Olympus Device 1: The Olympus Device (17 page)

Crawford
chuckled at her use of the term. “We need more facts to back up this wild and wooly tale. Do you know where Professor Weathers might be? I’d like to interview him.”

“I know he’s out of jail. Sandy, the girl at the reception desk, saw him yesterday. From what I hear, he’s keeping a low profile. We might find him at his office.”

“Do you know where that is?”

“Yup. I can take you there.”

Sipping his brew, Tim made up his mind. “Wendy, let’s do this story together – equally shared byline. We’ll release it in both papers at the same time.”

“Really? That would sure help my grade,” the girl replied with a smile.

After finishing the outline, the two reporters left the Java Barn, the College of Science administration building their destination. The lobby directory pointed them to the second floor where they soon found Professor Weathers’ office.

Mitch was sitting at his desk, rearranging his schedule. It was the summer semester
, and his class load was light. Finding replacements wasn’t proving difficult. A light knock at the door drew his attention, a middle-aged man and student-aged girl standing in his threshold.
A student in grade trouble and her father
, immediately came to mind.

“Hello,
may I help you?” the professor asked.

The man produced a business card, handing it to Mitch across
the desk. “Professor Weathers, I’m Tim Crawford from the
Houston Post,
this is my associate, Wendy Hardin from the
Battalion
. We’d like to ask you a few questions, sir.”

Mitch’s facial expression flashed surprise, mostly at his
misread of the visitor’s intent. That reaction was immediately replaced by fear.
Agent Monroe would shanghai his ass back into a cell over this.

“I’m… I’m sorry, but I’m incredibly busy at the moment. I’d be happy to conduct an interview later
, if we could schedule a time… say next week?”

He’s scared,
Crawford realized.
He’s almost terrified. I wonder why.

Clearing his throat,
the
Post
reporter decided to go for the kill with the first question and avoid giving the man across from him time to recover from his anxiety. “I apologize for dropping in unannounced, sir, but this story is moving very quickly. I’d like to ask about your brother, Durham, and this device that’s causing all the headlines.”

Crawford studied
his victim’s reaction carefully. He’d interviewed thousands of different people during his tenure as a newsman and felt like his ability to interpret someone’s body language was as close to scientific as you could get. What he saw on the professor’s face was fear being replaced with horror. Pure, unmasked, soul-deep horror.

Stuttering, Mitch replied, “I, I don’t know what you’re referring
to, Mr. Crawford.”

Shaking his head, Crawford bluffed. “Oh, come on, Doctor. We know about Durham’s flight from College Station
. We know about the military jets. We know he was in Houston when….”

Mitch interrupted, his words confirming Tim’s suspicions
. “How do you know….” The professor caught himself – too late. Tim had his confirmation.

“We have our sources, Dr. Weathers. We know all the
facts from the government’s angle. I’d like to know the other side of the story before we go to press.”

Professor Weathers clam
med up, but Crawford didn’t care. Those four little words, “How do you know,” told him everything he needed. It all fell into place as Mitch was asking them to leave.

On the way out of the building, Wendy commented, “Well, we didn’t get much there. Sorry.”

“But we did, Wendy. We got everything we needed. When I mentioned his brother’s escapades, he didn’t reply with ‘What are you talking about,’ or ‘That’s not what happened.’ No, he was terrified we already knew. We did good.”

“So you’re going to count that as a confirmation? That’s a stretch if you ask me.”

Crawford held the door open for his associate and replied, “Your name is going to be on the byline, Wendy. If you don’t believe the article is accurate, then we won’t publish it.”

Stopping, the girl peered at Crawford before responding
, “I never said that. Let’s go get it written up, and then we’ll see if we agree.”

Fifteen minutes later
, they were back at the Java Barn, fingers flying over Tim’s keyboard.

Mitch sat at his desk, stunned. He held the business card from the obnoxious reporter in his hand, the sweat from his palm already discoloring one edge. He played the upcoming conversation with Monroe over and over in his head, almost as many times as he debated whether to even call. That decision was made when he realized the FBI probably had his office bugged.

Finally, he pulled his cell phone out and tapped the Houston number.

“Monroe.”

“Agent Monroe, this is Mitch Weathers. I’m honoring my word by notifying you I had two visitors this morning. Both were reporters, both know a shocking amount of facts concerning recent events.”

“Go on.”

“I didn’t tell them anything, but one Mr. Timothy Crawford from the
Houston Post
sat here in my office and recited quite a bit of yesterday’s activities. Claimed he had government sources and wanted my side of the story. He knows about Dusty, the military jets, and the rail gun.”

“What? How could he…
. Are you sure you didn’t spill the beans, Doctor?”

Mitch lied, a little. “I swear it, sir. I said nothing.”

“This is disturbing. It looks as if your idea to promote a bomb threat didn’t work.”

Mitch pulled the phone away from his ear, looking at the device as if it had generated the insult. He said, “Or you didn’t implement it very well. Besides, the reporter claimed to have a government source.”

The man on the other end of the conversation didn’t respond for a minute. Finally, “What paper was the other reporter from?”

“I
can’t remember. I think he said where she worked, but I was a little taken aback and can’t recall.”

“This is unfortunate. One paper, we might be able to influence the leak. Two papers
present a more complex issue.”

I bet it does
, pondered Mitch. “I’ve honored our agreement, Agent Monroe. Is there anything else you need to know?”

“No. I hope
you receive a call back from Secretary Witherspoon today. We’re getting close to your brother, and I doubt he’ll surrender peacefully.”

“What is the cutoff for your deadline?” Wendy asked.

Crawford smirked at the junior reporter over his cup of coffee, “For this story, they’ll hold the edition. What do you think?”

“I think we’re done. My editor is going to throw a fit over the amount of speculation. He’s an old fuddy-duddy when it comes to hard, verified facts, but if the
Post
is running it, he’ll bend the rules.”

Tim held a single finger high
above the keyboard and mumbled, “Fire away.” He pressed the command to send the email, and then grinned at Wendy. “This calls for a celebration. How about I buy dinner?”

The younger girl was skeptical, “Your boss hasn’t
agreed to publish the article yet. Isn’t it a bit pre-mature to celebrate?”

“He will
. Trust me. He will.”

The two
newshounds were just finishing their coffee when Crawford’s cell phone rang. Glancing at the caller ID and then his partner, he mouthed, “My editor – right on time,” and answered the call.

“What’s up
, boss?”

“Crawford,” boomed the gruff voice through
the tiny speaker, “What is this pile of shit you’ve dumped in my inbox?”

“I think it’s the best piece I’ve ever written. Is there a problem?”

“I’m not sure you understand, son. We are running a newspaper here, not some supermarket tabloid. You might as well claim this gun you’re talking about was left on this planet by aliens.”

Tim looked at a concerned Wendy and winked. Covering the phone’s mic, he whispered, “He always does this. He likes the article, I can tell.”

Wendy was skeptical.

“Look, boss,
most everything in that piece I can back up, and the part that is conjecture is clearly identified. Most of it is already public knowledge anyway.”

A loud grunt came from Houston, followed by, “
How you’ve cleverly packaged this supposedly clear conjecture is what I’m the most worried about, Tim. You should have been a lawyer. Nine out of ten people will read this, and believe it’s all the gospel truth.”

“Actually, I’m very sure it is all true. Besides, the main point of the piece is for the government to come clean and tell us what they know. After all, if there is a
madman running around with a weapon that powerful, the public has a right to know.”

Again, a long period passed before
any response, Crawford visualizing the editor rubbing his temple from the headache the reporter just delivered. “Okay, we’ll splash it on page one tomorrow. Heaven help us all.”

“Thanks, boss.”

Tim ended the call and then high-fived Wendy, both reporters beaming with excitement. “Now, he said, let’s call your editor and then grab a bite.”