The interior was cool and dark, and despite the fact that she was doing the right thing Allison realized that her heart was hammering at the inside of her chest as though she had just run a marathon.
‘How did it go?’
Lillian Cruz sat in the seat beside Allison, watching her expectantly.
‘He’s got no choice,’ she replied, ‘and you were right to hold that video back until the last minute. I think he’d started to get comfortable with the idea that we didn’t have anything on film as evidence.’
Lillian glanced out of the window at the city as they were driven by a tall man with dark skin who watched Allison in the rear–view mirror with dark eyes. Aaron Mitchell nodded to her in greeting but said nothing as they joined the freeway and headed south.
‘You’re never going to tell me what happened to them, are you?’ Allison said to Lillian.
Lillian smiled quietly and looked at her. ‘Why would you want to know?’
‘Because they were patriots, people who really did serve the interests of their countrymen instead of corporations and profits. Their story deserves to be heard.’
‘Maybe some people prefer to remain in the shadows. Perhaps they don’t want to share their stories, or be known for what they have done. I know that I don’t, and I hope that you will honor that.’
‘Of course,’ Allison insisted, ‘but even so, just for my own peace of mind?’
Lillian watched America passing by outside her window.
‘Ethan Warner died of a single gunshot wound to the stomach,’ she said softly. ‘Nicola Lopez passed away after a fatal knife wound to her side. Both of their bodies were repatriated to the United States and they were cremated together in a private ceremony some weeks later, along with Joseph Hellerman. Douglas Jarvis was tried by Court Martial and sentenced to fifteen years’ imprisonment in a security max facility in Nevada, solitary confinement, no visitors. No other charges were laid against other suspected members of the group who had at times joined them aboard Rhys Garrett’s yacht, due to insufficient evidence of any wrong doing.’
Allison peered at her with interest.
‘That’s a remarkably clean story with very little evidence to follow if I were to doubt its veracity, Lillian.’
‘You’re catching on well.’
‘And Amber Ryan?’
‘She’s just sold her late father’s fusion–cage technology to a major defense contractor on the understanding that they use it to build transportable nuclear fusion reactors for the benefit of the people. Lockheed Martin made their announcement of a portable fusion reactor a few months ago, which will end our reliance on coal and oil for fuel.’
‘Lucy Morgan?’
‘Recently led an expedition to Spain that recovered four loads of Tartessian gold from a sunken Greek trireme off the coast,’ Lillian replied. ‘It’s causing quite a stir in the archaeological community, from what I’ve read.’
‘And the money that MJ–12 stole, that the government and the Russians wanted so badly?’
‘Let’s just say that Amber Ryan managed to gradually leak that money back into the accounts of those from whom it was stolen over many decades, and that she left a trail so clear that if the government had chosen to pursue it any further they would then have been forced to prove how it was lost in the first place. The risk of exposing further corruption in an already corrupt government is far too great for the administration to take. However, the recovery of much of the cargo of the trireme of Heliosa is likely to have been used to grease the palms of most of the players, and ensure their silence at the highest levels. There has been no evidence of any political uproar from the Russians, despite their continued sabre rattling.’
Allison sat back in her seat for a moment and thought about the Russians and their determination to recover the supposed “untold wealth” hidden somewhere off the Spanish coast. She looked briefly at the vehicle that they were in, and the smart clothes that Lillian was wearing.
‘I know that Garrett’s yacht was in the vicinity of the Spanish coast within days of Ethan and Nicola being there. The media reported that Lucy Morgan’s divers off the coast had recovered large quantities of gold and silver from the shipwreck that was studied by archaeologists and declared to be ancient Tartessian gold, just like the Treasure of El Carambolo found in Seville decades before.’
Lillian nodded but said nothing as Allison got into her stride.
‘Ethan and Nicola took twelve of those flotation sacks with them,’ she said, ‘but the media reported only four sacks’ worth of material recovered from Lucy’s excavation site.’
Again, Lillian said nothing.
‘You dispersed the MJ–12 money but made off with a pile of archaeological gold instead?’
Mitchell’s voice reached her from the front seat.
‘That is a scandalous accusation with no foundation in reality, and we distance ourselves from any such fake news wherever possible.’
Mitchell’s eyes were twinkling with delight as he looked at her in the mirror. Allison looked across at Lillian and smiled.
‘That kind of money could be used to disappear,’ she said. ‘It would last a lifetime, especially if those people were to move away from America and live in some quiet, anonymous fishing village half a world away…’
The car eased into the sidewalk and Allison realized they were parked outside a large colonial house in an exclusive area just outside the city suburbs, the kind of place where the locals raked in six figures from their jobs in the city and spent their weekends aboard yachts in the local marina.
Lillian extended her hand, and Allison shook it uncertainly.
‘It’s been good knowing you, Allison,’ she said in her southern drawl. ‘Keep doing what you’re doing.’
Allison felt her hand being turned over and a set of keys pressed into her palm, as with the other hand Lillian handed her an envelope, within which she could see papers relating to title deeds.
Allison’s eyes welled up and she felt her throat constrict, but before she could think clearly she was getting out of the car as instructed and the door closed behind her. She stood on the sidewalk and watched as the car pulled smoothly away and cruised down the street until it was no longer in sight, as though it had driven into the oblivion of the history books.
*
Lillian Cruz waited until they were well clear of the residential area before she dialled a number on her cell phone. The line picked up immediately, the voice of an elderly man replying, his tones jovial and almost carefree.
‘Is it done?’
‘It’s done,’ Lillian confirmed. ‘Keyes will do as he’s told and the loose ends are tied up. Where are you now?’
‘Far away,’ came the reply, although she could hear the sound of rollers crashing against a shore in the background. ‘In fact, so far away I don’t really know where the hell we are. Foxx did his work well. The three of us will disperse from here. Take care of yourself, Lillian.’
‘You too.’
The line went dead, and as Mitchell drove over a bridge that spanned a river Lillian opened her window and tossed the cell over the side and with it any evidence of Jarvis, the DIA, Majestic Twelve, Congress and several decades of pain. The thing that made her smile was the way Jarvis had described his current situation: “the three of us”. She closed the window again and saw Mitchell looking at her with interest.
‘Where do you want to go?’
‘Anywhere anonymous. Anywhere we can’t be found, chased, questioned, hassled or recognized.’
Mitchell smiled as he changed gear and headed for the nearest freeway.
‘I know just the place.’
***
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Dea
n Crawford is the author of more than twenty novels, including the internationally published series of thrillers featuring Ethan Warner, a former United States Marine now employed by a government agency tasked with investigating unusual scientific phenomena. The novels have been Sunday Times paperback best-sellers and have gained the interest of major Hollywood production studios. He is also the enthusiastic author of many independently published Science Fiction novels.
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