Gordon Swan was about to call it a day when the phone rang. He shook his head. You could just count it. It was automatic. If he wanted to make his phone ring, all he had to do was plan to finally pack it in for the day and get home.
“It’s Frank,” Frank Andrews said. “I think we’ve got something. I mean, I don’t what that exactly means, in a case like this, but I think we might have something.”
“I’m listening,” Swan said.
“I told you I talked to Dr. Tsukishiro Yukito first thing when I got here, and he was very helpful. Showed me everything. He buys into the whole ‘alien artifact’ story, too. And, I have to tell you, if you spent a couple of hours walking around this place, talking to these guys—well, they can do a number on you. I mean, they had me going, after a few hours—”
“Anyway, you said you thought you had something.”
“Yes, sir. Dr. Tsukishiro Yukito called me ten minutes ago. Said he recalled something, that Dr. Bernhard had been in regular contact with a family in the neighborhood he lived in—very regular contact with. And that he’d made some effort to keep his relationship with this family confidential—”
“I’m not sure I see the ‘we might have something’ part yet, Frank.”
“Dr. Yukito believes, given Donald Bernhard’s penchant for running distractions, that his relationship with the family was concealed, so that they would not be under suspicions when he disappeared.”
“It’s Frank,” Frank Andrews said. “I think we’ve got something. I mean, I don’t what that exactly means, in a case like this, but I think we might have something.”
“I’m listening,” Swan said.
“I told you I talked to Dr. Tsukishiro Yukito first thing when I got here, and he was very helpful. Showed me everything. He buys into the whole ‘alien artifact’ story, too. And, I have to tell you, if you spent a couple of hours walking around this place, talking to these guys—well, they can do a number on you. I mean, they had me going, after a few hours—”
“Anyway, you said you thought you had something.”
“Yes, sir. Dr. Tsukishiro Yukito called me ten minutes ago. Said he recalled something, that Dr. Bernhard had been in regular contact with a family in the neighborhood he lived in—very regular contact with. And that he’d made some effort to keep his relationship with this family confidential—”
“I’m not sure I see the ‘we might have something’ part yet, Frank.”
“Dr. Yukito believes, given Donald Bernhard’s penchant for running distractions, that his relationship with the family was concealed, so that they would not be under suspicions when he disappeared.”
“So why didn’t he mention it earlier? And how does he know, if Dr. Bernhard kept it so well-concealed?”
“He said a friend of his mentioned it. He didn’t go into further detail, but I’ll pressure him on it, next time we talk.”
“Make that next time in five minutes. Who is this family? Where are they located?”
“Doreen Harper-Edmonds and her son, Jonathan Russell Edmonds. They live at 1347 Cheshire, Oak Ridge, TN—”
“Okay. Look, I don’t want anybody running over their tonight and knocking down the door. Maybe you can follow up in the morning. Keep it light and breezy. No big deal. Just a couple of questions from your friendly neighborhood G-man.”
“Will do,” Frank said. “But—”
“Or maybe Chelsea should handle that. Softer touch, coming from a woman. Or VanCleef. He’s just a teddy-bear when he wants to be. I just—I don’t want them talking about. We should follow up and see if Bernhard gave this kid anything, anything at all—or if this kid might have any idea where Bernhard might have hidden something. It may be a stretch, but we should follow up. But soft touch. Very soft. I don’t want any attention called to this.”
“I know that, Deputy Director Swan,” Frank replied. “I’m well aware of the need for discretion. Chelsea is going to be here until noon tomorrow. I can go ahead and talk to the families tomorrow morning. Or tonight—”
Gordon shook his head at the phone. “No, not tonight. I don’t want FBI agents showing up after dark, asking questions—they’ll think it’s the end of the world. They’ll call everybody they know. Or the media. Or a lawyer. Or all of the above. No, no. Tomorrow morning. Call before you show up. Make an appointment. Friendly—”
“Friendly neighborhood G-man,” Andrews said. “I’ve got it.”
“Good. This morning you said you had seen unmarked vehicles in the neighborhood—”
“I tried to flag one of them down, and he moved quick. He didn’t want to talk. I saw two state troopers and flagged them both down, and they both said they were patrolling their regular route.”
“In a residential suburb,” Swan said. “Is that correct?”
“That’s what they said. I also talked to the Chemlawn man—I’m confident he was just Chemlawn. Per your instruction, I called Louis Parker at the Tennessee Bureau office, but he has been in meetings all day—so far—and still has not called me back.”
“He said a friend of his mentioned it. He didn’t go into further detail, but I’ll pressure him on it, next time we talk.”
“Make that next time in five minutes. Who is this family? Where are they located?”
“Doreen Harper-Edmonds and her son, Jonathan Russell Edmonds. They live at 1347 Cheshire, Oak Ridge, TN—”
“Okay. Look, I don’t want anybody running over their tonight and knocking down the door. Maybe you can follow up in the morning. Keep it light and breezy. No big deal. Just a couple of questions from your friendly neighborhood G-man.”
“Will do,” Frank said. “But—”
“Or maybe Chelsea should handle that. Softer touch, coming from a woman. Or VanCleef. He’s just a teddy-bear when he wants to be. I just—I don’t want them talking about. We should follow up and see if Bernhard gave this kid anything, anything at all—or if this kid might have any idea where Bernhard might have hidden something. It may be a stretch, but we should follow up. But soft touch. Very soft. I don’t want any attention called to this.”
“I know that, Deputy Director Swan,” Frank replied. “I’m well aware of the need for discretion. Chelsea is going to be here until noon tomorrow. I can go ahead and talk to the families tomorrow morning. Or tonight—”
Gordon shook his head at the phone. “No, not tonight. I don’t want FBI agents showing up after dark, asking questions—they’ll think it’s the end of the world. They’ll call everybody they know. Or the media. Or a lawyer. Or all of the above. No, no. Tomorrow morning. Call before you show up. Make an appointment. Friendly—”
“Friendly neighborhood G-man,” Andrews said. “I’ve got it.”
“Good. This morning you said you had seen unmarked vehicles in the neighborhood—”
“I tried to flag one of them down, and he moved quick. He didn’t want to talk. I saw two state troopers and flagged them both down, and they both said they were patrolling their regular route.”
“In a residential suburb,” Swan said. “Is that correct?”
“That’s what they said. I also talked to the Chemlawn man—I’m confident he was just Chemlawn. Per your instruction, I called Louis Parker at the Tennessee Bureau office, but he has been in meetings all day—so far—and still has not called me back.”
“Huh,” Gordon said. “Okay. Maybe I’ll call him, see if he’s heard anything. Probably nothing—”
“Probably not,” Frank agreed. “But I’d lay odds the white car I tried to flag down that took off was police or the Bureau, one. And they didn’t want to chat.”
“Hmm. How was Dr. Yamamoto?”
Frank laughed politely. “Dr. Tsukishiro Yukito was helpful, though I can tell you from talking to him and David Ball and Dr. McCord—Terrence McCord—there aren’t a lot of skeptics on the research team. And they make a compelling case for—well, for something. Dr. McCord claims to have been scarred in an accident associated with the ‘artifact’—“
“I’ve met Mr. McCord,” Swan said dismissively. “I don’t know what happened to him, but I need to see more than that to sign up the next mission to Mars.”
“Dr. Tsukishiro Yukito is an extremely intelligent man, he’s got a PhD. in nuclear physics, he seems both dedicated and grounded and I’m positive he believes that they were working on an ‘alien artifact’ of some kind. These don’t strike me as gullible people, and I don’t sense—and I can’t imagine—any motivation to lie to us on this. I’m sure they aren’t telling us everything—they never tell us everything—but there’s a lot more to this than a few deluded souls. Or some eccentric Howard Hughes backroom power broker type, pulling everybody’s strings and making them chase aliens—”
“You’re not telling me you’re about to start watching the skies, are you? Frank, come on.”
“I’m not saying anything, except they make a compelling case and these are not stupid or, in my opinion, deluded people. I haven’t see aliens come from the sky so, no, at this point I’m not going to subscribe to that theory. But I think there must be something to the issue of the artifact—I don’t see any way around that conclusion. Something significant and something dangerous. To proceed as if the entire case was entirely made up by a mentally unbalanced government bureaucrat is not a good idea.”
Gordon shook his head. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Was Frank Andrews—smart, sensible, grounded, always-gets-his-man Frank Andrews actually saying that there might be something to the “alien artifact” nonsense? That he was on board the E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial and they were about to phone home? Surely not. And Andrews hadn’t made the commitment, no. But he didn’t sound that far away, either.
“So what are you saying, exactly, Frank? I speak English.”
“Deputy Director Swan, I’m saying that it is my professional opinion as an agent out in the field that there is more to this case than just being discrete. I believe there is something to the issue of the ‘artifact’. Irrespective of origin, I believe that the item is real, that it is dangerous, and that it is unaccounted for. And that more important than being discrete is locating and securing the object.”
Irrespective of origin, Swan thought, turning the phrase over in his head. He could see Theresa McNaney, face red and nostrils flaring, screaming at him that it wasn’t a flying saucer, it was an “object of unknown origins”, as if that somehow made the whole line of bullshit more credible. He didn’t think he actually had an exchange quite like that with McNaney, but it wasn’t exactly hard to imagine, either.
“Okay,” Swan murmured. “Then secure the object.”
“Yes, sir,” Andrews said. “That’s what I plan to do.”
Gordon sighed. “I’m expecting Chelsea and VanCleef to check in any minute—they’ll be flying from Berkley straight to Knoxville. Once they get there, let VanCleef talk to the boys parents, and the boy—”
“Parent,” Frank corrected. “Doreen-Harper Edmonds. The boy’s father—“ Gordon hear paper rustling. “Jackson Edmonds. He lives in Seattle. By the looks of this, it would appear he is at least three years behind on his child support—”
“Then there’s no contact with the family. Or the boy,” Gordon said. “Nothing there. But make a note to turn him in on the child support to the Washington State District Attorney.”
“My pleasure,” Andrews agreed. “I’ve got a few more things to follow up on, but if I can’t go talk to the boy tonight—”
“We’re not going to go harassing every local kid Donald Bernhard had cut his lawn or shovel snow or deliver his paper in the middle of the night. It can wait until morning.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Keep me informed,” Swan said. “I want to hear from you first thing tomorrow.”
“Yes, sir. Goodbye, sir.”
“Goodbye.”
Gordon hung up. He wrote a few brief notes but couldn’t get that phrase out of his head. Irrespective of origin, Frank had said. Like he was beginning to believe there was something there. Logical, sensible, down-to-earth Frank Andrews was seriously talking about an “artifact of unknown origin”. Or he might as well have been.
He sighed, shaking his head, and looked at his watch. 8:33 PM, and Vic and Lydia still hadn’t checked in. He understood; they had a packed schedule, as he didn’t want them spending more than a day in California following up red herrings, and if missed their report today he could call them back first thing in the morning. He was tired, and it was time to leave.
He packed up his papers and his legal pad in his briefcase. He put away and files and folders and memos on his desk, and closed and locked his file drawers. He put on his shoulder holster—like most of his field agents, he carried a Smith & Wesson model 459-–and put on his tweed sports coat over it.
He was not looking forward to tomorrow.
“Probably not,” Frank agreed. “But I’d lay odds the white car I tried to flag down that took off was police or the Bureau, one. And they didn’t want to chat.”
“Hmm. How was Dr. Yamamoto?”
Frank laughed politely. “Dr. Tsukishiro Yukito was helpful, though I can tell you from talking to him and David Ball and Dr. McCord—Terrence McCord—there aren’t a lot of skeptics on the research team. And they make a compelling case for—well, for something. Dr. McCord claims to have been scarred in an accident associated with the ‘artifact’—“
“I’ve met Mr. McCord,” Swan said dismissively. “I don’t know what happened to him, but I need to see more than that to sign up the next mission to Mars.”
“Dr. Tsukishiro Yukito is an extremely intelligent man, he’s got a PhD. in nuclear physics, he seems both dedicated and grounded and I’m positive he believes that they were working on an ‘alien artifact’ of some kind. These don’t strike me as gullible people, and I don’t sense—and I can’t imagine—any motivation to lie to us on this. I’m sure they aren’t telling us everything—they never tell us everything—but there’s a lot more to this than a few deluded souls. Or some eccentric Howard Hughes backroom power broker type, pulling everybody’s strings and making them chase aliens—”
“You’re not telling me you’re about to start watching the skies, are you? Frank, come on.”
“I’m not saying anything, except they make a compelling case and these are not stupid or, in my opinion, deluded people. I haven’t see aliens come from the sky so, no, at this point I’m not going to subscribe to that theory. But I think there must be something to the issue of the artifact—I don’t see any way around that conclusion. Something significant and something dangerous. To proceed as if the entire case was entirely made up by a mentally unbalanced government bureaucrat is not a good idea.”
Gordon shook his head. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Was Frank Andrews—smart, sensible, grounded, always-gets-his-man Frank Andrews actually saying that there might be something to the “alien artifact” nonsense? That he was on board the E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial and they were about to phone home? Surely not. And Andrews hadn’t made the commitment, no. But he didn’t sound that far away, either.
“So what are you saying, exactly, Frank? I speak English.”
“Deputy Director Swan, I’m saying that it is my professional opinion as an agent out in the field that there is more to this case than just being discrete. I believe there is something to the issue of the ‘artifact’. Irrespective of origin, I believe that the item is real, that it is dangerous, and that it is unaccounted for. And that more important than being discrete is locating and securing the object.”
Irrespective of origin, Swan thought, turning the phrase over in his head. He could see Theresa McNaney, face red and nostrils flaring, screaming at him that it wasn’t a flying saucer, it was an “object of unknown origins”, as if that somehow made the whole line of bullshit more credible. He didn’t think he actually had an exchange quite like that with McNaney, but it wasn’t exactly hard to imagine, either.
“Okay,” Swan murmured. “Then secure the object.”
“Yes, sir,” Andrews said. “That’s what I plan to do.”
Gordon sighed. “I’m expecting Chelsea and VanCleef to check in any minute—they’ll be flying from Berkley straight to Knoxville. Once they get there, let VanCleef talk to the boys parents, and the boy—”
“Parent,” Frank corrected. “Doreen-Harper Edmonds. The boy’s father—“ Gordon hear paper rustling. “Jackson Edmonds. He lives in Seattle. By the looks of this, it would appear he is at least three years behind on his child support—”
“Then there’s no contact with the family. Or the boy,” Gordon said. “Nothing there. But make a note to turn him in on the child support to the Washington State District Attorney.”
“My pleasure,” Andrews agreed. “I’ve got a few more things to follow up on, but if I can’t go talk to the boy tonight—”
“We’re not going to go harassing every local kid Donald Bernhard had cut his lawn or shovel snow or deliver his paper in the middle of the night. It can wait until morning.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Keep me informed,” Swan said. “I want to hear from you first thing tomorrow.”
“Yes, sir. Goodbye, sir.”
“Goodbye.”
Gordon hung up. He wrote a few brief notes but couldn’t get that phrase out of his head. Irrespective of origin, Frank had said. Like he was beginning to believe there was something there. Logical, sensible, down-to-earth Frank Andrews was seriously talking about an “artifact of unknown origin”. Or he might as well have been.
He sighed, shaking his head, and looked at his watch. 8:33 PM, and Vic and Lydia still hadn’t checked in. He understood; they had a packed schedule, as he didn’t want them spending more than a day in California following up red herrings, and if missed their report today he could call them back first thing in the morning. He was tired, and it was time to leave.
He packed up his papers and his legal pad in his briefcase. He put away and files and folders and memos on his desk, and closed and locked his file drawers. He put on his shoulder holster—like most of his field agents, he carried a Smith & Wesson model 459-–and put on his tweed sports coat over it.
He was not looking forward to tomorrow.
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