Page 101 of Broken Wheels
Doc winced, then gave a wry chuckle. “So I guess that’s what they mean by only when I laugh. Yeah, tell him.”
“You sure?”
“This is getting way too big for CrossBow. It goes into places we can’t get access to, so we might need more help than we can get on our own. Tell him.”
So Dix did, starting with the suspicious mail Doc had gotten from his former coworker, Cliff Tanner.
Josh removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes, which felt as though they were falling out of their sockets.
I’m so tired.
He knew he should be taking things easier, but returning to CrossBow had lit a fire under him. He had no idea whether someone else would come after him, but he didn’t rate their chances of getting past Gary’s defenses.
He brought his attention back to the main computer screen of the three he’d set up on the dining room table, grateful for its size. Clearly Dixon had planned for guests at some point. The letters and numbers were still swimming for him, however, so there was nothing else to do but take a break. For a moment, he wished Dixon hadn’t gotten the call from his office, but then he regretted the thought. I need to get used to it. As the operations manager, Dixon’s time wasn’t really his own. At least I’ll have Coby for company when Dixon isn’t around. The kitty seemed to adore Josh, although he thought that had less to do with Josh’s affinity for animals, and more because he kept plying her with treats when Dixon wasn’t looking.
Coby mewled, and he stroked her ears. “You know, before you showed up, I was useless at taking time to relax. You’re going to change that, aren’t you?” He smiled to himself. “But then, I was a different man before Dixon walked into my life.”
Before….
Why did that one word resonate inside his head?
Josh sat still, trying to focus, to follow the threads and pull them all together.
Kingsman, Georgia…. All those people who died…. What if that wasn’t their first attempt, but simply the most successful? What if they did it before?
He put Coby on the couch, much to the kitten’s dismay, revealed in her rather indignant grumbles, and rushed back to the computer where he typed in “mass poisonings in the US.” When the links appeared, the scale of what he was seeing staggered his mind. Entry upon entry, mostly from town newspapers talking about how residents had eaten or breathed or come into contact with something that poisoned them. None of the episodes were lethal, but many people were very sick for months afterward.
Josh bookmarked the sites, his heartbeat racing.
Please, let there be some kind of common denominator. Because there had to be.
He scanned the pages, and one name caught his eye again and again. In each place, after each disaster, the Systech Corporation—a company he hadn’t heard of—seemed to have organized several humanitarian efforts to help those afflicted. They’d gone in with fresh water, food, clothing, and more. They’d helped clean up the issues that left so many debilitated. Josh read comment after comment from people affected by the devastating and unexplained events, and a common theme emerged—the swiftness of Systech’s response compared to that of the government, dismissed as useless. There were testimonials, pages of them, singing the praises of Aaron Spencer, the CEO and owner of the company.
The more Josh read, the more he liked Spencer. Wherever there was a natural disaster, Spencer had put people on the ground within hours, working with the residents. He’d spent vast amounts of time and money doing what the government would have taken months to accomplish, assuming they could agree on things long enough to work together. It was surprisingly altruistic.
Who is this guy?
Josh was intrigued enough to do more research into Spencer’s life, and found himself tumbling down the rabbit hole. At thirty-six, he was the only child of Maria and John Spencer. He was rather good-looking—nowhere near as good as Dixon, of course—with dirty blond hair, deep blue eyes, and a neatly trimmed beard and mustache.
Josh grinned. He’s a PR person’s wet dream. Then the alarm went off on his pad. And just what are you supposed to be doing? Checking out handsome philanthropists? Aaron Spencer was nothing but a distraction. He turned back to the table?—
And froze.
Aaron Spencer. Whose company kept cropping up. Aaron….
Have I just discovered the identity of the mysterious AS?
Josh sloughed off his fatigue and went back to the articles he’d bookmarked, his excitement building. He found links to several videos of Spencer winning awards for his humanitarian efforts. Many of them were from the smaller communities that had been hard hit by storms, but threaded among them were also ones of people whose towns had been struck by mysterious poisonings. Each time, Spencer and his people had swooped in and cleaned up.
Josh frowned. How come no one asked how they could mobilize a coordinated response like that so quickly? Maybe it was possible, with the right mix of people.
Maybe.
Josh went back to the first video, aware of something roiling deep in his stomach. Spencer stood at a podium, his cornfed good looks on display as he got a local award, his first one ever, he said. The people were appreciative of the work he’d done to clean out the poisoned water system that had sickened dozens of residents, especially the very young and the aged.
He sounds so confident.
Spencer answered questions from the audience, and one response stood out in Josh’s mind. Someone asked why he’d decided to help, and Spencer smiled.