Transparency: Bio-Tech Cavern Secrets Untold

by Matthews, D. K.

  In Berlin they poured the draft König Pilsener beer into polished flagons. Halliday held a plastic cup that cautioned him not to pour hot liquid into it. Still, he filled the eight ounce cup halfway. He didn’t mind the foamy mustache or the memories of Berlin that came after the first sip.

  “So what’s so special about October 31st, Halliday?”

  “It’s nothing.”

  A bewildered Gladstone said, “The chief warned us not to tell a soul outside our group or risk getting canned. You’re not going to believe this one, Halliday. Remember Jillian Andrews’ ex-boyfriend? The cowboy who liked hunting? Turns out he’s a DOD cowboy.”

  Halliday played along. “DOD? Are you sure about it?”

  “The chief said to keep a lid on it. Yeah, there’s no doubt. Special Agent Roger Coulter works for DARPA. He’s been assigned as liaison to Genevive Labs for the past six months. That’s not all.”

  “What is it?”

  “They did a hurry-up autopsy on Miss Andrews. She was two months pregnant.”

  Gina, the bartender at the Deer Spot had mentioned that one of the girls employed at the hot springs visited the bar with a cowboy on Fridays. Jillian and Coulter. The glow on Jillian’s face—he should have caught it. “What does that tell you?”

  “I don’t think that many pregnant women kill themselves.”

  “Agreed. Who else knows?”

  “You, me, Leo, the chief, and the coroner. You should have heard the chief. He read the riot act to the coroner about what would happen if any details leaked out. I’ve never seen him so worked up.”

  When Halliday didn’t respond Gladstone muttered, “Why would anyone want to do away with Jillian Andrews? Every comment I’ve heard about her contained the word nice.”

  “Did you learn anything else?”

  “They never discovered where Miss Andrews obtained the ammunition for the shotgun. Despite what we know now the chief wants to bury it. He believes she pocketed a couple shells during shooting practice with her boyfriend.”

  Special Agent Roger Coulter.

  “There’s something else,” Gladstone said in a mature voice until the childish grin reappeared. “Oh man, the shit’s really hit the fan here. There’s a missing person, another vagrant, up in Sonora. We’ve got a witness. A professor at UC Davis says he saw the vagrant getting abducted. The amateur wildlife photographer took an interesting photo.” Gladstone gulped. “The Sonora sheriff said I should go up there ASAP.”

  “Did you mention the photograph to the chief?”

  “The sheriff wouldn’t talk over the phone. No, I haven’t mentioned it to Chief Brayden.”

  “Don’t. Drive up to Sonora. Run your findings by me before you take it to the chief.”

  “Sure, Halliday… Chief Brayden said—”

  “I’ll explain later. Trust me, okay?”

  “You’re a more knowledgeable investigator. I just don’t understand why the chief is putting a lid on this MP investigation.”

  Yes you do, Rich. “How soon are you heading to Sonora?”

  Gladstone looked at his watch. He stood up. “I should get going. How much do I owe for the sandwich?”

  Halliday waved his hand. “Rich, can you stop by Redwood Bluffs on your way back?”

  “Sure, what have you got?”

  Halliday pulled out the photo copy of the policeman.

  “Dave Garcia?”

  “Show this around. See if we can tie his face to the officer who took the complaints from the farmers.”

  Gladstone’s face paled. “Dave Garcia is the chief’s number one amigo cop.”

  “Will you do it or not?”

  “Yeah, okay,” he said with a lack of enthusiasm.

  “One more thing.”

  Gladstone sat back down.

  “I need a favor. If you agree I don’t want any questions. You can’t take action until the appropriate time. Keep in mind that if you ignore my instructions, your life could be in danger.”

  Gladstone replied, “Sure, I’ll help. What is it?”

  Halliday took a big chance with the kid. “I left a letter addressed to the Bureau of Diplomatic Security inside a case file named “McKinley” in the bottom drawer in my office. If anything happens to me, will you mail it? It’s as simple as that. The letter is stamped and ready to go.”

  Gladstone nodded. “Yeah, I’ll do it. I just wish you would explain.”

  “No explanation,” Halliday said, raising his hands. “No discussion.”

  “Okay then, I’ll be going,” Gladstone said with a sense of urgency. “Listen, Halliday, don’t knock yourself out over this town,” he add, applying the brakes. “The chief said you had an offer from LAPD. You deserve better than this.”

  Gladstone gave him a fraternal gaze, like in the huddle before the big game. Then he grabbed his bratwurst sandwich and headed to Sonora.

  Halliday took out the envelope addressed to the chief. The medical report had arrived by UPS this morning from San Luis Obispo, a college town about two hundred miles southwest of here. Laurel grew up there. He laid it in front of him, pushing the bratwurst plate off to the side.

  The psychiatric medical report on Laurel McKittrick dated before her marriage to Brad Palmier glared at him. He read, Central Coast Allied Medical Group, Office of Brian Ferguson, M.D.

  Halliday contemplated client confidentiality. Had the chief requested this report? If so, did he have the power to authorize it?

  A short letter from a staff doctor at Central Coast Allied explained that Doctor Ferguson had gone on vacation in Italy. He had authorized the records’ release by VeriSign.

  Chief Brayden’s warnings echoed in his head. “John, don’t underestimate Genevive Labs. This town doesn’t mean much when you stack it up against Genevive. They’re a major world biotech player. Billions of dollars are at stake.”

  Halliday scanned the report.

  Laurel had sought psychiatric help when her parents had passed away within days of each other, shortly after she left Berkeley. Doctor Brian Ferguson in San Luis Obispo treated her. His report indicated deep depression and anxiety. During one of three sessions, Laurel had mentioned suicidal thoughts. The doctor had prescribed Prozac and Xanax.

  “I would be depressed, too, if my parents died within two weeks of each other,” Halliday mumbled to the bratwurst.

  The report concluded that Laurel had been mentally unstable before she married Brad Palmier. If so, her explanation of Palmier’s wrongdoings could have been fantasy. Palmier’s request for a divorced may have been warranted.

  Halliday considered that the report could have been doctored up or even be a work of fiction.

  Why had the chief given the report to him? What difference would it make to Halliday whether Laurel McKittrick had mental problems or not?

  Either way, they must be scared to death of Laurel. She had evidence they were dumping contaminated waste. They must believe she has the evidence from Jillian that could potentially bring them down. Who else could have it?

  He ordered another König Pilsener.

  An awful dread entered Halliday’s thoughts, returning him to that fateful day when bullets were fired that shattered his dreams.

  Chapter Forty

  The Thais said Christmas coincided with the cool season in Bangkok, which might’ve been true given that the temperature had only reached eighty-six degrees outside. Halliday wiped sweat from his brow. He shoved the double doors open for partner Agent Judy Solvano to lead the way into the Central World Mall.

  Behind, the Diplomatic Security protective detail buzzed around the Queen Bee. They squeezed through the entrance. Once inside, the group expanded and took a collective breath of cool air. The continuous cycle progressed: listen-scan-clear-advance, repeated until the destination had been reached. Protect the quarterback or in this case Queen Bee, still the QB.

  The Madam Secretary came across as a savvy lady. Halliday sensed that she understood the need for the ballet. The team, void of personali
ty, moved in sync to advance the QB. It reminded Halliday of the Borg, the cybernetic organisms depicted in Star Trek.

  While the air conditioned mall blasted them with cool air the eleven man Diplomatic Security team had to guard against getting too comfortable. The DS team all took their instructions from the Special Agent in Charge, in what Halliday called the “fullback” position, just behind the QB.

  Halliday and Solvano advanced the team toward the huge yuletide tree, according to plan. A wall of Asians gazed on from the opposite side of the tree, cordoned off from where the team stood.

  “Oh my gosh,” the Madam Secretary cried out. “Would you look at that?”

  Halliday saw the glee in her eyes. The team members’ relief showed in their relaxed posture.

  The Madam Secretary pointed at the Christmas tree. The short auburn-haired lady from the Midwest exhibited perky behavior 24/7. The President had been quoted as saying she possessed unbridled enthusiasm. Her wide-eyed gaze marveled at the festive Christmas tree that extended up through several floors.

  Halliday moved in close to Agent Judy Solvano. He touched her hand, causing the chime bracelet to give a ring that only he could hear. His future bride gave a fleeting smile.

  The Madam Secretary, cordoned off from the crowd, exchanged pleasantries with the female Thai minister who had been ten minutes late, not unusual in Bangkok. Halliday and Solvano split off from the rest of the DS team. They proceeded to the LEVEL ONE shopping area, the next phase of the detail.

  They were a hundred yards away from the mammoth Christmas tree. At 10:40 a.m., in two minutes, the DS team would escort the Madam Secretary in their direction.

  Solvano took her position at the second floor LEVEL TWO, near the escalator. The Madam Secretary planned to shop for Christmas presents on both floors. Solvano held a good vantage point from her position above him which they had chosen during their advance visit yesterday. She had a close eye on the Thai “blue blazer” security agents on the second and third floors.

  Halliday stood near the entrance to the fashion boutique Bebe. He scanned the second floor. They made eye contact. Eyes and ears, Solvano.

  From where Halliday stood, he had an unobstructed sixty degree view up to the open air café on the second floor. The café employed two workers cleared by Thai security. Solvano stood on the same floor at the far end of the café. She didn’t have a clear view. They had agreed that the cafe should be Halliday’s priority. Two Thai blue blazers secured the third floor upper corridor. The remainder of the Thai security force patrolled the perimeter areas.

  This part of the mall had been cleared. No customers had been allowed in. At Level One where Halliday stood, the seven employees at Bebe waited eagerly for the Madam Secretary, not because of her high political status. They waited for the big bucks she would spend.

  A few minutes later the Madam Secretary surrounded by the security entourage approached the boutique.

  Halliday glanced up at Judy. Her eyes had focused on something going on at the opposite side of the café.

  “Solvano, this is Halliday, do we have an all clear on Level Two?”

  “Roger all clear,” she said, rapid fire. She didn’t look down.

  He saw Solvano disappear behind a partition in the café. The Madam Secretary would arrive in a matter of seconds.

  Halliday’s intuition shot up a red flag. He saw Solvano’s arm rise by the escalator. She didn’t return to his vision. He gazed up at the Thai security man who had a better view of Solvano’s activity. The man held his positions with stoic expression in place.

  Without glancing back he heard the voices of the team proceeding in his direction.

  Solvano, what the hell are you doing?

  The two workers at the café were busy preparing for the onslaught of customers cordoned off at the far entrance to the Zen Department Store. One employee operated an espresso machine. The other, hunched over on hands and knees, appeared to be scrubbing the floor.

  Nothing unusual.

  The floor cleaner stopped scrubbing and glanced down. Halliday recognized an expression in the man’s eyes that he couldn’t ignore.

  Halliday’s intuition begged him to act. His peripheral vision detected the Madam Secretary. He began to report his concern to the other team members when the Special Agent in Charge barked out, “Halliday, Solvano, prepare for Queen Bee’s arrival at your location.”

  “Roger, copy,” he said, gazing up at the coffee shop. The worker continued cleaning the espresso machine.

  Report, Solvano.

  Where had the floor cleaner gone? Halliday saw the Thai security man come into view on the floor above the café. The security man gave him a short nod.

  The metronomic tapping of Madam Secretary’s high heeled shoes sounded a cadence for Halliday’s methodical visual search.

  Solvano?

  His request to Solvano to report over the two-way got drowned out by the AIC’s announcement of the Madam Secretary’s arrival.

  The Madam Secretary paused. Halliday felt better that the rest of the team had arrived. He stood off on the flank, away from the entrance to Bebe. A moment of confusion ensued when the Madam Secretary pointed beyond Halliday and said, “I wanted to stop by Liz Claiborne first.” The Special Agent in Charge steered her in the direction of Bebe while explaining she could go there later.

  The brief interlude interrupted his search, causing Halliday to reset the grid in his head and start again. When he did, it hit him.

  The color yellow.

  The café worker on the floor above had at first worn a reddish colored shirt. It had changed to yellow.

  He frantically scanned the second floor café. “Solvano, report.”

  Nothing.

  “Code red! Code red!” he yelled after keying the two-way radio.

  Halliday removed his weapon. He cocked his head in different directions.

  He glimpsed behind. A trio of agents rushed the Madam Secretary. They shoved her onto the boutique floor. Their bodies acted as a shield.

  “Solvano!” he barked feverishly into the two-way. “Where are you?”

  Halliday reacted to the pop-pop-pop sound followed by shattering glass. He stood with both feet pointed squarely at the origin of the sound, elbows drawn in. Both hands readied the Glock. The odor of spent ammunition filled the air. He searched desperately for the shooter on the floor above.

  Halliday saw movement at the second floor café where the worker had been cleaning.

  He aimed at the spot where he had last seen the man. A shadow crept near the grated railing of the café. Halliday pulled the trigger.

  A volley of bullets from his SIG P228 struck their target.

  The body fell from Level Two. It slammed into the floor twenty feet in front of him.

  He gave a quick glance behind. The Madam Secretary had been unharmed, but obviously shaken. Voices screeched over the two-way, interrupted by the Special Agent in Charge who yelled, “Agent Sparks is down.”

  “Roger, ambulance is in route,” another agent called from the entrance to the mall. “ETA five minutes.”

  A DS agent appeared above at the coffee shop on the second floor. He barked into the two-way, “The perp is down—no vital signs.”

  The perpetrator was down on the second floor? Then who…?

  “Halliday, please respond,” a gruff voice said over the two-way.

  “Solvano, this is Halliday. Please report.”

  Nothing.

  “Halliday, I said respond.”

  He stared at the crumpled body on the floor in front of him, his weapon held at the ready in case of a second shooter. He knew if he took a single step, flexed a single muscle, the reality of the situation would overwhelm him.

  Moments later the frantic voice of the AIC screeched out of Halliday’s two-way. “The floor is secure. We had a single perp. All team members transfer Queen Bee to the convoy ASAP.”

  Halliday lowered his weapon. He whirled around. The DS agents advanced the Madam
Secretary in the direction of the limo. Their weapons pointed in all directions.

  The Thai security personnel had swarmed the area.

  “Agent’s Tolbert and Carter tend to the wounded,” the AIC said. His voice continued to be modulated with fear, adrenaline, and a great sense of urgency. “Agent Halliday, proceed with the team to the convoy.”

  “Halliday, do you read me?”

  “Proceed to the convoy.”

  “Not until I confirm the status of Agent Solvano,” he replied.

  “Halliday, report to the convoy. That’s an order.”

  He gazed ahead, trying to come to terms with the body that lay in front of him. For the first time he acknowledged what everyone else on the team already knew.

  The body on the floor belonged to Agent Judy Solvano.

  He shook his head, trying to focus.

  Behind, glistening hunks of crystal glass mixed with blood lay scattered along the floor in front of Bebe. Craggy glass stalactites from the store front drooped above Special Agent Sparks. The agent had taken a bullet in his left thigh. Special Agent Tolbert moved Sparks out of harm’s way. He prepared to stop the bleeding.

  Stan Tolbert glanced at Halliday and then over at the body of Special Agent Judy Solvano. “Judy took one for the Madam Secretary, John.”

  Halliday staggered to the prone body on the floor. His bullet had exited the back of Solvano’s head. She also had a stab wound near her heart.

  “John, why don’t you join the convoy?” Tolbert said. “I’ll take care of the situation here.”

  “I saw the perp. I fired where I thought he was.”

  Agent Carter, who had found the perp on the second floor, eased up beside him. He placed his hand on Halliday’s shoulder. “It’s not your fault, John. Judy was gone before you fired a shot. After the perp stabbed her, she responded. Took him out with one shot, right between the eyes.”

  He caught the proud tone in Carter’s voice. Halliday removed his jacket. He placed it over her head, as if that would cancel what had happened.

  They determined later that the shooter acted alone, having hidden in the café’s trash compartment earlier. The SD report found no negligence by Halliday and the team.