Blinding Fear (23 page)

“I’m just glad that right now we’ve got someplace safe where Ludlow can’t get to us,” Claire added as they entered the cave and then into the main entrance of the house on one side.

“Why don’t we put everything in the kitchen for now,” Herc said.

They walked into the spacious, fully-equipped kitchen and laid their supplies on the counters.

“Nice place,”DeAngelo said while looking around and nodding. “Must’ve cost you a bundle.”

“Not as much as you think. Toward the end of the recession, the mobile home dealership in West Wendover went under. I picked up a couple of double-wides for practically nothing. Each one was three bedrooms, two baths and a little over 2,100 square feet. I had them towed up here. Before that I’d prepared their foundations, electric, septic and other systems in the cave. The truck drivers who towed them thought they were going to die on more than one occasion on the way up. All they had to do once they got here was back them in and set them down. I then hired a local contractor to join them together and put in some other finishes—like the large windows set into what used to be the ends of the two units. I wanted to let in as much natural light as I could. The entire process took a little less than a year and cost about 50 percent less than if I’d built a custom home.”

“Why such a big place?” Claire asked with more than idle curiosity. “You could’ve used one unit. That would’ve been just right for a single guy.”

There was a moments hesitation before he answered with a soft laugh. “To be totally honest, I hoped that one day I’d meet Miss Right. Even though I’m getting a bit old, I thought we could settle here and raise a big family. I guess it’s safe to say that dream’s just about dead.”

All of them were silent for a few moments, contemplating the seeming-bleakness of their’s and the world’s future.

Finally, Kay spoke. “Maybe we should get something to eat and go to bed early. A good nights rest would probably do us wonders.”

“So who’s going to do the cooking?” Claire asked brightly, trying to lighten the mood. “I’m out of the running, though. The only thing I’m good for in a kitchen is turning on a blender or microwave.”

DeAngelo snorted. “Don’t look at me. I keep McDonalds and Popeye’s Chicken in business wherever I go.”

Kay smiled and shrugged. “Kyung’s been the cook around our place.”

“All right,” Herc declared. “I guess I’m elected head chef by common consent. So here’s what’s on the menu: A 16-ounce T-bone, baked potato and tossed salad. Maybe a nice cabernet-sauvignon to go with it. And for dessert, a heaping bowl of rocky road ice cream.”

“I might add a few pounds,” DeAngelo replied. “But hey, it’ll be worth every bite!”

Chapter 35

Claire awoke after a reasonable night’s sleep—although she did have a bad dream. In it she was trying to get to work in New York City but kept having to dodge all manner of vehicles, pedestrians and other obstacles. She forced herself awake as a large dump truck bore down upon her.

She lay in an extraordinarily comfortable bed in one of Herc’s bedrooms doing her best to banish the remnants of the dream from her mind. After a few moments of attempted time and space re-calibration, she rolled over and looked at the glowing face of the clock sitting on the end table. It read 06:30. She pulled the comforter up to her chin again, remembering the great meal Herc had served them. During the meal and afterwards they’d done their best to steer away from stress-inducing topics. DeAngelo had shared football stories. Kay could’ve talked all night about his grandchildren. Herc had regaled them with Space Shuttle adventures while she had amused them with insane tales of The Big Apple.

As the four completed their post-meal conversation they’d all agreed that sleep was the one thing they needed most. Herc had assigned them individual bedrooms but had given her one of the two master suites. It included an ensuite bathroom with a large, jacuzzi tub. She’d asked Herc if it was okay to fill up the tub, then spent nearly an hour luxuriating in the hot, bubbling water—one of her favorite modes of relaxation. She’d almost been able to dislodge the hellish stresses of the day from her mind. After the bath, she’d crawled into the king bed a little after ten and fallen asleep.

As she lay in bed rehashing the previous nights events she finally realized she wasn’t going to be able to sleep anymore. She slipped out of bed, dressed and left the bedroom. As she tiptoed down the hall from the bedroom, she could see through the house to the picture windows that spanned the entire front wall of the conjoined living rooms. Beyond the glass, toward the far-eastern horizon, she could see that dawn was just beginning to break. She went back to her bedroom, pulled on a heavy parka, then headed out the main entrance. The air in the cave was cool yet comfortable, but as she moved out into the open the temperature dropped multiple degrees. Chilly, early winter temperatures were moderated as long as she stayed inside the naturally insulated mountain. She could only surmise that during the heat of the summer the cavern would be much cooler.

She walked past the SUV—now covered with dew from the night—and approached the cliffside edge of Herc’s “front yard.” There was no sound. The air had that incredible, crisp freshness that could only be experienced in the mountains. Far in the distance she could see the Wasatch Mountains, their highest peaks covered in snow. Ski resort operators were undoubtably thankful for an early opening to their season. The sun was now just a few minutes from peaking above them. As the horizon grew brighter, she paradoxically began to experience a feeling of melancholy.

From behind her a voice said, “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

She jumped slightly and turned to see Herc standing a few feet behind her. “You startled me.”

“Sorry.” He stepped up to stand next to her. “Didn’t mean to frighten you. I was awake and heard somebody go out the front door.”

“I woke up early and couldn’t get back to sleep. Thought I’d catch the sunrise.”

“I’ve done it many times myself.”

They both watched in awe as dawn broke over eastern Nevada, bathing their faces in warm, yellow light.

“It never gets old,” Herc said quietly.

For a minute or so they were silent, then Claire began to understand what she saw in the sunrise that saddened her. She folded her arms across her chest, tilted her head down and began to cry softly.

Herc looked at her in surprise. “What’s the matter?” He moved closer and put his arm around her shoulder.

“I think I just realized what may be the most important reason for my article.” She sniffled, then wiped her nose with one sleeve of her jacket. “It’s the simple beauty in everyday things.”

Herc reached into a pocket with his other hand and pulled out a handkerchief to give her. “I’ve got lots of allergies. I carry one with me all the time.” Then quickly added. “It’s a new one and I haven’t used it yet.”

“Thanks.” She dried a tear that was beginning to slide down a cheek, dabbed at her nose then tried to compose herself.

“If you don’t mind,” Herc asked gently, “perhaps you could elaborate a little on your ‘simple beauty’ comment.”

“We spend so much time doing what we think is the big, important stuff in our lives that we never take time to experience and appreciate life’s everyday grandeur: A sunrise over the mountains, catching the aroma of a newly opened flower, caressing a baby’s skin. I want people to do and see and touch those things before they all come to a horrifying end. This incredibly rich, wildly colorful world of ours may become a devastated, lifeless hulk.” She turned into his chest and he slowly wrapped his arms around her.

“Herc,” she said, looking up at him for a moment then back at the rising sun. “I can’t stop what’s coming, but maybe I can help someone take a moment out of their ‘busyness’ to tell someone they love them, or that they’re sorry; to say thank you or I appreciate you.”

She looked up at him again and suddenly found his lips were on hers. There was nothing demanding about the kiss. It was simple and tender and lasted only a second or two but spoke volumes to her about how thoughtfully—and wonderfully—Herc Ramond expressed his emotions toward her. He pulled back slightly and she saw a small smile on his face.

“That was the best kiss I’ve ever had,” he whispered.

She swallowed and simply nodded, then stared into his eyes, desperately trying to decide what to do next. She felt sixteen again and as completely befuddled as she could imagine. Seconds before she’d been talking about the end of the world and now here she was wondering and hoping that Herc would kiss her again. There was not a shadow of doubt in her mind that her heart rate was swiftly approaching 150 and that he could feel every beat. She saw him turn his head slightly and knew he was about to........

“Claire!” Kay yelled from the house.

“What timing!” she heard Herc mutter in frustration as he backed away.

“Yes!” she called out, trying to hide her own exasperation.

“The man you told us about is on the phone! He wants to talk to you!”

She looked at Herc, smiled and shrugged, then replied to Kayode. “Tell him to hold on. I’ll be right there!” She headed back toward the house at a fast walk with Herc close behind. In the kitchen she saw Kayode holding the handset of an old-style, wall-mounted landline phone. She took it as he offered.

“Hello, this is Claire McBeth.”

No one spoke for a few seconds from the other end. “This is Edward Charles. We talked on the phone earlier.” The voice still had suspicion in it.

“Sure, I remember. You said you had some information about a government conspiracy of some sort.”

“Can we get together soon?”

“Absolutely. But didn’t you say there was an issue with your family that you had to deal with first?”

“I think I’ve worked out those details. It’d be best if we meet right away.”

“As I told you before, we can talk where I’m at now. It’s a house in Nevada.” Claire gave him directions.

“Okay,” Charles replied. “That sounds good. I know about where your place is. I can be there around four this afternoon. By the way, I’m bringing my family. I don’t want to leave them alone while I’m gone.”

“That shouldn’t present a problem. There’s plenty of room.”

“Good.”

“I should also tell you that there will be three other men here.”

“Wait a minute! The information I have is extremely sensitive and involves national and international security. I can’t reveal it to anyone who can’t be trusted!”

“They’re friends of mine. I fully trust them. You have nothing to be concerned about.”

There was another pause. Claire could hear him breathing, then finally he responded. “Okay. I’ll be there.” She could tell from his response he was still suspicious.

“Thanks Mr. Charles. I appreciate your confidence. I’ll see you then.” She hung up and turned to Herc, Kay and DeAngelo who were seated around the dining room table. “It’s all set. Edward Charles will be here around four this afternoon. If I’m right he’ll give us an insider’s perspective on the conspiracy. He could be the main authoritative source I need for the my article.”

Chapter 36

Quinten Gnash hated cabs—especially New York City cabs. He hated them because they were filthy and odorous. He hated them because they were yellow. Although lately some of them were a color he called puke green. He hated them because they charged extortionist fees to get him where he needed to go. But most of all he hated them because they were frequently driven by loathsome, dark-skinned foreigners who could barely speak anything approximating the English language. And now he was forced to sit in one far longer than he would have liked to listen to his boss berate him.

As best he could—given the extremely short lead time—he’d finalized his plans for dealing with the Williams-Jones woman on the flight from Lubbock. He was virtually certain the Sentinel editor was headed directly back to her office in New York instead of going to her home first. It seemed obvious, then, that he should conduct his latest sterilization op somewhere on the streets of Manhattan near The Sentinel Building.

At LaGuardia Airport he’d hailed an owner-operated cab to avoid the risk of the driver contacting a dispatcher when he picked Gnash up. Within half an hour he’d unceremoniously dumped the man’s heavily weighted corpse in a secluded backwater of the East River. After donning a long-haired wig, pasting on a beard and mustache and applying other face-disguising makeup items, he’d driven the cab to the vicinity of the Sentinel to wait in a nearby parking garage over night.

Naturally, he’d taken his cell phone scanner with him. It was sitting on the seat next to him, plugged into the car’s charging port. As dawn broke he intercepted a brief call Williams-Jones made to her office. She’d told her secretary she and her husband were on their way back to the city. They’d chartered a small plane and pilot specifically to get back in time for a very early meeting with the board of directors. They’d departed from the Atlantic City airport and flown to LaGuardia where she’d already rented a limo. She would call again when she got close.

The woman had conveniently given him all the details he needed to successfully remove her as a threat. He congratulated himself again for correctly predicting the plans of one of his quarries.

Then the infuriating call had come from his superior. The woman was not happy. She was a holdover from the Obama administration’s hire-anybody-but-a-white-male policy and as far as he was concerned she was grossly incompetent.

“We’ve been alarmed by your efforts to control the outbreak, Agent Gnash,” she said. “You’ve created a number of very dangerous loose ends that could cause the entire, worldwide undertaking to unravel!”

“Some of the sources of contamination have proven to be more......., shall we say, resourceful than anticipated. They......”

“Not ‘we’ Agent Gnash—you!” she shouted, cutting him off. “
Your
efforts have been incompetent!
Your
failures have placed our international efforts in severe jeopardy. If this solitary woman is allowed to publish an expose, the results could be catastrophic to put it mildly! Just what do you intend to do to stop her?!”

He took a deep breath, trying to maintain his composure. He knew if he lost his temper the woman had the power to take him out of the game. If she did,
he
might have the bullseye on his back. “Using air traffic control audio recordings, I was able to track the plane she and her friends were on from Colorado Springs to a small airport in Wendover, Utah. Unfortunately......”

“Don’t tell me that you don’t know where they are!”

“We had no assets in the area. There was no way to track them once they landed.”

“Then I suggest you get some assets there—ASAP!”

“I’ve done that already. My sources tell me the corporate jet McBeth used is still on the tarmac. I’ve arranged for a surprise if and when they decide to fly somewhere else.”

“You arranged three other so-called ‘surprises’ for them in Colorado Springs, each of which were complete failures! I’m sick of hearing the word ‘surprise,’ Agent Gnash! The implication is that you are not in complete control!”

“As I said, they were very adept at finding their way out of the.......traps. They’ve also apparently added a highly competent security professional to their team. From what I understand, he was the difference between success and failure in the first two attempts.”

“You know Agent Gnash, I’m getting really tired of your excuses. I pay you to get things done. So far, you’re batting about two-fifty. In this league you’d better be a lot closer to a thousand or your career is about to be drastically cut short. Have I made myself clear?!”

He paused again, seriously considering telling the imbecilic bitch to shove it where the sun doesn’t shine. He decided, however, there were still other battles—vastly more important—to be fought and won.

“Yes,” he replied simply.

“Yes, what?!”

“Yes, ma’am!” He cringed inwardly. Using any honorific with any superior was something he was loathe to do, much less with the most detestable person who’d ever controlled the reigns of the nation’s top domestic intelligence and security service.

“I’m sure you’re aware of the timetable of this crisis, Agent Gnash. The amount of time we have left is now measured in weeks. The administration’s final efforts to deal with the asteroid are about to get under way. They would be severely compromised by 120 point headlines in the Sentinel trumpeting your bumbling efforts of the last several months! So let’s cut to the chase, shall we! You shouldn’t be screwing around playing patty-cake with a do-gooder journalist. Take her and the rest of her posse out before they do irreparable harm! And don’t blow it this time!”

The line went dead.

For nearly a minute he was quiet, trying to calm the storms raging within. If she’d been in the car with him she’d be dead by now.

Finally he looked at his watch and again mentally reviewed the calculations that told him when Williams-Jones would arrive at The Sentinel Building. He decided it was time to move to the cab zone on West 41st Street, just east of the building. Once he got there, on multiple occasions, he was forced to wave off people looking for a ride, feigning he already had a fare. All he had to do was wait until the limo pulled up and unloaded Williams-Jones and her husband on the right side of the street. As she crossed over to get to the Sentinel entrance he would mow her down—simple!

For the next half an hour he impatiently watched the screen of the monitor, waiting for any call from her phone. He hated this part of any operation. Finally, her phone number flashed on the screen. He quickly turned up the volume, heard several rings, then her receptionist answer.

“Anaya Williams-Jones’ office, Tommy speaking. How may I help you?”

“Hey, Tommy. It’s Anaya. I’m five minutes away. Traffic’s been a breeze. No accidents or jams—if you can believe it. Get the board’s secretary on the horn and tell her to put me on the agenda for today’s meeting and that it’s urgent! Claire McBeth’s apparently got an above-the-fold article idea that needs immediate attention. I can’t give them any details now but it involves a massive government conspiracy that apparently far exceeds the Pentagon Papers or Watergate!”

“I’m on it boss!”

“Thanks! I’ll see you in a bit.”

The call terminated and the screen went blank.

‘Just in time!’ Gnash thought. ‘Another hour and it would have been all over!’

He started the Crown Victoria’s tired V-8 and put it into drive while holding the car in place with the brakes. Traffic was relatively light this time of the morning so he could easily see quite a distance down the street in his rear view mirrors. Several minutes later he saw the unmistakable grill and front end of a black, Cadillac XTS limo approach. He turned off the scanner and laid it in the foot well on the passenger side. He watched as the limo passed him, pulled over to the curb and came to a stop, a dozen or so car lengths away. The driver jumped out, ran around and opened the passenger door on the sidewalk side. Gnash saw a tall, black man—that he guessed was her husband—get out followed by a much shorter woman. He instantly recognized her as his prey. Gnash pulled away from the curb, knowing precise timing would be critical. As he’d anticipated, the husband looked around at traffic, saw Gnash’s cab approach at a normal speed but assumed it was too far away to be a problem. The man stepped off the curb to lead the way across the street, followed by his wife, four or five feet behind. When she cleared the limo’s street-side bumper he floored the accelerator. As he had again foreseen, the woman stopped in the middle of the street, unsure of what to do as she heard the roar of the engine. She turned to look in his direction. He could see her face frozen with fear as she watched his cab hurtle toward her. The split-second of indecision was all he needed. At fifty miles per hour the front bumper of the cab slammed into her legs at knee level sending her cartwheeling up and over the cab, then crashing down to the street in a heap behind him. He looked briefly in his rearview mirror as he charged away. He could see her unmoving body crumpled like a rag doll in the street, limbs splayed awkwardly. A pool of blood was spreading from her head onto the asphalt. Her husband was bending over her screaming. Other passersby were rushing to help and pointing at his fleeing cab.

He smiled broadly as an emotion approaching unfettered bliss raced through his entire being. Although he still needed to execute his intricate escape plan—which he was confident would succeed—he always loved the adrenaline high he got moments after he killed someone.