The Whisper Box (9 page)

Without thinking of Laura he looked around the car. His seat belt kept him strapped in and safe. When he wiped his forehead, he realized his head was bleeding. Because his left shoulder, he assumed, was broken, he unbuckled his seat belt with his right hand. Whoever did this was not going to drive away after he sped off the highway. These men were professionals, it seemed, and they would most likely come down to finish the job. He looked for the tapes in the backseat and grabbed what he could. He still had groceries in the backseat from a quick trip to the store he had taken just before Laura Greene came back into his life. He quickly and randomly picked through the groceries for the video and audiotapes in between. When he felt like he had gathered as many as possible, he crawled out of the car and studied his surroundings.

He was at the bottom of an embankment. There was a railroad track on a bridge above him. His car had met with one of the huge concrete pillars that elevated the trestle. There was a deep river in front of him, which flowed underneath the bridge. He could hear the men about one hundred and fifty feet above him on top of the hill. They were screaming at each other about finding him. After all, they were coming to kill him.

According to his calculations, he had about thirty seconds to make a move. He looked at the water, then headed back into the Corvette he was about to abandon. Laura's body was still hanging upside down from her seat belt and her blood was splattered all over the car. First, he dumped the contents out of one of the plastic grocery bags and shoved the tapes in it, tying it closed with the handles, hoping to waterproof it. Realizing he may have to stay underwater for an extended amount of time, he opened the compartment between the front seats and let the contents fall out onto the roof of the upside down car. He grabbed one of the pens he kept in there. He removed the cap, tip, and ink cartridge from the pen, making a temporary snorkel.

He put the pen between his lips and dove headfirst into the rushing river. The water was freezing this time of morning. He kept his head under water and breathed through his makeshift snorkel as the furiously flowing rapids pushed him down the river. The only person who could relate to what he was feeling had just lost her head, literally. Still, he felt proud at having just pulled off one of the most amazing escapes imaginable.

It was almost dawn. Because they were as secretive as Mac was about what was going on, he knew the men would not follow him in broad daylight. Mac would love to float into a heavily populated area. It would have made him feel better because hit men would not fire at him around a group of people. Whenever the river widened he would relax his muscles and float down river for a few minutes at a time, enjoying the ride. He would dip under water with his pen firmly between his lips from time to time to escape from the world when the river narrowed. He did not want anyone calling the police reporting a man floating down river.

After a couple hours in the water Mac noticed a small clearing along the river and realized he had reached a rural area. Not having seen a building for forty-five minutes, he swam to the clearing, crawled about twenty feet across the dirt, and collapsed in the brush. His head, shoulder, back and neck were throbbing. He lay there and stared at the trees above for a few minutes before he thought about the tapes. They were clutched under his unbroken shoulder. When he opened the plastic bag he was surprised that the tapes were still dry. He still had the evidence. Knowing the tapes were safe was enough of a relief to allow him to drift off to sleep. He was completely exhausted. This would be a long nap.

************************

Michael Helsel, the office clerk at Hart and Hart, officially became a missing person at four o'clock that afternoon. His girlfriend, Tonya, had looked for him the previous night. When she received the letter he had supposedly written, Tonya knew that the handwriting definitely did not belong to him. Furthermore, she did not understand what “
she'll know what I mean
” meant. The entire situation did not make any sense. She called his parents, but they knew nothing about any trips that Michael had planned. Finally, she contacted the police. When they arrived at his apartment, they were dumbfounded. The crime scene investigation unit was dispatched to the apartment soon thereafter. They searched it for fingerprints, but there were none other than Michael and Tonya's. The neighbors were questioned over and over again, but they had no answers and had heard no struggle. There were no clues as to where Michael could have disappeared. His boss, McFarland Hart, was not in his office, nor was he at home or even in court. He could not be found either.

McFarland awoke later that afternoon. He peeked out from the brush and saw no sign of anyone. Extremely hungry, and in more pain than he had been before he fell asleep, he tried to gather his thoughts. The water had rendered his watch useless, but he assumed it was late afternoon, probably about four thirty. He was convinced that his shoulder was broken because he could not move his left arm. In spite of his physical condition, he had to make a move sooner or later.

As for what move to make, he could not think of anything immediately. Still, he was determined to see this through. For a moment, he actually considered disguising himself, dumping the tapes in the river and trying to regain some sort of control of his life in another country, possibly Canada. He dismissed that idea in part because it was impractical, but mainly because he was determined to finish what he had started. He promised Laura, in a silent prayer, that he would see this through until he won or he died.

Mac wanted to think about his wife but, he could not. The only way he could see her again was to overcome this. One startling thought kept creeping into his mind. If these hit men could find him, then they could find his wife. He did not think they would take his wife hostage because it would do no good if they did not know where he was to contact him. He blocked the thought out of his mind.

Aaron stared at his computer. How could he tell LadiesFirst who he was without anybody else knowing? Had they ever used any catch phrases in communicating each other? He started typing, hoping to figure something out.

JohnnyM80
: Hi Ladies, What are you up to?

LadiesFirst:
Nothing, just waiting on a friend.

JohnnyM80:
Is he a Republican?

LadiesFirst:
Of course.

JohnnyM80:
Send Too Under Drawers.

LadiesFirst:
Huh?

JohnnyM80:
S
end
T
oo
U
nder
D
rawers.

LadiesFirst:
What language are you speaking?

JohnnyM80: S
end

JohnnyM80: T
oo

JohnnyM80: U
nder

JohnnyM80: D
rawers

LadiesFirst:
Oh my God.

JohnnyM80:
Let's talk a little. I really want to talk to you!!

Ladies First:
There is nothing to talk about.

JohnnyM80:
I need to know what you know. I need to meet you in person.

Aaron waited for a response that was not coming
.

JohnnyM80:
Are you still there?

The message came back:
LadiesFirst disconnected from server.

Aaron immediately disconnected. He did not want to have anything traced, even to the laptop computer. Frustrated, he was sure LadiesFirst knew something, and someone knew that she knew. He could not understand what was going on, but knew it was dangerous. The safety of his family frightened him. Protecting them became his top priority. After fifteen minutes of contemplation he reconnected to the Internet. He typed WWW.GRANTWINCHESTER.COM. There was no such web site address. Next, he typed in WWW.CNN.COM. When the web site came up he scoured the web page for a 'Contact Us' link. It was at the very bottom. He clicked on it and saw a listing of every CNN reporter. All their names were highlighted which meant he could click on the name and send them e-mail. They were in alphabetical order. Right there between Waylons and Worthington was Winchester, Grant. Instantly after he clicked on it, a blank e-mail popped out. He wrote to Grant:

Mr. Winchester,

I am a big fan of yours. Sir, I swear to you, I have information leading to, what I think could, quite possibly be the biggest story in US history. I need you to contact me at home. I know this seems weird. I SWEAR TO YOU THIS IS WORTH IT. My phone number is 803-555-5972. You can also e-mail me at [email protected]. Mr. Winchester, you have done a very admirable job in your career so far. This will send you far beyond any success you ever imagined. You are my only hope.

Thank You—

AA

Aaron clicked on the send button. The message was launched into space through phone lines and was probably already in Grant Winchester's e-mail box. Aaron wondered if Grant would see his e-mail, considering he probably gets over a hundred a day. He obviously cannot read them all, and probably does not take many of them serious anyway.

He figured that the only way these people could trace his conversations with LadiesFirst by tracking her on-line activity and possibly his phone line. With the laptop he should have a little time to get in touch with the correct channels.

He woke his wife up. It was about two in the morning, and she was in a deep sleep. She rolled and cursed in the bed until he finally got her attention.

“Honey, we need to go to the kitchen and talk.”

She squinted and replied, “Why? What's wrong?”

He firmly grasped her hand and led her to the kitchen. She questioned him the entire way down the hall. He waited until they were beyond the children's hearing and began his story. He told her how he had been messing around on the computer. He explained how he was in the Republican Room looking for conversation and how he met LadiesFirst. Assuming the conversation between the two was innocent, it had somehow led to a visit from a threatening stranger in his parking lot at work. She sat there with a blank, scared look on her face. Aaron insisted that she had to take the kids to his father's house in New York. She would withdraw all of the money from the savings account in the morning and leave immediately. There was to be no credit card use because they could be traced. They agreed that she was to explain everything to his father. Although she begged him to come along, he refused because he was already too entangled in whatever was going on.

At seven o'clock that morning Aaron and his wife awoke the children and explained that they were going to Grandpa's house. The bags were packed within an hour. They went to the bank, withdrew the entire balance of eight thousand three hundred and forty two dollars and headed to the airport. Aaron put them on the first plane to New York. He had called his father earlier and briefly told him what he needed him to do. Aaron knew that this was a tough story for any of his family members to believe. Regardless, the plane left for New York at nine o'clock in the morning, and Aaron wanted his wife and kids on it. The tearful good-byes lasted for about ten minutes. Aaron hated to see them leave because he feared that they would never see him again. He was not worried about their safety once they left Columbia. Aaron's father was a protective, trustworthy old man. His father was a large angry man who would fight to the death with a Grizzly bear to protect his own. He was extremely worried about his own safety though. His life was at stake.

Aaron drove back to his house, exceeding the speed limit the whole time. He had been gone for about two and a half-hours now. It was just about nine thirty in the morning. When he turned into his subdivision, he saw his neighbor, Ed, standing out on his front porch. Ed got his attention from across the street by clearing his throat in a loud obvious fashion. When Aaron and Ed made eye contact, Ed shooed Aaron off with a very stern look; his eyebrows were cocked as he motioned towards his own garage. The garage door was open. Aaron got back in his car and drove across the street into Ed's garage. Ed met him in the doorway that joined the foyer and the garage.

“Man, someone just pulled up to your driveway. A big guy in a suit, with a gun I might add, jumped out of the car and hopped the fence into your back yard. I just heard a window break in the back of your house,” explained Ed.

Ed was talking so fast Aaron had to concentrate on every word to understand him.

“What's going on? Should I dial 911?”

Aaron almost interrupted him. “Do not call the police! I have to go over there. Where is the car that dropped the guy off?”

Ed described how the man driving had spun around and pointed out the skid marks in the street, and then he explained how he darted off. He said he definitely saw him pull out of the neighborhood. Ed tried to sell Aaron on the idea that going over there was not very smart. Aaron was not buying. He told Ed that he would never understand and made him swear that he would not call the police. Ed agreed and Aaron was off.

Aaron went through the next two back yards on Ed's side of the street. When he felt like he was far enough down the street, he cut across into George Towery's backyard. George was the quiet one in the neighborhood. He never really said a word to anyone, but he was meticulous with his yard and everyone just appreciated that. When Aaron hopped the fence, George was holding a garden hose watering some azaleas. George and Aaron made eye contact immediately.

George welcomed the surprising guest with a smile. “Hi Aaron, can I help you?”

Aaron just said, “No Thanks Goergie. I'm just takin' a shortcut. I'll explain later.”

George stood there puzzled as Aaron ran on through, and then worked his way back to the azaleas. Aaron leaped another fence and darted through Ted Martini's yard.

Ted was never home. He ran a small restaurant on the opposite side of town and had everyone convinced that he lived out of a cot in his office there. When he got to the fence that outlined his yard, he knelt down. He heard nothing. He looked up over the fence and saw nothing, except for his broken bedroom window. He would have to go closer to find anything out. If this were, by coincidence, just your basic old robbery, he had already decided to kill the perpetrator. He took a deep breath.

Aaron made it over the fence quickly. He ran to the side of his house in a squatting position. He backed up against the brick foundation and moved towards the window. When he got almost below the window he heard a phone ringing. It was not his phone. He heard a voice.

“Anderson here.”

Aaron could only hear Anderson's side of the conversation:

“I killed the Greene bitch myself very early this morning. We couldn't find Hart.” There was a silence

“Yes Sir, I understand sir, but there was nothing we could do, he disappeared.”

He paused again. “Yes sir, I understand your discomfort with this. I can assure you, sir, I will take care of this. I flew down here immediately. I am in Aaron Gallo's home as we speak, sir. I have his computer.”

Another pause came. “No sir, we have no idea who this JohnnyM80 is, but we'll find out soon and he'll be taken care of as well. I will be flying back immediately sir.”

Aaron’s muscles tightened. Based on the conversation he had heard, he now knew he was not the only one involved and that Laura Greene was dead. This trespasser seemed like he was about to leave the house. He could take the computer because JohnnyM80's laptop was across the street in his car. Aaron crawled to the door that led to the crawl space under his house and continued inside. He could hear Anderson finishing up inside. If he had not moved his wife and children this morning they would all probably be dead right now. He was happy he took action so quickly.

Anderson made quite a racket on his way out the bedroom window. Aaron could not see him, but assumed that it had to be tough to carry a computer and all of its components out through his bedroom window. He then heard a car pull up in the driveway. Almost immediately, the door slammed and the car screeched off. Aaron came out of his hiding space. He looked in his bedroom window and saw what looked like the wreckage from a mini tornado. Drawers were everywhere, clothes were scattered all over, and cushions were ripped open; he crawled in.

When he made it to his office he saw the desk tipped over, wires strewn everywhere, and all of his disks were gone. They even took his children's games. This really made him angry. All he could think about was the phone call that Anderson had taken while he sat below the window.

Who was Anderson? Who was he talking to? Who was Hart? He did know one thing; they still had no idea what was going on with JohnnyM80. That was good news. Aaron headed to the kitchen for a glass of water. Out of habit he looked at the answering machine. The light was flashing, indicating there was a message. Just as Aaron pressed the 'Play' button he remembered the e-mail that he had sent to Grant Winchester.

Sure enough, Grant's deep business-like voice filled the room. “Hello, is the guy you e mailed, trying to reach Double A. I hope this is not a joke, sir. As you might imagine, I'm very busy with a little story in Washington right now. But nonetheless, my personal beeper number is 201-555-6441. Please beep me when you can.”

Aaron picked up the phone and started to dial, before he realized what he was doing and threw the phone down like it was a burning stake. He could not use his phone, he was sure it was tapped. Feeling certain the intruder would return, he disconnected the answering machine so his wife would not be able to leave a message that would reveal her whereabouts. As for calling Grant Winchester, he had to get to a pay phone as soon as possible.

He ran back across the street to Ed's house where he found Ed still standing in his garage. Ed stared at Aaron for a moment before questioning him. “What the hell is going on man? You involved in drugs or something?”

Aaron just shook his head and looked at the ground while answering, “Eddie, I wish I could tell you, but I can't man. Just please trust me, do me the favor and don't call the police, OK?”

Ed finally agreed, shook Aaron's hand and saw him off.

When Aaron got to the pay phone at the gas station down the street, he was so nervous he could hardly get the coin in the slot. He dialed Grant's beeper, punched in the number to the phone he was standing at and waited. Aaron looked around at all the people walking through the parking lot. Not one of them had a clue that something very serious, and illegal was going on in the executive branch of their country's government. Their President was a conspirator. He wanted to walk up to all of them and scream, “I told you so!”

He could not. In fact, at this point, he actually wished he were one of them. If so, he would be a nobody who knew nothing. What he did not know would not hurt him.

While Aaron waited for Grant's call, he thought of a thousand different possibilities for how this would all turn out. He wondered who would be left standing and who would fall. After about fifteen minutes, the phone rang. He snatched the hand set off the receiver.

“Who is this?” Aaron inquired.

“This is who you beeped. This better be good mister. What's going on?” Grant replied.

Aaron kept it as brief as he could. He explained what he had been through the last two days. He told him about the woman in the chat room and that someone by the name of Anderson had broken into his home, ransacked it, and had taken his computer. Grant still seemed unsure. But when Aaron explained that he learned Anderson's name from a phone conversation he had over heard and told Grant what had been discussed, including the references to “killing the Greene bitch” and not being able to find Hart, Grant's attitude changed. Grant agreed to fly to Columbia International Airport that afternoon, but he would not get off the CNN jet. Instead, he would arrange a stewardess to go to the terminal and lead Aaron into the aircraft.

Aaron, although ready for the airport, had about six hours to kill so he headed to the Red Rooster Inn about four blocks away. When he paid the front desk clerk for the room he used cash. As he opened the door to the room he was surprised. He just paid $99.00 to spend six hours in a room the size of Ed's garage. Once inside, he locked the door, wedged a chair underneath it and plugged the laptop into the telephone jack. After signing on, he clicked his way to the Republican Chat Room. LadiesFirst was there. He opened a Whisper Box and greeted her.

JohnnyM80:
Hi. Things are crazy around here. Are you OK?

LadiesFirst:
Yes, I'm fine. I am more afraid for you. What’s been going on?

JohnnyM80:
Nothing. You need to tell me what you know. I may die soon if I cannot piece this whole thing together and get it to the proper people.

LadiesFirst:
Johnny, I can't!!!

JohnnyM80:
OK, enough of being nice, Lady. I'm about to fucking die and I'm worried for the safety of my wife and children! Who the fuck are you?

LadiesFirst:
Johnny, you do not understand... Hang on a sec.

LadiesFirst:
What the hell? Dial 911!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

JohnnyM80:
Enough of your bullshit Lady! I can't dial 911. I do not know who the fuck you are! What's wrong? Who are you?

LadiesFirst:
Dial 911!! I'm the f

The message stopped there.

JohnnyM80:
You are who?

There was a long pause.

JohnnyM80:
Hello?

The message came back:
LadiesFirst disconnected from server.

Aaron pulled the phone cord out of the wall. He was shaking. She was in obvious danger. Did she live nearby? Did Anderson stop by her house too? She obviously was not Laura Greene. He heard Anderson confess to her murder about an hour earlier. Damn shakes, now he started sweating too. Out of instinct, he wanted to dial 911 but he could not bring himself to do it. Not only was his situation unbelievable, but he could not trust anyone either. Whoever was trying to kill him was extremely powerful. They knew enough to trace all of LadiesFirst computer messages, they had found him at work and home immediately, and they had enough money to fly this Anderson lunatic around the country to kill people. His hands were tied. All he could do was wait in his room until it was time to go to the airport. He turned on CNN and lay down on the bed.