SKELETON

by Peter Parkin

  Fraser said calmly, "Okay, you've made your point. Now, drive me to a hospital quickly." Blood was pouring all over the floor of his van, and Fraser now began to feel the numbness beginning to subside. The pain was starting and he knew it was going to be ferocious in just a few seconds.

  He didn't have a few seconds, and the balaclava didn't even acknowledge that Fraser had spoken.

  Both of the man's hands worked in unison now. Fast, a blur, and just fingers. One stabbed him in the chest, and the other slammed into his forehead. Bam, bam! The impacts

  threw Fraser out of the van, crashing him onto the pavement.

  As darkness overtook his brain, Fraser heard the familiar sound of his beloved Suburban's engine start up and was only slightly horrified as it backed up out of the parking spot, rolling its twenty inch tires over his flailing legs.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  "It was sitting on the cabinet in my office."

  Barb pushed 'stop' on the recorder, and looked up. "Do you think she was snooping around in your office, and just forgot to take this with her?"

  Dennis frowned. "No, I don't think Felicity would be that stupid. This is incriminating as hell. She killed my mother. And who the fuck was that man on the tape?"

  "Well, at least he seemed to have some sense of decency about him." "Yeah, I'll give him that. He seemed to be the one in charge, didn't he?" Barb got up and poured herself another coffee. "Yes, he did. He was the controller."

  Dennis glanced up, puzzled. "Controller? That sounds like kind of an official term, Barb. What's the deal?"

  Barb looked away. "No deal, Denny. Just that he sounds like the boss." "Don't look away. I can see right through you. What's going on, Barb?

  Tell me."

  Barb sat down again and faced Dennis. "I warned you about Felicity, remember?"

  "Sure, I remember—but you weren't specific. You said something about her being too pretty, and that the Casper Agency hired nurses who looked like her. That wasn't much of a warning."

  "I had a top security clearance, Denny. Some warnings I give out have to be vague. Protecting secrets is an obligation that continues even after retirement."

  "Bullshit! Your best friend has just been killed. If you could have just warned me enough to make me fire this girl, mom might still be alive. What didn't you tell me?"

  Barb crossed her legs and shifted herself back in her chair. Dennis could tell she looked uncharacteristically nervous. "Oh, Denny, what have you got yourself into?"

  "Answer me, Barb! Tell me now so I can at least choose to prevent myself from getting killed. You tell me what I've gotten myself into here."

  "It's something they want." Barb swallowed hard. "The Casper Agency is a front for the Defense Intelligence Agency. So, Felicity was a domestic spy. The nurses at the agency are all trained spies. Their job is to obtain information. The agency gets all the lucrative health care provider assignments in the city—for politicians and foreign embassy staff. The nurses then do double-duty."

  Dennis stood up. "Shit!" He threw his coffee cup into the fireplace, smashing it against the brick hearth surround. "You couldn't have told me at least that much?"

  Barb clasped her hands together and looked up at him, pleading. "Denny, I didn't think they'd hurt her. I figured they just wanted to be close to her to get some clues as to where that package is. If I thought for a second that Lucy would be in danger I would have brought a halt to it."

  "Too late now, Barb. You missed your chance. You showed allegiance to the wrong people. Get out!"

  Barb stood. "Denny...don't do this. Forgive me...please, Denny." "Maybe later. But right now, I need you to leave. I don't want to see your lying face."

  *****

  The food at Luigi's was as good as ever. Dennis and Fiona were just finishing up their seafood linguini, and he for one was thinking seriously about ordering dessert. This was their fourth dinner together. Each time he'd learned a little bit more, but mainly things about Fiona, not about the mystery.

  She hadn't discovered too much yet about any secrets at the Pentagon, except that everyone she talked to was tight-lipped about the Apollo missions. The standard answer she got from people in the know was, "Don't ask."

  He'd learned one important thing though—he was immensely attracted to her, and he was getting similar vibes from her side of the table. Dennis made a vow to himself that the next time they got together, they wouldn't be talking about the Pentagon, secret packages, Apollo 19, or 'Shackleton.' They would have a real date.

  "Dennis, it's sad that your mom died the way she did. I know she was not in her right mind most of the time, but it hurts me to think that she suffered a heart attack and no one was in the room to help her."

  Dennis had decided before tonight's dinner that he would tell Fiona about the recorder. He had to trust her. So he did. And she listened.

  When he finished his story, she shook her head slowly, sadly. "God, Denny, that's horrible. That's murder, or at the very least manslaughter."

  "Yes, and I would love to get my hands on the man whose voice was on that tape."

  "But it sounds like he tried to keep it civil at least."

  "He did, but he was still there, and he was the one in charge."

  "Denny, are you going to take that recorder to the police?"

  "I am the police, Fiona. And no, I'm not going to. It'll just get buried. It was made very clear to me that the Washington Police Department will not investigate anything to do with the Pentagon. Outside their jurisdiction, and too hot a political potato to handle. So, I'd be wasting my time—and I'd get into trouble."

  "That's a heavy burden for you to carry around."

  "I'm tough. I can handle it."

  Fiona sipped her wine. "So, it's clear on the tape that Apollo 19 went into space in 1977, and Apollo 18 was there in 1975. If your mother can be believed. If those missions did take place, they were kept totally from the public. I remember that Apollo 18 had been scheduled, then a public announcement cancelled it."

  She took another sip, a longer one this time. "Do you remember that movie that came out a year or so ago? It was called 'Apollo 18.' Based on the premise that the mission indeed took place under the cover of darkness, and control of the mission was taken out of NASA's hands and put under the control of the Pentagon. So, in essence, it became a military mission."

  "Yes, I saw it. A dead cosmonaut was found on the moon and living organisms infected the American astronauts—they never returned to earth."

  Fiona pushed the fringe of her hair away from her eyes. "Perhaps that movie only scratched the surface?"

  "Yeah, perhaps. And this 'Shackleton' thing. I did some checking on the Internet—Ernest Shackleton was a South Pole explorer and there is a crater on the South Pole of the moon named after him. Quite a huge crater, and it's thought to contain ice from comet impacts."

  "You said your mom referred to it as 'Rebel's Cause'?"

  "Yep—don't have a clue what that means. The name of the crater was changed to 'Shackleton' in 1994. So despite the state of mom's mind, she was bang-on correct with that date. I checked online. However, I couldn't find any reference to the original 'Rebel's Cause' name."

  Fiona pushed her plate toward the middle of the table, and rested her elbows on the edge. "This is what I find intriguing. Her mind was in an almost catatonic state most of the time—okay, that's an exaggeration, but you know what I mean. Yet, when she was lucid, she was able to give that date convincingly, and she was correct. We have to give some credence to those other two dates: 1977 and 1975."

  "Yes, we do."

  Fiona shifted uncomfortably in her chair. "Barb called me."

  Dennis grimaced. "Okay."

  "I know you don't want to talk to her right now. She told me you haven't returned any of her phone calls."

  "No, I haven't."

  "She's really upset, Denny. And she's very sorry. She told me about the Casper Agency thing. I wasn't aware of that, and I know that Barb is violating con
fidences by even telling me that, let alone telling you that. But she wanted me to understand what made you upset."

  Dennis began cracking his knuckles. "Okay, so you understand. What does that do for me?"

  "Nothing—except that I think you should forgive her. You have to understand what a difficult position she was in. The conflict. The confidentiality. But she's thrown that out the window now with what she confirmed to you. She desperately wants to help you still."

  Dennis winced, and looked down at the table.

  Fiona cocked her head trying to make eye contact. "Denny, she's told me something else. Kind of an olive branch to show you that she's sincere. She wanted to tell you herself, but you won't call her back."

  Dennis looked up, interested now. "What did she tell you?"

  Fiona lowered her voice. "Lucy's boss, James Layton, the former Chief

  Counsel for the DOD?"

  "Yes, the one who committed suicide?"

  Fiona whispered. "He didn't commit suicide. He was murdered."

  *****

  Fiona got out of the cab in front of her handsome row house on P Street NW, having just given the driver an extra big tip. She felt especially buoyant tonight, and when she felt that way she tipped anyone generously even if their service sucked.

  She knew she was falling in love with Dennis Chambers.

  Tonight was only their fourth time together, but she felt drawn to him.

  The chemistry, just talking together, was amazingly electric. She found it difficult to take her eyes off his handsome face, and when he looked into her eyes it was like he was peering into her soul. He seemed so intelligent, and passionate about things he believed in. And his curious brain lit a fire in her journalist's mind—he was fascinating to talk to.

  And tonight they agreed upon a real date. Next week they would see a movie together—the latest 'end of the world' disaster flick. She discovered that he loved the same types of movies that she did—shockers, thrillers, science fiction, mysteries.

  She never thought she would ever meet a man like Dennis Chambers. He made her want to be in a relationship again.

  Fiona unlocked her front door, and skipped happily inside. She did a little pirouette in the hallway just before she was grabbed around the neck from behind, and thrown to the floor.

  His face was shielded by some kind of black mask, and the rest of his outfit was black too. She could feel his moist breath through the wool of the mask, and when he began to speak his voice was muffled.

  He sat on top of her with both hands at her throat—not squeezing, just threatening. Fiona swung her fist towards his face, but he deftly dodged the blow. He grabbed both of her arms and forced them down to her side.

  He was kneeling now, with both knees pinning her arms. His ass was parked on her stomach. And the hands went back to her throat.

  "Just relax, little lady. I'm not going to hurt you unless I have to." Fiona was terrified. She feared the worst; a worry of most single women who braved living in Washington's violent city core. She was going to be raped.

  The dark figure shifted his weight, and released his hands from her throat. His muffled voice continued. "You had dinner tonight with Dennis Chambers. Yes, I know what you do, and when you do it. So let's get that out of the way so you know how capable I am, okay?"

  Fiona was frozen.

  "I want you to at least nod your understanding."

  Fiona nodded.

  "Good. We have a connection. Now, what information did you pass on to him tonight and the other three nights you met with him?"

  Fiona swallowed hard. She shook her head.

  The dark figure sighed and raised his hand high above his head. Then he brought it down towards her face, shifting at the very last second and slamming it into one of her cherry hardwood floorboards. She heard a distinctive crack.

  The man grabbed her head, lifted it up and swiveled it sideways so she could see the floor. What she saw was a crack that resembled the San Andreas Fault extending all the way along one of her precious boards. She was shocked that a mere hand could do such damage.

  He rested her head gently down on the floor again. "Now that you've seen what I can do to hardwood, just imagine what I could do to your skull."

  Fiona nodded furiously.

  "Good. Talk to me, Fiona Perry."

  Fiona swallowed hard again with what little saliva she was able to generate.

  Her mouth felt like sandpaper. "I...haven't told him...much. I found out that...a man named James Layton, former Chief Counsel at the Pentagon... didn't commit suicide...back in 1977."

  "So he was murdered?"

  Fiona nodded.

  "What led to the murder?"

  Fiona was fighting the urge to cry. "He...was despondent apparently...

  and becoming hard...to control. He...went downhill in his last few months... on the job. Became abusive...to his superiors...and threatened to go to...the Press."

  "Go to the Press about what?"

  "I...don't know. Something caused him to...go over the edge."

  "Would you say that his downhill slide started after September 30th, 1977?"

  Fiona thought that the man's questions sounded like they were coming from a lawyer. "Yes...around that time. I was told it was in the Fall of 1977... that it became a crisis with him."

  The dark figure shifted his weight again. "Tell me, did your source tell you whether or not Lucy Chambers knew that it was murder?"

  "Yes...my source confided in her...after she took the interim position. My source wanted to...warn her."

  "Is that why Lucy retired early?"

  "Yes."

  The man leaned his masked face down close to Fiona's. She could feel his breath coming through the mask again. It was intimidating.

  "Tell me this. I'm guessing to myself who your source is. I won't ask you to confirm that though. But—if I'm right, she would have been a young woman back in 1977, certainly not high enough up in the Pentagon to know these things. So, how did she know?"

  Fiona started choking. Her mouth and throat were so dry; it felt like they were closing off her oxygen supply.

  The man lifted her up and breathed into her open mouth through his moist-laden woolen mask. He seemed to know instantly what the problem was.

  Disgusted as she was to have his wool in her mouth, the rush of moisture from his breath was glorious. She relaxed as he lifted his face from hers. Strangely, she felt all of a sudden that this man was not a threat to her.

  "Better now?"

  "Yes. Thanks." Why was she thanking him? Stockholm Syndrome?

  "Okay, answer that last question. And I promise you—that will be my last question for now."

  Fiona relaxed. "My...source...said she had an...affair...with James Layton. She was...in love with him."

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Brett Horton was sitting alone in his favorite Italian restaurant. He felt comfortable here—it was only a few blocks from his house and they knew him. They made him feel like family. As a guy who lived alone, and one who was naturally social, he needed a special place like this. Whenever he needed comfort, this was the venue.

  The waitresses knew that he was a good tipper too, so he never kidded himself into thinking that they flirted with him because he was irresistible. It didn't matter anyway—if a good tip made him feel good for an evening, so be it.

  Why he was still alone at this late stage of his life, he had no idea. He figured that after he left the Secret Service, his life might settle down a bit. More time to meet someone special, someone to care about.

  Not too late to have kids either. He knew he would be a good father. At least his kids would grow up protected. No better protection that an ex Secret Service agent as a father! But they'd also know how to defend themselves. He'd make sure of that.

  Brett had dated a lot of ladies, but just never seemed to make a connection that he wanted to hang onto. Nothing special, no effervescence. He wouldn't be capable of falling in love with just anyone—it wo
uld have to be someone very special.

  He was confident enough in himself that he knew he could have his pick of ladies. That was never a problem. The problem for him was wanting to have his pick. Most of the time he just didn't care. Was it because he had always been a lone wolf? A loner who didn't need people around him as a crutch to make him feel good? Or was it the extreme discipline taught by the Secret Service: being self-sufficient, able to handle things himself, not depending on others, and knowing no fear?

  He didn't know. It gave him a headache trying to analyze himself. All he could do was hope that the right girl would come along one day for him, and in the meantime just be content to enjoy the looking-around part.

  He did envy Dennis Chambers though. That Fiona Perry seemed like a very special lady. He felt a little guilty thinking that way about her after he had just about scared her half to death the other night.

  He knew however that he would never have hurt her—she was innocent of everything. There was no margin in someone like her getting hurt. She wasn't his assignment.

  Assignments handed to him to hurt or kill were generally sleazy political figures or crooked high-powered executives who deserved it. He could justify those in his mind. Hurting or killing them was somehow justice to him. And getting paid for it made it even better.

  But sweet Fiona was just a pawn. A pawn who had some information that he needed. He had hoped that she would have had more that he could use. He guessed that the doors of power were slamming solidly in her face back at the Pentagon. Those folks knew how to circle the wagons. Brett knew that from first-hand experience.

  So, the dynamic Barb Jenkins had had an illicit affair with James Layton. Interesting. She must have been privy to whatever stress he'd been under and when she told Fiona that James had been murdered, Barb either guessed that from what she knew James had been going through or she'd heard some rumblings after the fact.

  Either way, Brett put faith in what Fiona told him. Barb Jenkins was a genius, and had never been saddled with a reputation for making quick uneducated judgments. Not like some of the other clowns at the Pentagon.