“It’s too large. It’s the size of an elevator for a downtown L.A. office building. Big enough for six or more people. Why would anyone put an elevator that big in a three-story house? Dan, we’ve gotta go back.”
“If we nose around the elevator again, that Two guy will be all over us.”
“That’s why we can’t go back now. We need to return tonight—after dark. In the meantime, let’s check into the Marriott. We can get changed and maybe take in a movie. I noticed ‘The Deer Hunter’ with DeNiro is playing at the Revival Theater downtown.”
“One of my favorites,” said Dan. “But only on one condition—we get dinner between the movie and the night mission.”
“Deal.”
“One more thing, Terry. No matter what happens, we’ve got to pull ourselves out of any mess. No cops. Or the Santa Barbara P.D. will contact LAPD, and Krug will have my ass for impersonating city officials, trespassing, B&E—you get the picture? I love my job. I don’t want to give my boss a reason to take it away. OK?”
“Promise. No cops. No matter what. We’re big boys, and we can handle things ourselves. Let’s do it.”
CHAPTER 59
Following a Thursday deposition, Ridge returned to his office at 5 p.m. With Kate gone and Annie so new, he wanted to keep a check on things. Ridge looked all over his chair and desk. No notes. Nothing. Good. He sat down, opened his laptop, and started writing emails to his staff. At 6 p.m., still alone at his desk, Ridge shut his laptop, stared at it awhile, and finally—gave up. He picked up the phone. Held it in the air. Then called Dr. Peters’ number. After Tuesday night, he had to do something. And to his surprise, Peters herself answered the phone.
“Dr. Peters. It’s Eric Ridge. I’m just callin’ to set up that second session we discussed.”
“Glad to hear it. But I have an alternative I’d like you to consider.”
“Alternative?”
“At our first session, you seemed—let’s say—reluctant, less than gung-ho about therapy. An alternative is conversation, especially among peers. Inner conflict is a lonely, lonely road. Talking helps. It can be that simple.”
“What do you have in mind?”
“Four colleagues and I are planning a research project. Its goal is to determine the role of a group’s makeup on the effectiveness of group discussions—among veterans, that is.”
“How’ll that work?”
“Each of us will monitor a six-person discussion group. By the way, each monitor is a military vet, not necessarily with combat experience, but we all served. And so, I think we’ll be able to relate. For example, I did active duty during the Gulf War.”
Ridge couldn’t help but interject, “Thought I sensed a military background. Army?”
“Right you are. Anyway, one of the discussion groups will have only Navy vets. Another, only Army. The third and fourth will be made up of combat vets from Afghanistan and the War in Iraq, respectively. My fifth group will have combat veterans from six different wars—Korea, Vietnam, The Gulf War, Afghanistan, Iraq, and—hopefully if you join—the Secret War in Laos and Cambodia. What do you say?”
“What’ll be discussed?”
“The groups will discuss issues they’ve had and related symptoms since their service. And, of course, what has helped and what has hurt. You know already, there can be difficulty sleeping, night sweats, even flashbacks. But different vets with PTS have had to deal with different problems including excessive drinking, drugs, feeling upset by things that remind them of combat, hypervigilance, loneliness, paranoia, trouble concentrating, frustration, angry outbursts, deteriorating relationships, depression and even considering harm to themselves. Unfortunately, the list goes on and on. But, regardless of the issues or symptoms, group therapy with other vets seems to be the one thing that helps most. We want to learn how to do that best, and we need your help. Are you in?”
“How long will the study take?”
“It’s going to be a year-long study. The identity of all participants will be kept strictly confidential. The Veterans Administration is sponsoring the study, and we’ll meet at the VA offices in Long Beach—twice a month on Saturday mornings from 9:30 a.m. to 11:30 a.m. Coffee and donuts on me. Are you in? Please say, yes.”
Ridge knew he had to do something; this sounded like a great alternative to couch therapy.
“Look, Dr. Peters, fact is I haven’t slept soundly in weeks. It’s time I stopped running. So, count me in. When do we start?”
“A week from this Saturday. I’ll email you the details.”
“Sounds good.”
“Glad you’re in. I mean it. Welcome aboard.”
After hanging up, Ridge grabbed some coffee in the kitchen. Looking at his reflection in the Keurig machine, he whispered, “Finally making progress. Kate’s feeling better, and Marilyn Peters will help. I know it.” Then he stepped away and thought, Maybe we’re on a roll. Wonder how Terry and Dan are doin’ in Santa Barbara?”
CHAPTER 60
At 4 a.m. on Friday, Terry and Dan parked the SUV a quarter mile from 12 Oaken Drive. They wore black T-shirts, black cargo pants, and black jackets, which went well with the pitch black night. Climbing a wrought iron fence at the side of the property, they dropped to the ground without a sound. Dan peered through the cut-glass panels at the top of the twin main doors and whispered, “Alarm panel’s in the hall. Full of green lights. That Two character didn’t set the alarm.” Dan pulled out his lock picks and used them on the door. He and Terry were inside, silently, within minutes. Using mini-mag flashlights, they made way slowly to the dining room. Once there, Terry flashed his light through the glass fireplace enclosure. Still nothing visible inside the shaft. Then he noticed a turnkey to the lower right of the fireplace opening.
“Like a key for gas-assist,” whispered Terry to Dan. “But no gas pipes or gas logs in the fireplace; what the hell?” He turned the key. Click. Nothing. Terry pursed his lips and turned to Dan. “Before we break the enclosure, let’s look at the elevator.”
Using their mini-lights, they snaked around furniture and through doorways and finally reached the elevator on the far side of the house. Terry, glad Two’s bedroom sat way to the rear on the third floor, pushed the button. The doors slid open—without a sound. Something seemed different. A panel glowed—just below the level buttons marked ‘1, 2, 3.’ Terry signaled Dan to enter the elevator with him. Then he put his fingers on the panel, as if it were a touchscreen. The digits 0 to 9 materialized. Then it requested a three-digit code. Terry tried 1, 2, and 3—but nothing. Then he tapped in 1, 2, and 0 based on the address of the house. The doors slid closed. The elevator moved—down. Terry gulped and turned to Dan. “The key musta triggered the panel. But down? What the hell?” Before Dan could answer, the elevator stopped. The doors slid open.
“Holy shit,” whispered Dan.
“Holy shit,” Terry whispered back.
They entered a huge subterranean chamber. Switching on larger flashlights, they saw it was surrounded by a network of stone-walled chambers connected by marble floored hallways. “What the hell is this?” whispered Dan. “Like something from a medieval castle. Look at that walk-in fireplace. The three-foot candle posts. And that altar in the middle. Is this place used for some type of church service?”
“God knows,” said Terry. “And what’s with that huge black symbol etched on the front of the fireplace. An eagle?”
“Looks more like a raven. It smells foul down here. Let’s keep moving.”
Terry and Dan lit their way out of the central chamber into an adjacent room with a long thick wooden table, surrounded by twenty or thirty high-backed leather and wood chairs. “Looks like King Arthur’s place,” whispered Dan. “Before the round table.”
“But much more modern,” said Terry as he moved his flashlight beam higher. “Look at the digital projector in the ceiling. And the huge drop-down screen along that far wall. This is a conference room of some sort.”
