The Man From Taured

  The Man from Taured

  A Novel By

  Bryan W. Alaspa

  For Grammy. Thanks for being one of the best ever on any plane of existence.

  Prologue

  Francis Duveen was a busy man. The morning that would turn out to be the craziest day in his life, he left his home, quickly kissing his wife Josie on the lips and then giving hugs to his sleepy-eyed children Tommy and Laura, and then out the door to the cab that waited for him. He had his trusty briefcase in his hands, packed with files and business cards and other things that were necessary for the sales presentation he had to give tomorrow. He was in for a long flight, flying from his home to Chicago was a long trip, but one he had made many times before.

  The cab driver was just another in a line of faces from all of the cabs he took on a weekly basis. Working for the Gemini Corporation required him to do a lot of traveling. There had been a time when leaving home caused his heart to ache and feel nothing but sadness. Now, all of the trips had hardened him a bit. He waved at his wife and children as they stood in the doorway, little Laura in her mother's arms, and they waved back.

  The drive to the airport was uneventful. Francis spent the time going through his sales presentation on the tablet he carried with him. It would plug into a device at the location where he was flying and allow him to run the slides while holding the device in his hands. Hopefully. Sometimes it didn't work. Francis tried not to think about that.

  The airport was, as always, chaotic. Francis ran on autopilot, pausing to check that he was headed toward the right gate a few times and noting the times of the flight. Every gate that he passed looked just like the one before it. He relied on instinct. He reached the gate, sat down, and got lost in the news on the television and then back to his presentation.

  The flight was called and it was only forty-five minutes late. Not too shabby for this airport. Francis had a business class seat toward the front. Other passengers lined up with him and there were men and women who looked a lot like him, wearing nice suits and sporting nice haircuts and most of them had their noses buried in business newspapers, magazines or tablets that probably held presentations similar to what Francis was studying. Francis held out his ticket to the attendant and then went down the ramp. He found his seat, sat back, ordered a drink, drank it and waited.

  They were in the air about fifteen minutes later and Francis decided it was time to rest a bit. He eased his seat back and closed his eyes, figuring that he would be too keyed up to sleep. Of course, he was asleep seconds later and slept for the rest of the flight. When he opened his eyes the plane was landing, bounding along the runway, the engines screaming, coming to a stop.

  The rushing started again once they got to the gate. The business passengers got to their feet. Francis Duveen stood up and grabbed his briefcase from the overhead compartment, feeling that fuzzy-headed feeling one gets after taking a long nap, rubbing his eyes.

  There was a bright flash.

  Just an instant, faster than a blast of lightning. Francis wondered if there were thunderstorms in Chicago, but from where he was standing, there was no good way to see lightning outside anyway.

  After the light came a sudden sick feeling in his stomach.

  Again, it was just an instant, like you get when you ride a roller coast, but over much faster.

  Francis let out a small belch and then looked around embarrassed. He had slept too long and he was jet lagged. That was the problem. Francis frowned.

  Who were these people?

  Surely these were not the same people that he had gotten onto the plane with. They looked similar, but there was something … off. Francis hadn't studied them well enough to be sure, but the hairs on the back of his neck raised. He must be more tired than he thought.

  No one around him seemed to think he was out of place. The pilot told them all that they were in Chicago and that the weather was warm. He was in the right place. Francis shook his head, feeling silly. He would get to the hotel, take a hot shower, get a good meal and a good night's sleep and it would all be OK. He fished out his passport and waited for the line to move.

  When it did, Francis exited the plane.

  Moments later, his life changed forever.

  Before

  Noble Randle stood in the little store attached to the restaurant where he and his wife had just eaten and let out a dramatic sigh. The food was good, the place relatively busy, but they had beaten the lunch rush and it was too early for dinner, so the place was relatively empty. The store was filled with little tchotchkes including everything from books on CD, T-shirts sporting the American flag and toys for the kids. Noble and his wife Olivia were on a road trip and had pulled over to this particular chain because they both liked the food and Olivia liked to shop in the little store. They didn't need more tchotchkes, but what the hell? He was about done, though, and wanted to get back on the road.

  Outside the sun shone as if it were on a mission to bake the asphalt. The sky was a brilliant crystal blue. It was just the end of spring, about to become summer, and there was a steady breeze that made being outside pleasant rather than the abject torture Noble normally found hot weather to be. It was the perfect weekend for the drive to the little town where they had gotten married three years ago. There was a bed and breakfast there waiting for them and the drive was only about an hour and a half.

  Noble was near the door. They were just getting ready to leave, the food bought and the knickknacks already in a bag that Noble held in his hand. There was a wide aisle from the door to the restrooms in the back of the shop. On either side were racks of clothing and shelves filled with candles and garden wares, but this middle aisle was a clear shot to the restrooms. Noble guessed this was to make getting from the door to the bathroom easy for those just off the road with bladders ready to burst.

  He had a clear shot to the restroom doors. Olivia had vanished in there a moment ago. She was wearing a bright blue dress that really stood out in the bright light coming through the windows. She was hard to miss with her glorious blond hair, cascading down her back, and the pretty dress. Noble had picked this spot just so he wouldn't miss her when she came out and he had already been around the entire store four times. There was nothing more to look at.

  Except for his watch.

  How long had she been in there? It felt as if it was a long time, but his watch indicated it had only been a few minutes. His wife had a tendency to pull out her cell phone and check Facebook while using the restrooms. Olivia could lose all time and perspective when her nose was buried in the phone.

  Noble reached over and examined a small salt shaker that resembled a squirrel. He turned it over and checked the price, grunted,, and set it back down. He did not want to move far from the middle aisle. Noble wanted Olivia to see him and him to see her. So, he continued to study the shelves right by the door. Noble studied the rack of books on CD, noting that there was an exchange program for truckers and travelers where they could leave a CD and pick up a new one. Did people still listen to these? They must. Hell, some truckers still used CB radios.

  Noble checked his watch. Five minutes now.

  This was starting to get ridiculous.

  Noble sighed again with a bit more emphasis and drama. What was she doing in there? Writing a novel? Getting into some kind of Facebook chat war with someone? She had been prone to doing that before, but usually not while sitting on the commode of a public restroom.

  Noble looked at a series of country CDs that were resting in a rack near the audiobooks. He hated country music, so he scanned the display quickly and dismissed them. There was little else to see from this vantage point. Noble walked down the middle aisle, heading for the candy at the back wall, and right next to the doo
rway that led to the restrooms.

  Noble looked at his watch again. Now she had been in there for ten minutes.

  Was there something wrong? He had quick flashes of her collapsing to the floor of a public restroom, her brain having blown a fuse or her heart picking just that moment to stop. Noble tried to push those images aside, but once they had taken hold, it was hard to remove them.

  OK, this is ridiculous, he thought.

  Noble pulled out his own cell phone and quickly called up Olivia's number.

  ARE YOU EVER COMING OUT? ARE YOU OK? QUIT FACEBOOKING!

  Send.

  Noble waited for a moment. He turned and looked around the little store. It all looked normal. Same racks of stuff and same sun in the sky. Wait - who was that behind the register? She looked new. Had he seen her before? The girl glanced up at him and seemed, for a moment, just as surprised to see him as he was to see her.

  Noble frowned.

  Weird.

  His phone buzzed in his hand and Noble glanced down. Olivia was calling him.

  "Hello?" Noble asked.

  "Where the hell are you?" Olivia asked without pausing. "I couldn't see you in the store so I came out to the car. I've been sitting out there waiting for you for ten minutes. What the hell are you doing?"

  Noble was really confused now. "What do you mean you went out to the car? I was standing right in the aisle leading from the bathrooms to the front door. I never saw you walk past!"

  Noble looked around. The blond girl behind the register was gone now. The old man with the gray beard that had been there when Noble was by the front door was back. Noble swiveled his head around, looking for the girl.

  "Well, come out to the car," Olivia said. "I want to get going."

  Noble hung up the phone and stuffed it in his pocket. Goosebumps were running up and down his back and across his arms. He moved fast, getting out of there and into the bright sunshine as fast as he could move.

  There was the car and there was Olivia, behind the wheel.

  Noble got in and closed the door.

  "OK, I never moved from that middle aisle," Noble said. "You couldn't have missed me and I never saw you walk past. I doubt I would miss you in that blue dress."

  "I got out of the restroom and you were nowhere to be found," Olivia said, backing out of the parking spot. "I wandered all over the store looking for you and you weren't there."

  "I was at the back of the store, by the candy, when you didn't come out of the restroom," Noble replied. "We couldn't have missed each other."

  Just then Olivia's phone buzzed. She picked it up and read his text.

  "When did you send those?" Olivia asked, showing him the screen.

  "I dunno, five minutes ago?"

  Olivia gave him an odd sideways glance and then stuffed the phone back into her purse.

  "Let's get out of here," Olivia said and stepped on the gas.

  "Amen to that," Noble said.

  Part One

  The Vanishing Man

  Chapter One

  Transcript of Interview

  Date: June 14, 2014

  Time: 7:30 p.m. CST

  Person interviewed: Eveline Paulson of TSA, O'Hare International Airport

  Interviewer: Noble Randall of I.C.E. on behalf of Homeland Security

  Subject: Strange occurrences on June 3, 2014, Chicago O'Hare Airport International Terminal.

  Noble Randall (NR): Are you comfortable, Ms. Paulson?

  Eveline Paulson (EP): Yes, thank you.

  NR: Good. OK, well, I think you know why you're here.

  EP: June 3, right?

  NR: Yes. I just want to go over what happened that night, if we could? Can you tell me what happened?

  EP: Well, it was near the end of my shift. I work days and it was approaching six o'clock. I was

  working the line, like always, checking the passports of people as they came in from the

  international flights. It had been a pretty boring day, really. Nothing weird.

  NR: Nothing at all? There was no commotion from other passengers off of Flight 190? No one was

  talking to anyone or anything?

  EP: Well, they might have been talking, but there was no indication that anything was wrong.

  People always talk, you know. It's not like they have to stand silently in the line.

  NR: Of course. Sorry, go on.

  EP: Well, this man just stepped up like anyone else and handed me his passport. I looked at the

  photo and at him and then I studied the passport itself. It looked legit. The right paper, the right

  watermarks and other security stuff. Then I noticed the country of origin and, well, that was

  when things got weird.

  NR: Go back for a minute. What did he look like?

  EP: Average height. He had a beard and brown eyes. He wore these tiny wire-rimmed glasses that

  perched on the end of his nose. He had a gray suit on and was carrying a briefcase.

  NR: Nothing else? Did he have dark skin? Light skin? Did he talk in a weird accent?

  EP: He was light-skinned. He had a bit of an accent, but nothing I could place.

  NR: OK, so, what country was listed as the country of origin on the passport?

  EP: Taured.

  NR: What was that?

  EP: Taured.

  NR: Tar - what? Can you spell it?

  EP: Tee-ay-ewe-are-ee-dee.

  NR: Taured. Had you ever heard of that before?

  EP: No. We get briefed pretty regularly on the changing nature of the countries of the world, too.

  You know that there are always new countries forming all the time these days. Some group

  breaks off from what was once the Soviet Union and suddenly we have a new country.

  NR: But you had never heard of Taured?

  EP: No.

  NR: Did you ask him about it?

  EP: Of course. I asked him if this was some new country or something. I said I had never heard of

  it.

  NR: What did he say?

  EP: He got worried. He smiled as if I had told a joke and said that Taured was a very old country

  and had been around for thousands of years.

  NR: I see. What happened then?

  EP: I asked him what he was doing in America and he said he was visiting on business. He said he

  traveled there all the time and had done business in Chicago for a long time.

  NR: Were you tempted to just let him through?

  EP: Never. Something about this whole thing was weird. I asked him for more identification and he

  handed me a driver's license. Same guy, but the country of Taured was on it again. So, this time I

  checked the computer. I searched our internal database and came up with nothing and then

  went out online and did a Google search. Nothing. No Taured.

  NR: Very odd. What happened next?

  EP: Well, there was a line building up behind the guy and I could see that people were getting

  really impatient. So, I called my supervisor.

  NR: That would be Chase Whitlock?

  EP: Yeah, I called Chase and said I had a problem. He came right over and I showed him the

  passport and driver's license. Then I showed him what I found when I did a search.

  NR: Is that when you three went to the interview room?

  EP: Yeah, Chase asked me to accompany the man back to an interview room.

  NR: What was the man's name? Do you recall?

  EP: Yes, because it was weird. Francis Duveen.

  NR: And how was Mr. Duveen reacting at this point?

  EP: He was getting agitated. He yelled at Chase. He said that Taured was an ancient country and he

  had been here many times and had never had any problems before. What was the problem?

  We tried to explain that we were having trouble finding the country he said he was from and

  that seemed to just get him more upset.<
br />
  NR: Did you call security?

  EP: No. I just spoke to him and said that this was likely just some kind of error and if we could take

  this to some place private, maybe we could sort it out.

  NR: Did he come along then?

  EP: Yes. We found a room and he sat down. He was still angry, but at least he didn't yell or cause

  another scene.

  NR: Did you stay for the rest of the interview?

  EP: No. I just helped get him settled. I got Mr. Duveen a bottle of water. Chase was on the phone

  and calling around and Mr. Duveen was in the room for a bit by himself. Then Chase told me

  he had things covered and I could go back to the line.

  NR: Did you see Mr. Duveen again?

  EP: No. My shift ended before they were done talking to him in the room.

  NR: But you heard about what happened?

  EP: Yes. People were talking about it the next day.

  NR: OK, thank you. If there's nothing else to tell me, then I think our interview is over. Thank you.

  EP: You're welcome.

  End of Interview

  ***

  Noble sat back and rubbed his nose. He had read and re-read the transcript many times. The statements were just as confusing as they were when he first had the conversation. Seeing the words in transcript form just took away the emotion and the nervousness that was in the room. It made it all plain text, which revealed nothing. Of course, this person was just a front line employee with TSA. She had not even been there during the interrogation of the man known as Francis Duveen.

  There were more interviews to come.

  Right now he had to get ready to talk to his boss, the secured video call was in a few minutes. Noble looked at his watch. There was not enough time to call Olivia. They had plans for dinner that night and he wanted to make sure that she was getting out of work at a reasonable hour. He hoped he would get out of here on time.

  Olivia would love this story, Noble mused. The woman loved a good mystery. She would be all over this.