“That was a tough call for you, huh? I mean sending her back.”
“Not really. I expected it to be, but Hawaii is her home, Amelia is her daughter.” Josie pick up a paper napkin and started folding it into ever-smaller squares as she talked. “Once I heard a judge talk about her husband’s Alzheimer’s. He was in a home and he had a new girlfriend. The interviewer asked the judge if that was upsetting to her. She said it was a joyous thing because her husband had found love in his reality. She still visited him every week, but he thought she was a friend. I’ll be satisfied if Emily remembers me when I visit.”
“And she’s in good hands,” Burt pointed out. “I liked Amelia. I’m glad she isn’t going to be alone.”
“Me, too. It worked for everyone. I can afford to pay her for Emily’s care, Emily has a home, and they both share memories of Ian.”
“Did you get him when you were in Washington? I’d want someone to get me,” Burt picked up another glass and started wiping.
“I did. We’ll scatter his ashes when Archer and I go over in June.” Josie reached down to pet Max who raised his head into the caress. “In the end, Ian Francis was the hero. He must have been so frightened when he made that trip and walked into that building. I wish I could have thanked him.”
When she sat up again, Burt was looking worried. He said: “You really, doing okay? I mean really?”
“I am, thanks.” Josie patted his hand. “Hannah’s not home, but Archer is.”
Burt nodded to the window. “Yeah, but it looks like he picked up a chick on his way over. You better watch yourself.”
Josie swiveled on the stool just as Archer and Faye came through the door. Archer nodded at Burt and kissed Josie.
“Sorry we’re late,” he said.
“You’re not. We have another two minutes.”
“I don’t know if I’m ready for this news conference,” Faye said. “I’m going to need a drink.”
Burt made a Bloody Mary for Faye and put out two beers for Josie and Archer. A couple came in and he pointed them to the back of the restaurant. He hurried away with menus but he was back just as the five o’clock news opened on a shot of Senator Ambrose Patriota standing at a podium and surrounded by colleagues.
“Turn it up, Burt,” Archer directed and all four of them fell silent as the senator began to speak.
“I have a statement to make. I realize it is late in the day but I did not believe this should wait.”
“That’s bull,” Archer muttered. “He knows any announcement on Friday is buried.”
“Shh.” Josie nudged him to silence. She wanted to hear every word.
“It has been brought to my attention that a federal facility located on the island of Molokai in Hawaii was recently destroyed by fire. After investigation, it was determined that this facility was overseen by the Department of Defense. Its purpose was to house the last victims of government run programs that conducted controlled experiments on human subjects. These programs were a horrendous chapter in our history and the last of the active programs was shut down in 1990.”
Patriota squared his shoulders and paused. The sound of cameras clicking could be heard. He touched his lips as if trying to keep them from trembling. He was a very good politician because, when he looked at the camera, Josie could swear she saw tears in his eyes.
“I come before you ashamed to admit that many years ago, when I was a young Army officer, I took part in the recruitment of my fellow soldiers for these programs. They were then subjected to torture and drug experiments. I was not involved in the running of those experiments. My job was to simply make contact with members of the military and recruit them.”
“And kidnap their wives,” Archer muttered.
“For these actions as a young officer, under orders from my superiors, I am deeply sorry… “
“Here it comes, Jo. He’s going to step down,” Faye whispered.
Archer pressed against Josie, enfolding her in his arms.
“No, something else is going on,” Josie murmured.
“I do not know what the future will bring,” Patriota went on. “But I do know that our citizens are precious. Our goal should be to protect each of them from enemies outside our borders, not become the enemy within.
“I am no longer an army officer and I am no longer young, nor am I inconsequential. I am a United States senator with the moral charge to right wrongs when I find them. As such, I cannot let this pass without a complete investigation of the fire at Ha Kuna House. To that end, I am asking the Justice Department to look into the matter after hearing recorded conversations between the high-ranking officials at Department of Defense and Senator Woodrow Calister. Senator Calister not only had knowledge of the covert program called Marigold as recently as fourteen days ago, but he was personally involved in a decision to shut down the facility. Only days after one of his telephone conversations with others in the government, the facility was burned to the ground resulting in the deaths of six United States citizens. I will be calling for a full investigation…”
Josie shook her head. The man was the ultimate politician.
“He’s good,” she said. “He confesses to talking in church and then passes the blame for the mortal sin. Patriota will get a slap on the wrist and Calister will be sent to political hell.”
“What do you want to do now?” Archer asked.
Josie slid off the stool and picked up Max’s leash. Archer put his arm around her.
“I want to go home. Night Faye. Burt.” Josie leaned in and gave Faye a kiss.
“I’m sorry,” the older woman said.
“Don’t be. Patriota may think he’s won, but this is just the first skirmish,” she assured them.
“Hang in, Josie,” Burt called as he watched them go. He looked at Faye and raised a brow. “It ain’t over ’till it’s over, is it Faye?”
“Not where Josie’s concerned,” she answered.
***
Inside his very comfortable home, Woodrow Calister sat in his very special room, watched the television, and smoked. In a few hours he would be angry, a few hours after that he might feel like ending it all, but right now as he watched Ambrose turn to the very beautiful Lydia on camera and the very beautiful Lydia kiss him as if he were a most courageous man, Woodrow Calister could only admire Ambrose Patriota. He was a brilliant man and Woodrow was only a smart one.
He stood up, switched off the television, and refilled his drink. He was just about to taste it when he started to laugh. Finally, he understood what Ambrose had meant when he said he needed Woodrow for something more important than the vice-presidency. Woodrow was Ambrose’s sacrifice to the god of politics; Woodrow had been thrown under the bus to save the presidency.
Woodrow raised his glass to a master.
***
Eugene answered questions from the press, spoke of Ambrose’s exhaustion, his shock that a project like Marigold still existed, and reinforced the message of Senator Patriota’s youth and the miniscule part he played in the whole affair. Eugene promised to keep them apprised of the timing of the hearings that would, he assured the press, be forthcoming.
When he was finished, he went back to his office and tidied up. He saw messages from Jerry Norn and Mark Hyashi but he would deal with them in the morning. All in all, things had gone very well. It did not occur to Eugene to lament Woodrow Calister’s fate, it only occurred to him that he had been right all along: Ambrose Patriota deserved Eugene’s undying loyalty.
***
Once outside Burt’s, Josie and Archer ambled down The Strand, keeping pace with Max. When Josie nuzzled closer, Archer stopped and cradled her.
“I’ll need to call Stephen and Amelia,” Josie said as she snuggled into him. “They won’t be surprised, but they’ll be sad. Still, everyone is safe and I guess that’s what matters.”
“It’s bitter sweet, Jo,” Archer noted.
“Sure is. But one day it’s going to be all sweet. I know where there is a cave with a
whole lot of interesting things in it.” She tipped up her head and smiled. “I have a friend who has a truck and can move all those interesting things right into a Keoloko warehouse until we need them.”
“I had a feeling you weren’t going to leave it alone.”
Archer pulled Josie into him. She rested her head on his chest as Max settled at their feet.
“I’m glad you’re home,” she said.
“I’m sorry it’s just me,” he answered. “When that girl came around she had nothing. She hadn’t seen Hannah in weeks.”
“Then this homecoming is bitter sweet, too.” Josie whispered. “Mostly sweet.”
Just as she stepped back and put her arms around Archer’s neck, just as her lips met his, just as she was feeling safe at home, Josie’s phone rang. She pulled back but kept her eyes on her lover as she answered it.
“Hello.”
In the next second Josie Bates tensed. Archer tightened his embrace and her eyes locked with his as she said:
“Hannah?”
SEE WHAT INSPIRED FORGOTTEN WITNESS
Ted Talks: ted.com/a headset that reads your brainwaves
MKUltra: wikipedia.org/wiki/Project_MKUltra
MKUltra legal action:
dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2240165
READ ON FOR MORE THRILLS!
THE MENTOR
by Rebecca Forster
For Judge David W. Williams
Originally published by Pinnacle Books 1998
Ebook copyright © 2010 by Rebecca Forster
All Rights Reserved
Cover Design, A.Carole
Prologue
“Girlfriend, it is time to go!”
She talked to herself, gripped the edge of her chair and looked around the empty office. Deserted desks, silent phones, blinds closed in front and something going on behind the emergency exit to the alley were making her jumpy. Outside wasn’t going to be much better than in, but outside, in front, she’d see that boyfriend of hers coming. She would jump in that car and they would hightail it out of downtown before he had time to stop – if he ever came, of course.
She looked at her watch, the sixth time since she’d heard the last skittery noises in that alley, twice since she first heard voices. Barely ten minutes had passed and now the urgent whispers were starting again. That’s when she decided; outside was where she wanted to go.
Quietly she eased her desk drawer out and got her purse. Keeping her eye on the closed, locked, and bolted back door she hunkered down and checked the wall clock. Eight-thirteen. Slowly she raised her wrist. Eight-fifteen by her watch. On alert under the overhead lights that made everyone feel sickly, she froze and listened hard. Suddenly there was silence.
Oh, Lord above.
Holding her purse close, she sidestepped across the floor and pushed through the little gate that separated the IRS workers from a generally crazed public. How a little swinging gate was going to protect any of them was beyond her. But now that gate was her ticket to freedom. She backed through it, bumped up against the door, groped with her free hand and pushed the lever. It opened only to slam shut and lock behind her as she stumbled out into the surprisingly cool night.
“Hey. Hey.”
She shrieked, spun around and dropped her purse. Oh, God! A drunken bum had touched her. She shivered and snatched up her purse. Shaking, she clutched it to her breast, never taking her eyes off his milky right eye and the left that looked everywhere except at her. When he shuffled on, her shoulders slumped. Her looks-like-silk rayon dress was damp under the arms. It had been a bum, back there behind the building. A stupid bum scaring the living daylights out of her. How goddamn stupid could she be? Now she was stuck out here in the dark, alone on an all-but-deserted street. A sitting duck. She was beginning to hate her boyfriend, her job and Los Angeles in that order. She was starting to cry as she prayed in her head. Sweet Jesus please let it be eight-thirty. She cocked her wrist to check the time once more but, to her amazement, her watch was gone.
In that split second of surprise, she heard the deafening explosion behind her and felt the hot-cold sear of flame at her back. Her looks-like-silk-rayon dress melted against skin that was already curling away from the bone. In a blink she was caught in a maelstrom of wood and glass; suddenly she was starring in a heavy-metal music video, a big budget disaster movie without benefit of lights and cameras. And, in that seemingly endless second before a shard of glass pierced her throat and another took off half her scalp, there was time to consider something else. Her watch wasn’t the only thing that was missing—so was her hand.
***
Someone pushed him, kind of slapped him on the back. He turned all the way around when that happened. He heard the roar of the explosion at the same time and half lost his balance because the earth bucked beneath him. He held his hands up against the wave of junk that rolled his way and squinted at the blaze of fire leaping out of the building a block behind. When he could, he looked to see who had tried to get his attention—like anyone needed to tell him that all hell had broken loose—but no one was there.
At his feet there was a hand with nobody attached. Lord above, this was it. Fire, brimstone and body parts. The dead were rising, the world was ending. Falling to his knees, clasping his hands over his chest, the drunken bum raised his face and waited for the ground to open and spew forth wrathful spirits from its evil molten bowels. Lord in heaven. When none of that happened he focused his milky white eye on a Chevy Camaro blowing down the street, the driver at the wheel looking damned surprised. That’s when he heard the squeal of tires behind him and looked to see a pickup cutting through the night like a bat out of hell.
Damn right.
Hell.
***
Officer Readmore belched and reached inside his car for the radio. Half the restaurant had followed him to check out what was happening.
He looked cool, so no one could tell, but Jimmy Readmore was thrilled at the sight of the fire a mile away. He was sick of this beat. L.A. downtown from two to midnight was shit work. Readmore wished he knew what he’d done, or who he’d ticked off, to pull this kind of duty. Whoever it was still wanted him punished because the dispatcher was telling him to stay put even though half the city’s fire units were on the scene.
Frustrated, he chased everyone back to their cold meals, got in his car and convinced himself that he really had better things to do anyway. Still, as he patrolled the streets, he thought about the fire. Could be a gas explosion or a bum’s fire crackling out of control. Messy stuff that. There’d be bodies. Nothing worse than a burned bum. So, a bored Jimmy Readmore was chuckling about his alliteration when he noticed a blue pickup heading for the 405. Jimmy wouldn’t normally have given the truck a second look, but something had run afoul of his antennae. Nothing major. Just enough to make him do a double take on the truck that was so conscientiously following the speed limit even though there wasn’t another car in sight and half a city block was on fire not more than a mile away.
He turned on the lights and gave the siren a once-over. The truck picked up speed for an instant, and then pulled over before Readmore could get too excited. He took inventory as he rolled up politely behind it.
Blue Chevy pickup.
California plates. Riverside dealership.
A bumper sticker: Take Back America. The guy was a Republican. Otherwise the truck was real, real clean. His eyes flickered to the back window. This big boy had been to the Grand Canyon. There was a gun rack in the cab but no gun. The bed was covered.
Holding his flashlight high as he approached, Officer Jimmy Readmore’s boredom blew away with the cool breeze. He shined his mighty light on the driver and smiled at the handsome blond boy behind the wheel. The kid couldn’t meet his eye. Jimmy bent down and scoped the passenger sitting on the other side. Same hair and eyes only this guy was fleshier. Had to be the kid’s dad. He didn’t have any problem focusing. Dad looked Jimmy Readmore right in the eye.
“Evening, sir
. Son. Think I could get you to step out here?”
Jimmy smiled his best public-servant smile. He stepped away as the older man opened the passenger door and got out of the truck.
Officer Readmore moved back toward the truck bed, letting his eyes flicker away long enough to check it out. He lifted a corner of the bed cover.
That was his second mistake.
His first was stopping them at all.
***
“Turn it off.”
“No.” She breathed the word out along with a cloud of smoke.
“You’re a pain in the ass.”
“Even if I am, you need me.” She never took her eyes off the television set.
“Yeah? What do I need you for?” His voice was clear as a young boy’s still thrilled by the possibility of seduction rather than the inevitability of sex.
Edie was glad her back was to him so he wouldn’t see how much she adored the sound of his laugh. She swiveled her head when he stopped, her jaw slicing dark hair swinging over one eye. The other one was black as coal; the look she gave him cold as ice. She’d practiced it because he liked it. Allan grinned at her, proving her point. Edie, he believed, was an equal-opportunity woman. Equal satisfaction, equal cravings, equally decisive and independent. That was his Edie. Edie, on the other hand, knew the truth.
While Allan Lassiter would never love her, he often wanted her and that meant something to Edie Williams. She pushed the left side of her hair behind her ear, holding her cigarette away so that it wouldn’t singe, but close enough so that her squint looked almost nasty. He unwound one arm from behind his head and touched her breast: small for a tall woman, naked, excellent.
“Oh, you need me to fill in when the darling of the day bores you.” She took another drag and shook back her hair. She exhaled leisurely, thinking of all the nubile young things that had probably been in this bed before her. None had lasted as long as she. “You need me to convince you it isn’t your fault when you can’t get the one you want.”
Forgotten Witness Page 31
