Investigative reporter, Jack Carson, has been murdered, but by whom?
Police arrest mob boss Carmine Marchetti, but Walt is convinced that it was the work of government assassins, sent to silence the reporter before he could expose a clandestine program that for decades had been spraying deadly chemicals into the atmosphere for weather control and defense.
Will justice prevail or will the government’s dirty little secret remain hidden?
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CHAPTER 1
Jack Carson’s mouth was dry, and beads of sweat dotted his forehead. Another look in the rear view mirror confirmed his worst fear --- they had found him.
Fifteen minutes earlier, he had spotted the black SUV trailing discreetly several cars back. He had taken a circuitous route through town hoping the SUV would continue on, but it hadn’t. Its course had mirrored his own and now there was no doubt in his mind ---they had found him.
His nightmare had begun innocently enough several months ago when he had been contacted by a man who identified himself only as ‘Falcon.’ He claimed to be an Air Force pilot recruited for a program called ‘Indigo Skyfold’ whose purpose was to spray chemtrails of hazardous material into the atmosphere for both weather manipulation and defense purposes.
Falcon had chosen Carson, believing his status as the number one crime reporter for the Kansas City Star made him the perfect person to expose the government’s covert agenda.
Like everyone else, Carson had seen the fluffy white ribbons crisscrossing the sky for years and thought nothing of it. Three clandestine meetings with Falcon changed his mind and ultimately, the course of his life.
The evidence presented by Falcon was so compelling, Carson could smell Pulitzer Prize and pursued every lead given by the pilot.
The last piece of evidence Carson needed for his story was a sample of the toxic chemical stew purported to contain aluminum oxide, ethylene dibromide and barium.
A fourth meeting was arranged where Falcon was to deliver a sample of the spray, but he never showed. Carson learned the next day that Falcon had died on the way to their meeting when his brakes conveniently failed resulting in a lethal accident.
Falcon had told Carson that he and the other pilots in the program had been admonished by superiors that their missions were a matter of national security and any breaches of confidentiality would have dire consequences.
There was no doubt in Carson’s mind that Falcon’s ‘accident’ was such a consequence, but there was no proof.
Falcon’s demise wasn’t the only suspicious death associated with the chemtrail conspiracy.
Carson had enlisted the aid of Walt Williams, a retired police officer who had opened his own private investigation service. Seeking further confirmation of the government’s secret program, Williams had submitted their findings to Frank Katz, a professor at the University of Missouri-Kansas City, who was known to have an interest in the subject.
Katz was thrilled and proclaimed the new evidence offered by Falcon was the final piece of the puzzle he needed to finish a paper which he planned to submit for publication exposing the government’s secret operation.
Frank Katz conveniently died of a heart attack before he could publish his final draft.
Equally perplexing was the disappearance of Louise Shipley, an employee of the chemical giant, Monsanto. This mega-corporation had been mentioned multiple times in the articles Carson had found, linking the company’s development of aluminum resistant seeds to the poisons that had been sprayed and drifted to the earth over the years.
Shipley had come to Kansas City from Monsanto’s office in St. Louis with information for Carson. Inexplicably, the young whistleblower disappeared the night before their meeting. Three people about to expose government secrets were dead or missing --- coincidence? Carson didn’t think so.
After the disappearance of Louise Shipley, Carson had gone into hiding. He made one last stop at his apartment and never went back. He withdrew cash from his bank account and destroyed all his credit cards. He tossed his cell phone in a dumpster and bought a burner. He even abandoned his car in an underground garage and bought an old clunker, manufactured before the advent of GPS. He rented a cheap motel room under an assumed name and paid with cash.
He thought he had covered every possible contingency --- but they had found him.
As he checked the mirror again, his hand involuntarily went to the two manila envelopes in the seat beside him. One was addressed to Walt Williams and contained every scrap of evidence he had collected about the chemtrail conspiracy. He had decided that should he be caught, someone familiar with the investigation should have the information to continue the battle to expose one of the greatest deceits ever perpetrated on the American people. The other was to Calinda Marchetti.
He wondered if he had acted too late.
Then, he saw his opportunity.
It was five in the afternoon and the going-home traffic had clogged the streets. The SUV was still two cars behind him. Just as he approached a busy intersection, the light turned yellow, then red. Before the cross traffic could pull into the intersection, he hit the accelerator and made an illegal left turn, barely missing an oncoming car.
He heard the horns of angry drivers, but he didn’t care. The SUV was stuck until the light turned green, and would still have to make an illegal turn.
He swerved through the traffic and sped ahead until he spotted a multi-story parking garage. He drove inside and wound his way to the third level and pulled into a spot where he could see the traffic on the street below.
Carson breathed a sigh of relief, as minutes later, the SUV sped past.
When the SUV was out of sight, he relaxed for a moment and collected his thoughts.
Somehow, in spite of all his precautions, they were still on to him. He quickly concluded that his only course of action was to leave town, disappear completely, and start a new life somewhere far, far away from Kansas City.
But first, there was the matter of the two envelopes. He had done everything he could, and now it would be up to Walt Williams to carry on the investigation.
Looking both ways, he carefully ventured out of the garage and headed to the main post office on Pershing Road across from Union Station.
He pulled up to the curbside collection box, rolled down his window and slipped the envelopes into the slot.
Carson felt a great burden had been lifted from his shoulders as he drove back to his motel to collect what was left of his worldly possessions before heading out into the great unknown.
He took one last look around the room to make sure he was leaving nothing behind. Satisfied, he was about to close the lid to his lone piece of luggage when he heard car doors slam.
Peeking through the blinds, he saw the black SUV and heard footsteps outside in the hall. Quickly, he ran to the bathroom which faced the opposite side of the motel. He threw open the window hoping to escape, but two men with weapons drawn were covering the back.
His mind raced, hoping to find a way to freedom, but it only took a moment for him to realize it was over.
As he heard the door frame splinter, fear and panic turned to resignation.
He slumped down onto the commode to await his fate.
