Evil Like Me Page 17

  No one looks for a U.S. Attorney General walking down Pennsylvania Avenue alone at night. He looked like anyone else in D.C. attempting to avoid the rain and eager to reach his destination. He pulled his black fedora down tight, almost touching his eyebrows, and he made sure his raised coat collar covered his large ears. The black umbrella completed his disguise. Even if someone got a glimpse of the AG, Baldwin still had no worries. All his life he had a most forgettable face.

  With a growing smile, he trudged forward in the undulating herd feeling a new freedom. He received the final paperwork—it was now official. Evelyn was no longer his lawfully wedded wife. Although the documents arrived at his desk late, the news recharged his batteries—another loose end tied into a tidy knot. After five years of bliss, fifteen of hell, and two of estrangement, the marriage ended with her last act of benevolence—attending the ceremony, his appointment to the post of attorney general. At the time few knew there would be a formal announcement. The president, in so many words, suggested a delay would be in their best interest politically. Evelyn complied—she did not want to jeopardize the generous flow of alimony payments.

  In the pouring rain he walked four long blocks in the huddled masses surrounded by smoking traffic and steaming headlights. Alfred E. Baldwin, the seventh in line to the presidency, turned onto a familiar side street and this time down an unfamiliar alley—a necessary route modification due to past transgressions. His destination lay two blocks ahead, and the alleys provided additional cover, and danger. Holding his Jennings J-22 to his chest, he walked alone in the pounding rain and obscure shadows. If anyone interfered, he would shoot to kill and move on just like he did the week before. Nothing could compromise the mission, not even a two-bit punk looking for an old man’s wallet.

  The Washington Post had a small article on page fourteen—man found dead in alley off Pennsylvania Avenue, single shot in eye, twenty-two caliber, and no witnesses. Baldwin smiled and turned the page. He was all about practical justice.

  Benny Birnbaum was a rotund bald Jew with coke bottle glasses and a genius IQ. He owned the brownstone on paper only. The butterfly collector and Chicago University CPA had worked for Alfred Baldwin since his Harvard Law School days. Benny held the titles to a lot of Baldwin’s real estate and investments for tax purposes. He moved millions to the Caymans each year—government service had been a goldmine. Evelyn’s high priced attorneys would never find most of Baldwin’s assets. Few attorneys would question the ethics or practices of the chief law enforcement officer of the land—his greatest cover. And no one knew Baldwin maintained the brownstone six blocks from the DOJ complex for nefarious reasons.

  “Good evening, Dr. Swenson,” Baldwin said as he closed the door and hung his dripping hat and coat. Brushing sleeves and retucking his shirt, he found the leather chair by the popping fire in the room with soft light. Benny had already poured his glass of Celani Cabernet Sauvignon Ardore 2011—it would be at room temperature.

  Dr. Swenson sat on the arm of the dark leather sofa staring like a monkey on an organ grinder waiting to perform for a peanut. His small head and pencil body in Pee-wee Herman attire was misleading. Swenson possessed rare psychic skills and was a cold-blooded killer.

  “Bad weather, Alfred?” Swenson said sipping his steaming tea with a finger up.

  “The others will be here soon,” Benny said from across the room.

  “Did we confirm Tanner and Proust?” Baldwin asked.

  “Yes. And Benny said the police were here. More questions about the man you shot.”

  Baldwin smelled his Celani. “They’re simply canvassing the neighborhood. I’m sure they don’t suspect anyone here,” he said.

  “Still, it does add a wrinkle. We don’t need attention.” Swenson crossed his legs like a woman. “I suggest you try to refrain from shooting pedestrians for a while.”

  “We have more important matters. The Memphis initiative is getting dicey.” Baldwin waved to Benny passing through to the kitchen. “I worry about the proliferation of targets.”

  “We confirmed. The Memphis dead are all direct descendants. The genetics check out.”

  “Tell me more,” Baldwin said into his wine glass with eyes on the fire already knowing everything Swenson could share. It was how he shared that interested Baldwin most. Would Swenson manipulate the facts to serve some ulterior purpose? Would he leave things out to protect his position?

  “Donald Deckle was not in the first group. The kill on Main was Randle Johnson. Deckle was held captive and terminated in the abandoned Sterick building in downtown Memphis. Keller was seen by Detective Wilcox.”

  “And what do you know about Mr. Keller’s whereabouts?” Baldwin asked.

  “We know he was hiding in Memphis at a used bookstore, Rare Books. It was across the street from the Benton Bank & Trust. They knew Keller was on South Main, but not exactly where. They used Deckle as bait.”

  “They got closer this time. Keller’s cloaking skills are superior to anything we’ve seen.”

  “He’ll make a mistake. We’ll get him in Memphis,” Swenson muttered.

  The door opened and a tall man entered in the mist. Benny helped him out of his coat.

  “Good evening, gentlemen.” The dark figure broke from the shadows into the fire glow. “It is a miserable night out there. I’ve never liked the storms on the east coast—drenching.”

  “Hello Benjamin.” Baldwin watched Dr. Proust take a seat next to Swenson. “I assume your jaunt to the brownstone was uneventful.”

  “Don’t worry Alfred. I was not followed, my friend.”

  His Choctaw heritage lived in his flat cheeks, strong jaw, and chiseled nose. Proust, seventy, was still the rugged western man with dark, leathery skin, thick, white eyebrows and long, white hair. The Okmulgee County Medical Examiner looked more like a retired professional athlete than a forensic pathologist.

  Proust had handled the Henryetta homicides on Dewar and the Keller deaths in Stringtown. Only three in the government ever knew about his secret assignment in Oklahoma—to monitor Elda Middleton, Ruby Tantabaum, and the Keller family.

  “Where’s Richard?” Proust asked as he lit a small cigar and lifted a glass of vodka from Benny’s silver tray.

  “In route,” Swenson said. “Plane’s on time. He’s caught in traffic from Dulles.”

  “It’s been a while,” Baldwin said. “We haven’t talked about it much. You had Major Cankor and Hunter Keller in your zone, Benjamin. Another lost opportunity.”

  Proust blew a cloud into the conversation. “The Major knew I was out of the state. I assure you it was the only reason he made a move. Somehow he found Keller at Middleton’s place. We had no idea—the kid can block like no other.” He said under his breath, “I still don’t know how Cankor found him.”

  Baldwin stared at the fire. “It is very disturbing about Middleton and Tantabaum.”

  “We lost Alma and Arnold Keller on your watch too,” Swenson attacked. “Seems a lot bad happens in your state.”

  Proust aimed his sneer at the skinny suit next to him. “I’m not responsible for the Kellers. If you recall, it started then. And I don’t like your accusatory tone, doctor.”

  “This kind of talk’s not helpful,” Baldwin said. “Benjamin’s right, we were ill prepared when the Kellers were eliminated.” The front door opened. “Richard. You made it.”

  He joined the three by the fire and waved-off Benny’s tray of alcoholic beverages. “We have problems gentlemen.” He chose the only open chair. It was next to Alfred. “The Memphis medical examiner—Dr. Victoria Petty—is making enormous progress. I’ve tried to contain her, but she and a homicide detective, Tony Wilcox, are getting close. They’ve met Hunter Keller, and I believe Major Cankor has visited Dr. Petty at the Shelby County morgue.”

  Swenson straightened his posture on the arm of the sofa. “I did not like her. I felt from the start she allowed us in her morgue to watch more than to cooperate with the government. She dragged-out the Pell
a exhumation to have more time to study us. I should have dug him up myself and got what we needed.”

  “I agree with Dr. Swenson. We should have handled Memphis differently,” Tanner said.

  “You can’t crack open a skull and dissect a brain in a cemetery,” Proust rebuked.

  “You can get a head and drop it in a backpack. I could remove the amygdala in my hotel room and put it in the mail that night,” Swenson crowed. “It would be in D.C. and verified before Elmwood Cemetery found the hole.”

  “I agree. There was a better way,” Tanner said. “We revealed too much in the Memphis operation. And we gave Green and Blanchard too much time to transfer information.”

  Baldwin held up his hand. “Both of you stop, please. Second-guessing operations is not helpful. Dr. Green and Dr. Blanchard are no longer a problem. We go forward from here.”

  “Well, Dr. Swenson left a mess in Memphis,” Tanner said. “We are exposed.”

  “Richard B. Tanner, the great Vanderbilt geneticist,” Swenson sneered, “If you had refrained from telling Petty about the DNA—or lack thereof—on Alfred’s letter, we would not be under a microscope. You destroyed our plan when you casted doubt over the Bethesda team. Your hipshot took away our opportunity to personally validate Randle Johnson, Donald Deckle, and Roger Tinsley. Sometimes I believe you are working for the other side.”

  “Gentlemen please,” Baldwin bellowed. “Let us agree Memphis is a pressure cooker, the center of the storm currently. We knew this day was coming.”

  “Escalation of exterminations on the horrific road to world domination,” Proust orated.

  “I thought we had a plan. I thought this could be controlled,” Tanner said.

  “The enemy is very much alive, and very much underground like us. If they take control of psychic-weaponry the global balance of power will shift. The world as we know it will change.”

  “What about Hunter Keller?” Proust asked.

  “Nobody can touch him,” Swenson said.

  “He’s learning his capabilities,” Baldwin muttered. “We must find him soon. There’s little time.”

  “He’s too dangerous,” Tanner fumed. “As I have always said, Keller must be destroyed.”

  “Too important to destroy. He must be controlled,” Baldwin said.

  Tanner held his cold hands at the fire. “He’s a killing machine. He’ll never be controlled. We learn from him and then eliminate him. That is the best plan.”

  “Major Cankor is getting close now,” Baldwin whispered over his glass. “Top secret senate sub-committee meetings are infiltrated by RVs. They don’t know it is happening. I do.”

  “We should have dealt with Cankor a long time ago,” Proust said. “I knew the day I met the man he would be a problem. He has always been strange, a loner with mental problems.”

  “I didn’t trust Cankor either,” Baldwin said. “But we were young and inexperienced at the time. We didn’t understand the magnitude of the threat.”

  “I may not be a remote viewer like you three,” Tanner said. “But I’m smart enough to see a future where these dangerous psychic powers are genetically reproduced and perpetuated.”

  “The creation of an army of lethal psychics is going to happen. We know it must be controlled,” Proust said. “War will be different. Civilizations will drop where they stand.”

  “Tell us something new, Tanner,” Swenson scoffed.

  “Memphis is in our way,” Tanner said. “I continue to recommend the immediate elimination of all uncontrolled variables.”

  “Be more specific,” Baldwin said setting down his glass.

  “It is time to do something about Dr. Petty and the Memphis homicide detective.”

  “Do what?” Baldwin asked already knowing the answer.

  “We terminate Dr. Petty and Detective Wilcox immediately,” Tanner said.

  “Preposterous,” Proust said. “You can’t justify the termination of a medical examiner and homicide detective. That action does not reduce variables, it creates more.”

  “If we don’t do as I say, we are all exposed. This mission fails. Our country is at great risk. We cannot lose any more time. We must find and stop Hunter Keller.”

  “On the contrary,” Swenson said. “If we do as you propose; we are assured of losing Hunter Keller. Major Cankor has the advantage here. Terminating the collaterals only attracts attention and ties us up more.”

  Baldwin downed his last inch of wine. “I met with Dr. Petty yesterday.”

  “This is the first time I’m hearing about this,” Tanner said with poorly managed irritation.

  “She came to D.C. to talk to me about the Stargate Project, the Bethesda visitors, recent deaths, and Hunter Keller. I agree with Dr. Tanner on one account, they are making progress.”

  “Did you tell her anything?” Swenson asked.

  “I felt compelled to give her some information. I told her about Willingham and Dryden.”

  “Are you out of your mind,” Tanner grumbled.

  “I wanted to gain her trust, Richard. She can help, if we bring her closer.”

  “As planned, on my first visit I told Dr. Petty about death by telepathic manipulation of the amygdala.” Swenson said. “She did not buy it. The concept was a stretch in spite of histology.”

  “The psychic-weaponry we are dealing with is too bizarre for anyone to accept,” Baldwin said. “That fact alone buys us time. The medical examiners we’ve engaged are all alike. They hear us but are looking for practical explanations. They are pragmatic.”

  “We need the help of more medical examiners,” Proust said.

  “That has always been a terrible idea,” Tanner seethed. “We need the opposite. We must eliminate Dr. Petty and Detective Wilcox before they get too close.”

  “We need help finding Hunter Keller before Major Cankor. I’ve prepared her for a demon,” Swenson argued. “They are our boots on the ground chasing a hideous serial killer.”

  “We all agreed that approach had merit,” Proust said.

  Tanner’s brows dipped. “It’s always been a bad idea, now more than ever. Alfred, I think you’ve lost your grasp of the total situation facing us.”

  Baldwin waved at Benny with an empty glass. “Gentlemen, we are not terminating Dr. Petty or Detective Wilcox. Enough talk on the matter.”

  Tanner sat up and took a deep breath. “Does she know about the Rejdak Project?”

  “Yes. But she cannot access proprietary files,” Swenson said.

  Baldwin set down his empty glass. “Don’t worry Richard. She can’t see your genetic research. She will never know your involvement.”

  “Still, the declassified Stargate Project files give way too much information. Dr. Petty can access a lot on line. She is very bright and capable of sifting through the data to figure this out. When she does, we are all exposed. We are all ruined. This program fails.”

  “The information you are worried about has been out there for more than a decade,” Swenson said.

  “The world knows the government contracted clairvoyants in the ’70s,” Proust said.

  “Petty and Wilcox have put it together. They know remote viewers and descendants are being systematically terminated,” Tanner argued. “It’s a matter of time.”

  “And they believe the federal government shares their concern,” Proust said.

  Swenson shook his head. “Dr. Tanner, I’m beginning to question your true interests in this matter.” Baldwin looked into the fire and Proust dropped his head. The three knew what was going to happen next.

  “This is why we have soldiers and generals,” Baldwin said. “I’m the general. You’re a soldier, Dr. Tanner. I have decided it is time we enlist the aid of others to find Keller and Cankor. Our mission is impossible for rational minds to comprehend. That is our veil. If Cankor and his minions find Keller first, we lose.”

  “This is an unacceptable direction,” Tanner said. “I am no soldier. I am an officer in this battle who needs to be heard. I do no
t request, I insist on the termination of Dr. Petty and Detective Wilcox, and Detective Baily. If this is not our course, I must exit this mission.”

  Swenson and Proust turned from the fire and looked into Baldwin’s empty eyes. The three knew all of Tanner’s secrets. He should have been smarter.

  “Well then, gentlemen,” Proust said. “It appears you two need some private time. And it is a perfect opportunity for me to pay a visit to the restroom.” He stood nudging Swenson off the arm of the leather sofa.

  “Yes. Privacy. And I will refresh my tepid tea.” Swenson slid the rest of the way off the arm and went into the kitchen. Benny closed the French doors behind.

  Tanner leaned close and whispered. “I cannot live with your decision, Alfred. Mine is the right action. The terminations will give us the precious time needed. Our exposure by outsiders can only lead to failure.”

  “Or more boots on the ground can lead to success, Richard. Can’t you see that?”

  “I’m no psychic, Alfred. I do not see the future.”

  “But I think you see ‘a’ future.” Baldwin slid his hand in his coat as if to retrieve a release form or checkbook. “But it’s not a shared future, Richard.”

  “I just want out, Alfred.”

  “И вы должны получить выход, г-н Председатель,” Baldwin whispered.

  Tanner’s eyes widened as he translated the Russian words—and you should get out, sir.

  The muffled pop stayed in the room by the fire. Like a single firecracker going off in a small box, Alfred Baldwin derived yet another benefit from his Jennings J-22. Benny would clean up the mess as always.

  Twenty-Four

  “Everyone has his day and some days last longer than others.”

  Churchill