by J. K. Scott
Upset by his insinuation, I said, “Doesn’t BBB have the files?”
Turbero said, “Dak, that’s the problem. After you met Adam that morning, he delivered the video and flash drive to the lab around nine o’clock. Their work that morning and your work later was not saved or sent to BBB. The past five days, we’ve searched the servers and cloud files. We have concluded they weren’t sent, or something else happened. And BBB has a strict protocol that all work is to be transferred to BBB’s servers and duplicated to a recovery server.”
This was unbelievable. Adam’s interrogation about the missing files must have been intolerable.
I said, “And you need the Mylar disc?”
Turbero gave me a questioning look. “Yes. We need to evaluate the finished work to determine if there is a link to the deaths of our operatives. Also, we need to protect this classified file until we determine if it needs to be part of the investigation. We know John gave you a copy.”
I appreciated Turbero’s honesty. The weight of the images had become even heavier, if that was possible.
Turbero calmly asked again, “Where is the Mylar disc?”
Sensitive to Turbero’s dilemma, I knew I needed to negotiate. I said, “I buried the disc. Before I release it to you, I need you to guarantee you will clear me from Cascade’s bogus warrants.”
“Dak, our questioning is not finished. It’s important that we are certain that your behavior that morning has nothing to do with the explosion. Dropping off the jeep and contents that day appears very suspicious.”
“I didn’t have anything to do with the explosion! The thought that these images could be responsible for the deaths of the gurus is unbearable. And Cascade’s bogus warrants and claims have caused me undue stress with their search for me. My only crime is that I didn’t officially leave Cascade that day. I didn’t steal classified data!”
“Dak, we know you haven’t been forthright. We viewed the satellite data several times and saw you drop the jeep near the airport. And we know the truck left the jeep in a rural town in Iowa. The jeep has already been cleared for chemical explosive residue. However, the jeep tested for high concentrations of bleach. We know about Cascade’s warrant and the motel shooting. Cascade claims a witness identified your jeep and they saw you at the motel that morning.”
Angrily, I said, “That’s not accurate. I had nothing to do with the motel shooting, and I have a witness who could testify for me. And I didn’t steal classified images. I bought a copy of the original images from the hiker. And I had to dispose of the jeep because of Cascade’s bogus warrants.”
“We are aware of Cascade’s questionable behavior. However, Dak, you were in the lab that evening, and questions need to be answered.”
“Then no more questions about the jeep. It has nothing to do with the explosion in the lab,” I said forcefully.
Turbero looked angry. “Dak, I’m going to leave you alone for fifteen minutes. You need to decide if you want to work with us or be on your own.”
Turbero left angrily, and I didn’t feel much better. I didn’t like his threat. Obviously, he knew someone was helping me, but I wouldn’t drag Ronzo into this investigation, and he had to guarantee that Cascade would forego their warrants and clear me of any connection to the explosion.
I closed my eyes to calm my troubled thoughts. I flinched at the sound of a loud knock. Reluctantly, I opened the door to Turbero’s angry mood.
Sternly, he said, “Dak, I don’t believe you are responsible for the explosions. We know who you are protecting, and they are not suspects. We need to continue working with the forms and analyze them to see if they are linked to the explosion at the lab. Dak, I gave Adam approval for you to work with the gurus and analyze the images. I’ve already been interrogated too. You need to face the fact that there’s a big reward for your capture on the dark web. You need to make some serious decisions.”
I sank into my chair. I couldn’t continue to protect Ronzo or myself from this mess much longer. I finally relented. “All I need is assurance I’ll be cleared from Cascade’s bogus warrants. And I need to be involved in solving the forms. If the images are not on the disc, I still need for you to ensure my clearance from Cascade and the explosion.”
Turbero dropped his shoulders. “I’m glad you have come to your senses. I personally will make sure Cascade clears you. We both need to know if John copied the work and if the images are linked to the criminal investigation. And we need to work together.”
I was reassured by our agreement. Turbero and I were heavily invested in the solving the images for different reasons.
26
TURBERO IMMEDIATELY ARRANGED the trip to the campsite. We hurriedly left, trotting through hallways, and took the elevators that led to the train platform. Four security officers waited to meet us. We boarded the luxury train with forty tan leather seats and screens displaying the mountain cliffs of Sedona. I sat in the second row, and Turbero silently sat in the aisle seat across from me. The practice of not speaking in public places was common for those at Drab Wash Junction. Silence had become the new normal in the last decade.
I wondered about Turbero’s plans as I mulled over the recordings at Kisha’s and the gurus’. I was embarrassed others heard or knew about my intimacy with Kisha. I changed to more trivial matters to avoid the heavier burdens haunting me. Other than being alive, there wasn’t much to feel good about lately.
The four security officers stood at the front and back of the train. I was beginning to realize that Drab Wash Junction’s underground facility could be more difficult to leave than the International Space Station (ISS) 249,000 miles above Earth. I had to admit I was imprisoned. The opportunity to escape at the campsite entered my mind, but then what?
The train stopped at a small platform in front of a large steel vault door. I followed Turbero through the doors to an enormous rock cave with SUVs and luxury vehicles parked near a circular driveway.
Turbero turned to me. “Dak, I’m glad you agreed to this joint mission. But you need to know others disagreed with my decision to work with you. We need to resolve this together, or we fail together. Do you understand?”
His words rattled me. I knew he had risked his authority.
I said, “I understand.”
Turbero patted my back. “We are entering BBB’s most high-security building, Stone Pillar Castle. The castle’s fortification and security exceeds the White House’s.”
“Seriously?” I questioned, studying the stone cave area with a dimly lit staircase in the corner.
“Yes, seriously,” he snapped. “We need to do this quickly. We have a van waiting for us.”
I expected to climb the back staircase, but Turbero ambled over to a stone wall and activated a panel that opened to a spacious elevator. Turbero had to be a member of the inner circle to access Stone Pillar. I really hoped we would resolve the dilemmas that confronted us.
The elevator lifted two floors to a stone hallway with shiny white marble flooring, where three security men waited for us. They led us past a spacious living room with floor-to-ceiling windows. I could see red cliffs in the distance. I wanted to explore this expansive room. I had felt strangely reassured in Stone Pillar, but this wasn’t a castle tour.
We exited the castle into a glass sunroom patio that served as an entrance to the castle. Outside, red pavers covered a spacious circular driveway. We were on a hilltop with scenic views of Sedona’s massive red cliffs and lush valley. A five-foot stone fence surrounded the hilltop.
I followed Turbero into the waiting van, along with four security guards. The electronic gate opened, and the driver maneuvered around a sharp curve that opened to a two-lane road traversing the mountain slope. With panorama views of the vast Sedona Valley, I glanced back at the castle, which was now hidden. I wondered what private meetings were held in the castle and who attended.
At
the bottom of the mountain, the road tapered to a packed-dirt lane. We crossed a metal grid that I suspected could be electronically controlled. The dirt road turned to gravel and led to a two-lane residential road.
Before arriving at the campsite, I said, “I’ll retrieve the buried disc along a hillside before the campsite. There are residential homes and hotels nearby and a heavily walked path along the creek. There’s even a golf course nearby.”
Turbero viewed a topical electronic map that showed the mesa above the campground that accommodated the Sedona Airport. I pointed to a hill.
“This is where I cross over the creek to climb this slope to retrieve the buried bag.”
Realizing the burial site wasn’t easily accessible, Turbero said, “Okay, I’ll have Matt go with you. He’s at the security camp, waiting for us.”
After several miles, we turned toward the campsite, and I prompted the driver to stop at Oak Cliff Road. I said, “I’ll meet Matt along the creek.”
The van pulled over, and a security officer passed me a backpack, saying, “There are gloves, a shovel, and a phone inside.”
BBB was efficient and thought of everything. I pulled on the backpack, assuming it had sensors. I was sure BBB’s forensics team had already tested my camp supplies for explosive residue. This was the moment to escape, but I trudged toward the creek. I hoped I wouldn’t regret missing the opportunity to escape. However, what would I do? Hijack a plane at the airport? I discarded the thought.
Minutes later, I waded into Oak Creek’s cool, rocky stream and headed for the sloping hill area. Across the creek, Matt gave me a wave. In the heat of the afternoon, I only saw a few hikers along the creek. At the base of a slope, I climbed to the burial location and removed rocks before shoveling. I uncovered the bag with the drawings, mil-spec computer, and Mylar disc neatly wrapped. I brushed off the dirt and stuffed the bag into the backpack, leaving the hand shovel. Matt eyed me as I crossed the creek to join him.
Matt and I met up with the van, and I handed the backpack to Turbero, who grinned widely and gave it to security. He didn’t speak, but I knew he was elated. I had to admit I felt a tinge of relief. The Mylar disc had become a heavy weight, and I still had one foiled-wrapped memory stick left.
As the van returned to the castle, I studied every turn. I noted more details inside the castle. We boarded the waiting train to return. I observed the numerous stops and tracks in the underground facility. I failed to identify DWJ’s main entrance, surmising the shack had to be an obscure entry.
Turbero instructed security to inspect the mil-spec computer before returning it to me. It had to pass safety inspection for fire hazards as well as any sensors. It occurred to me that the mil-spec left in my jeep at Bill’s could be consequential. I hoped it hadn’t been contaminated.
Turbero silently walked me to Orion. Then he dropped a bomb on me. “We will be meeting in an hour.”
I released a resounding groan. Turbero grinned and said, “Dak, your stay at Drab Junction will get better.” Then he quickly left.
Upset with more questioning, I really wanted to know if the disc had the image copies. With only an hour before the meeting, I headed for the bathroom. I tossed my dirty clothes into the laundry basket and showered off the red dirt I had accumulated from digging. Dressed in the last fresh white shirt and khaki shorts, I ignored my stubbly beard and unruly curly hair. Starving, I grabbed a bacon-lettuce-and-tomato sandwich and an energy drink. Before eating, luckily, I found a pen and paper in the computer room and was thankful they still existed in our technological world. I devoured my sandwich and wrote a list of demands.
First, I needed my backpack, my canvas bag, and my burner to make a call.
Second, I needed to know about Peter.
Third, I needed to know BBB’s relationship to Cascade.
Fourth, I needed an update on the courier investigation.
Fifth, I needed updates about my threat on the dark web.
Sixth, I needed to know more about targeted enemies.
Seventh, what does BBB know about the images?
Settling on a short list, I hoped for information. Even partial information could fuel my mind. I attempted to calm myself by focusing on my priorities.
There was a soft knock at the door. To my surprise, Flynn arrived with my backpack and my small bag. I wondered if he’d read my list, or could it have been a coincidence?
Flynn patiently waited while I searched through the bags. Sure enough, my burner wasn’t there. I said, “Could you find out when my burner will be returned?”
Flynn nodded. “I will do so,” he said as he left.
I dumped the dirty clothes from both bags into the laundry basket, hoping the place had laundry service. After stacking two books on the table, I thumbed the Kolbrin Bible to see if my notes and drawings were there. They were gone. I was upset. That meant I had to ask for their return.
Unexpectedly, the door chimed, and Turbero stepped in. “Are you ready to leave?”
“Ready,” I said, touching the list in my pocket.
We had walked a few steps when Turbero said, “Don’t look at me. Walk slowly, and listen carefully.”
I slowed to a snail’s pace to listen to Turbero.
“Dak, your only privacy is in the bathroom. Your question about Peter is still under investigation. He could have taken you in earlier, but he lost your trust. Cascade is a private contractor with security limitations. They are associated with Beyond Black Borders. We only provide them with operatives, whom we vet. Cascade is under investigation for overstepping their contractual authority.”
Aghast at Turbero’s admission, I stopped in my tracks. Immediately, Turbero said, “Keep walking, and don’t look at me.” He continued, “We are unable to identify the courier or the classified program related to the images. Our security office has discreetly searched other private and government programs without success. We can’t prove the hiker was murdered, but his death appears suspicious. Our resources are extensive; we have discussed the images and are determined to solve them.”
We bypassed the second elevator, and Turbero unexpectedly slowed, which meant he had more to say.
With a quick thank-you. I asked, “Are the images on the Mylar disc?”
“Yes, they are. With relief, they are there. John copied the fragments and your work. The graphics are amazing.”
Elated, I said, “That’s great. We should be working on the images instead of meeting.”
“Dak, there are still questions. We need to hear your story.”
Wondering about what they wanted to hear, reluctantly, I knew I had to brace for another meeting when I saw Flynn waiting at the elevator.
Turbero said, “I’ll see you in a few minutes,” and left me with Flynn.
Obviously, Turbero had last-minute preparations. Flynn suggested we could take our time and use the stairs, which took considerably longer.
We arrived at the meeting foyer, but I didn’t recognize it. Bright yellow three-foot poles stood in the hallway, leaving limited space to walk around. They weren’t there this morning. Even the blue ceiling appeared blurry. Why hadn’t I noticed this before? Totally confused by the change, I wondered if this was a different meeting place.
Flynn politely asked, “Dak, are you okay?”
“Sure. Are we meeting in a different room?” I asked.
Flynn ignored my question, saying, “Dak, I’m sorry to report safety destroyed your burner. It didn’t meet hazard requirements.”
We’d spent five minutes walking here, and he told me this as he opened the meeting room door for me.
My arrival caused heads to turn. The group attendees were different. There were only two men and two women near Turbero at the end of the table. I gazed at the walls, which were covered with a yellow sky with orange windmills that had blue blades. This strange room even appeared large
r. However, the leather chair hadn’t changed. Slowly, the blades started turning and increased in speed. Their motion seemed hypnotic.
I had to choose my battles carefully. These changes appeared to be psychological. My roaring thoughts shouted, I have to get out of here! Claiming illness probably wouldn’t excuse me.
With folded hands on the large oval table, I remarked, “I need to move those posts outside. I only have a few minutes to finish these questions.” I kept a straight face.
The group’s priceless expressions amused me. Turbero hesitated, turning to a woman next to him, who nodded.
Turbero ignored my comment and said, “I want you to return to the first day you viewed the fragmented images at Cascade.”
Tired of repeating my experiences, I struggled to keep focused while retelling my worn story that seemed to take forever.
Turbero said, “Dak, are you okay?”
“Are we almost finished?” I asked.
“We have a few more questions for you.”
“Let’s continue, but my recall is fading,” I said, expecting the next few questions would burn me.
Turbero firmly said, “I want you to view this video we have.”
The windmills disappeared as the screen displayed my form lying on the bed. I stared at my thermal form as physical statistics displayed at the bottom of the screen. My eerie red thermal form showed my body movements as my heartbeat escalated. A cold sweat seeped from my pores as my heart rate increased into the tachycardia range—with more than one hundred beats per minute. I touched my chest as my heart beat faster and relived my mental communication with the shadow. The visuals were shocking; my blood pressure rose to 250 beats per minute. I wanted to disappear into the chair.
The screen turned white. I collapsed into the chair while my mind listened to the loud beeps Cascade heard that night. The attendees surrounded me, sucking the air from my space. I needed air—more air. I gasped to breathe. I heard Turbero’s voice shouting for everyone to leave.
