CIA HQ, Langley, VA, March 28, 1968
“Now, who’s this bird, again?” asked President Johnson of the CIA Assistant Director in his trademark drawl. They were impatient to start the presentation and the Commander in Chief kept interrupting them with questions that they knew would be answered by the film. But patience was never one of LBJ’s long suits. Understandably, he was flabbergasted when apprised in the Oval Office of the research being done at MIT and underwritten by the CIA.
“The gentleman narrating the film is Dr. Bernard Moss, Mr. President. He’s the project manager of Operation Casper,” the AD patiently explained. “Now, if you’re ready, sir, let’s just watch the film and see what Dr. Moss has to say.”
A lot depended on this film and the President was understandably skeptical about the research findings. There were only six men in the room, which was already about half of the people on earth who knew of the work being done in a top secret laboratory in Boston, Massachusetts. The idea was to convince LBJ to declassify the findings and privately ask Congressional leaders of both parties and pertinent committee chairmen to allocate more money into the CIA’s budget to in turn increase funding for Casper.
“Alright,” the President said, “let ‘er rip.” The room went dark and the projector began to whirr.
“Operation Casper: A Proposal,” began Dr. Moss. The 36th President had to stifle a giggle on hearing a super serious mad scientist type refer with a straight face to a million dollar Central Intelligence Agency program named after a cute cartoon ghost.
Even without anything to use for scale, the narrator seemed a small man made even smaller by his oversized white lab coat and, in fact, he was. His eyes were large and green, eyes made even larger by the thick lenses of his glasses. His full head of white hair was unruly and he himself looked like a cartoon stereotype of a mad scientist, albeit a benevolent one.
The presentation film showed all the flair and panache of modern federal architecture and publications from the government printing office. As with seemingly all training and orientation films of the day, it was desk- or stage-bound on account of the one static camera and the cutaways were animated, which also almost made the Commander in Chief chuckle out loud. The Assistant Director, who also hadn’t seen the film, pinched the bridge of his nose as he saw LBJ’s silhouetted head bob up and down, obviously in amusement. But it was a foregone conclusion that unless Moss literally pulled a ghost out of his ass or Fellini was hired to direct the second half, the President’s transient amusement wouldn’t exactly translate into extra funding. Hell, he might even advise the Congressional leaders to cut funding altogether. As it was, the whole thing looked so much like Saturday morning cartoon fare, he was actually surprised they didn’t draw the animated ghosts with sheets or even use Casper in a cameo.
“…and if our research findings are correct,” Dr. Moss concluded, “we may one day actually be able to trap these entities in a manmade dimension, sort of a vortex, if you will. Once detained and fixed, we can then learn from these beings and perhaps be able to harness their abilities in the world of the living to be applied in the realm of national security. Thank you for listening.”
Presently, the lights came back on and the President was grinning as if he’d been getting a blow job under the desk the whole time.
“Well!” he exclaimed. “That’s certainly a Texas league whopper! Maybe JFK’s kids woulda got something out of that, too!” Then he added in a more ominous tone, “in 1963! What the hell was that, Mr. Assistant Director? You actually thought that was worth taking up half my morning?”
“Mr. President,” the AD stammered, no longer secure even in his continued employment in the Company, much less the additional funding, “I agree that the presentation may have been a little condescending, but…”
“‘May have been a little condescending’? Mr. Director, I can think of some retards down in Oklahoma that woulda laughed at that! And you expect me to ask Congressional leaders, including Republicans, for more money based on that?”
“Sir, the research findings are conclusive up to a point. You can’t deny they made some headway in terms of…”
“I’ve already heard enough,” the President said as he got up to leave the secure conference room. “Ya’ll get to keep your present funding for your cartoon schemes but there ain’t no way I’m gonna fund Vietnam, the War on Poverty plus more for that…” and he gestured vaguely toward the projection screen, “that… lunacy.”
“So it stayed in limbo until it got axed right after Nixon left office,” Laura said. This time it was Adam’s turn to drop his jaw in his lap. He knew that Grandpa Bernard was a research scientist but Mom and Dad never discussed his work, especially after he was found washed up on the banks of the Charles with his untracked veins bulging with high-grade heroin. “Intelligence scuttlebutt has it LBJ was still chuckling about our grandfather’s film on his deathbed five years later.”
“So… so what you’re sayin’ is, you continued Grandpa’s work?”
“Uh, no. Not exactly. The agency’s working along parallel lines but, no, we’re not continuing Grandpa’s work.” Laura stopped to look at her brother. “Our job, among other things, is to keep others from doing that.”
“So you’re like, a real-life Agent Scully.” Laura pinched the bridge of her nose.
“No, Adam, not like Agent Scully and the X Files. There’s a lot of research that goes into the work, a lot of leads that lead to dead ends. No aliens, no Sasquatch, no secret flying saucers at Area 51, none of that. There’s really not a lot I can say about my job that would interest you.” Frighten, perhaps, but not what one would call strictly interest. She didn’t see any reason to bring Adam completely into the fold. That would depend upon Oliver, the agency’s boss.
The mass suicide at the Boston Sheraton was news in which she and the agency had more than a passing interest. As with the baffled Boston PD, Oliver Blood and the relatively few people under him knew that this wasn’t explainable by mass psychosis. Although there was little to no forensic evidence from which to launch even a plausible theory, a paranormal angle would explain the obvious terror that had gripped these people in their final moments. Two of the 53 victims were the parents of a girl with whom her sibling had almost died in a car accident.
If Adam was somehow connected to the possible supernatural shenanigans in Boston, she had yet to see it. Yet Adam’s seeming involvement couldn’t be ignored and left to chance, especially in light of his “glimpses.” Then there was his claiming that Clarissa’s alleged ghost pled with him to “Free us.” Lastly, from what her brother himself had just told her, a certain police detective named Ed Coffey was also thinking along the same lines as she. She’d have to talk to this cop, pick his brains to see what they found out in their own investigation, if anything. Yeah, she’d have to bring her baby brother in from the cold, albeit slowly.
“Adam, while I’m still in town,” she calmly said, “I’d like you to meet my boss.”
I don’t think I’ll ever look at my big sister quite the same way ever again. I mean, I always thought that how she made her living was kinda sketchy even before I knew that she was a spook, if you’ll pardon the phrase. Just the fact that she worked for the government was both cool and scary at the same time. But this shit she just unloaded on me…
I also wasn’t exactly sketched out to meet her boss. Any intelligence agency head honcho is a scary dude in my opinion and just the fact that most of our government not knowing about their existence was enough for me to dig in my heels. Laura tried reassuring me that this Blood dude (Day-am, even his name scared me shitless) was righteous but I wasn’t about to go forming on blind faith warm and fuzzy opinions about a guy who’s probably waxed more people than Ted Bundy.
I wondered how long it would take for Bundy’s unknown victims to seek me out asking me to solve their murders and if Laura and this Blood dude could help me out with that.
Boston, MA, November 9
“Coffey! There’s some girl out here to see you.” I nodded and put the Sheraton file away. I asked Roddy which one it was and he said, “The cute blonde over there,” pointing in her direction.
She was of medium height and slightly voluptuous build, shoulder length blonde hair neatly pulled back with a barrette. Despite the November chill, she wore a simple white blouse under a black dress coat and matching slacks. She advanced toward me, extending her hand. As I got closer to her, I noticed the bulge beneath her coat just under her visitor badge and wondered if the lifer manning the metal detector downstairs fell asleep or was too busy gawking at her big tits. No way was she supposed to have that piece up here.
“Detective Coffey?” I nodded and took her hand. “I’m Laura Moss. Could I have a few minutes of your time? In private?”
We walked into one of the unused interrogation rooms and each took a seat. I waited for her to continue and she got right down to business.
“Detective, we’d like to know the status of your investigation into the Sheraton mass suicide on Halloween night.”
“Who’s ‘we’?” In response, she showed me her credentials and it seemed as if she was sent here from our mutual Uncle Sam. When I looked at her name on the intelligence agency badge, it finally clicked. Sure, Moss was a common name but it was a bit of a stretch to think it could be pure coincidence meeting another within a few days.
“I just met another Moss. Some kid named Adam.”
“I know. He’s my brother. I got your name from him.”
I sat back and regarded her with new eyes. If her brother was her sole reason for picking my brains about this case, then perhaps she wasn’t here in an official capacity, after all, and had no business using the word “we”. Besides, why would the feds be sniffing around asking about an investigation that, as far I was concerned, was still a municipal matter? If anything, it would be the FBI trying to walk on our grass instead of this intelligence agency I’d never heard of. I felt I was on solid ground in assuming I didn’t have to tell her a damned thing but I still wanted to see what exactly she wanted and, more importantly, why she wanted to know it.
“How’s your brother doing, by the way?”
“He’s doing fine,” Moss finally said as she exhaled, which told me he wasn’t. “I just got back home early last night and we talked. He still hasn’t gone back to school but he’s getting his homework sent to him and he seems to be getting back to his old self.” Then for the briefest of instants she smirked as if remembering an inside joke.
“Has he remembered anything else that happened that night?” She shook her head.
“I don’t know what he’d told you at the hospital but he didn’t give me any indication that he recalled anything else of significance.”
“So, may I ask what interest your agency has in this case? Or do they even know you’re here? I’m suspecting this may be a purely family matter.”
“Well, yes and no, Detective. My people have taken a very lively interest in the case and my brother’s involvement, while undetermined, is still undeniable. I mean, you have to admit it would be a hell of a string of coincidences for him to not be relevant to it in some way.”
I looked her up and down and remembered the gun under her jacket. Her creds would certainly explain why the people downstairs would let her through the metal detector. She seemed to be tough as nails and her kid brother’s involvement would perhaps make her even tougher to deal with.
When I was in the Green Berets, I’d run across a few spooks from the CIA when they were all duded out in their camo fatigues. Some of them thought they were as badass as us and a few of them were. This very feminine young lady didn’t strike me as being a wannabe. The impression I got was that she could field strip an AK47 in pitch blackness with her feet while applying her makeup.
“OK, you realize this is a very high profile investigation considering the identity of the victims.” She nodded with barely hidden impatience. “I can’t just release details and evidence from an ongoing investigation merely because your brother is, at best, marginally involved with some of the principals. I don’t care who you work for, Agent Moss.”
“How about if I can help you establish MO and maybe provide you with a suspect?”
I leaned back in the chair again and tapped the long bare table as I regarded her with another set of eyes. This girl was beginning to spook me more than the case itself.
“You guys were here long before us, weren’t you?” I quietly asked. She nodded.
“Months and months of studying criminal justice, fingerprinting, crime scene investigation and criminal psychology and how do I use it? Getting your coffee.” The patrolman put the Dunkin’ Donuts bag and cup holder down on the interrogation room table.
“Look at it this way, Ramirez: As long as Roddy keeps making that hemlock he calls coffee, you’ll be fulfilling a cherished cop stereotype.” The Hispanic officer humorlessly smirked at me and left Laura Moss and me alone.
This girl certainly wasn’t a stereotype. The intelligence types I saw in the Army, including Army Intelligence, were almost all macho assholes who probably took a shot of testosterone in their coffee in the morning and stirred it in with a survival knife. Moss, my instincts told me, was as tough as any of them but wasn’t overbearing about it. She didn’t sacrifice much if any of her femininity.
“OK, you understand that nothing you see here leaves this room, right? No files leave, no copies or notes will be made. You look at what you see here and keep it in your head.” I realized even as I said that there was no way I could keep her from making notes after she left the station. Hell, knowing these James Bond types, I couldn’t even be sure she didn’t have a miniature camera built into one of her blouse’s buttons and was silently clicking away like Annie Liebovitz..
“You’re not making this easy for me, Detective.”
“If this line of work was easy, we’d all be doing it.” I opened up the bulging case file and she immediately went to the dozens of pictures of the victims. Most of them were gory beyond belief and had even made me wince when I first saw them but Laura didn’t bat an eyelash until she got to one. I spotted the extra beat she lost looking at it. “What?”
“Clarissa’s autopsy photo. Those poor kids,” she muttered as she continued reviewing the pictures.
“You know, just an observation: Your brother perfectly described her injuries down to their precise location and he couldn’t have known that since he was out cold for four days. How do you explain that?”
“Like I said, Detective, he has a gift, although he’d call it a curse. I believe that he wasn’t dreaming about her.”
I recalled the security video showed to me in the hospital and what didn’t sit right with me tickled the back of my skull again but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. I was trying to zero in on what didn’t seem right when Moss looked at a picture and held it up for special attention. I asked her what it was.
“This picture of Senator Dumont’s wife. Are those ice crystals on her face?”
“Yeah. That was the only tangible evidence that we got at the crime scene and it melted away almost as soon as our CSI guy snapped the picture. Any theories as to how that ice formed?”
“Maybe,” she said cryptically. Apparently, she was playing the same cat and mouse game I was, the both of us playing proprietor. At this rate, it was going to get us nowhere and in record time.
“OK, quid pro quo. You said you could give me some insight regarding MO and a suspect. Who do you think could be behind this and why is your agency looking at him?”
“You ever heard of the East German Stasi, Detective?” I cautiously nodded my head and she told me about the illustrious life and times of one Hans Dietrich and couldn’t believe what I was hearing. It got even more bizarre when she told me who her grandfather was and what he used to work on in the 60’s.
“It isn’t a theory, Ed.” We’d long since begun a first name basis. The coffee was gone and only donut crumbs and a lot of my questions remained. “When a spirit manifests, it can significantly reduce the temperature where it appears. It’s commonly referred to as a cold spot.”
“Could it get so cold as to crystallize human skin tissue?”
“Typically, no. There have been some documented cases of already chilly environments getting down to freezing. We’ve heard of temperature variances of sometimes ten, even twenty degrees, maybe more. But the kind of cold that would’ve been necessary to produce those ice crystals… Ed, there would’ve had to have been dozens of apparitions there, all drawing energy from the air simultaneously. It would’ve been like a reefer in that penthouse.” She was right. It was but at the time we tended to dismiss that because of the rush of cold air coming in from the broken windows.
“So why would Dietrich do this? I mean, does this technology you’re talking about actually exist? Because this sounds like something out of Ghost Busters.” She seemed irritated by the movie reference. No doubt she’d heard all the jokes before.
“Yes, we all but believe it does. And my grandfather’s partly the reason why. He’s also part of the reason why I got into this line of work, to help atone for his research, to ensure that it isn’t resurrected and perverted for nefarious ends. As for why Dietrich may’ve done this… That’s undetermined.”
When I first met her, I deeply suspected her involvement was purely a family matter. I just didn’t realize how deeply a family matter it was.
“OK, unless this Dietrich guy lives in Copley Plaza, I think it’s safe to say he’s out of our jurisdiction. So how do we reach this asshole?”
“Leave that up to me,” Laura grinned. She put her hand on my arm as she got up to leave and my mind suddenly flashed back to the hospital’s security video.
“Wait. Before you go, let me show you something.”
“So this is the moment my brother woke up from his coma?” I nodded and chewed a fingernail. We stood beside each other while closely regarding the monitor. I let the tape run for a few seconds then stabbed at the “pause” button. “There! Did you see that?”
“No. What did you see?” I pointed to her brother’s right arm.
“I’ll play it back. Make careful note of that arm when he begins to get up.” I slowed the speed to frame by frame and while Adam’s head and torso began rising from the bed, his arm remained pinned to the mattress. In fact, the sheet over it had also been pressed down.
“As if someone was holding it down,” she slowly said. “Nice catch, Ed.”
“Right. No one, I don’t care who, would create such a delusion immediately after waking up from a coma, especially if he doesn’t even know there’s a camera on him. That always bugged me subconsciously and then when you touched my arm back there, it all clicked. Someone or something was holding down his arm.”
“Clarissa,” Laura sighed.
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