Veil of Civility

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Declan pulled off of the Lee Jackson Highway and made a right onto Boonsboro Road. He'd decided that it would be safer to enter Lynchburg by coming over the Blue Ridge Mountains and across the James River instead of having to pass by the place where he'd been run off the road and nearly killed. He'd been listening to AM radio stations since he'd left the cabin looking for any word on what to expect when he arrived. The news anchor had just finished reading a statement from the university's chancellor, Jerry Fallwell Jr., in which he talked about the university's response to the attack, his narrow escape due to the health concerns of his mother and offered prayers and support for those effected, but Declan had yet to hear any indication that the police or FBI had roadblocks or checkpoints setup around the university.

He removed a navy blue baseball cap from the passenger seat and placed it on his head, pulling it down over his forehead to rest just above his eyebrows in an effort to disguise himself as much as possible. He was hoping that showing up at the university was the last thing anyone would expect him to do and that no one would be looking for him there for that reason, but he couldn't be too careful.

Driving the blue Mercedes sedan south onto the Lynchburg Expressway, the campus of Liberty University came into view. Leaving the four lane interstate, he drove a short distance onto the commercial street known locally as "Hamburger Row" and crossed a set of railroad tracks onto the campus. This was the rear entrance to the university and was marked by far less traffic than the more widely used entrance east of the main campus. He passed by several faculty parking lots and finally found a visitor parking area along the sidewalk adjacent to Arthur DeMoss Hall, the university's most recognizable building. The Hall had two levels of concrete steps and eighteen stone columns supporting a towering Jeffersonian portico, which made the building look a lot like the Supreme Court in Washington D.C. In front was a statue of an eagle with its wings spread wide as it perched atop a marble column.

Declan reached over the front seat and grabbed a dark red backpack before stepping out of the car and locking it. Placing the bag on the ground at his feet, he pulled on a black Gore-Tex raincoat, zipping the collar up as far as it would go to further hide his facial features. With a cold wind blowing off the mountains and the ever present threat of seasonal rain from the heavy clouds above, the weather was providing the perfect environment for such a disguise. He slung the backpack over his shoulder and walked onto the sidewalk. Unlike most of the people he would be passing as he searched for the university's faculty offices the contents of his bag weren't textbooks and notepads, but instead a collection of first-aid and survival gear, including two to three days' worth of ration bars, butane lighters, duct tape and light sticks. In addition were some items he'd placed in the pre-made kit himself, including a lock picking kit, two pre-paid cell phones and a Glock .26 pistol with two extra magazines. He didn't plan on starting a firefight in the middle of campus and he didn't expect anyone else to, either, but if any more of the men trying to take him out showed, he was prepared.

Allowing the bag to slide off his shoulder and around to his chest as he walked, he unzipped it and reached inside to retrieve the campus map he'd purchased from a convenience store several miles outside of town.

He had come to visit Michael Coulson, wanting to ask the man several questions that would hopefully shed some light onto what exactly had happened at the Barton Center two nights prior. He didn't suspect Coulson or anyone else at the university of being involved, although he couldn't rule out the possibility, but they certainly would know who the security company was and how to contact them. Returning the backpack to his shoulder, he spread open the glossy campus map and looked over it.

"Are you new here?" a female voice asked from behind him.

Declan turned to see a young woman with dark brown hair partially stuffed into a multi-colored stocking cap, her hands held close to her body inside the large pockets of a tan parka.

"Aye," he said, “just arrived today."

"You're kind of late," she responded with a quick smile. "Classes started two months ago."

"Okay," he said with a nervous laugh as he returned her smile. "You got me. I'm not a student, at least not yet. I'm here for a meeting with Dr. Michael Coulson. I'm hoping to start my master's degree here in the fall."

"I'm surprised Dr. Coulson is seeing anyone with everything that's happened over the last few days, but you'll find him in the Helms School of Government. I'm heading that way if you'd like a guide."

"Aye, that would be grand. I didn't call ahead to confirm the appointment, but I suppose I should have. I heard about what happened."

"It's been a rough couple of days for everyone around here," she said, as she started walking towards the front of DeMoss Hall. "Even with the shootings on the Virginia Tech campus a few years back you still don't think that it can happen to you, until it does. People here are in shock, classes have been canceled for the rest of the week. Grief counselors are all over the place for people who need to talk. I've just been trying to keep myself busy and not pay attention to the news and everything."

"Aye, I thought it looked a little desolate. Things like this used to happen all the time where I come from."

She looked over at him with a question on her face as they ascended the steps of DeMoss Hall and entered the relative shelter of the portico. "Ireland?" she said.

"Aye, Belfast area. It's not so bad anymore, but when I was a kid it was a violent place."

"I don't know much about it, I guess," she said with a shrug, as he held the front door of the building open for her. "I'm a math major."

"Oh," he said with a sarcastic laugh, “my favorite subject."

As they entered the building the girl removed her hand from the pocket of her coat and pulled off her stocking cap. Declan watched as her dark brown hair spilled down around her shoulders. He couldn't escape the thought that people just like her had been working in and around the Barton Center two nights ago. He'd noticed several of them as he and Constance had entered. How many of them had been killed or seriously injured? Did this girl know any of them? He grimaced as she led the way through the bottom floor of the building. Innocents like her were always the ones who got hurt and the people who planted the bombs or fired the guns dismissed their lives with petty political reasoning that, when you really stopped to think about it, held about as much water as a wet Kleenex. He felt anger rise from the pit of his stomach. He used to be one of those men. How many innocent girls and boys had been killed in IRA operations he'd played a part in? He'd realized early on in his days with the IRA that the type of attacks they were committing were doing little for their cause and only harming innocent neighbors. He'd tried to limit his involvement to attacks on the kind of men who had murdered his parents, but he was certain there had been unintended consequences, there always were.

"You okay?" the girl said, as he nearly ran into her. He hadn't noticed that she'd stopped walking and turned to face him.

"Aye, sorry, I was just thinking about the people in that building the other night."

Her brown eyes suddenly looked sad. "I didn't know anyone that was there, but some of my friends did. My roommate is over at the counseling center. Her ex-boyfriend was killed in the explosion. I thought I would just keep my mind off of it by studying. I'm heading to the learning center on the third floor, but I'll show you where Dr. Coulson's office is first."

"Oh, you don't have to go out of your way like that for me. If you'll just point me in the right direction I'll wander around until I find it."

"Nope, can't do that," she said as her smile returned. "I'm duty-bound to see you there. It's the Liberty way."

"Well, I appreciate it," he said, as they continued walking and neared a set of doors leading out of DeMoss Hall. They exited the building into a rectangular courtyard filled with evergreen shrubbery and descended a flight of concrete steps.

"I think I took my hat off a little too soon," the girl said as a gust of wind blew her hair over the top of her head and she hurriedly placed the stocking cap back on. They walked past several rows of hedges towards a one story concrete block building with a sign identifying it as the food court annex and turned left before they reached it. At the end of a long row of shrubs next to the building they turned left again and the girl pulled open a door leading into a long hallway.

"Well, this is it," she said. "This is Dr. Coulson's office." She motioned towards a closed door on the right side of the hallway just past the entrance. The shingle on the door read; Michael Coulson, Ph.D.

"Aye, that's grand. Thank you," Declan said, looking at the door.

"It doesn't look like anyone's here, so I hope you didn't come all the way from Ireland just for this."

"Oh no, I'll be in town for a while," he said, with a smile.

"Well, my name is Brooke," she said, as she removed a hand from her coat pocket and held it out.

"Paul," Declan lied, as he took her hand and shook it politely.

"Well, maybe I'll see you around then, Paul," she said with a smile.

He smiled back at the expectant look in her eyes. He couldn't be sure, but he was getting the impression that she wouldn't mind seeing him again. He continued smiling knowing that he was likely old enough to be her father. "Aye, I'll be around."

"Okay," she said nodding slightly as she turned to the exit. Declan slid his backpack off his shoulders and allowed it to fall to his feet. As soon as Brooke had exited the building and was out of sight, he turned and looked down the hallway. All of the twenty or so doors in the hall were closed and he couldn't hear any noises indicating that there were people present. He tried the door to Coulson's office: locked. Taking a last look through the glass door leading into the courtyard, he bent down and opened the backpack.

The fact that Coulson wasn't in his office wasn't going to deter him from trying to find the information he wanted. Maybe there was something inside, some paperwork, perhaps, that could tell him what he wanted to know. In many ways that would be ideal. If he could find what he needed without having to speak directly with anyone, then maybe nobody would ever know he'd been there. He looked up and down the hall again, this time with his eyes on the ceiling, looking for any sign of security cameras. Seeing none, he removed a fist-sized leather case and opened it, revealing a set of metal lock picks and a black pick gun. He withdrew the pick gun and closed the kit, setting it on the ground beside him as he leaned in towards the door and inserted the end of the pick gun into the keyhole. Pulling the trigger on the gun, he counted in his head until he heard an audible click. Removing the gun quickly, he turned the doorknob and pushed the door open before the tumbler returned to its locked position.

Declan picked up the lock kit and his bag and retreated inside the dark office, searching for a light switch as he closed the door. Finding the switch on the wall, he turned on the light and looked around. The office was windowless and it was obvious from the number of opened boxes sitting on the floor and in the chairs that Coulson had been preparing to move to his new home on the third floor of the C.H. Barton Center. In the right hand corner of the square room was a corner desk with a computer and printer on it. On the monitor, several images of the campus flashed around the screen and Declan realized that Coulson probably hadn't been gone very long. Most screensavers were only set to a maximum of thirty minutes before the computer would enter power save mode and turn itself off.

Before touching anything, he reached into a side pocket of his backpack and pulled out a pair of black leather police gloves. Setting the backpack on the floor, he pulled on the gloves and opened a box sitting on a red upholstered chair near the door. Inside he found several plaques with various academic awards listed, and quickly closed it and moved on. In another box was a stack of binders containing test materials for the many courses that were taught in the university's government programs, and again he closed the box and moved on. Taking a seat in the leather office chair behind the desk, he swiveled back and forth, opening drawers. Inside, everything was neat and labeled, but he found nothing that told him what he wanted to know. He bumped the mouse and the computer screen came to life, revealing a desktop background picture of Michael Coulson, his wife, and what were apparently the couple's children, sitting atop a high rock overlooking a valley. He recognized the location as being the top of McAfee's Knob in Roanoke, a popular local hike that connected in several locations with the Appalachian Trail. He and Constance had hiked it many times and had similar photos at home.

The sound of someone opening the entrance door to the hallway caught his attention and he quickly stood from the seat and hit the power button on the monitor, making the screen dark. He moved over to the door and listened as someone entered, whistling. The person stopped just outside the office and Declan turned the lock to the open position and removed the gloves. Stuffing the gloves in his coat pocket, he picked up one of the boxes and moved it to the floor so he could take a seat. He watched the door intensely as the sound of a key being inserted into the hole came from outside. The sound stopped and the person trying to enter turned the knob and pushed the door open.

Declan sat with his foot casually propped up on his other leg and leaned back in the chair. "Good morning, Dr. Coulson," he said, as surprise registered in the eyes of the professor. "The door was open so I thought I'd wait inside."

Declan could tell by the look on Coulson's face that, unlike the student he had run into on his way in, Coulson had been paying attention to the news.

"The door was open?" Coulson asked suspiciously. "I could've sworn I locked it."

Declan shrugged. "Must not have, because it opened when I turned the knob."

"Hmm." Coulson stepped fully into the room, running a hand through his neatly combed brown hair as he looked around. His thick mustache twitched as he spoke. "I wasn't expecting anyone, much less you."

Declan could sense that the man was nervous. "I came to ask you a couple of quick questions and then I'll be on my way."

"Questions? About what? I've been over everything with the FBI a dozen times."

Now the professor sounded frustrated instead of nervous.

"I'm sure you have been," Declan said, trying to sound reassuring. "I just wanted to know if you knew who—"

"They're looking for you, you know?" Coulson interrupted.

Declan stopped talking as the professor withdrew a business card from inside his coat.

"One of the agents gave me this card and told me to call them if I saw you."

Declan stood and looked at the man. "Did they tell you why?"

"No. Only that they were looking to question you in connection with the — with everything. They asked if I knew you and said you hadn't been available since you left the hospital."

Declan reached for the business card. Flipping it over in his hand he read the name of Seth Castellano. "Funny thing about that, someone tried to run me off the road and kill me when I was heading home after I left the hospital."

Coulson looked up in surprise. Although he didn't speak, the words you're serious? were pasted on his face.

Declan nodded. "They were driving a vehicle that closely matched the type of SUV that some of the security officers had the night of the gala. That's why I came. I was hoping you knew who the security company was and could direct me to them."

Coulson stroked his mustache and chin with his hand as he took a deep breath. He seemed to be contemplating his next words carefully. He shook his head as he spoke. "We have our own police department here and they usually take care of any and all of the university's security needs. If we're expecting a big crowd for an event, for example, then our department hires off-duty police officers from the city for extra manpower."

"The guys the other night looked more like a private firm, not off-duty officers."

Coulson shook his head again. "I don't know who they were. I didn't plan the event. That was handled by our scheduling department. They coordinate all campus events."

"Can you call them and find out?"

Coulson brushed a hand through his hair again. "I don't think I should. I think you need to call the agent on that card and talk to him. He's in charge of investigating this, not you."

Declan stepped closer to the professor, who continued his nervous and frustrated movements. "Look," he said, stepping to within a few inches of Coulson and allowing the obvious threat to hang in the air for a moment. "I've already spoken to Agent Castellano and he all but told me he didn't believe what I was saying. I was part of Abaddon Kafni's security detail for five years. You were with me in the Barton Center when that bomb exploded. Why would I put myself and my wife in that kind of danger if I knew what was going to happen? I followed Kafni to the home he was staying in after we evacuated him from the building and I saw his attackers carry his head out in a bag."

Coulson swallowed hard at the mental images as Declan continued.

"Since then someone has tried to run me off the road. When they succeeded, they came back to make sure I was dead and I overheard them talking about killing my wife next. Luckily, I'm not an amateur when it comes to such situations and those men and the men I found watching my house are no longer with us. The men I saw kill Kafni were Islamists, the same type of men that have been trying to take him out for over a decade, but the men who came after me were different. They were Americans, and until I find out who they are and who was running them I'm not going anywhere near Agent Castellano or anyone else involved in this investigation."

Reading into the professor's wide-eyed look, he knew he had the man on the ropes and decided to go in for the final blow.

"Now all of that, to me, adds up to a conspiracy and that means the bombing wasn't a terrorist attack and that there are other people involved. Since you opened that door and saw me you've been sweating bullets and fidgeting like a hyperactive child. Do you have something you want to get off your chest, Dr. Coulson?"

The professor broke eye contact and looked at the floor. "I'm an academic. I don't know anything about bombs or murders or any of this stuff. All I know is that two nights ago I watched a lot of my colleagues get killed or injured in that explosion and the investigation has yet to come up with any kind of an explanation as to exactly what happened and why. You want the name of the security company? Fine, I'll get it for you and then I want you out of my office."

Coulson's eyes were filled with emotion. He removed his glasses and wiped his face with a handkerchief before reaching for the telephone on his desk. He punched a button and a dial tone sounded over the speaker. After he dialed a few numbers, Declan heard a female voice pick up the line.

"Scheduling, this is Nikki."

"Nikki, this is Michael Coulson over at the Helms School of Government. I'm standing here with an investigator who has asked me the name of the security company that was used the other night and I'm afraid I can't help him. Would you know who they were?"

"Yes, sir, but I've already given that information to the investigators that came here."

"Well, I'm sure they're just trying to build as complete a picture of things as possible. We're on speaker phone, would you mind telling him again?"

"It was a company out of Moneta called Sweat Security. They were providing the security for the home Dr. Kafni was staying in as well."

"Thank you, Nikki," Coulson said, as he terminated the call. "There, Sweat Security in Moneta."

Declan softened his demeanor and looked at Coulson. "Thank you, Dr. Coulson. I'm truly sorry for your losses. Abaddon Kafni was good friend of mine. We all lost people close to us. I'm just trying not to lose anymore."