The CleanSweep Conspiracy (32 page)

CHAPTER 40

Skin of the Teeth

“T
hey have us!” the panic in Matt’s voice was intense, reporting what he’d just read. “Cyberia says they are closing in! About to surround the building now!”

Carling ran to the front window and peeled back a corner of the newspaper. “I don’t see any activity. What exactly did Cyberia say?”

“Someone saw you come in carrying food trays. It was reported as suspicious, and now agents are on the way.”

Carling looked out again. “The only thing I see is a car parked across the street, but it was also there when I came in.”

Carl and Susan stood together, holding hands, their faces taut.

“We have to do something,” Carling said. “Let me think.” He began to outline a plan. “It’s not much, but simple may be better.” They gathered all their belongings and headed for the back door. He opened it and leaned out, looking both ways. “Hurry! Now!”

They could hear sirens, faint at first, but getting louder as Carling barked orders. “Payne, lie down on the backseat! Now!” He ran over to a Dumpster and came back with an assortment of cardboard. He covered her. Then he opened the trunk of his car and motioned for Carl and Matt to get in. “It’s time for you two to become very close friends.” He closed the trunk after they managed to curl up together inside. “No funny stuff, you two,” Carling said, laughing.

Carling got in next, started the engine, and, looking over his shoulder, backed up at a high rate of speed. When he reached the far end of the alley, he kept it in reverse and swerved into a side street. Then he drove foreward, south to Bayshore, and turned left.

When he saw the CleanSweep car at the next corner, he turned the emergency lights on and activated the
whoop
-
whoop
of his siren. He drove ahead, pretending he was just arriving on the scene, and held up his badge. He got out of the car and waved at the two agents.

“Hey guys, this way!” He pointed behind him. “I saw them running. There are three of them. I couldn’t get turned around in time. They were heading north on a side street
—
Belcourt, I think.”

“Jimbo!” one of the agents yelled. “Get back to the car. Call it in. Let everyone know they are on foot, heading toward Manor Road. Tell them the cop saw them running. They can’t be far.” He turned to Carling for confirmation.

“Just seconds ago,” Carling said, nodding his head. “Quick! I saw them, and they looked dog tired.” Carling smiled when the two agents jumped in their CleanSweep cruiser and took off, tires smoking.

He heard sirens, squealing brakes, and excited voices as the entire posse shifted direction. Soon quiet returned. Nobody seemed to notice that the undercover car hadn’t joined in the chase. Carling jumped into the car and drove in the opposite direction, toward another side street. After several turns, he began whistling softly and drove at a slow pace until they were many blocks away. He rolled the window down, listening to the sirens in the distance, and grinned.

“I wonder what they will find where they are heading?”

He turned his head and told Susan to stay put. “I hope carbon monoxide isn’t seeping into the trunk,” he added, joking.

He heard her gasp. “I never even thought about
—
”

Carling assured her they would be OK, smiling. As he drove, he watched the city skyline receding in the rearview mirror. People in the city knew undercover cars when they saw them, but he was hoping their country cousins wouldn’t be as perceptive. He drove for over two hours before he spotted a roadside park and pulled over. He was glad to see a portable toilet near the parking area. The pressure on his bladder was beyond uncomfortable.

After he had pissed, he helped Susan out of the car and grinned as he watched her race to the toilet too. He walked to the rear of the car and opened the trunk to help Matt and Carl out. Carl got out first, then turned to give a hand to Matt, who was rubbing a cramp in his leg.

“I heard what you said to those agents,” Carl said to Carling. “You think pretty damn fast for an old guy.” But he was smiling, and that took the edge off the barb.

Carling ignored him. They were all feeling grateful to have made it that far
—
another close call behind them.

“I may be getting too old for this. I disabled the GPS in the car, but who knows? The agents will give a description of who gave them directions, so by now they’ll know it was me. We have to make our move
—
and fast.”

“Do you have a map? We had one in the truck, but it’s still back there, behind the day
-
care center,” Susan said.

“Check the glove box. I don’t know if there’s anything other than a map of the city in there, though.”

Susan opened it and pulled everything out. “This is disgusting,” she said as she sorted through candy wrappers, donut crumbs, and police forms. Finally, she pulled two maps out. “We’re in luck.”

Matt jumped up and started waving his arm in a windmill. “It’s Cyberia!”

They all turned to see him grinning.

“You won’t believe this, but I just sent a message to thank him for the warning and to let him know we’re safe
—
for now. But this is the cool part. It turns out Ulrich may be related to Cyberia! Go figure. How freaking mind
-
boggling
—
all the spiderweb connections.”

“Using the phone like that just now was really stupid,” Carling said. “CleanSweep will be on
on to us.”

“That makes it all the more imperative that we get moving,” Susan said. “Let’s take a look at that map. How much fuel do you have, Carling?”

He walked to the car and turned the key on. “It depends on whether you’re an optimist or a pessimist. The needle is between half empty and half full,” he shouted back as he returned to the table.

“Here,” Susan said, pointing to a place on the map. “It’s not too far, but the key thing is they have a local TV station there
—
I know because I was the weather girl there when I first started. It used to be a network affiliate. Now it may be an independent station, their equipment well past any sell
-
by date. But that shouldn’t be a problem
—
right, Carl?”

Carl shook his head no.

“What’s that station manager’s name? Let me think.” Susan’s face was a study in concentration.

Carl was surprised, knowing she usually had absolute recall when it came to names.

“Jensen, that’s it!” she said. “I wonder if he’s still there. He always tried to act like one of those gruff newspaper editors
—
always yelling at his reporters
—
but he’s a softy, a marshmallow at heart. How long will it take us to get there?”

They all looked at the map. Carling and Matt suggested one route, but Carl said they were both wrong and pointed out a shortcut.

“See that?” he said, his finger tracing a dotted line. “That’s a gravel road. It curves a lot, but it will shave almost an hour if we can make it.”

They all looked at Carling. It was his car
—
actually the city’s car
—
but he was driving, so he would make the final choice.

“What the hell?” he said. “They likely have the main roads covered anyway.”

The back roads from Toronto to Kitchener tended to puzzle drivers not used to the area. Many, following old cow path trails, didn’t stay true to a north
-
south orientation, but often headed in unexpected directions. Carling kept a tight grip on the wheel, and his three passengers held their breath
—
only their involuntary exhaling broke the silence. Soon they were racing past wire fences that framed pastures and cows gazing at the passing car with looks that could have been curiosity, or not.

The road led them past the rushing water of streams, through a small valley, over the Grand River, then back up a slight rise on the other side. When they crested a tall hill, they saw the city in the distance.

“That’s it!” Susan exclaimed, excitement rising in her voice.

Carl straightened up and looked at his watch. “This time of the day is perfect. The morning news is going off
-
air about now. My guess is they’ll go into reruns next to shave production costs. That means the newsroom will be quiet until later. What do you think, Susan?”

“You’re right. Carl, you’re the one who needs to upload stuff while I’m on the phone. You two,” she said, turning to Carling and Matt, “stay out of the way.” She didn’t try to hide her smile. Hurricane Sue was back in business.

Game on,
she thought. She leaned forward, as if that would make the car go faster. Carling followed Susan’s directions until the car was in the parking lot of a small building with cedar
-
shake siding. It was shaded by two large elm trees.

“They probably don’t have a receptionist, and I know they keep the door locked. Wait here.” She walked up to the door and pressed her forehead against the glass, peering in. She tried knocking. “There’s no intercom,” she yelled back to the car.

She turned to the keypad at the side of the door. She seemed to hesitate, then pushed some keys.

“Carl!” she yelled back as she held the door open. “Hurry
—
my old code still works!”

Carling and Matt weren’t going to wait, however. They jumped out and raced to the door. They all followed Susan through a warren of cubicles. As they rounded the last partition, they came upon a group of four men and a woman. They looked up, clearly taken aback.

Carling had seen equally frightened looks on the faces of crime victims. Holding up his police badge, he said, “Don’t be alarmed. We’re here on police business.” He tried to strike a balance between authority and reassurance. He was so far out of his jurisdiction that it should have been obvious to them he was a fake
—
but it worked.

“Well, shut the front door. Susan, is that really you?”

She turned toward the speaker.

“Mr. Jensen!” she said, holding out her hand to the man emerging from an office.

Jensen had a beard that Hemingway would have envied. The problem was that it was paired with a shaggy head of white hair, which gave him more of a disheveled Einstein look. She knew it wasn’t a good mix.

“Susan Payne, I’ll be damned. Who are these guys with you?”

“Carling is a detective,” she said pointing. “This is Carl, my cameraman. The other one is Matt Tremain
—
”

“Wow, the blogger!” the woman now standing next to Jensen called out. “This guy was
—
is
—
famous. Hey, aren’t you supposed to be
dead
?”

“Don’t believe everything you hear on the news,” Susan said with a laugh.

Jensen suddenly fixed her with a hard stare. “We heard the police scanners. And here we are now, looking at Public Enemy Number One, Two, Three, and Four
—
all wrapped up in one burrito.”

“We can explain,” Susan said. “Hear us out.”

Susan and Matt hurried through the details, watching the faces of their new audience change from skepticism to curiosity to anger. The people who were sitting at the table also got up and crowded around to hear.

When she finished, Jensen turned and barked out his orders. “They are to have full use of our facilities. We may be a hick station, but when this story hits the air, everyone in the country will know about us. Hurry, Richard. Show Carl to the equipment he needs. Linda, help Susan with the phone
—
you will learn something. Watch a pro in action. If I’m judging this correctly, she will also need makeup.”

Linda ignored the insult.

Susan was grinning. Her reporter shoes were back on the ground. She was in her element.

Jensen turned to Matt and Carling and pointed to the coffee bar. “It’s fresh. I made it myself just before you got here. This may be a secondary market station, but we have a great coffee supplier. They import the beans and
—
”

Carling and Matt let him ramble on about the coffee. They saw his excitement, and they suspected he was reaching for the brass ring
—
this was his last chance for fame. They sipped coffee while they watched the TV professionals all head off in different directions. It may have looked uncoordinated to outsiders, but they both knew they were witnessing a magnificent ballet.

That thought reminded Matt of the Dancing Lady, and he had to fight back tears. When he regained composure, he turned to Carling.

“Brick, we might make it after all.”

CHAPTER 41

Susan Payne Reporting

T
his was the biggest story the studio in the twin cities of Kitchener
-
Waterloo would ever be a part of, and they all knew it. The newsroom was crowded. The field reporters had rushed back when they got the word. Everyone kept a respectful distance. They watched Carl work his magic on a video console behind soundproofing glass. It was obvious to everyone that Carl was a master of his craft, his fingers moving expertly over the keyboard and switches as he transferred details from the media cards and uploaded them to the network’s computers.

Susan reappeared wearing fresh makeup
—
she showed no signs of all that she had been through in the past seventy
-
two hours. She held sheets of notes with a steady hand and paced back and forth; pulled back to give her room. Sometimes she folded the corner of a page and wrote a correction. They watched her lips as she spoke her lines in silence, her forehead wrinkled in concentration.

If anyone was curious about Carling, they didn’t show it, except with a furtive glance in his direction every now and then.

“Time!” someone shouted. The room was instantly quiet, and all eyes turned to the clock, the second hand sweeping to the top. “We’re going live in five, four, three, two, and
…
now!
”

The central monitor had been displaying bars and tones, but it immediately changed to show a face in high definition
—
a man with a serious look. Then came a split
-
screen view of two announcers.

“From World News headquarters in New York, this is Roger Follet.”

“From National News in Ottawa, this is Bryan Carroll.”

“Reporting live from Channel Five in the Waterloo region, this is Susan Payne.”

Carl adjusted a camera on his shoulder. They had agreed earlier that a shoulder cam would lend a certain authenticity to this as an investigative report. He signaled Susan, and Matt could see the broad grin on the cameraman’s face. All eyes turned toward the monitor.

“Thank you, Roger and Bryan. This is Susan Payne, reporting from Kitchener, Ontario,” she said, pausing to brush a wisp of hair back. It was unneeded, but Carl knew it was one of her signature moves.

“Today you are going to hear about the
real
story behind CleanSweep
…
” She paused for dramatic effect before continuing. “How it almost brought a great city to its knees.”

By the time she finished her report, the world had become aware of the deception that Claussen, Waverly, Overstreet, and Spencer pulled had off, and the conspiracy was completely exposed.

“It was public
-
private enterprise collaboration at its very worst. CleanSweep will be the dictionary definition of that expression.” She paused for dramatic effect and turned to Camera One, the floor camera. “Did the government misjudge? Did they underestimate the potential for rioting? I’m telling you that an inner circle, in fact, judged it quite accurately. All they needed was a little help from people like Charles Claussen, and the money from his cronies, with Waverly greasing the rogue government wheels. While Toronto was the intended target
this
time, the conspirators hoped this would work as a template that could be used worldwide.”

Turning back to Carl’s camera, using poise and an evenly modulated voice, she laid out the facts for viewers like a verbal buffet. She started with Tanner’s death, pointing out that it wasn’t an accident, as had been reported earlier. She honored his bravery, explained his role in bringing the evil of CleanSweep to light. She followed that by describing Matt’s investigation into CleanSweep, and his blogging.

“A key person in this story is my friend and fellow journalist, Matthew Tremain.” Pausing for emphasis, she then continued, “Matt Tremain brought this to the attention of our government and was rebuffed. They claimed the story was preposterous. However, our parallel efforts uncovered the facts, now showing that it was indeed not only preposterous
—
it was also pure evil.”

Matt lowered his head as he listened. It wasn’t only in response to hearing her mention his name, her praise. It was the memory of Tanner that her reporting dredged back up. The pain rose to the surface, and Matt was touched when Carling put a hand on his arm, an offering of both comfort and congratulations.

Susan continued, reporting on her role in the investigations, surprising Carl by adding, “It was a team effort. I couldn’t have done it without the help of a man you, the viewers, can’t see. That’s because he’s behind the camera right now: Carl Remington.” Carl’s red face failed to hide his embarrassment.

Viewers noticed a slight shudder as Carl’s rock
-
steady camerawork developed a short
-
lived but quite uncharacteristic wobble.

Carling’s head snapped up when he heard her tell viewers about his role in the story. He was sheepish, and felt his face blushing.

“We are now going to play a portion of a taped recording made during a weekend CleanSweep planning retreat. The voices of Charles Claussen, Winston Overstreet, Richard Waverly, and Donald Spencer can be distinctly heard discussing what we now know was the planning of a diabolical conspiracy.”

A hastily prepared graphic filled the screen behind her.

Susan looked to the side and down. Carl captured the perfect image of her striking a thoughtful pose while it played. She turned back to the camera once it had finished, then paused. After a few seconds, she said, “Back to you, Roger and Bryan.”

Her image on the monitor faded and was replaced by Roger Follett sitting in front of a huge wall graphic in bold colors that had been put together by his graphics department in haste. He looked down at a script on his news desk. “The prime minister of Canada and the president of the United States just released a joint statement denying any knowledge of this plot. An emergency combined task force of agents from the Royal Canadian Mounted Police and the Federal Bureau of Investigation has been formed, and arrests are taking place as we broadcast this news story.”

As Roger Follet turned toward a side camera and maintained his best solemn gaze, he concluded his story. “We will be back after a word from our sponsors.”

• • •

The newsroom at the studio in Kitchener was silent
—
church quiet, in fact
—
until someone started to applaud. It began as a slow clapping. Then others joined in, and soon everyone had risen to their feet and begun to shout. They realized they had just played a small part in history.

“Bravo!” someone yelled.

The station cameraman rushed up to Carl to shake hands and acknowledge his professionalism. Several people turned to Matt and Carling. They now realized the full importance of the parts they had played in the story. Soon the blogger and detective were being mobbed with backslaps and shouts of “Well done!”

Susan stood alone in front of the bank of monitors. It had provided the perfect backdrop for her report. It was almost as if people wanted to honor her privacy, a reverence held for a person of high office, the type of person you didn’t approach unless invited.

She began to tremble, the script in her left hand shaking. Carl set his camera down and rushed to her side. There was a hush as the crowd watched him embrace her. The two clung to each other as he caressed the back of her head. Susan sobbed her relief.

“It’s done. You did it
—
we
did it.”

Then he led her through the parting crowd until they reached Matt and Carling. The four joined in a circle. They could have been bowing their heads in prayer or huddling like a football team. It could have been either of those, but none of them ever spoke about what they said to one another at that moment again.

The newsroom exploded with the sound of ringing telephones. As they were answered, people started to shout.

“Susan, it’s for you on lines one and two.”

“Matt, can you take line three?”

“Carl, it’s the National News Network on line four.”

“Detective Carling, it’s your chief on line five.”

Carling didn’t look happy to hear that.