The Cyclops Conspiracy (54 page)

“Thomas,” Peter added, “also helped. His files and his death led you back to the Colonial.”

Jason asked one more question. “We know he was killed. They admitted it on the recording. How did they make it look like an accident?”

“As best we can piece it together,” Broadhurst explained, “Thomas discovered the irregularities with the prescriptions. He installed the cameras, ran his reports, and followed Fairing the night of the second-to-last drop. He was spotted. Fairing said he was shot as he ran away. Jasmine Kader—who is a real physician—sutured the wound. Then someone forced him to drink whiskey, drove him to Smithfield, set the accelerator somehow, and rammed the car into a tree. The rest is…” Broadhurst’s voice trailed off.

“Who actually killed Thomas?” asked Jason.

“Thomas’s GPS never registered any more movement after Fairing returned to the towers that night. So we don’t think Fairing did it.”

“It was that secret organization that doesn’t exist again, right?” asked Jason.

“You got it,” Broadhurst replied.

“How did Dad learn about the Simoon?” Christine asked.

“We may never know the answer to that question. Perhaps he saw the tattoos on the arms, the way Jason did.”

Jason asked, “Why use Winstead? Why not just call in a prescription over the phone?”

“They wanted to make the scenario look as normal as possible. It certainly wasn’t infallible,” Broadhurst replied.

“Another thing that bothers me,” Jason interrupted, “is that they never had anyone sign the signature logs. They could’ve easily forged a signature to make it look like they’d dispensed the medication. Did Fairing give you any idea why they missed that?”

“We showed him the documents and reports Pettigrew had gathered, along with the video of Fairing in the Colonial picking up the empty prescription bag. He seemed quite embarrassed by the fact that they’d been so sloppy. He muttered something Arabic. My guess is they simply missed it.”

Jason nodded slowly. “They’d planned this thing for three years, and something as simple as forgetting to forge a signature helped bring it all down?”

“Sometimes the smallest details can cause the biggest problem,” Peter chimed in.

“Getting back to Winstead,” Broadhurst began again, “Fairing mentioned that he was being paid very well to deliver the prescriptions. We checked his accounts and his house, but came up with nothing. An empty cubbyhole was found in his house in the living-room floor. Any of you happen to know what happened to the money?”

Jason looked nervously about the cabin. The money was lying safely wrapped in a plastic bag stuff ed inside a half-full bag of grass seed in his shed. He would make certain it would wind up helping Winstead’s daughter, Charlie, in Georgia.

The mention of the money sparked a myriad of memories. Thomas, Winstead, and the attempts on each of their lives. Being framed for murder. There was still a deputy somewhere in Williamsburg who’d been part of the attempt on his life in jail. He felt no sense of urgency, but at some point, Jason knew he would be paying the man a visit.

The pilot’s voice came over the intercom. They were beginning their descent.

* * *

They disembarked, bundled against a stiff winter breeze.

“Where are we?” Jason asked as they walked toward another black SUV.

“Andrews Air Force Base,” Broadhurst replied.

Thirty minutes later, the vehicle pulled to a gate in a wrought-iron fence. Jason, Peter, and Christine peered at the world’s most famous residence through the safety glass of the vehicle. The driver radioed that they had arrived. “Bring him to the door,” he instructed.

“Holy shit,” Peter muttered.

Broadhurst smiled at the driver, but said nothing.

Jason said, “Why are we pulling up to the White House?”

Christine squeezed his hand in anticipation.

The vehicle circled up the drive, stopping under the tall portico overlooking the south lawn. Three suited men were standing outside near the curb. Two were dressed in dark suits. The third was shorter.

“Is that who I think it is?” Jason asked.

Broadhurst smiled. “It is.”

Standing on the curb, waiting for Jason, Peter, and Christine, was President Gary Hope.

Broadhurst turned toward the stunned faces of his three passengers in the backseat and smiled. “Someone would like to thank you!”