Free Hold On! - Season 1 by Peter Darley Page B

with a mere phone call. I mean, how do you figure that? It’s like . . .  I don’t know. The finest moment of my life. It’s the most worthwhile thing I’ve ever done.”
    He smiled. He couldn’t forget his fears on the night of the Carringby attack, and the fact that so many lives had been lost. But neither could he deny the rush that had gone through him when he’d glided Belinda off the rooftop.
    “What did you mean when you said the attackers were inside the munitions plant?” she said.
    “Infiltration. They would have been posing as employees, setting this up for months, otherwise getting in from the outside would have been virtually impossible. It looks like they detonated the explosives from a remote location.”
    “It’s believed,” the reporter continued, “that this attack is directly related to the attacks on Carringby Industries in Denver a week ago, and the Everidge Corporation in Dallas five weeks ago. All personnel who died in the Carringby attack have now been identified, and the families of all concerned have been notified.”
    Brandon moved across to Belinda and held her as her head bowed, clearly in silent grieving for her deceased colleagues.
    “The mystery of Belinda Carolyn Reese, the personal secretary of the late Barton Carringby, who was not found among the dead, deepens further.” Belinda’s college graduation photo appeared on the screen. “One week after she disappeared, the destiny of Ms. Reese has become the subject of numerous internet forums.”
    Belinda’s jaw dropped in amazement at seeing her own face on the screen.
    Brandon became ashen and his forehead fell into his hands. “Oh, no.”
    “What?”
    “This is what I was afraid of,” he said ominously. “I have a really bad feeling about this.”
     
    ***
     
    Agent Martyn McKay approached Senator Treadwell’s office grasping a folder. He knocked on the door with his usual apprehension.
    “Come in.”
    “Senator Treadwell?”
    The senator didn’t look at him, his attention fixed upon his widescreen television screen. The image of Belinda Reese’s photograph was set in freeze-frame. “What is it?”
    “I have the NSA report with the details of where the call to the Salt Lake Tribune originated, as you requested.”
    Treadwell turned to his subordinate with a persistently contemptuous demeanor. “And where would that be?”
    “Johannesburg, South Africa.”
    The senator shook his head, despondently.
    “Sir?”
    “Is every operative straight out of the academy these days?”
    “Sir, I’m not quite sure I follow you.”
    Treadwell stood and made a move toward McKay with his usual slow, imposing steps. “None of you have done your homework on this one,” he said angrily. “Drake stole an experimental sat-scrambler phone from the Arlington lab. That call came from nowhere near South Africa.”
    “I don’t understand, sir. If Drake is with the terrorists, why would he be trying to stop them?”
    “I didn’t say he was with those terrorists. Drake is an interesting boy. Don’t let him fool you.”
    “Interesting, sir?”
    “He’s young, virile, handsome, appealing to the majority of young ladies, I would imagine. How would you feel if you were totally innocent in such matters?”
    McKay sighed with frustration. It was yet another of Treadwell’s infamous riddles. “I don’t follow you, sir.”
    “No, you wouldn’t, would you.” Treadwell gestured to the image on the TV screen. “A beautiful young woman unaccounted for after the Carringby attack, and a young woman’s voice was recorded warning the Salt Lake Tribune.”
    “Yes?”
    “Try to imagine. Hypothetically, you have no intimate experience with women. Totally alone, you decide to interfere with a well-planned terrorist operation, and in the process, you decide to save a woman’s life.” The senator grinned. “Imagine the boon to your ego and sense of masculinity, knowing she is completely depending on you. Surely, you would now do