Cloud Dust by Connie Suttle

Author:Connie Suttle [Suttle, Connie]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9781499794182
Barnesnoble:
Publisher: CreateSpace Publishing
Published: 2014-07-25T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter 10

Notes-Colonel Hunter

I'd gotten a coded message from James while I watched the news the following morning. Every crawler on every station said the same thing-Darin Majors, Jr., shot by unknown assailant at his apartment in Cambridge, MA.

Every newscaster was having a field day with the fact that Darin Majors, the only child of noted author, Harriett Majors, and Darin Majors, Sr., a prominent Atlanta attorney, was now dead.

You'd think that Harriett Majors was dead all over again. I remembered news of her death, more than six years earlier. I'd believed the information disseminated then-that she and her husband were killed in a car accident in Wales.

I wanted to laugh bitterly. Richard Farrell, noted scientist, had been in Wales, Alaska, when he'd supposedly suffered his heart attack. Both he and Harriett were still alive.

Darin-Sr. and Jr.-were the ones dead.

James' cryptic message informed me that Corinne was suffering in some way; he just couldn't elaborate. He'd called her Tippy, she was a stray cat he'd found, and was now receiving veterinary care.

At least Richard Farrell was there to take care of her. I had no idea what this would do to her in the long term-both her husband and son, now dead, likely due to the same source.

This was their last ditch effort to prove the lie we'd told.

Instead, they'd killed an innocent man. After reflecting on thousands of deaths in Ketchikan, one more would mean nothing to them.

What was their end game? Phillips had control of the U.S. before. Wasn't that enough?

Let Tippy know you love her, my text read. Sometimes that helps as much as medicine.

I will. The vet has her on an IV right now. I hope she makes it.

* * *

Ilya

She wouldn't wake. At times, I thought it a blessing, as the fucking media wouldn't drop the news about her son. Harriett Majors' last dust jacket photograph was shown continuously, next to a yearbook photo of her son.

Police had no suspects and few leads on the shooter-the best they had was someone out walking his dog who reported a shadowy figure slipping between buildings not long after the body was discovered.

There was no description-it was too dark to get useful information.

Those of us in Alaska knew who was behind this killing, however. They'd attempted to draw Corinne out one last time.

They'd sacrificed her son to continue playing their game.

Would they reveal their agenda openly, now? Would Corinne come back to us to help wage that battle?

I felt lost again. I did convince Farrell to set sunlamps about our bed, however. They were now on constantly while we waited-and hoped-for her recovery.

* * *

Private Journal

Dr. Richard Farrell

Although Corinne's vitals were marginally normal, it's as if we were back to the point after she'd been shot in D.C. She was so deeply entrenched in her unconscious that nobody could pull her out.

Was she mourning or dying? I couldn't tell. An IV was the best I could do for her-we didn't have the necessary equipment to do more than that.

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