Washington, D.C.
Ben Dare was dreading the start of the new day. He’d taken the call from Sarah a little past 7:00 a.m. and immediately pressed into action. He’d grown accustomed to pressure-packed, deadline-driven days while working on the Hill, but to begin such a day on only three hours sleep didn’t bode well. His boss, Senator Alfonse Coscarelli, was gracious and fair, but also very demanding. He could only imagine the senator’s reaction when he heard the news that his daughter and grandson had been kidnapped. This’ll be a day for the record books, he thought.
When he finally finished talking to Sarah, his first call was to DC Metro to report Sela’s possible kidnapping. The dispatcher promised to immediately send out a unit code three. Then he placed a call to the Secret Service; a secretary took his information, noting the urgency of the matter. Within fifteen minutes, Director Charles Vickers returned his call. He informed the director that there was credible evidence that the senator’s daughter and grandson had been kidnapped, and that the DOD ostensibly had an agent investigating the matter, but there wasn’t a readily available report to review. Director Vickers promised to meet in the senator’s office as soon as it could be arranged.
Ben’s next call was to former CIA Agent Emerson Palmer, the only man he knew who possessed the analytical skills to unravel the intricacies of the case. Palmer had a short-lived, disreputable career with the Central Intelligence Agency having been branded a maverick agent. In fact, his overtly contrarian viewpoints had at times bordered on insubordination, making him ill-suited for a long career in the bureaucracy, where complacency was necessary for survival. Blessed with uncommon intelligence, his keen sense of perception put him at odds with superiors when his insightful prognostications routinely trumped their less prescient predictions. He had been consistently overlooked for promotions throughout his career, typically drawing the most arduous assignments without a compensating rise in rank-the section chiefs didn’t appreciate that he knew more than they did, and refused to acknowledge his extraordinary skills.
Emerson Palmer was erudite, but coarse and brash and his inability to hold his tongue made him his own worst enemy. He agreed to an early retirement when threatened with prosecution and loss of his pension when evidence surfaced (fabricated, though it was) that he was leaking military secrets to the Contras in Nicaragua. Rather than fight the baseless allegations, he resigned to establish a private security firm that quickly gained significant nationwide prominence.
Palmer was as close to being a true secret agent as anything Ben Dare could imagine, having developed a legendary reputation for his uncanny ability to expose and circumvent the most sophisticated enemies threatening the United States. What’s more, his ability to strategize and design countermeasures to these threats was unparalleled. But these same intelligence-gathering qualities also served him well in private enterprise; his security firm had become especially adept at providing high-level personal security for the likes of movie stars, dignitaries, and the occasional rock star.
Although it was never publicly acknowledged, Palmer was also known to have close ties to a covert top- secret organization known as “cleaners,” the activities of which were so clandestine that even the FBI, ATF, and Secret Service would disavow any knowledge of their existence. In fact, not many people on the Hill knew of this elite group, and even for these few that did, their knowledge was typically limited to hearsay rather than direct experience.
Cleaners were utilized by the Executive Office when every other option was exhausted. They were capable of things that no other agency could accomplish, simply because they weren’t constrained by rules of diplomacy and could undertake actions other agencies would consider illegal. Whenever the Joint Chiefs of Staff or Armed Services Committee was presented with a problem that stretched the legal ability of the CIA, or there was a potentially significant diplomatic repercussion were the activity linked to the United States government, the cleaners were called in. Cleaners were rumored to have been responsible for several key assassinations, from John Kennedy to Jimmy Hoffa, but such claims were always vehemently denied as wild speculation. Irrespective of what the cleaners may have done in the past, their capability was an essential part of top-secret cold-war operations throughout the world.
Ben Dare suspected that Palmer himself was a cleaner, but had never broached the subject with the man. It was enough that he seemed to know how to contact these people and Ben left it at that. He anticipated that Senator Coscarelli would demand an audience with one of these agents, and Palmer’s help would be paramount in accommodating that request. Ben briefed Palmer on the status of the kidnapping and asked that he prepare a proposal to rescue the senator’s daughter, certain that Alfonse would be asking about this as a starting point.
With these preliminary calls completed, Ben steeled himself to make the call he dreaded the most. He dialed the senator’s private line.
“Good morning,” Alfonse Coscarelli said, answering the call.
“Good morning, sir, it’s Ben. I apologize for the early interruption but I have urgent news,” he said, choosing his words carefully.
“Go ahead, Ben. I’m up. What’s happening?” he asked warily.
“Senator, it’s your daughter, Sela and grandson, Jeremiah… they’ve both been kidnapped,” he said, taking ample time to convey every facet of the difficult situation involving his family. The senator took the news hard. He listened quietly as Ben described in-depth the entire sordid ordeal. Ben figured his boss must surely be in shock, but surprisingly, the senator maintained his composure.
After a slight pause the senator replied, “Okay, Ben, I appreciate all you’ve done. It’s mighty difficult for me to understand how both of my daughters and grandson could be tied up with this mess, but I guess we’ll learn soon enough who’s behind it. I’ll be in my office by nine. Please have the gentlemen you’ve briefed available as early as possible.”
“No need to apologize, Senator. I can only imagine what you’re going through. I’ll make certain that Vickers and Palmer will be available to brief you shortly after nine, sir. Goodbye.”
Ben was thankful that the call was over and the senator had taken the news rather well, considering its severity. There was no telling where this story would end up, but with Emerson Palmer involved, someone was going to pay dearly for taking Senator Coscarelli’s daughter and grandson. Ben Dare was willing to bet the house on that incontrovertible fact.
FORTY
San Jose, California
Jarrod Conrad had no idea where he had been taken by the kidnappers, having been sequestered in the back of a van totally devoid of windows. A divider between the front and the cargo area made it impossible to see out the windshield as they drove. The only thing he knew was that they drove exactly fifty-two minutes from Stanford University until they reached their final destination.
Jarrod’s kidnappers had made an uncharacteristic mistake leaving him with his laptop. While it didn’t have GPS capability, he used the time to compose several messages to Sarah, which he saved in the draft file of his email outbox. He had no idea when he might be able to contact her, but he placed the first message in his outbox to send at the first available opportunity. He hoped like hell there was Wi-Fi capability wherever he ended up, or this part of his plan was shot.
When the driver shut off the engine, he entered the precise time of travel from his house in the first message: “Sarah-at new location fifty-two minutes from house. Will confirm when see Jer. Stay safe…J.C.”
A moment later the back doors opened and the man named Colt asked that he exit the van. Jarrod stepped into a large warehouse about the size of a football field. There were multiple trucks, an over-head hoist, and sundry equipment filling most of the space, and one end exhibited several smaller structures encasing an office, storage, bathrooms, and presumably sleeping quarters. But what he saw in the very center of the building gave him goose bumps and quickened his pulse. Prominently displayed amongst an array of equipment- computer monitors, a forklift, various cables, and hardware-was a large flatbed trailer on top of which was unmistakably a full working model of his antigravity machine. Eureka! Jarrod thought. I knew this sham was about my gravity research.
Jarrod was exhilarated. For the first time he experienced the boundless joy of looking upon years of
