ANOMALY.MIL (The Conspiracy Series Book One): A Romantic Suspence Novel (10 page)

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

"Got 'em!" Drew said, and Gunner sighed with relief.              

"About time," Win chimed in, his eyes locked on the latest hand of Texas Hold'em on his smartphone.

"Fuck off, Winchester," Drew spat, still looking down at the specialized computer in his lap. "Seriously, if you had one once of computer skill, maybe I would give two shits what you thought."

Win didn't bother looking up. "Just tell us where they are, code monkey, so the real men can go after Ansel."

"I swear to God," Drew glared at the back seat, furious. "I am going to fuck you up after this is all—"

"Both of you, shut up," Gunner said to Drew while Win just chuckled, putting away his phone. "How do you know it's them?"

"There's a black SUV matching the one that took our target, leading a rusty old blue Chevy pickup down I-90."

"That's him," Win nodded. "Ansel loves his old Chevys."

Gunner agreed with their assessment. He pulled out his encrypted phone before punching the speaker button so they could all hear.

"General Hawkins, this is Captain Holstad. I was just calling to inform you that we have eyes on our target, and we’re moving in to extract her."

"And when do you expect the extraction to take place, Captain Holstad?" the general asked, and Gunner tried to think of how long he could delay without the general sending out another team.

"We'll take her tonight, sir," he decided, ignoring the confused glances from his passenger.

"Notify me when the target is secure," General Hawkins ordered. 

"Roger that, sir," Gunner answered, and then the phone went dead.

"Tonight?" Drew's face was a ball of confusion. "It’s noon, and they're only a couple of hours ahead of us."

"We should take them as soon as possible," Win weighed in.

They should, but he needed to give them a plausible explanation for the delay. "Look, we all know Ansel will be difficult." Drew scoffed at the understatement and Gunner continued, "We have no idea where they're headed, or how many people with be there when we arrive."

"Then let’s take him down now," Win suggested. "And have him take us to his sister."

"Are you kiddin' me?" Drew laughed. "You think Ansel is just gonna give up her location?"

The question did not need answering.

"I want to give us enough of a cushion to secure her, and him," Gunner lied. "If we get to them sooner than tonight…we look like heroes, and the general is impressed with our exemplary effort."

"Yes, sir, Captain Holstad," Win said with that touch of sarcasm that annoyed the hell out of him.

"Now," Gunner began, needing to talk to Ansel as soon as possible. "Where are they Drew?" 

"Take a left in two kliks," the kid said, staring at the satellite image on his computer. "County Road 221." The mood in the car shifted when he asked, "How do you want us to handle this, Captain? I mean, if Ansel engages us—"

"Our assignment isn't Ansel," Gunner growled.

"But if he fires on us?" Win pressed the point.

"Then you wound him, Sergeant Caffrey." Gunner glared at the man most likely to kill his best friend. "Are we clear on that?"

The two men just stared at one another until Win lifted his hands in a show of submission. "Crystal, Sir."

"Fuck!" Drew tapped away on his computer, frantic. "I lost them again."

"Damn it," Gunner mumbled. "Should I take the left turn? Because the road is right up there."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah take 221, but it's weird. This has nothing to do with the weather, or the SAT feed." Drew was shaking his head. "It’s just like…they disappeared into thin air."

Win glanced at the barren hills and stated the obvious. "Where the hell are they? Because there's no place to hide out here."

"Well, they went somewhere," Gunner said, turning onto the dirt Ranch Road 221. "So, direct me to where you last saw them."

While he thought about what to do when they got there.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

General Hawkins hung up the phone and looked at his sergeant.

"They will have Catherine Miller sometime tonight,” he told her, and she nodded, jotting down the information. He glanced out the window of the small jet, wondering, "When do we arrive in South Dakota?"

"In three and a half hours, sir," Inez informed him. "But we will have to drive another two hours to get to Littleton."

"Damn it. I fucking hate car rides." The general shook his head, annoyed at the necessity.

"Also, it is four degree—"

"Four?"
Fuck.

"Yes, sir," Inez nodded. "Four degrees with sunset at 16:45 this afternoon."
That will be useful.
"I've arranged for a car to be warmed, and waiting for you when we land."

"Excellent," the general said as he reached down and pushed the button to lean his leather seat back. "Now, if you don't mind, Sergeant, I have some reading to do." He picked up the first in a stack of thick files and began to study them.

The general read until they landed. And as promised, he could see a car was waiting on the frigid tarmac. The air was so cold when he stepped off the plane that he blinked so the moisture in his eyes wouldn't freeze. His face burned, and his balls felt like blocks of ice. But somehow he managed to make it to the car without getting frostbite.

"Afternoon, sir," an Asian kid said as he held the back door of the SUV open.

The general and Sergeant Munoz scrambled inside, and he was happy to find the heater running on full blast.

A white kid with red hair was staring at him from the passenger seat.

"If you will permit me, sir." The kid handed them both wool blankets, and the general took his and laid it on the seat next to him.

"Do you have anything to drink, Private?" he asked, finding bourbon a far more enjoyable way to warm oneself.   

"Of course, sir." The kid poured him a whiskey, then lifted the tongs to pick out a couple of pieces of ice.

"I don't want any goddamn ice, Son. It’s colder than a witch’s titty out there."

"Sorry, sir," the ginger said, handing him the cut crystal tumbler.

The General took a long sip, wishing he were younger, before turning to Inez. "Tell me about this little girl we are going to meet."

"Heidi Johnson, a seven year Caucasian female who lives with her mother, Angela Johnson. Ms. Johnson is a single mother, working as a waitress in the local Littleton diner. Angela Johnson never married Heidi's father after she became pregnant her senior year of high school in Sheridan, Wyoming. Kevin Kilgore, as you know, was brought into our facility October 23rd of last year."

"Tell me something I don't know, Sergeant Munoz," the general said, trying not sound annoyed.

"Heidi attends Littleton Elementary School and is currently in the second grade. She is in the advanced math group, but seems to have difficulty reading. Her diagnostic report suggests dyslexia. She has brown hair, blue eyes, and is well-liked by her peers. She was, however, sent to the principal’s office for refusing to apologize after punching a boy who pulled her ponytail."

The general smiled. "And outside of school? What does Heidi Johnson do for fun?"

"Heidi and her mother attend services every Sunday at the local Methodist church, and the mother takes Heidi to the library every Saturday morning. The grandparents, Daisy and Bernard Johnson, have a ranch outside of Sheridan. The father, Bernard, kicked Angela out of their home when she became pregnant, and they have not been allowed near Heidi since."

"So, this Angela is abandoned by Heidi's father, and then her own parents?"

What was wrong with people these days?

The general thought about that for the rest of the miserable drive. This Angela Johnson was an admirable woman. She took responsibility, unlike her boyfriend, for her mistake, and raised her daughter with no help from anyone. That must have been difficult for an eighteen-year-old girl. If this Heidi was anything like her mother, she would be made of strong stuff.

He could not wait to meet her.

The team rolled into Littleton and headed straight to the address in the file. The Johnson home was a dilapidated white wooden shack two streets off of Main, but they still took the precaution of parking in the alley behind the house.

The team entered through the backyard. When the screen door creaked, the Asian kid oiled it. Not too much to show that it had been oiled, but enough to let them enter without making any noise.

Dogs were always a concern, so the general had Inez enter first, her eyesight being so superior to his own. The ancient kitchen was clean and smelled faintly of bleach, but they walked straight through to the tiny living room.

A small Siamese cat was curled up on the couch. It woke up at their approach. Its white eyelids retracted as it meowed at him without making a sound. The general sat down next to the small animal and scratched it behind the ears. The cat had one green eye and one blue. The blue eye seemed friendlier, more aware of him.

He heard a thump somewhere over his head, and then the private came down the narrow stairs with a sleeping child wrapped in his arms.

"Get her settled in the car," he ordered the ginger headed soldier just as Inez returned, followed by a pretty young blonde who was bound, gagged, and being guided by the Asian kid so she would not stumble down the stairs.

"Wait for us in the car," Inez ordered the young man, leaving the two of them alone to speak with Angela Johnson.

Sergeant Munoz sat the woman down in the rickety black rocking chair, opposite the couch. The cat was purring now and the general smiled at the young woman.

"You're only twenty-five years old," he realized. "Hmm, you've done really well, considering all that you have been through in your life. I couldn't imagine it myself." He looked over at Inez. "Could you imagine raising a child on your own, Sergeant Munoz?"

"No sir," she said, standing at attention at the end of the couch.

General Hawkins leaned forward and looked the young woman in the eye. She was confused, and scared, and he didn't want her to be.

"No, I mean it." And he did. "You should be very proud of yourself. What you have accomplished is quite commendable for a woman your age. It shows a hell of a lot of character to raise a child alone after your boyfriend knocks you up and then leaves you." He snapped his fingers. "Just like that."

The girl’s brows knitted together, and he shook his head.

"Cowardly thing for a man to do, leave a woman in that position. And your parents? Kicking you out of the house because of it. Now, if I were your father…" He waggled a finger in her direction. "That boy would have married you or gotten a bullet between the eyes."

With his peripheral vision, he could see Inez nodding vigorously in agreement.

"And now, through no fault of your own—" He wanted to make sure she understood. "—I'm gonna take your baby girl away from you."

Angela Johnson made a guttural cry of despair. It was heart-wrenching. Big tears rolled down her face and she shook her head, imploring with her big blue eyes.

"No!" she tried to say through the gag in her mouth.

"I'm sorry." The general lifted his left hand, and wiped the tears from her damp cheeks. "Just know that your daughter is a very special girl and her country needs her." The woman's shoulders slumped, accepting the inevitable. "And I promise you that she will be looked after. She'll have the best housing, the best food and education that money can buy. Okay?" he assured her.

"I know losing her is gonna hurt worse than anything you have ever been through in your life. You'll wonder every night where your baby is. Spend every waking hour trying to find her, while you live with a hole in your heart that will never heal. But I'm gonna spare you that pain, Angela."

The general lifted his right hand, and she only had a moment to feel fear before he shot her in the forehead.

The weight of the woman's body slumping backward caused the chair to rock, violently at first. As it slowed, the general rose, buttoning his jacket and ordering, "Get me out of this hellhole. And bring the cat."

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

There was only one reason the black SUV would stop in the middle of an open field, and that reason wasn't good. Ansel grabbed his gun, and sensing the danger they were in, Seneca stilled in the seat next to him.

"If anything happens…You drive away."

If she nodded, he didn't see it. His attention was completely fixed on the door of the car in front of them. Ansel tightened his grip on his gun, but the man stayed in the SUV.

His brows furrowed in confusion and Seneca said what he was thinking: "What is he waiting for?"

And then they found out as the side of the hill rose up like some industrial barn door.

The SUV pulled forward, disappearing inside, and Ansel threw the truck into park then slipped out, ordering Seneca to "Drive."

He did not wait for her to answer. But as he approached the large door on foot, Ansel heard the truck engine rumble up behind him.

His sprint became a jog, and then he had his back pressed against the hillside to the right of the garage door. Seneca was easing the truck into the parking structure and he crouched down, following behind it. The man was watching the Chevy pull into the garage, so he did not expect Ansel to step out with his gun drawn.

"Hands up," Ansel ordered.

"Are we really going to do this?" the man asked as the metal door swung shut, sealing them in.

Ansel waited for his eyes to adjust to the dark before looking around. The SUV had pulled in behind a tan Range Rover, but two more cars could have easily fit into the cavernous room. Gray paint covered the thick metal walls with rust peeking through at the edges.

This place was old. 1940's, 50's, maybe. And then it dawned on him. "Is this a missile silo?"

The man chuckled, dropping his hands, and Ansel lifted his gun.

"Used to be." The man's gray eyes held his. And even with a gun trained at his chest, this guy was calm. That's when Ansel knew he was law enforcement, or used to be. The guy lifted his left hand toward an interior door, offering, "Why don't you find out?"

Ansel's grin was sardonic. "You first."

The man in the suit rolled his eyes then walked to the smaller door. Ansel braced himself, expecting a flood of FBI agents to come bursting out.

He turned his head toward Seneca, warning, "Stay behind the truck." Just in case bullets started flying.

The man pulled down on the lever handle of the interior door to the silo, and it opened with a hollow creak. But rather than a swarm of FBI agents, the man was greeted by an elderly woman with long, gray braids and foggy blue eyes.

"Joe, you're back! I was starting to get worri—Oh!" She looked at Ansel and then at his gun before thrusting out her hand, totally unconcerned. "Hello," she said. "I'm Gwen. Welcome to my home." When he didn't shake it, she smiled, saying, "You must be Ansel Babineaux. Catherine has told me all about her baby brother. Cat, sweetie!"

"Yes?" Ansel heard his sister voice bouncing down the walls of several rooms. She seemed…fine.

The old woman took a step back, saying a little louder, "Your brother is holding a gun on us. Would you mind talking some sense into him, please?"

"What!" he heard Catherine shout.

"And who is this pretty little thi—" The woman was interrupted when Catherine came bursting through the door, shoving Ansel aside.

"Seneca!" Catherine gave her a big bear hug. "What are you doing here?" his sister asked her friend before glancing up at him. "Put that gun away, Ansel. Who do you think you are, Rambo?"

Seneca grinned at him, knowing that he kind of was. "We came to rescue you," she explained.

"Aww, you're so sweet." Catherine said it to Seneca, as if he had not driven halfway across the country to save his sister’s life. "But honestly, Seneca, I'm fine. Let's go inside, and I'll tell you all about what happened. Is Dave okay? I wish I could have called him, but there just wasn't any tim…"

Their voices faded the further they walked inside. Ansel lowered his weapon, putting his nine millimeter in the holster strapped to his right thigh. The man in the suit chuckled and Ansel glared at him, wondering how Catherine still managed to make him feel like that twelve-year-old kid she used to beat the shit out of.

"After you," Joe said, but he hadn't even gotten two steps into the room when the man added, "If it makes you feel any better…" His tone was anything but helpful. "I have four older sisters myself."

The guy was still laughing at him when he brushed past, leaving Ansel plenty of time to look around the eclectic room. The ceiling was low, as he would have expected in a decommissioned silo, but that was where the resemblance ended.

What used to be gray walls were now painted an earthy yellow. Two tan couches decorated with colorful pillows lined the walls of the square living room. A room that smelled of flowers, and citrus, and something familiar that he couldn't quite place. And from a distant room, he could hear water trickling down what he was sure to be a tranquility fountain.

"Are you hungry, Ansel?" the older woman was asking, and then she smiled. "Let's go to the kitchen and make some lunch for everyone," she suggested, sensing his discomfort.

Ansel let himself be led, while Cat and Seneca sat on a couch and he thought he heard his name mentioned.

"You live here?" He didn't know why he asked. It was obvious that she did.

"For five years now," Gwen smiled. The kitchen was pleasant, with herbs growing in the corner beneath a pink light. "It's a bit like stepping into the rabbit hole, isn't it? But…" She shrugged. "There were such bad intentions left in these walls, that I used Feng Shui to bring the place back into harmony. As a matter of fact, I burned some sage just this morning."

That was what he smelled.

"Sage?" This was so out of Ansel’s wheelhouse that he did not know how to respond.

"The burning of sage helps drive out bad…vibes." Gwen nodded as if it were a statement of fact, and then stuck her head in a very normal looking refrigerator. "You look like one of those guys who eats a lot of protein. Fortunately for you—" She pulled out a steak that had already been cooked, grinning. "My vegetarian days are long behind me."

Unable to stop himself, Ansel smiled back at the older woman. "I'm shocked."

"Of course," the woman began cutting the steak into thin slices, "the meat is organic, and free range from my friend's ranch just down the road."

“Sounds about right."

He watched as she carefully prepared a bowlful of spinach, topping it with the steak before adding onions, pecans and crumbles of blue cheese.

"Here," Gwen handed him a stack of plates along with some homemade salad dressing. "I'll let you put the dressing on yourself, in case you're watching your figure."

Ansel chuckled. "Very thoughtful."

The woman walked out of the kitchen. And with the salad still in her hands, announced, "Why don't we go into the dining room, while we try to explain why we're all here." Gwen looked around the room. "Where are Frank and Matthew?" she asked the older man in the black suit.

"Mr. Babineaux," Joe said with utmost disapproval, "gave Matt a nasty concussion." The older woman tsked in Ansel's general direction. "We thought it best that he went to the hospital for observation."

"You're right," Gwen sighed. "Well." She looked at Seneca and then him. "Time’s a wastin' and the sooner we tell these two what's going on, the sooner they can help."

They all settled into the cozy teal dining room. Ansel sat next to Seneca and across from Cat, while Gwen and Joe took the ends of the mid-century wooden table.

Joe poured everyone a glass of sweet iced tea, and they were halfway through their lunch before Ansel looked up at his sister.

"Well?" he said. "I'm not sure what you did to piss off the United States government, but I sure hope there's a damn good reason for scaring the hell out of your husband?"

And me.

"There is," Catherine nodded, setting her fork down on her plate. "But…It's really hard to explain."

"Try," he growled.

Seneca put a hand on Ansel's forearm and his heart slowed. "We've all been very upset, Cat."

"I know," Catherine nodded, looking across the table at him. Her eyes were filled with sincerity when she said, "I'm really sorry, Ansel."

"Why did you leave without telling us?" Ansel felt calmer. "What did you do?"

Catherine opened her mouth to speak, but it was Gwen who answered, "Nothing. Your sister did absolutely nothing, other than be herself."

"No offense, ma'am." Ansel's could feel his blood pressure rising as he turned toward the older woman. "But I'm really not in the mood for some hippie bullshit right now."

"Ansel!" Cat gasped, appalled.

"It's alright, Catherine," Gwen defended him, making Ansel feel like an even bigger asshole. "The boy's just upset, and he has a right to be."

The man in the black suit didn't give a shit. Impatient, he took over, explaining, "Dr. Gwendolyn Huber is one of the leading geneticists in the world."

The older woman chuckled, "Used to be. I retired a few years back."

Joe continued, "She was the head of research for the company Decendants.com."

"Oh, wow," Seneca was impressed, but Ansel had no idea why.

"The online genealogy place?" he asked.

He had seen the commercials. Who hadn't? They were everywhere. The whole thing sounded really boring to him. But if he remembered correctly, Catherine had gotten into that stuff after their parents were murdered. It seemed to help her cope.

"It's a lot more than just genealogy, Ansel," Catherine defended her new friend. "They do historical research, and help in the preservation of historical birth records…" She ticked the list off on her fingers. "Census records, military records, not to mention the individual DNA testing to determine familial origins. It's amazing."

"Oh, yeah, Dave got you a kit for Christmas." Ansel pointed at his sister, remembering. "You swabbed your mouth with that plastic thing and sent it off for testing. I remember you said we're from France or something?"

Catherine rolled her eyes, sighing. But Seneca seemed interested. "Oh, I can totally see that. And of course, your last name is French."

"Oh, they're definitely Francs of some kind," Gwen chimed in. "The dark hair, green eyes, and olive undertones…Not to mention their bone structure. These are all classic characteristics of—"

"Can we stay on topic, please?" Joe begged, adjusting his suit jacket, and Gwen inclined her head toward him as a small show of contrition. "Six years ago Dr. Huber found an anomaly with one of the DNA tests submitted to their processing lab.

“
She ran the test again, and even asked the subject to resubmit their sample. But the anomaly remained.

“
Curious, and now knowing what markers to look for, Dr. Huber spent the next few years comparing the anomaly to the Descendants.com database of DNA profiles. Eventually, she found a handful of samples with the same DNA anomaly."

"You must understand," Gwen added, "we collect DNA samples from everywhere. It's the reason we know you have French and British lineage, for example. Decendants.com has collected DNA in France and China, England, Mexico, Nigeria… All over the world. So, to have a DNA test that was completely anomalous to anywhere is…" She raised both brows, nodding as she searched for the appropriate word. "…Alarming."

Ansel glanced at the formidable man in the black suit. "So, Dr. Huber called the FBI to help determine the origins of the anomaly?"

“FBI?” Catherine sat up, her face scrunched in confusion. "What are you talking about? What FBI?"

"You're not FBI?" Ansel asked, pointing at the older man.

"No. Of course not." The man in the black suit was shaking his head as if Ansel had offended him by even suggesting it. "I'm Mormon."