With his hands cupped over his nose and mouth, Trevor managed to open his eyes enough to see through the dust cloud and find his way back to the Suburban.
Inside, “What was that all about?” he hollered at Desmond.
“They aren’t allowed to make unnecessary contact. If we didn’t approach them, they’d stick to us like flies on the cow dung out here. As it stands, you called their bluff, and won the first hand.”
Blake continued along the dirt road, furthering their advancement toward the perimeter. At the end of thirteen dusty miles, he pulled off the road and parked. They were at the base of the Groom Mountains, a quarter mile from the perimeter. Further up, the road wound through a pass in the foothills to a guard station on military property, then continued into Groom Valley, and the heart of the base.
Desmond passed out canteens and binoculars.
“Is the Suburban going to be okay?” Blake asked.
“BLM land is public domain. Anyone has the right to walk, drive or camp on this land for up to fourteen days at a time. That’s not to say the guards would let you enjoy yourself for fourteen days. A few hours is tough enough. But they don’t mess with the vehicles. They want you to drive away in them.” With that said, Desmond began the trek that would show Blake and Trevor America’s bureaucratically invisible military installation.
CHAPTER 29
When Professor Eldred fled his house, he left under the assumption that he was being followed. Maybe not by some goon lurking in the shadows, but by technology. They could track him electronically, monitoring his credit card and bank account transactions, and with homing devices on his vehicle if they wanted their classified documents back badly enough. After driving his car to the airport and leaving it in a long-term parking garage, he taxied to an old motel in Westwood Village that didn’t require a credit card and he paid cash for the night. His irreverence for the illicit elements within the federal government grew ever stronger. His dilemma now was wondering whom to trust. Could he trust the FBI man, Grason Kendricks, or was Operation Patriot some sophisticated ruse to get closer to his work and the materials he possessed?
He figured dumping his car at the airport would buy him a few days while the government spooks tried to ascertain his whereabouts. Ultimately he decided that since he had the documents, and was aware he was being watched in some capacity, he also had the advantage. And he would use it to test Grason’s sincerity.
The professor arranged for Grason to sweep his house for bugs. He also told him the documents were safe, and still hidden at the house. If someone again tampered with his special filing cabinet, he would know that Grason and Operation Patriot were no better than the unconstitutional demons in his past.
Refusing to disclose his temporary hotel accommodations, the professor suggested that Grason meet him at Holmby Park, near Westwood, where there was a small pitch-and-put golf course that required little more than a putter off the tees.
At night, imposing eucalyptus trees prohibited streetlights from illuminating the center fairways, so the professor meandered through the dark until he found the fifteenth tee where he seated himself on a splintering bench that begged for fresh paint. The solitude of his location scared him as he strained to see in the dark, into and beyond the shadows.
Ten minutes passed before someone shouted a whisper, “Professor.”
He couldn’t see who called, but replied in the same hushed tone, “Yes.” A man’s silhouette appeared from the trees. “Grason?” he asked, hoping and praying it wasn’t somebody else.
“I’m sorry to keep you waiting,” Grason said. As he approached, a concerned look on his face grew ever more apparent. “Is there anything in your lab besides the anti-gravity documents that someone might be interested in?”
“Nothing I can think of.”
“I don’t understand how I’m already facing a security breach,” Grason said. “I’ve barely started you in this operation.”
“Some of the FOIA documents don’t have a declassified stamp. I’m assuming it was a mistake. Maybe someone realized this and came looking for them.”
With raised eyebrows and a hopeful grin, Grason asked, “Anything relevant or incriminating?”
“Nothing we’re sure of yet. Looking at them is like grabbing a handful of pieces from a jigsaw puzzle and trying to figure out what the entire picture looks like.”
“You’re confident the docs are safe?”
“As long as your team hasn’t disturbed them.”
“I can assure you of that.”
“Then you passed my test.”
Perturbed, Grason wondered, “This scenario has been a test?”
“Oh, no. Some scoundrel broke into my house. I just wasn’t sure if that scoundrel was you.”
Grason tried seeing the professor’s point of view. Given the man’s past, his disdain for a system that had ostracized him, he could appreciate his skepticism. If this is what it took to prove himself and Operation Patriot, then so be it. “If I was interested in spying on you, I would tell you your house is safe. Unfortunately I can’t do that. What concerns me more is that we found two types of listening devices in your home.”
“What do you mean, two types?”
“There were a series of voice activated FM transmitters hidden in your power outlets. Devices someone could buy through mail order catalogs. But there were also more sophisticated devices. A hard-to-come-by brand.”
“Why use two devices?”
“Making an educated guess, I’d say more than one person or group is interested in you. And since the FM transmitters are so amateurish I have to wonder if maybe someone you know might have installed them. Maybe Blake?”
Irritated, “Grason, I trust Blake more than I trust you.”
“Don’t get upset. I’m considering every possibility.”
“So am I.”
“Well I left the bugs in place for the time being.”
“I can’t work like that.”
“We can use them to our advantage. Maybe even find out who put them there.”
“Isn’t that putting us in further jeopardy?”
“We’ve already reached that point. I’m trying to resolve the problem now. That also means putting our arrangement on hold until we know the situation is under control.”
“Great. You bring me in. Get me in hot water. Then leave me to fend for myself.”
“I’m not abandoning you. I just can’t forward you information until I know it’s safe.”
“I’ll still expect payment as we arranged. Blake committed to this project and I can’t leave him in the cold.”
“What has Blake been doing so far?”
“Research, as we discussed. He’s not the problem. In fact, he’s not even in town.”
“If it’s not Blake, then we have two problems to uncover.”
The professor agreed to leave the bugs in place, but didn’t promise to stay at the house, and Grason vowed to remain in close, but guarded, contact. Grason served as the singular link between the professor and Operation Patriot, and didn’t want to lead anyone further up the ladder. What Grason didn’t realize is that by meeting the professor, even after walking the park to make sure they were alone, he exposed himself to watchful eyes. Besides installing listening devices throughout the professor’s house, the Aquarius agents had inserted paper-thin tracking devices under the cushioned inserts of each right shoe in his closet. The motion-activated devices prevented the professor from ever giving Damien Owens’ Aquarius agents the slip.