Walk the Wire

by David Baldacci

  “We can’t be sure until they get into that bunker and examine the contents. That will take some time. In addition to the concrete that was poured down that pipe, they will be using vapor seals, pressure chamber technology, and other protocols to ensure that what is in the pipe and bunker remains there until it can be permanently dealt with. The problem is that if an explosive was used in piercing the bunker, some of the contents may have escaped already into the surrounding earth. The response team understands that and is using every tool they have to contain it until a complete study is conducted and a full-scale remediation plan can be implemented.”

  Jamison persisted, “Don’t you have some idea after talking to those people?”

  “I have come to learn that back then the Air Force, as an alternative to the deployment of nuclear weapons, was very keenly working on developing ‘synthetic’ airborne weapons, including ricin, anthrax, sarin, a substance today known as compound 1080, and an inhalable form of the world’s most lethal poison, botulinum. If I had to guess, I would say that the medium used was some type of laboratory-crafted spore. I say that only because I was aware of a similar project being undertaken by the Soviets during the Cold War.”

  “Wonderful how really smart people spend so much time trying to kill each other,” commented a clearly disgusted Jamison.

  “Yes, well, anyway, it was intended that these weapons would be deployed from aircraft—making the Air Force the perfect medium to deploy them, of course. I have also learned that the intent back then was to devise these toxins in such a way that once released they would linger in the ground for centuries, in the same way that radiation from a nuclear explosion would. Years later, if you happened to walk along and disturb such toxins on the ground and then inhaled them, you could be dead within hours or even minutes without ever knowing what had killed you. And I was told that one of the other goals was to make some or all of these poisons, once inhaled, capable of being transmitted through the air from one living thing to another. In other words, they wanted to make a synthetic plague that was actually far deadlier than the original version.”

  “That is absolutely horrible,” said Jamison.

  “But effective, if mass death over a long period of time is your goal,” pointed out Blue Man. “It’s no wonder they eventually buried it in that bunker. They probably didn’t know how to destroy these weapons safely. You couldn’t burn them or blow them up without risk that some of the airborne contaminants would escape. And once they did, they could be there a long time waiting to kill the unsuspecting. And with prevailing wind patterns, storms, and unsuspecting, contaminated people moving here and there, it could have affected a far larger area than simply North Dakota. It would have been truly catastrophic and beyond this country’s capability to adequately respond.” He smiled at the pair. “But you two and your brother-in-law managed to stop it.”

  “My brother-in-law deserves the credit there,” said Decker.

  “Decker,” admonished Jamison, “if you hadn’t figured it out, Stan would have had no chance to stop it.”

  “I think there’s enough credit to go around,” noted Blue Man. He looked expectantly at Decker. “Now, it’s one thing to stop such a plot. It’s quite another to catch those who did it.”

  Decker said, “We’re talking deep pockets. The mercenaries they’ve used aren’t cheap, and neither was paying for the land and all the equipment to do what they almost succeeded in doing.”

  “We’re making inquiries, but I’m afraid it will be a long and involved process and it may well be that no definitive answer comes from it. And even if we do determine who was responsible, our options may be limited in how to respond.”

  “That’s bullshit,” said Jamison.

  Blue Man smiled demurely. “And it’s also the nature of geo-politics. For better or worse, some of the players undoubtedly behind this are countries we need in other areas to keep the world relatively stable.”

  “So they’ll get a pass?” said Jamison. “If there are no consequences, what will stop them from trying again?”

  “I didn’t say there would be no consequences,” said Blue Man. “But there may be no public consequences.”

  “So a cover-up?” exclaimed Jamison.

  “And since I know you were a journalist, every molecule of your nature rises up in protest at the very thought of such a thing. And I can’t say that you’re wrong. I can only say that the matter is complicated and not everyone in power believes in transparency. Or if they do, it’s their version of it.”

  Jamison shook her head in resignation but said nothing.

  Decker said, “We still have the matter of finding out who killed Irene Cramer and Pamela Ames, and abducted Hal Parker. And who probably killed Ben Purdy and did murder his mother.”

  Jamison added, “And who was also blackmailing Walt Southern. It has to be the same people behind the biochemical weapons scheme.”

  “It could be that someone local was working with foreign elements to bring this plot about,” said Robie.

  “I think that’s exactly what happened,” said Decker. “Now we just have to find out who the local is.”

  DECKER, BAKER, AND JAMISON were having dinner at the OK Corral Saloon that evening.

  “Don’t think I’ve been poked and prodded that much since I was in boot camp,” said Baker as he sipped on a bottle of beer.

  “Well, it could have been a lot worse,” noted Jamison. “We could be in a morgue.”

  Baker nodded. “So do they know what’s down there? Saw a big crew poring over the place until they put up these screens to block the sight lines.”

  “Let’s just say it was some serious shit from the past that never should have been put down there in the first place,” said Jamison.

  Baker shook his head. “Damn military playing God like always. I mean, when are they gonna learn?”

  “Don’t hold your breath,” said Decker. “I suppose you heard about Hugh Dawson?”

  Baker nodded, looking sad. “I tried to visit Caroline at the hospital, but they said she was still medicated and asleep. How’s she doing?”

  “It’s going to take time,” said Jamison. “She’s been through a lot.”

  “Shane lost his father, but it wasn’t the same situation,” noted Decker. “Although we’ve learned Hugh was no saint.”

  “Considering Hugh Dawson killed McClellan, I think they both have it pretty bad,” Jamison countered.

  “What the hell are you talking about?” exclaimed Baker.

  Decker quickly explained what had happened.

  Baker sipped his beer, a thoughtful expression on his face. “Guess it shows you money can’t buy happiness. I mean those two were rolling in it, and now they’re both dead and won’t enjoy a penny of it.”

  Decker looked up as the door opened and in walked Kelly, Shane, Liz Southern, and, surprisingly, a tired-looking Caroline Dawson.

  “Look who’s all together again,” commented Jamison.

  “The sister and her two honorary brothers,” added Decker.

  “Brothers who would rather be something else, you mean,” countered Jamison.

  Kelly spotted them and led the others over to their table.

  Baker stood and reached a hand out to Dawson. “I tried to see you at the hospital, but you were asleep, Caroline. I’m so sorry about, well, everything.”

  “Thank you, Stan, that’s very kind of you,” she said, her voice low and unnaturally slow.

  To Decker, her unfocused eyes and feeble manner showed that she was not yet fully recovered from her ordeal.

  Jamison, noting this, said, “Are you sure you should be out? You look like you should still be in the hospital.”

  Southern said, “I told her that until I was hoarse, but she wouldn’t listen.”

  Dawson said, “I didn’t want to stay there anymore. I was feeling claustrophobic.”

  Shane interjected, “The docs said it was okay. She just needs to take it easy.”

  “Do you
want us to drive you to your condo?” asked Jamison.

  Dawson said, “No, I’m going to go up to my room here, and—”

  Kelly said quickly, “You want me to come with you?”

  “Or I can,” added Shane.

  “No. I’ll be fine, thanks, guys.” She looked at Southern. “Thanks for coming to stay with me at the hospital, Liz. I’ll give you a call tomorrow.”

  “Sleep well,” said Southern kindly.

  She headed off as they all watched. Then Shane, Southern, and Kelly sat down at the table.

  “She doesn’t look good,” said Baker.

  “Well, she’s been through hell and back,” said Southern defensively.

  “Shane has, too,” pointed out Kelly. “Lost his dad and all.” He glanced at Shane. “And considering how he died.”

  Shane shrugged at this and motioned to the waitress and ordered the same beer Decker was drinking. “It’s not like my old man thought much of me. But he didn’t deserve to die like that, either.” He eyed Decker. “You really think Hugh killed him?”

  Jamison answered, “I don’t know why he would write a suicide note saying he did if he didn’t.”

  Shane looked at Kelly. “What do you think, Joe?”

  Kelly stared down at his hands. “You know those guys have been at each other for years. Maybe Hugh just reached the last straw. Sell out to McClellan and then make sure he could never enjoy the fruits of it?”

  “But then he kills himself so he could never enjoy his fortune, either?” said Jamison in a doubting tone.

  “Guilt can make people do crazy things,” said Kelly. “But I know, none of it makes much sense.”

  After his beer came, Shane took a sip and eyed Decker. “Something big went down over near the Brothers’ Colony. Lots of people and trucks and they put up a shield around it. You know anything about that?”

  “I saw that too when I was driving by there,” said Southern.

  “What do you know about the All-American Energy Company?” Decker asked Shane.

  “Seen them around. Never talked to them. Drove by their rig from time to time.”

  Kelly said, “We’ve been totally shut out of what’s going on over there, Decker. I know enough to know that those are Feds swarming the place. You have to know something.”

  “Not that I can share.” He looked at Shane. “You really don’t know if your father left you anything? I get that you’re not into money and business, but still. Most people would want to know.”

  Shane finished his beer and glared at Decker. “Look, I went to war, okay? I nearly got killed a bunch’a times over there, so I never thought I’d outlive my dad. What the hell did it matter to me about whether he was leaving me his money? Money that he got by digging shit out of the ground. Money that I don’t want or need.”

  “What will you do then?” asked Southern.

  “Got my farm. I got some of my own money saved. If my old man did leave something to me, maybe I’ll donate it. Know a lot of vets who can’t even rub two dimes together.”

  “That’s good of you, Shane,” commented Jamison.

  “And Caroline?” asked Decker.

  “What about her?” said Shane sharply.

  “I’m assuming she inherited from her father.”

  “I would imagine so. Hugh doted on her.”

  “Did you know her brother well?” asked Jamison.

  Shane slowly nodded, his features turning sad. “Junior was a great guy. Gentle and funny. Had a big heart. We were friends. He didn’t deserve what happened to him.”

  “We understand that he was gay,” said Jamison.

  “Yeah, so?” said Shane.

  “And his father didn’t understand that?”

  “His father made his life a living hell. It’s why he killed himself.”

  “Caroline said it was an overdose,” said Jamison.

  Kelly said, “He didn’t leave a note. He left a recording. It was . . . it was pretty damn sad.”

  “You heard it?”

  “I was one of the cops investigating the case, so yeah, I did. I kept a copy of it, in fact. Haven’t listened to it since. I’m not ashamed to say I cried when I heard it.”

  “It must’ve hit Caroline and her mother particularly hard,” said Jamison as Southern nodded.

  Kelly shrugged. “It did. I think it would’ve driven a lasting wedge between her and her father, but then Maddie died and those two were the only ones left. I’m not saying she didn’t still care for her father, but . . . it was complicated.”

  “She told us sort of the same thing,” noted Jamison.

  Decker’s phone buzzed. He took it out and looked at a series of photos and reports that had just been delivered in an email. As his gaze ran over them, Decker tensed, and then realization spread over his features.

  Jamison noticed this and whispered, “What is it?”

  Decker’s gaze drifted up the stairs, where Dawson had gone. He rose.

  Jamison said, “Where are you going?”

  “We’re going to see Caroline.”

  Southern said, “Let me go with you. I think I might be of some help. She is still very vulnerable.”

  Decker looked at Jamison, who nodded.

  “Okay, but whatever you hear up there you don’t share with anyone.”

  “Understood.”

  Kelly said, “I hope that doesn’t include me! I am investigating this case.”

  “We’ll fill you in,” Jamison assured him.

  They rose and headed up the stairs, leaving a troubled-looking Kelly and Shane staring after them.

  THE SPACE ABOVE THE BAR was a series of rooms. One was a large open area that probably served as an event space. Chairs were stacked against the wall along with folding tables. Piles of linen napkins and tablecloths were on a long buffet set against one wall. Decker, Jamison, and Southern walked through this space to a bar area that was a replica of the one below, only much smaller. Decker spotted a spool of twine sitting on one table. He scooped it up and put it in his jacket pocket.

  “What’s that for?” asked Jamison.

  “You’ll see.”

  Next they passed through an open doorway, turned left, and ran into the only other door there.

  Decker stepped up to it and knocked.

  “Caroline, it’s Decker and Jamison, we’d like to talk to you.”

  “Please go away. I don’t feel well.”

  “Caroline,” said Southern. “I’m here too. I really think you should talk to them.”

  “I’m too tired. I’m going to bed.”

  Southern looked helplessly at Decker.

  “Your father didn’t kill himself,” Decker called out through the door, drawing a surprised look from Jamison. “He was murdered.”

  Now they could hear footsteps. The door opened and there was Dawson, barefoot and her eyes welling with tears. But the look on her face was one of anger. “What the hell are you talking about? He killed himself. We all saw it.”

  “Can we come in?” asked Decker.

  For a split second she looked like she might slam the door in their faces. But then her expression softened and she stepped back.

  Jamison sat in a chair and Decker stood while Dawson curled up on the bed. Southern hovered near her, looking anxiously at her friend.

  “What are you talking about?” demanded Dawson.

  Decker took out his phone. “I just got these pictures and reports from the forensic tech who worked your father’s crime scene. They tell a very different story than suicide.”

  “How?”

  In answer Decker took out the spool of twine and rolled out a length of it about a foot longer than he was tall and held it up.

  “Twine?” said Dawson, looking confused.

  “I had the tech measure the twine that was found at the scene. It was seven feet, four inches long. That’s about the length of this section of twine.”

  “So?”

  “So why would he use a length of twine that long? F
rom the triggers to the gun stock and back to his hand was about forty-three inches. He had to wrap it around the stock to pull the triggers the right way to discharge it. Then he wraps it once around his hand, that’s maybe a few inches. What’s the other three feet or so for?”

  “I . . . I don’t know. Maybe he just cut off a long length without measuring it. The rest was just extra. So that proves nothing.”

  “No, all of that length was actually needed.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “A mark made by the twine was found around your father’s wrist, and another trace of it through one of the handles on the desk drawer. I also had the tech take pics from overhead, to show the top of the desk.”

  “Why did you do that?” asked Caroline.

  “Blood spatters can be worth a thousand words and a thousand convictions. Blood and other organic matter were everywhere, except the photos I just got reveal a long, thin line that ran across the top of the desk. A thin line that was not impacted by the blood spatters.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means that Decker is right,” said Southern, who had been following Decker’s words closely. “Someone killed your father.”

  Decker explained, “When the shotgun went off, the twine that was used to pull the triggers was on top of the desk and pulled taut. It prevented blood and other detritus from colliding with the desk along that line. It’s a thin trail, to be sure, but it’s clearly there.” He passed her the phone with the photo on it.

  “I don’t understand,” said Dawson, staring down at the picture.

  “Someone took the twine, wrapped it around the shotgun’s triggers and gunstock after securing it to the desk, ran the line around your father’s wrist, through the desk drawer handle, and then over the top of the desk where the person probably squatted on the floor, well below the top of the desk and out of harm’s way. Then he pulled the twine and fired the shotgun from that position, killing your father. That would account for all of the forensic evidence that we found.”

  “But my father was a big, strong man. He wouldn’t have—”

  Decker interrupted. “He was undoubtedly unconscious. If he was drugged, the autopsy will show that. If he was struck across the face, the shotgun blast would have removed any evidence of such a blow.”