by Edwin Dasso
“Jack Bass.”
The man on the phone snickered. “I see the attempts at resuscitation failed.” He chortled. “That’s a damn shame.”
Jack’s face flushed, large veins popping out on his neck. He jumped up, snatched the pistol from the bed, and bolted for the door. He knocked the EMT aside as he sprinted down the hallway, bouncing off a wall as he turned to dash out the front door. He stopped on the sidewalk, his head snapping around as he peered intently into the dusk. He put the phone back to his ear.
“Where are you? Show yourself!”
The man on the phone cackled. “I don’t think so, Bass. Just remember, you—or your kid—can meet the same fate any time we want. You’ve seen our pictures of her…now you’ve got a dead friend on your hands. You ready to back off yet?”
“Tell Schanlon he’s a dead man,” Jack growled.
“Funny. He told me to tell you the same thing if you didn’t agree to stay away.” The caller laughed then disconnected.
“You need to drop the gun!” the cop standing behind Jack hollered.
Jack let it slip from his fingers as he continued to scan up and down the street.
Chapter 47
Wednesday, 8:30 a.m.
“Jack, I’m sure you’re aware of the seriousness of those accusations. The VA pharmacy will likely take offense, if not legal action.”
“Wes! I watched a fucking video of George dying! I saw the pill bottle on the floor next to his hand! Then some guy called me and laughed about the video. When I looked for the pill bottle later, I couldn’t find it anywhere! I think they somehow switched the drugs in his prescription.”
“Well, I recommend you go through your entire house and put all the prescription drug bottles in a bag and send it to me. I’ll send the drugs over to the FBI lab to get them analyzed. I’ll tell you if they find anything suspicious.” There was silence for several seconds. “By the way…when and where is George’s funeral?”
“He didn’t want one.”
“What?”
“He said too many soldiers have died in the field, and many of them never had a proper burial, let alone a funeral…said he’d feel guilty having a funeral.”
“Well then, how are his…remains being handled? I want to pay my respects properly.”
“He wanted to be cremated—then have his ashes ‘tossed unceremoniously into the ocean’.” He shook his head slowly. “I don’t think I could do that to him. He deserved more.”
“What are you going to do?”
“George would be pissed at me for not following directions, but…I found a plot in Arlington. As close to Lori’s grave as I could get.” He blew out a long breath. “I think it’s only right that those two are close to each other for eternity.”
“When are you going to bury him?”
“Good question. I was told the fucking Secretary of Veterans Affairs insisted his body be impounded! A guy, I might add, who comes from a pharma company background.”
“What? Why?”
“George had apparently gotten his script filled at a VA the day he died. The Secretary’s spokesperson told me they’re concerned about contaminated drugs or some such bullshit…”
“And they haven’t given any indication about when his body will be released?” Wes asked, surprise obvious in his voice.
“No.”
“What about an autopsy? Are they doing one?”
“They should be, but again, I can’t get any information.”
“That’s not right.”
“Tell me about it, Wes! This whole mess just keeps getting worse…and I’m getting more concerned about just how widespread it is. Jesus, now we’ve got federal cabinet appointees getting involved!” Jack glanced at the bio for the Secretary of Veterans Affairs, which Jack had pulled up on his laptop. “How high up the chain does this go?”
“Careful—don’t start sounding like a conspiracy theorist on me. That’s a slippery slope.”
Jack grunted in response.
“Jack—did you hear what I just said?
“Yes.”
“Good. Can I send flowers, at least?” Wes asked after a few seconds of silence.
“No. George asked that any donations be sent to Wounded Warriors if someone wanted to pay respects.”
“That sounds like George—an army doctor, even in death.”
“Yep. Even in death,” Jack said despondently. “Look, I gotta go, Wes.”
“No vendettas…right, Jack?”
“He was the closest thing to a father I ever had.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“No…I didn’t.”
Wes sighed loudly. “Get those pill bottles over to me.”
“Will do. Bye.”
Frustrated after a futile search of his house for a couple of hours, Jack slammed the bathroom vanity drawer closed.
“Dammit! I know George had medicines at home…and I know I saw that bottle here the day he died.” His gaze darted around the room. “Where the hell did they all go?”
He texted Hank to see if he knew of any other place Smithson might have kept medications, quickly receiving a response that neither he nor Amanda could think of other spots to search. Jack dropped his phone back into his pocket.
“Shit!” He suddenly spun toward the window then rushed over to assure it was locked. He hurriedly worked his way through the entire house, checking each door and window to confirm they were secure.
“Somebody’s been in here…and I’m getting tired of feeling threatened in my own home,” he growled.
Chapter 48
Wednesday, Noon
Hank shuddered as they walked through the heavily overgrown site of the marijuana camp, where he’d been enslaved when Jack had rescued him. That had been the lowest point of Hank’s life, and he didn’t like being back here. But its isolated location made it an ideal place for him to hide Amanda, Sara, and Sasha. So, he took the bullet for the team.
He turned back to the three girls who were following him across the desolate location. “C’mon, it’s this building over here.” He pointed a thumb over his shoulder as he smiled thinly at them. “Trust me, it’s nicer inside than it looks from out here. I’ve been here making some improvements the past couple of weeks.”
Hank had parked the ATV as close as possible, but they still had to walk a short distance to the building they’d be staying in. Sara was struggling to pull her rollerboard over the uneven ground while she carried Sasha. Hank smacked his palm against his forehead then ran back to her.
“Sorry, Sara! I can be a little dense about etiquette sometimes.” He snatched up her suitcase.
Amanda had her items in a large ruck she carried on her back. “What about me, Hank? Aren’t you going to carry mine, too?” she asked, a wry grin on her face.
He turned toward her, giving her a deadpan expression. “Your dad said you should carry your own. Said it’d be good for you.” He quickly twisted away so she could not see him laughing.
“Bullshit! He did not.”
Hank guffawed then held an index finger up over his shoulder, waggling it toward Amanda as he trudged toward the old shack. “Language!”
Hank hopped up onto the porch of the old building, digging a key from a pocket and unlocking the new padlock he’d installed on the door a couple weeks prior. He tossed the rollerboard through the door and turned back to the women.
“All aboard,” he said as he gave a bow and exaggerated arm wave toward the open door.
Once the girls had entered the building, he stood on the porch, quickly surveying the camp and surrounding woodlands. His gaze soon fell upon the ramshackle wooden cover that had been placed over the hole in the ground, where he’d spent his first few nights in the camp. He shivered as he recalled his fellow prisoner—a man who had died when he was in that pit with Hank. A chill ran over his body, and he wrapped his arms around himself. He shuddered again as he stepped across the threshold into the cabin, which had served as a barracks
when he was held captive at the site.
The women had already selected their bunks and had stowed their belongings near their respective beds. They were now all standing around a rickety table in what barely passed for a kitchen.
Amanda wrinkled her nose. “It smells funny in here.”
“I know it may not be what you’re used to, but you have two months of food supplies and a several week supply of fuel for the generator.” He pointed to the roof. “You have a satellite dish for Internet access, hot water, and a freezer full of frozen entrees.” He pointed around at the organized shelves full of containers. “The frozen stuff is in a freezer on the back porch.” He pointed toward a rear door. “That’s where I put meats and frozen vegetables—just make sure you close and lock it whenever you get in it. There are bears around here.”
Sasha squeaked and latched onto her mother’s leg.
Hank laughed. “Sorry, Sasha—I didn’t mean to scare you. I promise no bear will ever bother you.” He pounded on his chest like Tarzan. “They’re all afraid of me.” He smiled and winked at the young girl.
Sasha smiled hesitantly as she gawked at Hank, but she didn’t release her death grip on her mother’s leg.
Hank put a hand on Sara’s arm. “I want to give you a quick tour.” He gently turned her toward a small, clapboard counter with a laptop sitting on top of it. “This is your security center.”
He stepped over to the laptop and flipped it open. When the screen flickered to life, he pointed at the images that appeared.
“I have surveillance cameras covering the entire compound—a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree perimeter around this cabin. This system is on 24/7 and even has infrared for night viewing. If you ever want to know what—or who—is outside, just look here.” He pointed at Sasha and smiled. “Especially, if you’re looking for bears,” he teased.
She squealed and disappeared behind her mom.
“Hank!” Sara scolded. “It’s bad enough we’re here—I don’t want Sasha terrified, too.”
Hank turned his eyes to the floor and rubbed at the back of his neck. “Sorry…just trying to lighten the mood.”
Sara looked sternly at him. “Well, find some other way. I don’t think Sasha appreciates your humor.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “I know I don’t.”
Sasha peeked out from behind her mother, stared at Hank, and nodded.
“Sorry, Sasha,” he muttered. He looked at Sara then Amanda. “Getting back to business, I also put up a perimeter alarm near this building.” He pointed at an alarm mounted high on a wall. “If you hear that buzzing, you need to take immediate action…which brings me to my next point.”
He dug in a pocket and extracted a wadded-up piece of paper. He unfolded it, pointing at the three handwritten numbers scrawled on it as he handed it to Sara.
“Since you’re the eldest, and should be in charge, I’ll give this to you. That’s the combination to the gun safe…just in case.”
Sara’s mouth hung open as her gaze darted back and forth between Hank and the slip of paper. “B-but…I don’t have a clue how to shoot a gun—I’ve never even held one.”
“Then let Amanda handle the gun if the need arises—she’s an excellent shot.”
Sara raised an eyebrow and turned to Amanda, looking quizzically at her. Amanda shrugged then nodded.
“I’ve shot pistols in competition for years…just like my mom did.”
“Just trust me on this one, Sara; let her handle it,” Hank said then turned toward Amanda. “One of the guns is a 1911 Colt—similar to your match gun. I figured you’d be more comfortable with that.”
“I’m sure I can handle it,” Amanda replied confidently. “I just don’t want to have to point it at anyone.”
“I get it, Amanda. Let’s hope it never comes to that, but if it does…” He shrugged. “Do it. Anyway, the clip’s full, but there’s not one in the chamber, so remember that…if you need to use it.”
Amanda huffed and rolled her eyes. “I think I know how to load a Colt, Hank!”
“Okay, okay—just making sure. Sheesh!”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you. I-I just hate that we’re here. In another situation like this.” She waved her arms around the room and kicked at her ruck that was on the floor. “And my dad is out there on his own.”
“I know…” Hank mumbled.
“How long will we need to be here?” Sara asked.
Hank stared blankly at her for a few seconds then shrugged. “Until it’s safe to leave.” He shoved his hands into his pockets then slowly turned back to the gun safe. “There’s also a twelve-gauge loaded with double ought buck in there. I recommend that as your weapon of choice—especially if someone manages to get inside the building.” He turned and locked gazes with Amanda. “It’s a short barrel, and the pattern will spread quickly—make sure neither Sara nor Sasha is anywhere near where you’re aiming. Other than that, just point in the general direction of the threat and pull the trigger.”
Amanda looked concerned. “But I-I’ve never shot a shotgun.”
Hank gazed at her a few seconds. “I forgot about that. Well, I’ll show you how before I leave.”
Amanda’s lip began to tremble, and her eyes moistened as she gawked wide-eyed at Hank. “I’m scared, Hank! I don’t like all this talk about pointing guns…and shooting at people!” she bawled. “Can’t you stay here with us?” She sniffled and wiped her nose on a sleeve.
Hank stepped in front of her, dropping to a knee as he held onto her arms and looked up into her eyes. “I’m sorry, Amanda. I know this is a lot to process…and I’m sorry if I scared you.” He shook his head slowly. “I’m kind of a klutz about this stuff—I forget you’re just a kid sometimes.”
“Please, Hank—just stay with us!” she wailed.
“I’ll be here as much as I can, but I’ll need to leave on occasion to go check on your dad. He may need my help.”
Amanda’s eyes shot wide, then she threw her arms around Hank’s neck. “Why? Why us…again? Why can’t the assholes in the world just leave us alone?”
Hank held her clumsily, patting her awkwardly on her shoulder. “I-I don’t know, Amanda. I’ve wondered that for as long as I’ve known your dad…and I know he’s asked himself that most of his life.” He stood and shook his head slowly. “Bad luck does seem to follow him,” he said somberly.
Chapter 49
Wes pushed a paperweight around on his desk as he listened to his friend, Carl, a high-ranking DEA official, on the phone.
“Wes, you know I want to help, but…even my few initial inquiries about this seem to have gained more attention than I’d have expected. It hasn’t turned out to be as simple as just asking a few questions for an old FBI buddy.”
“Attention? What’s that mean?” Wes asked tersely. “Good attention, bad attention…or just somebody taking notice?”
Silence filled the line for several seconds. “Well…it ain’t good,” Carl muttered.
“Okay—it’s not good. Just how bad is it then?”
“Bad.”
“Shit, Carl! Don’t be so damned cryptic. Just straight-up tell me what the hell the status is. Can you help me or not?”
“No.” Carl sighed loudly. “I’m sorry. I was just asking a few, what I thought, were low-key questions around D.C. about this Schanlon guy and his company. Barely mentioned the drug study…”
“And?”
“I got hammered! My boss wanted to know what I’d heard. Wanted to know exactly why I was asking around about Schanlon. He wasn’t happy when I had to admit my inquiries weren’t part of any official investigation.”
Wes scooted to the edge of his chair, tightening his grip on the phone enough to turn his knuckles white. “Did you tell him about me? That I’d asked for the help.”
“No. I made up some bullshit story. He seemed to swallow it…”
“Thanks for that. I’m an outsider now. I’m already having enough trouble getting the inside scoop from my
old alphabet soup agency contacts. Hell, I can’t even get any FBI buddies to lend a hand on this.” He groaned and rested his head on his hand. “What the hell is going on, Carl?”
“You promise you never heard this from me?”
“Of course! Did you turn up something?”
“My boss implied he got some heat from a congressman to shut me down. I got the impression it was somebody he didn’t want to mess with.”
“Congressman? Who?”
“He wouldn’t say who. He’s a decent guy—I know he wanted to help me, but…”
“So, now we have a congressman telling law enforcement to back off. That’s not scary, is it?” Wes said sardonically.
“That ain’t all, buddy. He also said the congressman was asked to lean on him by a cabinet member…”
“What? Are you telling me this goes to the White House, too?” Wes asked incredulously.
“That’s exactly what I’m telling you! That’s why I have to back off.” There was silence for several seconds again. “I’m sorry, Wes, but…this likely does go all the way to the White House, and people are afraid for their jobs. You know how that asshole over there is about firing people. Acts like it’s some damned reality show.” He sighed. “We all have bills to pay and pensions to protect. You remember what it’s like to be a federal employee, don’t you?” Carl asked dourly.
Wes snorted. “Yes, I do.”
“So, now you understand why I can’t help…”
“I suppose,” Wes muttered. “I don’t want to put you at any risk.” He flopped back in his desk chair and stared at the ceiling. “I’ll just have to find another way. Thanks for trying.”
“Sorry.”
“Yep.
“Wes?”
“Yeah?”
“Be careful. I been around this town a long time and seen some real horseshit go down—this one has me spooked.”
“Thanks, Carl. Will do. Good-bye.”
Chapter 50
Two Weeks after Smithson’s Death
