Halon-Seven (8 page)

The consummate professional, Dargo would get the information his employer required but he would limit the number of casualties at the same time. Unfortunately, the situation left him stuck running a series of surveillance operations across the globe, all the while watching his back since he didn’t have any faith in Bayer.

Finally Bayer relented. “Arrange surveillance on the lawyer. Contact me as soon as you have new information. You are dismissed.”

Feeling the phone in his breast pocket vibrating even on his way out of the room, Dargo didn’t bother to retrieve the device until he reached the hallway. His employer had a penchant for micromanagement, and it was a situation that would prove unacceptable.

Dargo tapped the screen. “Da?”

“The hardware has been secured,” the voice on the end explained, without elaboration.

“There were no complications?”

“No,” the voice confirmed. “Yuri said that your Miami contact was most accommodating. But, sir—do you have any idea how much Yuri paid for this hardware?”

Dargo smiled and considered Bayer’s condescending tone and the smug set of his shifty eyes. “Not to worry,” he said with a genuine smile. “The client can afford it.”

Tapping the phone’s touch screen, Dargo terminated the call and continued down the hall. The fact that he had just spent a vast sum of Bayer’s money on what would likely prove a fool’s errand somehow struck him as satisfying. It was unprofessional, but amusing just the same. Besides, whether it was on this job or the next, Dargo knew that he would make good use of his new high tech toys.

Berton Springs, Colorado

Tuesday, 2:12 pm

It was early afternoon when Cyrus pulled into Berton, Colorado. A small town nestled in the arms of the Colorado Mountains, it boasted a population of nearly three hundred, according to the sign he passed at the city limits. Berton offered absolutely no claim to fame as far as Cyrus could find. He had Googled his destination prior to leaving Chicago and was shocked to find virtually no information about the town or its history. The place was literally a tiny dot on a map, nothing more. There were no historic annotations, no population statistics, and no Street View images. So much for the information age. Berton appeared to be a virtual black hole in cyberspace.

This held tremendous appeal to Cyrus.

The full extent of the city spanned almost a dozen interconnected streets. He quickly understood what the town lacked in population it more than made up for in rustic appeal. A small but modern looking schoolhouse marked the border at one end of town. Main Street was lined with customary businesses such as a diner, a gas station, a general store, and the like. Dead center of town was home to an old but well maintained municipal building that must have been a hundred and fifty years old. According to the signs, the building functioned as the town government center as well as the post office and a very small police station.

All of this was taken in as Cyrus drove slowly in one end of town and out the other. It didn’t take long. His phone’s GPS app guided him east, up a winding road that stretched further up the mountain. Before long the road resorted to a series of switchbacks as it traversed a steep vertical climb, all the while surrounded on all sides by a dense pine wilderness.

Finally the GPS indicated a right turn. Cyrus left the wide, deserted blacktop in favor of a dirt and gravel driveway. The path was well maintained and free from potholes that were common to such unpaved surfaces. It was also about a car and a half in width, more than enough room for his four wheel drive Ford pickup.

The driveway wound deeper still into the wilderness until, after nearly a mile, he finally reached a clearing. The woodland had been driven back to accommodate a large single story house with a giant front yard and a wide circular drive. The driveway looped through the yard allowing vehicles to approach and depart the house without having to turn around. The loop joined with the house at a large portico wide enough for two large SUV’s to park abreast.

The house itself was a sprawling single story ranch layout finished with a combination of beautiful rustic siding and indigenous rock. Large windows overlooked the front yard that was comprised mostly of flat river rock since grass was not common at the high elevation. The yard at the far right of the house ended at an eighty-foot cliff which yielded a breathtaking view of the untarnished valley beyond.

Cyrus took all of this in on the slow advance up the drive before parking under the overhang. He parked immediately in front of a pair of oversized french doors marking the home’s entrance. After retrieving a large duffle bag from the bed of the truck, he glanced back the way he’d come. The yard pushed back the wilderness about 250 yards. From there, impossibly dense forest surrounded the property from the west as well as the south—the direction he had come. To the east was the sheer ledge overlooking the valley. To the north, behind the house, the mountain rose at a seemingly impossible grade. Somehow nature had found a way to laden the incline with yet more forest.

To call the scenery beautiful would be an understatement. Standing still he could hear nothing but the wind gently sweeping through the clearing and the occasional sound of something skittering through the brush beyond the tree line. This was a far cry from Chicago. He could see why Meade found the location so appealing.

For all of its charms, it was still the commute that Cyrus found puzzling. Berton was a very small town. It barely had a post office let alone an airport. There had to be an airstrip somewhere nearby. It was the only explanation for Meade’s ability to live here while still visiting Chicago, London, and Washington D.C. so regularly. He would take a closer look at a map once he was settled and had a chance to get online.

Pulling a key from his jacket pocket, Cyrus released the deadbolt on the front door. He entered a 12-digit code into the security panel just to the right of the doors.

Inside he could hear the beeping of the home’s alarm system. He tapped another 12-digit code into the touch panel on the wall inside. A pair of different 12-digit codes just to disarm the alarm system? He’d never seen anything like it—at least not on a residence. Not on anything short of a high value military installation. He idly wondered where one draws the line between security conscious and paranoid.

If the outside of the house was paradise, the inside was warm, tasteful and sparse. The entry way led into a large open floor plan with a substantial living room to the right and a short hallway on the left. A formal dining room was directly ahead with an expansive industrial grade kitchen off to the right. Beyond the living room was a hallway leading to the home’s four bedrooms.

The floors of the entryway, kitchen and hallways were tiled in large pewter color ceramic while the living room was carpeted in a thick berber. The living room was wide and spacious with a pair of plush couches near the set of large front facing picture windows. Four oversized, cushy matching chairs were scattered throughout the room along with a series of end tables. The far wall of the living room was dominated by the mantle of fieldstone and etched concrete around the fireplace. To the left and right of the hearth were gigantic built-in bookcases that must have been ten feet tall. A great vaulted ceiling rose up over the entryway, living room, kitchen and dining room.

Cyrus walked around the open area taking it all in. The place was clean—immaculate actually. Everything was very precise. The furniture was arranged just so. The bookcases were free from dust, the fireplace must have been gas fueled because even the walls of the hearth were clean. The logs in the fireplace looked real. He had to touch one of them to be sure they were imitation.
Gas it is.

Looking around, something seemed out of place. He was having trouble putting his finger on it. Then it clicked. There was no television in the living room.
Not bad
, he thought.
This could be paradise after all!

A walk down the short hallway to the left lead him to a spacious laundry room complete with a washer and dryer that looked out-of-the-box new. There was a countertop and cabinets built in around the washer and dryer. Cabinets hung from the walls over the counters and the machines. No expense was spared. The cabinets in the laundry room matched the quality and design of the ones in the kitchen. Likewise, the countertops were the same marble as the kitchen. Meade clearly knew what he wanted when he built the place. He hadn’t skimped on a single detail.

Across from the laundry room Cyrus found a large walk-in closet. The short hallway ended at a door leading to the four-stall garage.

Flipping the switch on the wall, Cyrus stepped into the garage. He was standing at the top of a platform five steps above the concrete floor of the wide-open garage bays. The concrete was polished and sealed. The walls were drywalled and painted with the same care and quality as the home’s interior. The ceiling was at least fifteen feet high with row after row of lighting ballast hung to chase away every possible shadow.

A large Ford F250 pickup truck sat in the closest garage bay. It was jacked up on wide beefy tires. It had a heavy-duty cow catcher on the front and mounting linkage for a snow plow. There was an industrial grade winch attached to the front bumper. Cyrus took a long look at the jacked up 4x4 and tried to picture 80-year-old Walter Meade behind the wheel plowing snow. It was a hell of a thought. He wasn’t sure he could see it. But then again, he wouldn’t put anything past the old man.

The two center bays were empty, but parked in the far stall were a pair of four wheel drive ATV’s. They were big red Hondas that looked brand new. They had thick rugged tires, and both machines sported rather heavy-duty looking winches on their front ends. He supposed that wasn’t a bad idea living way up on the mountain the way Meade did. It wasn’t like he would be able to get help quickly if he got stuck or ran into trouble. The winch was a good investment. One that, apparently, the old man had made on all his toys.

And that brought Cyrus to the tarp stashed behind the ATVs. Pulling it back he found a pair of snowmobiles. These also looked like new. So new, he wasn’t sure they had ever been used. Again, up here all alone, the sleds could mean the difference between life and death in case of an emergency. It seems that Walter Meade had thought of everything.

Returning to the entryway, Cyrus grabbed the massive duffle and headed for the far hallway, beyond the living room where he knew the bedrooms would be located. Four bedrooms, according to the specs provided by Allan Underwood. More than Walter needed, he had said. But it was likely that Walter entertained guests from time to time. He had no family but he was a good man so, certainly he had friends. Maybe that would explain why he had two of everything; two ATVs and two snowmobiles. Still, it was odd. Meade had never mentioned family, though Cyrus had never asked. It wasn’t that he didn’t care; it was just a unique attribute of their relationship. They honored each others privacy. Well, at least Cyrus had. Apparently the old man knew all kinds of Cyrus’s secrets.

What he wouldn’t give to have one more conversation with the old guy. There were so many questions he would ask this time around. Questions he felt entitled to ask given all he now knew.

Walking slowly down the hallway, he looked into each of the bedrooms as he passed. Every one was spacious and as equally immaculate as the rest of the house. They were all furnished but devoid of any personal touches. The bedrooms had a feel more like upscale hotel rooms.

At last, he reached the master bedroom, the last door on the left. He set his bag on the floor and took a deep breath.
Wow. What have I done to deserve this?

The room was large, easily 20x30 with a king size bed on one wall and a scaled down version of the living rooms fireplace on the opposite side. There were two large dressers matching the style of the massive bed. A large mirror hung over one of the dressers. Several different pieces of modern art hung on the walls. As in the living room, the two sides of this scaled down hearth were floor to ceiling bookcases packed end to end with hardcover novels.

The ceiling was vaulted with a large fan hung in the center. The left wall contained two doorways. One leading to an enormous walk-in closet, the other to a bathroom complete with multi-jet shower and a large Jacuzzi.

Cyrus sat on the side of the bed and considered the circumstances. Meade had clearly done alright for himself. And this was all paid for, free and clear? Plus taxes and utilities would be paid from an escrow account? It was insanity. Was this really Meade’s way of thanking him for saving his life? Or was there more to it? From what he knew of the man, things were never as simple as they first appeared.

He pulled back the zipper on the bag at his feet and removed a file folder. Dropping it on the bed, Cyrus took a deep breath. The folder contained Meade’s autopsy report. It had been on his mind the entire drive west from Chicago. Cyrus had contacted an associate in Miami as soon as Allan Underwood left his apartment. His friend specialized in acquiring different forms of restricted material and information. In this case, Cyrus had requested Walter Meade’s medical files and autopsy report. As always, his friend had come through.

Reviewing the file wasn’t strictly necessary. The entire contents had already been committed to memory. Somehow it seemed more respectful to do it this way. He flipped open the folder and started leafing through the reports again.

The cause of death summary concluded that Meade had suffered myocardial infarction or, a heart attack, in layman’s terms. The report referred to existing heart problems stemming from an issue some years prior. While vague, the report alluded to an earlier heart related trauma. Cyrus knew why the report was ambiguous. The details of the incident were considered a matter of national security. Some time back, a team of foreign nationals attempted to kidnap Meade from a coffee shop in Washington DC. The kidnapping was thwarted, but not before Meade was dosed with a powerful drug. Apparently the dosage was botched. That mistake resulted in permanent damage to the old man’s heart.