When Gordon Swan arrived at his office, Lydia Chelsea and Vic VanCleef were already waiting for him, as was Jack. Frank Andrews was already in Knoxville, preparing to talk to some of the senior staff at Oak Ridge. As Gordon walked in, Jack handed him a department memo in a sealed brown envelope, marked confidential.
“For your eyes only,” Jack said, one eyebrow arched. Gordon sighed. He guessed he knew who it was from, and what it was about. Or rather, who it was about.
“Deputy Director Swan,” Lydia Chelsea started quickly. “I don’t want to rush you, but Jack has already briefed us and Agent VanCleef and I have 8:45 tickets to Berkley. Frank—”
“Frank is already in Knoxville,” Gordon interrupted. “I know. Just one minute, let me see if this is important. It’s probably related.”
“For your eyes only,” Jack said, one eyebrow arched. Gordon sighed. He guessed he knew who it was from, and what it was about. Or rather, who it was about.
“Deputy Director Swan,” Lydia Chelsea started quickly. “I don’t want to rush you, but Jack has already briefed us and Agent VanCleef and I have 8:45 tickets to Berkley. Frank—”
“Frank is already in Knoxville,” Gordon interrupted. “I know. Just one minute, let me see if this is important. It’s probably related.”
MEMO# 567889
CONFIDENTIAL
FROM: W. WEBSTER
TO: G. SWAN
SUBJ:
BERNHARD CASE
CC: T. MCNANEY
Deputy Dir. Swan,
It has come to my attention that you detained Dr. Theresa McNaney unlawfully, outside of procedure, and forcibly evicted her from a scheduled conference at which she was to attend, without due cause. You have been asked repeatedly to give Theresa McNaney your full cooperation on all matters pertaining to this case. The FBI has assured the Department of Defense and the State Department of our full
cooperation in this matter.
While you will not be relieved from this case at this time, in the future, you will give Theresa McNaney your full cooperation on every issue.
Director of the Federal Bureau of Investigation
William H. Webster
Gordon rubbed the bridge of his nose. For your eyes only, except where it was conspicuously copied to Theresa McNaney. Shit.
“Good news, boss?” Vic VanCleef asked as Swan turned around and put the memo in the paper shredder behind his desk.
“Not quite,” Swan murmured, frowning. “Jack briefed you?”
“Pretty much. It’s—ah—” Vic glanced at the open door.
Jack, just outside, leaned in. “Conference room six is open this morning.”
“That’s all right, just close the door,” Swan answered.
“Will do. I’ve got coffee for you guys, if you like.” Jack brought in three coffees, with little packets of sugar and Cremora, and set them on the edge of Gordon’s desk.
“Bless you,” said Lydia Chelsea.
“Thanks,” said Vic.
“Thanks, Jack,” Gordon agreed as Jack backed out of the room and closed the door.
Gordon took a sip of coffee and looked at VanCleef and Lydia. They made quite a pair. Lydia Chelsea was short, probably no more than five feet tall, brunette, and very pretty. Vic was huge—he could have been a quarterback in the NFL, blonde, and baby-faced. And that big, blond baby face had a way of getting information out of people. And keeping people quiet. “So, Jack did brief you?”
Lydia nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“Um, yes, uh,” VanCleef mumbled. “It’s, um—different.”
“That’s one way of putting it.”
“I have to confess, I’m not sure quite how to take this,” Lydia Chelsea said. “I was told that this assignment was critical, that it was an extremely urgent case, that I had to get in immediately—”
“Yes, by direct order of Bill Webster,” Swan agreed. “That wasn’t my idea.”
“And then during the first three minutes of the brief, I hear words like ‘Extra-terrestrial’ and ‘artifact’ and ‘alien’ and—this almost sounds like a very bad, very late April Fool’s joke.”
Gordon nodded. “It’s not. At least, it’s not to the people who pay my paycheck. And yours. And I guess it’s not a joke to the people pulling their strings.” Gordon picked up his yellow legal pad and then tossed it down on his desk. “Look, you’ve been copied on the files I have—against the directions of hellbitch from the DOD, by the way, who has already made this case a nightmare for me. So don’t mention it. A lot of people are convinced this horseshit is real—or are cooperating in some sort of hoax. Either way, the demand for us to get involved comes from the very top, and there is nothing we can do at this point except conduct our investigation thoroughly and effectively.” He looked back and forth between Lydia and Vic. “And discretely. I don’t think I have to tell you that discretion is the most important thing in this investigation. Given the subject matter, you can see why the Bureau would be concerned about keeping this as low-profile as possible.”
Vic and Lydia nodded. “So,” Lydia said. “We’re to treat this as if we are looking for an—an alien artifact.” She shook her head. “I’m sorry, it just sounds stupid to me to even say it. We’re supposed to treat this seriously?”
“You are supposed to treat the case seriously, yes. And the demand to keep it discrete, yes, you should be serious about that, too. And you should be careful.”
“We’re always careful, boss,” Vic said. “What’s different about this time?”
“Well,” Gordon said. “Well, it’s like this. I think it’s about as likely that there was some sort of alien artifact that Dr. Donald Bernhard stole as it is that you learned to shit gold bricks yesterday. This is horseshit. Whether the guys I met yesterday were fakes or just deceived, I don’t know—but I’ve met several people, some of them who sound almost reasonable, who have bought into it hook, line and sinker. Or do a really convincing job of lying about it. One guy yesterday had scars all up and down his arms, claimed it was the ‘artifact’. I can’t explain it, but I cannot accept ‘men from mars’ as the answer. But there’s something going on. I don’t think it’s little green men or flying saucers, but given the run-ins I’ve had with Theresa McNaney and the emphasis on this case I’ve gotten from Bill Webster, I’d say something ain’t right. There are a lot of people too interested in this. And I can’t believe that all of them take the idea of some stolen ‘alien artifact’ seriously.”
“Good news, boss?” Vic VanCleef asked as Swan turned around and put the memo in the paper shredder behind his desk.
“Not quite,” Swan murmured, frowning. “Jack briefed you?”
“Pretty much. It’s—ah—” Vic glanced at the open door.
Jack, just outside, leaned in. “Conference room six is open this morning.”
“That’s all right, just close the door,” Swan answered.
“Will do. I’ve got coffee for you guys, if you like.” Jack brought in three coffees, with little packets of sugar and Cremora, and set them on the edge of Gordon’s desk.
“Bless you,” said Lydia Chelsea.
“Thanks,” said Vic.
“Thanks, Jack,” Gordon agreed as Jack backed out of the room and closed the door.
Gordon took a sip of coffee and looked at VanCleef and Lydia. They made quite a pair. Lydia Chelsea was short, probably no more than five feet tall, brunette, and very pretty. Vic was huge—he could have been a quarterback in the NFL, blonde, and baby-faced. And that big, blond baby face had a way of getting information out of people. And keeping people quiet. “So, Jack did brief you?”
Lydia nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“Um, yes, uh,” VanCleef mumbled. “It’s, um—different.”
“That’s one way of putting it.”
“I have to confess, I’m not sure quite how to take this,” Lydia Chelsea said. “I was told that this assignment was critical, that it was an extremely urgent case, that I had to get in immediately—”
“Yes, by direct order of Bill Webster,” Swan agreed. “That wasn’t my idea.”
“And then during the first three minutes of the brief, I hear words like ‘Extra-terrestrial’ and ‘artifact’ and ‘alien’ and—this almost sounds like a very bad, very late April Fool’s joke.”
Gordon nodded. “It’s not. At least, it’s not to the people who pay my paycheck. And yours. And I guess it’s not a joke to the people pulling their strings.” Gordon picked up his yellow legal pad and then tossed it down on his desk. “Look, you’ve been copied on the files I have—against the directions of hellbitch from the DOD, by the way, who has already made this case a nightmare for me. So don’t mention it. A lot of people are convinced this horseshit is real—or are cooperating in some sort of hoax. Either way, the demand for us to get involved comes from the very top, and there is nothing we can do at this point except conduct our investigation thoroughly and effectively.” He looked back and forth between Lydia and Vic. “And discretely. I don’t think I have to tell you that discretion is the most important thing in this investigation. Given the subject matter, you can see why the Bureau would be concerned about keeping this as low-profile as possible.”
Vic and Lydia nodded. “So,” Lydia said. “We’re to treat this as if we are looking for an—an alien artifact.” She shook her head. “I’m sorry, it just sounds stupid to me to even say it. We’re supposed to treat this seriously?”
“You are supposed to treat the case seriously, yes. And the demand to keep it discrete, yes, you should be serious about that, too. And you should be careful.”
“We’re always careful, boss,” Vic said. “What’s different about this time?”
“Well,” Gordon said. “Well, it’s like this. I think it’s about as likely that there was some sort of alien artifact that Dr. Donald Bernhard stole as it is that you learned to shit gold bricks yesterday. This is horseshit. Whether the guys I met yesterday were fakes or just deceived, I don’t know—but I’ve met several people, some of them who sound almost reasonable, who have bought into it hook, line and sinker. Or do a really convincing job of lying about it. One guy yesterday had scars all up and down his arms, claimed it was the ‘artifact’. I can’t explain it, but I cannot accept ‘men from mars’ as the answer. But there’s something going on. I don’t think it’s little green men or flying saucers, but given the run-ins I’ve had with Theresa McNaney and the emphasis on this case I’ve gotten from Bill Webster, I’d say something ain’t right. There are a lot of people too interested in this. And I can’t believe that all of them take the idea of some stolen ‘alien artifact’ seriously.”
“Huh,” Vic said. “Hum. You know, the letter he wrote—”
“The one to most of the Deputy Directors in the FBI?”
“Yeah, that. He sent it to everybody, right? Saying he knew they got the case—even though they didn’t. Except you. And he had just looked up their addresses on his computer at Oak Ridge. Right?”
“That’s correct,” Gordon said.
“Why do that? If he didn’t steal some sort of alien laser gun, why go through that much trouble to throw us off the scent? To put all that political stuff in there. Why would he have sent anybody anything? And he didn’t kill himself—or die—until he was about to be caught, right?”
“That’s right. The L.A. Police had him cornered at a mall, and he keeled over, no sign of the cause of death. Or, that’s what the coroner’s report supposedly said before it was revised.”
“So he sends it to everybody, which makes it obvious he’s lying and he’s a fake, but he apparently knows exactly when he’s going to be turning up dead. How did he know that?”
“I don’t know. Coincidence? Guessing? The letter was written by somebody other that Donald Bernhard? An associate or an accomplice or someone else desiring to complicate the investigation? Maybe you can find out.”
Vic nodded. “We will.”
“The interviews in Berkley,” Lydia said. “Who are these people? Do they have any direct bearing on the case? Or is this just background?”
“The details are in your case folders—I know you haven’t had time to read them all yet, but it’s in there. They are people Donald Bernhard contacted frequently in the last six months. I suspect he was cultivating red herrings, given the conspicuous way he left contact information both in his house and on his person, but it has to be checked out.”
“So you think it’s a wild goose chase,” Vic said.
“Probably. But I can guarantee you everything we do on this case will be reviewed at the very top, and probably by people other than the Director. So we have to be thorough. And that means following up on every lead.”
Lydia checked her watch. “Still a little time,” she murmured. “So, Deputy Director Swan: what do you think? You don’t think this is really about some extra-terrestrial object, correct?”
“I do not.”
“But this man—Bernhard—was obviously up to something. What do you think happened?”
Gordon sighed, taking off his glasses and putting them on top of his legal pad. “I don’t know the answer. I just don’t know. But, one possibility seems to me that maybe these boys at Oak Ridge had something—a piece of meteorite or some old chunk of aboriginal architecture or something, and somebody decided it was really and truly and alien artifact, and we needed to throw a lot of tax payer dollars at it to see if it could tell us the secrets of the universe. Or how to make a better bomb. I think Bernhard was working on the project, or got called to work on the project, and thought it was horseshit, but figured that he’d go out with a bang. That he’d see just how much government money he could waste. It wouldn’t be the first time. See how gullible these people really were. Prove how much smarter he was than everybody else.”
Vic was nodding. “See how bad he could fuck with ‘em.”
“And how many people he could get involved. So far, the people at the NSA and DOD are involved, the FBI is involved now, California State Police have been involved—who knows how big a mess of shit he will have stirred up before it’s all said and done. If he wanted to go out with a bang, I think he did a pretty good job.”
Lydia Chelsea had a thumb into the brown envelope of her case file, looking thoughtfully at the tops of the pages. “And you don’t think there’s any chance that there was some sort of ‘artifact of unknown origins’ that had legitimate technological or perhaps military implications that Bernhard stole—either to keep it out of the hands of the U.S. Government or to sell to the highest bidder? He was seen at the Russian embassy shortly before turning up dead—I believe the report said he’d been three times in the past three months. You think that was all just Bernhard going out with a bang? Three trips to D.C. to go to the Russian embassy seems like an awful lot of trouble.”
“Trying to see if he could screw with the Ruskis, too,” VanCleef said, and barked a laugh.
Gordon smiled. “You make a good point, Chelsea. That’s why I’m sending you. Between you two and Frank, if there’s something legitimate here, I know we’ll find it.”
“Discretely,” Lydia murmured. She looked at her watch again. “I’d say we’ve got five more minutes before we absolutely have to go.”
“Go,” Gordon said. “You’ve got all the necessary information in the case file. So you know, I was told to provide information to my agents only on a ‘need to know’ basis. I have made the determination that you ‘need to know’ everything I do, and you should know that may not go over well with some people.”
Vic VanCleef, laboriously lifting his large frame out of one of Gordon’s small office chairs, grinned. “Par for the course, yeah?” he said. “Anybody in particular?”
“The one to most of the Deputy Directors in the FBI?”
“Yeah, that. He sent it to everybody, right? Saying he knew they got the case—even though they didn’t. Except you. And he had just looked up their addresses on his computer at Oak Ridge. Right?”
“That’s correct,” Gordon said.
“Why do that? If he didn’t steal some sort of alien laser gun, why go through that much trouble to throw us off the scent? To put all that political stuff in there. Why would he have sent anybody anything? And he didn’t kill himself—or die—until he was about to be caught, right?”
“That’s right. The L.A. Police had him cornered at a mall, and he keeled over, no sign of the cause of death. Or, that’s what the coroner’s report supposedly said before it was revised.”
“So he sends it to everybody, which makes it obvious he’s lying and he’s a fake, but he apparently knows exactly when he’s going to be turning up dead. How did he know that?”
“I don’t know. Coincidence? Guessing? The letter was written by somebody other that Donald Bernhard? An associate or an accomplice or someone else desiring to complicate the investigation? Maybe you can find out.”
Vic nodded. “We will.”
“The interviews in Berkley,” Lydia said. “Who are these people? Do they have any direct bearing on the case? Or is this just background?”
“The details are in your case folders—I know you haven’t had time to read them all yet, but it’s in there. They are people Donald Bernhard contacted frequently in the last six months. I suspect he was cultivating red herrings, given the conspicuous way he left contact information both in his house and on his person, but it has to be checked out.”
“So you think it’s a wild goose chase,” Vic said.
“Probably. But I can guarantee you everything we do on this case will be reviewed at the very top, and probably by people other than the Director. So we have to be thorough. And that means following up on every lead.”
Lydia checked her watch. “Still a little time,” she murmured. “So, Deputy Director Swan: what do you think? You don’t think this is really about some extra-terrestrial object, correct?”
“I do not.”
“But this man—Bernhard—was obviously up to something. What do you think happened?”
Gordon sighed, taking off his glasses and putting them on top of his legal pad. “I don’t know the answer. I just don’t know. But, one possibility seems to me that maybe these boys at Oak Ridge had something—a piece of meteorite or some old chunk of aboriginal architecture or something, and somebody decided it was really and truly and alien artifact, and we needed to throw a lot of tax payer dollars at it to see if it could tell us the secrets of the universe. Or how to make a better bomb. I think Bernhard was working on the project, or got called to work on the project, and thought it was horseshit, but figured that he’d go out with a bang. That he’d see just how much government money he could waste. It wouldn’t be the first time. See how gullible these people really were. Prove how much smarter he was than everybody else.”
Vic was nodding. “See how bad he could fuck with ‘em.”
“And how many people he could get involved. So far, the people at the NSA and DOD are involved, the FBI is involved now, California State Police have been involved—who knows how big a mess of shit he will have stirred up before it’s all said and done. If he wanted to go out with a bang, I think he did a pretty good job.”
Lydia Chelsea had a thumb into the brown envelope of her case file, looking thoughtfully at the tops of the pages. “And you don’t think there’s any chance that there was some sort of ‘artifact of unknown origins’ that had legitimate technological or perhaps military implications that Bernhard stole—either to keep it out of the hands of the U.S. Government or to sell to the highest bidder? He was seen at the Russian embassy shortly before turning up dead—I believe the report said he’d been three times in the past three months. You think that was all just Bernhard going out with a bang? Three trips to D.C. to go to the Russian embassy seems like an awful lot of trouble.”
“Trying to see if he could screw with the Ruskis, too,” VanCleef said, and barked a laugh.
Gordon smiled. “You make a good point, Chelsea. That’s why I’m sending you. Between you two and Frank, if there’s something legitimate here, I know we’ll find it.”
“Discretely,” Lydia murmured. She looked at her watch again. “I’d say we’ve got five more minutes before we absolutely have to go.”
“Go,” Gordon said. “You’ve got all the necessary information in the case file. So you know, I was told to provide information to my agents only on a ‘need to know’ basis. I have made the determination that you ‘need to know’ everything I do, and you should know that may not go over well with some people.”
Vic VanCleef, laboriously lifting his large frame out of one of Gordon’s small office chairs, grinned. “Par for the course, yeah?” he said. “Anybody in particular?”
“Watch out for Theresa McNaney. She’s a—let me see, she left me a card—a ‘Special Operations Coordinator’ with the DOD. She’s a superbitch. I don’t think she’ll be in the field. But I’m not sure what she’s capable of. I do know that when it comes to discretion—the chief concern in this case, from the Bureau’s perspective, if I’ve left you any doubt—I think she’s our biggest problem. Just keep an eye out for her. If she makes any sort of contact with you for any reason, notify me immediately. Understood?”
“Yes, sir,” Chelsea said. VanCleef nodded.
Gordon got up from his desk and came around to open the door. “You guys be careful. Touch base as soon as you hit Berkley.”
“Will do, boss,” VanCleef said, as he and Chelsea exited. “Have a good day.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Gordon said. He opened his mouth, planning to ask Jack to get him a fresh cup of coffee, when his phone rang.
Gordon groaned. He hated phones. Evil things.
Closing the door and sitting back down at his desk, he picked up the phone. It was Frank Andrews.
“I’m here,” Frank said. “I’ll be at Oak Ridge in a half hour. It’s, ah—Dr. Tsukishiro Yukito—he’s going to show me around, tell me about Bernhard. I’m going to see if he can lead me to anything. I don’t think Dr. Yukito cared much for Bernhard, I’ve gotten that much so far, and he really wants the—the whatever it is—he wants that back. Do they really think they were working on some alien artifact?”
“I don’t know, Frank,” Gordon replied. This conversation was getting old, and he had already covered it once with Frank. “I just don’t know. But I think some of them must. I’m pretty sure Theresa McNaney does. And I think Harold Voss does, too, so I guess it would make sense that some of the people working at Oak Ridge with Dr. Bernhard would think this was really some sort of flying saucer they had. Or they all put on a really good front and are lying for reasons I can’t begin to guess. How does that sound?”
“Sounds all right to me. I’ve already been to Bernhard’s house, and somebody has already been through it, maybe more than once. I don’t if know if they took anything, but all I found was staged stuff—lists of names and phone numbers, political manifestos. I think I have an address he was going to mail the ‘item’ to—in Nigeria.”
“Huh,” Gordon said. “Whatever it was, I don’t think he mailed it to Nigeria.”
“Neither do I. But there was nothing at his house except props. So, right off the bat, that doesn’t leave me much to go on, except what I can get out of the boys at Oak Ridge.”
“Just keep a low profile,” Swan said. “And call me the minute you think you have anything. The minute you think you might have anything.”
“Yes, sir. There is one other thing.”
Gordon paused, putting the phone back against his ear. “Yeah?”
“I saw two cars circle the block when I was at Bernhard’s house. I’d peg both of them as unmarked government. And a big white van—no windows. Had regular Tennessee plates, but looked like drug interdiction, to me.”
“Huh,” Gordon said. “Or surveillance. Seen any carpet cleaners in the neighborhood? South Central Bell? Parked Federal Express or postal trucks? Rental vans?”
“Saw a Chemlawn van. But they were out and spraying somebody’s lawn. And I did see a Federal Express van. Parked, about two blocks from the house, but in the line of site. Is there anybody else working this case?”
“I wasn’t told of anybody else actively working the case right now. But I don’t think I’m being told everything.”
“I’ll keep my eyes open. You want I should try and talk to one of these jokers?”
“Please. If there’s anyone else working this case, we ought to know. Tennessee State Police were notified that Federal was conducting an investigation—”
“I called the troopers when I got here. They didn’t say anything about anyone else coming down, or anything else going on. But some of the cars I’ve seen circling the neighborhood I’d bet money are state vehicles. I wasn’t close enough, but one of the drivers looked to be a uniformed officer.”
“But the car didn’t have government tags.”
“No, sir. Regular Tennessee plates. Looked new. But most sheriff’s stations are full of standard plates and expiry tags. But re-plating official cars is not procedure, as far as I know.”
“But Tennessee Troopers do undercover. See if you can flag down one of these guys—but be careful, they may be dangerous. I don’t know what’s going on, but none of this sounds right. And call the State Police and ask them. Tell them you’ve seen cars out of that look like unmarked troopers and ask them if something is going on that you ought to know about. Call Louis Parker at the Tennessee Bureau and see if he can’t shed some light.”
“Yes, sir,” Frank said. “I need to go ahead and get out of here. I’m going to talk with Dr. Tsukishiro Yukito in half-an-hour. But I’ll check back in after the interview.”
“Good. Keep me appraised.”
“Yes, sir.” There was a click on the other end, and Gordon put down the receiver. He shook his head and rubbed his eyes. It fit exactly with his suspicion that there was something else going on here, something he was not being told about. It involved Oak Ridge and Dr. Bernhard, he was sure, but it wasn’t any alien artifact. Not at the very bottom of it. At the bottom, there was something else.
He sat for a moment, staring blankly at the legal pad on his desk. Then the phone rang again. Evil things.
It was going to be a long day.
“Yes, sir,” Chelsea said. VanCleef nodded.
Gordon got up from his desk and came around to open the door. “You guys be careful. Touch base as soon as you hit Berkley.”
“Will do, boss,” VanCleef said, as he and Chelsea exited. “Have a good day.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Gordon said. He opened his mouth, planning to ask Jack to get him a fresh cup of coffee, when his phone rang.
Gordon groaned. He hated phones. Evil things.
Closing the door and sitting back down at his desk, he picked up the phone. It was Frank Andrews.
“I’m here,” Frank said. “I’ll be at Oak Ridge in a half hour. It’s, ah—Dr. Tsukishiro Yukito—he’s going to show me around, tell me about Bernhard. I’m going to see if he can lead me to anything. I don’t think Dr. Yukito cared much for Bernhard, I’ve gotten that much so far, and he really wants the—the whatever it is—he wants that back. Do they really think they were working on some alien artifact?”
“I don’t know, Frank,” Gordon replied. This conversation was getting old, and he had already covered it once with Frank. “I just don’t know. But I think some of them must. I’m pretty sure Theresa McNaney does. And I think Harold Voss does, too, so I guess it would make sense that some of the people working at Oak Ridge with Dr. Bernhard would think this was really some sort of flying saucer they had. Or they all put on a really good front and are lying for reasons I can’t begin to guess. How does that sound?”
“Sounds all right to me. I’ve already been to Bernhard’s house, and somebody has already been through it, maybe more than once. I don’t if know if they took anything, but all I found was staged stuff—lists of names and phone numbers, political manifestos. I think I have an address he was going to mail the ‘item’ to—in Nigeria.”
“Huh,” Gordon said. “Whatever it was, I don’t think he mailed it to Nigeria.”
“Neither do I. But there was nothing at his house except props. So, right off the bat, that doesn’t leave me much to go on, except what I can get out of the boys at Oak Ridge.”
“Just keep a low profile,” Swan said. “And call me the minute you think you have anything. The minute you think you might have anything.”
“Yes, sir. There is one other thing.”
Gordon paused, putting the phone back against his ear. “Yeah?”
“I saw two cars circle the block when I was at Bernhard’s house. I’d peg both of them as unmarked government. And a big white van—no windows. Had regular Tennessee plates, but looked like drug interdiction, to me.”
“Huh,” Gordon said. “Or surveillance. Seen any carpet cleaners in the neighborhood? South Central Bell? Parked Federal Express or postal trucks? Rental vans?”
“Saw a Chemlawn van. But they were out and spraying somebody’s lawn. And I did see a Federal Express van. Parked, about two blocks from the house, but in the line of site. Is there anybody else working this case?”
“I wasn’t told of anybody else actively working the case right now. But I don’t think I’m being told everything.”
“I’ll keep my eyes open. You want I should try and talk to one of these jokers?”
“Please. If there’s anyone else working this case, we ought to know. Tennessee State Police were notified that Federal was conducting an investigation—”
“I called the troopers when I got here. They didn’t say anything about anyone else coming down, or anything else going on. But some of the cars I’ve seen circling the neighborhood I’d bet money are state vehicles. I wasn’t close enough, but one of the drivers looked to be a uniformed officer.”
“But the car didn’t have government tags.”
“No, sir. Regular Tennessee plates. Looked new. But most sheriff’s stations are full of standard plates and expiry tags. But re-plating official cars is not procedure, as far as I know.”
“But Tennessee Troopers do undercover. See if you can flag down one of these guys—but be careful, they may be dangerous. I don’t know what’s going on, but none of this sounds right. And call the State Police and ask them. Tell them you’ve seen cars out of that look like unmarked troopers and ask them if something is going on that you ought to know about. Call Louis Parker at the Tennessee Bureau and see if he can’t shed some light.”
“Yes, sir,” Frank said. “I need to go ahead and get out of here. I’m going to talk with Dr. Tsukishiro Yukito in half-an-hour. But I’ll check back in after the interview.”
“Good. Keep me appraised.”
“Yes, sir.” There was a click on the other end, and Gordon put down the receiver. He shook his head and rubbed his eyes. It fit exactly with his suspicion that there was something else going on here, something he was not being told about. It involved Oak Ridge and Dr. Bernhard, he was sure, but it wasn’t any alien artifact. Not at the very bottom of it. At the bottom, there was something else.
He sat for a moment, staring blankly at the legal pad on his desk. Then the phone rang again. Evil things.
It was going to be a long day.
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