Blinding Fear (17 page)

Chapter 26

“You’re very fortunate, Mr. Javad.”

Ranjit looked at one of the chaplains for the University of Utah Medical Center and simply nodded, too physically and emotionally exhausted to reply.

“If your neighbor hadn’t seen that tow truck following your wife and family.....well, the outcome could have been tragically different.”

The two of them were seated in a counseling room not far from the ER where Ranjit’s family was under close observation. The room was tastefully decorated in restful hues and furnished with overstuffed sofas and chairs. “It is Well With My Soul,” the classic Christian song of peace through redemption, played in the background.

He wanted to tell the elderly man that it was more an incredible series of the right people being in the right places at the right times, than anything else. He began listing them to himself again: their neighbor had arrived on scene just moments after the incident and called 911 immediately; the County EMS vehicle was already on S.R. 190, a few short minutes away; the medi-evac helicopter took off within 30 seconds of the call coming in; the Yukon’s robust safety features, such as numerous airbags and sturdy frame, had worked exactly as designed; his wife had strapped herself in and the kids carefully into their carseats before they left. Although Alisha had actually drowned, the quick emergency response and extremely cold water had allowed her tiny lungs and body to immediately begin to make what the doctors’ hoped would be a full recovery. He could go on: Veena had suffered only a broken leg and concussion; Rojan had a fractured wrist, and bad cut on his thigh from some sort of flying debris, in addition to being bruised and battered. All things considered, they were all doing spectacularly well.

“Is there anything I can do for you, Mr. Javad? You’ve been here since the day before yesterday. It seems you haven’t left your family’s side for more than a few minutes. Can I get you a sandwich or something from the cafeteria? Perhaps a cup of coffee?”

“No. You’ve been very kind, though. Thank you.” He looked at the clock on the wall. It was nearing 5:00 p.m.. Most of the last 36 hours or so had been agonizingly spent waiting for the latest updates from the various medical teams.

“Do you have any religious affiliation?”

“No. My parents and my wife’s parents were Hindu but Veena and I claim no faith.”

“I see. I’ve discovered in my own experience—here and elsewhere—that there are times when an all-knowing, and loving God is the only answer to the strange twists of fate we often attribute to pure chance or coincidence. As I consider what happened to your wife and children it is the only explanation I find plausible. There may be a reason for their survival that only an omniscient God—actively at work in the universe—could explain. I pray you will look for answers with him.”

Ranjit had at first attributed their survival to the brilliant engineers at General Motors and the fast-acting EMS crews. But as he listened to the chaplain he had to admit the odds of such a string of coincidences falling together in such a way were, quite simply, off the charts.

“I don’t know if there is some overriding cosmological reason or not,” Ranjit added. “The only thing I do know is they’re alive and I’m beyond euphoric.”

The chaplain smiled. “I hope this will be the start of a wonderful, new chapter in you and your family’s lives.”

“Thanks again. I appreciate your thoughts.”

“Incidentally, as I was coming into the counseling room I ran into a couple of Salt Lake County deputy sheriffs in the hall. They want to talk to you about what happened but I told them to give us a few minutes. If it’s okay with you, when I leave, I’ll tell them they can come in.”

Ranjit sighed. “Sure. That’d be okay.”

The chaplain got up and left, quietly closing the door behind him.

Ranjit was just beginning to recover from the initial overwhelming shock and grief of facing what he’d been sure was his entire family’s death. He had no doubt the images of all three being hoisted out of the canyon and swiftly transported to the hospital were indelibly seared into his memory.

He was also trying to come to grips with overpowering, nearly blinding rage. He had little doubt Quinten Gnash was behind the ambush of his family. It was a mystery how he’d gotten out of the duct tape bindings, located them, discovered their routines and then sprung his trap. Of course, Gnash’s plan would have included sending him to his death as well. Only by another purely coincidental decision had Ranjit opted to send them off alone on the trip to the store. What would have happened if he’d been driving instead of repairing the stove in the cabin, was an unanswerable question.

But now he knew his gloves would have to come off. This was now going to become a bare-knuckled, all-out, street brawl to the death with Gnash. He had no choice. Simply escaping to an isolated hideaway was no longer an option. With the full resources of the NSA and FBI behind him, the remorseless, relentless maniac would undoubtably stop at nothing to find them wherever they went.

The door opened to the counseling room and the two deputies came in. Ranjit was surprised to see they were not uniformed but in business suits. He instantly knew they suspected the case was something far more sinister than a relatively simple case of road-rage, mistaken identity or just plain bad driving.

He also knew he’d have to come up with a believable story behind the incident in response to their questions. To answer truthfully would almost certainly prove catastrophic.

Both had the look of detectives. Each was in their forties or fifties and had the grim, calm demeanor of men who had seen far too much of the seamier side of life. As Ranjit stood to greet them, the taller of the two—a heavy-set black man—pulled out a wallet and flipped it open, showing his ID badge. “I’m Detective Keys and this is Detective Murray from the Salt Lake County sheriffs office.” The other officer, a thinner, white man also showed his badge and said, “If you don’t mind we’d like to ask you a few questions about the events surrounding your family’s accident. We know this is a terrible time for you, but it’s very important we interview you as soon as possible after the incident.”

“Sure. I understand. I was in law enforcement with the Salt Lake PD for a while, so I know the procedures.”

“Yes, we’re aware of your background,” Keys said. “Why don’t we sit down and relax. This could take a few minutes.”

As the three settled into opposing sofas, Keys continued. “Mr. Javad, we have reason to believe the incident was a deliberate, premeditated act on the part of the tow truck driver. Although we haven’t been able to talk to your wife, your neighbor is certain what he saw from his living room window. Within moments of your wife driving away from your cabin, the tow truck literally pulled within a couple of feet of the bumper of your Yukon. Although he didn’t see the actual point where contact between the two took place, he had no question the person at the wheel intended to do exactly what happened. As a result, our department is considering this as attempted homicide. So, the first and obvious question must be why would a stranger do this? Do you have any enemies? Anyone who would want to kill you or your family?”

Ranjit could immediately see that to reveal the entire backstory behind the incident might again put his, Veena’s, Alisha’s and Rojan’s lives in jeopardy. It had been only a day or so since the attempt on their life. It was at least possible, if not probable, that if Gnash had been driving the truck—or even if he hadn’t—he might think he’d been successful with his murderous scheme. That mistake might create extra space and time to allow Ranjit to consider his next move. If he told these two exactly what he suspected, it would probably be less than a day before Gnash found out. He pushed ahead with the lie. “Not that I can think of.”

The detectives briefly looked at each other. “We’re pretty sure we know who was at the wheel of the truck,” Murray said, watching Ranjit very carefully. “Which, as you’ve probably already guessed, was stolen.”

Ranjit’s heart rate leaped but he tried to remain outwardly calm. “Really! Who was driving?”

Keys cut in. “Just a short while ago, we found the tow truck in the parking lot of a small industrial complex in Cottonwood Heights. There was a dead man in it. His name was Tim Wiggins. He is—or should I say was—well known to everyone in the legal system in the Salt Lake region. He was a big-time heroin addict and had a rap sheet stretching to several pages. For way too long he’d done it all—petty theft, grand theft auto, assault and battery, attempted murder. You name it. You may have run into him yourself during your days with the SLPD.”

Ranjit shook his head. So Gnash had hired a hitman and disposed of him when the job was done. “Not that I can think of. So how’d he die?”

“Not sure right now. We’re waiting for the toxicology report. But we suspect an overdose. There was an empty needle and ampoule on the seat next to him. Looks like he ripped off a pharmacy.”

Feigning confusion Ranjit asked, “So why would some random junky want to kill me or my family?”

“Exactly our question to you, Mr. Javad,” Murray responded, his eyes narrowing as Keys leaned forward slightly.

“I don’t know what to say, guys. I don’t get it.”

The two looked at each other again, this time with what Ranjit could see was disbelief. “Let’s try something else,” Keys said. “We know that you now work for the NSA at their Data Center. Maybe there’s a connection there. Does your job involve any secretive work where you might gain some enemies? Any hot headed spy-types whose toes you’ve stepped on?”

“I’m sure you know that I could never give you specifics about the kind of work I do. But just for the record, what I do there is routine, mundane stuff. I look at and write a lot of reports—nothing out of the ordinary. Pretty boring, actually.” He smiled broadly.

Ranjit could see his interrogators were becoming frustrated.

Murray was the first to break from the calm interview. “Come on, Javad! We know there’s more to this.......”

Keys cut him off. “Sorry, Mr. Javad. I must apologize for my partner. He’s, uh— shall we say—disappointed, in some of your answers.”

‘So here we go with the expected “Good cop, bad cop” routine,’ Ranjit thought.

“There appears to be more to this matter than you’re revealing,” Keys continued. “Why don’t I give you some more details on our investigation. We also discovered in the tow truck a lock box that we’re guessing the needle and drugs came in. We’re again guessing the actual mastermind behind the attack sent the drugs to Wiggins to keep him focused on his assignment instead of out trying to score his next fix. There were also several hundred dollars in crisp new twenties in Wiggins’ pockets and a throw-away cell phone on the seat. All the calls to it were from pay phones in West Texas. We’ve got the Texas Rangers looking into it but this whole thing is looking more and more to us like an attempted assassination with Wiggins the hired gun. You’re obviously a very smart man, Mr. Javad. You got a graduate degree in criminal science from BYU while you were still on the SLPD. Why would this pathetic loser try to kill you and your family? The only thing we can come up with is a connection to your job at the NSA. You must have been doing or had already done something that got somebody around you all riled up.”

“Look, I don’t know what more I can say. I haven’t got a clue why this guy Wiggins would do such a thing.” Ranjit stood up abruptly. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to check on my family.”

“You do understand Mr. Javad,” Murray said, “that whoever is behind this will likely try again. If you continue to stonewall us like this we won’t be able to protect you and your family the next time this guy comes around. If I were you I wouldn’t want to face him alone.”

“I’m done, gentlemen. I know how to reach you. If I think of anything that might help, I’ll be in touch. Have a good day.” Ranjit turned and walked out the door and down the hall toward the ER.

As he entered the room he saw his wife partially sitting up in bed, slowly sipping some orange juice. She’d apparently just finished a small bowl of oatmeal and a single piece of toast. Her head was bandaged while her recently cast broken leg was suspended in a sling. Rojan sat in a chair next to her watching some Looney Tune cartoons on TV. Alisha was asleep in a bed nearby. She was still on a ventilator but the attending physicians expected her to be sufficiently recovered to remove the tube within a few days. A nurse was adjusting the flow from an IV bag still connected to her tiny arm.

He stood watching them for a few moments, again nearly overcome with relief they were basically okay. One thing had become clear out of the chaos: There was no way he would allow the Twilight Zone-like events swirling around him to put them in harms way again.

He began formulating a plan to protect them while at the same time putting a stop to Gnash’s maniacal rampage.

Chapter 27

Claire and Herc walked quickly through the emergency room doors of the University Medical Center on the campus of Texas Tech University in Lubbock. They’d spent the last hour together driving dead-straight back roads, most of the time headed into the setting sun. Herc had requisitioned another of his boss’s vintage cars for the trip: a 1968 Porsche 911 Coupe. Although they’d originally planned talking some more about Kayode Seok’s foray into space tourism, their discussion had centered more on the car and Herc’s aggressive driving. He’d rationalized the 100 MPH+ speeds as necessary for the car, saying all Porsches were designed for the Autobahns of Germany and needed to be “opened up” on a regular basis. And of course he added he needed to get to his friend’s bedside as quickly as possible.

Along the way Herc had explained the friend was Richard Halpren, a jet engine mechanic at Seok’s Space Tourism. He’d spent many years in the U.S. Air Force before retiring. The two became friends as Herc supervised and Halpren, along with a team of Russian technicians, implemented the complex modifications of the AN-225’s massive engines.

Apparently there’d been an accident at Halpren’s home near Ransom Canyon, east of Lubbock. He’d nearly died in a massive explosion and fire, whose origin was so far unexplained. Through the haze of agonizing burn-related pain and medications, he’d pleaded to see Herc.

Shortly after the sun dipped below the horizon they arrived at the hospital. Claire estimated he’d cut the drive time about in half.

They stopped at the main ER reception desk. When Herc asked the clerk where he could find patient Richard Halpren he was directed to the burn wing of the Level 1 Trauma Center.

Moments after leaving the ER, Claire’s iPhone chirped, announcing an incoming text. She quickly looked at it and saw it was from her boss’s receptionist, Tommy. She decided to read it later, then muted the ringer.

They wound their way through the labyrinth of immaculately clean corridors using the many maps and directional arrows strategically placed on walls and doors. After 10 more minutes of navigation they arrived at another reception desk outside a set of electronically controlled double doors. They were marked “UMC Burn Unit, Authorized Personnel Only, Visitors Required to Wear Infection Control Clothing.” As they approached the desk, two other men, who from behind looked to Claire like they were from law enforcement, were in the middle of an animated conversation with the unit clerk. After a few moments she could tell the pair were also there to inquire about Halpren and were frustrated by some sort of hospital protocol.

“I’m sorry, gentlemen,” the female clerk was saying. “The attending physician has left very explicit instructions. Mr. Halpren cannot receive any visitors at this time, unless they are immediate family or have been personally authorized by the patient.”

“Look, ma’am,” one of the men said in a deep Texas drawl. “We suspect Mr. Halpren’s injuries were sustained during the commission of a crime. We need to talk to him as soon as possible.”

Herc looked at Claire in alarm as the discussion continued.

The woman held up her hands. “I’m sorry, officers. I cannot override the rules. If you need to interview him now you’ll have to talk to a unit supervisor. Again, I’m sorry, but I’ve got important paperwork that is already late.” She looked down at her desk and began shuffling papers.

As the two turned from the desk in annoyance Claire could see one was a deputy sheriff and the other a fire marshall. From the badges on their shoulders she saw that both were from Lubbock County. She assumed that was where Ransom Canyon was located.

The men looked at Herc and Claire with some surprise, obviously not expecting them to be so close behind.

“Excuse us, folks,” the marshal said as he started to step around them.

Herc held one hand up slightly. “My apologies, officers. But we couldn’t help overhear some of what you were saying. I’m a friend of Mr. Halpren. We work together. Well, I’m his boss, actually. Anyway, he asked me to come see him; that it was urgent. If it’s okay, could you fill me in a little on what happened to him?”

“And you are......?” the deputy asked, looking suspiciously at both of them.

“I’m Herc Ramond. I’m a VP at KS Space Tourism, a little southeast from here. Maybe you’ve heard of us. And this is Claire McBeth. She’s a friend of mine.”

The unit clerk interrupted. “This man’s right about Mr. Halpren asking for him to come as soon as possible. I’m the one who called.”

“Okay. That’s fine,” the deputy said, “But let me see some ID from you two anyway.”

Herc and Claire both pulled out their driver’s licenses and company IDs and handed them to the deputy who scrutinized them closely, then handed them back. He paused for a second or two, processing the details, then seemed to slightly relax. “Yeah....come to think of it, I have heard of what y’all are doing down there. Made quite a splash around these parts when you boys took over that old Air Force base a few years back.” He looked at the fire marshall who shrugged slightly. “Go ahead and give ‘em the basics, Hank.”

“Well, there’s not much to tell right now,” the fire marshall said. “As you probably already know, Halpren lives by himself in a small house on Ransom Canyon Lake. Seems there was a gas leak in his stove. Best we can tell he was sleeping off one too many beers and didn’t notice the odor. Somehow a spark got generated and he woke up in the middle of an explosion.”

Claire could see Herc looked puzzled and concerned. She kept quiet, knowing she had nothing to offer.

“I thought I heard you say you suspected a crime?” he said. “A gas explosion sounds like the kind of thing that happens all the time.”

“Would be, except when our boys first got there they smelled what could’ve been an accelerant, probably gasoline. It might explain why he was burned so bad. We haven’t got the full test panel back yet, but it sure looks like either arson or attempted murder. Could be both.”

“There’s something else I don’t get. Rich is a light drinker. I’ve known him for a couple of years. He’d never drink himself unconscious.”

“Yeah, we heard the same thing from one of his neighbors,” the deputy added. That’s one of the reasons we need to talk to him. There’s a whole bunch of loose ends that need tying up.” He stopped for a second, again considering something. “Maybe you can talk to him. Looks like since he asked for you to come, maybe you could do us a favor and see if he can answer some of this stuff we’ve been talking about?”

“Sure. If he’s able to talk at all, I’ll see what I can do. Obviously, I’m not sure how long it’ll take. If you want to leave me your cards I’ll call you when I know something worth sharing.”

“That’d be fine, Mr. Ramond,” the deputy said. He pulled a business card out of his shirt pocket and handed it to Herc while the fire marshall did the same. “Call us anytime, day or night. We’d appreciate all the help you can give.” He gave a small salute to Herc with single finger and said “Ma’am” to Claire as the two walked past them to leave.

Herc stepped up to the unit clerk’s desk. “Thanks for the help. Appreciate it.”

“No problem,” she said. “Just trying to help. Mr. Halpren seemed pretty agitated about wanting to talk to you. You can go in now. But first there’s a couple of things you need to know: His condition is touch and go right now. He’s got burns over 70% of his body and his lungs are damaged as well. If I were you, I wouldn’t get my hopes up. Anyway, inside, to the left of the entrance, on a cart, you’ll find some fresh medical scrubs, booties and hair caps. Before you go into his room you have to put it all on. He’s in the second room on your right. I’ll let the nurses know you’re on your way in.” She picked up the phone as she pushed a button to open the doors.

“Thanks,” Herc said as he and Claire walked through. They found the clothing items and as they completed putting them on a young female nurse approached.

“Mr. Halpren is in room two. Please follow all the rules. With severe burn patients, one of our greatest concerns is infection, so don’t touch him in any way. If you need to talk to him you’ll need to be close. He’s very weak and has a hard time speaking or understanding you. He’s been in and out of consciousness for several hours.”

The three walked a short distance to a fully glass-enclosed room with a heavy glass door. As the nurse opened it for them, they heard a small “whoosh” indicating the room was negatively pressurized. Once inside and the door closed, they immediately noticed how quiet it was. They could hear little of the ambient noises from the nurse’s station or other staff activities. The room had obviously been sound proofed. She remembered that for some severely burned patients even normal sounds were agonizing.

Halpren was lying on a deep-flotation, burn-recovery water bed. Ultra light-weight gauze covered most of his body. His head was totally wrapped except for a narrow slit for his eyes and mouth. He was not covered with a sheet. Simply the weight of the light fabric could cause excruciating pain to exposed and damaged skin. Many tubes and wires connected him to a variety of monitoring, recording and medicine dispensing appliances and devices. They heard the rapid, although muted, ‘beep, beep, beep’ of the heart rate and blood pressure electronic monitors and could see the actual figures displayed on an LCD screen. His heart rate was 112, his blood pressure 142 over 93.

Claire stayed near the door with her back leaning against the glass wall as Herc slowly approached the head of the bed. “Hey, Rich. It’s Herc.”

Halpren’s head, which had been facing away, gradually turned to see his friend. Claire saw him try to smile and heard him try to clear his throat. He feebly signaled with one hand for his friend to come closer. Herc pulled up a chair, sat down and leaned over to put his ear close to Halpren’s mouth. For nearly 10 minutes Claire could see but not hear Halpren talking. Every now and then he would stop. She guessed he was trying to gather strength to continue. Occasionally Herc would mutter something in response or shake or nod his head.

Suddenly, Claire heard the beeps identifying Halpren’s heart rate begin to accelerate. She looked up and saw it was 131 and climbing, his blood pressure 159 over 109. She looked back at Halpren and could see him looking at something beyond Herc, his eyes wide. She turned and saw on the other side of the glass, a tall, heavily built man, dressed in an FBI jacket, staring into the room. The nurse was apparently demanding he put on a set of scrubs but he was ignoring her. He continued to stare calmly through the glass at Herc and his friend.

“Herc!” Claire whispered desperately.

He turned to face her, “Yes. What.....?” At that moment he saw the agent and turned to look at Claire, unease written all over his countenance. But before he could say anything to her, Halpren reached out and actually grabbed Herc’s forearm. Claire knew the exertion had to be tortuous. Herc turned back and again leaned over to listen to something. This time the words were coming at greater speed and with even more struggle. Claire watched for a few seconds, then turned back to look outside Halpren’s isolation room. She could see the nurse had returned to the station and was on the phone. The agent, oddly enough, had what appeared to be a large bruise on his jaw. He was intently staring at Herc and Halpren, who were still conversing. The agent turned slightly to look at her with battleship-grey eyes. She’d met many people in her life but never had she felt so intimidated by just a “look.” He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a wallet. He flipped it open and pushed an official-looking FBI ID against the glass. It said his name was Carlton Ludlow and he was a “Special Agent.” With the other hand he signaled her to come out.

Seconds later Herc slowly pivoted away from Halpren, then stood to face the agent through the glass, who also signaled Herc to come out. As Herc looked at her, a demeanor that she couldn’t identify had replaced the unease.

“This guy’s dangerous!” he whispered as he lead the way out of the room. “Be careful what you say.”

Before the door could close behind them they heard loud alarms sounding from the nurse’s station. Claire looked back inside Haplren’s room at the monitor and could see his heart rate and blood pressure plummeting. The nurse, who had been talking on the phone, slammed it down and jabbed at something else. Bright lights on the walls began strobing. A loud chime began sounding and a deceptively calm recorded voice began broadcasting over the PA system, “Burn unit code blue. Burn unit code blue.”

“Everybody out of the way!” she yelled as she bolted out from behind the station and toward Halpren’s room.

Claire and Herc quickly backed up toward the opposite wall. Ludlow stood his ground forcing the nurse to dodge around him.They watched as she flung open the door and immediately begin chest compressions on Halpren. 30 seconds later, the main doors of the unit flew open and a group of doctors and nurses pounded in. They were pushing what Claire knew was the “crash cart,” reserved for the emergency resuscitation of critical patients in cardiac arrest.

Also with them was the burn unit clerk. As the emergency team crowded into Halpren’s room she quickly approached Claire, Herc and the FBI agent.