by Gary Starta
In the wall safe was a pile of cash and his valuables. He took a last look around the room, took care of his bill and took a cab to the bus station. Once Monty was on the Greyhound heading for New York City, he began to relax slightly, remembering with deep regret that he hadn’t eaten his dinner. To take his mind off his rumbling stomach, he began to think about an alias. He’d already solved the problem of where to go and what work he could use as a disguise. After only a minute or two, he settled on the surname of Moreland. It had been Arleen’s maiden name, and it would keep her close to him.
What kind of a name would an art scholar and museum geek have? I have it - Arthur. I like it. It’s meek and innocuous, yet medieval and majestic at the same time.
Chapter Twenty One
Present Day…
Agent Deeprose rushed to the office to meet with Deputy Director Fischetti on Monday morning.
Don’t come off as over eager. Don’t get excited. Be professional…
Deeprose believed she had successfully tied Arthur Moreland a.k.a. Clayton Artemus Montgomery to the Meese Corporation, thanks to Fischetti’s mysterious Mr. X. Bursting with excitement, she squeezed herself into an elevator that travelled directly to the top floor of the F.B.I. headquarters. Not one of the black-suited men made room for her, forcing her to use her body as a plow.
She kept up a steady mantra as she rode:
Start at the beginning. Keep your voice low and level. Take your time. The sixty-four thousand dollar questions are the followin’: Is Montgomery, havin’ had access to Meese’s scientists and labs, responsible for the development and distribution of this drug and if so, why would he intentionally leave us a clue that might solve the crime? Why was he hangin’ around the museum incognito? Last, but in no way the least, why would he want to point the finger at a senator? Oh shoot! My brain hurts.
Shania was too absorbed in thought to notice the soft ding of the elevator announce their arrival. A few men made an obvious show of frowning at their watches and sighing with impatience. One elbowed her in the ribs.
“Y’all have a super day, now!” Sometimes Deeprose took a perverse pleasure in annoying the hell out of her fellow New Yorkers with her perkiness and thousand-watt smile. Especially in the morning.
What this city needs is a dose of good manners. And an enema.
Walking quickly past Liz, Deeprose mouthed, “Ah’m expected”.
Liz, his first line of defense, was single, statuesque, and stunningly beautiful. Her custom-made suits hugged long, lean curves in colors that whispered class and style. She had porcelain skin, sable hair, and lips that matched her fingernails perfectly. And she was absolutely loyal to Bill Fischetti and the Bureau, in that order.
Ah just hope that after a lifetime of workin’ fifteen hour days, nights and weekends tryin’ to land him, her tombstone doesn’t wind up readin’, ‘Elizabeth Perry. She gave at the office.’
Deeprose ignored Liz’s habit of treating her like something that crawled out of the sticks. As a rule, she exuded chilly condescension to everyone, if only to remind them who had the power to let them in and show them back out of the executive office. At first, Shania accepted it with her usual good grace, but it got old, fast.
Liz shot out of her chair as Deeprose raced by, raising her voice. “Wait just a moment! You can’t go…”
But Deeprose had already cleared Fischetti’s office door and let it slam closed behind her. Smiling a hello, she dropped into the seat opposite his desk, allowing herself a momentary and slightly petty delight at the sound of Liz’s muffled muttering on the other side.
That oughta start off her day with a bang.
He was winding up a phone call, so she got back up and made a pot of his gourmet coffee, thinking about her report. Not long after, he hung up, rubbed his eyes, and sighed. He helped himself to a fresh cup, nodded, and attempted a smile that looked far more like a grimace to her.
“Good. I’ve been waiting for you, Agent Deeprose. Did you find out anything we can use?”
“Yes, sir, Ah sure did!” Ignoring her own advice to remain calm and professional, she plunged right in, talking a mile-a-minute. Waving the copy of a news clipping around for emphasis, she blurted out the results of her online search without explaining how Moreland, the obituary of Clayton Artemus Montgomery, and Montgomery’s late wife Arleen had anything to do with Meese. She also left out the bit about not being able to connect any of it to their investigation at the museum, the drug, or the extreme alt-right meetings known as the Collective.
“This is all too coincidental, sir.”
Fischetti made several desperate attempts to ask questions. Finally, he had to raise his hand to stop her. “Agent Deeprose, just who in the hell is Montgomery, why do I care if his wife was murdered in Queens, for God’s sake, and why is this all way too coincidental? Now, start from the beginning and go slowly for those of us who haven’t seen the episode yet.”
Oops.
She gave him a copy of the obituary, sat on her own hands and told him the whole story again, this time from the beginning and in perfect order.
“O.K., I’m following you so far. You think the temporary curator, Moreland, was actually Montgomery, a career man with Meese, come back from the dead. And you think he deliberately steered you toward the ballerina painting, knowing we’d think it was a clue and that it would lead us straight to Michael’s neighborhood. Well, well, well…very neatly done…”
She looked slightly worried. “Ah don’t know yet exactly what part he plays in all this, sir, but Moreland – uh, Montgomery - did leave us that clue on purpose. Ah think Ah should check in with Agent Carter and make my report to him, sir. Ah really shoulda done that before Ah came up here.”
Fischetti rubbed a hand across his razor stubble thoughtfully. “Yes…yes... I mean, NO! You did the right thing coming to me, first. Carter can wait. Until we know how, if at all, Michael, Montgomery, and the drug all fit into the picture, Agent, we know nothing except a bunch of facts we can’t tie together, whether your gut says so or not. And for God’s sake, Agent, from now on, let’s just refer to him as Montgomery. It’s too confusing to keep using both names.
“Did you say his wife was murdered?” Deeprose nodded as Fischetti plowed on. “That could point to motive and opportunity for setting up these grisly killings, you know that? If he stole the drug from Meese and attempted to frame them and the government, maybe it was because he thinks Meese was responsible for her death. We need to know why he’d have reason to believe that and if it’s true.
“Look here, Agent, a man doesn’t simply walk away from a career like that, fake his own death, and create a new identity just because he’s grief-stricken unless the place he worked was the cause of his grief. The connection has to mean something. Just has to! I wonder which of their holding companies he worked for. Agent Deeprose, you’re heading to Virginia on a fact-finding mission.”
“Yes, sir.”
Fischetti nodded once more. “We’re on shaky ground here, and we have to tread lightly. I don’t have to tell you we have absolutely no evidence to back up an official visit. You’ll have to pretend that we believe Montgomery is really deceased and gauge their reaction.
“Try to find out what they know and don’t know. I want you to ask for the manager of the personnel department, when you get there. Do not, under any circumstances, speak to the head of human resources or public relations, and do not contact them at all before you show up at the front desk of their corporate headquarters. Are you writing this down, Agent Deeprose?”
“Yes, sir. Writing.”
Do not, do not, do not…
“I have it, sir.”
“Middle managers are very cautious, Deeprose. They’re not easy to manipulate unless you luck out. We’re going to have to hope that the manager of personnel will tip Meese’s hand unknowingly, will actually volunteer information she should not divulge, or will leave you with the definite impression that she is truthfully in the dark. If she rea
lly has nothing of value to share with you, we’re screwed.
“Since you’re new here, and this case is extremely unusual in its nature, I’ll spell this out for you, Agent. No illegal search or seizure will be tolerated. You’re going to be savvy. Subtle. Make your contact a friend. Are we crystal clear, Agent Deeprose?”
“Perfectly, sir. Ah apologize for losin’ my cool with Senator Pressman. It won’t happen again.”
“Yes. Well. All right, Agent. I’ll have Liz email you the plane tickets and Meese’s address in Langley. Remember! Speak to no one but the manager of personnel, make sure no one else sees you walk into or out of that office, and keep H.R. and P.R. out of it. If those idiots know anything worth mentioning, they’ll only gum up the works trying to put their own spin on it. We don’t want to tip our hand.
“I want you to confirm that Montgomery worked there under his legal name. Use the news clipping as a visual reference; it’ll give you more credibility. Find out if he resigned or was fired. If you think you can do it without raising a red flag, find out why. If you can’t find out why, find out if there was some trouble between him and management or anyone else there. I also want confirmation that he’s listed as deceased on his personnel record and if the manager seems to believe that’s the truth. Are you keeping up with me, Agent?”
“Writing, sir.”
“If Personnel clams up and wants to send you to the head of Human Resources, thank them for their time, tell them you’ll ask you supervisor to make that call, and make a clean exit. I’m hoping they’ll warm up to you and dish a little. Your main concern is to make sure the person you speak with is not afraid to open up to you. He or she needs to believe that what you want to know is not that big of a deal, that there’s no real reason to bother management with it, and that there’s something in it for Personnel if they help you out. Use something that would appeal to their sense of vanity. Make this person feel important. Then, if we’re very, very lucky, we’ll know which way the wind is blowing and have enough to bring Montgomery in for questioning.”
Deeprose hesitated.
Fischetti looked up. “Questions? Concerns?”
“It’s just that Ah thought our asset, Red, might have an address for the next meetin’ by now. Maybe Ah should check in with him before Ah leave town. Ah don’t want him to leave a message on my phone or send me an email. Shouldn’t Ah pay him a quick visit before Ah leave, sir? He’s probably back in the city by now, seein’ as how it’s Monday an’ a school day for him.”
“No, Agent. Your orders are to proceed to Virginia, immediately. Red and Carter can both wait a day or so.”
“Can Ah at least take a few minutes to see how Agent Seacrest is doin’? Is she down in the lab, or…?”
“She’s in the lab getting her blood tested. I want Carter there when she figures out exactly what that drug is and what it’s for.”
Fischetti broke off and began talking about what he’d asked Seacrest to do for them. “God only knows what that fucking drug did to her. If there’s any lasting brain damage or side effects, it’ll be my fault. My responsibility.”
Then, just as suddenly, he cleared his throat and was all business again. “You have your orders, Agent Deeprose. You will go to Meese alone. There’s no need to burden Carter with this now. I’ll fill him in once we know Seacrest is out of the woods. If she doesn’t…well, if it goes south, it won’t make any difference to him whether he’s been briefed or not.
“And the D.O.D. will just have to be satisfied with the half dose we give them this morning. I couldn’t care less whether they believe we have the other half or not. Happy Monday, Agent Deeprose.”
Deeprose knew she’d made a mess of her report this morning.
He didn’t thank me, but he sure as hell didn’t fire me, either.
She slipped out his door, doing her best to ignore the smug look of satisfaction plastered all over Liz’s face when she left.
Eaves-dropper.
Before she left the building, she went down to the lab.
Ah hope Jill’s all right…
She took a brief moment to prepare herself before pushing past the swinging doors. Peering through their small, square windows on tip toes, she saw Carter stroking Jill’s hair. It was a tender moment, and she didn’t want to intrude.
How could she volunteer to take that drug not knowin’ what would happen? Ah’m sorry, but duty doesn’t include poisonin’ yourself to death - or worse - to push along an investigation. That’s a little too nuts, even for me.
They were sitting by the big video screen Seacrest had used to show the film of the Emerald Roach Wasp.
My God! What do Ah say to Jill after takin’ that drug? Ah don’t think there’s a Hallmark card for somethin’ like this…
Seacrest initiated the conversation, saving Deeprose from making an ass of herself. “Agent Deeprose, it’s good to see you.” Seacrest was surprisingly lucid.
“I made it; I’m O.K. I was a little over the top, according to Carter. He had to cuff me to the bed. I remember feeling madder than I ever felt before. It was rage, really. Fight without the flight feelings. I remember an irresistible urge to kill and the feeling of being unstoppable, but it was all directed toward some kid from my past that I barely knew.
“Something else had to have been used to direct that impulse to a specific target. If there’s no companion drug, they didn’t need one. There was a small window of time between ingestion and psychosis when I felt like I was slipping into a dream state. That’s what makes this drug so valuable; the subject can be programmed through the use of a post-hypnotic suggestion during that window of time. The result? One human killing machine to be aimed at anything desirable with hardly any memory of it or any feelings of guilt or remorse. The question is, can we get Michael to admit where he got it and does he know why he was sent to kill the old curator?”
“Y’all said you had barely any memory of it. But that means you did remember most or all of it, doesn’t it?”
“Yes. Some people will be able to resist the drug, but most won’t without the kind of help I had last night. Of those that don’t resist, some will remember what they did, but again, most won’t. If the user resists the programming and goes after someone else, our chances of finding it out are slim to none. There are potential hordes of 48-hour killers out there, and we have no way to find out who they are, stop them, or connect them to any of this. Unless they got 100% of the drugs at the meetings. That’s our only hope. If it’s not available on the street and we can get a list of all attendees, we might see a pattern that leads us to the real Silver Man. But getting that drug out of circulation is only half the problem; we have to make sure it can’t be duplicated, and that means finding the scientist who developed it and destroying any existing documentation that describes where the natural compounds were found and how to reproduce them synthetically.”
Carter had a depressing thought. “Jill, getting a list of past attendees may not help as much as you think. The ones that remember anything won’t have the drug in their system anymore. That’s their only proof that they actually attended a meeting if – and that’s a big IF – we can prove the meetings were the only place to get it. We wouldn’t be able to tie a crime to the drug or the meeting, even circumstantially.”
“True, but some of them will have the drug still inside them, and those are the ones who can help us find the source of it all. We need a lot more to go on than what we have now, and the clock’s ticking. Right, Carter?”
Deeprose was incredibly impressed with Seacrest’s insight into her own experience and her ability to articulate a hypothesis and discuss its provability. The purpose for using the drug at the meetings began to make sense, finally. The meetings were just a way to get a lot of angry, unhinged people together at one time. The drug gave the Silver Man an army to command.
When Seacrest finished speaking Deeprose started to ask her more questions. Jill stared into space before responding. When she finally did, she spo
ke in a dull monotone, like an automaton. Then it was like a clock stopped ticking. Seacrest simply turned “off”. She was entirely mute and stared straight ahead without any expression of any kind. Deeprose and Carter exchanged a quick, terrified look. He gathered her in his arms before she could fall, and Deeprose sprang into action. She whipped out her cell phone and punched in 911.
Carter stood rooted to the spot. Deeprose grabbed Carter by the shoulders and shook him like a rag doll. “Agent Carter, you have to do something; there’s no time for an ambulance! Carter!!”
He ran to the bathroom carrying Seacrest with him and dumped her into the shower stall. Ice cold water on full blast might do the trick. Deeprose stood by, ready to do C.P.R. if she had to.
Jill started to come around. “I’m having suuuuch a nice dream. It’s summer in Boston. We’re dancing on the lawn in the rain.” She raised her arms in the air to feel the rain better. Then she started yelling. “Hey! I’m in the shower! Why am I in the Goddamned shower?!”
Deeprose ran to find anything handy to dry her off and warm her up. She started throwing open closets and drawers. Carter slipped down to the floor with her, all wet, and clutched her to him.
“Get off me, Carter! I can’t breathe! Carter!” Her voice was soft and filled with wonder. “Carter…you’re crying!”
Deeprose plopped herself down on the floor, too, soaking herself. She hugged them both and then she said, “All for one!”
Seacrest laughed. “And one for all.”
At that precise moment a trinity was born that would never be broken – a trinity of heart, mind, and courage.
***
Deeprose left to scrounge up a spare set of sweat pants and a sweater that she always kept in her office. After Seacrest was comfy cozy, they sat around sipping really bad coffee. Seacrest said what all three of them were thinking. “I wish we had some whiskey.”
