Chapter 45

McGowan contacted his pilot. He wanted to fly around in his helicopter again, even though two hundred aircraft were already in the air looking for Stone and Danders.

“What’s another bird in the sky?” he shouted at his pilot, as she suggested that he coordinate his search from the safety of his home. “And dress like a slut.”

McGowan paid well. That’s why she tolerated his boorish, misogynistic, bullying behavior. That, and the fact that his unfathomable wealth made him unfathomably handsome in a perverted, delusional way. Some people have orange looking skin and hair; his looked the dirty green of well-circulated dollar bills.

She wore the professional-looking flight suit that she wore the last time; when he saw her this time, he fired her for insubordination. She told him she would go public with what she knew. He relented.

“I want to start by flying over this area,” he said, pointing to where Stone’s building was. “If I don’t see anything, then we’ll expand the circle. You could at least unbutton your shirt while we’re in the air.”

“We’re not playing that disgusting song again. Now button your mouth and we’ll have a safer trip.”

“I don’t get no respect.”

“Respect? You should be horse whipped. And where on earth did you get those goofy-looking eyeglasses?”

McGowan told her that he could read her thoughts when wearing them. She didn’t know if she should believe him, but with McGowan, anything was possible. He saw her think something he already knew: this would be the last time they’d be together.

He decided to end their relationship by being raunchy.

“Let’s get it up.”

“You’re flying solo on that one.”

He changed his mind. He would end the relationship as a gentleman, or as close to being one as he could.

“Fly north to Brassville as fast as possible. I gotta find someone. He saw her unspoken ‘who?’ “No one you know. Just fly this thing. Convinced now that these eyeglasses work?”

How can I hide my thoughts?

“You can’t,” he told her.

But he knew otherwise, and that knowledge was, of course, the reason he was looking for Stone and Danders.

She concentrated solely on her task, trying to inhibit thoughts of anything else. Good thing she did. No flight plans are required to fly helicopters in the area they were in; with all the air traffic, she had her hands full trying to stay safe.

Several loops around the immediate Brassville area found no sign of McGowan’s quarry. He told the pilot to concentrate on the area encompassing the towns adjacent to Brassville, starting with Centerville.

An older building looked out of place compared to the new hangars near the airport located on the Centerville town line. Maybe it was the hangars that looked out of place; regardless, McGowan sent the coordinates to an underling at his house and told him to find out whom the owners were and what the buildings were used for. McGowan could not see them, but there were five armed soldiers inside the building, watching and listening for intruders. Ordering the pilot to fly low over the building, McGowan saw an overflowing mailbox, no vehicles, no lights on, and no sign of life.

The helicopter was approaching one of the nearby hangars; in contrast, it was a beehive of activity. Twenty or so vehicles were parked outside, including two trucks backed into loading docks. McGowan sent the coordinates, then waited for the information on this building as well.

Impatient as always, McGowan was ready to yell at his underling to get him the information immediately, when a strong voice began to provide him with the information.

“The garage is owned by a Nelson LLC, an ‘anonymous’ LLC registered in New Mexico; the real estate is owned by an I. Novator; and the hangar and land is owned by an Aristotle Elwell of Southbury, CT.

McGowan needed no explanation of what an ‘anonymous’ LLC was; he had some of his own. He knew that if Nelson LLC was hiding something, as his anonymous LLCS were, then he needed to know who the owner was. And who in hell is ‘I. Novator’, he wondered; for the moment he was not concerned about Aristotle Elwell.

“Next time don’t take so long!” he shouted into the phone before disconnecting.

He saw the pilot thinking what a jackass he was.

McGowan contacted an employee in New Mexico and told her that he needed the name of the manager of Nelson LLC within an hour. She knew his reputation, and was pleasant and compliant, but if he could read her thoughts, he’d see that she thought it unlikely that she could find out who the owner was now, or ever. But she was going to try.

McGowan ordered the pilot to keep flying over the same area. After ten minutes, there was no change in the areas around the building and the hanger, but a group of neighbors had gathered in the yard adjacent to the building and were pointing to the helicopter.

They’re probably pissed off having to listen to us flying over them for so long. Screw them.

McGowan turned on the chopper’s loudspeaker and told the people to go back inside their houses and mind their own goddamn business. Their thoughts about him were most unpleasant, and they paid him no heed. Some people called the police, some the FAA, and one, the local NBC reporter, Jill Miller.

“Jill Miller.”

“Ms. Miller, my name’s Mary Louise Burkle, and no, I ain’t related to the snooty billionaire with the same name. You gotta get over here. A helicopter been a flying over us for the past half hour, going round and round in circles like it’s stuck on autopilot. The noise is driving us all crazy. And speaking of crazy, a guy yells from it using some kind of loudspeaker telling us to go back inside our houses and mind our own goddamn business. I might get my rifle and shoot the sonbitch out the sky.”

“Mary Louise, where are you located?”

“I’m standin' in my yard.”

“I mean what town are you in?”

“Centerville. In Connecticut.”

“What street?”

“Tarby.”

“Is the helicopter still flying?”

“Ain’t the spot between my butt cheeks making that whirly birdie noise, dearie. Although it does make some crazy loud ones now and again.”

“Can you take some pictures of it?”

“My butt?”

“The helicopter.”

“Already done that.”

“I’ll be there soon.”

“They say he’s some big shot.”

“Who is?”

“The guy who been yellin' at us from the helicopter.”

“Did you hear anyone say what his name is?”

“Big shot.”

“I’ll be there soon.”

“Better get here lickety-split. Cops are comin', sirens goin', all hell is breakin' loose. Ain’t been this crazy round here since my husband set his pants afire. He was wearin' them on his head at the time.”

Miller told her boss that she needed the fastest vehicle the station owned; he told her to use the snow monster, a weather-technology loaded Jeep, with goofy-looking eyes and teeth painted on the front end. He said the sight of it would scare the other drivers on the highway and they would get out of her way. She laughed because he thought all his remarks were funny and she was playing the role of servile employee. She thought he was a jerk, and the snow monster as well.

Miller’s list of people in the know was perhaps one fiftieth of that of McGowan or the president, but its members were well connected nonetheless. She called her ex-husband and current Central Intelligence Agency agent, Andy, as she and Andie were driving to Centerville. Miller asked him if he’d heard about the helicopter rider causing pandemonium. He laughed and told her, yes, he had. Did he have any information on who the person was? Yes, it was Evan McGowan.

“Evan McGowan? The trillionaire?”

“Yes.”

“Why is he behaving like someone who is out of control?”

“Because he is out of control. Rumor has it that he’s looking for the guys who invented the thought-reading system: Jon Stone and Gary Danders. That’s not all—the President is looking for them as well.”

“How did you get your information?” wondered an incredulous Miller. “It can’t be true.”

“At first everything was only a rumor. Then we got a picture of the helicopter showing someone holding a loudspeaker. We didn’t recognize him so we ran the picture through facial recognition software and found out it was Evan McGowan. Once that was confirmed, we contacted the people we know inside McGowan’s organization and found out what he was doing and why. Mind you, whether or not McGowan is looking for Stone and Danders is not confirmed, but they were both seen in his company recently, and he is the owner of the thought-reading invention. So we believe that rumor to be true.”

It took Miller a minute to respond. “I’m sorry, it’s just that this is overwhelming.”

“I know.”

“And the president is also looking for them? Seriously?”

“We know he is using all the personnel and technology at his disposal to find them, including some of our people. Imagine being chased by two people with limitless resources. This is one hell of a story, Jill.”

“It’s scary.”

“The story itself, and who is involved. Be careful. As always, you heard none of this from me.”

“I will be careful, and don’t worry, I’ve forgotten your name.”

The scene near the airport had gotten more chaotic. The Centerville and state police had arrived, sirens wailing. The crowd of neighbors had grown larger, and McGowan was yelling nonstop. The overweight Brassville mayor drove up in his oversized SUV to offer his assistance. He asked someone in the crowd if any television reporters were on the scene yet. When he was told not yet, he wandered back to his dark-windowed SUV and had a shot and a beer. He functioned better with a buzz on. He was a friend of Bert McGowan, the famous police chief of Milford, and brother of the man shouting from the helicopter. He gave Bert a call. Bert would be on his third or fourth beer by now.

“Hey Bert, this is Dennis O’Malley.”

“Who?”

“Dennis from Brassville. O’Malley.”

“Oh yeah. How’s it going Brian?”

“Dennis. Your brother need any help?”

“Not from you. He’s got hundreds of people working on this. You’re from Brassville anyway, and he’s in Centerville—how you gonna help?”

“It’s the next town over, I know the mayor.”

“So does my brother. Nice talking to you. Call me again sometime when you don’t have any time.”

“But the governor and I are best buds—there’s a lot of ways I can help.”

O’Malley sat with the phone to his ear for several minutes before realizing that McGowan had hung up. He poured himself another shot and decided to stay put, feeling that he’d still be of use. Sycophants and other wimps can rationalize anything.

Evan McGowan was capable of anything, Stone and Danders knew, and so the circus outside the garage was no surprise. Their team was working fast making the eyeglasses, unruffled by the commotion around them. Five hundred pairs were already made and loaded on a white panel truck. An identical truck sat parked next to it, empty for now.

Stone was watching a television to hear what the public was being told when a breaking news/weather alert streamed across the screen announcing a severe thunderstorm warning for the entire state. High winds and hail would accompany the heavy rain, and tornadoes were possible. Radar showed the line of storms was closing in on the Brassville area. McGowan’s pilot saw the same radar screen several minutes earlier and announced that she’d be landing the copter at the Oxfed Airport. For once, McGowan didn’t complain.

The crowd dispersed quickly at the sight of the approaching dark clouds and booms of thunder in the distance. Within minutes, every person and vehicle was gone, except for the oversized SUV belonging to the city of Brassville.

Stone watched the area around them become empty and instructed two drivers to take the loaded van to Virginia, knowing from the microphones aimed that the occupant of the SUV was sleeping peacefully.

The rain began to pelt down, the sky became dark, and the white van pulled out of the garage, into the nasty weather and drove away. The mayor of Brassville snorted himself awake and wondered where everyone was.

President Strump got news of the Centerville commotion shortly after the white van began its trip to Virginia. Thank goodness for television, otherwise he would still be in the dark. He needed someone to do his bidding; uncertain of whom to call, he took an organizational chart out of his desk drawer and began reading the names. The president respected power, and was surprised to learn that the president pro tempore of Senate would become president should he and the vice president not continue in their roles for any reason. Looking through the newspaper, he saw an article quoting Senator Olds from Wyoming, the president pro-tempore, as saying he hoped that common sense would prevail in all matters facing our great country. The president didn’t know what Olds meant by that, and neither did anyone else, meaning that Olds was the consummate politician, saying something that said nothing, but wrapping it in Old Glory.

Son of a bitch, I didn’t know that Olds is the president pro temporary. I’ll call him.

He did; Olds’ secretary put the president on hold while she went into Olds’ office to tell him. The president fumed.

Stupid bitch, if I didn’t need Olds’ help I’d have him fire her. Nobody puts me on hold.

Olds was playing gin rummy with members of his staff. He swore under his breath when his secretary told him the president was on the line. He knew something bad was going to happen, probably something to do with the thought-reading invention. There are no secrets in Washington D.C. Olds knew that the president had fired everyone who disagreed with him. He couldn’t fire Olds, but he could involve him in cockamamie actions that would sooner or later cost him his job. The thought of having to do an honest day’s work would have nauseated a newly elected senator, but Olds had been one for twenty years and made millions by misuse of his office.

“Mr. President, what an honor to have you call.”

“Nice of you to say so, Olds. I’ll mention it in a tweet. I need someone powerful like yourself to help me.”

“With what, Mr. President?”

“I’m trying to capture two men to work on an invention of theirs, to improve it. It’s a matter of national security.”

“Sounds like a matter for the executive branch, Mr. President.”

“Huh?”

“The armed forces, being under your control as chief of the executive branch of the federal government, should be trying to find them. I am a senator, in the legislative branch. I need to serve my constituents from the great state of Washington, and cannot get involved in executive branch matters, unless it serves my party’s needs. Or mine. Did you say capture?”

“I don’t understand anything you just said except capture. Yeah, the two who invented thought-reading are loose and I need them. It’s their patriotic duty.”

“To...”

“To do what I tell them.”

“I’m afraid I can’t help you, Mr. President. My job is to do legislative work, not executive. And you can’t fire me. To remove me from office, the senate has to expel me.”

“I thought you were a powerful man. You’re a wimp.”

“Thank you, Mr. President.”

Why didn’t I think of this before? I’ll have my head of security, my bodyguard, be my point man.

Olds made a call.

“Evan, we have to do something about the president. He wants to kidnap two men to work on the thought-reading invention. Kidnap! Do you believe it? No, he didn’t say ‘kidnap’ but that’s what it is. What? You’re after the same men? You hope they will work willingly for you but you’re going to take them if they don’t? You’ll be committing felonies, and do time. It doesn’t bother you, it doesn’t matter? Our country will crumble. That doesn’t bother you, doesn’t matter either? No? Evan, I’ve known you for a long time. You can’t get away with this. Say that again? You will ultimately control people’s thoughts and rule the world? Are you saying that with your support, I could be president for life? How can I help?”

Because he was a member of the Senate Committee on Armed Services, Olds could get information about the president’s efforts to find Stone and Danders. He’d be one more person helping McGowan; that’s how he could help.

The rain had stopped in Centerville. The mayor of Brassville tapped his chubby fingers on the steering wheel to the tune of the ‘Irish Lullaby’ being played on the local AM 5,000-watt powerhouse station. He was thinking about his next move. He couldn’t think of any. Apparently not having a city to run and nowhere to go, he got out of his SUV, walked around it, and, satisfied that he was not drunk, got back in and poured himself another. Something was bound to happen soon; he could feel it.

McGowan ordered the chopper back up. There had been no changes in the area while they were grounded. He growled into his headset. “Where’s the bitch from New Mexico? I still don’t have any information on who the man behind ‘Nelson’ is.” He heard the click of someone joining the conversation.

“His name is Danders,” announced the strong voice.

“Land this thing, right there by the front door,” McGowan yelled.

The pilot dutifully did as she was told, and McGowan got out after ordering fifty of his men to converge on the scene. He had found his prey; all he had to do was capture them before the president’s men got wind of his good fortune.

Everything cannot be anticipated. Stone, watching McGowan get out of the helicopter and approach the building, never imagined seeing that happen. He decided to ignore what was happening outside. No one answered the door; but sooner or later, someone would have to. He told Danders and Jain what was going on; Jain was intent on continuing the work.

If McGowan was convinced that he and Danders were there, Stone knew he would force his way inside. There were no places to hide. They would be captured.

McGowan began pounding on the door, shouting that he knew Stone and Danders were inside and demanding that they come out.

The sound of the helicopter brought the crowd back. Not intimidated and curious, they began walking towards the building and the chopper.

McGowan heard their talking and shouting and knew that things would get ugly quickly. Not that he cared; he felt that he was in control.

Jill Miller’s arrival changed that feeling. No one had answered his knocking. She and her cameraperson were standing beside McGowan before he could knock again.

“Mr. McGowan, what are you doing here?” Miller asked.

“Visiting a friend.”

“You came in a helicopter to visit a friend?”

“I have the wherewithal. He may be ill. I may have to fly him to a hospital. Now please move away, I’m trying to see if someone is ok.”

With his lens in, McGowan saw what was coming. He didn’t like it.

“Mr. McGowan, we’re going live. If Mr. Stone and Mr. Danders are inside, why haven’t they answered the door, do you think?”

“They must be shy. Or deaf. Or in terrible pain.”

“They are the creators of the thought-reading invention you now own. You have already held them against their will to try to force them to make changes to it; now you are telling everyone that you are here solely for a visit? It seems more likely that you are here to get them to make changes to the invention. What will those changes allow you to do? Control people’s thoughts?”

“You say control what we be thinking? You ain’t gonna control this thought: I’m gonna smack you in that purdy face,” shouted Mary Louise Burkle, who was trying to get through Miller to get to McGowan.

“Mary Louise, you’re on television!” Miller told her, as she struggled to keep this smaller version of a football lineman away from McGowan. “Don’t do anything that gets you arrested.”

McGowan continued to act like, well, himself.

“Damn good advice, dyke,” McGowan yelled. “Stay away from me.”

When the word dyke was uttered, Mary Louise knocked Miller out of the way, and punched a back-pedaling McGowan twice in the face. He fell unconscious to the ground.

“Ain’t nobody gonna call us them names when I’m around. We’re as good as anybody, better ‘en most. You got me, you ball-less creep?” shouted Mary Louise.

Inside the garage, Stone smiled. He’d have to thank Mary Louise.

Inside his large SUV, the mayor of Brassville awoke. The commotions around him initially made his head ache. It reminded him of his office, an out of control area but thankfully out of sight of the public. McGowan was lying on the ground, a fire hydrant standing over him and a helicopter sitting next to him; Julie Miller was talking into a microphone while a fine-looking woman aimed a camera at her; and a boisterous crowd was cheering the hydrant. The mayor liked to drink, but he hid the effects well. Except for the smell of alcohol on his breath, no one could tell he’d been drinking. He got out of the SUV and made his way to McGowan. He announced who he was, flashed his badge, and told everyone to remain calm while he called for an ambulance. He didn’t understand why the unconscious McGowan ignored him. The crowd began pressing in on the area around McGowan, trying to congratulate their new hero, Mary Louise.

McGowan’s people were in shock. No one laid a hand on him and got away with it. Straight got into his SUV and headed for Centerville.

The Centerville police arrived, lights flashing and sirens blaring. The chief was the first officer out of a car. He knew what had happened thanks to Miller’s broadcast.

“I called for an ambulance,” the Brassville mayor told him.

“My Animal Control Officer told me you called her. Quite apropos, but she’s not a medic. I called for an ambulance. Now leave, O’Malley. You have no jurisdiction here.”

“But I’m buds with Bert McGowan, and the governor. I can help.”

“Only way you can help is by leaving. You want to leave quietly without embarrassing yourself, or do you need my officers to escort you,” the chief answered, gesturing to Miller’s camera and to the crowd gathered about.

O’Malley left, unaware that he had once again made Brassville, and himself, a laughingstock.

McGowan started to come to. The eyeglasses had been knocked off his face by Mary Louise’s hands, and now lie broken and partially hidden on the ground near some bushes. He felt his face for the glasses.

Damn!

He kept that information to himself. He’d come back later to get them.

The police chief asked Mary Louise to step away from McGowan. She complied.

Miller continued to bring the story to live TV; she felt an allegiance to Mary Louise for getting her here, and have the biggest story of her life unfold, but did her best to remain objective.

“Ms. Burkle, you are under arrest for assault,” the chief advised her.

“You arrestin' him?”

“No.”

“Why not? He assaulted me and all people like me with his words.”

“You threatened him before he said anything to you. It’s still assault. He didn’t threaten you, even if he said something offensive.”

“Whaddyou mean ‘if’? And I did not threaten the slime ball.”

“Sorry, Mary Louise, but you did,” Miller interjected. “We have it on tape.”

Everyone in the crowd had a cell phone with them, and was watching this exchange. They did not want Mary Louise to be arrested.

Someone began to shout,

“Leave her alone. Leave her alone.”

Soon they were all shouting it.

Mary Louise didn’t understand all the things the chief said, but she didn’t want her neighbors to get in trouble, either.

“Okay, I’ll go.” She grabbed the microphone from Miller’s hand. “Stop. I’m gonna go with the cops. Go home. I will get home lickety-split.”

It was a microphone not a megaphone. Most of the crowd couldn’t hear what she said.

The people stopped advancing because they knew she said something, but did not begin to leave. Burkle gave the microphone back to Miller and told her she didn’t hold a grudge for saying she threatened McGowan. Miller gave her a hug and thanked her for getting her here.

Burkle was cuffed by an officer and led, gently, to a cruiser. The crowd had backed off but the atmosphere remained charged.

McGowan got to his feet and shouted loud enough for all to hear,

“You broke my glasses, you stupid bitch! You know how much I paid for them? Two trillion dollars! You stupid dyke bitch, I’m going to kill you!”

The last thing the police chief wanted to do was to arrest McGowan, but he had no choice. Untold millions of people watching on TV had just heard him threaten Burkle. Before Burkle or the crowd could react, he put McGowan in handcuffs and loudly announced that he was under arrest. The crowd cheered; McGowan asked the chief if he was crazy; Burkle smiled; Miller was disappointed that it would be quiet here soon; and Stone pumped his fist in the air.

The helicopter pilot took off for the Centerville Police Department, because she knew that McGowan would not be in custody for long. It took the crowd a few minutes to acknowledge that the drama was over. While the TV station showed six consecutive minutes of commercials, Miller was told that she would stay on the air another twenty minutes. She interviewed two people from the crowd, recapped the events, and then speculated about what was going to happen to whom, before turning things over to the two anchors in the studio.

One hour after McGowan was arrested the normally quiet area was quiet again. It looked the same except for the garbage strewn all about, and the myriad tire tracks in the sand and on the grass around the building. The cloud of marijuana smoke had nearly dissipated.

“Are we ready to send another shipment, Gary?” Stone asked aloud out of habit, instead of waiting for him to read his thoughts.

“Yes. We can have the truck loaded in a few minutes.”

“He’ll be back, madder than hell. I think we should have everyone leave. You and I can make more eyeglasses at my building.”

“I think we both need some rest and relaxation, Jon. We’ve accomplished a lot, and we’re in this for the long haul. Let’s not get burned out.”

“You’re probably right. Your wife has been patient.”

“Yes she has; nonetheless I think she’ll have some choice words for me, being away from her for so long.”

Stone nodded with understanding.

“Let’s get out of here. Don’t think about where you and your wife will be—I don’t want to know in case McGowan captures me. Same for me. McGowan’s efforts to enhance the invention have been temporarily delayed; the president is having his own problems as well. The heat is off for a short time, at least from McGowan. I’ll call you in a couple of days and we can decide when to get back together. Ok?”

They shook hands and wished each other well.

Stone addressed Jain and her crew.

“You are all a credit to scientists everywhere who ask ‘why not’ rather than ‘why’. If it weren’t for your fearlessness and dedication, we’d have no thought-displaying eyeglasses and would still be groping in the dark. And hundreds of people with epilepsy and locked-in syndrome patients would not soon be getting their own eyeglasses. Sai, Gary, and I thank you from the bottom of our hearts.”

“If it wasn’t for the three of you leading us, the success we have all achieved could never have happened,” answered one of the crew.

“We’re getting a little sentimental, aren’t we?” teased Jain.

“I suppose we are,” said Stone.

Putting a damper on the feel-good meeting, he said,

“For the time being, we have to go our separate ways. You know that bad people are after Gary and me, and they might come after you to get to us. We have only a short time to leave here—get to where you think will be safe. Until we meet again, I wish you all the best.”

The crew had a difficult time accepting the news, but with some prompting they gathered their belongings and left.

“One of our army buddies will drive the van to Virginia,” Stone told Jain.

With that, they hugged and she left.

General Steele and Stone decided to take the production line apart after Stone removed his software. The general agreed to drive the van, while Stone drove to Virginia by himself. The rest of the general’s men were going to split into two groups and provide protection for Jain, Murphy, Summa, and Long.

Stone judged that the short window of time to escape undetected from land or air was about to close. Once the building was emptied of its equipment and the vehicles were ready to go, he set off multiple smoke bombs as they drove away and continued doing so for three miles—it being obviously advantageous to hide the vehicles from prying eyes. Fortunately, there was no traffic to contend with and there were occasional pockets of visibility as they drove through the smoke.

The Centerville Police Station pulsed. Anybody who thought he was somebody showed up to express concern, joy, outrage, curiosity, or whatever his gut said to express, and crowded into the small-town building. The governor, one of the U.S. Senators who was holding a town meeting in nearby Southbury, mayors and representatives from six area towns, a sizable group of print and other media reporters, some of the president’s people, some of McGowan’s employees, and nearly all of the crowd from the scene were there, most having followed the story by watching Miller’s coverage and anticipating where the action would go.