Blinding Fear (20 page)

Chapter 30

An hour into their flight, Claire suddenly remembered the text from Tommy and took her iPhone out of her purse. While they were still in Texas she and Herc had both been skittish about using their cell phones. They had no doubt of the technological prowess of the U.S. government in monitoring and tracking nearly anyone they wanted—and their willingness in using it. There was also no doubt that since Ludlow had seen their IDs he would stalk them to the spaceport. So other than the essential call to Claire’s boss, they’d shut off their phones and pulled out the batteries. Now that they were hundreds of miles away and cruising toward Colorado at 45,000 feet, she felt a little more relaxed about at least turning the phone back on.

She opened her text messages and found the one from Tommy. The man’s name who’d called in to the Sentinel was Edward Charles. He said he had seen some of Claire’s other articles in the paper and had been impressed with her writing ability. He wanted to talk to her about a very important story idea. The text gave his phone number and nothing else. She closed the message window, turned off the phone, then sat back to mull over what to do. After several minutes she rose from the ultra-plush leather sofa and made her way through the small cabin toward the cockpit. She poked her head in the door and leaned her elbows on the backs of the pilot’s seats. Herc and Kayode were looking at the four, main, flight control LCD screens that had replaced the numerous analog instruments and gauges in older aircraft.

“You boys got a second?”

Both men pulled their headphones off and draped them around their necks, then turned to look at her.

“Sure,” Herc said. “We’re on autopilot. What’s up?”

“I’m getting one of my women’s intuition feelings about this guy that left a message at the Sentinel saying he had a big story. I’d like to give him a call but don’t want to use my cell phone. Does this plane have its own communication systems that I could use to get in touch with him?”

“Yeah,” Herc said. “We’ve got a satellite phone on board with the latest encryption. From what we’ve been told no one can listen in. It’s in the passenger cabin.”

“I’ll show you where it is,” Kay added. He unbuckled his harness and slid out of the right-hand, co-pilot’s seat. He and Claire returned to the rear of the cabin where Kayode opened a small cupboard built into the beautifully finished, tiger maple cabinets. Inside was what looked like a traditional wall telephone. He picked up the corded handset, then passed it to her.

“Just press the “Initiate Call” button first, then punch in the number as you normally would. When you’re done just push “Call Complete.””

“Thanks.” She entered the number from the text message, then sat down into one of the captain’s chairs nearby as Kayode made his way back into the cockpit. After five rings a man answered with a curt, “Hello.”

“Uh....Hi, this is Claire McBeth from the New York Sentinel. Is this Edward Charles?”

“Yes.”

Even though he’d spoken only two words, she could hear the obvious suspicion in his voice.

“I got a message from my office that you wanted to talk to me about a story idea.”

“Yes, I did.”

“Would you care to tell me a little bit about it?” She hoped she wouldn’t have to continue to drag information out of him. She could detect a slight Indian accent to his voice.

“I don’t think I should over the phone.”

“If it makes any difference to you, this call is fully encrypted.”

There was a pause, then he said. “I’ll give you an overview now but I won’t give you details until we meet in person.”

“I understand. But I’m sure you realize there could be a big problem getting together personally. Where are you located?”

“Utah.”

“Utah’s a big place, Mr. Charles. Can you be more specific?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, either. Look, let me tell you what I can for now, then we can figure out where and when we can meet to get into the nitty-gritty.”

“Fair enough. Go ahead.”

“I work, or I should say, I used to work for a large government agency. I have inside knowledge of a widespread conspiracy at the highest levels of authority in our country—and those of other countries—that directly involve the future of every person on the planet.”

Claire could feel her heart begin to race. She knew she had to meet with Charles as soon as she could. “I can tell you right now that you don’t need to go into any further detail. I would like to get together with you at your earliest convenience. However, I may not be available for a day or so. Can I call you back then?”

“That’s fine. My family is....indisposed at the moment anyway and I need to be with them. I have to tell you that wherever we do meet must be safe and secure. There have been overt threats made against me.”

“I’m sure we can find a suitable location that provides the level of security you need.” Claire’s mind raced trying to think of any place that she was aware of in Colorado or Utah where they could meet face-to-face. Then she had another thought. “Mr. Charles, if you can, please hold the line for a minute or two. I’d like to consult with colleagues who may know of a good location for us.”

“Okay, but I need to get off this call ASAP!”

“I’m sorry. I’ll be right back.” She quickly got out of her seat and returned to the cockpit. “Do you guys know of any out of the way location somewhere in Colorado or Utah where we can secretly meet with the guy I’ve got on the phone. He says he works for the U.S. government. I think he may know something about the comet conspiracy!”

Immediately Herc said, “Sure. I have a house in the mountains just west of the Utah-Nevada state line. It’s off the grid, but still got all the amenities we need. It’s about as safe as you can get but easy to get there. If the guy’s coming from Salt Lake City, he just drives straight west on interstate 80 until he hits the Nevada line near Wendover. From there it’s simple as well. If he agrees, it’d be good for us, too. There’s a municipal airport there with a runway long enough for the 150 and full jet services. Something else that might help: I’ll give you my landline phone number at my home there. He can call us in a day or so if he feels he’s ready. It’s 775-555-3892”

“Great!” She quickly returned to the phone. “Hello, Mr Charles. We know of a place that we think would work. If it’s okay with you, I’ll give you a phone number where you can call whenever you’re comfortable. When you do we’ll give you directions on how to get there. It’s easy from what I’m told. The number is 775-555-3892. You can call any time, day or night. And, by the way, if and when you call, use a pay phone.”

“Okay, That’s fine.”

The line went dead. For a moment she considered this newest revelation. If Charles was indeed the authoritative source on the comet conspiracy that she hoped he was, then she stood a good chance of developing an article that would be published by the Sentinel. They would still need to fill in additional blanks spots, but hopefully some of those might be dealt with during their visit to Colorado Springs. She again returned to the cockpit.

“Kay, there’s one thing we’re going to have to figure out before we get to Colorado Springs. Maybe you can help.”

“I’ll do what I can.”

“If possible, we need to find the former address and other details about Frank Whalen—you know, family members’ names, employer, stuff like that. Without it we could spend weeks in the city and get nowhere. And for sure the police won’t give us the time of day. Maybe you’ve got somebody on your staff who could do some on-line, uh.....you know.....digging. Whoever it is could get it done while we’re in the air, then forward it us before we land.”

Kayode thought for a moment. “My IT manager should be able to help. He knows everything there is about ‘digging,’ as you so artfully put it.” He turned to smile at her. “I have got no doubt he’ll have everything we need within an hour.”

“Thanks.” She returned to the sofa in the passenger cabin. As she stretched out on the very comfortable cushions she suddenly realized how tired she was. She lay down and as she began to sketch out a framework for her article about the possible end of the world, fell asleep. She dreamed fitfully about trying to write something but having a bad case of writer’s block.

She was awakened by someone gently shaking her shoulder. She sat up groggily and saw it was Kay. “How long have I been asleep?”

“A little over an hour. Herc’s got us on final approach to Colorado Springs airport. The staff member I mentioned had no problem getting the information you were asking for. He e-mailed me the details and I printed out a few hard copies. Here’s yours.” He handed her several sheets of paper then headed back to the cockpit.

On the pages were many of the pertinent, personal details surrounding Whalen’s life she knew they’d need. She scanned them trying to find the best place to start. In less time than she expected she found a promising starting point. Whalen had been married for many years but his wife, Margery, had filed for divorce just a few days before he died. She’d been given a cursory interview by the police but had provided them with very little, given they were already certain his death was the result of him confronting the burglar. Perhaps there was something else that his wife unwittingly knew or that was in the house that would connect his death to Ludlow and the comet conspiracy. Fortunately, Kay’s staff member had also found her phone number. It was a landline listed in the Verizon directory and included her address. It was almost certainly where she’d lived with her husband and was as good a place as any to start. She decided to try to get in touch with the woman before they touched down. She returned to the satellite phone and dialed the number. After three rings she could hear the distinct pause that indicated the call was being forwarded somewhere else. It was probably Margery’s cell phone. After a couple more rings an obviously tired woman answered.

“Hello.”

“Is this Margery Whalen?”

“Yea, and who the hell wants to know?”

For a second, Claire couldn’t help but consider hanging up, given the woman’s rudeness. Then thought better of it as she contemplated what the poor thing had been through. She then pondered whether to give the woman a phony reason for calling her or if she should tell her the whole truth or just some portion of it. She quickly decided that the woman would probably see through any lie.

“I’m sorry to bother you. I’m Claire McBeth. I’m a writer for the New York Sentinel. I’m doing an article on a major conspiracy that may involve the U.S. government. We’re aware from news reports that your husband died recently—supposedly during a botched burglary. We have reason to believe he may have been murdered because he unknowingly discovered the conspiracy. If it’s possible, I’d like to talk to you about your husband and the circumstances of his death.”

The woman said nothing for several seconds. Claire knew, that in spite of the fact she’d initiated divorce proceedings against her husband, she was probably still in emotional shock. Finally she broke the strained silence.

“Is this some kind of sick joke or what?”

“No. I’m very serious.”

There was another long pause. Claire had little doubt the woman was carefully weighing whether to simply hang up or continue to talk.

“I......I.....don’t know what I could tell you. The police told me he was killed by some whacked-out meth addict—open and shut.”

“They don’t know what
we
suspect, Mrs. Whalen. There are probably some important clues that only you might know that would connect his death to the conspiracy.”

She heard the woman breathe deeply. Claire held hers.

“Okay. What the hell. Why not. Maybe something good will come from this nightmare.”

“Thanks. I really appreciate it! If it’s not too much trouble, could I meet you this afternoon at the address that’s listed in the phone book? Say, 3:00 p.m.?”

“I don’t know. That’s the house that Frank and I owned for years and it’s.......well....where he died.” Claire could hear her start to choke up, then recover. “The police had it roped off for several days while they went over it looking for evidence. They’re all done now but it could be kind of tough going back there.”

“I can understand that and I’m really sorry for your loss. I know it’ll be stressful, but the house might still hold some evidence they missed.”

There was another hesitation from the other end of the line, then finally— “I guess it’ll be okay. And I suppose 3 o’clock is as good a time as any other.”

“Thanks again, Mrs. Whalen! I’ll see you then”

She pushed the button to disconnect the satellite phone call, pleased that she’d taken a major step toward getting her story off the ground but still frightened by where it could all lead.

Chapter 31

Claire watched from between the pilots’ seats as Herc effortlessly guided the Gulfstream to a very smooth landing on one of Colorado Springs Municipal Airport’s three runways.

“You know, Claire,” Herc said as he quickly slowed the jet from its 120 MPH landing speed to taxi speed, “you were supposed to have remained in your seat, with your seatbelt buckled, all electronic devices turned off and your tray table stowed.”

“Yeah, I know. It’s just the rebel in me. But I’ve got to say I’ve always wanted to watch a landing from the cockpit. You’re very good at it.”

“I’ve had lots and lots of practice.”

“He’s the best pilot I’ve ever seen,” Kay added. “He can pilot virtually anything that has wings and an engine in ways that defy imagination.”

As Herc taxied the 150 toward the Colorado Jet Center on the west side of the airport grounds, Kay said, “By the way Claire, while you were asleep I called ahead to have a limo meet us at the terminal. I’ve flown in here before. The U.S. Air Force Academy is about 25 minutes north of the airport. On a regular basis, VIPs from the Pentagon, the Air Force general staff, aerospace executives and other big-wigs visit the campus. As you might imagine, there are several high-end limo companies that provide door-to-door service. Given what we think is going on, I thought it best to reserve a top-of-the-line, fully armored Lincoln Town Car, driven by a specially trained and armed bodyguard.”

“Thanks, Kay,” Claire replied. “I hope to God we don’t need it for what it was designed for.”

As they approached the Jet Center terminal, Claire could see the black Towncar limo waiting for them on the tarmac. Standing beside the front bumper was exactly what she had imagined their driver would look like: a very large, African-American man, dressed in a dark suit and wearing aviator sunglasses, his hands clasped in front of him, his totally bald head shining in the sun. She guessed he was a former football player. He had to be at least 6-5, and near 300 pounds. Almost before the 150 came to a stop, he was walking forward to assist with his customers’ deplaning.

As Herc opened the cabin door from the inside, Claire could see their driver opening the plane’s cargo door. He briskly transferred their few pieces of luggage to the limo’s trunk, then stood by to open the vehicle’s doors. Kay took the front seat, while Herc and Claire settled into the rear. The driver closed their doors, then rapidly came around to the driver’s door, got in and closed it. Every ambient sound from the noisy airport instantly vanished. She watched in amazement through the remarkably thick windows as an American Airlines 737 silently took off from a runway not more than half a mile away.

“Good morning, folks,” he said calmly in a very deep bass voice. “My name is DeAngelo Bryant. If you would, please buckle your seat belts and leave them on for the duration of our trip. If there should be a security issue, please stay inside the vehicle. Do not get out for any reason unless I direct you to do so. Now, may I see your IDs, please.”

All three handed them over. He carefully scrutinized them, then gave them back.

“Mr Seok, you’re the one who contracted with our company. What will be our destination?”

“Claire has the address,” Kayode said.

The driver turned to her and she handed him a small slip of paper with the address she’d copied from the phonebook. He looked at it, then punched the address into a GPS navigation unit attached to the dashboard. Within moments they were pulling away from the terminal, headed off the airport grounds. The limo passed between the hangers of the Jet Center, then turned south on Aviation Way. A short distance later they turned right onto East Fountain Way. Claire noticed a large World War II-era airplane that she thought she recognized as a B-17 bomber. It was sitting in front of a restaurant called “Pilot’s View.” ‘What a novel way to attract customers,’ she thought.

An instant later she saw the massive, fully loaded gravel truck barreling out from behind the plane on a small access road. She guessed it had to be going at least 40 MPH and was headed toward the intersection with East Fountain. As it blew through the stop sign at the intersection she screamed, “Look out!” She heard Herc yell “Hey!” while at the same time feeling his hand grab her arm, trying to pull her away from the impending impact.

Their driver saw the 50,000 pound truck at almost the same moment. He yanked the steering wheel hard to the left and stomped on the brakes. His actions were far too late to avoid a collision but they did prevent the classic “T-bone” crash that could be so lethally catastrophic. Instead of impacting the limo between its doors, the heavily reinforced front of the truck smashed into the right front quarter panel, sending the 6,000 pound limo into a violent, counter-clockwise spin. In spite of the gargantuan crash, none of the nearly two-inch thick bullet proof windows even cracked. Inside, Claire felt her seatbelt cinch her tightly into the seat while simultaneously hearing multiple, sharp bangs, which she knew had to be the many airbags instantly inflating. She felt her head bounce off one then the limo stopped spinning. She saw the front, rear seat and side-curtain airbags deflating and felt the seatbelt relax. From the instant she first saw the truck, to the moment the limo stopped spinning, no more than five or six seconds could have elapsed. Everyone inside was too shocked to move except for the driver who shouted, “Stay here!!” He grabbed the handle of his door, slammed it open with a heavily muscled shoulder and leaped out. After slamming the door closed, he whipped out a very large, semi-automatic handgun from beneath his suit coat and spun in every direction, looking for new threats. For a moment she thought their driver was overreacting but then she saw the driver of the dump truck scramble out of the cab and jump to the street. He briefly looked into the limo’s interior. His face was acne-scarred; his hair long, dirty and unkempt; his nose must have been broken at least three or four times. She guessed he was trying to assess the physical condition of the passengers but when he saw that everyone looked well, his expression turned to anger. Their eyes locked. Claire experienced the same fear she had when first seeing Ludlow in the hospital. The man smiled malevolently, revealing uneven, cavity-ravaged teeth. He tried to open her door but found it was locked. Suddenly his head jerked up and she saw him looking at the limo driver who was screaming something while pointing the gun at him over the hood of the limo. The man looked at Claire again, then turned and sprinted out of view.

She slumped back into her seat, emotionally spent, her ears still ringing from the airbag explosions.

“Claire!! Are you okay?!” she heard Herc ask loudly.

She could only nod slightly.

“Kay! How about you?”

He rotated and tilted his head a few times. “I think I’m okay.”

They stayed inside for several more minutes as they watched their driver do several more sweeps of the accident scene and then look into the cab of the gravel truck. Shortly afterward, he began what was sure to be a lengthy conversation with several Colorado Springs police officers who had arrived on scene within minutes.

“I’d have to guess that Agent Ludlow just tried to take us out of the game,” Herc said to Claire and Kay. “If we’d not been in this limo, with Mr. Bryant at the wheel, it would’ve been ‘turn out the lights, the party’s over’!”