CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
“Brochure”
Thursday afternoon.
In 1901, having recently established the Standard Oil Trust, John D. Rockefeller invited his friend President Theodore Roosevelt to join him on a hunting expedition in the Rockies. Roosevelt, then running for Vice President on the McKinley ticket, enthusiastically joined Rockefeller for one week in July. Their venue was then known as “Pawnee Park,” a wilderness area northwest of Estes Park, Colorado. The area is defined by a triangle of peaks: Mt. Isosceles, Mr. Pythagoras, and Mr. Archimedes, all in the 13,000 foot range.
In the course of bagging four bull elk two black bears and a cougar, Roosevelt suggested to Rockefeller that the site would make an excellent nature retreat, a place where men could shed the pressure and stress of the workaday world to relax with their peers in an atmosphere of rustic comfort and comity. Rockefeller concurred. In July 1903, two months prior to McKinley’s assassination, which made Roosevelt the youngest president in American history, the then-VP caused a bill to be introduced in the House of Representatives through his friend and protégé, U.S. Representative from New York’s 17th district Aaron Burpee.
The bill caused Pawnee Park to become part of Federal lands and preserved in perpetuity as a retreat and place of learning under the Aegis of the Dept. of the Interior, helmed by longtime Roosevelt associate Harmon G. Entwhistle.
Pawnee Park encompasses approximately twenty-two square miles in what is now known as the Roosevelt National Forest. It is bordered on the northwest by Mt. Archimedes and on the northeast by Mt. Pythagoras with Mt. Isosceles forming the lower point. Lake Pawnee covers approximately five and a half acres.
Construction on the main lodge began in 1904, paid for entirely with donations from Rockefeller and wealthy businessmen he invited to join. The first annual Pawnee Grove meeting took place in Cleveland, June 24, 1904. No minutes survive, but it is believed the group included both Thomas Edison and Nikolai Tesla.
Rockefeller chaired the meeting during which the group, at least twelve men but possibly as many as nineteen, agreed to a Constitution and By-Laws. Their contents remain secret to this day. Members swear to keep these matters secret. There have been rumors that membership requires a blood oath.
The first annual meeting at Pawnee Grove took place amid snowdrifts on June 1, 1904. Pawnee Grove now serves as a retreat for members and a Petri dish for new ideas. In an interview with
The Cleveland Plains Dealer
Rockefeller said, “Our mission is to foster values-based leadership, encouraging individuals to reflect on the ideals and ideas that define a good society, and to provide a neutral and balanced venue for discussing and acting on critical issues.”
Otto set the brochure down on his desk, leaned back and stretched. The brochure had arrived by courier a little after one. The 15x20 centimeter leaflet was printed in black and white on coated card stock. The cover said
Welcome to Pawnee Grove
above an ink drawing of the main lodge, the lake, the mountains in the background.
The inside cover listed the Director Emil Witherspoon and contact information. No website. The first page showed black-and-white photos of Rockefeller and Roosevelt standing side by side in their hunting togs, rifles at parade rest, over a mound of Canadian geese.
The center spread of the eight page pamphlet provided a map of Pawnee Park and the Grove, showing the locations of all buildings including twenty-eight separate cabins, nature trails around the lake and through the surrounding mountains. No mention of the many controversies the Grove had engendered merely by existing in the PC age.
No women. There were rumors that JFK was the only exception. Only by maintaining a low profile and greasing the right media wheels had Pawnee Grove survived a mass feminist attack in the media.
Otto’s phone buzzed. He picked it up.
“White.”
“Mr. White, will you hold for Mr. Gabe Winner?”
***
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
“Detonator”
Otto went blotto.
Gabe Who?
The tether snapped and he realized where he was. “Sure.”
A moment later a man came on the line. “Otto? Gabe Winner. Stella’s told me quite a lot about you.”
“I’m sure she has, Mr. Winner.”
“Call me Gabe.”
It was a bit unnerving to hear the famous voice coming over his phone, as if Otto too were an actor in a play.
“Gabe, did Stella tell you what’s going on?”
“She said it had to do with an investigation into the Senator’s death. Naturally I’ll do whatever I can to help, but I never met the Senator. Wish I had.”
Being a lawyer, Stella would not have mentioned the specifics of why she called.
Otto put his feet up on the desk and leaned back. Steve farted.
“Can you get me into Pawnee Grove?”
Beat.
“I don’t know. I’ve never been but my agent Ralston is on their board of directors. Can you tell me what this is about?”
“I’ll tell you when I see you. Of course our goal is to discover what really happened to the Senator.”
“He didn’t die in a car crash?”
“I’m sorry to be so mysterious, Gabe. The sooner we can get together the sooner I can talk.”
“I’ll get back to you.”
Otto turned his attention to Army experiments with infra-red weapons.
The ADS works by firing a high-powered beam of electromagnetic radiation in the form of high-frequency millimeter waves at 95 (a wavelength of 3.2 mm). Similar to the same way that a microwave oven heats food, the millimeter waves excite the water and fat molecules in the body, instantly heating it and causing intense pain. (Note that while microwaves will penetrate human tissue and remove the water to “cook” the flesh, the millimeter waves used in ADS are blocked by cell density and only penetrate the top layers of skin, so it will not damage human flesh. Such is the nature of dielectric heating that the temperature of a target will continue to rise so long as the beam is applied, at a rate dictated by the target’s material and distance, along with the beam’s frequency and power level set by the operator. Like all focused energy, the beam will irradiate all matter in the targeted area, including everything beyond/behind it that is not shielded, with no possible discrimination between individuals, objects or materials, although highly conductive materials such as aluminum cooking foil should reflect this radiation and could be used to make clothing that would be protective against this.
A spokesman for the Air Force Research Laboratory described his experience as a test subject for the system:
“For the first millisecond, it just felt like the skin was warming up. Then it got warmer and warmer and you felt like it was on fire…. As soon as you’re away from that beam your skin returns to normal and there is no pain.”
This was different from the sustained intense heat necessary to reduce a body to ashes. Tests with animal carcasses caused them to wither and smoke but not to burst into flame, much less sustain intense heat long enough to be incinerated.
There was a knock on the door.
“Come in,” Otto said.
Alvarez pushed the door open. “You want to grab a beer?”
Otto looked at his watch. It was five-thirty.
“Sure.”
With Steve in harness, Otto donned a pair of sunglasses and carried a cane. Alvarez didn’t comment. They rode in the black Denali to O’Leary’s Pub, maps of the Emerald Isle, pictures of Dublin and Belfast on the wall. They took a booth in the dark back, Steve curled up at Otto’s feet. A middle aged waitress in a tight black skirt, frilly white shirt and Tam O’Shanter took their order.
When she returned with their beers, they ordered dinner. Otto ordered two cheeseburgers. After the waitress left he emptied a white ceramic bowl containing packets of sugar, poured half his beer into it and set it on the floor. Steve slithered his tongue over the rim and lapped without getting up.
Otto held the glass up toward Alvarez. “Skål!”
Alvarez clinked and drank. He opened his briefcase on the bench next to him and withdrew a manila binder. The binder held a half-inch wad of papers including many graphs.
“Spectrographic analysis of Pawnee Park indicates anomalous electromagnetic spike activity when camp is in session.”
Otto took the graphs and examined them. Activity versus time and date. Maybe all that brain power was causing them to spike.
“Has no one ever noticed this before?”
“No one was looking. We don’t have the resources to process all the petabytes we record.”
Their cheeseburgers came. As the waitress left Otto set one cheeseburger on the floor next to Steve.
“I saw that,” the waitress said but did not return.
They ate in silence. Otto set down a half cheeseburger.
“Could we obtain a warrant on the basis of these graphs?”
Alvarez chewed and swallowed. “Doubt it. There’s no crime involved, not unless we find causality between these readings and some glitch in the system. You sure you want to go that way?”
“No, I’m just thinking.”
“On the other hand, there’s nothing stopping us from asking their permission. Given the Club’s history I don’t see how they can turn us down.”
Otto shook his head. “That’s not the way to go. I need to get up there and do a little digging without disrupting their normal functions. We don’t want to tip our hand.”
“I see,” Alvarez said.
Otto told him about Gabe Winner. They went over the latest data. There were now thirty-four confirmed cases of SHC and twelve possibles. Twenty of the confirmed had visited Pawnee Grove. Of the remaining sixteen, all had interaction either with a Park attendee, or someone who was close to someone who was close to an attendee.
“If I go up there,” Otto said, “can you take care of Steve?”
Alvarez looked up surprised. “Not a prob if he can get along with Molly and Barkley.”
“Steve’s a sweetheart,” Otto said ruffling the dog’s hair.
At the bar, their waitress talked to a short, bald-headed man in a polo shirt who kept glancing over. He came out from behind the bar and approached.
“Gentlemen, can I see a license for that service dog?”
Alvarez reached for his wallet. “We were just leaving.”
***
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
“A New Element”
Friday morning.
After their run through the park, Otto and Steve returned to the motel. Otto showered and they drove to the Full Throttle in Arvada where Otto bought coffee, bottled water and two blueberry scones and took a prime location at a round metal table on the sidewalk beneath a Barclay’s umbrella.
What did he know about Gabe Winner? Very little, save for having enjoyed the actor’s performance in
Detonator
. Since then there had been two highly successful sequels neither of which Otto had seen. He rarely went to movies. Maybe once a year. The last time had been with Stella. They’d seen the re-release of Disney’s
Beauty and the Beast
.
The only reason Otto knew about Winner was because
The Detonator
was playing in the rec room aboard the USN Enterprise a few years ago in the Persian Gulf.
The Detonator
was just the latest in a long line of tough guy franchises including James Bond, Jason Bourne, and Rambo. In the movie, Winner played an ex-Special Forces demolition expert who finds himself the lone force for freedom during a communist purge of a small Caribbean island.
The Detonator cobbled bombs out of chemical fertilizer, bleach, baking soda, gasoline, even a grain elevator at one point, taking out the bad guys in spectacular fashion. Before that, Winner had been nominated for a Best Supporting Oscar for his role as quadriplegic Vietnam veteran Lt. Stan in
Little Orville
. That movie really put him on the map.
Winner shunned the Hollywood scene, lived in Santa Barbara, and spent considerable time playing rock and roll for the troops. The more Otto learned the more he liked him.
Otto’s phone buzzed. Barnett. He picked it up. “White.”
“Lon Barnett. We got the autopsy back on the Senator.”
“I’m on my way.”
Twenty minutes later Otto wheeled the Denali into the underground parking garage. He showed his badge to the agent inside who consulted a clipboard and waved them through. Barnett was waiting on the sixth floor landing. They shook hands.
“Let’s go. We’re meeting with Billups.”
Billups’ secretary waved them through. Alvarez was already there with his laptop open on the coffee table before him. Billups rose from behind his desk, came out and shook their hands. He picked up a manila envelope from his desk and sat on the leather sofa next to Alvarez. Otto and Barnett sat in upholstered captain’s chairs facing them over the coffee table.
“You boys need anything?” Billups said. “Coffee? Water?”
Otto held a hand up. “I’m good.”
Billups tossed the folder on the table with a slap. “They recovered twelve grams of charcoal at the scene. That’s what they autopsied. Nothing surprising except traces of some unidentifiable element.”
Otto picked up the folder and opened it. He flipped through graphs and charts until he came to a geometric construct of a molecule over a big question mark.
“What is it?” Otto said.
“No idea,” Billups said. “They’re trying to recover the remains from some of the previous burn-outs. This was found through spectrographic analysis, which is not a normal autopsy procedure.”
Otto and Alvarez exchanged glances. Steve got up and licked Billups’ leg.
“Steve. Lie down.”
The dog obeyed.
“What does that mean, an unidentifiable element?” Otto said.
“It means it may be a new element,” Billups said. “To add to the 118 we already know.”
***
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
“The Pawnee Connection”
Friday afternoon.
The President met with his national security team in the Situation Room.
On the President’s left sat National Security Advisor Margaret Yee, FBI Director Howard Lubitch, and CIA Director Luther Brubaker. On his right sat Homeland Security Director General Rolf Panny and Joint Chiefs Chair General Arthur MacCauley. At the far end of the table sat WH Chief of Staff Murray Compton.
“You’ve seen the autopsy report,” the President said. “What about the others?”
“We’ve recovered Froines’ remains from his widow,” Lubitch said. “About fourteen grams. We should have the results sometime today.”
“The question is,” the President said, “whether we share this information with other countries, particularly Russia. Margaret?”
“Deputy Minister Sokolov has been less than forthcoming, Mr. President. We know that Dmitri Yakovitch, an oil millionaire, self-combusted in his dacha on the Black Sea. There’s allegedly video but they’re not confirming or denying. My sense is that they’ve made a similar discovery and don’t want to share it.”
The President steepled his fingers. “But you don’t know for sure.”
“No sir. That is just my gut feeling. I expect fresh intel shortly.”
“Can you expand on that?”
“Not yet, Mr. President.”
Brubaker, the
éminence grise
of the intelligence community, raised his hand. The President nodded toward him.
“Luther.”
“Mr. President, we’re inclined to believe this is some type of weapon that can be trained on a person from a distance, possibly through walls. The Army’s microwave program cooks your skin from a distance.”
“Yes but Luther,” Lubitch said, “the microwaves can’t cause combustion and lack the amount of energy necessary…”
“I offer the microwave merely as an example of what can be done from distance. The Army is conducting experiments with different wavelengths, I believe. It is possible to broadcast energy through the air.”
“Through walls?” Lubitch said. “That would require a tightly focused beam like a laser. If anything came between the source and its target, it would be instantly obliterated.”
“We are looking into the possibility,” Brubaker said, “that whoever is doing this is above their victims directing the beam down.”
“Do we have people in Russia?” MacCauley said.
“There are agents in place.”
“Can you explain that?” MacCauley said. “We only put the pieces together a week ago.”
Brubaker rolled a fifty cent piece expertly down his knuckles. “A good scout is always prepared. Five years ago we didn’t know what we were looking for. Now we do.”
“No we don’t,” Lubitch said.
The President cleared his throat. “What about the parking garage, Luther? How would someone on the next level up even know where their victim was through a foot of concrete?”
“They didn’t need to shoot down in the garage. It was deserted. They could have targeted Froines from behind a pillar or vehicle. I have a team working on this. They have discovered irregular waves.”
“Excuse me?” said Yee.
“A type of wave that only appears in solids as it passes. Sort of a wave within a wave.”
“How long have you known about this?” Murray Compton said softly.
“The team first discovered the solid wave in September of ‘10 during Ventriloquist, which as you know is a program to develop secure communications. We’ve been conducting experiments ever since. It’s all in the intel report.”
The President had majored in physics. “Can the wave transmit energy?”
“Minute amounts but the team believes if they can tune it, it would open up enormous possibilities.”
“And how far are they away from doing that?” the President asked.
Brubaker shrugged. “Could be days, could be years.”
“Margaret?” the President said turning his face like an arrow in her direction.
“Twenty of the victims visited Pawnee Grove in the past six years. The remaining sixteen interacted with those who did or with someone who knew someone who had been a guest. As you know, President Gilman was a guest.” Gilman was the President’s predecessor.
She had their attention.
“I’ve already assigned extra Secret Service personnel to President Gilman,” the President said. “Mr. Lubitch, what is your take on these escalating incidences?”
“They appear unrelated save for the unbelievable odds of a handful of fairly important people suddenly going berserk and bursting into flames. Al Qaeda has taken credit for the Perrignon immolation, by the way. They claim to have invented a virus that only infects infidels.”
Brubaker snorted. The President turned his hand. “What do we do?”
Silence hung in the air.
Finally Lubitch cleared his throat. “If we make an announcement there will be panic.”
“The public isn’t stupid,” Yee said. “Sooner or later they’ll catch on, if they haven’t already. The internet is foaming with conspiracy theories.”
“And?” the President said.
“Otto White is going up to Pawnee Grove and should have some answers for us shortly.”
Brubaker frowned. “I hope he doesn’t cause an incident.”
***