they come in here often?”

  Gina’s face soured. The conversation had shifted from casual to official.

  “They drop by occasionally. Billy thinks his friend is missing. You gonna arrest them?”

  “I’ll want to talk to them first. Do you know their full names?”

  “Billy Haskins and his partner Roy Vickers haul produce all over the San Joaquin Valley. Billy, the short one, just got out of the slammer over at Redwood Bluff for drug possession. The judge dropped the charges because of insufficient evidence.”

  “You know Burt Hooten, the missing person they spoke of?”

  “Word going around is that Burt Hooten ran off to avoid a jail term. They say he was growing marijuana in his backyard for local sale. Burt’s an entrepreneur.”

  “You think there was foul play involved in Hooten’s disappearance.”

  “Detective, I wouldn’t give much credence to anything Billy said last night. You just happened to end up in the wrong place at the wrong time. I’ve never seen them surly drunk like that.”

  “Does Hooten live around here?”

  She shook her head. “Drop by the Redwood Bluff PD. Sheriff Barnes will give you the poop on Hooten.”

  Nope, he wouldn’t go there.

  Gina went on. “A cowboy told me Burt’s selling used cars in Stockton. He also said that green-skinned aliens were invading Redwood Bluff.”

  Although Halliday grew curious about the green-skinned aliens, right now his head wasn’t up to asking. “What time is it?”

  “A quarter till seven. I’m late for my chores.”

  “Are you the owner here?”