Living Proof

by Peter J Thompson

  Satisfied that Stoats was not a problem, he took the bungee cords and finished strapping the other body into place. When that body was secured, Meeks stepped out of the van and glanced around the area to make sure it was clear. Everything was still as death. He closed the van doors, grabbed his medical bag, and hopped down from the dock and climbed into the cab. The keys were already in the ignition. He started the engine and slowly pulled away. He signed out with the guard at the gate, then slowly made his way through town, taking Route 35 heading north.

  He didn’t speed up once he was on the highway. He checked the side view mirrors regularly, looking to see if he was being followed. The traffic was light, nothing but trucks speeding through. They shook the van as they blew past. He crept along at just past forty miles per hour. About fifteen miles out of Huntsville, there was nothing behind him but the night sky. He pulled off at a country road heading toward the east. He drove about two hundred feet then pulled off the road facing the highway. He situated the van so that he had a full view of anyone going past or pulling off the main road. He cut the engine, turned off the lights, and rolled down his window.

  Meeks lit up a new cigarette and silently smoked. The air was filled with the sound of crickets. Every now and then, a truck zoomed past on the highway. Meeks lit up another cigarette from the glow of his last and waited. After about fifteen minutes, a car pulled off the highway and onto the country road. Meeks tensed, staring at the car. He reached under the seat and pulled out his pistol. But as the car barreled past him, he saw it was a pickup truck pulling a horse trailer. Nothing to worry about. It didn’t even slow down. Meeks waited another five minutes before he started up the van and pulled back on the road heading east.

  He drove through the night, meandering down mostly two-lane country roads, steadily heading toward the Northeast. It was still dark when he pulled off a country road and onto a main highway. He drove another twelve miles until the road intersected with another highway. There, he pulled off the exit and into a large truck stop. He moved past huge Navistars and Peterbuilts with their diesel engines idling roughly. He drove the van up a long ramp to the auto bay.

  By the gas pumps, he stopped the van and turned off the engine. Getting out of the van, he stretched his legs and shook his arms, trying to shake off the fatigue of the long ride. He listened by the back door, but all was quiet. Meeks lit up a fresh cigarette as he filled the gas tank.

  When he was finished, he locked up the van, walked into the truck stop, paid the bill in cash, and went into the trucker’s lounge. Along one wall was a row of booths. Each was enclosed with a stool to sit on, a pay phone, and a glass door for privacy. Meeks went into a booth at the end and closed the door behind him. He pulled some change out of his pocket and fed several coins into the slot.

  He punched in a number and waited for the line to be connected. A moment later, he heard a male voice at the other end. “Unit 803.”

  “I need to talk with Colonel Pope.” Meeks said.

  There was a long pause before the voice answered, “Colonel Pope is unavailable. Who is calling, please?”

  “It doesn’t matter who is calling. The colonel will want to talk with me. Why don’t you stop being irritating and go wake him up.”

  There was another long pause before the voice spoke again. “I’m sorry, sir, but that isn’t possible. Who is calling?”

  “Tell him that waking the sleeping is better than waking the dead. He’ll want to talk with me.”

  There was another long pause, then, “One moment, sir. I’ll connect you.”

  Meeks was put on hold for over two minutes. He was sure they were tracing his call. A new voice came on the line; this one thick from being wakened from his sleep but still spoke with precise enunciation. “Who is this?”

  “Hello, Lucian. I hope I didn’t wake you.”

  “Meeks? Is that you?”

  “Who else would it be?”

  “Why are you calling, Conrad? Is something wrong?”

  Meeks pulled out a cigarette and rolled it between his fingers, “On the contrary, Lucian, nothing is wrong at all. Everything is just… rosy. You contracted for one body and I’m bringing you two.”

  There was silence on the other end for a long moment. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Meeks. You are wasting my time.”

  “Then let me help you to understand. I have some pictures, two live subjects, and the documents that link them to you. This could make for some very interesting reading…”

  “What are you saying, Meeks?”

  “I’m saying that the price has just gone up considerably. I’ll be talking with you soon to let you know how to handle the payoff. I plan to live to enjoy it.”

  “Wait, Conrad…”

  Meeks hung up the phone. He smiled as he popped the cigarette into his mouth. He looked both ways down the hallway, then left the booth and made his way back outside to the van. He again listened by the rear door. It was still quiet inside. He felt good as he got back in the van and pulled out onto the interstate. They’d be looking for him now. They’d probably traced the call, but it didn’t matter. Everything was planned out. If they were going to search for him, they’d have a lot of ground to cover, and before they even got close, he’d be on to phase two.

  He drove on, moving from road to road, always northeast. Dawn was breaking when he pulled off the highway onto a two-lane access road in the lake district near the Louisiana border. He drove for a while before turning off on a small blacktop road. A faded sign for cabins to rent pointed the way. A mile farther, he turned onto a dirt road. It wound through some pine woods for another quarter of a mile before coming to a clearing.

  In the clearing was an old dilapidated cabin with a corrugated tin roof and an ancient Coke machine on the front porch. Meeks stopped the van and got out. As he was walking toward the front door, a grizzled old man came out of the cabin. He wore coveralls with no shirt and was missing two front teeth.

  “You that city guy that called?” he said as he scratched himself.

  “That’s right.” Meeks pulled some cash out of his pocket. “How much do I owe you?”

  The old man looked him over, “You here for the fishin’?”

  “No, I’m just here for the peace and quiet.” He peeled two hundred dollars off and handed the cash to the old man, who looked at it greedily.

  “It’s too damn hot to be fishin’ no how.” He took the bills and crumpled them into his pocket. “You can have the cabin down by the end of the road. It’s real quiet down that away.” He nodded toward the woods. “Nobody else is about this time anyways.” He pulled a key out of his pocket and flipped it over to Meeks.

  “Good.” Meeks pocketed the key and turned back to the van.

  “You gonna be here long? If you gonna be here longer’n a week, I need some more money.”

  “No,” Meeks opened the van door without turning back. “I’ll be gone in a couple of days.”

  He drove the van past the clearing, around a curve, and down a dirt track, passing two branches of the trail that led up to other cabins. A little further on, the road dead-ended at another run-down cabin. Meeks parked the van between the house and a large tree. He got out and looked around. All was still and quiet. He went to the house, unlocked the door, and glanced inside. It was a one-room shack that smelled of mildew and damp earth. It looked as if it hadn’t seen use since the 1950s. Meeks smiled. This would be fine for his purposes.

  He walked back to the van and fished the keys out of his pocket. Everything was going just as planned. In two days, he would have enough money to live out the rest of his life in luxury, and a new identity to enjoy it with. He unlocked the back of the van and pulled the right door open.

  As he opened the door, he saw that the bench on the passenger side had been raised, exposing the empty storage section. Meeks paused. Had he lifted the bench? He didn’t think so, but he must have.

  He was reaching down to flip the latch on the facing door when h
e felt the pressure on his neck. There was a jolt to his shoulder, and suddenly, he was spun around with his back to the van. Something was around his neck, pulling, cutting into the skin and choking off his air supply.

  Meeks grabbed for his throat but couldn’t grip anything. He tried to reach behind him, but only grabbed air. He felt the first edge of panic. He couldn’t breathe. No matter how hard he struggled, it was no use; his attacker was too strong.

  Meeks felt his life slipping away. Struggling, he managed to turn a little. And then he understood. The last thing he saw before his eyes closed for the final time was his own face, reflected back in the mirrored sunglasses.

  Lena Dryer usually got what she wanted in due time. A week after the execution, she had flown to New York to interview for a job with the Newsworld Network. The meeting went just as well as she could have hoped for. She met with Allan Edwards, the production VP, in his office overlooking the Manhattan skyline, and they talked for more than three hours. It turned out that they had some mutual acquaintances in the business. He was enthusiastic about her work and felt that Lena would be a good fit for the network. The job would initially be background reporting, but in time there would be opportunities to move up front into hard news, maybe an on-air roll. This was the big time, and with her talent, he assured her it wouldn’t take long.

  This job was everything she’d been working toward, but Lena surprised herself by telling Edwards she needed some time to think about it. He told her he’d hold the job for a few days, but he needed an answer soon.

  On the plane ride home, she replayed the interview in her mind and tried to figure out why she hadn’t committed. The money was great, the job was prestigious, she’d be back East again, and future prospects were far better than they could ever be in Texas. If it wasn’t her dream job, it was close to it.

  But she felt a vague sense of unease. A feeling her work was incomplete. In the week since the execution, she had yet to get a full night’s sleep. After a long day’s work, sleep usually came easy. But now, she’d lie in bed tossing and turning as images of the execution played over in her mind. The hands of the technician strapping the prisoner onto the gurney, the hum of the machinery, the doctor coming into the room to pronounce the death. And most of all, the memory of Ramon—his haunting eyes staring at her.

  Lena knew she’d get over it. One of her first news assignments had been a traffic accident where a semi-truck rear-ended a van with a family on their way to a beach vacation. It was a fiery wreck and everyone in the van died. Lena arrived on the scene just as the bodies of the children were being loaded into the ambulances. It took her a long time to get over that, but she did. It was one of the perils of the job. You either learned to deal with it or you got out. Only this felt different, like unfinished business. Ramon was dead, but maybe the story wasn’t. If he was innocent, it was still news. Maybe.

  She went over her options as the jet carried her back to Austin. By the time they landed, she’d made up her mind. The only reason for staying was emotional, and that would surely pass. This job was a true opportunity. It was what she’d been waiting for. She made up her mind to call Edwards and accept the next day.

  The next morning, Lena had a bounce to her step as she entered the Star building.

  “Good morning, Mike,” she greeted the guard in the lobby before taking the elevator to the offices on the eleventh floor. The elevators in the building always moved in slow motion. Normally, that was a source of irritation, but today it just made her smile.

  She got off on her floor, walked past the receptionist, and made her way through the sea of cubicles to her unit in the middle of the floor. As she settled in, she took in the familiar sounds of the office. The low hum of the computers, the chattering of fingers on keyboards, the buzz of conversations. Someone in a cube nearby was on the phone having a muted argument with her husband. In a way, Lena was going to miss the place.

  She looked at her watch. It was after nine o’clock in New York. Would Edwards be in yet? She picked up the phone but immediately put it back down. She didn’t feel comfortable calling from work. It was probably too early anyway. It would be better to call later, she didn’t want to appear anxious. Instead, Lena decided to get a cup of coffee.

  The newsroom ran on caffeine. There were coffee stations located at strategic areas around the floor. As she was walking toward the nearest station, Jack Van Russell, the managing editor of the paper, stepped into the passageway. Van Russell was tall and lanky with a full head of thick white hair. A transplanted Midwesterner, he’d comfortably adjusted to being a Texan. The suits he wore were fashionable but always accompanied by cowboy boots and a bolo tie. A huge pair of horns from a longhorn steer dominated the wall behind the desk in his office.

  “Lena, I was just about to come looking for you. I’ve got something I wanted to run by you,” he greeted her.

  “Well… I need to talk with you too, Jack.”

  “Good, let’s walk back to my office.” He took Lena’s elbow and steered her down the hall. “I just got some bad news. You know Bill Wentworth?”

  “Our Washington correspondent? Sure.”

  “Right, of course you do. He’s run into some kind of personal situation and he’s going to be taking a leave of absence. He’ll be leaving at the end of next month. The plan is that he’ll be off for six months, maybe more—to tell the truth, I’m not sure he’ll even be back.”

  “Really. I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “Anyway, I’ve talked it over with the board and we all agree you’re the person we want there.”

  “The Washington bureau?” Lena stopped in the hallway, her eyes registering her surprise. It had never crossed her mind there could be a real future here at the Star. The Washington assignment was a jewel—an opportunity she’d never thought possible. It was definitely a step up, but it was still with the Star—and the Star would never have the prestige of any of the bigger East Coast publications. Logic said New York was still the way to go. Traditional newspapers were a dying breed, and in the long run, the network would be the better move. Logic told her to go, but her intuition said no.

  “I’m not saying this is permanent. But it is high profile. I know you were hoping for more ink,” Van Russell went on.

  “Great, that sounds just great.”

  “You’ll be doing some campaign coverage too. Election season is just around the corner and I’d like to do some profiles of the candidates.”

  They came to the end of the corridor. The executive offices were all at the perimeter of the building, with window access. They turned right and headed toward his office. “We’ll need you to get out there pretty quick,”

  “Right, of course.”

  He opened the door to his office. “Now it’s your turn. What did you want to talk with me about?”

  “Nothing. Nothing at all.” Lena was already making plans. Washington would be a nice change of scene.

  8

  The Officer’s Club was a small room in a spare Quonset hut located near the center of the base about half a mile away from the main building. It wasn’t much to look at: an empty room with a bar on one side, a jukebox in the corner, a pool table on the other side, and several clusters of tables scattered throughout. The club was popular. Base leaves were scarce and this was an accepted way to pass the free time. Fridays were always the busiest time and tonight the club was packed.

  Charley Green leaned against the wall by the pool table, waiting for his turn to play. He took a gulp of his Lone Star. He was on edge. It seemed like everyone was. Stir crazy. They’d been cooped up on the base for too long. He looked around the room. Out of about one hundred people gathered, there were only about five women. And two of them were majors’ wives. Too much time without female companionship was bound to take its toll. No wonder he felt tense. He hadn’t been at the base nearly as long as most of them, but it felt like ages since he’d been anywhere else.

  Green distractedly peeled the label off of his bottl
e as his mind wandered. Not that long ago, his life looked very different. In some ways, he’d had a hard life. His parents died when he was twelve and his grandparents raised him. They were old and set in their ways and he couldn’t wait for the chance to escape. He joined the army right after high school, and it was a good fit. For the first time in his life, he felt at home. He quickly advanced to the rank of sergeant. He showed leadership ability and was chosen for Officers’ Training School. His career path set, he was a lifer in the service.

  Before coming to the Johnson Installation, he'd been stationed in San Diego, California. His job was a breeze with lots of opportunities to enjoy the fresh air and sunshine. His social life was set too. Ellen Chantras, his girlfriend for over four years, followed him out from New Jersey. It had long been assumed that they’d be married. When she came out, they made it official and even set a date. But even as they planned for their future together, he was looking for ways to get out. His life was quiet and orderly—too quiet. He was bored out of his mind. Without saying anything to Ellen, he started to explore his options, checking out postings overseas, looking for something that promised at least a change. Maybe even danger and excitement.

  When the opportunity came for a transfer to the Johnson Installation, he jumped at it. The assignment required a top security clearance, and several interviews as well as a full psychological examination. But the word was that it was looked at favorably on career evaluations and the pay was set at combat levels. It promised mystery and excitement. Ellen was devastated by the breakup, but the truth was the relationship was over a long time before he made it official.

  It was more than four months now since he left Ellen and California behind. At the time, it had been a relief. His early days at the base were exciting. It felt like he was part of a great undertaking, something historic. Even the secrecy was appealing—at first. Later, it began to gnaw at him. What exactly were they doing there? There were plenty of rumors, each one wilder than the last. Green didn’t buy into them. They were here for a reason. The army knew what it was doing and whatever was going on was intended for the greater good. Or at least he hoped so. But even if it wasn’t, what did it matter to him? After all, he was an officer in the United States Army. His job was to follow orders. It wasn’t his place to question a superior’s order. After all, they were seeing the forests and he was stuck down at tree level. Still, he had to admit, not knowing what they were up to did bother him.