Lethal Light
Chapter 1
Einn
“And that was the Doobies with Listen to the Music.
Weatherman says it’s gonna be a beautiful day with a
high of 72 degrees and fair skies. Coming up on 6:46 a.m. now,
so...rise and shine campers!”
How can anyone be so upbeat in the morning? Wonder
what he’s like after he goes home, thought Briggs. Briggs
Stevens was not a morning person. Usually, two or three songs
would pass before his left foot found its way to the floor…but
not today.
Briggs knew today’s lecture was too important for
tardiness. Dr. Campbell was scheduled to talk about the effects
of ozone depletion on the atmosphere. Even though the CFC
propellant had been banned by the FDA for commercial usage,
Briggs often wondered what measurable and irreversible damage
had already been done. Thesis material? Maybe.
Briggs was notorious for parking in loading zones,
handicapped spaces or creating his own space whenever the need
or his mood became the deciding factor. He once considered the
idea of displaying all his “good driving awards” by making a
collage of them for his game room wall but a relaxing seascape
print won the contest. Today, was the famous two-wheels-up-onthe-
curb in front of a trash dumpster maneuver. Conventional
spaces were always so sparse around the lecture hall, especially
6
when Campbell was lecturing. Plus, Briggs always had been
somewhat of a nonconformist. His biggest pet peeve was drivers
who would come to a complete stop at a stop light in the country
and wait three minutes for the light to change without another
car in sight for miles.
There were plenty of good seats still available in the first
ten rows of the auditorium. The air was filled with a scrambled
din of opinions on politics, professors, unemployment,
sportswear, U.S. defense posture, etc.
“Excuse me, is this seat taken?” he asked a young coed
seated beside the aisle.
Jill looked up from her phone and flashed an ivory smile
at Briggs. She was sporting a periwinkle shift dress which
accentuated her athletic build and delicate shoulders.
“Well…I was saving it for my girlfriend, but I guess
she’s not going to make it today. Sure, you can sit here. I need
someone to keep me awake for this material.”
Briggs’ eyebrows furrowed inward indicating confusion
with her comment. Dr. Campbell was highly regarded by most
graduate students to be one of the finest professors at Stanford.
Oh well…she was probably “sleeping” her way through the
graduate program anyway, he thought. Guess that’s one
advantage of the barter system…anything can be exchanged if
there’s a market for it.
“Ahem…may I have your attention please?” thundered
Campbell’s raspy voice over the speaker system. “I have a lot of
material to cover today, so let’s get started.”
As Campbell began to speak, Briggs noticed that his
neighbor’s head was already starting to bob. Halfway through
the lecture, Campbell began to cover the long-term effects of
radiation exposure from the thinning ozone layer. This was the
information Briggs was particularly interested in hearing.
“Ohhh!” blurted sleepy head. Apparently, she had fallen
asleep and had a bad dream in the process. Not only did she
startle Briggs enough to gasp audibly, she succeeded in stopping
Campbell’s lecture.
With rage in his emerald eyes, Dr. Campbell pointed to
Briggs and exclaimed, “Young man, would you and your
shouting partner please leave this auditorium now!”
7
In all the confusion, Briggs didn’t know whether to be
furious or embarrassed. With dagger eyes, he turned to his
‘partner’ and said, “Care to join me for a long walk on a short
pier?!”
Still recovering from her disorientation, she looked at
Briggs and said, “I am so sorry.”
Once outside the auditorium, Briggs stopped short and
confronted her face-to-face.
“Just what the hell are you doing in this class? You
made it obvious when I sat down beside you that this class was
about as interesting as yesterday’s newspaper! I don’t believe
what just happened. I got thrown out of my favorite professor’s
lecture just when he was getting to the most interesting part.”
Feeling chided, Jill countered with, “Are you finished,
dad?”
“Yes, I’m quite finished.”
“Ya know…I just received a lecture, within a lecture, on
classroom etiquette and I don’t even know who chewed me out!”
Jill concluded.
“Briggs…Briggs Stevens,” he humbly answered.
“Briggs Stevens…I’m sorry I brought a black cloud into
your day…and you have every right to be angry with me for the
embarrassment I’ve caused you…but I think everyone should get
a second chance, don’t you?”
Preparing his response, Briggs noticed the sincerity in her
deep, blue eyes and nodded with affirmation.
“I apologize for being such an ass. In fact, if anyone
overreacted, it was Campbell. Did you see the way he shook his
finger at me? Let’s start over. Since you already know my name,
what’s yours?”
“Jill Ross.”
“Jill Ross, it’s nice to meet you.”
Both were shaking hands when Briggs’ phone began to
play Pink Floyd’s ‘Money’ ringtone. Briggs looked at the glass
and thought ‘this can wait.’
As he silenced the tune, he began to snicker again and
said, “Can you imagine what Dr. Campbell would’ve done if this
had gone off during your yell?!”
8
Both started to snicker. As the laughter began to fade,
Briggs gazed at Jill and said, “Ever been to Café Venetia? I think
they serve the best cappuccino in California. How about it?”
“Sure,” she said with a smile. “So, what’s with the fancy
ringtone anyway?”.
“Oh, this ringtone lets me know that my father needs me
for something.”
“Actually,” Briggs sighed, “my father owns a natural gas
drilling and transmission company and I’m his geologist. He
usually calls when he smells money and wants my opinion.”
“Then you must be a pretty good geologist,” Jill said
with a nod.
“I do ok. Now, if you’d still like to take me up on my
offer for a free cappuccino at Café Venetia, my car’s this way,”
Briggs stated while offering the direction.
As they approached his black Porsche 911, Jill
commented on the professional parking job. He returned a
chuckle but not because of her comment. Instead, his attention
was focused on the pink slip of paper waving at him from his
windshield wiper.
* * *
(chime) ”Mr. Stevens, Briggs is on line two”.
“Thank you, Ann.”
“Hello Briggs…how in the world are you?”
“Fine dad, and you?”
“Couldn’t be better son.”
“How’s your hip, dad?”
“Well, if ‘Arthur’ would leave me alone, I bet I could
outrun you!”
“That’s a bold statement for a chain smoker to make,
don’t you think? Just how many packs a day are you smoking
now, dad?”
“Okay…okay…Mr. Health, you’ve made your point.
Briggs, how’d you like to go to Iceland for a couple of weeks…
all expenses paid?”
9
“Iceland!” exclaimed Briggs. “You mean that little cold,
deserted island south of Greenland?”
“That’s the one,” answered Jim Stevens, President and
CEO of Western Energy Enterprises.
“C’mon dad, are you serious?”
“Serious as a heart attack,” responded Jim.
“Dad, I really wish you would stop using that metaphor.”
“Briggs, I just received some interesting seismographic
readings from Tom. He’s been sniffing around up there for the
last month and I think he’s found something worth looking into.
Tom seems to think there’s an area 125 miles due east of
Reykjavik that might be worth sinking some pipe into. Also,
every one of his soil samples got high marks from the lab. I just
need your expertise before I start any serious dialogue with Jon.”
Jon was an old friend of dad’s from college. Jon was
now a big shot with Iceland’s Interior Department. Briggs knew
this from talking with him at dad’s second marriage reception.
Briggs’ mother had passed away several years ago of a heart
attack. His parents had been married for over forty years. Jim
said he would never remarry but after meeting Eva at a party
three years ago, the rest was history. Later, Briggs learned that
Eva was from Iceland and just happened to be Jon’s cousin.
“Now, Ann has already scheduled Rocky to have the
Gulfstream ready for your flight to Reykjavik next Monday
morning. All you have to bring along is your toothbrush;
everything else you’ll need will be waiting for you when you get
there. Any questions?”
There was a long silence before Briggs responded.
“Dad…no disrespect intended but, you never ask me to do these
analysis trips. You always just tell me where to go and when.”
“What’s that supposed to mean, son?” snapped the
father.
“Well dad, I don’t know if you’ve noticed lately or not
but I’m a thirty-year-old adult now, and I’d like to be treated
more like an adult than the kid you used to order around.”
“Briggs, I’ve always helped you with everything you’ve
ever wanted…nice cars to drive, expensive clothes to wear, your
own house, countless trips, a very costly formal education and a
bottomless bank account as a result of our work together. All
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this, and never once (cough) have you shown me the slightest bit
of respect (cough…cough) by uttering the words ‘thank you’.”
After a few seconds, Briggs apologetically murmured,
“Hey dad…will you please calm yourself down? I don’t like to
think about what happened to you back in ’76. I love you too
much to imagine life without you. I’m sorry I upset you, okay?
I just wish you could learn to ask me to do something rather than
always telling me what I’m going to do. I don’t think that’s
asking too much, dad.”
The coughing had subsided, but a faint wheezing sound
could still be heard coming through Briggs’ receiver.
“Dad,” muttered Briggs. “You know I’ll go anywhere
you want me to go. It’s just that, well…I just wish you would
treat me more like a partner than some hourly worker.”
The hoarse wheezing had stopped. Seconds ticked by
and Jim finally spoke. “Briggs, would you mind going to
Iceland on my behalf…please?”
“Thanks dad…of course I will.”
Jill was gently blowing the steam off her espresso when
Briggs walked up. “Boy, your eyes are kinda red, Briggs. What’s
wrong?”
“Nothing, I was just standing next to a smoker outside.
Smoke just kills my eyes. How’s the cappuccino?”
“Pretty smooth.”
“So… what’s a nice, narcoleptic girl like you doing
taking Campbell’s class?” Briggs asked while blowing on his
drink.
“Needed an elective and my girlfriend suggested the
course. ”
“What are you working on?” Briggs queried while
easing into a weathered, comfortable chair.
“Trying to finish out my PhD in Toxicology and Cancer
Biology.”
“Wow! Impressive,” Briggs answered with raised
eyebrows and a curious smile.
“How about you?” Jill asked, tipping her cup for another
sip.
“Elective for me too. Just trying to complete some
graduate work in my field,” Briggs said while eyeing her long
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blond hair.
“This is gonna sound really weird…and I think I already
know the answer but, how’d you like to go to Iceland for a
week? All expenses paid, separate rooms, no funny business”
Briggs offered with zero expectations.
“Wow!” Jill exclaimed, “Let me get this straight. I just
met you…you gave me a lecture, bought me some coffee and
now you’re inviting me to fly off to Iceland with you for a
week?!” she expressed with a joking chuckle.
“Yeah…sounds pretty strange... but the glaciers,
volcanoes and hot springs are things you just won’t see here in
California,” he espoused, sounding like a veteran travel agent.
“Briggs, I can’t go with you…I have my research work
and classes.”
“Ok…guess I will just have to view the Aurora Borealis
by myself.”
“When are you leaving? I don’t even know if I have the
right type of clothes to wear,” she expressed with some
nervousness.
“Leaving on Monday morning around 9:00 am…private
jet at San Jose International…temps are in the forties this time of
year.”
“Briggs…it’s been nice talking with you today but I’m
going to respectfully decline,” she tempered with an unsure look.
“Ok, maybe some other time,” he declared with slight
deflation.
They finished their cappuccinos and Briggs drove her
back to her car.
* * *
(whoosh) “Nice drive Briggs! Must be at least 275
yards,” commented Lance Whitman, one of Briggs’ old fraternity
brothers.
“Yeah…now if I could be that consistent every time, I’d
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probably be bound for Augusta to play in the Masters rather than
Iceland to play in the snow!”
“C’mon Briggs, do you realize how many guys would
give their left nut to be in your shoes?” smarted Lance.
Briggs didn’t answer.
“Hey buddy…who was the little blonde number you
were escorting to your car yesterday?” Lance yelled as he
plucked a five iron from his Gucci bag.
Briggs cupped a hand over his mouth and sounded,
“So…that was you driving that silver Caddy. Where’s your
car?”
“In the shop…as usual!” bellowed Lance.
“I couldn’t figure out who that maniac was with the lead
foot that honked” Briggs said as he clenched his grip on an iron.
(whoosh) “Damn! Isn’t that just about the prettiest hook
you’ve ever seen? Did you see where it went Lan?”
Briggs could hear Lance laughing.
“What’s so funny?” Briggs yelled as he walked toward
Lance with clubs clanking every step of the way.
“Better get your ‘drilling’ wedge out because you’re
smack-dab in the middle of the Sahara Desert!” Lance said,
pointing toward the biggest sand trap on the course.
“So much for my dream of playing, the Masters,” Briggs
remarked as he shifted the bag to his other shoulder.
“Who’s the girl?!” Lance impatiently asked.
“Oh, …that is Jill Ross. I met her in Dr. Campbell’s
lecture the other day. Nice girl. Wouldn’t mind hooking-up but
a snowball would have a better chance in hell!”
While walking to the next hole, he mused over what a
perfect evening with Jill might look like. Ruth’s Chris Steak
House…great beef, superior wine, spectacular view….and Jill’s
charismatic glow. A flickering candle would cast a dim veil of
warm light across her delicate features…
“Briggs! What the hell are you daydreaming about? I
thought we came here to play golf!” thundered Lance.
“Oh, sorry. I was just wondering about what I should get
dad for his birthday.”
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* * *
“The world is a dangerous place to live;
not because of the people who are evil,
but because of the people who don’t do anything about it.”
- Albert Einstein
The winds howled over the desolate landscape.
Infrequent beams of sunlight peppered the stark surroundings.
Temperatures began to descend as the afternoon approached
another finale. An arctic wolf was stealthily stalking a herd of
reindeer while a snowy owl focused on a bounding hare.
Yuri was walking up the ramp to a Quonset hut shrouded
by birch and aspen trees. The roof was the color of the snow
perched up in drifts surrounding the dwelling. As he entered the
room, heat wafted out and invited him to renew much needed
circulation to his fingers, nose, and cheeks. Across the dimly lit
room he focused on a partitioned room where he could see his
colonel speaking with a young junior sergeant. The main room
was very spartan. There were some monitors on desks, basic
chairs, a main wooden table with several maps and schematic
diagrams in disarray. The dim light seemed to enhance a light
fog created by soldiers smoking while hunched over their
monitors displaying various geographical maps.
“Yuri!” shouted Leonid, “come over here, I want you to
see this.”
While rubbing his palms in a manner to create some
friction, he approached Leonid and two other comrades crouched
around a monitor. The monitor displayed several gauges and
scopes with curious colors.
“Yuri…it looks like we are finally making progress,”
announced Leonid. “The readings verify more thinning.”
“How can you be sure?” queried Yuri.
“Look at this spectrophotometer,” encouraged Leonid,
“The Dobson Units are dropping in these areas above North
14
America. (Dobson Units measure the thickness of the Ozone
layer; one unit being equivalent to 0.01 mm thick). We are
almost there!” Leonid said in a joyful manner.
“This is very good news,” Yuri commented. But he
needed to speak with Colonel Ivanov before breaking out the
champagne.
The colonel had just finished his conversation with the
sergeant and Yuri motioned that he wanted to speak with him.
The colonel made eye contact with Yuri and waved him to come
over.
“How did it go today?” the officer inquired of Yuri.
“I noticed some more activity, so I decided to ‘listen-in’
on their conversations.”
Yuri was referring to the small outpost he had discovered
a month ago that was probably five miles from their base of
operations. Western Energy was apparently taking some boring
samples from what he viewed through his field glasses.
Concerned, Yuri decided to set up an ‘electronic net’ to monitor
conversations held by personnel at the tiny outpost.
“Most of the conversations were personal in nature with
family members. However, one conversation between a man
named ‘Greg’ and ‘Jim’, made me uncomfortable. Apparently,
the man named Greg discovered something that was so
important he wanted Jim to fly another man named Briggs in to
investigate further. The landscape is beginning to get a little too
crowded, Colonel.”
“What do you think we should do?” asked the colonel
whose bushy eyebrows now expressed concern.
“We need to stop this man named ‘Briggs’ from coming
to confirm what they are seeking. More people mean more
opportunity for discovery,” Yuri summarized.
“I’ll call Central now and see if they have any ideas,”
countered the Colonel. “By the way, did you happen to get his
last name?”
“Stevens,” he answered.
Colonel Ivanov had a friend in the KGB named Dimitri. He
made the call.
“Dimitri…how are you my friend?” queried the Colonel.
15
“If I were doing any better, it wouldn’t be legal!”
sounded Dimitri. “And how are you, Alexei?”
“Things are going well but I might have a small fly-inthe-
ointment that needs to be removed and I wanted to see if you
could help me.”
“That’s what I do best, comrade…tell me about this ‘fly’
that is bothering you.”
“The short version is that we have an assignment in
Iceland that is allowing us to poke holes in the atmosphere above
North America,” summarized Alexei.
“Delicious!” Dimitri said with enthusiasm. “Who’s the
fly we need to swat?”
“He’s a man named, Briggs Stevens, and he does
geological work for a company called Western Energy in
California,” quipped Alexei.
“My friend…worry no more. I will send him a ‘letter.’”
As Briggs pulled into his driveway, he noticed for the
first time that Sherwin Williams was beginning to show signs of
defeat against the persistent forces of Mother Nature. He had
also procrastinated the repair of the entire gutter network for the
past year, and still hadn’t gotten around to building a shelter for
Cooper.
Cooper was a three-year-old Golden Retriever that
Briggs had rescued from a shelter. The story was that Cooper
had been abused and was found in an alley nosing through
garbage with a severe case of mange. Briggs saw the story on
the local news one evening and felt terrible. The shelter was
looking for adoption candidates, so Briggs decided to take a look
the next day. When he saw Cooper, his heart sank, and he
immediately proceeded with the adoption process.
As the car door slammed shut, Briggs could hear the
muffled howls of rejoicing coming from within the rear of the
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* * *
* * *
house. It was the same routine every day. First, the non-stop
barking, followed by a perpetual grating of toenails upon the
back door. Today was no different. Briggs braced himself in
anticipation of the attack that would commence once the door
was opened. As Briggs peered through the kitchen door that
was slightly ajar, he could see two wild brown eyes thrashing
about. With his left arm cocked and raised as if to look at his
wristwatch, he proceeded to cross the threshold. Immediately,
Cooper’s cumbersome paws perched on Briggs’ extended arm.
“Hey boy…how’ya doin fella, huh!” Briggs asked as he
slowly squatted down to a lower level. “What’cha been doin all
day?” Briggs repeatedly glided his right hand down Cooper’s
back and Cooper reciprocated by administering wet tongue
lashes across Briggs’ shadowed face, still panting with profound
excitement with every lick.
Now came Briggs’ favorite part of the afternoon
greeting. He would rapidly, yet gently, scratch circular patterns
along Cooper’s flanks. Like clockwork, Briggs could usually
depend on his therapy to take effect immediately followed with
side-effects of extreme hypnotic drowsiness, decreased panting
and confusion on which hind leg to rotate in elliptical orbits.
Cooper would become so relaxed that his body would show
symptoms of helpless comatose.
“Hey…let’s go check the mailbox!” Briggs invited.
Cooper cocked his head in response to the invitation
while his tail began to fan like a metronome. As Briggs began to
walk through the house in route to the mailbox, Cooper would
playfully pounce up on Briggs’ hips to receive more attention.
“Cooper! Knock it off!”
While shuffling through the many familiar envelopes he
could always count on arriving at this time of the month, one
popped up that particularly piqued his curiosity. The
handwritten address was totally unrecognizable as was the return
address. Equally intriguing was the weight of this letter. Just as
Briggs was rummaging through his pocket to locate a trusty pen
knife, Cooper emerged from beneath the fanned collection of
letters and sent them skyward.
“Damnit Cooper! If you don’t settle down, I’m going to
kill you!” threatened Briggs in a serious tone.
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As Briggs proceeded to gather up the scattered mail,
Cooper mischievously dashed toward the house with the curious
letter in his mouth. Suddenly, a cold feeling cloaked Briggs,
almost like a premonition that something terrible was about to
happen. He stood up to see where Cooper had gone. Across the
yard, Cooper was preoccupied with the unusual letter. Then,
without a warning, Briggs witnessed a small explosion that
immediately took the life of his most ardent fan. Cooper lay
dead in the lugubrious shadows of some towering white pines
while paper debris floated whimsically in the afternoon breeze.
For a moment, Briggs stood frozen hoping that his
nightmare would soon end. With glazed eyes fixed upon the
lifeless remains of his true friend, Briggs began to run in a
robotic fashion toward Cooper. With crimson eyes welled up,
and tears now streaming down his pallid face, Briggs began to
sob intensely, collapsing to his knees. His genuflection was
short-lived. Briggs respectfully lowered himself over Cooper
and hugged his bloodstained chest. Flashes of Cooper’s happier
days played through Briggs’ mind. The time Cooper ran with
Briggs in a local half marathon…Cooper endlessly chasing a
tennis ball down the beach…Cooper barking at horses on the
TV. Even during sad times, he was very comforting especially
when Briggs lost his mother. Cooper was a loyal companion that
was gone.
Faintly, almost whispering, Briggs hoarsely spoke in a
cracked tone, “I didn’t mean what I said about killing you boy…
you’re my best friend…I love you so much.”
Briggs’ embrace tightened as he began to gently stroke Cooper’s
listless coat. “Whhyyy!?” bellowed Briggs.
After an hour of mourning, dusk approached and Briggs
applied the final touches to Cooper’s resting place. He chose a
peaceful location in the backyard under the uplifting arms of a
mature oak. The simple grave was adorned with some
sentimental effects: Cooper’s suede collar and his water bowl.
Briggs would have a marker made later.
With head bowed, Briggs expressed a personal eulogy
honoring his deceased companion. Nightfall had come and the
air was chilly. Somberly, Briggs turned and began to trudge back
to the house.
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Along the way, he stopped abruptly as though he had
seen a ghost.
“Who tried to kill me?”
* * *
A plain, unmarked car arrived early the next morning.
Briggs spotted the two detectives coming up the walk and
opened the door before they had an opportunity to initiate the
doorbell. Briggs had made the call during the past hour and
explained that he had not touched the residual corner of the
lethal envelope that was lodged within a prominent hedge.
“Mr. Stevens, my name is Lieutenant Bruce Martin, and
this is my partner, Detective Steve Robinson.”
“Thanks for coming so quickly. Please come inside.
Once seated, Detective Robinson asked, “Mr. Stevens,
please tell us what happened yesterday afternoon.”
Briggs revisited the somber story for them.
“You mentioned a residual piece of the envelope in your
report,” recounted Lieutenant Martin.
“It’s just outside in the front hedge.” Briggs explained as
he rose to usher the officers to the front stoop.
Detective Robinson began to insert his weathered hands
into a pair of latex gloves.
“It’s right over there,” Briggs pointed with his index
finger.
Detective Robinson reached in with a pair of clinicallooking
tweezers and plucked the small corner from the hedge.
He carefully elevated the remnant of paper near his nose and
sniffed. He then locked eyes with his partner.
“Smells like TOVEX,” Robinson announced.
Lieutenant Martin turned to Briggs and said, “TOVEX is
an explosive that uses ammonium nitrate and is hard to detect
unless you’re looking for it. Do you have any enemies, Mr.
Stevens?”
19
Briggs looked with a blank stare and shrugged his
shoulders. “No, I don’t know of anyone who would try to kill
me,” Briggs explained with utter confusion.
Detective Robinson placed the fragment inside a plasticlined
envelope and sealed the receptacle. “We’ll have the lab
investigate the explosive used when we return to the station.”
“Thank you, officers,” Briggs said respectfully.“We’ll be
in touch,” Robinson said with a nod.
As Briggs closed the door, his phone vibrated.‘Dad’ was
illuminated on the black glass.
“Hi Dad…,” Briggs expressed with a sorrowful tone.
Jim sensed that something was different in Briggs’s tone,
“Just calling make to make sure you’re set for tomorrow.”
Still shaken, Briggs hesitated and said, “Something’s
happened Dad…Cooper’s dead.”
“What?!” Jim said with utter surprise. What happened?”
“We were checking the mail…noticed a strange
envelope addressed to me with handwriting I didn’t recognize…
Cooper grabbed the envelope and ran off…next thing I hear is an
explosion and Cooper was dead.”
Sensitive to the tragedy, Jim tempered his tone and
ushered in a soft, empathetic response. “I’m so sorry for your
loss son. I know how much Cooper meant. I feel terrible for
you. Is there anything I can do?”
Briggs’ eyes started to well up again and with a slight
quiver in his voice he said, “No…Dad…this will just take some
time.” Dead air replaced the somber conversation.
“Who would try to kill me Dad? I don’t have any
enemies,” Briggs said with a clear conscience.
“Son…I don’t have any enemies either. So…I can’t even
begin to fathom a guess.”
Again, the conversation was muted.“I buried Cooper. I
think the trip is what I need right now to deal with this loss. I’ll
be leaving tomorrow morning,” Briggs expressed with
conviction. “Love you, Dad.”
“Godspeed son. Love you, too.”
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