The Missile Game (The Dr. Scott James Thriller Series Book 1)

by Glenn Shepard

  But I was thinking about what she’d done besides CPR—administering Narcan, properly using the anesthesia machine, clearing mucous from my throat. Her answer, I knew, was another lie. Bea Jones, my previous office manager, might have known CPR, but she couldn’t have done any of the other stuff. I was about to ask more questions, but I knew she hadn’t faked the emotions she’d showed me, and I really didn’t want to know any more. I leaned over and kissed her. I felt the warmth of her lips. It was so easy to fall in love with her.

  And I knew she was lying.

  She put her hand behind my neck and prolonged the kiss. Finally, she pulled away and I looked into her eyes. They sparkled.

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  Keyes’ Apartment

  5:32 am

  I WANTED TO BELIEVE Keyes. I also knew that I had a responsibility to tell the authorities. Clearly, an attack was coming and Keyes was involved somehow.

  I got up right after sunrise, dressed, and headed for my office. The mountain bike was basically shot, so I was on foot again.

  I immediately called Harris.

  About half an hour after I’d called him, there was a knock at the front door of the surgery center. I cautiously peered out the window and saw Detective Harris standing there.

  I still wasn’t sure about Harris, but I couldn’t help myself. I had to tell him everything. I was acutely aware, however, that in his eyes I was still suspected of murder.

  A murderer.

  I had to explain what I knew without appearing crazy. Handing him a mug of steaming coffee, I said, as calmly as I could, “I think there are terrorists in the area.”

  “You’re not the only one.”

  “Pardon me?”

  “Some creepy little guy named Simpkins was in my office last week claiming that there was some kind of foreign subversives working in our area. He didn’t look legit and we didn’t know what the hell to do with him.”

  I reached into my chest pocket and pulled out the half-shredded business card of Harold Simpkins, and silently handed it to him.

  All that came out of his mouth was, “A-hem … Okay … ”

  Then I simply quoted, verbatim, the messages I’d seen in Keyes’ room, and her claims that ISIS was planning to attack with missiles, as well as the supposed existence of “Alpha Charlie.”

  Harris’ face seemed frozen. I was scared that I looked like a madman.

  Then, though I didn’t want to, I told him about my little adventure at the house on Emmaus Church Road, the previous night.

  By the time I was done, Harris was sitting on the edge of his chair. The veins in his neck and forehead were bulging. He growled, “I’ve gotta report this ta the sheriff in Chapel Hill right away,” and then stood and walked straight out to his car.

  While Harris went to his car and made several calls, I took a moment to look over what was left of my dying orchids. Even dried and uncared for, they were still beautiful to me.

  The detective was breathing hard but smiling when he returned. Slapping me on the back, he said, “Good God, Dr. James, I should chew ya’ out for snoopin’ around on yer own like that! But—wow! You did somethin’ big.”

  I thought about what I should do next. When you’re accused of murder, you become wary of your own actions. You question everything. You feel like you have to prove something. “I’ll confront Keyes myself,” I said.

  “No! Not yet. For God’s sake, just stay cool. Watch her like a hawk and see what you can get her to admit to. I have to alert all the agencies up and down the line. Damn. This is getting bad. First Simpkins, then there were two foreigners seen walking around the hospital Penthouse rooftop a couple a days ago, now this.”

  That got my attention. I blurted out, “Jackson City Hospital? The Penthouse?”

  “Yes. Do you have any idea what the hell they might be doin’ up there? I woulda’ called hospital security or sent a patrol car over, but the way Waters is so crazy, I figured if they were Waters’ men, he woulda’ thrown a fit.”

  I wasn’t sure what to say, so I changed the subject: “I’m beginning to like her, frankly. Elizabeth Keyes, I mean.”

  “Well, maybe this will help ya a bit: Because of the … ahem … recent murders … I called Odessa, Texas, and did some checkin’ on Elizabeth Keyes. There’s no record of her being born or attending high school in that area, like she claimed on the application she gave ta your office. She did train briefly at St. Mary’s, but the rest of her story doesn’t check out.”

  “Here’s a question for you, Detective: If she is lying, and she and Waters are working with ISIS and—?”

  “And planning a terrorist attack?” Harris finished my question.

  I shrugged.

  “I’m going to call my buddy up at Camp Peary,” he said, “who’s in touch with the anti-terrorist people in DC. I’ll go through him.” His voice was thick with tension. “You stay with Keyes.” He hesitated, then said what I knew was coming. “Doc, if her story doesn’t check out with the CIA, we’re going to have to arrest her.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  4360 Emmaus Church Road

  Chapel Hill, North Carolina

  11:30 am

  HARRIS’ ALERT, “UP AND down the line,” set in motion Chapel Hill’s Sheriff, Jonathan Stone, and three of his patrol cars. They raced to Fordham Road and waited less than five minutes before two cars of the State Police, and a minute later, a SWAT team roaring up in a van, arrived. The cars surrounded the decrepit old house. Stone got all the agencies coordinated with the SWAT team, and then sent them in. They kicked open the front and rear doors simultaneously and moved quickly through every room. The house was vacant. They went to the garage. The Cadillac and Ford truck were not there.

  As the SWAT team searched the land around the buildings, Sheriff Stone and the State Patrol Chief explored the house. People had been staying there for several weeks. The food in the trash containers was fresh, probably served last night. The water had been turned off the past six months, and the toilet was overrun with excrement. Piles of human feces were scattered over the property. All the sinks had been used as urinals.

  The occupants had made a hurried evacuation during the night. Tire tracks gave evidence that a truck and a car had been parked in the garage. Fingerprints were everywhere, as was DNA material. The state lab in Raleigh came to take evidence, in an attempt to identify the persons who’d illegally occupied the residence.

  Jackson City Police Station

  11:30 am

  As soon as he reached his desk, Harris called his friend, Roy Perkins, the Field Operations Commander at Camp Peary. Harris told him about the notes citing a missile strike in America, men on top of the hospital, the discovery of what looked like a safe house, and his weird visit from Simpkins. At last, Harris asked, “What’re we supposed to do about all this?”

  “Pete, I need you to come out here to the base.”

  “Oh yeah? Why’s that?”

  “We need to have a little talk.”

  Camp Peary, Virgina

  2:04 pm

  Roy Perkins stood only five feet, three inches tall, and was balding, but Pete Harris and others considered him a giant. Perkins lived at the center of the anti-terrorist effort on the east coast of the United Stares. Harris had met him first during a combined-agency Emergency Preparedness exercise that Perkins had hosted at the base for all the law enforcement officials and first-responders in the southeast. Afterward, they’d talked about the finer points of fishing over beers at the officers’ club until the place closed up for the night.

  When Harris finally arrived at the base, Perkins ushered him into his office and said, without any introduction, “We can’t discuss any of this on the phone—if that can be helped.”

  “No problem at all, Roy. But what the hell is all this? There’s something going on around The Jackson City
Hospital, and I need to know what it is.”

  “There’s a man in the area. A real hot shot. ‘Alpha Charlie’ they call him—”

  “I’m aware of Mr. Alpha Charlie,” Harris groaned.

  “He goes to Afghanistan and does contract work with drones. It’s rumored that this guy is preparing to do his Iraq and Syria contracts from the States, somewhere near Peary,” Perkins said. “It’s possible that a foreign cell may be here in The States with specific instructions to take him out.”

  “So this Keyes individual—”

  “We’re going to check into her right now. If she’s in deep, it may take a little time to find out who—and what—she is.” A grave look came over the compact little general’s face. “We’ve heard the code name ‘Quasart’ before. If a message was indeed sent from Quasart to Keyes, then we simply must use Keyes to find Quasart. Have this doctor guy stick to her like glue, but don’t give our position away by bringing him too much into the loop. I’ll talk to Surveillance. I’ll have her phone tapped.”

  “Listen, Roy, there’s something else I should mention: Two different cops, both of ‘em mine—Jackson City guys—over the past two nights—have reported that men in black suits and hoods were behind the hospital, in Mariner’s Wood.”

  “Forested area. Behind the hospital. Yeah, I know of it.”

  “I’m gonna’ go over there tonight.”

  Perkins had been kicked back in his chair. Now he sat upright. “If there’s actually something going on in those woods, you may be in over your head.”

  “Naw. I don’t think it’s anything yet. It’ll be fine. I’ll just watch from a distance.”

  “Eh … I don’t know. Maybe you ought to take a couple of guys. Maybe we need to get some people in at a higher level. We’re going to have to talk to the FBI anyway.”

  “Don’t worry about it. If I come up with somethin’, I’ll phone you right away. Otherwise, I’ll buzz ya in the mornin’ and give ya my report.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  Jackson City Hospital

  3:30 pm

  HERB WATERS CALLED AN emergency hospital board meeting. For this command performance, all twelve board members were punctual.

  “We have a hacker,” Waters began. “And the violation came from the hospital website.” It was obvious that Waters was about to blow. “Whoever it was hacked into the hospital’s board minutes. Apparently, someone’s interested in our communications with AHS,” Waters said. “On the record, we’re not pursuing the sale of the hospital, but our continued dialogue with AHS is getting some attention, especially since Dr. James publicly criticized how we run our hospital. Any mention of AHS in our minutes could be misleading and detrimental to the hospital’s best interests.”

  LeShaun Washington, a board member who also happened to sit on the Jackson City Council, asked, innocently, “Is there potential for a future sale?”

  Waters’ face flushed, but he quickly recovered and said flatly, “Such considerations are for hospital leadership to decide. This hospital board has no say in the matter.”

  Waters walked to the coffee pot and deliberately filled his cup very slowly as the directors looked at each other in stunned silence. Then, he returned to the table wearing his best smile and handed out flash drives. “This is a program that will erase any sentence in your computers that mentions AHS.”

  Chris Johnson, probably the only one on the board with any real curiosity, loosened his tie, then turned and whispered something in Chief Counsel Mark Levinson’s ear.

  Waters clenched his fists. “Chris, if you have something to say, why not tell it to the entire group?”

  Johnson stood. “Well, I was wondering, why is there such secrecy about the contacts with AHS? And why are you reluctant to just tell us what’s going on? After all, we are the supervising board of the hospital.”

  Waters took a deep breath and spoke quietly, “Chris, do you not trust me as the president of this board?”

  Johnson opened his mouth to speak, but said nothing.

  Waters changed his focus to the other eleven members of the board. “If there are any others who doubt my ability to lead this hospital, now is the time to speak up. I’ll be happy to release any of you from your commitment to the board and appoint someone else to fill your slots.” He raised his voice. “Someone I can rely on!”

  Johnson cringed in his seat. He’d just bought a new lake house and needed the money this appointment paid him. “I’m sorry if my question offended you, Herb. Your leadership abilities are without question. Of course you have my loyalty.”

  Waters gave him a thin smile and then turned to the others. “Does anyone else have anything to say?”

  Two of the board members stated their commitment to serving the community in this manner. Another stood and praised Waters’ leadership.

  “I’ll second that,” Washington said.

  All nodded their agreement.

  Waters shook hands with each of the board members and thanked them for their support. Then he excused himself.

  For the next two hours, the twelve smiling board members socialized as they were served and enjoyed a lobster dinner and cocktails.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  Keyes’ Apartment

  6:30 pm

  “I WAS WORRIED ABOUT you,” she said, as I walked in.

  Embracing her in a welcoming hug, I could feel the tension in her body and see it in her face. Anticipating as much, I’d bought a bottle of very cheap wine. “Will you join me for a night cap?”

  “I’d love to,” she said.

  She took off her shoes and curled up on the couch next to me. She raised her glass. “To a good team!”

  “To a beautiful partnership,” I said, clinking my glass against hers.

  I took a long sip, then put my glass on the table and turned to her.

  “Thank you. I mean, for everything.”

  “You’re welcome,” she said softly, then licked a drop of wine from her lips.

  I took her in my arms and kissed her. Initially, she responded with an open mouth, but then she began to tremble and abruptly pulled away.

  “I can’t. I’m sorry.” Her voice wavered and tears filled her eyes as she stood up.

  “I’m sorry, too,” I said to her as she fled to her bedroom. I heard the door close and the lock set.

  I polished off my wine and hers, and went to bed.

  I was lying in the dark staring at the ceiling when the door to the guest room opened and Keyes padded across the floor to the side of the bed.

  “Can we talk?” Her voice was soft but strong, no longer wavering.

  “Of course.” I sat up and turned on the small lamp on the nightstand.

  She sat next to me and told me her story. “I never knew my parents. We were a military family. They were killed in an accident on the base. A couple in England adopted me when I was two and changed my name to theirs, Keyes. It wasn’t a happy childhood. When I was fourteen, I ran away from that home and started fending for myself in the Bowery of London. I made a lot of money, enough to get out and move back to Texas. So sex for me, well … ”

  “Thank you for telling me. I know it must not be easy to talk about. I’m sorry that happened to you.”

  “Please understand, it’s different with you,” she said. “As adept as I am at avoiding emotional involvement with men, I have feelings for you I don’t understand. I like to tease men and dominate them, but I don’t want an emotional commitment to a man now ... or probably ever.”

  “Okay, I get it.”

  “Thanks.” She sighed, as if relieved.

  “We both could use some sleep.”

  “Goodnight, Scott.” Then she kissed me on the cheek and returned to her bedroom, closing and locking the door behind her.

  I lay in my bed looking at the ceiling when I he
ard her open her door, then mine. She came in and closed my door behind her. She stood at the head of my bed for a brief second, and then slowly, confidently, began to strip. She peeled off every stitch until she was naked before me.

  “You sure you want to do this?” I asked.

  She didn’t need to answer. She looked at me like she was going to devour me. My eyes moved slowly over her body. I admired her face, strong cheekbones, soft green eyes, full lips only lightly touched with pale pink lipstick, and wavy blonde hair that bounced on her shoulders.

  I stood and approached her. I opened my mouth to speak and was surprised at what I said: “Can I touch you?”

  “Yes … I’d like that.”

  Elizabeth responded by putting her arms around me and pulling me even closer.

  We stayed together in bed all night, embracing, kissing, fondling, and sleeping. I felt happy for the first time since I could remember.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  Mariner’s Wood

  Jackson City, North Carolina

  1:02 am

  HARRIS PARKED AT THE front of the Jackson City Hospital, then began walking from shadow to shadow to the rear of the building, and Mariner’s Wood.

  Mariner’s Wood stood just behind the hospital, separated only by a single, rough road. The lightly forested area had been paved with gravel and was used primarily for overflow parking, and for the storage of the hospital’s mobile units.

  Four RVs that looked like ambulances on steroids were parked there in the dark. One was used for cancer screenings and a second for mammography. They were deployed on a weekly basis for screenings in the remote areas of the Smokey Mountains and in the smaller coastal towns in eastern North Carolina.

  The other two RVs both had “Jackson City Emergency Disaster Hospital” painted on their sides in giant red letters. These were massive mobile units, whales, with treatment areas, laboratories, radiology suites for X-rays, MRIs, and CT scans, a pharmacy, and two small but fully equipped operating rooms. One mobile unit alone had treated 200 burn and trauma victims during a West Virginia coal mine collapse.