CHAPTER 12
Albany, NY
The pastor at Tom’s church had arranged for almost the entire congregation to speak with Jake. They had all said essentially the same thing: Tom was a good man and he wouldn’t have just left. The last person he had spoken with was Cleo Banks.
Cleo had stood in front of Jake clutching a handful of tissues, her striking pale green eyes streaked red from crying. She struggled to hold back her tears.
“We met just after he got out. He was, I guess you could say, haunted. He didn’t seem to know where he fit, or who he was. Even then, though, you could see his commitment to make something of himself. He was – is – a good man, Jake.” She stared into Jake’s eyes, daring him to contradict her.
Jake nodded, deeply touched that Tom had such a woman standing behind him.
His nod seemed to take some of the fight out of her and her shoulders slumped. She continued in a more wistful tone. “We met in the choir. I noticed him right away, but I didn’t think he noticed me.”
Jake doubted that. A man would have to be blind not to notice Cleo. Cleo was stunning. Her unusual eyes contrasted exotically with her dark skin, and even with her charcoal grey conservative skirt and lavender sweater, her shapely body was evident. A man would have to be blind not to notice Cleo.
“He didn’t even ask me for a date until after he’d walked me home for a week. He was a perfect gentleman. It was as if he was trying to make everything perfect.” Cleo paused, trying to hold back her tears. “He wouldn’t have just left, Jake. I know he wouldn’t.”
He spoke with Cleo for a few more minutes about their routine - where they had gone, who they had spoken with. But then Jake was out of questions.
Cleo stood up to leave. “Tom told me about you. He said you were a good man who’d made something of his life, after a childhood of pain. He was working towards being as good a man one day.” She grabbed his hand. “Find him, Jake. Please find him.”
Jake watched her leave, his thoughts heavy. He’d hoped that Tom had just run off. Then he’d just have to track him down, talk some sense into him, and bring him back. He knew now that wasn’t what had happened. Tom hadn’t left on his own. But unfortunately, none of Tom’s friends had been able to offer any clues as to where he might have gone.
Walking out of the church, he debated his next move. He stared at a beat-up Buick driving slowly down the street, leaving a trail of black smoke in its wake. That’s what he needed: a clear trail to follow. He sighed, pulling out his cell.
“Any luck?” Henry Chandler, Jake’s friend and boss, asked as soon as he answered.
“No. No leads, no possibilities. I’m at a dead end. Did you guys come up with anything?”
When Jake had explained about Tom going missing, Henry had laid all the resources of the Chandler Group at his feet. As a global think tank reputed to have the top analysts in multiple fields, Jake was extremely thankful for the help.
“Not sure.” Henry replied. “It’s probably a long shot but-”
“Henry, right now a long shot seems to be the only shot I’ve got.”
“Well, I put Danny on the case.”
Jake smiled at the mention of Chandler’s youngest and most brilliant analyst. He’d joined the group two years ago at the ripe old age of twelve. Danny Wartowski was an immeasurable genius: his IQ was so high, no standardized test could accurately capture it.
Jake knew that if Danny was the one who came up with the lead, there would be nothing long about it.
“Danny did his usual wizardry and found that New York state has a higher number of parolees going missing than the surrounding states. Coincidentally, they all seem to go missing in the first week of the month. It’s been going on for about a year. And none of the missing men have shown back up - not in hospitals, morgues, or anywhere. They’ve all disappeared.”
Jake didn’t like the sound of that. “What does Danny think is going on?”
“He wasn’t sure, initially. He ran more and more data, pulling together the links. He found that at the beginning of each month, a political group called AFP has been chartering a cargo plane out of New York. He couldn’t trace where they went. They’ve been filing false flight plans.”
“Wouldn’t they be able to track the plane through air traffic control?”
“Generally, yes. But they always leave through one of the bigger hubs, meaning they could fly using visual flight rules and they’d just get lost in all of the air traffic. You’d need a really diligent controller for them to notice.”
Jake closed his eyes in frustration. “Great. What about this group, AFP? Who are they?”
“Americans for Progress. They’re a political action group that supports extremely conservative policies and political candidates. Their members are pretty high profile: U.S. senators, agency heads, law enforcement officials, as well as wealthy citizens. They’re very powerful, although they tend to keep their activities out of the public eye. The president of AFP is Jackson Stewart. But he’s really more of a figurehead. The real power of AFP lies with Senator Robert Kensington from Montana.”
“Okay, but–”
“Hold on, not done yet. Danny also found out AFP has been sponsoring the research of a Dr. Arthur Priddle.”
Jake tried to reign in his frustration. “A medical doctor?”
“That’s just the thing. He’s not a medical doctor. He’s an archaeologist. And he’s also disappeared. He handed in his notice to the University of Saint Paul yesterday unexpectedly and there’s no trace of where he went. And here’s where it gets more interesting: Dr. Priddle’s research partner, Dr. Drew Masters, committed suicide yesterday. Spider senses tingling yet?”
“A little,” Jake admitted. “So if I’ve got this straight, AFP is arranging for undocumented flights at times that coincide with ex-cons going missing, and is also sponsoring this archaeologist who’s disappeared and whose partner just killed himself. That right?”
“You got it.”
“So I guess I'm heading to Saint Paul.”
“Actually, Danny thinks you should head to Syracuse.”
Jake frowned. “Syracuse? What’s the Syracuse connection?”
“Apparently, Dr. Masters sent an email to a criminologist, a Dr. Delaney McPhearson, shortly before he died. The email was then rescinded, a few hours after Dr. Masters was killed.”
Jake raised an eyebrow. “And dead guys tend not to do that. Now my spidey senses are really tingling.”
“Good.” Jake could hear the smile in Henry’s voice. “But I think you should get to Dr. McPhearson quickly.”
“Why?”
“She was attacked in her home this morning. And Jake, it was an unusual attack.
“Unusual? How?”
“Apparently Dr. McPhearson is quite a fighter. She shot the assailant twice and stabbed him once. And each time he took a hit, the guy seemed to pop back up like a jack-in-the-box. Sound familiar?”
Jake went still. “Yeah. It does. And it means I need to find Dr. McPhearson as fast as possible.”