“Right,” he said, his tone turning cautious. “I hope your wife comes through this surgery just fine. See you next Tuesday.”
“Goodbye,” she said, holding the smartphone in front of her and wondering.
“Goodbye,” he said, still sounding cautious.
What does one do when you think a client may be involved in something crazy? She was used to dealing with crazy people. Folks who had bipolar or multiple personalities were among her clients. She also had folks with drug addiction crossed with childhood abuse. And she had the more usual clients like Jeff, whose depression had a more understandable source, or sources.
How could Jeff be involved in this St. Louis thing? Wanting to be a hero and rescue your father from a burning car was sad but understandable. Crossing that guilt feeling with deep, unresolved grief from the deaths of both parents was more complex, but she felt she had made progress with Jeff over the last four months. She’d used Cognitive Behavioral Therapy along with other methods to get him to engage with the repressed grief. He was making progress, if slowly. So why did she identify his voice with the voice of the Green Mask vigilante?
She didn’t know. On one hand it was impossible for her client to be the guy who plays with a ball of flame and disappears in midair. On the other hand, what she and millions of other people had just seen was said to be impossible. Physics did not allow a person to suddenly disappear in midair and go somewhere else. Still, the voice she had heard speaking to the hostages had sounded like Jeff. The anger early on had sounded like Jeff when he’d told her about the DWI driver who’d smashed into his father’s car. The pacing and intonation and pauses had sounded just how Jeff talked. She shook her head.
Had to be a weird coincidence. She told herself the FBI was even now being flooded with hundreds of phone calls from people who were swearing the voice they’d heard was the voice of an uncle, a boyfriend, a teacher, someone they’d met just recently. Voices were not as unique as fingerprints, she told herself, even though a part of her just knew the Green Mask voice was that of Jeff. Pushing that feeling away, she grabbed her purse, stood up and headed out for her car. Maybe talking with Justine at the hospital would help her dismiss this impossible feeling. But would everyone at the hospital be talking about the disappearing guy on CNN?
♦ ♦ ♦
Janet stopped her rental car before the log cabin with porch that was the office and small museum of Valles Caldera National Preserve. It was 8 a.m., Thursday, and her text chats with Beverly last night had been wild. Her friend told her how the deputy director had shown up and was watching when the Green Mask vigilante had appeared, knocked out the jihadists, freed the hostages, then repaired the blast hole in the south end of the arch so people could reach the stairwell and freedom. She’d shaken her head at Beverly’s text mention of teleportation, telekinesis and pyrokinesis. But those were the words spoken by the BAU agent, her friend had said. While she wished they could have chatted live over Skype, Beverly was still at the Hoover building working late and did not want anyone to see her chattering about the incredible events of the day. Her friend had shut down her texting at midnight East Coast time, which was 10 p.m. New Mexico time. With the help of a sleeping pill Janet had gotten to sleep.
Now, here she was miles to the north of Los Alamos, in the midst of a giant grassland that filled the southern part of an extinct volcanic caldera that was millions of years old. The town of Los Alamos rested on the southern flank of this uplifted volcano, which was now the site of ponderosa trees, yellow grasses, a few elk grazing in the distance and a nearby lava dome that her NPS flyer said was Cerro la Jarra. She’d driven here to interview Mercedes Johnson, the former girlfriend of Jeffrey Webster. She needed input from this young woman before she drove to Santa Fe and visited with Webster. Since the woman was not now involved with Webster, she would be herself, rather than pretend to another identity as she had done with Gloria Chén. She stepped out of the car, checked in the outside mirror to be sure her gray pantsuit was trim and clean, then walked up the wooden steps to the office. She pushed open the door, which made a bell twinkle.
“Hello?” she called, looking around.
A young woman dressed in park service green pants and shirt appeared from the entrance to another room. “Hi there,” the woman said, giving Janet a friendly smile. “You’re here really early. Want a cup of coffee?”
She thought a free cup of coffee from the pot that the woman gestured to was quite different from the usual National Park Service office. Maybe that was due to the Valles Caldera still being a new acquisition of NPS. It was only in 2015 that the NPS had taken over management of the caldera from the private group that had managed it after its purchase by the feds in 2000. Or so the flyer said.
“Thank you,” Janet said. “I’m looking for Mercedes Johnson.”
The slim woman paused as Janet neared the coffee pot table. “That’s me. How can I help you?”
Janet pulled out her FBI badge and showed it. “I’m Janet Van Groot, special agent with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. I’ve been assigned to interview some folks who grew up in Los Alamos and who know about the national lab. It’s part of a security review we’re doing.”
The young woman looked thoughtful, then pushed back her blond bangs. “Well, I grew up in Los Alamos and my Dad worked at the lab. Mom was a teacher at Aspen Elementary. What do you want to know?”
Janet looked past Mercedes to the room she had come from. “Do you have a private space back there? I prefer to visit with you away from the public area.”
Mercedes chuckled, then gestured back the way she’d come. “Well, we don’t get that many visitors first thing in the morning in October. The elk hunters come later in the month and the trout fishermen camped out at Jemez Falls Campground are due here later.” Janet followed the woman across the back room and then passed through a swinging door and into a small office space. A window filled the far wall. A desk sat below the window. Two chairs filled her end of the narrow office, which had book shelves on both side walls. As Mercedes sat in the swivel chair of the desk, Janet pulled off her shoulder bag, sat down on a chair, put the bag onto her lap, pulled out a small notepad and pen, and met the brown eyes of the 23-year-old woman.
“Miss Johnson, my research on you and other graduates of Los Alamos High School says you are the exception. You found a job near Los Alamos, whereas most of your fellow grads went to Santa Fe, Albuquerque, Denver or other big cities.” Janet paused, thinking of how to broach the issue. “My work assignment involves interviewing the adult children of laboratory workers. The FBI wishes to learn how sensitive to national security issues are such people. For example, did your father talk much about his work at the lab?”
Johnson frowned, then sat back and crossed arms over her lap. “Not really. I know he was a chemist who worked in the Weapons division of the lab. I know his building number, for emergency purposes. But he never discussed exactly what he did at LANL. Other than that it involved chemistry and explosives. That’s it.” She looked intently at Janet. “The lab has its own security section, in the Operations and Business department, you know. They handle security clearances and reviews of outside travel by lab workers. Seems like they would be the best people to talk with.”
“Thank you.” Janet pursed her lips. “What you said about your father is in keeping with what I’ve heard from talking with other adult children of lab workers. As for the security folks in Mission Assurance, Security and Emergency Response, I’ll be visiting with them later this week.” The mention of the special unit that handled lab security caused Johnson to visibly relax. “Be assured, your father is not a suspect in any lab matter.”
“Good,” she said, picking up the cup of coffee that had been on the desk when they entered. She took a sip of it. “But I’ve been away from Los Alamos for four years, while studying environmental biology at UNM. Just been back this last year, working here at Valles Caldera. What would I know that matters to you?”
J
anet gave her a friendly smile. “One of the young adults on my list to interview is Jeffrey Webster. He’s the son of former lab workers Elaine and John Webster. Now deceased.” Johnson nodded slowly as Janet talked. “I’ve heard you dated young Jeffrey. That you went to the senior prom with him. Is that true?”
Johnson’s face grew tense. Her brown eyes looked over Janet. “What you said is accurate about Jeff. We dated in our senior year. Have not seen him for the last five years.”
She wondered at the young woman’s terseness. Why? “Social media chatter from back then, and a note in the high school yearbook, said you two were very close. For a while. Then after the prom you never again dated. Why is that?”
Johnson shook her head, her blond ponytail swinging from side to side. “What the hell does a prom date five years ago have to do with lab security? And my private life from back then is very different from my life now. Not that it is any business of yours!”
Janet pulled out her badge and the leather pad it was attached to. She rested it on top of her notepad, in clear view of Johnson. “Miss Johnson, national security is something the agency takes very seriously. I happen to work in the Counterintelligence Division of the agency’s National Security Branch. Therefore any question I ask is relevant to my work. And the private lives of people who work at our national labs, and the lives of their children, are legitimate areas of data acquisition.” She paused. “Tell me why you broke up with Jeffrey Webster.”
“Jeff!” she growled. “He always goes by Jeff.” Johnson paused, looked past Janet, perhaps hoping for a twinkle of the front door bell, then back to her. “I knew him growing up. We both attended my Mom’s school. I spent time with him at the start of our senior year. We were both in the chess club. He was very smart. Liked evolutionary biology like I did. Was also well informed on our space program and satellites we had launched into the Solar System.” She paused again. “We went to movies together at the local theater. There’s only one, you know.” Janet nodded. “Anyway, we got closer later in our senior year. Made out on our dates.” She stopped and glared at Janet. “Is that enough?”
“No,” Janet said. “Why did you two break up after going to the prom together and posing for prom couple pictures? School records show he picked up his copy of that prom picture. You never did. Why not?”
Johnson closed her eyes, sighed, then opened them. “Because of what happened when we made love after the prom. There. I’ve told you. Now get out of here!”
Janet could feel the young woman’s upset with revisiting old social history. Why? Did she still care for Webster? “I’m not leaving. Give me the details of what happened when you made love. What was it that made you break off from seeing Webster?”
Johnson licked her lips, looked back out the window, perhaps hoping to see a visitor’s car drive up, then faced back. She gave Janet a sour look. “Nosy aren’t you? Well, when we made love in my room at my parents’ home later that night, we had a good time. We were both going to it . . . hard and heavy. He had me really buzzed. Then he yelled and said he was coming. That’s when it happened.”
Janet waited for the woman to continue. She didn’t. “What happened? Specifically.”
She grimaced. “One moment we were humping away on my bed, feeling all warm and loving together, with the bed light on and Jeff looking down at me with a goofy smile, then the next minute it was dark. My back felt something cold and hard. Like cement.” She paused, looking distracted. “Jeff muttered ‘No!’ and the next second we were back on my bed, the light was on and Jeff was on top of me. But the look in his eyes was weird. It was a look of fear mixed with anger. I pushed him off me and sat on my side of the bed. Reaching around I felt my back. There was some kind of dusty sand on it. Stuff that did not come from my bed!” Johnson yelled.
Janet blinked. She had hoped to learn something about Webster’s parents, maybe an admission made during love-making. Instead, this woman was telling a story straight out of a romance novel. “What happened next?”
“I asked Jeff what had happened. He said ‘nothing’. I knew he was lying. So I told him to dress and get the hell out of my house!” Johnson’s brown eyes looked watery as she coped with the memory. “He left. The only other time we ever saw each other was during graduation. I stayed away from him then and in the hallways. Haven’t seen him since graduation.” The young woman blinked and glared at Janet. “There! That’s what happened.”
Janet nodded slowly. “Thank you. Why didn’t you see him again?”
“Because I knew Jeff was lying! That something weird had happened, like maybe he’d given me a drink with a knockout pill in it, had taken me somewhere far from my home, then had taken me back just as I was waking up from whatever he’d given me.” Johnson grabbed her coffee cup. “This is cold. I need hot coffee. And I need you to disappear. Didn’t need to relive all this bullshit.”
Janet held up her right hand, palm out. “Stay. What do you know about how Jeffrey Webster related to his parents? Both of them worked at the lab.”
Mercedes grimaced, then sighed. She gestured a “So What?” with both hands. “They were normal parents! I recall Jeff going out camping with his Dad, somewhere on the East Fork of the Jemez River. Later on, during high school, the two of them went trout fishing here on the Valles Caldera, when the private folks still ran the preserve.” She blinked, her expression going thoughtful. “His Dad hunted with a .308 rifle, I recall. Hunted for buck deer and elk does. And pheasants. Didn’t go after ducks like other lab guys and women did then. And still do now.”
That was interesting. The times spent camping in the outdoors might explain why young Webster now worked at the REI outdoors chain. Clearly being outdoors was something he liked and that he associated with his parents. “And his mother? Did you ever meet her?”
The young woman licked her lips. “Yeah. A few times during our senior year. Had a meal over at his parents’ home, a few blocks from Bathtub Row. They lived in an older house from the 60s, I recall.” She shrugged, then gripped the arms of her swivel chair. “His mother worked with computers in the Chief Information Officer’s building. Worked on interoffice linkups, I think.” Mercedes frowned. “She understood computers, that’s all I know. Might be why Jeff studied computers at UNM. I never asked him. And we never met up in Albuquerque. Like I said.”
Janet thought her interrogation had gone as far as it could. But still, there was a final issue for her official report. “Did you ever hear his father or mother discuss particular programs they worked on at the lab? Stuff that might be classified?”
“No! Never,” Mercedes said, her chest heaving as she looked like a human who felt like a trapped rat. “Like I said earlier. We grew up in the same town. Anyone whose parent worked at the lab got to know everyone else. Science was and is still big in Los Alamos. Kids in my cohort talked Science Fair or robotics or building your own radio. Normal stuff, for us.”
Janet suspected the intense focus on science by the Los Alamos public schools was indeed normal for a town originally founded to build the first atomic bomb. It was also the town that later on designed the first hydrogen bomb, which was set off on some Pacific island. Her research on Los Alamos said the lab gave money to the local school system so it could pay high salaries to hire in the best teachers. This young woman, whether she realized it or not, had gotten the best public education possible in New Mexico.
“Thank you, Miss Johnson.” Janet stuffed her notepad in her shoulder bag, stood up, slung the bag and stepped back. “Our conversation has been confidential. You are warned that under the National Security Act of 1947, no part of our discussion can be discussed with anyone else. Including your parents, a boyfriend or—”
“I understand about security stuff,” Johnson interrupted, standing and then grabbing her coffee cup. “You leaving?”
Janet turned and headed through the swinging door. “Yes, I am leaving. Thank you for your time and your responses. Good day.”
There was no reply
from the young woman. Janet pushed open the front door, saw that only her car was in the rough gravel parking lot, then walked down the wooden steps, aiming for her vehicle. She pulled a keychain from her shoulder bag, pointed it at the car, unlocked it, then opened the driver’s door and got in. Her black leather purse sat in the right front seat of the car. She’d left the purse there, since she had no plan to buy anything at the center. She now doubted that Mercedes Johnson would willingly accept her money, even if she tried to buy one of the picture books on the Valles Caldera. Or one of the carved animal sculptures.
No matter. What mattered now was the strange piece of the puzzle that was shaping up to be Jeffrey Webster. Back at the Hoover building, his bio had looked strangely incomplete. Now, she understood just how incomplete was his private life. Time to drive over to Santa Fe and interview the young man. It was Thursday and she knew he was working until noon at REI. Should she see him at REI or visit him at home? Whichever she did, she would show her FBI badge. While she could lie and present made-up backgrounds to assist in suspect interrogation, she did not like doing it. And there was no harm in putting this young man on notice that an FBI agent was paying attention to him. Maybe he’d blurt out something about his parents that would make her trip to New Mexico a fruitful one. She hoped so. There were twenty-four more adult children of lab workers on her list of New Mexico interviewees.
She drove her car out of the rough lot and headed for Highway 4. It would take her back to Los Alamos, and then eventually to Santa Fe. Maybe she could find some good Mexican food near this Railyard complex where Webster worked. She hoped so. She was hungry and needed some real food that was not defrosted TV dinners!
CHAPTER TEN
Thursday afternoon after work is my normal time to relax in my apartment, listen to classical music, read a book, listen to a podcast or reminisce about my Jemez Falls hideaway. I’d discovered a limestone cave near the sheer rock face down which the falls tumbled. I’d put a spare bedroll, a battery lantern, dried food, a water bottle and similar supplies into the cave as a resource whenever someone came down the trail from the Jemez Falls picnic area to the waterfall. The trail passes close enough to my meadow campsite that I did not wish to be seen there, and known to visit the meadow. Solitude in the outdoors was something I’d discovered was vital to my mental well-being, during camping trips with my Dad. In the outdoors, the only minds that knocked against my psychic shield were the simple minds of squirrels, coyotes, a bear or two, and birds like the golden eagles that visited this part of northern New Mexico.
Superpowers 1: Superguy Page 13
