A Matter of Degrees

by Alex Marcoux

  The man hurled the blanket at her.

  “Thank you!” Jessie sat beside Rachel and wrapped the blanket around them.

  “What do you think is going on?” Rachel asked Jessie.

  “I think we’re waiting for their leader.” Then loudly, “If any of you are handy with a hammer, there’s plywood under the bed.” She pointed at the guest bedroom. When the men didn’t respond, “I’d be happy to do it myself.”

  * * *

  A couple hours passed. Jessie and Rachel were still being held against their will. Although the room was drafty, as Jessie had suggested, their captors boarded up the glass door. The men never said a word.

  The sound of an approaching car engine brought one of their captors to the window. The motor cut. Moments later the thud of footsteps came from the porch. Apparently, someone had entered, but from where they sat they couldn’t see. To the women, it seemed as if they waited forever. Then the man moved into the living area.

  “Whitman!” escaped Jessie’s lips.

  Rachel knew him mostly by reputation. “What is the meaning of this?”

  One of the men assisted Whitman with his overcoat. He stepped in front of Rachel. “Ms. Addison, in time you will have your answers,” his voice was raspy. Then he moved to Jessie, and stared at her intently.

  Fearing that he might recognize Brennan, Jessie wouldn’t look him in the eye.

  He removed a cell phone and a wallet from his jacket pocket. “Well Ms. Jessica Mercer, where have we met before?”

  While on the outside Jessie remained calm, inside her heart pounded. Then suddenly, like a volcano erupting after centuries of slumber, hatred exploded within her. The malevolent feeling shocked her, then she remembered that Whitman was Oba.

  He studied Jessie. Where had he met her? He was drawn to the scar on her cheek. Somehow, it seemed familiar. “What were you doing with my ex-wife last night?”

  Jessie’s eyes remained on the floor.

  “We have ways to make you answer. I just don’t know why you would want to make it so difficult on yourself.”

  Whitman turned and wandered around the room, inspecting the surroundings. He meandered past the living room, out of Jessie and Rachel’s sight. So Jessie stood, but the injured-fist guy roughly shoved her down on the couch.

  As Whitman explored the cabin, the women waited for what seemed to be hours. In reality though, only minutes passed. And when he returned, Jessie knew something was horribly wrong. His cold dark eyes would not leave Jessie’s face. Then she saw the mail-order box in his hand and she understood.

  He read the name on the package. “Brennan Keller…Hartsdale, New York.”

  “And your issue is?” Jessie was desperate. “Brennan’s my cousin. He works for The Empire. Do you know him?”

  Whitman smiled. “Stand up,” he ordered. “Face me!”

  When Jessie ignored the demand, a guard dragged her roughly to her feet.

  “What’s the meaning of this?” Rachel sprang up.

  “Ms. Addison, if you don’t sit calmly and quietly, I will have you removed. With that, another man thrust her downward on the couch.

  Whitman returned to Jessie. Abruptly, he positioned the goatee to Jessie’s face. He paled when his newest suspicion was confirmed. “My God,” he uttered. He stepped backward, his eyes combing Jessie’s body. “How did you do this? How the hell did you become a Mason?”

  Jessie’s heart pounded wildly. Her masquerade had been blown.

  Whitman pulled a phone from his jacket. He pressed a speed dial number and waited for the connection. “We have a situation,” he said. His eyes were so dark, Jessie couldn’t tell where the pupil began and the iris ended. “Yes! This warrants your attention.”

  Just as Whitman disconnected, a guard by the front window announced, “We have a visitor. White Buick Century. A woman is in the car. She’s getting out and heading toward the house…It’s Taylor Andrews.”

  “Shit,” Whitman said. “Another casualty.”

  Fearful for Taylor’s safety, Jessie lunged toward Whitman. “No!” She yelled. A guard advanced upon her. But she dodged him, coming within inches of Whitman.

  Jessie stopped as she heard the safeties on three pistols disengage, and they were all aimed at her. She knew she would be no help to Taylor if she were shot. She needed to appeal to the man’s logic. A guard pinned her arms.

  “Whitman, I can get rid of her,” she said desperately. “I can make her go away. You don’t want her involved in this. The press will be all over it if you hurt her.”

  Whitman was quiet. He seemed to be considering, and after an eternal pause, he nodded at the guard pinning Jessie’s arms. He released her. To that guard, “Back bedroom with Addison,” Whitman ordered. To the other men, “Spread out, and keep out of sight!”

  He pulled Jessie toward the front door. “Let me set the stage. I’ll be with Ms. Addison,” he pointed at the bedroom. “The door will be open. I will hear every word. If I don’t—Ms. Andrews will be shot. If you speak cryptically, she will die. You have five minutes to get rid of her, or she’s leaving in a body bag. Do we understand each other?”

  Jessie heard footsteps on the porch. She nodded. She understood too well. How could she have gotten into such a precarious situation? Whitman disappeared into the bedroom, leaving the door ajar.

  Jessie opened the front door preempting Taylor from seeing the damage to it. Without saying a word, Taylor brushed past her and went into the kitchen.

  “What’s going on, Jess?” Taylor eyed the surroundings.

  Still holding the door open, Jessie said sternly, “You need to leave! Go back to the city. I’ll meet you there tonight. We’ll talk about this, then.”

  Taylor eyed Jessie. “I’m not leaving until I get an explanation.” She sat at the kitchen table. “Are you going to shut the door? It’s drafty in here. Are you in trouble?”

  Jessie remained at the door. “You need to leave now!” Her voice was harsh.

  Taylor stood. “And I told you—I’m not leaving without an explanation! What is it?”

  Jessie noticed the bedroom door gap widen. Her heart pounded. It wasn’t working. She had hoped that her uncharacteristic aggression would have sent Taylor off. A shadow from inside the bedroom loomed. She needed to change her strategy.

  “What, are you blind?” Jessie shouted. “I wanted to tell you this later. Damn it Taylor…” the words were so painful for her to say, tears filled her eyes. “I’m not in love with you anymore. I’m in love with someone else.” The pain in Taylor’s eyes was almost overwhelming to Jessie.

  “I don’t believe you,” Taylor whispered.

  “You’re so blind,” Jessie continued. “Why do you think I’ve been in New York the last eight months? I’m in love with someone else. Please just leave.”

  Taylor looked around. Unexpectedly, she moved toward the bedroom door.

  “Taylor, no!” Jessie’s heart pounded so hard, it hurt.

  Taylor was within inches of the door. She turned toward Jessie. “She’s here?” Tears welled in her eyes.

  Jessie couldn’t look at her, fearing her eyes would betray her. There, Taylor waited what felt like an eternity, standing inches from Whitman. Jessie thought she was going to be sick.

  Finally, Taylor stepped to the doorway, only inches away from Jessie. She looked outside. Now she knew why there were two cars. She turned to Jessie, but didn’t say a thing. Her pain-filled eyes burrowed deep into Jessie’s soul. Through the tears, she saw heartache was distrust.

  Jessie knew those eyes would haunt her until her dying day. Taylor left, and Jessie closed the door. At a window, Jessie watched her walk away. Tears welled up. She loved her so much. Forgive me. Jessie’s feelings and thoughts must have betrayed her, because Taylor stopped in her tracks and turned back.

  Jessie’s heart beat harder. No, Taylor, go. You must leave.

  Footsteps behind her indicated that Whitman had returned. She didn’t care. The only thing that mattered
was Taylor. From the corner of her eye, Jessie saw the long needle plunge into her neck. She pulled it out, but it was too late. The chemical stung as it entered her bloodstream. Darkness overwhelmed her and she fell unconscious to the floor.

  Outside the cabin, Taylor stood puzzled. The blowing January air was bitter. Her feelings were confusing. For a brief moment, she thought she had felt Jessie’s love. Then she turned back toward the cabin, but now she felt only emptiness. The warmth in her heart she typically felt when she thought of Jessie was gone. Their heart connection had been severed.

  Taylor got into the car, her face wet with tears. She started the engine and peeled out of the driveway, her tires scattering snow and dirt. How could she have been so blind?

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Jessie danced with unconsciousness. She never heard Rachel talk to her as they rode to the airport. She never felt Rachel hold her hand during the flight. Most of the time, her senses were numb. But during brief moments of waking, she thought her head had split open. Light hurt her eyes, so she kept them closed, and within seconds of consciousness, she passed out again.

  While Jessie was oblivious to what was happening, Rachel was cognizant. The aerial view of Washington, DC, from the private jet window triggered the ill feeling in her stomach.

  A stretch limo met the plane at the private airport. One of the guards heaved Jessie’s unresponsive body into the backseat. Rachel moved in beside her. With care, she lifted her friend upright and fastened a seatbelt around her, stopping her from tumbling over.

  Rachel had given up asking questions. The more she had asked the more Whitman shut down. As on the plane, Whitman and his thugs drove along in silence. It didn’t take long before they were in downtown Washington, DC. They turned on Sixteenth Street. Then, she recognized the House of the Temple standing high above the curb. She expected the car to turn, but it passed the temple.

  A couple blocks later, the car turned, then again. It pulled up to a wrought iron gate where a man guarded a tiny security house. He apparently was cut from the same mold as Whitman’s other bodyguards, as he wore a black suit, white shirt, unexciting tie, and dark sunglasses.

  While the driver waited for the security guard to approach the limo, Rachel studied the property. Like a fortress, a tall stone wall seemingly bordered the land, and mature greenery obstructed the view beyond the security gate. She wondered whose house or building was being hidden.

  After a verbal exchange between the driver and the security guard, the gate opened, permitting the limo to enter. They drove into a park-like setting where lush pines, conifers, and spruces towered above them. Interestingly enough, the property lacked deciduous trees or bushes. Only evergreens, plants that retained their greenery year-round landscaped the property.

  The car maneuvered the winding gardens, turn after turn, until it entered a cluster of huge Ponderosa Pine. The trees obscured the sun from the limo, leaving them in shadows. The car parked and the men didn’t move or say a thing.

  Rachel peered out the window. The vegetation was so dense that she couldn’t see the stone wall bordering the property. Intermittent tiny patches of blue sky were barely visible through the trees’ limbs. A window between the driver and herself silenced his phone call. Rachel became anxious. Why had they brought her here? What were they going to do to her? She rubbed her sweaty palms on her pants.

  Without warning, the limo jerked, and unconsciously Rachel grabbed Jessie’s hand. Was it an earthquake? Then, the car steadily lowered into the ground, swallowed by the earth. They must have descended thirty-five feet before they came to a standstill. Through the limo’s skylight, Rachel saw the rectangular hole from where they sank. This opening provided their only light source.

  The car pulled forward, perhaps twenty feet, then parked again. A hum from behind them drew Rachel’s attention to the rear window, where she glimpsed four columns. It was a hydraulic car lift. A platform lifted skyward until it had closed up the rectangular hole, leaving them in total darkness. A wave of anxiety swept over her. Now what? Her heart beat so hard that her throat ached.

  Unexpectedly, brilliant halogen lights flooded the area. The limo was parked in a large circular space. Rachel couldn’t see past the lights. Then flashing red lights, similar to those on airport runways, flickered around them. The halogen lights dimmed, revealing five tunnels surrounding them. Red lights glowed from the ceiling of each tunnel.

  Still, the limo remained stationary, engine idling. The lights on one of the tunnels started flashing red and green. Then the red lights dimmed leaving two rows of green lights on the walls of one tunnel. The limo entered the green-lit tunnel.

  Rachel wasn’t sure if she was more frightened or bewildered. She studied the tunnel as the car sped through the underground road beneath Washington, DC. The passageway was the width of two lanes. Narrow curbs hugged the concrete walls. They were only a couple minutes into the ride when they reached a turnaround. The limo pulled over and the men got out.

  Whitman turned to Rachel before he stepped from the car. “Follow me, Ms. Addison. Try not to do anything stupid. We’ve come this far.”

  One of the bodyguards removed Jessie’s limp body and followed Whitman. Rachel trailed them with another guard on her tail. Commotion from above drew her attention to the concrete ceiling supported by steel I-beams. The disturbance was seemingly approaching, as the rattling intensified, and the ground on which Rachel stood vibrated. The noise and shaking peaked, then, gradually disappeared.

  “What was that?” Rachel asked not really expecting a response from anyone.

  “Commuter train,” Whitman answered.

  How could they do this? Rachel wondered. How could they build streets under the city? Then she wondered why it had seemed so farfetched, after all, we had been building tunnels for close to 200 years. Rachel realized that she was much more fascinated now with what was happening than she was scared.

  Whitman approached an iron door. He keyed in a password on the security pad, and pressed his eye against an optical scan. Within seconds, the door unlocked, leading them to a stairwell. At the top of the stairs, there was a similar security scan.

  They entered a long hallway, at the end of which was a third security scan. From here, the group stepped into a large atrium set up like a courtyard of an ancient temple. The floor was paved with polished marble. Eight huge pillars of polished green granite bordered two sides of the room. An imposing stairway with Egyptian statues at the foot of the stairs faced them. A large marble table centered the hall and the walls were white limestone reaching to expansive ceiling beams.

  Rachel recognized the room from pictures. “We’re at the House of the Temple?”

  Whitman ignored her and led them to a door that was positioned behind two columns, then down another hallway, to another door. He opened it and the man carrying Jessie entered. Whitman nodded at Rachel to follow, and she did. Oddly, the room resembled a hotel suite. The guard laid Jessie on a couch and left. Whitman followed.

  “You’re just going to leave us? Is somebody going to tell me what the hell is going on?”

  Whitman stared at her for the longest time, then a sinister smile came to his lips. “Yes.” But he stepped into the hallway.

  “Is Jessie going to be okay?”

  “For now. She’s been sedated. She’ll be awake in a few hours.” Whitman’s dark eyes remained on Rachel as he closed the door.

  Rachel rushed for the doorknob. “Damn,” it was locked. She turned, and explored the suite. There were no other exits. No windows. In the front room, where Jessie lay unconscious, there was a couch, a small refrigerator, and a desk. The back room had a bed and dresser.

  A couple hours had passed, when Rachel heard a soft moan. She almost missed it. A glance at Jessie verified that the sedative was wearing off.

  Jessie’s head felt like it had exploded. She put her hand to her head to confirm that it was still attached. Her eyes opened to blurry surroundings. She didn’t recognize the shadow
kneeling beside her. It was the voice that clued her in.

  “Jessie? Are you okay?”

  “Rachel?” The images were still fuzzy.

  “Yes, it’s me!”

  “My head is splitting.” Jessie tried to sit up, but everything darkened, and she laid her head back down. “What happened?”

  “They gave you a sedative.”

  “They?” Jessie could see Rachel now.

  “Remember the cabin…with Whitman?”

  Bit by bit, Jessie’s memory returned. First she recalled the men with black suits raiding the cabin. Then Whitman. Fear crept into her eyes. “Whitman discovered that I’m Brennan.”

  Rachel nodded. “Is that all you remember?”

  Just as Rachel asked, it hit her. “Oh, my God!” it was barely a whisper. Jessie looked Rachel in the eye. Unsteadily she sat up. “Is Taylor safe?”

  “Yes. She left the cabin.”

  Jessie’s hands hid her face as the painful memory returned. “I told her I wasn’t in love with her anymore. I told her I was seeing someone else.” She sobbed. She removed her hands. Her eyes were red, tears welling. “I hurt her.”

  “You did what you needed to keep her safe.”

  “How will she ever forgive me?”

  “After were out of this mess, we’ll straighten it all out. I promise.”

  Jessie felt only emptiness. She couldn’t feel Taylor, only resistance. Their heart connection had been severed. Her vision had almost returned, and she didn’t recognize the surroundings. “Where are we?”

  In DC, at the House of the Temple. Its bizarre, Jess.” Rachel described what she had seen: flying into DC, the limo, the ride through the tunnels, and the atrium.

  “Why are we here?” Jessie was puzzled.

  Unexpectedly, the door opened, and Whitman entered. “I see that you’re awake, Ms. Mercer.” One of Whitman’s thugs came in behind him and stood beside Jessie. “He will show you to your accommodations,” Whitman said.

  The guard grabbed Jessie’s upper arm and dragged her to the door.