“Unfortunately, credible information is quite scarce,” Chip said.
Dylan nodded. “Worldwide intelligence agencies only reluctantly acknowledge the existence of an individual or group of operatives possibly responsible for manipulating a number of catastrophic events.”
Light pulsed across Chip’s alloyed surface. “The implications are frightening if true. Such events include the Trinity explosion and the WWII atomic bombing of Nagasaki—which many conspiracy theorists claimed was never supposed to be a target after Hiroshima. The 1980s Chernobyl meltdown disaster was also supposedly instigated by the Blurred Man, along with other less threatening but still disastrous events since that time.”
Dylan interacted with the holographic screen, sliding over to a photo of a young black man sitting in front of a computer. “Strange that a conspiracy theorist blogger would be the person to connect the dots. What do we know about Nathan Ryder?”
Chip whirred. “He had been blogging for several years with only a small following before he turned his attention to government conspiracy. His early work details mostly his life growing up as a young black man with a stereotypical background of low income and poor schooling, separated from his peers because of his mental gifts. Instead of feeling alienated, he embraced his solitude, excelling scholastically and earning a scholarship from Yale, where he distinguished himself in law, mathematics and psychology.”
“How did he discover his information on the Blurred Man?”
“A combination of luck and obsessive behavior,” Chip said. “He has a passion for photography, which led to a study of its history, particularly of catastrophic and wartime events. His detailed examination of thousands of photographs revealed a disturbing aberration: more than a few photographs displayed a man’s image, always with his face obscured despite the clarity of the photo. At times more than one person’s face was blurred, but it was never more than two at a time. Ryder stuck with the singular label of ‘Blurred Man’, a term which instantly caught on with the fringe elements of the blogging community.”
Dylan motioned with her hands, enlarging a college newspaper article. “He published his work two years ago, insinuating the intelligence agencies covered over proof of the Blurred Man’s existence. His findings created a firestorm of controversy as mainstream media leaped on the bandwagon.”
“National attention came soon after.” Chip’s beam flickered, switching the holographic display over to a collage of news articles. “A six-figure book deal, speaking engagements, even movie and television offers.”
“What’s interesting is what didn’t happen,” Dylan said. “Ryder didn’t take any of those lucrative propositions. He accepted an offer for a consulting position with Chimera Global instead.”
“A global corporation with a number of umbrella operations including nuclear energy, international arms supply, military science, and mercenary employment.” Chip switched the display to a screenshot of the imposing Chimera Global headquarters building. “Ironic since Ryder blogged many times about the danger of such operations.”
“What are you up to, Mr. Ryder?” Dylan processed each data point almost instantaneously, her algorithms mapping and eliminating thousands of different scenarios. “Which branch of Chimera is he currently stationed at?”
“A military institution just outside of San Francisco,” Chip said, switching the screenshot over to a satellite image of the area. “Officially designated an office of the newly founded Aberrant Investigation Team. It’s currently funded and staffed by Chimera Global operatives. I’m accessing their records.” Tiny dots of light winked across Chip’s frame. “This is interesting.” It exhibited the information on the holographic display.
“Michael McDaniel is being held there,” Dylan said. “The only survivor of the mill explosion where Guy Mann was last seen. It’s all connected somehow. The fact that Chimera has sequestered this investigation only confirms it. That means I have two goals to accomplish: discover what Chimera wants with Michael, and find out what Nathan Ryder knows about the Blurred Man. Fortunately I know a way to accomplish both tasks at the same location.”
Chip shut off the display and rose from the table, its tiny repulsors firing as it drifted over to land in the palm of Dylan’s hand. “I believe that means I have work to do.”
Dylan glanced in the mirror and focused, accessing the portion of her mind that manipulated self-image. A tingling sensation was the only indicator of the slight alteration in her optical receptors to visualize herself with darker hair and eye color. Picking up a pair of thin-rimmed glasses off the table, she tried them on and studied her reflection. “That’s right, Chip. I need an additional profession. One that can get me access to Michael McDaniel. It will have to be able to withstand a thorough investigation and background check. I’ll be using chestnut hair color and hazel contact lenses to give me a slightly different look, so make sure to include that in the ID photos.”
“Not much of a challenge,” Chip said. “Consider it done. May I suggest caution this time? Chimera is known for ruthless maneuvering to achieve their goals.”
“That’s why you won’t be coming,” Dylan said. “I need you to prepare another safe house. My calculations indicate an eighty-six percent chance of this expedition turning disastrous. Dylan Plumm may no longer be a valid alias afterward.”
Chip buzzed in a distressed manner. “I’ll purchase your airline tickets.”
II
Dylan studied Nathan Ryder as he leaned back in his cushioned office chair. It didn’t appear to be a relaxed gesture at all. He also avoided eye contact for the most part, glancing anywhere but her as they exchanged formalities. Merging his behavior with the personality exams Dylan had already downloaded allowed her to run an analysis in her mind.
The retreating posture is his unconscious indication he feels uncomfortable in my presence. Combined with his irritated expression and terse manner of speech, it reveals his social handicap. Although gifted with brilliance in logical thinking, he is at odds with basic personal interaction. Schizoid personality disorder would best account for his behavior. His preference is isolation, being able to operate individually with little or any supervision. His office is his comfort zone, and I’m intruding simply by being here.
He was younger than he appeared in photos, in his mid-twenties with a slim physique and carefully crafted appearance. His suit was stylish without drawing attention to the fact, personally tailored to his build. His mustache and short-cropped hair were perfectly lined, indicating his penchant for orderliness. The quality was reflected in his polished office furniture and orderly arrangement of his desktop.
“You appear a bit out of place in a military institution, Mr. Ryder,” she said. “But I suppose your interest here is more academic than gung ho.”
“My interest here is none of your concern, Agent Plumm.” Ryder didn’t appear to care or even notice his discourtesy. “Let’s cut to the chase and get to the point where you tell me why an FBI agent is suddenly interested in this facility.”
Dylan crossed one stocking-clad leg over the other. Although her skirt wasn’t short, the movement did allow the exposure of a generous amount of her lower leg. “Let’s say I have an interest in an individual who’s being detained here.”
Ryder shifted uneasily, his eyes flicking to the safe zone of the office wall. “We have a number of detainees here, Agent Plumm.”
“True. But only one directly related to a case I’m assigned to. His name is Michael McDaniel. The only survivor of a mill explosion. I’m quite sure you know of him.”
“You want access to Michael McDaniel? Impossible.” He peered suspiciously from behind black-rimmed eyeglasses with an expression that clearly indicated his desire for her to vanish into thin air. “Mr. McDaniel is for all intents and purposes a prisoner of the state. He doesn’t receive visitors and doesn’t give interviews. I’m afraid you’ll have to present more than an FBI badge to be granted access, Agent Plumm.”
She fixe
d him with her best dubious stare. “There are certain legal channels that appear to be trampled on by his imprisonment, Mr. Ryder. We both know detainment by private sectors allows the government loopholes to deny prisoners their civil and lawful rights. This facility isn’t administered or funded by any US agency. Chimera pays the bills here, leaving me to wonder what branch of the government, if any, has authorized Mr. McDaniel’s imprisonment.”
Ryder’s mouth curved in amusement. “That’s something you’ll have to take up with your branch of the government, Agent Plumm. I assure you that we have legal matters properly arranged to handle this special circumstance. If you wish to debate the matter, I suggest you bring a lawyer with you next time.”
Dylan pulled up a file on her tablet and placed it in front of him. “As a point of interest I happen to be a lawyer, Mr. Ryder. Michael McDaniel’s, in fact.”
She smiled at his stunned expression. “I can assure you that the legalities of my position are properly arranged. Now if you don’t mind, I’d like to speak with my client.”
***
Michael McDaniel was tall and well built, his blond coif just unruly enough to be roguishly likeable, with eyes blue and clear as a bay in the Bahamas. He didn’t look at all like a man who would kill his coworkers by way of massive explosion. He was what women called a stunner, though that meant little to Dylan. She had long ago accustomed herself to recognize what was considered attractive without being able to experience the thrill of the sensation in a personal manner. There was still some connection she was not able to make, some intangible spark that never ignited within her, despite the ages she had spent in the form of both genders.
She put those thoughts away, assessing her subject. He smiled when he spoke, shaking her hand gratefully when she introduced herself.
“Thank God,” he said as he sat down. “I thought they’d never allow me to contact a lawyer. They’re treating me like a terrorist, Ms. Plumm. I didn’t do the…things they’re saying I did. I’ve answered all their questions, but they just keep telling me I’m crazy.” He locked gazes with her the entire time as though trying to channel his honesty through his eyes. “I’m not crazy, Ms. Plumm. I know what I saw that night and as unreal as it sounds, every word is true.”
“I’ve read the transcripts, Mr. McDaniel.” She glanced down at her tablet. “You claimed the mill was enveloped by a massive rainstorm that prevented the employees from leaving, despite local weather reports indicating clear skies that evening. You then state that faceless, shape-shifting beings invaded and slaughtered everyone inside except you and a fellow employee with the implausible name of Guy Mann, who you claim planted an explosive as a failsafe to prevent an event called an ‘Aberration’ from engulfing our world.”
“Well, it does sound a bit crazy when you say it like that. But you didn’t see what I—” Michael narrowed his eyes. “Wait a minute. You were there. I remember you. Your hair was blond, but it was you. You and the other guy…Agent Lee.” He leaned back with a forlorn sigh. “You’re not really my lawyer, are you? You’re just another damn suit who thinks I’m a terrorist.”
“I was there, yes.” Dylan allowed her eyes to widen and parted her lips slightly in order to convey empathy. “I saw the aftermath of the blast. I saw the remains of people who would never see their loved ones again. And I saw you, Michael. I saw you dazed and confused, with no idea what happened. Isn’t it possible that you—?”
“No, no, no!” Michael punctuated each word with a fist pound on the table. “Don’t play mind games with me, lady. You weren’t there when everything went to hell.” His face distorted as though battling the memories. “You can’t help me. No one can. No one will believe me.” His shoulders sagged as he stared at the floor.
“Not even your friend? The one you claimed saved your life?”
“Guy?” Michael lifted his head. “You’ve…seen him?”
“That’s proven impossible. He disappeared from the crime scene right after we found you. We’ve found no records aside from his brief employment at the mill. No digital footprint, no public history. It’s almost as if he never existed. Anything you can tell me about him would do a great deal toward finding out where he might possibly be.”
“I can’t help you, Ms. Plumm.” Michael slouched in his chair, his expression downcast. “I can’t even help myself. I’m stuck in this joint being deprived of my rights and all you can do is interrogate me about a man the shrinks claim I made up in my head.”
“You’re being told Guy is a fabrication?”
“That’s right.” Michael’s voice lowered to a near-whisper when he leaned forward. His eyes glistened; the tears quivered in expectation of their release. “They want me to believe I bombed the mill. That everything I saw was just my own mind shielding me from the truth. That I’m a crazy man who murdered my coworkers, and Guy never existed.”
***
Dylan heard footsteps behind her. Ryder caught up with her in the hallway, matching her stride as she made her way to the exit. “You didn’t want to help Mr. McDaniel at all.” He thrust an accusing finger her direction. “You wanted info on the Blurred Man.”
She glanced at him. “You believe Guy Mann is the person in those photos you published in your book?”
“One of their agents, anyway. This is an organization, not an individual. If it was simply one or two people then they would have to be practically immortal in order to have appeared at so many historical disasters. My data has found instances of their existence since the invention of the camera. There’s no telling how long they’ve operated before they were actually caught on film.”
He nodded to the guard at the exit, who opened the doors to the parking deck. Dylan expected Ryder to remain behind, but he followed her out.
She smiled. “I’m afraid I can’t afford to abduct Chimera’s prize paranormal consultant.”
Ryder glanced behind him. “A gentleman walks a lady to her car. I’m a stickler for decorum.”
“I wouldn’t have thought of you as a romantic, Mr. Ryder.”
He shrugged. “Nobody’s perfect.”
As they approached her SUV, his voice lowered. “I don’t know what you’re looking for, or who you really are. An FBI analysis expert and a top-rated lawyer? I ran a check on you, Agent Plumm. Your file says you were a child prodigy, but it still takes time to accomplish everything you’ve done.”
Dylan smiled. “I’m flattered by the interest. Let’s just say that time is a luxury for me, Mr. Ryder. Unlike most people, I have all the time I need to accomplish whatever it is I need to do.”
His voice was still carefully low-pitched when he opened her door for her. “We seem to be looking for the same thing, Ms. Plumm. Just going about it different ways. Piece of advice: be very careful. You don’t know how dangerous these people are.”
“The Blurred Man organization?”
“No.” His hand flicked forward, expelling an SD card that landed neatly in her cup holder. “I’m talking about Chimera. Take care, Ms. Plumm.” He closed the door. Dylan watched from the rearview mirror as he turned and strode back to the compound entrance without a backward glance.
***
It took only seconds for Dylan to discover Ryder was right. Chimera had remotely installed spyware on her tablet. Dylan didn’t know if it was a standard tactic or if she was targeted specifically, but either way it enforced the corporation’s ruthless reputation. She tapped her ruby-studded earring, automatically enabling a call from the hidden Bluetooth to her new safe house.
“Chip, I need a clean sweep of my tablet.”
“Infiltrated already? Not even dinner first?”
She ignored Chip’s banter while it remotely downloaded the appropriate spyware eliminator. Afterward, she installed the SD card. Among the data files was a video clip labeled Play Now. She clicked on it. Nathan Ryder’s image popped up on the vehicle’s digital heads-up display as Dylan cruised into the busy San Francisco streets.
“If you’re s
eeing this, I must be close.” Ryder’s recorded image appeared far less guarded in the video, his face displaying genuine anxiety. His expression was haggard, as though suffering from a lack of sleep.
“I also must be in grave danger,” he continued. “Since I might not make it out of Chimera alive, this is the compilation of what I’ve discovered so far.”
His message listed a number of illegal activities Chimera Global was involved in, such as illegal arms trafficking and mercenary aid to nations in dispute with the US. On the political front Ryder provided hacked emails that revealed Chimera’s tampering of US congressional and presidential elections that included threats, blackmail and murder. The corporation also bankrolled votes on both sides of the political floor in order to press legislature that benefitted the company’s interests. Pushing their agenda abroad, they armed militants and revolutionists in the Middle East and Africa, bolstering their financial gain in the process of manipulating chaos.
“But make no mistake: empowering itself monetarily is only the secondary agenda of Chimera,” Ryder said. “They possess ambitions that go far beyond fiscal domination. Their outright confiscation of Michael McDaniel from under the FBI’s very nose is proof of both their reach and their future plans. Hiring me as a consultant was no mistake either. Although ostracized by the blogging community as just another fringe conspiracy theorist, I was one of the few compiling real data on the event Michael referred to as the ‘Aberration.’ My data indicated a powerful energy surge of extraordinary magnitude that didn’t register on normal instruments, therefore going unnoticed by investigative agencies. If what Michael has stated is true, this energy not only has tremendous destructive potential, it can also open a threshold to another dimension.”
The Blurred Man Page 2
