by Peter Parkin
"It was a boating accident off the coast of St. Kitts. He was there on vacation. Apparently, the boat exploded—initial forensics indicates it was a faulty fuel line. Fitting justice for the guy, huh?"
"Yeah, fitting."
Dennis thought—when the American government wants to cover something up, no one does it better.
*****
"Charlton, here."
"I'm not going to say my name and I ask that you not use it either, but you know who this is."
A pause. "Yes, I do. Why don't we get off the phone and arrange to meet somewhere?"
Dennis grimaced. "No, we'll do this over the phone, if you don't mind." "Okay, what do you want?"
"You suspect that I have a video, I'm sure. I've emailed some samples to you. When we end this call, check your inbox. I also have tons of incriminating documents—again, samples are sitting in your inbox. Look them over and if you agree that you don't want this horror story made public, you'll want to do exactly what I tell you to do."
"And what's that?"
"First off, I'm going to do a repeat of what one very brave lady did over thirty years ago. A new 'package' will be buried somewhere, with instructions to a trusted source to release everything to the world if anything happens to me, my sister, or my lady friend. Do you understand so far?"
"Yes."
"Secondly, within one week's time I want to read in the papers that the facility down south that we're both well aware of has been destroyed. And I mean completely destroyed, including all things alien that were brought here."
"Okay."
"Do you agree with these conditions?"
"Yes, I do. You have my promise that this experiment will be brought to an end."
"Within the next week, then. I'll be watching. A simple story like a facility far from U.S. soil being destroyed wouldn't normally hit the front page of the Washington Post. But with your influence I'm sure you can make that happen. That's where I'll be looking to see it. Understood?"
"Yes."
CHAPTER FIFTY SIX
Dennis looked across the table at his lovely sister. And he thanked God that she was still in his life. He vowed to himself that they would be closer than ever now, even closer than when they were kids. He smiled as he stared at her—that intense serious look in her eyes, the casual frock-type outfit she loved to wear, her incredible beauty shimmering in the candlelight.
And her cane leaning up against the dining room table.
"Denny, pass the wine, will you? You're hogging it as usual."
Her words shook him out of his trance. Fiona giggled. "What are you thinking, Denny? Mel's right—you do always hog the wine. But tonight, you seem to be lost in space somewhere!"
He laughed. "Ladies, I'm just so thankful for everything. And thankful for you two. I was just thinking of things like that."
Mel smiled. "Aw, that's nice, little brother. Sweet. But, I still want you to pass me the wine!"
Denny got up, grabbed the bottle and walked over to her side of the table. "I'll do better than that. I'll pour it for you."
Fiona took a sip of her wine. "How is the leg coming along, Mel?" "It's doing great. It's been three months now, so quite the ordeal. The prognosis is good though. Physiotherapy has helped, but I still have to contend with this stupid cane for a while yet. Won't be long though until I'm jogging again."
"That's so good to hear. And you can be thankful that the bullet in your leg kept you out of the action that Denny and I put ourselves through."
"Well, you two have refused to tell me all the details, and I guess I can appreciate that it must have been so horrific that you don't want me to have nightmares. But from what you have told me, I'm glad I wasn't there. It's sad that Brett and that Avery guy died. I never did get the chance to get to know Brett like you guys did. I was already shot and lying on the grass when he first appeared on the scene."
Fiona nodded. "He was a very capable man and I really grew to like and trust him, despite the shadowy world that he lived in. The whole ordeal down on Nevis was indeed a nightmare, and he and I fought our way out of that lab together. Be glad that we haven't shared the whole story with you, Mel. If it weren't for Brett, I would have surely died. At least now I can think back on it without getting panic attacks. I told you how I had to go on anxiety medication afterwards. Took them for about a month. Thankfully I'm now at the point where I can actually talk about it without shaking."
Denny went into the kitchen to make some coffee while the girls continued chatting. As he listened to them he reflected upon how lucky he was. This was the first time since the ordeal that Melissa had been able to join them for an evening.
It was nice to be hosting dinner for his sister. Fiona had quit her Pentagon job and moved in with him a couple of months ago. It was a pleasant and unexpected surprise to discover that she was a gourmet cook. That was one bonus he hadn't counted on. So, he deferred to her on the cooking most of the time now. Tonight, she made roast lamb, slow-cooked for hours surrounded with vegetables, and soaking the entire time in a full bottle of wine. It was delicious. Dennis was looking forward to eating like this for the rest of his life.
But more than that, he was looking forward to loving Fiona for the rest of his life. And life was more precious now than ever. They both knew they were extremely lucky to be alive.
Dennis went back into the dining room with a tray adorned with a coffee pot and pastries. The perfect end to a perfect meal.
Mel was in an inquisitive mood tonight, he could tell. She tapped her long fingers on the table to get his attention. "Denny, did you ever imagine that what mom was blurting out about was something as serious as what you discovered?"
"Well, when she first muttered something about a 'package' and then I found those DOD guys in her room, alarm bells went off big time. But I only started feeling uneasy that day that Barb and I heard her chanting over and over again what we first thought was the word, 'Skeleton.' Then when we realized what she was really saying was the word 'Shackleton' and we found out what Shackleton really was, it started becoming insidious in my mind. After that, one thing led to another..."
Fiona jumped in. "Boy, is that an understatement."
As he was pouring the coffee, Melissa asked another question, one he didn't want to answer. "Denny, do you really believe that Brett was the vigilante killer?"
Dennis sat down, and wrung his hands together. "I guess I don't want to believe it, Mel. But the DNA doesn't lie. We know that at the very least, he did kill that Wilkinson fellow."
"And for a while they suspected you of being the serial killer."
"Yes, they did."
Fiona put her coffee cup down hard, almost breaking the saucer. "Brett was far too clever to make a mistake and leave incriminating evidence. He wouldn't have left his DNA behind unless he wanted to leave it behind. I'm convinced of that."
Mel frowned at her. "Why on earth would he do that?"
"To get Denny off the hook."
Dennis leaned across the table and grabbed a cheese pastry. "But, Fiona, that DNA incriminated him. If he'd lived he would have gone to prison for the rest of his life."
"Denny, I don't think Brett thought he'd survive the ordeal. I think he knew he'd either die that night or shortly thereafter. He would have been a target, and he knew that. Clearing you was his final good deed. And Brett had more of a heart than any of us would have thought, trust me. I saw the way he choked up when Avery was begging him to just shoot him.
"I think he really liked you, Denny. You two were kindred spirits with a lot more in common than just the deadly fighting skills. I think he had a certain self-righteousness and sense of justice about him, just like you have. He believed in doing the right thing. And isn't it telling if the victim that he chose to incriminate himself with was the man suspected of killing your father?"
Dennis rubbed his forehead. He felt a headache coming on. "Yes, that is something, and I have to admit that I've been wondering the same things. But it just didn't seem logical to
me that he'd sacrifice himself like that."
Melissa seemed to be able to tell that the conversation was getting to Dennis. And it was probably getting to her too. He was aware of her staring at him, and when he glanced up he could see the compassion in her eyes. After all these years, she still wasn't over the death of their father. And neither was he. He was glad she took the lead to change the topic.
"Let's switch gears here. It all ended up okay, didn't it? The lab, I mean? It was destroyed and the three of us are safe? Aren't we?"
Dennis got up and went over to a cabinet, opened a drawer and withdrew a newspaper article wrapped in plastic. He handed it to Melissa.
"Here's the article from the Washington Post, hon. This was almost three months ago. Read it—you'll see that they complied with my demands. It talks about how a massive fire took the lab to the ground—the Nevis volunteer firefighters couldn't cope. And it mentions how the lab was jointly owned by several American biotech firms and that they've decided not to rebuild. The area will be developed as a wildlife sanctuary. Now, isn't that ironic? A wildlife sanctuary?"
"Was it really owned by biotech firms?"
"I doubt any American company was involved. That was just a cover story for a lab that was owned by the Pentagon and managed by the Centers for Disease Control. It was definitely a public facility, but they would never want to admit that, would they? The public would have asked too many questions—the government would have had to have been accountable for what they were doing down there."
Melissa planted her elbows on the table and leaned forward. Dennis knew that another serious question was coming. "So, why won't you tell Fiona and I where you've hidden the package?"
Dennis felt the headache coming back again. "You know why, sis. It's not necessary. All you need to know is that I've hidden it, it's protected with fail-safe instructions, and that we're all going to be left alone. You don't need the burden of knowing any more than that. All we three have to worry about is just getting on with our lives now."
CHAPTER FIFTY SEVEN
He walked around the perimeter of his kitchen and made sure that everything was in order. The first thing he'd done this morning after waking up, was move all the furniture out of the way. Then he pulled out the old stove and dragged it into the dining room. The appliance guys would take it away when they brought the new one—in just a matter of minutes now. He was excited. Cooking had become a passion for him.
The handsome man walked over to his backyard window and gazed out at the 'Gunten,' the largest mountain peak closest to the city. It stretched 3,200 feet in the air and looked glorious covered in snow. And beyond, only twelve miles away, he could see the majestic Alps reaching for the sky.
He loved Bern. It was one of the cleanest capital cities he'd ever been to, and it did Switzerland proud. With an unemployment rate of only three percent, it was the envy of the world. It was the fourth most populous city in the country at 350,000 people, and he was comforted knowing that ten percent of the population were foreigners just like him. And at least half of those were Americans hiding their money, so he was in good company.
He knew that Bern was rated as one of the top ten cities in the world for quality of life, and this didn't surprise him in the least. Not only was the city historic, but it was also clean and safe. People minded their own business too, which was typical of anywhere in Switzerland. But it did have its share of nefarious people—not surprising considering that the country was a haven for those who wished to escape the long arms of the law...or the taxman.
For the last three months, he had been practicing his German, which had always been pretty good, but not good enough for Switzerland. The main spoken language was a derivative dialect of German, called Bernese German. It required a certain curl of the tongue. He was working on it. And he was confident he would master it. He had to—he would never leave this place.
He was titillated by the knowledge that, only two blocks away from his charming alpine house, Albert Einstein had lived here from the years 1903-1905. Not long, but long enough for him to have mastered his most famous work, the 'Theory of Relativity.' At that time, he had just been a lowly clerk working at the local patent office. He must have had a lot of time on his hands.
The man turned at the sound of the doorbell ringing. He strode across the cherry hardwood floor and cherished the sound of his shoes on the solid surface. He loved the sound of 'solid.'
It was the delivery men. He showed them where the cooker was to go, and then got out of the way as they spent the next two hours lugging in all the pieces and assembling it. When they were finished, he stood back and admired it. A beautiful black 'Aga' cooker, the best cooker in the world, and one of the most expensive. This one had set him back 30,000 U.S. dollars, but it was worth it. He had lots of time to cook now, and he intended to become a gourmet chef. This was going to be his next life, his new passion, and he'd had many lives and passions so far. What was wrong with having just one more? He might even open his own restaurant.
"Sir, we hope you enjoy the new Aga. Have to tell you, we've delivered only one of these before. They're pretty rare."
The man smiled. "Yes, they are. Hey, I can tell that you're American." The delivery man smiled back. "Yes, I am. And you are too, right?" "Yes. I had one of these back in the States. But it was so warm most of
the year where I lived, that the thing wasn't practical. Since these Agas are on all the time, my kitchen was so hot in the summer I couldn't cook. Had to order out until winter rolled around again."
The delivery man laughed, and his partner smiled. "Well, you'll have plenty of chances to cook here. Hot weather isn't something we're used to. But, it takes some talent to be able to use these Agas. Are you up for the challenge?"
The man laughed. "No problem. I'm actually a killer in the kitchen."
*****
Richard Sterling gazed out of the window of his limousine as it pulled in around his circular driveway. He felt a sense of pride at the majesty of his mansion. He'd worked hard his entire life and he deserved the luxury that he now enjoyed. Life was good in Switzerland, in more ways than one.
And he was glad he didn't have to share any of this with a woman. They just sucked a man dry, and he wouldn't have been able to enjoy his extra-curricular activities if he'd had a woman in his life.
Oh, he liked women for sure. He enjoyed them whenever he got the urge, and he had the money to afford those urges. But his main urge wasn't women.
"Thanks, George. So, it's 10:00 right now, and I think you have a delivery to make to me around midnight, right?"
"Yes, sir."
"And what's his name?"
"Fredrik, sir."
"And how old is this one?"
"He's sixteen, sir."
"Wonderful. Just perfect."
"Indeed, sir."
"Well, I'll see you at midnight then."
Richard walked up the steps, opened his front door, and stepped into the massive foyer. The first thing he noticed was that there wasn't the usual beeping from the alarm. That's strange, he thought. He didn't remember turning the system off. Sure enough, the light was red. Oh, well—old age creeping up on him. He must have forgotten. He punched in his codes and reactivated it.
He hurried upstairs. He was anxious to get onto his computer and get all horned up before his boy showed up later. The young lad was under the impression that he'd be doing computer work, entering data into a financial database. Good money for a sixteen-year-old boy. And his parents had no reason to be suspicious—Richard did live in the most prominent area of the city. He chuckled to himself as he thought back to how many visitors he'd had in the last few years, and only three of them had resulted in charges.
Money sure talked, especially in Bern. It was a wealthy city, and for those envious people who didn't have wealth, they would do almost anything to blend in to the culture of privilege. He was a testament to that. Greedy parents who had been more than willing to drop the rape and molestation cha
rges if he paid up. And he paid up, no problem. He viewed it as just like paying a parking ticket. Violate the law, and then just pay the fine. Then just do it all over again. Ha!
He turned on the computer in his office. The damn thing would take about five minutes to boot up, as usual. He had so much stuff on there, it was running really slow now. He needed to splurge and buy himself another one—then he could spread his stuff out over two computers. That would be perfect.
He headed back downstairs. Time to make himself a sandwich and build up his energy for later. And it would be something for him to eat while he was gazing at the beautiful naked boys on his computer screen. There were a couple of new sites he wanted to check out tonight. Yes, this would be one hot night for sure.
Richard opened the fridge and grabbed some bread, butter and cold cuts. Before he had the chance to pull his head back, the door slammed against it.
Then he was in the air—he felt strong hands grabbing him under the arms and tossing him backwards against the sink like he was a sack of garbage. He staggered to his feet and then promptly stumbled forward face-first onto his terrazzo kitchen floor. He felt dizzy. But he still managed to look up.
The man was dressed in black, from his head to his toes. His face was hidden behind a matching balaclava. He stood with his hands on his hips, looking down at him. He seemed tall, but not too tall.
Richard knew he had to bargain. He was good at bargaining. Decades in the investment banking business had given him skills beyond compare.
"I have a vault in the house. What do you want? I'll give it to you, just name it." The man laughed. "I want your life, you perverted piece of shit."
"What?"
"You heard me. Get up."
Richard grabbed the edge of the kitchen island, and pulled himself up. "This doesn't have to be messy. I can make you a rich man."
"I'm already a rich man."
Richard suddenly had a thought. "Are you one of the parents? Didn't I pay you enough? Just name it—I can give you more."
He jerked back as a finger came racing towards him in a blur, striking him right in the middle of his chest. He looked down and saw a red patch beginning to form on his tailored Givenchy shirt.
