Blind Eye (28 page)

Roswell International Air Center
Roswell, New Mexico

A
pparently, there was more to Roswell than UFOs and Area 51.

From the two army pilots who were flying the transport plane, Mark learned a lot about the history of Roswell and what he should see and do. He now knew the location and quality rating of every strip club and live-music bar within a two-hundred-mile radius. The pilots had no idea why he was flying in and he did nothing to enlighten them, either.

Like everyone else who'd ever had even a passing interest in space or in life outside of this solar system, Mark knew about Roswell. He'd read plenty about it as a teenager and even seen the so-called autopsy photos of extraterrestrials. From what he recalled, back in 1947 some rancher had notified the authorities about a crash on his land. Roswell Army Airfield announced, within a few hours, that they had recovered a flying disk. But a few hours after the initial press release, U.S. Army Air Forces officials stated that there was no UFO. They'd simply recovered fragments of a weather balloon.

It wasn't until the 1980s, when the actual reports were released, that Roswell became a focus for conspiracy theorists.

According to the pilots, though, the Roswell UFO incident took place some seventy-five miles away. Actually, the ranch where the crash occurred was closer to Corona, New Mexico…which, in turn, was about thirty miles from the best whorehouse ranch south of the Nevada state line.

Oh, and one of the pilots had nearly been eaten by a three-hundred-pound bear a couple of miles north of Corona. Just in case Mark was going hiking up there.

Fascinating.

Actually, listening to them, Mark thought it peculiar that he was heading to Roswell for what could easily be construed as another conspiracy theory. In this case, though, there were no spokespersons for the event. No online forum to consult. All his information came from a young woman who'd spent six years of her life in a minimally conscious state.

And his own belief that a woman everyone in America thought was dead—a woman he cared about—needed his help.

Mark was glad these guys weren't asking him why he was coming to Roswell.

He had no confirmation that anyone would be meeting him when the plane landed. His chief had made the arrangements from Pennsylvania. But Mark didn't know how successful Chief Faber would be in selling their theory to anyone who could do something about the investigation.

Mark was relieved to see a car waiting near one of the hangars and the two black-suited FBI agents beside it when his feet hit the tarmac. Walking across
to them, he shed his jacket in the heat and turned his cell phone on.

A minute later, after seeing their badges, Mark knew his chief had gotten the message across.

“The Waste Isolation Pilot Plan is a government facility, but it's managed by TMC Corp, a private corporation,” one of the agents explained. “It might take a day or two before we are able to obtain a search warrant to get inside.”

“That might be too late,” Mark said, knowing he had nothing more to offer in support of his claim.

The two agents, Botello and Harvey, exchanged a glance.

“We understand the urgency of this situation,” Agent Botello told him. “Meanwhile, we are having the layout of the facility faxed to our field office. At the same time, there are agents from the Nuclear Regulatory Commission on their way.”

“We can't wait,” Mark insisted. “A woman's life is at stake.”

“We know how you feel,” Agent Harvey said. “We can tell you that we're taking it seriously. We're pulling together a surveillance team right now to watch the WIPP facility. That should happen today.”

“Can I be part of the surveillance group?” Mark asked.

“You were recommended to us with all clearances. You can be where you want to be,” the other agent told him. “We're glad for the added man power.”

They all climbed inside the car. Mark asked the question that had been burning on his tongue. “You mentioned the urgency of the situation. Have there been any other developments since I left Connecticut this morning?”

Agent Botello was behind the wheel, and Harvey turned to answer him.

“Our agents in California have tied an attempt on an individual's life to the death of a director of R & D and to a plane crash that killed a number of other administrators in the New Mexico Power Company. All of that has happened in the past few days. In about an hour, the central offices of the New Mexico Power will be served with subpoenas for their records.”

“But the WIPP facility's connection is still a mystery,” Mark commented.

“You've had enough aces in the hole that the wheels are turning,” Agent Harvey told him. “If you say something is down there, we're ready to jump on it.”

Mark's cell phone rang. He glanced at the display. Waterbury Police.

“Hold on,” he said to the agents. “This call is from Detective Ricci from Waterbury.”

She didn't bother with small talk. “You should know that the ambulance that showed up to transport Amelia to Gaylord was stolen.”

“And you discovered that before she got in it,” he said hopefully.

“No.”

Mark swore profusely under his breath. They'd told him that she'd be watched around the clock. This couldn't be happening.

“So they have her?”

“We believe she might be okay.”

“How's that?” A ray of hope sparked in his gut.

“Dr. Conway was in the ambulance with her. He suspected something and called us. That's when he realized that the police escort wasn't behind them.”

Mark waited, forcing himself to be patient, allowing her to continue.

“We'd been tracking his cell phone but the signal
stopped. About ten minutes ago, the fire department in Wickfield called the state police. There appears to be a fire burning in the woods at the White Memorial Nature Preserve. We don't know if that has anything to do with the missing ambulance or not. But it's in the same general direction that Dr. Conway's last call came from. We have fire department and state police on their way right now.”

Sid was no cop, Mark thought. But he was young and smart. If he'd discovered something was wrong before they got to him, there was hope.

“These guys are persistent,” Ricci stressed. “We thought you might want to have an update.”

“Please call me back when you find them.”

Connecticut

S
id wanted to kick himself for leaving his cell phone behind. But there'd been too many things on his mind. His priority had been to get the two of them out of that ambulance.

The woods were quiet. He could still smell the smoke but he could no longer see it. The trees were dense, and walking between them was becoming more difficult. They had yet to cross a path or any buildings. They'd reached a marshy area, forcing them to veer off.

Twenty minutes later, they saw a small dry clearing beneath an ancient oak tree. He had to stop and decided this was as good a place as any.

“Are you still okay, Amelia?” he asked gently. She gave him no sign.

He moved next to the tree and carefully lowered her off his shoulder. Her eyes were wide-open. She was looking at everything around her in awe. From being upside down on his shoulder for so long, her face was flushed with color. She looked healthier than he'd ever seen her. Sitting her down, he tried to lean her back against the tree. She fell to her side, her face sinking into the leaves.

“I'm so sorry,” he said, scrambling to help her. “I'm not treating you too well, am I?”

He sat her up again. Sitting down next to her, he propped her weight against his shoulder and the tree. Leaves were stuck in her short hair and on her face and nose. Somewhere along the way she'd lost the headband she'd been wearing. Brushing the leaves off, Sid noticed she was smiling.

“Do you think this is funny?” he said in mock angry tone.

There was no blinking of the eyes. This time she slowly nodded, still smiling.

Sid shook his head. She was amazing. Based on what he'd already seen, he figured her recovery would come in leaps and bounds from here on.

“Are you cold?” he asked, touching her hands. Her fingers were cold. She was wearing only hospital socks and no shoes. He pulled the blanket around her and placed her hand in his.

She traced the word
no
in his palm.

Sid put an arm around her anyway, pulling her closer to his side. His heart was still racing. He couldn't believe how close those people had come to killing them. His mind turned to the two men who'd been sitting in the front seat of the ambulance. Sid wondered if he'd killed them.

He leaned his head against the tree and closed his eyes. He had done the right thing, he told himself.

She was tracing letters in his palm. He looked down.

“OK?”
he said aloud. “Me?”

She blinked.

He nodded. “I'm okay now.”

A breeze ruffled the leaves and brought with it a whiff of the smoke.

“The police should find us soon. Connecticut isn't a huge state. And that ambulance is still creating a lot of smoke. We'll be okay.”

Sid looked down at her. Amelia had her head on his shoulder and her eyes were closed. She'd fallen sleep.

Nuclear Fusion Test Facility

M
arion heard the footsteps in the elevator. She stared up at the floor, waiting. It seemed like hours, but the doors finally closed. She heard the sound of gears and bearings sliding smoothly into position.

As the elevator started up, the temperature of her prison immediately dropped, and she felt as if she were being sucked off the ground. The elevator moved slowly at first and then, like a rocket being launched, shot upward through the blackness above.

Darkness surrounded her once again.

She knew there wasn't much time. Marion reached into her bag and pulled out a second flashlight that she had stuck in there earlier. She turned it on as she sat up. It worked, in spite of the drop.

Her back hurt. Her joints were stiff. Her arms felt like they'd fall out of their sockets if she moved them too fast. She looked at the watch.

Eight hours, forty-three minutes left.

As she stood up, her right ankle almost buckled under her. She'd forgotten about landing on it when jumping down the ladder. She didn't have time for this now, she thought, putting her weight on the other foot.

Standing there, Marion realized another dilemma faced her. From where she was, the doors to the lab were high, nearly at shoulder level. She had to somehow get them open. She found the same bar she'd used to open the doors from the lab side, but she knew she had very little strength left in her shoulders. Stacking both bags against the wall, she used them as a step to get a better angle to pry open the door.

As she lifted the bar, she realized she'd crossed a point during these past few days. Nothing stopped her. Pain was only a bump in the road. Anxiety was merely a nuisance. Whatever slowed her down or created a barrier, she could get past it.

Marion jammed the bar between the two doors and pulled. The doors started to open a couple of inches but immediately slammed shut again. She needed to wedge something between the doors. She'd used the hammer before. But she didn't know if she could keep the doors open long enough to get something between them.

Determined to succeed, she didn't slow down. She jammed the bar in again. Putting all of her weight behind it, she managed to slide the tip of the bar in farther, opening the door an inch.

“Come on. I don't have a lot of time,” she cried softly, pulling the crowbar sideways. “Open.”

And then, like magic, it happened. The metal doors slid open. She looked up in surprise.

A boot appeared, holding the door open, and Marion tumbled backward.

The voice was low and cold. “I knew you'd show up sooner or later.”

Marion stared up at the killer, the machine gun in his hands, knowing she now faced the one hurdle that she could not get past.

Washington, D.C.

T
here was a time when Joseph Ricker liked being center stage. Not anymore.

Not when he considered the mess he found himself in the middle of. Out of the limelight suited him just fine right now. In fact, Joseph was starting to think it was far better to be an extra, rather than the leading man. That way, he didn't have to hang around and see how everything ended.

As he left the office, he told the driver that he'd get himself home. There weren't too many times that Joseph did that, but tonight was an exception. He didn't trust anyone.

Flagging down a cab, Joseph stopped at an ATM on the way to his condominium apartment and took out the maximum allowable cash withdrawal for the day. The amount was paltry, but he wasn't going to bring any attention to himself. The branch was still open, and he could have gone in and written a check, but he chose not to. He wasn't about to empty his accounts. He regularly moved his funds, so he wasn't worried. He could complete the transfer of what was left anytime.

Long-term planning was Joseph's forte. His passport
was always current. He'd saved up a healthy percentage of his salary over the years, dispersing much of it and keeping a solid chunk of cash in a safe at home. Getting on the next flight and disappearing to any country in South America was always within reach.

Pulling up in front of his building, Joseph considered having the cab wait, but then decided against it. He wasn't going to be home long. He didn't want to feel rushed.

Today had not been a good day. In fact, during the past twenty-four hours, everything he'd touched had gone sour. He was dealing with imbeciles. Suddenly, it seemed nothing could go right. No, he told himself, actually, one thing had gone right. The idiots had managed to recover the document that Fred Adrian had sent his daughter. Nellie Johnson had called to tell him about that.

Still, statistically speaking, he was deep in the hole. The first reports from New Mexico revealed that Marion Kagan's body wasn't in the lab. He'd decided to keep that little detail from his boss. At least for now. That was a preliminary report, he reasoned. There was no saying that they wouldn't find her once they conducted a thorough search of the facility.

He wondered, though, if his boss already knew more than Joseph. While he was still in the office, there'd been a message from Martin Durr. He wanted Joseph to come to the house later tonight.

No way in hell was he going there. He wasn't that stupid. Even Nellie, who always thought she was a favorite of Durr's because she took care of some of his jobs herself, had sounded nervous on the phone. Too many strange people were poking around their offices. And this morning, there'd been a number of
meetings behind closed doors at the power company headquarters.

He could feel the ground shaking. It was time to get out.

Joseph didn't stop to get his mail when he walked through the lobby. A sense of urgency had taken hold of him. He planned to be on a plane and in midair by the time Durr figured that he was a no-show tonight.

The elevator was crowded. Joseph didn't socialize with anyone in his building; he recognized no one. The turnover on the leased apartments in the high-rise was frequent, he'd heard. He barely recognized the faces of the people who lived in the units adjacent to his. He pressed the button for his floor and noticed that he was the first stop.

A middle-aged couple was waiting by the elevator doors on the seventh floor when Joseph got out. He ignored them, pulling out his key as he moved down the hallway. His mind was already putting together a list of everything that he needed to do. Despite the fortune he'd spent on his suits and ties and shoes, he knew he couldn't pack a suitcase to take with him. That would be too obvious. After eight years of working for Martin Durr, he knew how deep his network of spies ran in Washington.

A bag with his cash packed into the lining. A few essentials. His passport. That was all he needed.

The phone inside the apartment was ringing as he walked in. He let the answering machine pick up as he went into the hall closet for his shoulder bag. Whoever had been calling his phone didn't leave a message.

Being organized had its rewards. Packing his bathroom supplies took no more than a minute and he stuffed them into the shoulder bag.

Joseph went into his bedroom and dropped the bag next to his bed.

Opening the closet door, he looked wistfully at the tidy line of suits, jackets, dress shirts, slacks, the rack of ties. The shoes were the most difficult to leave behind. He shook his head at the temptation and crouched down on the floor. Removing the two-tier shelf of shoes, he exposed the door of the safe.

He was spinning the knob when the phone started ringing again. Joseph focused on the combination, disregarding the phone.

The door of the safe swung open. He knew exactly how much cash he had, mostly in large bills, five hundreds and thousands. He knew there wasn't enough here to retire on. But there was certainly enough to buy him a year or two of living comfortably and give him a chance to find another line of work.

The voice on the answering machine stopped him dead. He sat back on his heels and listened. In all the years Joseph had worked for him, Martin Durr had never left him a message. But he was leaving one right now. Joseph was stunned.

He stood up and walked out into his bedroom.

“I've tried your cell phone several times, Joseph. This is my second call to your apartment. I know you consider the cell phone an extension of your hand…”

Joseph stared at the machine.

“Anyway, I know I asked you to come over later tonight so that we can get some work done. But I have to postpone that. I totally forgot that my wife wanted me to go with her to the Young Concert Artist Series at the Kennedy Center. You know I'm working from home tomorrow, but call me when you get to the office in the morning. Maybe we can get together tomorrow afternoon.”

The call ended.

“Since when are you interested in the performing arts?” Joseph continued to stare at the phone. “
Maybe? Maybe
we can get together tomorrow afternoon?”

His mind was racing. This was not the Martin Durr he knew.

Joseph had turned off his cell phone when he'd left the office. That was stupid, but he'd made up his mind. He was leaving the country and getting as far away as possible from Durr. It didn't matter. He tried to focus on the positive. He didn't have to go to Durr's house tonight. That meant he could take his time packing and getting to the airport.

He dismissed the option as quickly as he considered it. No, there was definitely something wrong. Durr sounded downright civil on the phone. That feeling of urgency again crept in. Hurrying back to the closet, he quickly fit all the cash into the bottom lining of his bag.

Joseph knew his boss better than he got credit for. Durr was covering himself. That call was the kiss of death.

He grabbed a pair of Italian leather loafers that he'd bought only last week and stuffed them on top of the money with the bag of toiletries. On top, he packed a pair of khakis, two shirts, and some underwear and socks. Going out of the bedroom, he zipped the bag shut and swung it up on his shoulder.

Joseph turned off the lights as he went through. By the front door, he turned around and took one last look at his apartment. He wondered what would happen to his things once he was gone. Collecting the furniture and the few modest pieces of art had been a labor of love. He switched off the light and opened the door.

The only family he had left was a younger sister in
Chicago. He hadn't seen her for years. He always regretted not doing his part to stay in touch. She was a good kid, one of those people who had her hand in a dozen things to help her community. She sure had tried to stay in contact with him, but had given up after a while.

He guessed she'd end up with everything. But that was assuming someone would declare him dead. Missing didn't automatically call for an estate settlement. It would be years.

Joseph went out into the hall, thinking that maybe he didn't have to stay away forever, anyway. Stranger things had happened. Durr might end up in jail and Joseph could be a key witness.

That was a possibility he hadn't considered until this moment.

As Joseph slid the key into the dead bolt, he looked up and down the hall. It was empty, but the elevator suddenly seemed miles away. Pocketing his keys, he hurried toward it.

Perhaps, he thought, he should be going to the police instead of going to the airport.

As he reached for the elevator button, he hesitated, startled by the sound of the adjacent utility-room door opening behind him. He turned in time to see the silencer on the handgun appear from the darkness inside.

Two shots were fired, driving Joseph back against the elevator doors. As he slid to the floor, his assailant came toward him, the gun aimed for the kill shot.

Just before he saw the flash, though, Joseph thought of his sister. She'd have no trouble inheriting his things, after all.