Delta Green - All Part of the Job

Observer Effect - Session 2a

Clark and de Jaager stepped outside, and Evan followed. Dempsey and Inspector Hua remained in the computer lab to … well, they weren’t sure just yet. Inspector Hua felt interviewing the final remaining Array staffer, Dr. Black, would be good, and the Irishman wanted to blow something up. He had three doses of “Irish Coffee,” his term for the improvised explosives he carried. Those should be plenty to destroy a computer, and then they could all go home.

Evan led Clark and de Jaager across the asphalt to the Array. A portable clean room – a tent of thick, clear plastic sheets with a blower and filter to clean the air – had already been set up covering the door to the concrete hut which housed the Array’s laser. The engineer was positively beaming with pride as he opened the heavy steel door and allowed the agents access.

“This is it! This is where the magic happens!”

Evan closed the door behind them, and just as he did so, he, Clark, and de Jaager were all struck by brief but sudden vertigo. Along with that, the agents also had a fleeting sense that everything they were experiencing was unreal. It was hard to explain, but it was almost as if they were actors on a television show or characters in a novel; like their reality wasn’t real, or at least like it wasn’t the only one. Professor Pangloss and Candide would have agreed. Though if this truly was the best of all possible worlds, what sort of twisted and uncaring god would have them in Chicago for back-to-back Operas with no rest? Surely, Voltaire would have approved.

De Jaager felt an instinctive awareness of something pressing against the fabric of reality as if trying to force its way through the membrane between dimensions. Not only that, but he also sensed that this awareness itself somehow made a breach more likely. Rather than provide assistance to whatever terrible thing was trying to get through, the Dutchman immediately dropped to a sitting position and concentrated on a perfect sphere. No way was he letting Gozer take Chicago.

Evan raised an eyebrow and gave Clark an inquisitive look. Clark just shrugged.

“Mecca. Must be prayer time.”

That seemed good enough for the engineer. The Array staffers were actually very inclusive for such an exclusive group.

The men out at the laser Array weren’t the only ones to experience vertigo. Back in the computer lab, both Dempsey and Inspector Hua felt it, too. Ms. Tsang looked a little dizzy for a moment, but she never took her eyes off the monitor, and when the feeling had passed, she gave no indication of having noticed it. Dempsey’s bad feeling about this Opera was steadily getting worse. He didn’t understand all the science or technobabble, but he was sure everything stemmed from the talking crystal obelisk masquerading as a computer.

He was just about to rig a dose of “Irish Coffee” to it when a blood-curdling scream echoed from outside the lab in the direction of the offices. He told Hua to keep an eye on Ms. Tsang, and he went to investigate. Dr. Takagawa had awoken, and he now stood on shaky legs in the hallway. Dempsey approached cautiously.

“Dr. Takagawa, what happened?”

“My eyes … Everything is going dark.”

For a Japanese man in his 60s, Takagawa only had a slight accent. He was visibly terrified. As his knees wobbled more and more, the engineer was forced to lean on the wall for support. Dempsey spoke into his sub-vocal mic to let the other agents know Takagawa was awake and his vision was fading fast. Clark responded that they were on their way. Evan remained behind to check on the laser, but he assured them he would follow in just a minute.

Whatever was going on here, Dempsey didn’t want to touch Takagawa, but he did want to help. He told the old engineer to follow the sound of his voice, and he backed slowly toward the computer lab. When Clark and de Jaager reached the computer lab, Dempsey had just backed in. He took a few more steps back, and Dr. Takagawa fell through the doorway and came to rest face first on the concrete floor of the lab.

Observer Effect - Session 2b

Ms. Tsang paid no attention to the collapsed engineer, so Clark paid all of his attention to her. The utter disinterest was appalling. Clark was a recovering bro, and where he came from, people were supposed to at least feign interest or mock.

Dolf rushed to Dr. Takagawa, and though the Dutchman had no practical medical knowledge, he moved to feel for a pulse. He stopped short, however. The fluids in de Jaager’s hand began to glow a faint bluish-white. As Dolf pulled his hand back, the engineer looked up at him with cloudy, unfocused eyes. As the man spoke, his saliva displayed the same faint glow as Dolf’s hand had.

“Please … A hospital, please … Call my wife and children …”

Yeah … de Jaager hadn’t been on the job long, but it had been long enough to know the engineer could never be allowed to leave or to talk with anyone outside the facility.

“Please …”

Nope. De Jaager drew his pistol and shot the crawling man between the eyes. Dr. Takagawa’s head popped like a cyst, splattering brain matter and faintly-glowing fluids all over. That was not like the movies; it was surreal and yet all too real. It was the right thing to do. It put the man out of his agony and secured a potential breach of the Operation.

Still, he had just shot a man. In the face. He even thought he could taste brain. Brain may or may not have sprayed into his mouth. Even if it hadn’t, de Jaager was pretty sure some of it had found its way into his nose and tear ducts. There might be bits of another man’s brain touching his brain right now in some revolting meeting-of-the-minds that probably wouldn’t even make it into a Lloyd Kaufman film. Of course, he knew it didn’t work that way, but Dolf wasn’t thinking straight at the moment. All he wanted to do was get away.

Clark had seen cold-blooded executions before. It was part of the reason he preferred to run surveillance rather than go undercover. Even when the victim had it coming, it wasn’t a pretty sight. Takagawa had to die. Clark knew that, but it didn’t make the situation easier. He tried to block out reality by focusing on the waves and pulses scrolling across Ms. Tsang’s monitor instead.

Dempsey wasn’t a fan of execution either, but business was business. Besides, Dr. Takagawa’s sacrifice provided the cover he needed to dose the computer, Dee, with “Irish Coffee.” As he slipped over to the rack of computer parts that housed the crystal obelisk, he told Clark to hold Tsang. Rather than do as the Irishman instructed, Clark instead looked up from the monitor with an inquisitive expression.

As Dempsey secured the explosive device to do the most damage to the computer, Ms. Tsang stiffened and then whirled in her office chair. She seemed to sense Dee was in danger, and so she leaped from the chair and tackled Dempsey. In the struggle, a button was pressed. A bomb exploded. Somewhere in the distance, a Dutchman screamed.

When the dust settled, and the ringing in his ears had faded, Dempsey stood and assessed the damage. He’d taken a gash to his shoulder, but he’d be okay. He couldn’t say the same for anyone else in the room. Tsang was dead. Clark was dead. De Jaager was dead. Inspector Hua was unconscious, but she was bleeding out and would probably die without medical attention.

Dempsey sighed and shot her twice with his pistol. Now, Hua was dead, too. And the computer … Dempsey sighed again. The crystal was still intact.

Observer Effect - Session 2c

Two figures appeared in the doorway, standing over the fallen Dr. Takagawa. It was Dr. Campbell and a man he didn’t recognize. Probably Dr. Black.

The two scientists stood in horror as they took in the sight. Dempsey just shrugged and used the hesitation to shoot them both. The man dropped, but Dr. Campbell was only grazed. She turned and fled for her office.

As Dempsey stepped over bodies and through pools of blood, he tried not to think about anything at all. Maybe the bomb was a mistake, but maybe Clark should have listened to him. Either way, his team was dead, and most of the Array staff were dead. He might as well eliminate the rest and go back to finish off that damned computer.

Campbell slammed the door to her office, and Dempsey heard the click of the lock as he reached it. That was cute. Locking an office door. These people may be smart, but they could have used some Active Shooter training. He put a round into the door just below the knob, and then he kicked. The door swung open in time for him to see Dr. Campbell duck behind her heavy wooden desk.

He could hear a desk drawer slowly slide open, but he didn’t have time for games. Three quick steps and he had a clear shot. Dr. Campbell never had time to grab whatever she was reaching for. Next was … Who was left? Just Evan? Dempsey stepped out into the hall and had only a moment to realize he’s forgotten someone - the security guard from the kiosk with the cameras. Officer Henson greeted him in the hall with a frown and three bullets. Maybe it was more than three, but three were all he lived long enough to count. Dempsey slumped against the wall and slid down as everything turned red and then black.

Moments later – or maybe eternities later? – the agents all screamed as memories faded. Clark and de Jaager were in the Array, and Evan had just closed the door. Dempsey and Hua were in the computer lab. They were all right where they had been when they’d felt vertigo.

Clark, Dempsey, and Hua let the memories fade like barely-remembered dreams, and they couldn’t fade fast enough. De Jaager wanted to let the memories fade, but something told him he needed to remember. He froze, staring at his feet and thinking. Remember. Remember.

And remember, he did. Only, he remembered so damned hard that he remembered things he’d tried to forget before. Yes, he remembered shooting Takagawa, and he remembered dying in an explosion … He had died. He had died in an explosion. Yet, here he was. And this wasn’t the first time.

Just after the team had wrapped up the Reverb investigation and were preparing to head home, they got an emergency call from Carpenter. They had a quick briefing, and they were sent to the Array at night. The staffers were already insane and murderous. Then, something broke through. Something vast, black, shapeless and mindless, but alive and potent, ripped a hole in the sky over the Array. Thunderous blasts and shrieks of power answered the feeble pulses echoed by Dee. The thing in the sky swept out and absorbed everything into itself.

And he “woke” screaming at 10:00 A.M., hours before, in the hotel restaurant, remembering almost nothing. He called in the barest details to Delta Green. The Program sent the team to stop the disaster — and they failed. Late at night, the great power behind reality broke through again, absorbed everything again.

And he “woke” screaming at 10:00 A.M., hours before, in the hotel restaurant, remembering almost nothing, not even the barest details. The Program sent the team to the Array again.

And now, here they were. Again. Only, this time they “woke” screaming already at the Array, already with the Operation in progress. They were stuck in Groundhog Day, but the timeline was accelerating. If they failed, they’d probably get another chance, but who knew how much time they’d lose. Eventually, failure would be permanent.

Observer Effect - Session 3a

This had to end, and it had to end now. Clark didn’t seem to remember what had just happened, but de Jaager remembered enough for the both of them. This time, he didn’t sit to meditate, and he didn’t wait for Dempsey to call.

“Come on. Takagawa’s awake, he’s going blind, and I have to give him something.”

Again, Evan raised an eyebrow and gave Clark an inquisitive look, and again, Clark just shrugged.

“He called his psychic this morning.”

That answer, too, was good enough for Evan. Clark and de Jaager hurried back to the Computer Lab, and Evan remained behind to tend to the laser.

Dempsey was in the process of prepping a dose of “Irish Coffee” when de Jaager and Clark entered and passed through the Lab on the way to the hall. De Jaager went straight for the engineers’ office, and Clark followed. As they entered, Takagawa was just starting to stir, and de Jaager put a stop to that. Two bullets to the face, and this time, he was careful not to let anything get in his mouth.

Clark was entirely unprepared. Dolf did say he had to give something to the engineer, but if anything, Clark was even more surprised than Takagawa. What now? Did de Jaager know something he didn’t? Was he next? Was he going to be called upon to uphold the Body Disposal clause of the Bro Code? Clark readied his gun. He wasn’t sure just what was going on, but he was willing to bet there would be more bullets, and he wanted to be on the shooting team.

Without eye contact, de Jaager stepped out into the hall. Clark followed him back to the computer lab. They entered just in time for another wave of vertigo and the accompanying sense that nothing was real, or at least, that everything that was real to them wasn’t all that was real. As vertigo faded, de Jaager could again feel something pressing against the fabric of reality. Clark, Dempsey, and Hua either didn’t feel it, or they were blocking it out. Either way, that was probably for the best.

If Gozer the Gozerian wanted Chicago, he’d have to down a shot of Dempsey’s “Irish Coffee” first. The Irishman had just finished placing the charge when Ms. Tsang blindsided him with a vicious snarl. The woman had torn herself away from her monitor with such speed and force that neither de Jaager nor Clark could react in time.

Dempsey was tackled. A button was pressed. A bomb exploded. Somewhere in the distance, a Dutchman screamed.

Moments later, the agents all screamed as memories faded. Clark and de Jaager had just stepped into the computer lab from the hall, Inspector Hua was standing against the far wall watching Ms. Tsang who, for her part, didn’t seem to notice she had screamed, and Dempsey had just finished planting a charge of “Irish Coffee.”

As Ms. Tsang turned from her monitor, de Jaager emptied the clip into her back. She fell lifelessly to the concrete floor, face first, just like Takagawa had when de Jaager had killed him the first time. Dempsey and Hua blinked in surprise, but Clark had just seen Takagawa eat two bullets as he was waking up. He had to do something about de Jaager, or everyone was going to die. He raised his gun and pointed it at the back of the Dutchman’s head.

Before he managed to pull the trigger, he heard footsteps from the hall. Dr. Campbell and another man were rushing to the lab, so Clark shot them instead. He still had no idea what was going on, but at least he was doing the shooting.

Dempsey ignored all the shooting; he’d process it all later if necessary. He indicated he had two more doses of “Irish Coffee,” and de Jaager told him to set one up in the atrium with the laser. De Jaager led the way.

Clark paused to catch his breath. He could sure use something to calm his nerves; a beer, a Rum and Coke, a Red Bull … He heard more footsteps in the hall. Officer Henson ran in from the security kiosk outside, pointed her gun at Clark, and yelled for him to drop his weapon. There had been enough shooting, but it sure seemed like that was the only way out. Must be a Chicago thing.

Observer Effect - Session 3b

While Clark was assessing his quick draw chances, he thought he saw – no, he did see – two people appear out of thin air behind Henson. The first was a wild-eyed and wild-haired woman in a lab coat, and behind her, a man in loose-fitting khakis and a collared shirt with a tie but no jacket. The man carried a pistol pointed down and away but ready.

The man seemed only momentarily surprised by his newfound situation. He lunged forward and locked his free arm around the wild-eyed woman’s neck while he aimed and fired his pistol at Officer Henson hitting her between the shoulders. Officer Henson fired at Clark and his him in the chest. Clark fired at the man who shot Henson, but he hit the wild-eyed woman between the eyes instead.

The man dropped his now-dead human shield and fired again. He hit Officer Henson as she was falling to the ground, and then the next round put Clark down.

With de Jaager’s assistance, Dempsey found the best position for the Atrium’s dose of “Irish Coffee.” They exited the concrete hut and headed back toward the main building. The Irishman held the remote detonator over his head and angled it behind him. He pressed the button with a dramatic exaggeration.

The man who had killed Clark had just stepped out of the main building as the atrium exploded in a concussive shower of concrete and steel. Again, he was unfazed by the situation. He calmly walked forward with his pistol angled down and away. Dempsey and de Jaager both drew their guns and held them in the same manner, stopping about 50 feet away. The newcomer stopped as well and called to them.

“I don’t know who you are or where you came from, but it looks like we’re on the same side. That’s some nice work, but I don’t think taking down the laser is gonna be enough.”

Dempsey scoffed. Of course, it would be enough. The laser was what was causing … well, whatever bad thing was happening. He wasn’t too clear on that point, but he did know the laser had to die. The computer, he could take with him and destroy later. Dempsey’s responded by paraphrasing what President Reagan had called the nine most terrifying words in the English language.

“We’re from the government, and we're here to help.”

The newcomer nodded and cracked his neck like an action movie villain before a fight.

“Yeah. Me, too. You can call me REDLIGHT.”

REDLIGHT was Captain Cramer Gump, INSCOM “Black” Ops. REDLIGHT had also been dead for more than two years. His cell leader had sacrificed him to a wendigo in the middle of a cold, Alaskan winter. None of these men knew that, however. De Jaager and Dempsey were involved with the legitimate Delta Green program, and this REDLIGHT came from a reality where his cell leader, ROSE, hadn’t sacrificed him. She had sacrificed REAPER instead while REDLIGHT passed the time in a remote cabin with RICHARD.

Dempsey felt there was something a little off about this REDLIGHT guy. Whatever it was, the Irishman didn’t trust anyone who hadn’t been in the briefing room that morning. Hell, he wasn’t sure he even trusted the people who were in that room.

He raised his gun as quickly as he could, but Dempsey hadn’t counted on the possibility the man they faced was no more than a human brain in an alien-engineered body. REDLIGHT had shot them both dead before de Jaager could even shout for Dempsey to stop.

After an indefinite period of nothing, Dolf screamed. He was in the restaurant on the first floor of the Talbott Hotel, and he had just finished his first sip of coffee. Everyone was staring at him. This all seemed familiar, and he didn’t like it. Something told him he needed to remember, and something else told him to forget. He’d taken advice from the wrong shoulder before, and he usually knew the difference. Forgetting seemed like the right choice, and so he let the memories fade.

Clark screamed as well, and at the same time. He, too, was back at the Talbott Hotel, and he was staring at the paperwork he’d been filling out regarding the Reverb investigation. There were rapidly fading memories or dreams, but they involved math, so he let them go.

Like the other two, Dempsey has screamed, but he was about to board a flight at O’Hare Airport. After reassuring the TSA officials who responded to the disturbance, he boarded and found his seat; First Class, seat 4A. The man in the seat next to him looked tired and just a little off. He was dressed in loose-fitting khakis and a collared shirt with a tie and no jacket.

As the Irishman leaned his seat back, the other man warned him the flight crew would only make him put it upright again before takeoff. Dempsey narrowed his eyes with a sneer, and the other man shrugged.

“Suit yourself. But as long as we’re going to be on this flight together, we might as well talk. You can call me REDLIGHT.”

Future/Perfect - Session 1a

One year. Well, not quite one year, but summer had transitioned through other seasons and the northern hemisphere once again prepared for its arrival. In Chicago, Task Force 138 had failed many times to save the world, and each time, the world had ended. The world in which the agents now found themselves was the real world as far as they knew. To them, they had successfully stopped the resurgence of an unnatural drug and headed home. The memories of their many failures at the Holobeam Array were sealed behind the deepest doors their minds could create. They were nightmares. Sometimes, they were half-seen flashbacks, which only self-medication could ease. But the world – this world where the Holobeam Array had never existed – went on. It survived by virtue of not needing Task Force 138 to save it.

The agents had returned to their homes and jobs. They forgot – as best they could – about Chicago, about the Program, about each other. Well, de Jaager and Dempsey forgot about the others. Despite his best efforts, Clark couldn’t forget Dempsey. Someone that pale and always dressed in heavy wool no matter the temperature might be memorable, but that wasn’t why Clark found it hard to forget. Instead, it was because Clark worked for the DEA. Evidently, the Irishman had decided to embark on a cocaine binge that would make Rick James jealous, and he wasn’t always as subtle as he thought.

More out of a sense of self-preservation than adherence to the Bro Code, Clark spent several hours from June through April covering trails that would lead to Dempsey because those trails might link Dempsey to him.

The rise of The Islamic State of Iraq and the Levant kept de Jaager busy. There was always demand for advances and refinements in linguistic software engineering, and there was nothing quite like national security to drive that demand ever forward.

Of course, no matter how they struggled to forget, to immerse themselves in their jobs, to better (or worsen) themselves, Delta Green always called again. The Program did just that the on a Sunday afternoon the following May. Something wasn’t quite right in California, which might be an enormous understatement, but it could also be applied to any other state. This particular something, however, dealt with what the FBI had designated a serial killer. Details would presumably be in their briefing at the Bakersfield, California FBI office in the morning. Special-Agent-in-Charge Kevin Slater ran the field office, and he had Delta Green clearance.

The sky over southern California was a beautiful, deep blue without a cloud in sight. Thermometers everywhere boasted a perfect 72 degrees. Of course, it was only 8:30 AM. The forecast called for temperatures to hit the mid-90s; not record highs, but high enough to make everyone with a desk job appreciate their lot in life.

Special-Agent-in-Charge Slater had the weary look of a man just short of retirement. Whether or not that was the case, and despite the recent Bureau-wide relaxation of the dress code, SAC Slater was still sharply dressed in a black suit and tie. As Clark and Dempsey arrived, Slater waved them toward a room he called his Sea Cabin. Clark guessed the SAC had been in the Navy, but Dempsey was pretty sure the man just liked pirates. As the agents grabbed coffee and took seats around the long wooden table, the stance Slater took at the podium – hands behind his back, chest out, feet shoulder-width apart – supported Clark’s theory.

SAC Slater got right to the briefing. He took a manila folder from the podium and dropped it on the table in front of the agents. Clark opened it and examined the contents while the SAC explained them.

“Clifford Potter, age 68, was a retired steelworker and local treasure-hunter over in Furnace Creek. His mutilated body was found March 5th less than a quarter mile from the ruins of the old Hughes Electrodynamics plant. Cause of death was blunt and cutting trauma, and time of death was placed between 6:00 PM and 8:00 PM. It was ruled a homicide by the county coroner, and a nearby Bobcat light construction vehicle was tentatively identified as the murder weapon. Potter had rented it at his own expense, and he had been digging around at the abandoned lot for some reason. The local investigation dried up after about a week.”

Furnace Creek. Dempsey didn’t like the sound of that. He’d packed nothing but heavy clothes, and he was pale, even for an Irishman. After the past year, Clark wondered if Dempsey was actually just clear and full of coke.

Slater dropped another manila folder on the table and continued.

“Lorraine Minor, age 36, was reported missing in Furnace Creek on the night of April 24th. Her body was discovered by Furnace Creek Sheriff’s Deputy Lucas Androzy. The deputy was drawn out into the desert by a gathering of buzzards. Ms. Minor had to be identified through dental records. There wasn’t much else left. Even parts of her skeleton were missing.”

The picture in Potter’s folder was a black-and-white portrait. The photograph of Ms. Minor was in color and showed her in the desert with her arm around the waist of another woman. The file identified the other woman as Ms. Minor’s partner, Emily Warren.

Future/Perfect - Session 1b

Clark and Dempsey agreed that a Bobcat light construction vehicle made an odd choice of murder weapon, but they weren’t sure how that caught the Program’s interest. They didn’t wonder long. SAC Slater unlocked and opened a briefcase at the base of the podium and produced a thick, leather folder tied closed with a leather strap. He dropped it on the table just as he had the manila folders, but this one landed with a solid thud. Despite the heavy sound, Clark found only a single 8x10 color photograph depicting what looked like a burnt orange-colored wallet with featherlike buds sprouting from one end.

“After the second victim was found, the Inyo County Sheriff’s Department asked for help. I assigned the case to Agent Grunberg, and he found that stuck to the underside of the construction vehicle. He sent it to the nerds at the Program lab in San Diego, and all they could come up with was that it came from some kind of unknown bird. Now, I saw that thing, and it didn’t look like it came from any bird I’d ever seen, so maybe the nerds are right. They usually are.”

The SAC took two black wallets with badges and FBI credentials from his inside jacket pocket and gave them to the agents.

“As far as anyone knows, you’re FBI from Washington, D.C. until this is handled. If that’s not good enough for someone, refer them to me. Grunberg and I are in the Program, so anything and everything can be run through us. Just keep it quiet. The boys at the home office in Sacramento might look in at any time. Check out an SUV and get moving. I want daily reports, and if they’re not in person, you’d sure as hell better use some codes.”

That seemed to conclude the briefing since SAC Slater then took back the photograph of the feathery wallet and locked it in his briefcase once more before exiting the room unceremoniously.

The 4-hour drive from Bakersfield was uneventful, and the agents arrived in Furnace Creek at about 1:00 PM. It was hot, but it was going to get hotter. Many people might secure lodging immediately, but not the agents of Task Force 138. According to the sign as they entered, Furnace Creek had 24 residents. Dempsey suggested a revised population of 22, but the sign did look old and sun-bleached, so it might no longer be accurate. Regardless, there were three campgrounds, two small hotels, and a bed and breakfast, so they didn’t consider lodging to be their biggest concern. That distinction fell to lunch, and they had just passed a place offering fry bread tacos and shaved ice.

Once lunch was behind them, the agents felt they could concentrate on work. The Inyo County Sheriff’s Office was in Independence, but there was a small station in Furnace Creek. The building wasn’t large, but it was economical in its use of space. Sheriff Alfred Mann was at the Furnace Creek station when the agents arrived. He was big and burly, but he seemed friendly enough. He expressed appreciation that the FBI had agreed to take over the investigation. His office wasn’t equipped for this sort of thing, it was just himself and Deputy Androzy, murders just didn’t happen around there, etc …

The sheriff informed the agents Deputy Androzy had handled the Potter investigation, and when the deputy had found Ms. Minor, they turned everything over to the FBI. He referred them to the deputy for any questions. The sheriff’s office would assist in any way they needed but would otherwise stay out of the way.

Clark thanked the sheriff for his time, and the agents went to speak with Deputy Androzy. The deputy was young, and while he wasn’t exactly eager to assist the FBI, he was willing to do what he could. Something in the deputy’s manner led Clark to wonder if that willingness to help would persist after the sheriff went back to Independence.

Deputy Androzy had the case file ready and on his desk. It contained crime scene photos which were clear but still obviously not professional. The photos from the Potter scene showed a body shredded and mangled near a construction vehicle in a cleared area surrounded by debris and the ruins of a building. The photos of the Minor scene showed a few broken and shattered bones scattered across a small patch of desert.

He told the agents what he knew. Potter was a local treasure hunter who had taken an interest in the old Hughes Electrodynamics plant a couple years ago. He would rent the Bobcat from the Furnace Creek Gas Station for days at a time, and he would come back with truckloads of brass, bronze, and copper. He swore it was like a gold mine, but no one seemed to be interested.

Jarvis Greene was the one who found the body. His grandfather, Montgomery Green, owned the gas station, and Jarvis worked there. According to Jarvis Greene, when Potter failed to return the Bobcat on time, he called and received no answer. He went to Potter’s house, and again, no answer. It was when he went out to the old electrodynamics plant that he found the body.

Emily Warren was Lorraine Minor’s girlfriend, companion, partner … Deputy Androzy wasn’t sure what the polite term was, but the other residents just referred to them as “the lesbians.” There was nothing disparaging meant; it was just the most accurate way the Furnace Creek residents had to describe them. The women were actually very well liked. They were artists; Warren was a painter, and Minor was a sculptor. Ms. Minor had recently begun working with what she called “desert wood” sculptures, and she would go out in the evenings to collect materials. She had gone out on the night of April 24th, but she never returned.

Future/Perfect - Session 1c

The agents thanked the deputy. As they were leaving, Deputy Androzy asked them if they had any ideas and where they thought they might go next. Dempsey wasn’t about to give out any information. As far as he was concerned, everyone was a suspect. Clark wasn’t sure he wanted to give out too much information either, but he didn’t want to draw suspicion for lack of cooperation. He said they planned to check out the Bobcat at the gas station and take a look at the rental records to see who had been using it lately. Androzy nodded and added that he checked the rental log as part of the Potter investigation. Only Potter had rented it in the last couple years, and he’d been doing so a lot. He didn’t know if anyone had rented it since it had been returned to the gas station following the investigation.

The Furnace Creek Gas Station was a rickety two-story house with a gable roof. The front half of the first floor had been converted into a store. Two old gas pumps sat out front on simple concrete blocks beneath a sun-bleached Coke sign and faded ads for long-forgotten products.

Inside the store, the agents noticed a strong smell of marijuana. A young man with dreadlocks leaned back in his chair behind the counter. His feet were propped on the counter next to the register. He smiled and nodded at the agents when they entered. His smile disappeared instantly when the badges came out. Dempsey waved a hand to calm him.

“Don’t worry kid. That’s not why we’re here. I think that’s legal here anyway.”

Clark shook his head and indicated that, while it wasn’t legal recreationally, he was sure the kid had a prescription. Anyway, as Dempsey had mentioned, that’s not why they were there. They were investigating a couple murders, and part of that investigation involved an inspection of the Bobcat construction vehicle and the store’s rental log.

The rental log was nothing more than a few sheets of paper on a clipboard hanging on the wall behind the counter. The young man handed it to Dempsey. Just as Deputy Androzy had said, the log showed only Potter’s name appeared on the first couple pages of the log. Dempsey nodded and handed the clipboard back.

“Thank you, Mr., ummm … What did you say your name was?”

“Jarvis. Jarvis Greene. My grandpa owns this place.”

“Jarvis. You’re the one who found Potter’s body?”

The man nodded as he showed the agents to the concrete pad where the Bobcat was parked. Clark began inspecting the vehicle while Dempsey continued the conversation. The young man’s answers matched what the deputy had told them. Dempsey mentioned they might need to speak with the owner of the gas station at some point, and Jarvis said that should be fine. His grandfather was very old, however, and he spent most of his time upstairs where it was air conditioned. It would take him several minutes to get downstairs, so the agents should call ahead before they arrive.

Clark was no forensic scientist, so he wasn’t sure what to make of the splatter patterns, but there was still a significant amount of dried blood on the underside of the vehicle as well as traces over the front left. There was also a transparent film spattered lightly in various places and more heavily concentrated near the engine. Again, he was no nerd, but he did know a thing or two about mechanics. That fluid which left that film when it dried wasn’t any fluid which should have come from the Bobcat.

Dempsey wasn’t sure what to make of it either, so he scraped some of the film into an evidence bag before Clark could recommend latex gloves. Maybe the guys at the lab would know more. The agents thanked Jarvis for his cooperation and headed back to the car.

They could see how a trained deputy and a coroner might not be able to envision the murder, but the agents had perspective in the form of a photograph of a burnt orange-colored chunk of leather with featherlike buds. Once back in their car, they discussed their theories.

Dempsey suspected Potter and Minor were killed by a harpy. Clark had only heard that term when a former supervisor would complain about his mother-in-law, and he wasn’t sure how she’d be involved. The Irishman clarified that a harpy was a mythological creature that had the head and body of a woman and the wings and talons of a bird.

Clark felt that was the most ridiculous explanation he’d ever heard, and he countered with his own. Weresnakes. The murders happened at night, and snakes were common in the area. The photograph they saw was obviously a scale – never mind the buds. Deputy Androzy also seemed pretty interested in where they were going and what avenues they were planning to investigate. Clark suspected Androzy was a member of a … werewolves would have a pack, werelions would have a pride, weresheep would have a herd … What would weresnakes have? Well, it was something to look up once they got settled into their room. They drove off toward the Sunset Bed and Breakfast, arguing the whole way over who had the worse theory.

Future/Perfect - Session 2a

“A knot.”

Dempsey tossed his bag casually in his room and peeked his head into Clark’s room to see what his partner was talking about.

“I would have figured you for a Velcro man.”

Clark looked up from his laptop. He had wasted no time unpacking. He had questions which only the internet could answer.

“No. I mean a knot is what you call a group of weresnakes. Well, it’s what you call a group of snakes, so it stands to reason it’s what you’d call a group of weresnakes.”

Dempsey wasn’t so sure. A knot seemed like a rude thing to call a group of creatures that could actually be tied into one. He’d sure never call a weresnake that to his face, but he would have no problem encouraging Clark to do it.

“I’m pretty sure a group of snakes is called a nope.”

“You’re thinking spiders.”

“Well, I am now. Thanks.”

Clark was all too happy to have helped. Despite the fact it was the hottest part of the day in the hottest part of the world, the agents decided they could unpack later. They were burning daylight. Clark refilled his canteen with Red Bull and clipped it to his belt. On their way to the SUV, they gave a polite wave to Mrs. Bradley, the elderly woman who ran the Sunset Bed & Breakfast with her husband. Mrs. Bradley returned the wave and reminded them dinner would be at 6:30 sharp if they were interested.

Because Deputy Androzy was a weresnake, Clark reasoned, he probably didn’t do a particularly thorough job in his investigations. He had given them the keys to Potter’s house, but Clark figured there would still probably be something to find there. Maybe they should also take a look at where Potter had been digging at the old Electrodynamics plant. Dempsey was pretty sure interviewing the lesbians should be the first order of business.

Lesbian, singular. Clark had to remind Dempsey one of them was their second victim. Okay. That particular interview moved down his list a couple notches, but the Irishman still felt it was an angle they needed to cover at some point. Clark agreed.

Potter’s house was on the northwestern edge of town. It was almost as far to the center of town from his home as it was the ruins of the Hughes Electrodynamics plant. His closest neighbor was about a quarter of a mile in the direction of the town.

The house was a lime green, single-story building with a gabled roof. They had keys, but the agents decided to do a quick sweep around the perimeter first. The windows were locked, and the blinds were down, but it didn’t seem like anyone was inside.

Around back, the agents found the wooden doors of a root cellar. The doors must have been installed in the past few years because they showed little sign of weathering. They couldn’t open the root cellar since it was held shut with a padlock.

They decided to come back for the root cellar after checking the house. Dempsey would go in through the back door, and Clark would take the front. When they were in position, they each counted to three before opening the doors, entering, and coming face to face with each other. Evidently, the two doors were directly across from each other on opposite sides of a well-kept living room.

Like the living room, the bedroom and bathroom were also tidy and free of anything resembling a clue. The kitchen was the only room in the house with a lived-in feel. Where the rest of the house might pass a military inspection, the kitchen was merely neat. On the table, Clark found an old boom-box, two books, a pair of lead-lined leather work gloves, a small black device like a remote control with a digital display, a notepad, a Master Lock key, and a series of twenty-four cassette tapes.

Dempsey went through the refrigerator and cabinets, but he found only canned and boxed food. He shrugged and sat at the table.

Clark picked up the first tape. It was hand-labeled “Monty Interview – 1 of 24.” He put it in the boom-box and pressed play. The agents listened to the tapes while they examined the rest of the items.

Future/Perfect - Session 2b

“We talkin’ about Hughes?”

“Yeah, Monty, if that’s okay?”

“Sure. Why the Hell not? He said people would talk about him someday.”

“Did he?”

“Sure. Said he was going to change the face of the Earth with what he was working on down at the plant. You know what? I believed him.”

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The gloves were heavy and lined with lead. They were covered in red dirt that didn’t match the surrounding desert. Dempsey pointed out they were the sort of gloves an X-ray lab technician might use to handle radioactive materials. That would explain the remote control. It was probably a Geiger counter.

“Did you ever see what went on below the plant?”

“Nope. I never did. He never really went down there either. He just stayed in his office – the Bathysphere, we called it. It was all decked out strange. I heard it cost a couple million to put it together. It was hermetically sealed with big rubber-lipped, cast iron doors like a damned battleship.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. It was all lit by those klieg light jobbies; you know the ones? Man, it cooked in there, 110 degrees, sometimes 120 easy. He liked it. Hell, he loved it. He just sat at this weird desk and drew his plans and cooked. No one but me and him could stand it. I was in the South Pacific for a chunk of time, you understand; Guadalcanal, the Solomon Islands … Even I found it uncomfortable after a while.”

“What was he working on?”

“I don’t really know; except he said it would change the world. The man worked freehand, from memory, just drawing out things that looked like blueprints from scratch – I mean with a damned pencil and some paper, and that’s it. He just sat there and rattled it off like he was doing crosswords.”

“What did it look like?”

“They’re hard to explain. Oh, he wrote in this weird code. It looked like math; like symbols. Then he’d redo the whole thing in English when it was ready to be built.”

“So you don’t think English was his main language?”

“I don’t know. He looked white. He looked like he was from Europe or something. He seemed normal, but once or twice I heard him speak in this language …”

“Can you describe it?”

“Well, it sounded like some sort of South Seas lingo. Like something from New Guinea, or something. I heard some in the Corps, you understand.”

“Did he know you overheard him?”

“Once.”

“Did he ever say anything to you about it?”

“Yeah. He said to forget it. He said he could speak twelve languages; that it was a gift. He could write in them, too.”

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The books were textbooks, and they looked well-used. The titles didn’t help Clark’s growing unease; Radioactivity and Geology: An Account of the Influence of Radioactive Energy on Terrestrial History, and Radioactivity and Its Measurement. The books did fit the emerging theme, however.

“So, his personal habits, they were strange?”

“Well, if he had any personal habits. He never slept. I only caught him dozing once. The guy only ate vegetables; only specially prepared stuff. It was flown in every morning by courier from Los Angeles. He’d only eat it if I washed it by hand. He knew when I didn’t do this. I don’t know how.”

“So, he was odd?”

“Odd ain’t the word. But he was a good boss. Then again, I was used to the Corps. Anything seems good after the Corps.”

“So, he was a good boss?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“Do you think you could go into that a bit more?”

“Sure. Don’t get me wrong. He hated everyone; all the guys who worked for him. He never once said a kind word to anyone. Conversations with him were always about three sentences. He’d ask you a question, you’d answer, and then he’d berate you. But he was always right, and he rewarded loyalty and consistency. I had that stuff down from training. I did everything he asked down to the letter; by that time it was second nature.”

“So you think he liked you?”

“Nah, he tolerated me. You understand?”

“Did he ever go outside?”

“Once or twice that I seen. He wore these old goggles – Bakelight goggles with black-out glass – when he went.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. He could see just fine in the dark. He walked around after hours, sometimes, in the rooms surrounding his office, in the dark.”

“So, he wore them whenever he was in sunlight?”

“Yeah. He liked the heat, he liked the lamps, but something about the sun bugged him. Not his skin; just his eyes.”

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The notepad was battered and swollen as if it had once been water-logged but had since dried. The poor state and legibility of the writing supported that assessment. Potter had taken hundreds of notes, but hardly anything was clear. There were what appeared to be measurements of distance as well as cryptic phrases like “… machine parts: gold, silver …” and “… be radioactive …” The last page of the notebook showed a simple drawing of what looked like an odd pool with sockets – sockets evidently measuring precisely 2.718 inches by 2.718 inches – in the border. There were wavy lines drawn in the center.

“So, he didn’t like blood? You said something about that earlier?”

“Yes. I cut myself once while preparing his lunch, and when I walked into the Bathysphere, he got up and started screaming at me. He was really, really mad. Really PO’d. He stood away from me like I was contagious.”

“What was he yelling?”

“For me to get out. To come back later. That he wasn’t hungry. That my blood made him sick.”

“So you were bleeding a lot?”

“That’s the thing. I didn’t bleed hardly at all, and just on one finger I wrapped in gauze.”

“So, he saw the bandage.”

“Nah. I had the hand with the cut on the door. He couldn’t see it.”

“Then, how did he know?”

“I think he smelt it.”

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