Balancer (8 page)

Conspiracy Theorists

F
rom his passenger
seat, Agent Carter watched the now familiar tree-lined landscape and then the looming bridge of Flour Mill Run edge into view.

He was getting frustrated, and it was showing. It had been a full week since the animal death anomalies, and he and Bishop were no closer to determining the cause. The toxicology reports had ruled out any chemicals or pathogens in the woods or entering the water, and, as Bishop had suspected, the U.S. Geological Survey and the Fish and Wildlife Service couldn’t find any sign of disease either — too many different types of fish and animal life had been killed at once. With every crime lab or toxicology report that returned inconclusive, the possibilities narrowed in some areas and widened in others.

Carter gave a cursory wave at the officer on guard who knew not to stop the agents. Bishop had his head buried in his tablet, scrutinizing the new lab reports of the charred animal carcasses from the Lake Fairfax wildfire.

Carter had been right to reorder lab results. It seemed the first-response agents had been looking for the wrong thing — or at least had been focusing too narrowly.

Hours after sending the carcasses over to a particular forensic pathologist they knew at the Fish and Wildlife Service, Carter and Bishop had received a baffled phone call. The concerned pathologist reported that the animals had indeed been burned as the photos had initially suggested, but they hadn’t perished from external heat. They’d burned from the
inside out
.

The closest thing either agent knew of that could cause this would be some form of microwave, and their subsequent investigation into radioactivity in the area had drawn a blank. Spontaneous combustion theories — traditionally discredited by the FBI — had been considered.

The car purred into the investigation area and came to a standstill. Carter noticed that the police officers guarding the area seemed weary — understandable after standing around for days watching over a dwindling pile of rotting fish.

The site had been photographed and documented from every conceivable angle, and each specimen of fish had been collected and tested. The diggers had spent 24 hours solid scooping up the great mounds of decaying fish and animal matter, and now the final cleanup operation had begun.

Carter knew the inevitable wild theories were circulating on the Internet about government tests and the radio waves from them destroying wildlife, but he had also been assured that those types of tests weren’t currently operating nearby. UFOs and Armageddon — the other two favorites of the conspiracy theorists — he couldn’t rule out yet.

What Carter did know was that something extraordinary had occurred. He and his partner exited their car and stood before the placid river once more.

Although the lab’s water report had shown no toxins and normal oxygen levels, it appeared that a mass suffocation of all animal life in the water had occurred. And like the wildfire carcasses, the fish had somehow burned themselves from the inside out.

As the agents stood gazing across the water, Bishop exhaled loudly. Both men had spent some very long days and nights puzzling over this mystery, which had been complicated by pressure from the Senate security office. It wanted reassurance that Senator Jennings wasn’t the target of any hostile plot, rogue group or mentally disturbed individual.

“Anything new?” Carter indicated to Bishop’s tablet.

“No. No notes or threats or people claiming responsibility. No established natural or human anomalies. The seasonal temperature was normal, so the fish didn’t get too hot or too cold. No disease, no toxins, no bad rain.” Bishop thought about it. “Essentially, we are dealing with something that internally combusts stuff. Small stuff, granted. But stuff nevertheless.”

“Weaponize that, you got yourself some power.”

“You know, DARPA isn’t far from here …”

Carter nodded. The Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency was known for its development of classified military weapons.

“I read a paper on a system being tested for nonlethal crowd control defenses. Made you feel like your skin was burning, which should cause crowds to disperse. But it was also capable of becoming lethal with just some minor modifications.”

“We should send somebody there. Maybe a rogue scientist … or an unsanctioned test that has gotten out of control?”

They heard the crunching of footsteps behind them, which abruptly stopped the conversation.

They turned to find Officer Gillespie.

“You gentlemen any closer to solving it?” Officer Gillespie stared at them patiently. His question was in earnest.

Bishop gave a quick glance to Carter, who chuckled. “Well, Officer, the wildfire looks like it was caused by a camping accident. We’re fairly confident of that. That type of thing happens all the time. But we’re continuing to do analyses on the animal deaths. It’s a needle in a haystack now,” Carter said.

“Well, when you run out of things to test, maybe it’s time you think about finishing up around these parts?” The officer indicated to the forensics. “I got about a dozen families wanting to know if they can come camp while the weather’s still fine.”

“We can bring the barriers down in about a day or two,” Carter explained. There was no need to keep the park closed much longer.

The officer nodded. “Oh, and I got a lady over there. Says she has an appointment with you for an interview?”

Sure enough, Lynn Meyers was standing on the other side of the barrier, in front of an impatient group of TV and newspaper reporters. The media interest in the mystery was certainly intensifying.

As in all situations like this, Bishop turned to Carter, who understood what he had to do. He strode up to the group, and the closer he got, the louder the questions became. The reporters seemed like a gaggle of geese, each goose trying to out-screech the other.

Carter sighed inwardly before waving them down.

“First question, Ms. Meyers?”

Lynn nodded. “Special Agent Carter, you’ve been investigating this site for a week now, and WBN understands you’re about to leave. Can you tell us if you know any more about what happened here?”

“As a matter of fact, Lynn, I can confirm that we’re satisfied in our investigations of this area. The wildfire appears to have been caused by a campfire that was started outside of the designated campgrounds and without usage of a proper campfire ring. We have no suspects at this time, but we believe the devastation was unintentional.”

The clamor rose again, and as previously agreed upon with Lynn, she was given the second question too.

“Thank you, Agent. That explains the wildfire. But what can you tell us about the strange animal deaths at Lake Fairfax and here?”

Carter’s face was indecipherable. “As you know, Lynn, we’re looking into several possibilities. We do believe the wildfire and the animal deaths are two coincidental, unrelated events, and we are treating them as two separate investigations. And we’ve recently followed up on an important new lead, which, as you can appreciate, must remain confidential for the time being. But our recent tests have not detected any contaminants of any kind, so we no longer believe there is any cause for concern over the public’s health. Starting today, we’re lifting the water recreation advisory for the surrounding area.”

It was a bluff, and Carter knew from the look on Bishop’s face that it hadn’t come off quite as he’d intended. The press weren’t too thrilled with the lack of detail either, and as Carter thanked them and turned away, he caught a few disgruntled expressions and some looks of — what was it? — derision.

Bishop, however, knew better than to point out any of that to Carter, and he let the silence speak for itself. He tended to regard the media as an unnecessary evil, one that usually hampered investigations or sent the perpetrators advance clues, and so his attitude toward reporters was gruff at best.

What Carter had done was thrown them off the scent, but he’d also given them some actual breaking news in the cause of the wildfire and the lifting of the water recreation ban. It would be good enough for now, but time was running out.

Every person in the campground wildfire had a file with the FBI, even the Jennings family. Two people in particular stood out to Carter — the “Reston Superhero” and her sidekick — but his quick review of Nicole and Amy hadn’t sounded any alarms. The girls didn’t fit the profile of a terrorist or an anarchist.

“Take a look at this.” Agent Carter brought up
AmesAndNix.com
and started one of the girls’ more recent postings. Bishop watched as Amy appeared and whispered
“…
I’m going to put my personal safety at risk just to show you what a sleeping superhero looks like. Let’s see if she exhibits any of her superpowers this morning…
”
Agent Bishop formed a small grin and struggled to withhold a laugh while watching the show unfold. Carter was not amused and stared in poorly concealed disgust as his partner enjoyed the video.

“Come on. Really? I don’t think these girls have anything to do with this,” Bishop said. “They’re just goofy kids. Look at them. The only tragedy taking place here is the one girl filming her friend without makeup.”

Carter snapped Bishop back to reality. “One just went on national TV to talk about the wildfire and how she rescued a child. These girls were central to the event, and that makes them people of interest.”

With leads and angles leading nowhere, Bishop searched in his memory over his long experience at the FBI for something — anything — he and Carter could be missing. Biological? Chemical? Military? Still could be terrorists. And if somebody was trying to send them a message, it wasn’t a clear message. Right now, they had nothing.

A Box Marked “Weird”

Nicole eased the
messenger bag strap from her shoulder and got out her English homework. She rubbed her neck, reddened from the weight of the bag’s books. Then, kicking off her Converse sneakers, she dived onto the bed and lay there, face down.

It was Wednesday. Only Wednesday, and it had been the longest of weeks already. A small groan escaped her.

Her mom gave a brief knock before entering. Nicole raised her head from the pillows to offer some kind of lively response. She’d thought she had the house to herself, having forgotten that her mom had swapped shifts and was on a late one again tonight.

Her mom came in with a pile of folded-up laundry and set it down next to Nicole’s dresser.

“How was school today?”

“Yeah. OK.”

“Really?” Her mom didn’t seem to believe her, and she sat down beside Nicole on the bed.

School had been challenging because the main topic of discussion had been her and entirely her. Nicole’s classmates envied and admired her in equal measure, and she was exhausted by the endless questions about what it felt like to be famous, on TV, seen as a superhero … the list went on.

Following several nights of fitful sleep, she had shoved most of her wildfire and rescue thoughts in a mental box marked “weird” and attempted to get on with her week.

Thankfully, communication had been restored with Amy on Monday night, after they had barely spoken two words to each other all day. Arriving home in a foul mood Monday evening, Nicole had checked her email to find a barrage of funny messages from Amy. After Nicole had responded, Amy had pleaded tiredness and grumpiness at not being on national TV, and Nicole had understood and accepted the apology.

The girls had made plans to drive out to Lake Fairfax over the weekend to discuss the latest developments. Finally, Nicole had something to look forward to.

Her mom began to put in her stud earrings. “So, I have a favor to ask you, and I’d like you to think about it before giving me an answer.”

“A favor, huh?” Nicole suspected this was going to be something she wouldn’t necessarily like. She was right.

“There’s a boy in my hospital and he’s pretty sick at the moment. In fact, he’s terminally ill.”

Nicole’s bravado faltered. “I’m sorry.”

Her mom shrugged. “He’s read all about your rescuing Elise and Charlie. He was so excited when I told him you were my daughter.” With her earrings now in, Nicole’s mom rested both of her hands on Nicole’s and gave her a serious look. “It would mean a lot to him if you could go and visit him. Maybe take him a book or something?”

“Mom … please. I hate this superhero stuff. I said it on TV; everyone’s on me about it all day. I don’t want to go around bragging about it anymore.”

“I’m not asking you to brag. Just go see him.”

Nicole let out a sigh. She knew this wasn’t like her, and she could sense her mom’s impatience rising.

“Can I cut class?”

“No. You can drop in before you and Amy go off to the lake on Saturday.”

This was too much for Nicole.

“Mom …”

“I’m not going to beg you to do it, Nicole. But these kinds of visits can make a real difference. Look.”

Nicole’s mom produced a bright crayon portrait the boy had drawn. In the picture, Nicole had long hair and was wearing a cape. She smiled at the realization that he’d also spotted her freckles and had applied a few to the cartoon version of SuperNix’s nose. She felt some of her old self coming back to her, and she was moved when she saw the words
Ethan, age 8
inscribed at the bottom of the picture.

“Ethan.”

“He’s a cute kid.”

Nicole laughed.

“Is it that bad at school?”

“Pretty much,” Nicole said plainly.

“I’m sorry if the TV interview made it worse. I should have never agreed to it in the first place.”

This was unprecedented. Nicole’s mom was hardly ever known to offer this kind of admission, and Nicole appreciated the enormity of it. She’d heard the low murmur of her mom talking to her dad on the phone late into the night this week, and she could tell things had been tough for her mom recently, too.

“Well, I can’t change what people are thinking, I guess. And if it helps Ethan, then that’s something positive out of all of this madness.” Nicole took the drawing and smiled again. “Can I keep this?”

Her mom stood up. “You bet. OK, I’ll see you tomorrow. You have my cell.”

Nicole waved her phone to indicate she did.

With that, her mom was gone. Hearing the door slam downstairs, Nicole rolled over to grab her laptop and logged on.

She felt a brief lurch of panic as another email from Ben Owens arrived in her inbox, joining others he’d already sent that week. Some were nudges, and the latest she’d left unopened. She suspected what he had to say would be interesting and clever, but she hesitated to open it. She felt frightened.

If she could just get through the week, go see this boy at the hospital and then head out to the lake with Amy, it’d all be OK.

Nicole pinned Ethan’s SuperNix picture to her memo board. She stared at it for a long time.

Why did you pick me as your hero?