Simple Genius by David Baldacci
It was lined with gunmetal gray file cabinets and a couple of shabby desks although a shiny new computer rested on one of them. The walls held an assortment of photographs of the area including a large satellite image of what Sean recognized as Camp Peary. A sign above it read “Hell on Earth.”
Sean pointed to it. “I see you’re a big fan of your country’s premier intelligence service.”
South looked at the photo and shrugged. “Government took my parents’ home and kicked us all out. How am I supposed to feel?”
“That would be the Navy, not the CIA,” Sean corrected.
“Navy, Army, CIA, I prefer to think of it collectively as the Evil Empire.”
“I read your articles on Camp Peary,” he said.
“Well, you didn’t have many to choose from now, did you?” South stubbed out his cigarette and immediately lit another. Michelle waved smoke from her face.
Sean, glancing at Michelle, said, “So you lived in Magruder? I sort of assumed from the name of your paper.”
Freeman nodded. “That’s right. There were two towns on the grounds of what’s now Camp Peary: Bigler’s Mill and Magruder, where I was born. They’re now on the list of places that just disappeared from the Commonwealth of Virginia’s official registry.”
“They keep statistics like that?” Sean asked.
In answer Freeman pointed to a list tacked to a bulletin board. “See for yourself. On there are all the counties, towns and what-not that have either been merged into other places, changed their names or, like Magruder, been stolen by the damn government.”
Sean glanced at the list for a moment and said, “I understand from your articles that the houses are still there, entire neighborhoods in fact?”
“I can’t confirm that, of course, since they don’t exactly let the likes of me wander around there. But from the scraps I’ve gathered from people who have been there, yeah, a lot of the buildings are still there. Including the place where I was born and lived in when I was a little kid. That’s why my paper’s called the Magruder Gazette. This is my way of keeping the town alive.”
“Well, I guess everyone had to make sacrifices during World War II,” Sean pointed out.
“I got no problems with sacrifice so long as it’s shared equally.”
“What do you mean?” Sean said.
“Magruder was a working-class African-American community, or colored community as they referred to them back then. I didn’t see the Navy go sweeping in on any rich white neighborhoods and start throwing people out. It was just the same old, same old. Kick out the poor black folk because nobody’s gonna give a damn.”
Sean said, “I appreciate the problem, South, I really do. But we’re here to talk about Camp Peary and the local history.”
“That’s what you said over the phone, only you didn’t say why.”
“We’re private investigators who were hired by the people who run Babbage Town to look into the death of Monk Turing.”
“Right, fellow they found dead over there. I wrote an article about that. Hasn’t been published yet because I’m still waiting for the ending.” He eyed them suspiciously. “So you’re working for Babbage Town? How about a trade? I talk to you about the Farm and you talk to me about what they’re really doing over at genius-ville?”
“Afraid we can’t do that, South. We’re bound by confidentiality.”
“Well maybe I am too.”
“What we’re trying to do is get to the truth about Monk Turing’s death,” Michelle interjected.
“And that other fellow, the one that was killed at Babbage Town? They say he died by accident in his bathtub. I say, right, sure, and Lee Harvey Oswald and James Earl Ray acted all by their lonesome. Well, one hand rubs another. You can’t talk and neither can I. So there’s the door right over there. So long.”
“And maybe if we find out the truth about Monk Turing,” Michelle continued, “it might not look so good for Camp Peary. And maybe they might up and move.”
South’s expression immediately changed. Now he looked far more intrigued than defiant. “You think that’s possible?”
“Anything’s possible. And Monk Turing was found dead there.”
“But all the mainstream media’s saying it was suicide. Like those other people found dead around there over the last few years. And all the Internet bloggers are screaming government conspiracy. Wonder who’s right?”
“Maybe we can find out, with your help,” Sean said.
South stubbed out his cigarette, picked up a newspaper lying on his desk and seemed to be reading it. “What do you want to know?”
“What can you tell us about Camp Peary? I’m more interested in current events.”
South shot him a glance over the newspaper. “Current events?”
“Yeah, like from the air.”
“So you noticed the planes coming in? I guess you do get a nice view of them over at Babbage Town. They’d land right after they passed over the river. Am I right?”
“But at two A.M. you don’t really get a good view of anything, especially when they have their running lights off.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“You’ve seen ’em?” Michelle asked.
“Hey, the damn government doesn’t own all the land around here. Grab me some world-class barbeque from Pierce’s right down the road from Spookville, and head on across the river to a buddy of mine’s place. Sit out on his dock and wait for that plane to drift on in with stuff the government doesn’t want you or me to know about. Let me tell you, I knew something was up before Gulf One and Afghanistan and Iraq started because that damn runway at Peary looked like Chicago’s O’Hare what with all the traffic going in.”
His eyes gleamed. “Once a week I drive my car toward the Camp Peary entrance, see the green metal roofs on the guardhouses, all them damn warning signs saying ‘No Trespassing, U.S. Property’ and I say, ‘Hey, shitheads, that’s my momma’s property, give it back.’ I don’t say it loud enough for them to hear of course,” he added chuckling. “Then I turn around in the little U-turn slot—they have that for people who get lost, or who’re just curious. Turn of last return, they call it, and then I go home. Makes me feel better.” South fell silent for a moment. “Those planes come in once a week, on Saturdays. Always at the same time. And they’re big jets. I got a buddy at Air Traffic Control and he’s got contacts in the military down at Norfolk. Those planes don’t land anywhere else in this country except at Camp Peary. They don’t go through customs, military checkpoints, nothing.”
“But they’re military planes?” Michelle asked.
“Not according to my friend. He thinks they’re registered as private aircraft.”
“Private aircraft belonging to the CIA?” Sean said.
“Hell, CIA’s got its own damn fleet. It’s not like they have to tell anybody what they spend our tax dollars on.”
“Wonder what kind of cargo is on those planes?” Sean asked.
South shot him a penetrating look. “Maybe the living, breathing kind that only speaks Arabic or Farsi?”
“Foreign detainees?”
“I’ve got no sympathy for terrorists but there is something to be said for due process,” South said firmly. “And if the CIA is deciding who to snatch and bring over here without a court looking over their shoulder? I mean their track record on that sort of thing isn’t exactly golden.” He smiled. “Now if stuff like that is going on, there’s a Pulitzer Prize waiting for the journalist who breaks the story.”
“Yeah, it’d be quite a coup for the old Magruder Gazette,” Michelle said sarcastically.
Sean said, “They recently lengthened the runway so bigger jets could land and they also got money for a new dorm building. What do you think about that?”
South stood. “Let me show you what I think about that.”
He led them toward another room. Sean lagged behind and when South was out of the room, he slipped back and using his cell phone camera snapped a few pictures of
“This is the portion of Camp Peary that used to be Bigler’s Mill and Magruder.” He pointed at various spots on the map. “You see how many houses there are? Well-built houses. You got good streets, access to all points. So you have all this housing and yet you need to build another dorm to put up people. How’s that make sense?”
“Maybe the houses fell into disrepair or got knocked down?” Michelle said.
“Don’t think so,” South answered. “Like I said, I got folks to talk to me who’d worked there. And if you knock down whole neighborhoods, you got to haul the debris somewhere off-site. I would’ve heard about that.” He pointed to another spot on the map. “And Camp Peary is also home to the only property on the National Historical Register that will never be open to the public: Porto Bello. It was the home of Virginia’s last royal governor, John Murray, the Fourth Earl of Dunmore. Even the CIA can’t touch that without getting in big-time trouble.”
“How’d a place like that end up in Camp Peary?” Michelle asked.
“Dunmore hightailed it from Williamsburg where the governor’s mansion was located to Porto Bello, his hunting lodge, when Washington’s army got too close during the Revolutionary War. Then the chickenshit snuck away during the night on a British ship and sailed back to England. There’s a street in Norfolk named after him. Not in his honor, but because it was thought to be the last place he set foot in America, the royal prick. But my point is they got lots of places for people to live, so why the need for a new dorm?”
“You have any contacts at Camp Peary you can work?”
“If I had I would’ve worked them. I just get low-level scuttlebutt from time to time. No one’s gonna be passing me the passenger manifest for those flights if that’s what you mean.” He pointed to some other areas on the map. “They have paramilitary squads training pretty much full-time there. Scary dudes. Practicing snatch-and-grabs, I guess. Or government-ordered assassinations. CIA can kill you better than anybody else. They simulate doing missions all over the world. Hell, they even have big balloons they float up to change the weather. Make it rain or snow, stuff like that. Big wind machines too. Or whopper heat makers. Least that’s what I heard.”
“To simulate desert fighting. Like in Afghanistan,” Michelle commented.
They spent a few more minutes with South Freeman, then left after promising that they would keep him in the loop. In return he said he’d let them know if anything interesting came his way. “Who knows,” he said before they left. “Maybe I might get my parents’ house back. Now wouldn’t that be a hoot!”
As they were climbing into Michelle’s truck Sean’s cell phone rang. “King.”
He sucked in a quick breath as he listened. “Shit!” He clicked off.
“Is somebody else dead?”
“Yes, and two dead men are even deader.”
“What are you talking about?”
“That was Sheriff Hayes. The morgue just blew up.”
CHAPTER
48
GAS LEAK,” SHERIFF HAYES SAID as they stared at the charred rubble that used to be the makeshift morgue.
“Isn’t that what they always say?” Michelle said.
“And you said the ME died?” Sean asked.
Hayes nodded. “He was in there working on Rivest’s remains. There’s not enough left of him to do an autopsy on.”
“So Rivest’s and Monk’s bodies?”
“Pretty much bone and cinder.”
“That’s way too convenient, don’t you think?” Sean said.
“I thought I told you to keep the hell out of my way,” boomed a voice.
They all three turned to see FBI Special Agent Ventris striding toward them. He came to a stop a few inches from Sean’s face. “Do you have a hearing problem?”
“He’s working with me, Agent Ventris,” Hayes said hastily.
“I don’t give a shit if you’re working with God Almighty Himself, I told you to stay out of my way.”
“I just came down here in response to a call I got from Sheriff Hayes,” Sean said evenly. “And would you care to explain to me how the FBI has jurisdiction over a local death that’s unrelated to any federal matter or person?”
Ventris looked ready to take a swing at Sean. Michelle stepped between them.
“Look, Sean and I used to be part of the federal side too, Agent Ventris. Our main contact was Len Rivest and now he’s dead. Sean discovered the body; it’s only natural that we want to stay informed about the matter. But we will in no way interfere with a federal investigation. All we’re looking for is the truth, same as you.”
Her words seemed to take a bit of the steam out of Ventris.
Hayes quickly said, “Sean, maybe you better fill in Agent Ventris on your theory about Rivest.”
“I don’t want to be seen as interfering,” Sean growled.
“Just lay it out,” Ventris snapped.
Sean grudgingly explained about the absence of towels and the bath mat and the missing plunger and his theory of how Rivest could have been killed. “We’d asked the ME to check the body for a trace of something like that happening.”
Ventris studied the pavement for a few moments. “I actually noticed that there were no towels,” he said. “And the bath mat, but I didn’t know about the plunger.”
Michelle said, “So you were suspecting murder too?”
“I always suspect murder,” Ventris said. “I’m bringing in a team to go over everything here.”
Sean said, “And you’re interested in Rivest’s death because you think it ties into Monk Turing’s, which was on federal property.”
“So maybe we should join forces,” Michelle suggested.
“That’s not possible,” Ventris said. “If you have information you want to share with me, fine, but it’s not a two-way street. We have ways of doing things at the Bureau.”
“I thought your ways of doing things included working with the local police,” Sean said.
“And I fit that bill,” Hayes added.
“But they don’t,” Ventris replied fiercely, glaring at Sean and Michelle.
“Isn’t the point that we catch whoever did all this?” Michelle said.
“No, the point is, I catch them,” Ventris snapped.
“I’ll make it easy for you,” Sean began. “We’ll just make it a competition. Who gets there first gets the credit. But just so you know, we’re going to kick your ass.” He turned and stalked off.
Ventris turned on Hayes. “If he in any way impedes my investigation, you’ll be going down with him, Hayes!”
“I’m just trying to do my job here,” Hayes shot back.
“No, apparently you’re trying to do my job.”
Ventris noticed Michelle staring at him and smiling.
“What the hell are you looking at, lady?”
“Should’ve taken me up on my offer of cooperation, Ventris. Because when we crack this thing you are going to look like such an idiot.” She turned and walked off.
“I can arrest you for saying shit like that,” Ventris screamed after her.
Michelle turned back around. “No, you can’t. It’s that little bedrock thing called free speech. Have a nice day.”
A minute later Hayes joined Sean and Michelle in front of her truck.
Hayes said, “Great, we’ve now managed to piss off the CIA and the FBI. Who we gonna do next? DEA?”
Michelle said, “Assuming the morgue was blown up on purpose, the question becomes why.”
“And the answer seems obvious,” Sean remarked. “There was something on those bodies that the ME would find that would point us down the right road.”
“He’d already done the cutting on Monk,” Hayes pointed out. “So it couldn’t have been Monk’s body they were worried about.”
“Right,” Sean said. “Burning up Rivest’s body means we c
Michelle added. “Do we know if the ME had looked for that already?”
“If he did he didn’t have a chance to tell us,” Hayes said quickly. “I asked him to call me as soon as he found anything and he never did.”
“We can follow down a lead Ventris doesn’t have,” Sean said confidently.
Michelle looked at him. “Which is?”
“Valerie Messaline.”
Hayes groaned. “Damn. I was afraid you were going to say that.”