Transparency: Bio-Tech Cavern Secrets Untold (2 page)

Halliday aimed the binoculars at the tree line beyond the clearing. He’d never get used to the forest’s anonymity. The chimes he had heard earlier were replaced by the flutter of a Hummingbird’s wings.

Lamar Festus hadn’t bolted, he’d plain vanished.

Gladstone huddled at the front of his truck. The kid needed a coach standing on the sidelines calling in the plays.

Halliday shouted for the young detective to search for Festus on the rise beyond the shrubs.

When he hesitated, Halliday barked, “Come on, Gladstone get the lead out.”

The three years since Halliday had left the Bureau of Diplomatic Security had soared by on the wings of a hawk. He had exchanged a world of diplomats for a hick town of strong-armed farm boys, illegal aliens, and unsophisticated citizens. Instead of guarding the Madam Secretary of State, now he took orders from a foul breathed police chief.

He scanned the area in front with the binoculars. The forest, so quiet and cunning, liked to play tricks on the senses. The soft wind tried not to disturb the trees. A chatty blue jay, which Leo said was actually a western scrub, interrupted his concentration. He knew better than to pay too much attention to it all.

He concentrated on the area up on the ridge where Festus alleged to have seen the van. Green foliage blocked his line of sight to the area underneath the Sequoia tree. He panned to the other side of the tree.

“My god.”

Halliday dropped the binocs and rubbed his eyes.

The image had jolted him.

He had glimpsed a green mass the size of a horse up on the ridge. The translucent object had flashed in the sun before it disappeared behind the huge Sequoia.

“Damn.”

Last month at the firing range, the results, for him, had been less than satisfactory. He blamed it on a headache. He needed to get his eyes checked.

Halliday sprinted up the rise toward the Sequoia, nearly tripping in a rabbit hole.

At the top he gasped for air. During his three year stay at Santa Reina he had worked out at Gold’s Gym, a short walk from his apartment. His visits to McDonald’s were a lot more often.

He scanned the woodsy area with the binoculars. Although the forest’s irregular shapes and shadows stirred his imagination Halliday saw no evidence of the green mass he had seen from the meadow. Perhaps he had been reading too many sci-fi books.

The Sequoia dwarfed the surrounding trees. Undisturbed pine needles crackled under his feet. He stooped low to the ground, searching for an indentation. He found no sign that a human body had lain there.

Why would Lamar Festus lie about the body?

The forest chided him with a long sigh, a breeze that swept across the ridge. In the serene moment she held him under her spell. Halliday’s thoughts escaped into the past.

# # #

Special Agent John Halliday had celebrated his seventh year anniversary at the Bureau of Diplomatic Security, or DS, with a seven minute beer. He had been ordering two glasses of König Pilsner beer at the busy
biergarten
on the Kurfürstendamm since his arrival three days ago. Berlin law stipulated seven minutes to pour a draft of beer, or two.

Halliday enjoyed the Berliner’s newfound exuberance for life. He watched their animated faces as they ached to get their point across. This late summer day welcomed short sleeves. Halliday wore his standard charcoal gray suit. The long tables overflowed with happy patrons at the street side bar on the avenue known as the Ku‘damm. At nearly six p.m. he sipped the delicious brew, surprised that none of the other agents had shown up yet.

Moments later, Special Agent in Charge Carl Blankenship, the AIC, emerged like a Sherman tank from the dense pedestrian crowd that plodded along the wide sidewalk. The broad-shouldered bureaucrat led a new female agent whose name Halliday couldn’t remember. Before he could speak Blankenship said, “Special Agent John Halliday, meet your new partner, Special Agent Judy Solvano.”

Halliday, surprised and put off by Blankenship’s unannounced decision to pair him up with the rookie agent, stood up. He shook Agent Solvano’s hand, but glared at the man.

“Pleased to meet you,” he said to Solvano, unable to produce a smile to seal a cordial greeting.

Blankenship’s earnest moon face avoided the awkwardness of the situation. With a smile that brightened cheeks that sagged, he caught their eyes. “You two have a seat.”

The AIC remained standing. He captured Solvano’s attentive eyes. “Halliday is one of our best. He takes care of his fellow agents.” Blankenship added, “I see he has already ordered a welcoming beer for you.”

The female agent, matching Halliday’s uneasiness, brushed auburn hair from her face. Prominent brows veiled sunken hazel eyes.

Halliday followed her stare to his shirt front. Mustard stains decorated his green tie from a lunchtime bratwurst sandwich. Her perfect scarlet blouse hadn’t a wrinkle. She wore a navy blue pants suit that, on her lithe figure, looked tailor made.

Halliday slid the glass of beer over in front of her.

“Thank you,” she said, her eyes trailing the spill as it ran over the side of the table.

“Agent Solvano, if there’s anything you need to know, ask Agent Halliday,” Blankenship said. “You stick close to him. Watch, listen, and learn.”

Solvano offered a forced smile.

Blankenship winked at both of them. “That’s what they say, right?”

They nodded in unison.

“I have to get back to the control room. I received an updated SITREP regarding the Madam Secretary’s movement tomorrow. Unlike our previous illustrious leader the lady likes change. Briefing’s at 0700 hours.”

“Yessir,” Halliday and Solvano said, in concert.

Halliday gulped a few ounces of beer as he gazed past the back of Solvano’s head. They watched the boss part the crowd.

“Blankenship never mentioned this partnership to me,” Halliday muttered when she turned to face him.

“Is it standard protocol for the AIC to notify you?”

Halliday gave a terse reply, “Standard protocol? It’s an unwritten rule. Blankenship should have discussed this with me beforehand. I’ll warn you up front, watch what you say to him.”

She lowered her head and said, “You sound like you would have put up quite an argument if you had known.”

Her resolute stare revealed an agent aware of the difficulties ahead. This job wouldn’t be an easy task, but given that they had a
Madam
Secretary now, a woman fit in. “It doesn’t have anything to do with you, Solvano.”

She sat up in her seat. “You sure it’s not because I’m the first female agent ever on the DS team?”

“I was going to say it didn’t matter who they named as my new replacement.”

The word out of the Bureau of Diplomatic Security was that her appointment had been politically motivated. Gossip had it that her father, the Under Secretary of Commerce for International Trade, had pulled some strings. “Blankenship had no right bypassing me like that. I’ll let him know, in private, that his action was bush league.”

She lowered her eyes. “Jesus, Halliday, don’t lose your job over it.”

“Your first five minutes on the job and you’re lecturing me?”

Solvano caught the waiter’s attention.
“Zwei biere, bitte,”
she rapped in German.

“I ordered two more brews,” she said. “I understand Berlin law stipulates seven minutes.” She gazed behind the bar. “Looks like a row of one-armed bandits at Vegas, huh?”

Halliday kept a stoic face. “So?”

“So, if you don’t lighten up, in eight minutes I’ll march over to the control room and tell that stuffed shirt Blankenship that you are unacceptable as my partner.”

# # #

When the forest divulged no more secrets, Halliday lowered the binoculars. He made his way back to the clearing. Why in hell would Lamar Festus go to all the trouble to create this sham?

Gladstone returned, shaking his head, like a tight end had dropped an “in the chest” pass.

“That crazy old geezer vanished.”

“Did you notice anything unusual out there?”

“No, why?”

“Festus said he saw a green mass up on the ridge. Said it appeared semi-translucent. Maybe the old man had gotten too much sun.”

Gladstone jumped on it. “There’s a disease spreading among these old codgers. I heard a psychologist on one of those morning talk shows call it ‘absence of reality.’ My wife told me that some of her patients at Santa Reina Convalescent Home were going looney. They believe everything’s either a government conspiracy or involve aliens among us.”

“You talk as if it’s a mental ward, not for convalescents.”

“Speaking of green masses, one old fart from Redwood Bluff tried to convince me that he had seen translucent green creatures roaming the night. Maybe Festus is from Redwood Bluff or better yet, he escaped from Santa Reina Convalescent Home.”

Although humor had a place in a policeman’s life Gladstone’s over the top banter rubbed Halliday the wrong way. The science of investigation required seeking out truths amid lies, misdirection, ignorance, and one’s own misconceptions. The young man hadn’t yet demonstrated the patience required for such a tedious job.

Halliday replied, “Maybe you need to dig a little deeper into your ‘absence of reality’ theory.”

Gladstone dug into his pocket and produced a pack of gum. “You want a stick, boss?”

“No thanks.”

Gladstone popped the gum in his mouth. “Chewing,” he said, “It’s a great substitute for smoking.”

Halliday waited for Gladstone to comment on Festus.

“That’s right, you don’t smoke do you Halliday?” Gladstone looked him over. “You don’t have any vices do you?”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I never see you go out on dates or anything. Do you like women?”

Most of the personnel in the department had been against Gladstone’s appointment, claiming that the young man was a “politician,” a term Halliday abhorred. Behind closed doors, Halliday, against his better judgment, had argued in favor of Detective Leo Bergman’s request to give the kid a chance. He smirked. In the end, their opinions amounted to a hill of beans.

The kid was the Sheriff’s nephew.

Gladstone waited.

“Listen to me, Gladstone.” He stared deep into the lad’s eyes. “What I do during my off time is none of your business. Understood?”

Gladstone held up both hands. “Hey, boss, I hear you. I didn’t realize it was such a sensitive issue.”

Halliday debated whether Gladstone needed a good ass kicking or a mentor with a thousand times more patience than he possessed.

“What were you looking for besides the vagrant, up there under that big Sequoia, boss? The Green Lantern?”

Halliday grunted. No way would he mention a body. “Festus thought he saw a vehicle up at the top of the ridge. Go check COPLINK. See if you can locate a record on him. Last name, F-E-S-T-U-S. First Name, L-A-M-A-R.”

Gladstone rambled off toward the patrol vehicle that Halliday had signed out. He stopped half way and said, “Will we need the video camera?”

“What for? Festus is gone. No crime was committed. I have the old man’s prints on a Blackberry if we need to I.D. him back at the station.”

Due to a violent police brutality incident at Los Angeles PD, departments across the state had suffered. Videotaping crime scenes threatened to seal detectives into a box labeled “If you can see it, it happened.” This wasn’t always the case. Halliday believed that sometimes a less visible investigation had a better chance of uncovering the truth.

Gladstone checked for prior arrests. Halliday pulled out the Blackberry that Festus had lifted from the Genevive security truck. He poked the buttons through the evidence bag. Both incoming and outgoing call registers were empty. Lamar’s call to Halliday at Santa Reina PD had been deleted. Festus didn’t come off as a savvy Blackberry enthusiast.

Who had done the delete job? Genevive security? The men in black? Accessing the phone company would require special permission. The obvious answer seemed the simplest—a software glitch.

Rich Gladstone’s “absence of reality” theory made the most sense for Festus’s behavior. Halliday suspected that would change. He powered off the phone. A professional geek employed by the Fresno PD would analyze any records. The GPS mapping information in the phone might not have been erased.

Gladstone gave him a triumphant wave. The lad excelled at administrative duties. He wrote great reports.

“I’ve got a positive I.D. on Lamar Festus,” Gladstone said. “An attempted assault on a Genevive executive two weeks ago. The charges were dropped. The Redwood Bluff sheriff released Festus the next day.”

Gladstone paused.

When Halliday remained silent, Gladstone said, “Boss, what’s this all about?”

Halliday shook his head. “We won’t know until we find Festus. Why the in hell did you have to stomp on the gas? I think that’s what caused him to bolt.”

Gladstone looked up into the sky. He hadn’t fumbled. The defense had committed unnecessary roughness, a ten yard penalty. His mouth opened but he didn’t say anything.