Chapter Thirty Seven
Johnny watched the city flow past on their way back to Glenn Dale. “I don’t know who or what to believe,” he said.
“Welcome to the wonderful world of subterfuge a’la CIA,” said Erin who ran a hand over her head while the other remained glued to the steering wheel.
“The steering’s become ropey,” said Erin as she fed the wheel back and forwards through her hands.
“We’d better pull in somewhere.”
“Oh my God!” she screamed, as she tried to control the wheel.
Johnny placed both his hands on the dash board. “Brake Erin!”
“They’re not working!”
They veered across onto the outer lane and hit a green Volkswagen side on, which pushed them back into the central lane where a truck crashed into the Buicks rear causing it to spin and then topple over several times.
Caitlin skipped across the grass with an ice-cream in her hand. “Come on Dad!” she shouted, as she headed towards brightly painted swings.
Brad was already swinging back and forward. “Yeah, come on Dad!”
Johnny felt tears well up in his eyes as he watched the children–his children. A bleeping noise filled the park and then he opened his eyes. He was lying on a bed in a room–a hospital room. The bleeping noise was coming from a monitoring unit to the left of his head. He couldn’t move his head; he stared at the ceiling, it was easier to stare at the ceiling.
A nurse came into the room. She was tall, thin and had shoulder length blond hair.
“Mr Duncan, you’re awake!” She looked at the unit to the side of his head. “I’ll have to tell Doctor Patel.” Johnny tried to speak, but nothing issued from his mouth.
The nurse left the room. He had wanted to ask her why he was in hospital. What had happened? He looked back at the ceiling, it was easier just to look at the ceiling.
An Asian/American man in a white lab coat came into the room. He had a receding hairline, and a well trimmed goatee hung from his chin. “Mr Duncan, so nice to have you back with us, I’m Doctor Patel,” he said, as he looked at the monitoring unit.
“What happened doc?” Johnny asked in a croaking voice; he was surprised that he could speak.
“You were in an accident Mr Duncan. You’ve been unconscious from concussion for over twelve hours. We’ve run tests and there seems to be no serious damage apart from a severe whiplash which will soon go.”
The events came rushing back into his memory: the car crashing into the outer lane, being hit from the back and finally toppling over. Erin, he thought. What about Erin?
“How is Erin Doctor?”
“Now Mr Duncan you must rest.”
Johnny grabbed the man’s wrist. “What happened to Erin?”
A sadness spread over the doctor’s face. “I’m sorry Mr Duncan; Miss Rodgers didn’t make it–she died from her injuries on the way to the hospital.”
Johnny looked at the ceiling–it was easier to look at the ceiling. Tears rolled down his cheeks, and he sobbed.
It was a warm day at Cedar Hill Cemetery. Johnny watched Erin’s coffin being lowered into the ground. He still had on a cervical collar and bruises were in the process of leaving his face. Apart from Erin’s mother and sister, who he introduced himself to; the only person he recognised was Karen Blakely. She wore a black suit and brown sunglasses covered her eyes.
He stepped forward and threw a single red rose on top of the coffin and said: “Goodbye Erin.”
A tall man in a grey suit with long, brown hair, streaked with grey caught up with him as he left the graveside and headed toward a waiting cab. “Mr Duncan, can I offer you a ride?”
“No thanks I have a cab.”
“Please, sir, you will want to hear what I have to say.”
Johnny stopped and looked at the man. He had deep brown eyes and looked to be in his early fifties. “I don’t care; I’m going home.”
“This is very important. My name is Nathan Malloy.”
The black Chevrolet Avalanche cruised along the neat road. Lines of headstones interspersed with trees stretched into the distance on either side. Johnny stared at the graves and wondered when the nightmare was going to end.
“Don’t know what you’ve been told Mr Duncan, but I’m guessing it has something to do with me,” said Malloy, as he stared ahead. “I’ve been followed lately by CIA spooks–agents. I Left the Agency years ago, but it seems you’re never really allowed to leave. I don’t practise telepathy anymore, but I ‘saw’ you and Officer Rodgers talking to Lindsay Koenig.”
“He said you were to blame for the destruction of the Hoover Dam. He said you wanted revenge on the US for the demise of the Stargate Project,” said Johnny.
Malloy shook his head and exhaled loudly as they drove past the light pink pillars of the main gate. “I run a successful IT business. Why would I want to destroy the Hoover Dam in some fit of revenge?” He eased the pickup into the traffic of Pennsylvania Avenue and headed toward central D.C. “No Mr Duncan, if I were you I would beware of two people: Director Blakely and Lindsay Koenig.”
Johnny gazed at the yacht marinas as they crossed the river. The fact was he didn’t know who to believe, and he wanted to go home and forget all about it. But how could he? Someone had tampered with Erin’s car and killed her. Innocent people in the Mojave Desert drowned. Günter murdered in Germany. Didn’t he owe those people something?
“Where are you staying?” Malloy asked.
“At the Quality Inn on New York Avenue.”
They pulled up outside the sand-coloured, two-storey hotel, and Nathan Malloy put his arm on the top of the passenger’s seat as Johnny climbed out.
“Farewell Mr Duncan and be careful these people are dangerous.”
Johnny watched as the black truck merged with the traffic before he turned toward the hotel. “What now Johnny boy … what now?”