by Gary Starta
Nevertheless, he did what his friend had asked. He used reverse logic on Dudek. Diggs was in reality the desired agent for the job, because in his eyes, she was expendable. And now, because he made it seem that the crystal was off limits, she was sure to do anything and everything to track it down. Hainsworth believed if this crystal was half what the colonel thought it was, there was a very good chance Diggs would be facing an early retirement—the kind of retirement where loved ones collect death benefits. To kill two birds with one stone, Hainsworth fantasized. With any luck, he would get rid of Diggs and deliver the crystal to his old friend.
Chapter 13
One day before Diggs met Fisher, the reporter agreed to a clandestine meeting with a so-called “representative of the American people.”
The day was dismal with huge torrents of heavy rain and thunder postponing the landing of the “representative’s” plane at Tulsa International. During the wait, Ross had plenty of time to ponder just who the hell this secret source was—and moreover—what did he want? The phone conversation only revealed that the man had top-secret information about the crystal. He had chosen to disclose this information to Fisher, because he had been the one to break the story. But more importantly for the stranger, Fisher was the only media representative who possessed an open mind.
“I commend you and your paper for printing a story that many of my colleagues refer to as science fiction. If you truly want to help the citizens of this great country, meet me at gate G67 in Tulsa.” The caller, who never gave his name, then described his physical appearance. That was all Fisher heard before the line went dead. Ross punched *69 on his phone in an attempt to retrieve the number; however, a recording reported the listing as private. Fisher weighed the option of ignoring the invitation, but reporters like cats, are curious beings. Besides, there had been a lull in the Arrowhead killings. He could afford to waste one afternoon on whomever this deep-throat-like character was.
Fisher spent three hours at the specified airport gate, carefully eyeing each businessman who fit the description. He was looking for a man with close-cropped red hair, wearing a blue overcoat and carrying a black briefcase. On more than one occasion, Ross believed the informant was approaching him. He asked one man if he had the time, even though a man-size clock was positioned on a lobby wall right behind him. The man cocked his head and sighed. Maybe this is some kind of joke, Fisher reflected. Fisher wondered if a rival newspaper had played a trick on him. He also wondered if he was losing his sanity to conjure up such paranoia. Would a competitor really take the time to perpetuate such a hoax? Fisher was about to call it a day, when he heard his name being called from behind him.
“I thought you weren’t coming, Mr.—”
The burly six-foot man extended his hand; however, he was not about to be tricked into giving his name.
“My name is not important, Mr. Fisher. I believe your profession sometimes works with undisclosed sources. I would respectfully request you treat me as such. Now, I would suggest we walk together without further conversation. I have a cab waiting for us.”
Fisher’s head swam. The man sounded like he was delivering lines from a movie. Fisher had never investigated anything more secretive than a small political scandal. He had quoted unnamed sources before; however, those people were just looking to keep their jobs. This man was not here to give the skinny on a dirty senator. He was here to talk about something more important than any one man. By the time Fisher and the red head had reached the taxi, Fisher knew this was no hoax.
The two men shared the backseat of the yellow cab. Fisher spied the driver nervously, hoping the navigator was indeed an employee of a cab service. For all he knew, he had just willingly volunteered to take a ride with some lunatic. Maybe this man wanted to get rid of him. He had specifically mentioned how he was the only who believed the killer had a connection with the crystal. Fisher reasoned this man might be on some type of cleanup mission, to put an end to anymore talk about magic crystals. Fisher’s fear got the best of him. He confronted his strange companion.
“My editor has another journalist in place if anything should happen to me. We won’t be stopped from printing the truth, sir.”
The man, seated to Fisher’s left, squinted as if someone were shining bright headlights in his eyes. He let out a squawk-like laugh. It reminded Fisher of a vulture. The mystery man turned to whisper in Fisher’s ear.
“You have my word that no harm will come to you. I am here to enlist your services. You do believe we still live in the greatest country in the world, don’t you Mr. Fisher?”
“Certainly.” Fisher’s face flushed. He felt foolish for implicating the man as a potential murderer. But at the same time, he was not entirely convinced the man had not at one time harmed other individuals. Fisher relied upon his internal instincts, which were often correct. This red-haired man did possess a certain calculating, coldness to him. It was as if he had dealt in death as a profession. If so, the man was unlikely to kill without good reason.
Fisher sensed this man needed him, and somehow he was part of this man’s agenda. If so, his life was safe for the moment. Ross found himself daydreaming for a moment. This was the kind of intrigue he longed for. He had hoped this story would be the one to break his career so he could work in DC and become a full-time investigative journalist. He commanded his nervous system to relax, inhaling several deep breaths of air.
The man rested his palms on his pant legs, taking a perverse pleasure in Fisher’s discomfort. The reporter continued to quietly expel oxygen from his lungs until the man abruptly broke Fisher’s concentration, commanding the driver to take the next exit. The car rumbled down a windy road, its tires spewing gravel and rocks behind it. Fisher scanned his surroundings but did not find one home or business to be located on this unlit roadway. He only saw trees. Their limbs swayed back and forth from the wind and the rain, occasionally making a creaking sound overhead. Finally, the car came to a rest in front of a brown and white building. It appeared to be vacant. No sign or street number was visible on the front door. A yellow light faintly lit a room on the right side of the structure.
The man instructed the cab driver to return to this point in fifteen minutes. Fisher knew this was his last chance to protest. Yet, he remained silent.
Fisher swallowed hard and opened his door. The man motioned for him to exit.
When the cab drove off, Ross mustered courage to speak.
“Well, I guess you’re not a stranger to Oklahoma, sir. I’m wondering how you could easily pick such an out-of-the-way place for our meeting.”
“Alright, Mr. Fisher. This is where I need to get some assurance from you. Then, and only then, will I let you in on my secret.”
Fisher looked to the sky, a torrential blast of rain blinded his vision. The reporter breathed heavily, conveying his annoyance. “Okay then, what do you want from me?” He spit out a mouthful of rainwater. The rain had cascaded so hard off his head he accidentally swallowed some. Maybe it was no coincidence he was about to swallow something else.
“First, I need your promise that everything we discuss today does not go into print.”
“Why would I agree to such a thing? I am here to get a story. It’s what I do, if I may politely remind you.”
“You are here today to reap the rewards of the future. I can offer you something beyond your wildest imagination. I am not talking about any kind of a job, I’m offering you paradise.”
Fisher recognized a sudden change in his inflection. The stranger now spoke with passion in direct contrast to the dispassionate self-assured tone of just a few minutes ago. Was this man really a part of the government or just some misguided bureaucrat seeking personal glory?
The man continued to speak, ignoring the downpour and Fisher’s every effort to interrupt him.
“I am asking you to trail an FBI agent for me. It’s a matter of national security.”
Oh, so maybe he’s from NSA, Fisher thought to himself. He stuffed his han
ds in his jacket pockets, hoping to conceal his agitation and fright.
However, as the man led Fisher up to the building’s entrance, the reporter couldn’t help feeling the structure was part of some military project.
The man instructed the door to open using a voice command. A rain-soaked Fisher stepped over the threshold first. A puddle of water instantly materialized at his feet. He was getting deeper into something he really didn’t care for. The place smelled like a laboratory.
“Don’t be afraid, Mr. Fisher.” The man dug a pocket-sized flashlight from his overcoat and lit the hallway that lay before them. Fisher breathed a sigh of relief. He suspected the man had been reaching for a gun.
“I brought you here to offer some physical evidence to back up my claims. This place once housed a project that conducted research. And yes, it was a covert operation. But all you need to know right now is that the crystal is the key element in completing the project.”
Again, Fisher found himself disturbed. The man was referring to the project in the possessive. Was this project legitimate? Maybe he should be working to expose this man, instead of taking his word on faith.
But the man spoke once again, as if he knew Fisher’s unspoken concerns.
“If the crystal had not been discovered, you and I would have never met. I fully admit some of my motives are selfish. However, there is a bigger picture. Your job is to make sure the crystal gets put into the right hands.”
“And who are the right hands?”
The man just stared at Fisher, appalled.
“For God’s sake, this nation indivisible. You are familiar with the Pledge of Allegiance, I hope?”
Fisher nodded and then cast his eyes to the floor.
“I am banking that you will follow my request out of love for your country. If you do what I ask, terrorism will be stopped in its tracks and a drop of blood will never be shed again in war. Ultimately, all the great minds of this country will finally be free to bring about a better humanity.”
Fisher removed his hands from his pockets and used one of them to scratch his chin. “Forgive the interruption, but you’re not being very specific. We all know the best laid plans of mice and men often go awry.”
“This is no plan. Nor is it a whim or a hope. You have my guarantee. All I ask from you is a little faith, because this faith is in the best interests of your country. Who wouldn’t want to be seated at the RIGHT HAND of GOD?”
Fisher’s mind raced. This guy actually believes some kind of transformation is possible. And it’s dependent upon a crystal? He had to ask one more time for the stranger’s credentials.
“No, I cannot risk exposure of the plan while the crystal is in the possession of a murderer. If someone else were to get their hands on this, we would experience an unparalleled breach of national security.”
Fisher forced his investigative mind to power down for a moment. He listened to the man’s requests carefully.
The stranger instructed Fisher he would soon make an acquaintance with an Agent Diggs. He would gain her trust so he could follow her investigation. He would be the eyes and ears for another man that he would never meet face to face. He would report every move of the FBI agent to this man via some electronic device that reminded him of a walkie-talkie.
“So why can’t your man just follow this FBI agent on his own?” Fisher asked suspiciously.
“Because my man cannot risk getting too close. The agents working on this case are professionals, they will know if they are being tailed. However, they won’t suspect you. As a civilian, you can safely keep my man apprised at all times without risk of exposing our plan—a plan I cannot risk divulging to the FBI. It is highly unlikely bureau agents will believe in the crystal like you do. Once the agents are in position to apprehend the suspect, I will have my man confiscate the crystal. Your job will then be done. And then it will only be a matter of time before you and the rest of your fellow Americans reap the benefits.”
Fisher continued to listen attentively. The man had slipped up. He referred to Fisher as a civilian. The reporter was now sure the military was involved. But when was the military ever so altruistic in its visions? Most military men live for war. The rumble of the taxi on the stone drive interrupted Fisher’s line of reasoning.
Fisher and the man rode in silence back to the airport. The red-haired man construed Fisher’s silence as a willingness to comply. Before he exited the cab, the stranger shook the reporter’s hand firmly and shot a wink at him.
All Fisher could do now was hope the man’s intentions were true, because even if Fisher refused to participate, there would be still be a man assigned to tail the FBI agents. He wondered how far these men would go to ensure the project’s success. The mystery man never said one word about the importance of apprehending a killer, and he did not ensure Fisher that the agents’ lives wouldn’t be jeopardized in the process. Did he intentionally fail to mention these matters because sacrifice was an option? What’s more, was his life on the line as well? Fisher tapped his fingers nervously on the device the man had given him, lost in thought. He really didn’t care at this point if it was selfish to worry about one’s own welfare.
One hour later, the red-haired man named Col. Tom Wolvington boarded a plane back to his Virginia home. As planned, Wolvington had successfully enlisted the aid of Ross Fisher without displaying all of his cards. He could have never hoped to win the Oklahoma reporter’s cooperation by being totally honest. And the truth was that innocent lives could very well be lost in the quest. But only a military man understands this type of sacrifice. Fisher, a civilian, might need a little coaxing. That’s where the little black box would come in handy.
Col. Wolvington requested a glass of water from the attendant to wash down a very blue and bitter pill. He reclined in his purplish-green lounge chair and waited for the medication to kick in. When it did, he drifted off to a sound sleep in first class—the very place he aspired to be—because no guilt ever resided there.
Chapter 14
After dining with Fisher (if you could call drinking liquid mud “dining”), Diggs drove her rental southeast to Broken Arrow. There she would meet Eugene “Bull Tongue” Campbell.
The drive to Broken Arrow was scenic. October leaves littered the side of the road in fiery flames of red, yellow, and orange. But Diggs was not easily distracted by the pleasures of nature. Her mind kept reverting to one thought—was the Arrowhead Killer taking a respite? She hoped with all her being that he was, because the threat of another death haunted her. His murders occurred while she was on leave. Now, each and every future murder would rest on her conscience, because in her head, it was her watch now.
In a matter of weeks, or perhaps only a few days, those brightly painted leaves would be reduced to nothing more than brown pieces of ash. So could all the hopes of catching the killer. Every question and answer must now be utilized to produce a viable profile—and quick. Despite the nagging reality of the situation, Caitlin had to shoot for the loftiest goal—to stop the killing spree at two.
But Diggs and the rest of the bureau knew the next kill might provide the very best means of catching the perp. You had to hope the killer would slip up somehow the next time around. Maybe there would be some good transfer evidence. Perhaps the next victim would tear off some flesh or hair of the killer. Maybe this would finally determine if they were looking for one killer or two. Better yet, maybe law enforcement would catch the killer fleeing the murder scene. It seemed illogical and heartless to hope for such a thing, but the unspoken thought still lingered in everyone’s mind. It didn’t matter if you were a rookie agent or the director himself. The suspect or suspects were not registered in any database. Whoever was doing this had no prior records. Sometimes you have to grasp for straws out of desperation. You didn’t want another death, but sometimes...the sacrifice of one benefits the many.
Right now, the past provided the killer with an unfair advantage, giving him anonymity. But Caitlin was well aware of how
the past always seems to catch up to you. She saw flashes of Geoffrey’s face in her mind as she rounded each and every winding curve of roadway. Yes, the past was a stubborn thing. It desperately wanted to keep a foothold in the present. Just how far Diggs would let it influence her future was up for debate. Hopefully the killer’s past would creep up as well, to reveal his Achilles’ heel.
The first thing Caitlin thought of when she saw Campbell’s house was serenity. The ranch home was painted a pastel green, and white shutters adorned the two front windows that bordered an olive green door. In the drive, sat a metallic brown Jeep Cherokee. Diggs had no trouble connecting the earthy tones with the Native American desire to be at one with nature.
Diggs had just pulled the keys out of the ignition when Campbell bounded out of his front door to greet her. Diggs announced who she was and flashed her badge.
She immediately sensed Campbell wanted to dispense with any formal greetings. “You are my guest,” he responded warmly, bowing his head. Diggs figured his introduction was superfluous anyway. She immediately recognized him from his photo. His black and silver hair danced upon his gray jacket in the breeze. He smiled with both his eyes and his mouth—the same way he did in the picture.
Once Caitlin stepped from her car, Campbell pointed in the direction of the woods. “Let us take a walk in my backyard.”
The pair had only paced about twenty meters when they engaged a tree-filled paradise. Birds sang, insects chirped, and unknown creatures dashed urgently among fallen leaves in search of food.
“I wanted to take you out here to show you balance,” Campbell began. “I’m afraid an unnatural element now threatens to offset this balance.”
