Submerged Page 6

  Each photo bore a label revealing the name of the subject and the year the photo was taken.

  Chapter6

  How is he?” Dr. Gleason Lane asked. He was on his feet the moment Perry walked into his office. His ever-present smile was missing, replaced with the uncomfortable look of a worried man. Perry wondered if he appeared the same.

  “I just spoke to Mom as we were driving over here. She called on the cell phone. They’ve taken Dad down for a CAT scan. They’re trying to rule out a stroke. They’re still waiting on other test results.”

  “What can I do?”

  Perry knew Gleason well and therefore knew the question was sincere. Gleason Lane was slightly taller than Perry, had kind blue eyes, a chiseled chin, and quick humor. Wheat-colored hair was trimmed close to the scalp. He was the “head techie” at Sachs Engineering and not one for office life. He preferred outdoor tech to writing code, and that made him ideal for the kind of work that Sachs Engineering did.

  “Keep the prayers up. What are you working on?” Perry stepped to Gleason’s desk, a metal-and-glass contraption that Perry found too sterile. “Desks should be made of wood,” he had told Gleason once. “You think computers should be made of wood,” Gleason answered. He had Perry there.

  “I’m trying to pull together a private communications system for the South Korea project. Guess a lot of eavesdropping goes on over there.”

  “That project begins next month, right?”

  “Six weeks. You got something you want me to do?”

  Perry paused for a second while recalling the details of the South Korea operation. The South Koreans were “hardening” several of their key civilian communications centers. North Korea was rattling sabers again. Sachs Engineering was providing consultation.

  “I’m going to pull you off that for a little while.” Perry set down the notebook and photo album. “I need your analytical abilities, your . . . ”

  “Weird way of thinking? That’s what Jack calls it.”

  “I’m sure he means it as a compliment, but that’s what I need.” Perry told Gleason of his father’s struggle to speak a few words and of Perry’s discovery in the floor of the pantry.

  “Let me get this right.” Gleason slipped back into his chair while Perry remained on his feet. “Your father manages to speak a few words, and in that list are the names of three people somehow related to your father. One has just died; one suffered some kind of attack while you were on the phone with her; and your dad is all of a sudden stricken with a yet-to-be-diagnosed illness. This picture shows them together sometime in the mid-seventies in a desert town called Tonopah.”

  “That’s right. You know Dad—he wouldn’t spend that kind of precious strength unless there was a reason for it.”

  “Do you know what happened to the woman on the phone—Cynthia Wagner?”

  “No. Not yet.”

  Gleason studied the drawing in the notebook. “This looks like your father’s writing, but I know he can draw better than this. What is it?”

  “I don’t have a clue. It’s like he wanted to record something only he could read.”

  “Makes sense. What do you want me to do?”

  “Jack is pulling together a few things for a trip. I want you to get me as much information as you can about these people and what they might have been doing in Tonopah, Nevada.”

  “What were the other words Mr. Sachs used?”

  “Lloyd. Lake. Dam. Nevada.”

  Gleason wrote nothing down. Perry knew he didn’t need to. The man’s memory was phenomenal.

  “The Nevada part ties in with the Tonopah picture.” Gleason closed his eyes, and Perry imagined gears and wheels spinning. “When do we leave?”

  “Jack and I leave this evening. I need you to stay here and do this.”

  “What if I’m done before you leave?” Gleason looked wounded.

  “I have a couple hours of work to do. Until Dad is back on his feet, I’ll need to take over some of his projects. If you can be done, then you’re welcome to come along. The truth is, we may need you.”

  “Go do your work. In the meantime, I will amaze you with my research skills. Can you leave this notebook and photo album?”

  Perry said he could but wanted them cared for like they were more valuable than gold. They probably were.

  Night had come to the desert. Overhead was a shimmering blanket of stars. Wind, which came more days than not, flowed over sandy soil, down dirt and paved streets, rustled trees in yards and desert plants in unconquered acres. Carl Subick had hung up his uniform, put away his Sam Browne belt, and dropped his work shoes in the closet. In their place, he wore three-year-old Levi’s that were well broken in, inexpensive running shoes, and a plain white T-shirt.

  He was off duty now and glad for it. There were days when being a deputy sheriff was frustrating and taxing enough for him to consider selling life insurance, but today was the first time he had ever felt embarrassed by the badge and uniform.

  He was angry. Beyond angry. While in the course of his duties he had been held at gunpoint, assaulted, and bound with his own handcuffs. He had faced a squad of men who showed no respect for the uniform he wore, and when the story was related to his immediate superior, it was passed over with a dismissive wave. Carl had never seen such behavior before. Police officers were brothers in arms and purpose, and Captain Julius Whitaker was turning a blind eye to the crime that had injured Carl’s pride as a man and a deputy.

  Sitting in the back corner of Tammy’s Oasis, one of the cleaner bars off of the main street, Carl composed his resignation letter in his mind. He would never write it, and if he did, he would never deliver it. That would be quitting, giving up in the face of adversity. Carl Subick wasn’t a quitter. He sipped a beer that had grown warm over the last forty minutes.

  “I thought I might find you here. Find anything interesting in that glass?”

  Carl looked up through dim, smoky air. Nevada still allowed smoking in certain public places. Carl had never picked up the habit. Both his parents smoked a lot, and he had inhaled enough secondhand cigarette smoke to last him a lifetime. “I keep looking, but it’s still beer.”

  Janet Novak took a seat in the booth opposite Carl. “How many of those have you had?”

  “So far just this one, but I’ve been here less than an hour.”

  “At least you’re not a guzzler.”

  “It comes from being a child of alcoholic parents. What are you doing here?”

  “Looking for you. I’m not a happy camper. The department treated us wrong. And if I’m stewing about it, I knew you would be, too. I thought maybe we could be miserable together.”

  “Are you sure you’re not here to make certain I don’t do something stupid?” Carl raised a hand with two fingers. The cocktail waitress gave a nod of understanding.

  “Of course I am. It’s my week to watch you.” Janet smiled, and some of the bitterness in Carl melted. She had a smile that caused birds to sing.

  “If this were a movie, I’d blow up and shout something about my not needing a babysitter, but the truth is, I’m glad you’re here.” He reached across the table and took her hand. She gave a gentle squeeze. “As long as you’re the one doing the babysitting, I don’t mind.”

  “I’m not here to babysit, Carl. I need you right now as much as you need me.”

  The waitress brought two mugs of beer and took away Carl’s still half-full glass.

  “Have you ever seen Whitaker act that way?” Carl asked. “He’s always been a street cop’s friend. I’ve seen him go toe-to-toe with the Old Man himself on behalf of someone in the department. If he can go rounds with the Sheriff, then why did he go weak in the knees now?”

  “Someone got to him. Someone scary.”

  “But who? Who could intimidate someone like Whitaker? The guy has been around the block and faced his share of bad guys.”

  “I don’t know, but whoever it was found his soft spot.” Janet sipped at the beer. Carl knew
that she drank less than he did. The beer, the bar, the darkness were all props. Carl glanced around the room. The place was filled with a medley of people: tired ranch hands, retail clerks, city workers, pencil pushers, and shovel wielders. Here a person could get a drink, buy a sandwich, and get out of the August heat. Nighttime in the desert always brought relief. At six thousand feet elevation the small city was spared the suffocating heat that blanketed the desert at lower elevations. The summer daytime temperatures hovered in the nineties, and the thinner air released captured heat faster. Las Vegas and other cities were a different matter. In Tonopah hot was just hot; there, it was blistering.

  Tonopah was a small town with an official population of three thousand. A few thousand more populated the areas just outside the city limits. Nye County boasted less than fifty thousand residents, not enough to make a decent-sized city. Carl could recognize most of the faces in the room, and they could recognize him. Still, a few strangers, travelers probably, were peppered around the room, sitting at tables, the bar, or in one of the well-worn booths.

  “Do you suppose it was those guys?”

  “Which guys? The ones who showed us the way home?”

  “Yeah. They didn’t much care that we wore badges. Maybe they got to Whitaker.”

  “I’m wondering if the sheriff didn’t get to Whitaker,” Janet said. “That’s even more frightening.”

  “It’s got to be some of the feds,” Carl reasoned. “Maybe we stumbled into someone else’s investigation.”

  “You mean like FBI, ATF, that kind of thing?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Why wouldn’t Whitaker just tell us that?” Janet asked. “Why not just say, ‘Look, the Feds have something going on up there, and we’ve been asked to give them some elbow room’? He looked more than a little put out, if you ask me. I don’t think he enjoyed telling us to forget the whole thing.”

  “But he did, and that’s what I’m having trouble swallowing. There’s still a man missing up there and a family waiting to hear from us. What about them?”

  “It’s not our decision. There’s nothing we can do about it.”

  Carl said nothing. Instead he ran a finger up and down the glass handle of the frosty mug. He had yet to drink any of the beer.

  “Don’t go there, Carl,” Janet warned. “I know that look. We’ve been told to stay out of it.”

  “They handcuffed me with my own cuffs and took my weapon.”

  “Whitaker said the department would replace everything we lost.”

  He raised his eyes. “They can’t replace my honor.”

  “Oh, brother! Men and their honor. We have nothing to be ashamed of. We were outgunned.”

  Carl lowered his eyes. She was right. They did everything they could. They played by the book, and the book didn’t help. Two cops caught off guard by automatic-toting soldiers or militia or whatever they were didn’t stand a chance. So why didn’t he feel better? Why couldn’t he just accept it and move on?

  He leaned back and rubbed his eyes. The smoke and weariness were getting to him. Lowering his hand, he opened his eyes and looked across the table. Janet was staring at him, concern chiseled into her features.

  He offered a weak smile. “Maybe I should just call it a night. I’m bringing you down.”

  Janet shook her head. “I came here looking for you. Stay a little longer. We can split some nachos.” She paused. “I need you right now, if only for an hour.”

  He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “You got me.”

  Finn MacCumhail had his seat belt off seconds after the Boeing jet landed and began its taxi off the runway and along the tarmac. He straightened his tie, ran a hand through his hair, and took hold of his briefcase and waited. He waited with the patience of a confident man, a powerful man, an unquestioned man. It took less than five minutes for the Boeing to roll to a stop. He knew that it was close to a hangar where the private craft could be stored until called upon again. Finn even knew the hangar. He had committed the base’s entire layout to memory, as he had its chief personnel.

  Two minutes after the wheels stopped turning, one of the pilots emerged and opened the door. The stairs lowered, bridging the distance from the door to the concrete tarmac below. At the foot of the stairs stood two persons in uniform. Finn raised his head and descended the steps.

  “Mr. MacCumhail,” a trim man with piercing eyes said. “I am Colonel Brian Cassidy. I hope you had a good flight.” Finn knew the colonel’s height was six feet, his weight 175 pounds, and he hailed from North Dakota. He had graduated from the Air Force Academy third in his class.

  “It beats commercial airliners, Colonel.” Finn studied the other officer, a woman, who had come to greet him. She was two inches shorter than Cassidy.

  “Major Megan Ramos, Mr. MacCumhail.” She bungled the name, but Finn didn’t bother to correct her.

  “I assume you’ve received instructions.”

  “Yes, sir,” Cassidy said. “Everything is as you’ve requested. Our base commander apologizes for not being able to be here to meet you himself. He was called to the Pentagon.”

  I know. I’m the one who called him. “Show me my quarters. I want to get some rest. I leave at O-dawn-thirty.”

  Finn let them take the lead. Tonight he would sleep. He had no idea when he might sleep again.

  Chapter7

  Perry stood as strong and immovable as a marble statue. The dim light of the MICU cubicle gave the space a depressing air. There seemed to be too little oxygen and too little ventilation. He gazed down upon the man who lay unmoving, skin pale, eyes open in slits that revealed white, sightless orbs. His father’s skin seemed to have grown whiter over the last few hours. It now hung limp on arms that Perry always recalled as strong and dense.

  A sniff from behind him reminded Perry that his mother was near. She had remained by his side, leaving only for the blood draw that Dr. Nishizaki ordered.

  Now he was planning on leaving her. Guilt moved in like the tide.

  Perry had spoken to the doctors. Tests had been run, more tests were scheduled to be done, and no one knew anything. “To be blunt, Mr. Sachs,” Dr. Nishizaki had said, “your father should be dead.”

  Somehow Perry already knew that. Now he stood by the bed, holding a hand that could not hold his back. Perry let his eyes drift to the IV bags that hung on a stainless steel stand attached to the bed, then his father’s vitals. No matter how well Perry understood that oxygen tubes, catheters, monitors, and IVs were needed, it seemed so undignified.

  “I did some research on those names, Dad.” Perry had heard that people in comas were sometimes aware of others around them. He had no idea if that was true, but he did know that as long as his father drew breath, Perry would do everything to make him comfortable, including carrying on a one-way conversation. “We’re still running down some leads, but I’ve made some of the connections.”

  He paused, as if his father would respond. “Jack and Gleason have been helping me. They’re praying for you. A great many people are praying for you.” He gave his father’s hand a squeeze. There was no response. Perry felt as if all his internal organs were shutting down.

  A presence came alongside him. He didn’t need to turn his head to know that his mother stood there, her arm around his waist.

  “I’m going to check a few things out for you, Dad. That means I have to leave town.” Perry’s eyes began to burn, and his stomach was ready to boil over. “Aunt Nora is going to be here soon and will stay with Mom. I have everything taken care of, so don’t worry about anything.” Aunt Nora was Anna’s sister.

  A tear ran down Perry’s cheek and fell to the white linen of the bed. “I will be in constant contact. I’m going because I think you want me to. I mean, you gave me the names . . .”

  “He knows, Perry,” Anna said. “He knows.”

  “But do you understand, Mom?”

  “I’ve been married to your father long enough and been your mother long enough to unders
tand. He wouldn’t have given you those names if he didn’t want you to do something with them.”

  Perry put his free arm around his mother and pulled her close. “I keep changing my mind. I keep thinking that my place is by his bedside.”

  “Your place is doing what is right, whatever that might be. If that means going to Nevada, then you must go. Your father expended a lot of energy to say those few words.”

  “I know, Mom.” Perry watched his father’s slow breathing. “Do you remember anything from that time, anything that might help us?”

  “No. You were just a boy. You know how secret some of the projects you work on are; it was the same back then. He never talked about such things. Never. That used to frustrate me, but he once told me it wasn’t a matter of him trusting me, but of his clients trusting him. If he promised secrecy, he gave secrecy.”

  “He drummed that in my head enough times.” Perry chuckled. On several occasions, he had tried to pump his father for information on secret projects he had worked on in the past, but the man never budged. He did, however, give Perry the same lecture about trustworthiness and honor. At times Perry found it tiresome, but as he grew older it became the model for his life. It was one of the great things his father had given him—that and faith.

  “You go on now, Perry. Do what your father wants you to do. Nora will be here soon, and I’ll be fine.”

  Perry pulled a card from his pocket. “Here are my numbers. You already know my cell number, but the other number is different. It’s for a satellite phone, in case we end up somewhere without cell phone coverage.”

  Anna took it and studied it. “I’ll let you know if anything changes.” Tears were rising in her eyes.

  The sight of them broke Perry like a twig. “I love you, Mom.”