ARAMEDICS LOADED BARKER onto a stretcher. A few feet away, Buseth was trying to settle Stacey down. “I’m telling you, Bingham didn’t kill your family. He was just out to scare you. We’ve been watching him for over a year.”
Stacey’s eyes bulged and all the blood had rushed to his face. “Listen! You let me go over there myself or send some of your men over right now and find out if they’re all right!”
“Give me the pen and I promise we’ll protect both you and your family.”
“The hell you will! You couldn’t even catch Bingham when I brought him to you!” His arm shot up from his side, delivering a glancing blow to Buseth’s lower jaw. Buseth crumpled to the ground like a wet towel. Four of his men closed in and wrestled Stacey to the ground—just as Mr. White and half a dozen county rigs cautiously pulled up the lane.
White stepped from his car, followed by his deputies, their guns drawn and pointed at the federal agents. “Officer Stacey’s one of my men! Turn him loose and identify yourselves!”
“We’re federal agents on special assignment,” said one, slowly reaching for his identification.
“What special assignment might that be?” Mr. White inquired.
“It’s classified.” The agent lowered his badge and glanced down at Buseth, still groaning on the gravel road.
“Then we better go down to my office and unclassify it before I throw the whole damned bunch of you in county lock up.”
The squawk of Buseth’s radio broke the mounting tension. “Sir, we couldn’t catch them. The plane took off before we could stop it.”
Buseth rose to his feet, still dazed, and spouted out his orders into the mouthpiece. “Call Hill Air Force Base. Get a couple of F-16’s up to escort that bird back down. If they refuse to comply, have ‘em take it out of the air.” As one of his men got on the phone, Buseth continued. “Get a couple of men over to the Stacey residence and make sure everything’s all right until we make sure Bingham’s on that plane.”
From the CAT-scan room Barker was wheeled to the operating room, where a team of neurosurgeons prepared to insert an external ventricular drain (EVD) to abate the dangerously high pressure inside his skull. His anxious wife stood as the head surgeon stopped by the waiting area to report his condition.
“Your husband was seriously injured. The blow he received ruptured a tiny blood vessel in the right front lobe of his head. The blood’s causing pressure on the brain. We need to drill a hole in his skull and insert a tube to relieve some of that pressure. If that doesn’t work, we may need to remove a portion of his skull to allow room for the brain to swell. We need to operate quickly to avoid any additional damage to the brain.”
Barker’s wife held back the tears. “Will he be brain-damaged?”“It’s too early to tell. We need your signature to proceed.” She signed the document and the surgeon rushed off.
Her mind raced back to Deek’s funeral, only days before. She couldn’t bear the thought of losing Paul. She was desperate to keep him—even if he ended up impaired.
Only a few hours before he had told her he loved her. For several weeks now he’d been acting sentimental, especially when he spoke of the children. Had he had a premonition that this was going to happen?
I should have never complained, she thought. It was a night a week ago when he’d come home late. She’d needled him as he walked through the door—something about whether or not they were still married. It was her indirect way of complaining without it sounding like a complaint. “He’s got to be okay,” she murmured as she closed her eyes in silent prayer.
In a veterinarian clinic not far away, the operating room had been made ready for Sig’s arrival. He was placed on a table and prepped for surgery. IVs were set up and oxygen provided; even a heart monitor was connected. Sig still twitched uncontrollably from the effects of the drug mixture–one that Melvin had blown in his face and the other that the vet had administered to calm him down.
The vet first began to clean and sterilize the old wound on his side that seemed to have torn loose. “These stitches are the cleanest I’ve ever seen,” she remarked, trimming and re-closing the gash.
Her assistant monitored the breathing and heart rate. “He’s doing better, doctor. Whatever drug he was exposed to is almost out of his system.”
Mitch waited in the front office. Sig was going to be okay.“I’ve been hearing stories about you, young man. You’re a hero, you know,” said the young aide as she wheeled the gurney from xray. He didn’t feel much like a hero. The pain in his leg coursed all the way up past his hip into his back. His dog was dead, and he hadn’t even come close to stopping Christina’s assailant. He’d swatted Danny aside like a bug. What made it worse, his leg was broken. “Yeah, some hero all right....”
Kate was just relieved that both he and Christina were safe. “Danny, if you hadn’t gone to the girls’ room, no one would have known she was missing. And if you hadn’t had the presence of mind to let Mitsy go, there’s no telling what would have happened. One thing’s for sure: Christina wouldn’t have gotten away. You saved your cousin. I don’t know if I’ve ever met more of a hero than that.” Kate raised a finger to underscore another important point. “Mitsy died a hero’s death, too—far better than the alternative you and your father had talked about.”
Danny took a minute to review the evening’s sequence of events. He’d jumped off the roof; he hadn’t thought twice before climbing through the fence to give chase; then he’d knocked the murderer to the ground. Maybe he was a bit of a hero.
Kate left Danny in the good hands of a doctor and made her way to the emergency cubical where Christina lay, curled up under a blanket, sound asleep. “She’s a strong girl,” remarked Dr. Wendy. “She’s not ready to talk about it yet, so I tried to help her understand her feelings—give her some perspective as to what she’s gone through the past week. Soon she’ll want to talk. I think I should see her Monday afternoon. It might take several visits to get her through this. In the meantime, treat her the same as you always have or she’ll feel like everyone’s pampering her.”
“Thank you, Doctor. I’ll bring her in on Monday.”He sat behind his desk, surrounded by Agent Buseth, Officer Stacey and the County Sheriff. “Let’s see if we have all the pertinent information on the table, gentlemen,” White began. “We think the woman whose body was recovered from the orchard was married to Melvin Briggs. She was shot in the head by who knows who. Chief Anderson’s body—also shot in the head—was just scraped off the exit leading into the Provo airport. Bingham was supposedly on a private jet just shot down by two F-16 fighters over the Nevada desert. And Melvin Briggs, the suspect in the murder and molestation of five girls in our community, is at large. Have I missed anything–other than the fact that Melvin Briggs is actually a federal agent who’s been keeping track of our Councilman Anderson and Captain Bingham, who in turn were rogue killers working for the highest bidder!?”
White slapped his hand down on the desk. “Why the hell haven’t we been told about this before now?”
“Mr. White,” Buseth replied guardedly, “this case is highly-classified. I’ve already told you far more than I’m authorized to.” Buseth glowered at Stacey, who hadn’t spoken a word about the pen full of chemicals. “Suffice it to say, our operation is nearly complete and we’ll be pulling out as soon as we wrap up a few loose ends.” His eyes darted again in Stacey’s direction. “We don’t know where Melvin Briggs is, but we will continue to look for him. If the evidence you have against him holds up, we’ll be glad to turn him over to you when we find him.” Buseth stood to leave. “Here’s my number. If you need any more information you can subpoena my superior. I guarantee it won’t do you a bit of good, though.”
With Buseth out of the way, White made his move. “I need to talk to Officer Stacey privately, if you don’t mind, Sheriff.” As the sheriff rose to leave, White made one more suggestion: “Let’s make sure we keep a few men on the Briggs home until I get a warrant.”
Mr. White waited until the door was closed to speak. “I think you know more than you’re saying, Officer Stacey. Let me give you a ride home and we can talk about it.”
“That dog took one heck of a beating. Who’d he tangle with?” the vet asked Mitch.
“I’m not sure. Will he be all right?”
“He’ll be fine in no time. The effects of the drug are gone now.”
“I was afraid I was going to have to shoot him. It was a good thing you came when you did. It was amazing how you were able to get close enough to put him out like that.”
“I became a vet because I love animals. It would’ve broken my heart to see such a fine animal destroyed.”
“I need to get going. Stace needs to know how he’s doing. You take good care of him.”
“Don’t worry, we will,” she said as Mitch hurried out the door.
Debbie Barker didn’t feel strong enough to deal with what she might be up against. She pictured Paul lying at home in a hospital bed, being fed mashed foods while wearing a bib. She could imagine his hands curled up, his muscle tone gone, his eyes lolling to one side, unable to dress himself, walk or control his bladder. He might not even know who she was. Surrounded by relatives who had come to the hospital upon hearing of the crisis, she put her face in her hands. “It’s not fair,” she sobbed. “It’s just not fair.”
No one paid heed to the slender man with a baseball cap pulled over his balding head, slumped in his chair, his back to them, listening to their conversation.
Olsen and the other officers had scoured the orchard, looking for clues as to the whereabouts of Melvin Briggs. There were none to be had. They were left to keep the neighborhood calm—and the press out of their way.
Mr. White dropped Stacey off at his apartment. “Get some sleep and we’ll talk it over later. I’ll see you tomorrow at ten.”
Stacey walked up the drive, glad to know Sig was on the road to recovery. He pressed his key into the knob on the back door and twisted. It was already open. Crouching at the door, he drew his weapon and pushed the door open a crack. He didn’t know what to do next.
“It was already unlocked, Officer Stacey. I let myself in. Please, join me,” came a familiar voice.
The head of ER returned to Danny’s room. Kate was there. Walking to the light board on the wall, he flipped a switch, the fluorescent light buzzed on, and he slid the x-ray under the clip at the top. Just as the doctor had begun, Alan stepped through the curtain. “Excuse me, this is my son.”
The doctor, mildly perturbed by the interruption, forged ahead. “I was just describing the process we’ll use to set your son’s leg.” Alan looked at the dark negative, showing a prominent separation at the mid-point of the shin.
“I think we need to put him under general anesthetic to set this bone,” explained the doctor. “It’s a clean break—which is good. I’ve called an orthopedic specialist, who should be here within the next few minutes. So, with your approval, I’d like to get Danny prepped.”
Danny began to squirm. “You’re not going to put me to sleep, are you?”A faint smile played over the doctor’s lips, “I believe you’d be more comfortable asleep than awake.”
“Are there any other choices?”
“We could give you a lower spinal block to take the pain away from your legs. Sometimes women have the procedure done when they have children.” Kate nodded as he spoke. “It’s called an epidural. You’ll be awake when we pull your leg back into place.”
“Cool! I could watch the whole thing. I want the block.”
The doctor glanced at Kate and Alan to see if that met with their approval. It did.
Stacey holstered his weapon and entered the darkened front room. Agent Buseth sat leaning back on a chair, one foot resting against the side of the table, his arms folded across his chest. His jaw had the beginning of a colorful bruise. His features reminded Stacey of Deek, but his personality did not. “It was a mistake to talk to White,” he said stiffly. “You’d better have kept the information about the chemicals to yourself.”
“And if I didn’t?”“I could bring military intelligence down on this little town and quarantine the whole place for months.”
Stacey knew he was bluffing. “Agent Buseth, your chemicals are safe—for the time being.”
“Good, then I have permission to bring you up to speed. Let’s talk about turning the chemicals over to me.”
“Start talking.”
“I’ll bring you positive proof that Bingham was on the plane, and you turn over the pen. Until then, I’ll sequester your family in one of our safehouses and keep a close watch on you.”
“You couldn’t catch Bingham before. If he’s still alive, how do you think you can catch him now?”
“Listen, we’ve invested six years in this operation. Melvin Phelps—or Briggs, as you know him—is one of the best surveillance men in the military. We know he’s a pain in the butt. He can’t get along with any of his superiors and he couldn’t make a friend if his life depended on it. He and his wife have been fighting for years, especially after their daughter disappeared, and we’re still not sure if he has anything to do with the murders and kidnapping. We’ve reviewed the research the FBI has turned over to us and know he’s had equipment in every location each of the girls was killed. If he’s guilty in any way, we’ll make sure he fries for it.”
“You still didn’t answer my question. If Bingham’s alive, how can we stop him?”
“If you’d given me any say in the time and location of the first attempt to take Bingham, he wouldn’t have gotten away. I warned you not to underestimate him. He’s a cold-blooded killer who’s been cooped up in a captain’s job for the last year. When your Chief Anderson got him his job on the force, it was the biggest break we’ve ever had. We were afraid Anderson had retired. He did his last job in Woodbridge, West Virginia, five years ago under the alias ‘Officer Oswald.’ He and his men liked being in positions of authority in small towns, so they could control their own undercover operations. We know Anderson was paying his Mexican maid extra to bring her very mature 14-year-old daughter to work to—how can I put this?—satisfy his needs. Melvin has proof of it. We just don’t know if it was Anderson that killed her or if it was her dad, who’s going to trial for the murder next month.”
Buseth paused. “I’m getting off track.” His body shifted positions—as if redirecting his thoughts. “The military forced Bingham to retire almost eight years ago because of his violent temper and insubordinate nature. He’d been trained to kill during the Vietnam War. The military had created these elite killing machines, men who were practically unstoppable, brainwashed to fight and kill without feeling. Now, 30 years later, our government doesn’t know how to deal with them, so they get a little therapy and retire to the ‘good life.’ Problem is, they don’t want to retire, so they go looking for a cause that will give them their fix of mayhem. Anderson was one of the leaders of a small group; Bingham was his best. We’ve suspected either Bingham or Anderson had the ‘VN three-five-two’ chemical for the last few years, and have been waiting to bring them in so it didn’t fall into the wrong hands. You screwed everything up by taking the pen.”
“Maybe if you’d let us know what was going on we could have helped. Where did the stuff come from?”
“Anderson and Bingham served in the same platoon. The ‘VN’ stands for Vietnam; the ‘three-five-two’ is the three hundred and fiftysecond strain we’ve identified. We think they took the chemical from an enemy lab during one of their raids. It’s the most potent strain we’ve isolated thus far. Melvin was infected with one of the earlier strains when he was shot.”
“You’re going to feel a little poke now.” Danny felt a needle enter his lower back, followed by a cool wave of fluid. Instantly feeling nauseous, he was rolled to his side. There sat his father, clearly concerned.
Danny almost laughed. “You don’t look so good, Dad.” “Injections make me woozy.”
Soon Danny couldn’t feel his legs. A man in green scrubs entered.
“Hi there, buddy. How’d you break your leg at three o’clock in the morning?” the second doctor asked. He peered over his halfglasses to scan the x-ray.
“I was trying to stop a killer from hurting my cousin.” Danny thought the words sounded pretty good.
The surgeon sought out the other faces in the room to see if the boy was telling the truth. Then he turned back to Danny. “You tell me the whole story while I put your leg back where it belongs.” He glanced at the anesthesiologist. “Is everything ready?” The man nodded.
“This shouldn’t hurt, but you might be a little uncomfortable.”
The ER doctor took up a position where he could get a good hold on Danny’s upper body. Dr. Jacobs clamped on to Danny’s foot and pulled, adjusting the leg up and down, side to side. Danny could hardly believe what he was seeing. The part of his leg down by his ankle moved totally independently of the part up by his knee.
Alan leaned over in his chair and put his head between his knees.
“You okay, Dad?” asked the ER doc.
“I’ll be fine.”
Then Danny started in on the story of Christina and the landlord.
Stacey couldn’t quite muzzle a laugh as he spoke the words: “I’ve heard about Melvin’s shot butt.”
Buseth, all business, shook his head. “Not everything. The chemical affected him in some strange ways. In some areas his IQ goes off the charts. That’s why he’s such a good snoop–the man is a genius when it comes to computers and electronics, but he’s like a ten-yearold when it comes to dealing with people.”
“That explains why he was doing all those stupid things to drive his renters out....Do you think he’s capable of attacking the girls?”
“More than capable—quite plausible, actually. He claims it was his wife, though. We’re almost sure he’s the one that killed her in the orchard.”
Stacey rubbed his chin. “You’ve got some serious problems, Agent Buseth. If you suspected one of your men was killing and molesting girls, and you didn’t lock him down, the government has some serious charges to answer to.”
“We weren’t aware of the connection until you arrested him the first time. When my boss flew into town, we slapped your judge with a federal gag order so we could finish things up without Melvin finding out we were watching him. Otherwise he might have bolted.”
Buseth took a drink from his mug and gathered his thoughts. “Now here’s the kicker–my boss was Melvin’s commanding officer in Nam. He has an unwarranted faith in Melvin none of the rest of us share. We planned on turning Melvin over as soon as we took out Anderson and his men.”
“It’s starting to make sense now,” Stacey said. “But if you’d have been watching closer, that girl wouldn’t have been scared to death— and nearly killed.”
“Like I said, we had to keep our distance—orders from higher up. Before my boss was promoted, he served in Melvin’s platoon. Melvin had saved his life a week before the entire platoon was ambushed and everyone was killed—all except Melvin. My boss was still in the hospital recovering when it happened. Melvin was found several weeks later, with half his butt missing. It took him months to recover. The boss claims he owes his life to Melvin and makes allowances for him. He says things aren’t always as they seem.”
In less than an hour Danny’s leg was set in a bright green cast. Xrayed again and the pictures examined, Dr. Jacobs returned to the room and informed Danny that he would be as good as new in eight to ten weeks. “I’ll see you in two weeks. Your mother can make an appointment by calling the office on Monday.” He glanced over at Kate, who acknowledged his request. “And Danny, no more heroics for a while!”
Buseth informed Stacey that he’d be in touch after the investigation report on the jet’s passengers was in. Stacey stood as the agent started for the door. “Hey, Buseth, sorry about the pop on the chin.”
“I should have been more sensitive to the situation. I might’ve done the same if someone told me they’d murdered my parents and sister. We’ll take good care of them until this thing is over. By the way, my boss has taken a liking to you. You’re the first man that’s ever rung Bingham’s bell. And the first outside of our team we’ve given classified information to. Be careful; we suspect that if Bingham did kill Anderson, he probably didn’t get on the plane. We’ll do our best to keep you covered.”