by J. K. Scott
I told him the site and camp location and considered the possibility that he was informing a welcoming party.
“I have Dak.”
Apprehension rose inside me as I thought about what to say and what not to say. I had leverage with the buried Mylar disc that only I knew about. However, the gurus had the same information, and if they were a covert operation of BBB, surely Turbero had already seen the forms. So why did Turbero need me? Why had the dark web advertised a reward for my capture?
24
THE TRAIN CAME to a stop at a dimly lit platform. Turbero led me to an elevator without a word. My warped senses waffled between doubt and apprehension. Two other men attired in black hoisted my motorbike from the cart and rolled it into a storage room. Turbero palmed a screen next to the elevator to open the doors. The two men joined us. We went up at least two levels, and the door opened to a vacant lobby or living room.
The room was decorated with orange and yellow sofas with dark brown pillows and wood tables without any art decor or magazines. The cream walls glowed with recessed lighting, and the ceiling reflected the dawning stars. I looked around for a bathroom, seeing double doors across from me. I decided to wait patiently until Turbero finished talking to the men in black before heading for the doors to find a bathroom.
Turbero walked over and apologized to me, saying he had to take care of business. I pointed to the yellow sofa and said, “I’ll sleep here after you direct me to a bathroom.”
“Dak, you can’t be seen. Flynn will be here in a minute to take you to the Orion Room. And after a night’s sleep, we will have a meeting.”
I found it curious that I couldn’t be seen and was amused this underground level focused on constellations. In an astronomy class, I had memorized the eighty-eight modern constellations, but at this moment, I couldn’t name ten of them.
Flynn arrived wearing a blue jogging suit on his tall, slim frame. He had bright blue eyes and shaggy blond hair that covered his ears and looked to be in his forties. In a strong voice, he welcomed me to Drab Wash Junction, and Turbero introduced me to Flynn, saying he’d see me early in the morning, and left with the two men dressed in black.
Flynn led me through the double doors that opened into a hallway with another elevator and two extended hallways. On the right, I saw a bathroom and decided to wait. Flynn turned left, and I counted six constellation-named doors before Flynn palmed the screen on the door to Orion. As we entered the room, automatically, the lights turned on. The great room included a walled viewing screen on one side and a small kitchen area with a counter on the other side. Two hunter-green couches and matching chairs brightened the room, and shiny white tables contrasted with the dark wood floor. The walls were cream colored and covered with spectacular photos of the solar system.
From the living area, Flynn showed me a compact master bedroom with a bathroom. The king-size bed with hunter-green linens looked inviting, but I needed to take a leak. Flynn guided me back to the great room through the bathroom door and then showed me the kitchen.
“The refrigerator and cabinets are well stocked,” Flynn explained. “Many of our guests prefer dining in their rooms to work on their projects. There is a general store on the third floor.”
The comfort of BBB’s quarters amazed me, but how long did they expect me to stay there? Flynn instructed me on the voice-activation system, which included the lights and the Orion constellation on the bedroom ceiling. In the living room, one could request any constellation for the ceiling.
Flynn had barely shut the door to leave as I dashed to the bathroom. Within moments, I stood under a shower as iron-red dirt circled down the drain. Refreshed by the soap and water, I dried my hair with an automatic blower. I wrapped a towel around my waist and headed for the bed. I wondered if cameras watched me as I tossed the towel aside and collapsed on the bed. I gazed at the Orion constellation, feeling every sore muscle in my body. Then it dawned on me that I had left my small pouch on the motorbike with my burner, Will Sargent identification, and what cash I had left. My birthday had passed, and now I had a roof over my head. This wasn’t what I had expected, but I was grateful to be safe as I closed my eyes.
I awakened to bright sunlight and glanced at the Orion ceiling flushed in yellow-and-blue morning light. Lying in bed, I felt clueless to the time, preferring to sleep longer. I heard a soft sound that became louder. Immediately, I grabbed the towel from the floor and hustled to the door. The door’s small video screen exposed Flynn’s face. He lifted a basket filled with folded clothes.
I said, “Thank you. Could you leave it by the door?”
He politely said, “Sure. I’ll return in an hour to take you to the meeting.”
After he left, I took the basket by the door and examined the clothes. The basket also contained personal items. I skipped shaving and spent time untangling my hair which I had slept on damp, creating a bird’s nest. I put on khaki shorts and a white linen shirt that hung loosely. The shorts and leather sandals fit perfectly. Had Flynn estimated my size? Or had the elevator camera scanned my body. Possibly, Cascade’s profile had my sizes. Sadly, privacy had become obsolete, and did I care if the clothes fit?
Starving, I opened the refrigerator and selected a turkey sandwich with mango. On a rather odd cylindrical coffee maker, I pressed the option for bold with cream. I wolfed down half my sandwich before the coffee cup filled. I carried my coffee to inspect the computer desk, which had an electronic control panel I didn’t recognize. Assuming there were strict log-on procedures, I chose not to touch it. I worried about my mil-spec computer. I hoped they wouldn’t be able to find it at the campground.
I assumed Orion had cameras. I imagined security watching my every move. Paranoia had become my middle name. I was without any bags or my backpack, and I felt uneasy in the curious surroundings. When did all my stuff start mattering to me?
Flynn arrived, and I followed his tall, thin stature; shaggy blond hair; and firm walk past five rooms to an elevator. Flynn pressed the touch screen to open the elevator doors. Inside the mirrored elevator, the doors opened behind me, and I jumped. Flynn grinned and laughed heartily—it was undoubtedly his first laugh of the day.
I said, “I didn’t expect that,” as I followed him out of the elevator.
We entered another hallway and walked past twelve constellations to another elevator. The maze of hallways and elevators concerned me as I noted how complicated it could be to escape, if necessary.
Flynn said, “These elevators go up or down too.”
“Good to know,” I said, memorizing the intricacy of Drab Wash. The third elevator opened to another hall that led to a meeting room with a large table surrounded by three women and six men of various ages. I glanced at each person, not recognizing anyone. Multiple screens displayed cloudy blue skies on three walls with the date and time. Taken aback by the group meeting, I felt trapped as it was still early morning.
Flynn escorted me to a captain’s chair at the end of a long oval table. I thanked him, preferring to skip the meeting. I felt eyes upon me. Turbero arrived, and everyone abruptly stood. Amazingly, Turbero looked rested and was attired in a dark suit without a tie, but he still wore his ponytail. He said, “Good morning, Dak. We’d like to welcome you to Drab Wash Junction.”
This was my third welcome to Drab Wash Junction without any reference to Beyond Black Borders.
Unsure of proper protocol, I said, “Thank you.”
We returned to our plush leather captain’s chairs, which swiveled. There were several buttons on the armchair; I wondered if one would eject me. This meeting felt overly serious with attendees dressed in business attire.
25
TURBERO FORMALLY INTRODUCED me to the business group by emphasizing that those attending had read my dossier and Cascade’s accusations that I had left abruptly without proper protocol. Turbero further stressed that I worked for a third-party contractor with approved clear
ances with only visitation to Drab Wash Junction. I sank in my chair, realizing I faced a tribunal of my peers. Would they release me to Cascade or the public authorities? This meeting wasn’t what I’d expected. I controlled my frustration with Turbero.
Then Turbero said, “Dak, we need to advise you the meeting is not focusing on Cascade’s accusations, but we have other critical concerns.”
My heart slowed with relief, but my mind swirled with darkened thoughts. I didn’t move a muscle as I braced myself for the worst. “What concerns?”
Turbero glanced around the room and said softly, “Four days ago, our satellite lab in Sarasota was sabotaged and burned to the ground. Three human remains have been uncovered in the rubble, and they are looking for the fourth.”
I felt lightheaded, struggling to comprehend what he’d said. Several attendees wiped their eyes as I took deep breaths to calm myself.
After a lengthy pause, Turbero said, “Dak, sadly, we believe John, Fargo, Shelly, and Kim died in the explosion and fire. The human remains were burned beyond recognition. Forensics is still working on the grueling task of identification and searching for any more remains. The fire inspectors suspect a chemical explosion. The disclosure that our fellow operative friends have died has devastated us beyond comprehension.”
I gathered my thoughts for a moment and said, “I’m devastated and stunned by this news. I was just there working with the gurus. When did you say this happened?”
“The explosion occurred at five on the morning you and Adam left the lab.”
Turbero’s words hit my gut with a thud. My mouth gaped. I wished I could disappear. A glass of water appeared in front of me. I could barely swallow as I thought about the deaths of the gurus. Knowing I could have been there too, I felt nauseated.
Turbero paused a moment and said, “Drab Wash Junction received the fire alert, and all attempts to contact the lab were without success. We were able to contact Adam, who was with Kisha on the beach.”
Filled with apprehension, I asked defensively, “You don’t think I had anything to do with it, do you?”
“This is an ongoing criminal investigation. We’ve interrogated Adam for several days, using a highly developed truth serum. We were able to confirm you were not informed about the lab or the location prior to Fargo meeting you. Also, Adam saw Fargo scan you before you left the restaurant. And your burner phone was protected in the Faraday cage but not during the ride to and from the lab. Also, after Adam dropped you off at the restaurant at almost four in the morning, he already had you tailed. Richard confirmed you were asleep in your vehicle at the Sarasota marina at the time of the explosion. We confirmed it with our satellite.”
I leaned back in the chair and combed my fingers through my unruly hair as I tried to make sense of this devastating news. At the moment, I couldn’t recall the sequence of my calls to Ronzo and the details I’d shared.
Defensively, I asked, “Why would Adam have me followed? Was I under suspicion?”
“He was concerned you might contact Kisha. He was already troubled by Kisha’s interrogation about her link to Sedona.”
I rested my elbows on the table and propped my head in my hands. Painfully, I had to ask if the images could be linked to the catastrophe. I couldn’t believe the gurus were dead, though one of them possibly wasn’t. Nausea rolled over me as I fought back the turbulence.
Turbero turned to the elderly man to his left and conversed with him momentarily.
I waited for him and then asked, “Any possibility the fourth person survived? When I left that morning, John planned to finalize the images. And the girls intended to sleep on the porch.”
“Dak, we hope there’s a survivor. It will take days before we get a confirmed report. We haven’t had any contact from a survivor or anyone asking for ransom. We are hoping you can clear up the questions we have,” Turbero said.
Turbero must have been beyond euphoric to see me last night. I couldn’t believe how complicated this ordeal had become. I wanted the meeting to disappear so I could be alone to reflect on this horrific news.
Turbero started with his questions. “Dak, we have an audio recording from the evening you met with Kisha and with the operatives. Since we are aware of the details of both your meetings, we’d like you to share your impressions from the time you met Fargo and when Adam dropped you off at the restaurant.”
Blown away that both meetings had been recorded, I felt paralyzed, thinking about the recording with Kisha. I almost choked as I swallowed but contained myself, realizing that there hadn’t been any privacy. Holding back a stream of curses, I focused on the cloudy blue sky on the screen to gather my thoughts.
With all eyes on me, I shared my grief and admiration for the operatives, referring to them as “gurus,” feeling the utmost respect for their skills and enthusiasm to work with me. After a lengthy recollection from that evening, I concluded, “I was amazed by our productivity in formulating the images. I was staying at the lab until Adam, John, and Fargo decided the group’s work was finished. And John told me he would continue searching for comparative forms for possible identity. I was overly impressed to be working with them. After Adam and I left, we were rather quiet during the drive. I was sensitive to Adam’s concern about Kisha’s interrogation by Palm Frog. I couldn’t help feel that I may have been responsible. I was exhausted after the night’s work and desperately needed sleep.”
Turbero glanced around the room. “Dak, we appreciate your views on that evening. We would like to focus on questions about the time between your departure when Adam dropped you off at the restaurant and your arrival in Sedona.”
Reactively, I clenched my fists and then immediately released my tension, hoping no one noticed. I prepared my mind for the troubling questions.
Turbero continued, “First, why didn’t you stay in a hotel?”
“I prefer camping. It was early morning, and I was too exhausted to unpack my tent. I decided to sleep in my vehicle.”
I feared that every action that morning could bury me with the painful revelation that their satellite video saw my every move—shopping, burying a used burner, wrapping old burners in foil to bury them in a vacant lot, dumping camping supplies in two garbage bins, and scrubbing the jeep with two jugs of bleach, all very suspicious behavior.
Turbero asked, “After you awoke in the jeep, then what did you do?”
I desperately needed time to formulate a plausible story, and more important, I needed to protect Ronzo. I believed foil wrapping the burner phones would make them difficult to trace or triangulate my location. I was screwed. Cautiously, I said, “I decided I needed to return to Sedona since the images were finished. I made plans to return the leased jeep to a private company. Then I made arrangements for a trucker to drive me to Sedona.”
Knowing my actions reeked with guilt, I barely held it together. I knew there would be an onslaught of incriminating questions.
Turbero stared at me for a moment and then announced, “Let’s take a two-hour break. We will continue the questioning when we return.”
Relieved to have a break, I sensed Turbero wanted me to reconsider my testimony. I couldn’t imagine how many lies I’d need to defend myself. The group appeared surprised that Turbero was taking a break. They left politely, obviously not as anxious to leave as I was.
After everyone left, Turbero said, “Dak, I’ll be taking you back to Orion.”
Silently, we returned to Orion as I contemplated the repercussions if I refused to answer their questions. Turbero palmed the door panel, followed me inside, and sat on the couch. Reluctantly, I sat across from him on the lounge chair, determined not to trip over my words and prepared for the worst.
After a lengthy pause, he said, “You still have to explain the bleaching, burying, and leaving Sarasota rather quickly that morning. We have some information but have more questions. But personally, I need to
ask if you recall any strange behavior that night with the group.”
Temporarily, I was out of the hot water, since Turbero’s focus was more personal, on his staff. I said, “No, not at all. It was a very productive, amenable, and enthusiastic evening.”
“This is a criminal investigation. I don’t want to believe that anyone on my staff could have been involved. But I need to ask you, who knew you were going to Sarasota?”
I couldn’t determine if Turbero knew about my contact with Ronzo, but I wasn’t breathing their name. I thought about Rustler but felt certain I hadn’t mentioned Kisha or Sarasota to him. Reluctantly, I said, “Only Harmony. I used her phone to call Kisha. But she wasn’t informed of any details.”
Turbero had to know that Kisha used Adam’s phone. I wondered if Turbero knew I had met Peter and Rustler. Harmony could have told Peter I’d called and wanted to see Kisha. But why had Peter asked me why I was so far away that day? Something was amiss, and I didn’t know what Peter knew.
Turbero stared at me for a long time and then asked, “That night you left the lab, what did you do with the Mylar disc?”
Turbero’s questioning surprised me. He had to know that John had made a copy for me. Drab Wash surely must have copies as well as their camera recordings. I felt protective of the Mylar disc and considered it my responsibility.
In a strong voice, I said, “Why do you ask?”
Turbero gave me a stern look, leaned back on the couch, closed his eyes for a moment, and then unexpectedly went to the kitchen and asked me if I wanted a bottle of water. I accepted. He tossed the water bottle, and I caught it.
He sat on the couch, took a gulp, and casually said, “What’s disturbing, Dak, is that from the first day you saw the images until the moment you worked on them, you’ve considered the images your possession. These images do not belong to you. They were the responsibility of the courier and the originator of the photos. I am going to ask you again. What did you do with the Mylar disc? Security searched the campsite, and the Mylar disc is not there.”
