Washington DC, Washington, J. Edgar Hoover Building, 2019
Deputy Director Stanley Marsh slammed the phone down on Agent Williams, making his young secretary, Lauren, jump with fright just as she stepped through the doorway.
"God dammit!" Stanley moaned, not at all pleased with the latest developments in the chase.
Truthfully, as much as he threatened to take Williams off the case, Stanley knew he could never do that. The fewer people with knowledge of the details of past events in Oakdale the better. Williams was too busy trying to catch the two fugitives to spend time examining too deeply the events that day back in 2008.
At least that was what Stanley banked on.
He never imaged this would turn into another chase. This was the worst outcome! The longer those two men were out there with the FBI on their heels, the more chance there was for the truth to emerge.
Stanley also wondered how long Senator Marsden could possibly keep the whole nasty business from the press. There already was much speculation about what had taken place in a hospital in Wisconsin.
"What is it Lauren?" he asked, when his secretary remained silent in the doorway.
"There's a call for you on Line Two. Some guy from Information Systems. I tried to get him to speak to me. But he insists that the message he's received is for your ears only."
"Fine." Stanley conceded. "What's his name?"
"Gordon Jones, Sir. Line 2."
He waited for her to leave and pressed the button on his phone. "Hello Mr. Jones. What can I do for you?"
"T…thank you for s…speaking with me directly, Sir."
Stanley rolled his eyes. Even over the phone he could tell this was some skinny-assed, pimple-faced computer geek.
Probably still lives with his mother and spends his evenings playing 'World of Warcraft'.
"What do you need from me?" Stanley officiously asked him, hoping that would speed up the conversation.
"W…well, thing is, Sir. I work down in Information Systems? Actually, I'm assistant supervisor… but… I should be supervisor soon…"
Oh good God!
"Yes I know who you are, Mr. Jones. I'm in the middle of an extremely busy case at the moment. So... could you hurry this up?"
"Yes, Sir! Um… today an alarm flagged up on my computer? Somebody accessed an archived group of files which were once under your surveillance."
"A group of files?" Stanley asked, suddenly very interested.
"Yes, Sir. The files are marked Top Secret. You and a Col. Winston Mayer are shown as the owners. The alarm on the file said to notify you personally of any attempt to gain access. I'm not sure it's important, since it was accessed by an FBI source. But I thought you'd want to know… considering the note on file."
The Branson files!
"Do you know who accessed it?" Stanley waited with baited breath.
"Yes, Sir. That's the other odd thing."
"Odd how?"
"This person has FBI clearance on the information, however he's listed as civilian andinactive. How is that possible?"
"Name?" Stanley demanded with frustration.
"It's a Dr. Christopher Hughes, Sir."
Stanley didn't wait to say goodbye, he disconnected the call and immediately rang for his assistant.
"Sir?" she asked.
"Lauren, as quick as possible, I need you to find the home telephone number for a Dr. Christopher Hughes. Check the hospitals around Oakdale, Illinois first."
"No need, Sir." She replied, "I've just typed his name into the system and it's brought up his history."
"Thata girl!" Stanley grinned. At least there was one person on his staff he could always rely on. "Patch me right through will you?"
The dial tone was deep and long and seemed to go on forever. Finally he heard somebody pick up.
"Hello Hughes rest-ti-dent, Jacob Snyder speaking." It was the voice of a young boy.
Great!
"Good day, young man, is your mommy or daddy home?"
"Mommy can't come to the phone right now." It was the typical scripted response.
"What about your daddy?"
"Na-a." The boy simply replied. "Daddy is in Whist-con-son-in-nin."
Stanley felt sick. A feeling that didn't happen to him all that often.
"Wisconsin?" he clarified.
"Yeah!" The small voice replied in triumph. "What you said!"
He heard a woman's voice in the background, "Jacob, Baby, who's that on the phone?"
"I donno!" The boy yelled back.
Stanley heard a set of women's heels approaching. But he didn't wait for her to reach her child and the phone. He quickly hung up and grabbed his cell.
This isn't good. This can only mean one thing.
Snyder and Mayer were preparing to fight back. And they had help.
On the other end of the phone, Adrian Williams began to speak before Marsh even got a word in, "Agent Marsh! I was just about to contact you, Sir. We think we know how they snuck out of the hospital. And we think we know where they might have been today."
"Don't worry about that!" Stanley snapped back, "I know where they're headed!"
…
Marshfield, Wisconsin, Friendly Valley Chicken Farm, 2019
The poultry farm was owned by Mario Alfredo Calabria, distant uncle to none other than Damian Grimaldi.
Officially, there existed no link between the poultry farm and Grimaldi Shipping Lines.
But unofficially, the FBI gained enough evidence from flight records to know it was frequented by numerous GSL board members, including Damian himself.
After interviewing a few office workers, Adrian was able to ascertain that this certainly was the place the fugitives had visited before their run-in with the police blockade a few miles south. The farm manager informed them that the boardroom hadbeen booked for a meeting that day. But he was not given the names of any of the attendees. Evidentially, this was the norm.
All the manager could tell them was that the two men and the young boy met with a brown-haired man he described as handsome and well built, possibly in his late 30s.
When Marsh called and ordered them to hightail it to the army base outside Branson, Missouri, Adrian was curious as to how Marsh had come by this information. But he wasn't willing to push his luck by asking.
"Why would they go there?" Blithe mused.
"Good question," Adrian agreed. "But we won't find any answers hanging around in chicken shit! Let's get going!"
"What about the kid?"
"He's 12. Some cop will pick him up soon or later."
…
Wisconsin Rapids, Wisconsin, Greyhound Bus Depot, 2019
Leo shivered all over even though the depot's neon temperature gauge read 110. He was pretty sure this couldn't be a good thing.
He was in pain, too - a lot of pain! More than that time when he was seven and he cracked a bone sliding into home plate.
He knew whatever pain medication Dr. Bush gave him was quickly wearing off. The wound in his side throbbed and burned like it was on fire. Maybe leaving the hospital was a mistake.
But when he told his dads he was okay with being taken into care, he'd been a lot braver than he was when two women from Child Protection Services actually arrived to interview him.
That made the situation all so real.
His dads were gone. He was alone. These were strangers to him. And according to them, he'd be placed in temporary foster care. It all seemed so organized and clean-cut. But most of all, cold and unloving.
The only good thing they did was bring him a fresh change of clothes.
He refused to talk to them. They left without Leo having uttered a single word and promised to be back in the morning. They told him that everything would be okay; that he would be well taken care of. But it was like they were terrible actors, reading out loud from a prepared script.
Leo didn't believe them. He fled the moment he got the chance.
Now he sat at the bus depot, holding his raw side with one hand and his bus ticket with the other; trying not to appear as suspicious as he knew he must look. He'd already hidden from two uniformed cops patrolling the station.
He prayed this meant his fathers had managed to escape the hospital. He knew they'd had to run. But they'd eluded the law for years. They were good at it. He felt sure they would get to Branson as planned.
While hungrily chewing on an energy bar, he kept eyeing the ticket office as well as the streets. The clerk had studied him suspiciously when he purchased his ticket.
"No luggage, Son?" he'd asked.
Leo shrugged. "I have clothes where I'm going."
The clerk narrowed his eyes but produced the ticket as requested.
Whatever happened now, Leo had to be brave. He had to stand on his own two feet. Grow up. He had to do that for the only two people he loved in his life.