As Parker’s helicopter slowly descends behind the gate, neither General Cozey nor his staff are anywhere to be found. Seven or eight soldiers hold the media throng in check, but judging from the returning choppers that were out at sea, they soon will have more people to worry about.
More fuel for the fire, Parker thinks.
The scene is spiraling into chaos and it is becoming abundantly clear General Cozey is losing control of the situation. General Parker may need to have a word with him, but first he would like to view the footage on Private Rushmore’s disc and speak with Dr. Waterston, whose constant avoidance of the general has become highly suspicious.
On the return trip to Tamawaca, Augie had received a call, the matter of which he has yet to explain to General Parker. After reading Augie’s expression, however, it was obvious to Parker that whoever the caller was, they had a few interesting things to say. Augie indicated that he would explain to the general once they touched down, so he would not have to shout to be heard over the roar from the rotors.
When the helicopter is hovering only a few feet off the ground, Parker and Augie hop down from the chopper and walk quickly towards the beach.
Augie places his hand on Parker’s elbow and leans in close, urgently delivering the new information he received only moments ago, “They just finished interrogating one of the fishermen who spotted our Arabic party up north. The man cracked, sir, and rather easily I should add.”
“Were they gentle, Augie?” Parker asks with a wry grin.
“Just some minor threats, General,” Augie responds, “and no physical harm.”
Parker does not know if Augie is being serious or facetious and frankly, he does not want to know.
“The man admitted he was approached several days ago,” Augie explains, “and told that in exchange for a large sum of cash, he needed to gather a few buddies and be at a certain location on the lake the morning of July fifth. They were to take note of what they saw and report it once they came in for the day.”
“Jesus Christ,” Parker says, shaking his head in disbelief, “what the hell is going on, Augie?”
“I don’t know, sir,” Augie replies, “but it’s starting to unravel, isn’t it?”
“So the Arabic men on the boat are actually . . . real?”
Augie nods, “Seem to be, sir.”
“Then they were planted there by someone,” Parker says, his frustration mounting.
Augie nods again in agreement.
“What about the other group of witnesses?” Parker asks. “Cozey mentioned a second group who corroborated what the first group saw.”
“My guys are working on them, sir, but I suspect it’s only a matter of finding out which one of the men in the group was approached and propositioned. I’m sure he’ll have a similar story to tell though,” Augie asserts.
Parker nods, not necessarily pleased with the new development, but satisfied progress is being made in debunking the witnesses’ stories.
“Alright, let’s see what’s happening around here,” Parker says warily, uncertain where the next surprise will come from. He would not have to wait very long.
As Parker and Augie walk towards Cozey’s headquarters, they are suddenly intercepted by Private Anderson, who appears out of the darkness behind the cottage next to the Easy Does It, a tense look on his face.
He whispers in a low, conspiratorial tone, “There is something I need to tell you both, immediately.”
He leads them away from the spotlight of the television cameras and phalanx of reporters and into the shadows of the cottages. They follow without protest, knowing the look on Anderson’s face. He holds invaluable information, simply waiting to burst forth.
Anderson leads them to a walkway behind a cottage, briefly looks around, and relays what the mysterious Dr. Nitchie disclosed to him. He tells them about the lackadaisical procedures on the part of the forensic team; Dr. Nitchie’s own trivial role and the feeling he is being ignored by the rest of the team; Bason and Stringer preventing Dr. Waterston from speaking with General Parker and the duo performing “damage control” on the inadvertent scan to the Pentagon regarding the unusual radiation discovered at the site; the extraterrestrial-like radiation found on the fish, similar to the radiation identified on several of the beachfront cottages; the arm with no radiation marks or cauterization and which Dr. Nitchie speculated was taken from a medical school cadaver, and other bodybags filled with similar extremities; and Nitchie’s repeated assertion that nothing here is what it seems.
By the end, General Parker is steaming mad and appears to be on the verge of an eruption. Anderson’s mention of the medical school cadavers instantly explains something that had been nagging at Parker. He had previously pondered what type of bombs completely eradicate a human being, bombs that simply destroy every fiber of a person’s being without leaving a trace of them behind, regardless of the distance from the center of the blast. A nuclear bomb could be capable of this, but it was obvious a nuclear bomb had not been detonated in Tamawaca. The bombs were conventional, and even the most deadly conventional bomb should leave people on the outer edge of the blast radius somewhat intact, albeit charred.
When they arrived, however, they were informed there were only pieces and fragments of people remaining, which would be used to match with a relative’s DNA to determine their identities. There are no actual bodies, relatively intact ones at least, and no faces to identify. This was something that had bothered Parker from the beginning, and now he is starting to understand why.
“You said that this . . Dr. Nitchie informed you that he looked in other bodybags and found the same thing? Just . . . pieces?”
“Yes, sir,” Anderson confirms, “that’s what he said.”
Thinking aloud, Parker continues, “So . . . the ‘parts’ were taken from medical school cadavers and used to fill up the bodybags for the TV cameras, but the victims’ loved ones would be given no chance to identify the remains.”
A few seconds pass with no one saying a word. Finally, Parker asks the obvious question, “So where are the people of Tamawaca?”
He looks at Augie and then at Anderson, neither of whom attempts to offer an explanation. Too many times lately he has been asking questions that do not seem to have answers, and he is tired of feeling like they are constantly running around in circles. It is finally time to obtain some answers.
“We need to talk to Dr. Waterston,” Parker says, “and maybe our pal Dr. Nitchie.”
Parker turns and begins walking with purpose towards the forensic lab constructed next to the Easy Does It, with Augie and Private Anderson following at his heels.
“Um, sir,” Anderson says hesitantly, glancing at Augie, “I don’t want to get Dr. Nitchie into any hot water for what he told me. He seems to have risked a-”
General Parker cuts him off, “I’ll use my utmost discretion, Private, but if we need him to speak up and point out the bad guys, we’re going to have him do it.”
“Uh . . yes, sir,” Anderson says, not looking or feeling the least bit relieved by General Parker’s comment.
They walk past the Easy Does It, which looks quiet at the moment compared to the scene a few hundred yards away at the gate. They notice the floodlights that were erected on the beach have been taken down, and there does not appear to be anyone from the forensic team present. They also notice the various markers that were planted in the sand have all been removed. Much of the debris from the explosions has been cleared away, and the only signs of disturbance to the beach are the massive amounts of displaced sand and the numerous blackened craters throughout. The sound of the waves crashing onto the shore seems louder now, like it is reverberating