314 Book 3 (Widowsfield Trilogy) (10 page)

“Yes,” said Rosemary. “But I still don’t know how or why. It had something to do with a warship that was in the reservoir on March 14
th
, 1996. I looked into it, but all I could find out was that a replica of a Greek ship had been built in the reservoir to attract tourism.”

“Wait,” said Alma as she sat up straighter. “I’ve heard of that before. I used to get all sorts of insane conspiracy theorists calling me each year about what happened here. I remember someone talking about a boat before. They mentioned specifically about it being a Greek boat.”

“Maybe Stephen and Rachel could find out more,” said Paul. “Let’s give them a call and see if they can start using their reporter tricks to snoop around the net a little.”

Rosemary agreed, but said, “The most important thing is to find Michael and Ben, let’s not put their focus on something else until after that.”

“Hey guys,” said Jacker with a tone of uncertain humor. “Not to be a jackass or anything, but check out the time.”

It was, of course, 3:14.

Philadelphia

June 13
th
, 1943

“Vess,” said a deep voice from behind them, interrupting the discussion Lyle had been having with his new employer. They turned to see a large man, both in stature and width, in a beige Army uniform that distinguished him from the rest of the Marines on the ship. The man stood as tall as Vess, and a smile of greeting came easily to his face, but disappeared just as quick. He had a full head of hair that was greased with an ample amount of Pomade that caused the silver streaks to gleam, just as the grey whiskers did in his mustache. He wasn’t a thin man, and wore his belt high over his belly, squeezing his girth in an almost comical manner, like a sausage tie that had come undone and allowed the link to slowly expand.

“Leslie,” said Vess when he turned and recognized the man. “How are things in New York going?” The two men shook hands.

The man named Leslie grimaced and grunted as he shook his head. “I haven’t been back to the office for a few weeks, and I think I’d be safer staying away for a few weeks more. I’m on my way back to Washington, coming back from New Mexico.”

“Setting up the project?” asked Vess.

“Doing more than that,” said the gruff man. “We’re full-steam ahead now. Oppenheimer’s getting about ten times the staff, and we’ve been struggling to keep the spies out. Easier said than done.”

Vess smirked wryly and said, “I can’t believe you’ve got a Communist working on
the project. I don’t imagine Byrnes is too happy to hear that.”

“He’s the right man for the job. Byrnes will have to bite his tongue and pout for a bit. If Oppenheimer can get the job done, then I’ll be damned if he’s not the one heading it up.” Leslie had a clear New York accent, but his speech was languid and easy, similar to how a southerner spoke, taking time to savor the words. “Unfortunately, the guy’s got Commie friends all over the damn place. There’s a rumor he’s got some teaching buddy who’s been trying to get him to send information over to Stalin about what we’re up to out in the desert. God forbid that ends up being true.” Leslie grunted and shrugged his shoulders. “But we’re not dropping bombs on the Soviets – at least not yet.”

“Give us time,” said Vess, but the other man was clearly uncertain how to respond.

Leslie took a deep breath, his massive chest expanding and testing the soundness of his buttons, and then he expelled his next sentence with plenty of air, “But who am I to judge Oppenheimer? Here I am spilling national secrets in front of a man whose name I haven’t even bothered to ask.”

Vess regarded Lyle and said, “My apologies, let me introduce my new assistant, Lyle Everman. Lyle, this is Major Leslie Groves, he’s the man in charge of our little outing today.”

The Major gripped Lyle’s hand tight, easily swallowing the smaller man’s hand within his own. “Pleasure to meet you.”

Lyle meekly said, “Pleasure’s all mine, sir.”

“Lyle scored higher than any previous applicant on the Cording Exams,” said Vess.

“Glad to hear it,” said Groves. “We’ve been waiting for a man like you.”

Lyle laughed uncomfortably and looked back and forth between the two, taller men. He felt like a child being lauded by a parent and a teacher for something he didn’t quite understand. “Happy to help the war effort any way I can, although I have to admit, I’m not sure what that exam has to do with anything. It was just a bunch of silly questions about my childhood while men in white coats played around with wires and machines.”

“It was important,” said Groves. “You can be sure of that. We’ve been looking for someone like you for quite some time.”

Vess spoke before Lyle had a chance to. “Why’s Einstein leaving? I thought he was going to be observing today’s test.”

“He is,” said Groves. “I’m going to be joining him on a second ship.”

Vess appeared surprised and a little concerned. “A second ship?
I know I said I wanted this room empty of onlookers, but there’s no need to leave the ship.”

“We’ll have a couple tugs out there, just in case,” said Groves. “I’ll be on one of them with Al.”

“Is he concerned about the machine?”

“Concerned isn’t the right word,” said Groves. “I’d say cautious better explains it.”

“Should I be ‘cautious’ as well?” asked Vess.

“Don’t take it too seriously,” said Groves. “I’ve just got to be extra careful about everything these days. For crying out loud, I was told to draft up a letter to Oppenheimer about how he should consider not flying or driving long distances anymore. With as much money as they’re throwing at these projects, we’ve got to be mighty careful with the lives of the men running things.”

“I guess it’s good to know my place then,” said Vess, his sarcasm evident.

“Don’t go being sensitive, Vess,” said the Major as he clopped his mighty hand on the frail man’s shoulder. “You know as well as anyone how hard your brand of, uh, ‘science’ is to get the folks in D.C. to take seriously.”

“That’s comforting,” said Vess, again with thick sarcasm.

Major Groves ignored the frail man’s chagrined response. “Have you been down to see the set-up yet?”

“No, we were waiting for you,” said Vess.

“All right then,” Groves smiled wide. “Your wait’s over. Let’s get moving. We’re burning daylight.”

Branson

Shortly before 3:00 AM

March 13
th
, 2012

Charles Dunbar pulled into a hotel parking lot far later than he’d anticipated. Unfortunately for him, Branson was hosting a music festival this weekend, and several out-of-towners had filled up the majority of local hotels. He’d never had much trouble finding a place to stay in this part of the state before, but on this trip his poor planning skills had finally caught up with him. It took him a couple hours of calling various hotels to finally find one with a vacancy.

“Christ,” he muttered as he started to gather his papers. He was an outside sales rep for a hunting apparel company based out of California, and his regional manager required nightly reports on each salesperson’s activity while on the road. Charles had always turned in his
reports in a timely fashion, but tonight he resolved to wait until morning, hoping that his manager would be reasonable.

As he was gathering his things, a blue Ford Escort pulled into the roundabout outsid
e of the hotel’s entrance. “Goddamn it,” said Charles as he watched the driver of the Escort jump out and rush inside. Charles had already called this hotel to reserve a room, but was annoyed that now he would have to wait in line. He was exhausted, and just wanted to eat a quick snack, jerk off, and go to bed.

Charles got out of his Expedition, clicked his fob to lock it and set the alarm, and then headed for the hotel’s entrance, past the still-running Escort in the roundabout. He casually glanced into the car, curious to spy the contents. What he saw in the backseat shocked Charles enough to cause him to curse and step back.

A thin, skeletal man was lying on the back seat, his arms folded across his chest like a vampire plucked from a coffin. The man’s mouth was open, and his dark red tongue was flicking behind his yellow teeth. His eyes were also open, but there was clear gel smeared over them. The living corpse caught sight of Charles, and he seemed to become agitated or excited. He began to shake, and his tongue flicked faster. Charles walked away briskly, disturbed and frightened by what he’d seen.

As he approached the hotel doors, the owner of the Escort appeared with a hotel staff member beside him. The young staff member was pushing a wheelchair.

“Evening,” said the dirty, unwashed stranger to Charles as they neared one another. “Or morning I guess. Right?”

“Morning,” said Charles as he nodded to the haggard man with the blisters on his lips.

They passed one another, and the automatic doors closed between them. The cool, morning air outside was replaced by the strong scent of floor cleaner. His shoes squeaked on the newly polished floor, and he saw a large waxing machine plugged in and leaning against the wall. Charles paused and spied through the entrance as the hotel staff helped the invalid move from the back seat of the car to the wheelchair.

“Hello, sir,” said the concierge, stealing Charles’ attention away from the door. “Will you be staying with us tonight
?”

“Hopefully,” said Charles as he walked to the counter. “I called about an hour ago to book a room. Name’s Charles Dunbar.”

The young employee searched his computer and found Charles’s name. They started to go through the check-in process and Charles stole glances outside to watch as the other staff member got the helpless, skeletal man into the wheelchair.

“City sure is busy tonight,” said Charles. “I had a hell of a time finding a room.”

“Music festival,” answered the staffer. “We were booked solid, but a bus that was headed out here broke down on the way, which freed up a bunch of rooms.”

“Lucky for me,” said Charles with a grin as he took a mint from a glass dish on the counter. He pulled the cellophane off the red and white candy and then left the wrapper on the counter. The concierge reached over and retrieved the garbage, disposing of it in a bin nearby beside him.

The concierge asked for Charles’s driver’s license, and he complied, sliding the card across the counter as he kept an eye on what was going on outside. Then the man across the counter handed over a pen and card that he asked Charles to fill out.

“Is it okay if I don’t know my license plate?” asked Charles as he reviewed the information he was being asked to provide.

“That’s fine,” said the concierge. “Just leave a description of the car.”

Charles did as he was asked, and shortly after he was given a plastic cardkey. The only rooms available were suites that were located on the side of the building, requiring Charles to walk around the outside of the hotel.

By the time he was done with the concierge, the Ford Escort was gone. Charles could hear the squeak of the wheelchair as it was pushed along somewhere nearby, although he couldn’t see the source.

The entrances to the suites were located along a row that drew a square around an outdoor pool. The pool was still covered with a green tarp for the season. Leaves had collected in the dimpled portions of the tarp, and the shape of the hotel caused the wind to spin them, creating a scratching noise that s
ounded like animals clawing at canvas. Charles pulled his wheeled overnight bag behind him as he made his way around the pool, and then saw that the other man that had arrived late was in the room beside his. It seemed that whoever had rented the rooms before their bus broke down had asked that they be placed together. Charles cursed his luck, and hoped to avoid a conversation with the odd man.

The stranger had his door open, and the staffer that had assisted in bringing the wheelchair over was leaving as Charles approached. The unlaundered man stepped out of his room to say, ‘Thanks’ to the staffer, and then saw Charles entering the room next to him.

“Howdy neighbor,” said the thin, grizzled man as he waved.

Charles smiled and nodded, but offered nothing more than that in an attempt to allay a conversation.

“How come you’re getting in so late?” The stranger took a step towards Charles.

“Long day of working on the road.” Charles dropped the keycard in and pulled it out, but red lights flashed on the electronic lock and the door wouldn’t open.

“Oh yeah?” asked the stranger. “You travel a lot for business?”

“Too much,” said Charles with a smile as he tried to be cordial. He could smell the stranger’s body odor, and wanted to end their pleasantries as quickly as possible. He slipped the card in again and this time was met with a pleasant chirp and a row of green lights signaling that it worked. “There we go. Well, good to meet you. I’m off to bed.”

“Have a good one,” said the stranger as Charles hurried inside.

He closed the door and then flipped the latch to lock it. He muttered, “Weirdo,” as he tossed his overnight bag onto the bed.