No Return (34 page)

“I don’t know. It was just an idea.”

Thirty more seconds.

“I’m going to go check,” Wes said.

“Wait. If he sees you—”

“If he sees me, he sees me.”

Wes had barely made it ten feet toward the alley when Forman reemerged from the restaurant. Wes stopped moving, hoping the darkness would conceal him. But it was unnecessary. Forman headed straight for his car, not even glancing in Wes’s direction. He didn’t even seem to notice Dori until he reached the door of his sedan.

“Get in my car and I’ll take you to Wes,” she said, her voice carrying just enough for Wes to hear.

This was a critical moment. If Forman tried to make a phone call, or said he needed to get something from his car first, Dori would take off and leave him where he stood. The meeting would be scrubbed, and Wes would be forced to think of an alternate plan.

But there was no call. No return trip to the car. The commander got into the rear seat of the Lincoln, and Dori took off.

By the time Wes ran back behind Rite Aid, Danny was already waiting by the motorcycle.

“We’re on?” he asked.

Wes nodded. “We’re on.”

WES DROVE THE TRIUMPH WHILE DANNY HELD
on to him from behind. It wasn’t long before they caught up to the Lincoln.

Though they had spotted no one else at the restaurant, Wes didn’t want to take the chance that the commander might have someone keeping tabs on things from a distance. So he kept a careful eye on all the cars behind the Lincoln, looking for any that seemed suspicious.

When he felt sure they were in the clear, he brought the motorcycle up right behind the Lincoln and flashed his blinkers. Dori began to slow. At the next street she turned left, then pulled to a stop on the dirt shoulder half a block down.

Wes parked the bike behind her.

“Don’t crash it,” he said as he got off the Triumph and Danny scooted forward to take control.

Danny revved the engine. “Don’t worry about me.”

Wes moved around the side of the Lincoln and climbed into the backseat with Forman. “Commander.”

“Okay, Mr. Stewart,” Forman said. “Are you done having fun?”

Wes glanced into the rearview mirror, making eye contact with Dori. He gave a little nod. He saw her shoulder move and knew she’d activated the recording system Alison had hastily installed.

As soon as they were back onto the road, Wes said, “Where are they?”

Forman’s brow furrowed. “You’re going to have to be a little more specific than that.”

“You know exactly who I’m talking about.”

“I’m afraid I don’t.”

“All right, let’s try this a different way. I know what you’ve been doing, what you’re trying to cover up, and why.”

The commander shook his head. “You’re seeing phantoms, Mr. Stewart, and claiming trouble where none exists.”

“Really? I say one name, and you come running to talk to me.”

“I didn’t come running,” Forman said. “I came to put a stop to this. It was my intention to try one last time to reason with you to drop this ridiculous accusation. Obviously that was a mistake. If you’ll just let me—”

“Tell me about SCORCH.”

A tic. Just a small one. But it was enough for Wes to know he’d surprised the commander.

“That was the weapons system that was on the F-18 that crashed, wasn’t it?” Wes asked.

“We use many weapons systems.”

“But SCORCH is one of them, right?”

“SCORCH is a proposed system. It’s not in active use at this time. You could have found that out with a simple Google search.”

“Oh, I did. I also found out it’s coming up for a vote in Congress.”

Another tic.

“Perhaps,” the commander said. “That’s not my area of concern.”

“Shouldn’t it be your concern that SCORCH was the cause of last week’s crash?”

“I’ve had enough of this.” The commander put his hand on the door. “Pull this goddamn car over!”

“Let me ask you about something else. What is Project Pastiche?”

Forman’s hand nearly slipped off the handle. No tic this time, just flat-out surprise.

“That … doesn’t mean anything to me,” he said.

“Really? I would think one of the things you would have done was look at the lieutenant’s service record, if nothing else than to just familiarize yourself with his history. Project Pastiche was his first posting. Shouldn’t that have stood out to you?”

“It’s your friend Andersen, isn’t it? He’s fed you lies to cover his own ass. But I have news for you. Your pal has been arrested. Soon, whatever you think has been going on will be exposed as a delusion.” Forman looked up front at Dori. “Please pull over and let me out.”

“Not until he says it’s okay,” Dori said, tilting her head toward Wes.

Forman glared at Wes. “We’re done. Let me out.”

“I know what SCORCH is, and I know what Project Pastiche is, Commander. Your Lieutenant Adair, the man you said was responsible for the crash, he doesn’t exist. He never did exist. Project Pastiche created him.”

Forman’s glare had turned into a look of stunned surprise.

“That’s what they do, don’t they?” Wes asked. “They create identities of people who aren’t real in case someone needs a fall guy. Someone like you.”

“You’re not even making sense.” Those may have been the words out of the commander’s mouth, but his eyes betrayed the truth, that Wes was hitting far too close to home.

“So your fictitious Lieutenant Adair crashed a very real F-18 while testing a new
proposed
weapons system called SCORCH. Is that about right?”

The glare was back in Forman’s eyes.

“Wait, it isn’t right, is it?” Wes said. “Not quite. It wasn’t really a test flight, was it? More of a trying-to-get-the-pilot-on-board kind of thing, wouldn’t you say? Only the system didn’t cooperate, did it? Too bad, too. Since this was supposed to be the flight that guaranteed full funding for SCORCH.”

Dori turned quickly, then sped up.

“Someone’s following us,” she said.

Wes swiveled around to look through the rear window, but could see nothing, not even Danny on the motorcycle.

Dori made a rapid series of turns, then said, “I think I might have lost them. But I’ll mix it up a little more, just in case.”

Wes nodded, then refocused on Forman. “One of your friends?”

The commander scoffed.

The car took another turn.

“So what do you think? Am I close so far?” Wes asked.

“You’re crazy is what you are. No one’s going to believe any of this.”

Wes smiled. “I want to show you something.”

From under the front seat he removed the book he’d taken from the library—
From Where I’ve Stood: The Autobiography of Senator Sean Jamieson
. He flipped it open to a dog-eared page and turned it so Forman could see.

“Take a look, Commander.”

On the page was a picture of the senator and his family.

“I’m sure you must recognize Senator Jamieson. He’s one of the potential roadblocks to passage of the appropriations bill SCORCH is included in, isn’t he?”

Wes braced himself as the car took another turn, now barely noticing Dori’s attempts at evasive driving.

“I believe he’s the one you were hoping to win over with the flight last week,” Wes said. “But that’s not how it worked out, is it?”

Wes moved his finger a quarter inch to the senator’s left.

“Do you know this person?”

Without moving his head, Forman looked at the picture, then at Wes.

“Good,” Wes said. “I thought that maybe since this photo is several years old you might not recognize him. That’s Lee Jamieson, the senator’s youngest son. Or, as he was known, Lieutenant Lee Jamieson. The man who was strapped into the F-18 when I—”

“Stop,” Forman whispered.

Now Wes knew for sure he had been right all along. Forman and the people he was associated with must have thought they had a secret weapon in their attempt to get Senator Jamieson on board. His son. Let Lieutenant Jamieson try out SCORCH and then have him give his father a glowing report.

“I want my friends back. If you do that, I won’t say a word about what I know.”

Forman glanced quickly at Dori.

“She won’t say anything, either,” Wes said. “That’s the deal.”

The commander looked away. “Okay,” he finally said. “Lieutenant Commander Andersen will be released within the hour.”

“That’s great, and we’ll take that. But he’s not who I’m talking about.”

Forman stared blankly at Wes. “Then who the hell
are
you talking about?”

“Let’s not play stupid, Commander. Anna Mendes and Tony Hall? Those names ring a bell?”

Forman shook his head. “No. Not at all.”

The car began to slow.

Wes looked up. There were no lights around, no city. Just the dark desert. He twisted around and glanced out the rear window. Ridgecrest glowed in the distance, but the road itself was empty.

“Is something wrong?” he asked Dori.

Then, with a jolt, the Lincoln came to a sudden stop.

THE CALL HAD COME IN AT 6:55 P.M., 9:55 P.M
. where it originated, in Washington, D.C.

Lars knew something was up when the guard who brought him the phone was one of the federal cops and not one of Forman’s men.

“I was given a message that you have information about my son.” There was power in the voice on the other end. Power that almost, but not quite, masked an underlying level of concern.

“That’s correct, Senator.”

“If it hadn’t come to me the way it had, I would have probably ignored it,” Senator Jamieson told him.

Lars wasn’t sure how Janice had gone about getting the senator’s attention, but whatever she had done had worked.

“Thank you for calling me, sir.”

“I understand you are in detention.”

“Also correct.”

“Do you want to explain to me why?”

Lars knew he had to be careful here. “You’re familiar with SCORCH?”

Silence for a moment. “If this is some sort of trick to get me to vote for funding the program, then this phone call is over right—”

“No, sir,” Lars jumped in. “Not a trick. At least not by me.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Sir, as I’m sure you know, I’m stationed at China Lake in the Mojave Desert.” After the senator grunted in acknowledgment, Lars went on. “And I also assume you are familiar with what we do here. Testing aircraft, weapons, and flight systems?”

“I’m familiar.”

“Systems like SCORCH.”

“What is the point?”

“Sir, last Wednesday an F-18 installed with the SCORCH system took off on a test flight. The purpose of that particular flight was not so much a test of the system as it was a demonstration. The demonstration was for an audience of two. The pilot was one.”

When he didn’t immediately elaborate, the senator asked, “Who was the other?”

“You, sir.” With a deep breath, he said, “Senator, the pilot of that plane was your son.”

“I’m sorry, Lieutenant Commander, but you’re obviously mistaken. My son is attached to the Seventh Fleet. Not China Lake.”

“Senator, I think if you check you’ll find that Lieutenant Jamieson was flown here the day before the test flight.” Lars paused. “Sir, did your son have a scar on his right arm?”

The senator hesitated, then said, “Yes. He got it waterskiing during high school. But I fail to see what that has to do with this.”

“Sir,” Lars said, “the test flight we’re talking about is the one that crashed here last week. The pilot’s body had a three-inch scar on its right arm. I saw it myself.”

There was silence for several seconds, then the senator said, “Hold the line.”

When he came back on, he was joined by Admiral Hines from the Pentagon. Lars repeated his story, laying out what he thought had happened.

By 7:25 Lars had been released. He made one request, to be the one who informed Commander Forman that he was to be taken into custody.

“Your cooperation in this is appreciated, Lieutenant Commander,” the admiral had said. “But that’s NCIS’s job. I don’t, however, have any objections to you … observing them in action.”

“Thank you, sir,” Lars said.

The flaw in his plan didn’t hit him until he stepped into the parking lot. That’s when he remembered his truck had been impounded and was on the other side of the base. He was about to go back inside to use the phone when he saw Janice standing in the parking lot beside her Mustang.