The Monolith Murders (27 page)

and what looks like Theresa Brown. According to the census records Jane was born around 1975 and Theresa about a year later.”

“Does this have anything at all to do with the murder case I’m investigating at the Brown home?”

“I don’t know, but it’s a remote possibility that one of her children murdered her. It’s just a hunch, mind you, but it might be worth pursuing. My gut tells me that Donna murdered her mother, but I’m not sure why.”

“Fred, pulling out adoption records is no easy task with all the court restrictions nowadays. But my brother runs the local agency; so with that in, maybe I can find out the information you’re after. I’ll give you a call.”

“Okay, but in case I’m not in, please provide the feedback to my boss, I’ll make sure he knows what’s going on.”

Just after Fred hung up the phone he received a call from Debra Black.

“Fred, I told you earlier that something important had come up. The call I just received provided the details. I don’t want to answer any questions, but you have to trust me. Pack your suitcase for a few days. I’ll pick you up in a half hour outside of your house; be there.”

“Wait a minute! I have a meeting later with Jim this morning at the station and—”

“—He already knows you will be gone for the day and perhaps more, perhaps many more. See you in half an hour, Fred.”
 

What the hell is this all about, he wondered.

Fred quickly dressed, took the dogs out, and deposited peanuts for Abraham and Dennis. He was just refilling the dog’s food dish when Debra sped into his driveway and impatiently beeped her horn. Still confused over the mystery of Black’s call, Fred dashed to the waiting car and entered the passenger seat.

“Now Debra what’s the big mystery and the big rush?”

“It’s a affair, Fred, what do you think? Don’t think I didn’t notice you observing my legs?”
 

Fred blushed and Debra smiled. “I’m kidding, we’re flying to Washington. You’ll be fully briefed when we get there.”

In a few minutes Debra was driving south on route 41 passing the Sarasota-Bradenton airport.

“Where the hell are you going?” Fred asked. “We just passed the airport!”

“Fred, Fred, Fred—when will you learn to trust me? Just sit back, enjoy the ride and don’t be a nag.” In a half-hour she was turning in at the small Venice airport.
 

Fred said, “I know this airport; it’s where the 9-11 terrorists trained. In fact I sometimes play golf at the club next to it; and there’s a great bar on the right side of the road that sits right next to the Gulf.”

“Yes, ironic isn’t it, concerning the airport; now the good guys are using the same airport to further our objectives.”

They left the car and started walking out toward the runway. Fred moved in the direction of the closest small jet.

“It’s not that one, Fred.”

“There’s no other plane nearby.”

Donna pointed. “We won’t be landing at an airport.”

For a moment Fred thought her line came from the old movie
Back to the Future
.

Fred’s eyes followed Black’s pointing finger toward a Sikorsky Sy6 helicopter.

“This way, Fred, we can land right at our destination.”
 

“How fast will this baby go? I never rode in one of these before; and frankly, I’m not that happy about it right now.”

“It’s perfectly safe, and it will go up two hundred miles per hour; we’ll be there soon.”
 

 
A few hours later,
Fred was looking down at the traffic-stalled Washington D.C. Beltway. A couple of minutes later, the pilot pointed out the home of Ethel Kennedy near McLean, Virginia. The copter was starting to rapidly descend.
 

Before the helicopter touched down, Fred spotted the CIA Langley welcome sign. Fred recalled at one time the Feds wouldn’t identify the location of CIA’s headquarters. But since even tour guides had been clandestinely pointing out the site for several years, the secret that was already known to everyone finally became public. Now even the internet provided information as to its location.
 

Fred knew full well that this area was the hub for the nation’s intelligence operations by the U.S., as well as other cooperating governments.

The only reason he could think of that he was landing here was that the Feds were going to prosecute him for holding on to the monolith, and worst of all, for not safeguarding it. Why they took him here and not to a federal court for prosecution he could not understand. Maybe this is their first step in that federal judicial process, he thought.

Two tall men dressed in black suits were waiting on the pad, impatiently waiting for the copter to land. They escorted Debra and Fred into a white stucco coated circular building encased in reflective glass windows. As they entered, each of the agents pressed their eyes against some type of security device that Fred had never seen before. Immediately a green light went on. On the nearby guard’s table, a computer monitor displayed the name and a confirming picture of the agents, as well as the level of their security clearance.
 

“Impressive,” Fred said.

Black showed the guard a letter which Fred assumed provided authorization for his entry into the bastion of world secrets. The guard said, “You will not be allowed to go above floor six.” Fred assumed that, since he held no clearance, that was the limit of his access in the building.

All four entered an elevator, and got off at the sixth floor. They walked to the entrance of a large office whose walls displayed the photos of past and present CIA heads. The two security men waited outside.
 

At the other end of the room a well–dressed woman acknowledged their presence. She said, “Mr. Shade’s busy at the moment, but he won’t be long. Both of you please take a seat.”
 

Fred said “Debra, I’ve been good for all this time; do you want to tell me what this is all about?”

“Fred, please don’t be so impatient; you’ll know in a minute.”

In a short time a man about Fred’s height with a well-trimmed salt and pepper beard which seemed to dominate all the other features in his face, opened the inner office door.
 

“Please step in. I’m John Shade. Nice to meet you, Lieutenant.”
 

Mr. Shade extended his hand. Shade’s grip was strong; Fred, still unsure what was going on, returned a meek uncertain handshake.

“I’m not yet sure if it’s nice to see you or not,” Fred said.

Shade ignored Fred’s comment and turned to face Black. “Has the Lieutenant taken the security oath yet?”

“No, sir.”

“Are you a good American, Lieutenant?”

Fred hated an open-ended question like that. Did he mean do I eat apple pie regularly; do I have a turkey on Thanksgiving Day, hold my hand over my heart when I hear the national anthem, know all the words to the Star Spangled Banner, or never buy a foreign car? Maybe all the above, Fred thought.
 

“I suppose I’m as good as the next guy.”

Shade paused for a moment, not quite sure if he approved of Fred’s terse response.

“Fred, why did you take the psychic chip, and what were you going to do with it?”

No more pleasantries, now Shade was cutting to the heart of the issue.

“I don’t know why I took it; a guy by the name of Marv Atwell gave it to me. I simply took it and didn’t know what to do with it afterward.”

“We know all about Atwell, and we know that he gave it to you. My question is why did you take it?”

“I don’t know; I really don’t—I just did.”

Shade continued to press, “What was your end objective, what did you ultimately intend to do with it?”

“I had no end objective; that’s why I kept it on my dresser for four years.”
 

“That’s an answer that makes little sense, but I’ve found that truthful answers often don’t make a hell of a lot of sense. Please come over with me to the corner of the room.”

Shade pulled a Bible out of a drawer from his desk; he then retrieved a typed page from the top of his desk.

“Fred, please put your hand on the bible and respond honestly to the series of questions I will ask you.”

Fred did as he was told.

His responses proceeded from, “No, I was never a member of any organization whose objective was to overthrown the United States government,” to, “Yes, if my wife turned out to be a foreign spy I would turn her in to the proper authorities.” But his response didn’t come so easily when he was asked, “Would you do all in your power that you could to support the Constitution?”
 

Fred lived his life in a gray world; he rarely perceived issues to be totally correct or entirely wrong. He felt the constitution was an evolving document, scrapping, as society changed, the components that were the expressions of an earlier more uninformed culture. Fred felt that in recent years, meaningful changes came simply through the Supreme Court’s interpretive powers without the need for, or the political ability to enact, formal amendments. With the Democrats, Republicans and now the Tea Party fighting for control to win the hearts and minds of the voting public, constitutional amendments were a thing of the past because there was no longer any way to secure the necessary requisite state votes to effect a change.
 

Fred’s answer was, “Since the constitution is not static, I’m not sure what your question really means.”

Shade was in no mood to play semantic games.

“Look here, Harris, you took something that rightfully belonged to the CIA. You’re a police officer; you can hardly claim that, due to ignorance, you didn’t understand the consequences of your actions. Do you have any idea of what we could do to you?”

“I don’t, but I’m sure it wouldn’t be pleasant. Something like a really painful root canal, I would guess.”
 

“Damn right, it wouldn’t be pleasant. Ms. Black, get this sarcastic bastard out of here. I don’t want to see his face again.”

Debra Black wasn’t happy. As she escorted Fred out of Shade’s office she said, “Damn it, Fred! I did everything I could to protect you, and now you can’t say yes to a simple question? You deserve to have your ass thrown into jail.”

“Well, I just had a hard time answering the stupid questions he threw at me. I still don’t know why I’m here.”

“And you never will, unless Shade tells you, which he won’t do unless you comply with CIA procedures.”

“So where do we go from here?”

“We have an area in which you can spend the night, and sleep on your answers to Mr. Shade. I’ll call you in the morning; I hope by then you’ll have reconsidered your response. If you do, I’ll try to get another meeting between you and Shade.”

“I guess I did blow it,” Fred acknowledged.

Fred’s mind shifted to Maureen’s well being; actually it was there in his subconscious all along. He didn’t enjoy playing this robotic game in this geographic center of the super-spies, while he was concerned about protecting his wife’s life.
 

“Debra, I need to call AU to see if Maureen called. Do you have a phone?”

“Sure, there will be one in your room; and, no, it will not be monitored. We’re not the bad guys you seem to perceive that we are.”
 

Fred checked his phone calls at AU, and returned one that he had missed from Maureen.
 

Maureen was at the Red River Bar in Boise, Idaho. He could tell by her slurred speech that she had consumed quite a few drinks. Maureen was not a person who enjoyed the hard stuff; and when she did drink it didn’t take much for her to get drunk. This was not good. It was obvious that she was in a highly depressed state. Normally she tried to hide it from Fred when she migrated into her dark, quiet moods, but her depression was now buried so deep that she could no longer camouflage her feelings, nor did she care.
 

Fred said, “Hon, I have to tell you something that’s very important.”
 

Maureen was not listening. “Fred, I can’t live like this; I’m going from place to place; most of the time I don’t even know where I am. I look for a motel in the busiest part of town with a window facing street lights so I can see who might be coming to kill me. I stay awake most of the night; and when I do fall asleep, it’s always on the damn window sill facing the street. I fear the dark, I fear it more than I ever had in my entire life. And each morning when I get into my car to move to the next town, I’m totally enervated.
 

“Fred, on two occasions I almost fell asleep at the wheel. I was headed directly into oncoming traffic, but in both cases something woke me at the last second.”

 
Fred’s belief in a God was significantly different from hers. She believed, as Steven Hawking did, that once God created the universe he could rest because it could now operate efficiently forever without the need for further intervention. Her interpretation of a deity, if he existed at all, was one who gave man the skills to resolve his own destiny and then remained removed from human affairs. In her mind, he’s a laissez-faire God.