MIND FIELDS (30 page)

Sandi perked up.  She remembered having to face Russell Stetson at the Senate Nanotech Committee meeting when she was lobbying for authorization to begin the human trials for the Phase Two nanobots. 

“I’m not exactly sure,” Hingston said, “but he’s knee deep in the political end of nanobot research.  He’s the vice-chairman of the Senate Subcommittee on Nanotechnology.  He knows more about it than just about anybody in Washington, and he’s a strong advocate for biotech research.  Maybe he’s working with Sean to help the NSA develop this mind-control thing as a weapon in exchange for their support for his campaign.  The NSA would be pretty darned good guys to have backing you.”

Kincade nodded silently.

“But I still don’t see why he’d take a chance on messing with a guy like Harold Bradley.  I mean, he’s a pretty high profile kind of guy, and if Stetson gets caught, he’s toast.  Not just his career either.”

“Maybe it’s not just about political support.”

“What then?” Sandi had picked up the line in the kitchen.

Richie looked over his shoulder.  “I didn’t even notice that you walked out of the room,” he said to her through the phone.

“You seemed pretty engrossed.  I had to know what you guys were talking about,” she said.

“Sandi?” Paul said.

“Hi there,” she answered.  “So what, then, Detective?  If not for political backing, what would the motive be?”

“How about a guaranteed victory in the next presidential election?”

“Against Forsyth?  How?”

“Take him out,” Kincade said.

“Murder!  Even JT Anderson wouldn’t be so bold as to try and murder the President of the United States.”

“Not by himself, no.  But for an NSA agent, it would just be another target as long as he was convinced that it was in the interest of national security.  President Forsyth is not an ally to those who promote the use of biotech weapons, and right now he’s a lock to win re-election.  On the other hand, if something were to happen to Forsyth, the Democratic Party would be thrown into turmoil.  Vice President Addison is a political lightweight; he’d never be able to carry the party.  The next election would be easy pickings for the Republicans, and Forsyth would be the clear favorite to get the nomination.”

“If the NSA could get a man like Stetson elected, they would have carte blanche to develop all the biotech weapons they could get their hands on.  Not only is he on their side now, but with the NSA possessing evidence tying Stetson in to the murder of President Forsyth, they’d own his soul.   It would be a bonanza for men like James O’Grady and Trace McKnight.  For Anderson and BNI, it would be a windfall; they would have a long term customer with the deepest pockets in the world.”

“Jesus, Kincade.  Do you realize what you’re saying?”   Paul couldn’t believe how this had snowballed.  How he had ever gotten himself into the middle of a plot to kill the President of the United States?

“Think about it.  Why go to all the trouble of getting the Phase Three bots into the brain of the White House Chief of Staff?  Who else has better access to the president?”

“Why not just put the bots into the president himself?” Sandi said.

“Not so easy,” Paul answered.  “Setting up the accident would have been tough enough with a guy like Bradley, but with the president...forget it.  The odds of pulling it off without getting caught would be astronomical.”  He sighed.  “I hate to admit it, Kincade, but you’re making a lot of sense.”

“So how do we stop this thing from happening?” Sandi said.  “With no evidence, who in the hell is going to believe us...a plot by America’s most prominent entrepreneur and a presidential candidate, conspiring to carry out a mind control experiment where they use the White House Chief of Staff to kill the president.”

“They’ll lock us all up in a loony bin,” Paul said.

“Look,” Kincade said, “you two sit tight.  I’m going to take this to my boss.  Hopefully I still have some credibility with him, because this is really going to test it.  I want you staying out of sight, Sandi.  The longer they believe you’re dead, the better.  And you, Hingston, you’ve got to just go on about your business.  If you can’t face your buddies at work without giving yourself away, then take a few days off and go on vacation.  Just make sure you actually go where you tell them you are going, because these kind of guys check things out when they get suspicious, and believe me, you don’t want them getting suspicious about you.”

___

“Hey, Maggie.  It’s Richie Kincade.  Patch me through to the chief, would you?”

“Is he expecting you?”

“Don’t start with me, Maggie.  I’m not in the mood.” Richie had slept poorly wondering how he was going to convince the chief that the NSA was plotting to kill the president.

“He doesn’t talk to anyone without an appointment.”

“Put me through now, Maggie, or I’ll make sure his wife finds out who sent him those Godiva chocolates last Christmas.”

“Detective Kincade!  You wouldn’t dare.”

“And I’ll make sure
he
knows, too.”  Everyone in the office knew about Maggie’s crush on the chief and her anonymous Christmas gift.  Everyone except the chief, that is.

“You rat.  Hang on, I’ll see if he’ll talk to you.”

“Thanks, doll.”

There was a click, and the line went dead for a few seconds.  Just as Richie was about to hang up and call Maggie back to give her hell, Chief Hartner came on the line.

“Kincade?”

“Yeah, Chief.  It’s me.  Listen, I’ve got to talk to you ASAP.  I’m on my way in now.  If you’ve got any meetings out of the station, cancel them.  This can’t wait.”

“What’s this about, Richie?”

“I’ll tell you when I get there.”  Richie knew that if he started to spout out a theory about the NSA using mind controlling miniature robots to force the chief of staff to kill the President of the United States, he wouldn’t make it to the end of his first sentence before the chief hung up on him.

“Listen, I…”

“This can’t wait, Chief.  It’s a matter of national security.”

“Just be here by ten, Richie.  I’ve got to be downtown for a meeting with the mayor at eleven.”

“I’ll be there.”

“And Richie…this had better be good.”

“Right.” 
If he only knew…

___

Kincade rushed into the police station with a box of Godiva chocolates under his arm. “Here, sugar,” he said as he thrust them in front of Chief Hartner’s secretary, Maggie. She gave him a dirty look as he brushed past her to Hartner’s office.

“Godiva, eh Maggie?” Larry Welch winked at her, and a few of the other guys snickered as they looked over at the box on her desk.

“What?” she sniped, glaring around the room.  “So Richie’s a nice guy.  Wanna make a federal case out of it?”  She shoved the chocolates in her desk drawer, seething at the opportunity to get Richie back someday.

“Come on in,” Hartner said, as Richie knocked on the glass door.

“Thanks for seeing me, Chief.”

Hartner motioned to a chair, and Kincade sat.  “I’m not quite sure where to start,” he said.

“Well, you’d better start somewhere, ’cause the clock’s ticking.  I don’t intend to make the mayor wait.”

“No, of course not.  Well,” Richie took a deep breath, “you remember that BNI thing?”

“Aw Christ, Richie,” Hartner lifted the file that he was holding and slapped it down onto the desk.  “I told you to let that go.”

“I know, but…”

“But you didn’t.”

Richie shook his head no.

“I am not going to butt heads with a guy like Anderson.  Not again.”

“I don’t blame you, Chief, but at least listen to what I’ve got to say, then if the answer is no, I’ll understand.”

“The answer is no.”

Richie glared at Chief Hartner with one eyebrow raised.

“You aren’t gonna let this go, are you?”

Richie shook his head ever so slightly.  “No, sir.”

“Shit.”  The chief let out a deep sigh of resignation.  “I know I’m going to hate myself for letting you do this,” he said, “but go on, I’m listening.”

“Well, a researcher from BNI named Paul Hingston has been helping Dr. Fletcher and me…”

“Dr.
Sandra
Fletcher?” the chief interrupted.  “The
late
Dr. Sandra  Fletcher?”

“Not so late, I’m pleased to say.”

The chief sat back down behind his desk and folded his arms over his chest.  “Well, now you’ve got my attention, Richie.”

Kincade proceeded to explain the sequence of events of the past week that had led to his conclusion that JT Anderson was working with the NSA on a plot to kill the President of the United States and help propel Senator Russell Stetson into the presidency.  The chief became increasingly restless as the implausible story unfolded.

“A couple of weeks ago,” Richie said, “I wouldn’t have believed it any more than I imagine you do now.  It still seems pretty far-fetched, I’ve got to admit.  But every fiber of my gut tells me I’m right, Chief.”

Hartner sat in silence for a moment, digesting the information, then stood up slowly.  “If you were anybody else telling me a story like this…Hell, even if I do believe you, what in the heck can I do about it?  You don’t have one lousy shred of evidence, Richie, nothing but a trace sample of Allohypnol from an insulin vial.  You’ve got cremated corpses with no trace of these so-called mind-control nanobots, two living victims who have been scanned to the hilt with no sign of these nanobots showing up on any of the tests, and secure files from the BNI Intranet system that you never could have seen, at least not legally speaking...nothing we can use as evidence.  But,” he paused for effect, wagging his index finger in the air, “you
do
have a
gut instinct
about all this.  Am I right?”

“Yes, sir.  That about sums it up.”

“All right then.”  Chief Hartner grabbed his jacket and walked toward the door.  Richie was about to say something when the chief turned to him.  “So I’m going to go the Secret Service, tell them to beef up security around the president and to be particularly suspicious of the president’s chief of staff, who just happens to also be his best friend.  Is that about right?”

“Yup.” Richie smiled.

“I’m gonna look like a complete idiot, Richie.”

“It’ll be good to have company, sir.”

Hartner shook his head and walked out the door.

___

“Maggie, get in touch with the White House.  Find out who’s in charge of the president’s Secret Service detail.  I need to talk to him.”  The meeting with the mayor had been more boring than usual, and Hartner was glad to get back to the station.  He was anxious to nip this thing in the bud.  Over the years, he had learn to respect Kincade’s instincts.

“The White House, sir?”

“Yeah.  You know, the big white house on Pennsylvania Avenue in Washington.  You probably read about it in school.”

“There’s no need to be nasty, sir.  I mean, it’s not like you’re on a first name basis with the big guy or anything.”

He had to admit she was right.  “Sorry.  Just find out for me, would you...please?”

“Sure, Chief.”  Maggie sat up a little straighter and accessed the phone listing in her PC.  She loved a challenge.

Chief Hartner was sitting at his desk, nursing a hot cup of coffee when the intercom buzzed.  “Yes?”

“Jacques Fleurian.”

“What?”

“Jacques Fleurian.  That’s his name, Chief, the head of the security detail for President Forsyth.  He’s in for another ten minutes.  Are you available to talk to him now?”

“I suppose I’m as ready as I’m going to be.  Ring him in, would you, Maggie.”

“Sure thing.”

“And Maggie...”

“Yes?”

“Thanks.”

“You got it, boss.”

The phone line rang and Chief Hartner tapped his screen.  The face that appeared was that of a middle-aged man with rough-cut features and short graying hair, held tightly in place by a touch of gel.

“Looking mighty dapper there, Jacques.”  Chief Hartner recognized Jacques Fleurian from his brief stint on the Baltimore Police Force.  Fleurian had started in Hartner’s department fresh out of the academy along with Richie Kincade nearly two decades earlier before moving into the security work that eventually landed him in the Secret Service.

“Thanks, Chief.  Been a long time.”

“Sure has.  How ya been?”

“I’ve been getting along OK, Chief.  Listen, I don’t mean to be rude, but I’ve got a meeting to get to.  What’s the urgent news you’ve got to get to me.”

“Yeah, about that.  Well,” he stammered, “you’re probably gonna think I’m nuts…”

“Spit it out, Chief.”

“I’ve got reason to believe the president’s life may be in danger.”

“The president’s life is always in danger, Chief.  That’s why I’ve got a job.”

“Not this kind of danger.  I hear from a reliable source that Harold Bradley is going to make an attempt on the president’s life.”

“Harold Bradley!  Chief of staff, best friend to the president and all around good guy, Harold Bradley?”  Fleurian laughed facetiously.  “You’ve got to be kidding.  Look, I’ve got better things to waste my time on.  It’s not April Fools Day already, is it?”

“I’m serious, Jacques, and I’d advise you to take this seriously too.”

“Alright, I’ll bite.  Who’s your reliable source?”

The chief bit down on his lower lip.  “Detective Richard Kincade.”

“Kincade?” Fleurian burst out laughing.  “You can’t be serious.  Is that bag of hot wind still working there?  I’d have thought you would have wised up and put him out to pasture by now.”

“Richie’s a good man.  I know you two have had your differences, but…”

“Our differences?  That sonofabitch tried to get me kicked off the force.  From the day I first put in for transfer to enter the Secret Service, he started cooking up that story.  Don’t you remember?  He tried to ruin me.”

“He was only doing what he thought was right.”