Chapter 3

The interlinking chain of events that surrounded the white female known as Patricia Smith were slowly working their way across the entire country with no known starting point and without any pattern that drew the attention of the Department of Homeland Security at least to the point of raising the threat level.

Patricia pulled into the gravel parking lot in front of the twelve units with the flashing neon sign that said “Vacancy”. They were tiny square boxes with obvious functional purposes of sleeping and using a bathroom. The round disc on top for Direct TV indicated it had television for the guests in each room. She talked to the old man behind the plexiglass window and passed him some of the bills she had taken from the desk at the police station. He was so interested in the game on the television, he barely looked up at her and gave her the change with no comment at all.

The key was for unit twelve which was all the way at the other end of the building.

Once inside, she peeled off all her clothing and took a long soothing shower under the warm cleansing water from the new shower head that worked with perfect precision.

She opened up the bag with her fresh new underwear and socks and used the toothbrush and floss to clean her teeth. She brushed her hair and dried it with the spare towel supplied by the motel management. The yellow bag at her feet held a police special handgun and a pump shotgun with lots of rounds in case of trouble. She still was hindered by her inability to remember anything but she knew instinctively that she knew how to use both firearms and felt reassured that all would soon be in order as soon as she could remember if she really was Patricia Smith and what her purpose was in life.

The unfolding plan of domestic takeover was still in its infancy and she had not the slightest inkling of her small part in it at least as yet.

The television was loaded with lots of “breaking news” about strange happenings all over the map. Some sounded really weird but the news reader didn’t seem all that interested in the details because they usually didn’t involve violence or sex crimes and were unlikely to arouse viewer interest. Some dams were spilling over due to mechanical problems and some fires at chemical plants and near power facilities but no actual proof of sabotage just a lot of speculation about faulty maintenance and acts of God.

There was nothing really conclusive like two jet airliners crashing into Twin Towers one right after the other like they were playing pinball with the skyscrapers.

There was no mention of the problem that she was involved in and no police report to say she was being hunted along with all the other inmates in the jail she had just vacated.

Still, Patricia, if that was really her name, was convinced that her loss of memory was not her fault at all and that she was a victim of some conspiracy too big to understand.

Sergeant Harold stood listening to the static on the police radio and he noticed that the usual status reports were absent this evening without any explanation and he had a strange feeling it was all connected in some strange way with the unusual happenings all around them ant that they would soon find out the reason. His main concern was that their time of discovery might be too late to change the end result that might be something he didn’t even want to even think about in his present state of mind.

He wondered where Patricia Smith had gone and he considered sending out an all points bulletin to locate the missing squad car. He changed his mind just like a woman and he realized that if higher headquarters was already compromised it might be time for him to look for some shelter for the world of shit about to drop on all their heads without much warning.

He headed to the back-up Hummer with the armor plating on the bottom and loaded it with the reserve weapons and ammo he had been storing for a rainy day. In his judgement this constituted a rainy day and in point of fact it was more like category five hurricane all things considered.

He answered the telephone on the desk and talked to the old man out on the interstate that ran the little motel that catered to the truck drivers looking for a place to sleep where they could stretch out and take a nice hot shower in a clean bathroom.

“Hello Harold, this is your old buddy Jake out at Highway 90. I got to ask you if you got a new female deputy with long black hair and one bitch of an attitude that gets my dander up.”

The Sergeant was all ears now and he listened to Jake tell him, “This is one cunt, I got to tell you, she can’t be from around here. I think she is one of those New York City gals that think their shit don’t stink.”

He did his best to calm the old geezer down and answered, “Is she down for the night, Jake?”

“It sure does look like it. Her light is off and she looked plumb tuckered out when she got out of that nice new shiny cruiser you boys in blue just got from down State.”

Sergeant Harold headed straight to the Hummer and revved it up listening to the whine of the powerful engines. It was time for him to head out to the Interstate and put Patricia Smith back into handcuffs and perhaps give him some entertainment with a nice interrogation session that would bring them a lot closer to each other in more ways than one.

Patricia stretched under the sheet on top of the bed in her tiny motel room.

She could hear the buzz from the twenty-four hour neon sign overhead and the sound of the ice machine outside the door going on and off in irritating cycles that woke her about every thirty minutes.

Strangely, the under the window air conditioning unit was new and it was reasonably silent in its operation and all she heard from it was a faint humming sound. She looked out the wall window in front and saw the blue and white squad car sitting there bearing mute testimony to her precarious situation.