by JL Terra
Eventually, Remy was on the street and in a cab. Then back in the motel room. All while wondering where a nice Jewish family whose father may or may not have accidentally shot his wife would go on vacation every summer in their RV. And why it would make them so sad. Family camping should have been fun. Probably exhausting, but depressing? They clearly weren’t doing it right, but what did she know? Certainly nothing about family vacations.
Dauntless needed to go out, so she walked the neighborhood around the motel, all the while keeping her attention on who was near her. She didn’t need to be jumped and mugged by a lowlife out for a quick score. At least the dog was a deterrent to the casual criminal. What she was more worried about were the thoughtful attackers. Ones who planned every eventuality.
Certainly the CIA had that kind of capability, but Eric Tiller was dead. If Ted was running the show now, he would have to be smart enough. Or working off his brother’s plan. The operation in Venezuela could’ve all been recon, assessing Ben. Maybe they’d even considered abducting him then but decided to wait. Who would have made the call? Remy needed to look into the CIA, and specifically who had hired them for that job. There had to be something here that would give her the link between Ted and Eric. And whoever had found their way into her system—also a job the CIA would be able to pull off, among others.
Remy circled the block back to the motel, watching cars and wondering if all this was a waste of time.
Or if it would actually lead her to Ben.
Chapter 19
Images flashed in front of Ben’s face. The headset strap pulled on tiny strands of his hair. A discomfort sufficient enough to give him some kind of clarity of thought.
All black and white, the images scrolled in front of his eyes, like a movie screen too close. The sound of gunfire continued in the background. Whether it had been hours or days, he couldn’t say.
And then something happened.
The images grew larger.
Closer.
Ben grew smaller.
Until all that he was got swallowed up in the past.
“It’s working.”
**
Sudentenland. 4th May, 1944.
“We lost, Cap?”
The captain continued trudging through woods up the side of this abandoned mountain. “The general said scour the whole forest.”
“Scour it for what?” Sergeant Brian Pilsen rolled his eyes to glance sideways at Fox, who smirked. The other four guys trailed behind.
This whole thing was pointless. The war was basically over. The Germans had abandoned this whole stretch of nothing land. Pockmarked from heavy artillery fire. The patchy grass all tromped down.
The sun beat down overhead. Wet air hung around them, and sweat ran down the back of his shirt. They were past being able to smell each other’s odor. Private Mills tripped over a branch. Brian glanced at Fox, his mouth open to say something when Mills’s rifle clanged against metal. “What—”
“Don’t move, Private.” Brian trudged over while the rest of them—the captain included—just stood there watching. But it wasn’t a landmine. “Okay, step off.”
“What is it, Sarge?”
Brian swiped at the spot, moving leaves and branches away from… “Looks like a hatch door.”
“Check it out, Sergeant.”
Brian gritted his teeth at the captain’s order. He’d dodged so many bullets meant for the officer, it was a miracle he was still alive. Not to mention the bout of the flu that had laid him up for weeks, delirious with fever. The nurses were nice. About the only good thing in this godforsaken continent.
Brian crossed himself—it had worked so far—and pulled at the hatch. It gave way with a groan, as though pained at being torn from the earth. Fox stood beside him, ready to shoot whoever hid inside.
Inside was dark, but the daylight illuminated dust. Brian didn’t hear anything. He glanced at Fox—who nodded—and Brian climbed down. A flashlight would’ve been great, but that was like wishing for peanut butter. Pointless.
Brian’s feet hit bottom. He gripped his rifle and heard Fox descend the ladder above him, while Brian stepped forward. Listened.
“What—”
He shushed Fox.
Distant moans. Crying, maybe.
Fox said, “Someone’s down here.”
Brian nodded. They started down the hallway. Dust coated the floor. A rear exit no one used much? Brian ran one hand along the wall toward a light at the end. Stone. Cold to the touch. The hall descended in elevation on a gradual slope. Their boots shuffled on the floor, and gradually the moans grew louder. The hall opened into a room.
Medical equipment surrounded a circular space. A hatch in the ceiling shone daylight on a table at the center, where a man lay strapped down.
The edges of the room were shadowed. Papers. File cabinets. Microscopes and test tubes. A couple of metal cabinets, probably holding more equipment. Four other doors led to who knows where.
“What is it, Sergeant?”
Brian started at the captain’s sudden question. Behind him, the rest of their squad stood slack jawed, staring at the room. The man on the table was still. Probably dead. His chest didn’t move at all. Brian stepped closer and saw that one of his arms had been cut off at the bicep. The end wasn’t bloody, but appeared to have been sealed with some kind of brown substance. Clay, or mud.
When he stepped around the table and saw the man’s head, he sucked in a breath.
Half of it was missing.
The cutting tool lay on a metal tray, covered with the same brown substance that had been used to cauterize the wound. What they’d done with half his skull and a portion of the poor guy’s brain, he didn’t know.
“Some kind of research facility.” Fox rifled through papers on the cluttered desk.
The door to his left swung open.
A man ran into the room, screaming. His German army officer uniform was covered in grime and sweat, face smeared with blood—a face identical to the man lying on the table. He held a huge knife over his shoulder and continued to scream, his eyes bright and wild as he raced toward them.
Brian fired.
Fox’s bullet grazed the German’s earlobe.
The private pulled off two shots that hit the man at point blank range. He got so close, the private had to duck. The knife nicked the private in the shoulder and he cried out. The German dropped to the floor, not yet realizing he was dead.
The captain grabbed the closest piece of material and pressed it onto the private’s wound. Brian had to give him credit for that, at least. Until he turned angry eyes on Brian. “Search the rest of this place.”
The German had twin leaves on the flaps of his collar. “Oberführer.” Fox lifted his eyebrows. “Guess we found the guy in charge.”
Brian glanced at the man on the bed. Then at the German on the floor. Twins? If so, they were identical. He didn’t even know what to think about a man experimenting on his own brother.
“Sergeant.”
He ignored the captain’s displeasure at his not following orders and asked the private, “How bad is it?”
The captain answered, “He’s going to need stitches. Make sure we are safe to do them, Sergeant.”
“Yes, Captain.”
He and Fox checked all the doors. The first was an empty cell that smelled like piss. The hallway the German had emerged from whistled with fresh air. He left that door open. The next cell was locked. Brian had been picking locks since his ninth birthday when his cousin Craig showed him how. Craig was in jail now, but Brian hadn’t forgotten.
Inside, a man was slumped on the floor in the corner. As far as he could’ve gotten from the door. Dressed in ragged clothing, he had an air of despair, yet there was something about him that seemed strong. A kind of presence. Maybe the fact his muscles were still pronounced. He must not have been here long enough to have grown emaciated like so many of the captives Brian had seen. Still, stringy brown hair hung down, and his patchy beard loo
ked to have been pulled out in clumps.
“Sir?”
“I got him,” Fox said. “You check the last door.”
Brian picked the lock and found an identical room. A cell. Inside was a child. A thin little girl with blonde hair, wearing only a dress. No shoes. No socks, or stockings. She had to be freezing. She looked up at him with wide eyes, and he swallowed. Three Hebrew letters had been carved into her forehead.
“Hi.” He crouched and tried to look harmless, figuring she probably didn’t understand English. He swung his rifle behind his back and smiled at her. “I’m Brian.”
She said nothing.
He touched one hand to his chest. “Brian.”
The girl stared for what felt like an eternity. She’d clearly been through hell, and Brian was going to do his best to make this anything but. She lifted one slender arm and slowly stretched out her fingers. He figured she was ten. Maybe older. She was so thin.
She touched the front of her ragged floral dress. “Charlota.”
The kid held his hand as they walked out into the main room. Fox had the man up and was walking him to the exit. The two other privates led the way. They’d have to find the closest Red Cross station and hand them off for medical attention. Did they know each other?
The captain was sewing up the private, who sat sweating on a stool. His eyes locked on Brian’s and Brian nodded. The little girl burrowed her head in the side of his leg. He picked her up. Charlota held on so tightly it was like she was trying to dissolve into him.
Brian headed for the door.
Two steps later the figure on the bed—the identical twin of the dead German officer—stirred. Brian swung around and ran into a stool. It wheeled across the floor with a squeak. The man on the bed shifted. Arms. Legs. His restraints pulled taut and then slackened again. Half his head was missing. How could he—
Charlota lifted her face from his neck and stared at the man on the bed. Said one word in a language he didn’t understand.
“Sweetie, don’t.” She shouldn’t look at this.
The girl shoved away Brian’s hand and reached out. Stretched so far she nearly fell from his arms. Brian moved closer to the bed, where she touched his forehead.
Then hers.
What?
Charlota whispered more words he didn’t know.
The man disappeared, leaving nothing but a few lumps of mud.
**
Hans huddled in the cupboard until they left. He tried not to even breathe for fear he’d be caught. He couldn’t be found here as a Jew, or they’d try to rescue him. Hans had to help Karl.
He touched the medallion hanging from his neck. Karl could believe whatever he wanted. His brother didn’t know what he knew.
Finally, when the Americans had cleared out, he pushed the door open. The creature was gone from the table.
He swore. Charlota.
Hans was going to make her pay for that. He understood the English these soldiers spoke. He’d been forced to learn it, as he’d been forced to do so many other things. Maybe his being Jewish would actually be useful now. Play the victim, get to Charlota. Get back what she had stolen from them.
He’d made his way this far. He wasn’t proud of who he’d become, but he was alive.
When Karl had found Hans and Charlota hiding together in the mountains, Karl insisted she come along. She had proved useful in their experiments. Until the girl didn’t even scream anymore.
As a result, they had learned much about their blood. About their link to the creature.
Hans knew there was more that could be done. His brother had such a narrow view. Not that Hans could blame him, considering his father was German. Karl had only been interested in seeing what the creature could do for Germany. Because Germany had to be victorious, and that was all that mattered.
Hans wanted more. He wanted the whole world. The fact he needed Karl irritated him. But if this worked, he could kill his brother later when he didn’t need him anymore—just his blood.
Hans fetched the sample they’d taken from the creature.
He crouched beside his brother and pressed the clay into the bullet holes on Karl’s chest.
He waited.
Karl sucked in a breath and sat up. Eyes wide.
**
“Do you know Charlota Katzova?”
Ben shifted against the restraints, his head a fog of images. Smells. He’d seen it all like a ghost in the room. As though he’d been floating. The man on the bed. The soldier.
The little girl.
“Do you know her?”
“No.” She’d been a stranger to him when they’d first met.
“Who is Karl Friedman?”
Ben shook his head. Who was that?
“This isn’t working,” someone said. A man. “How would he know the creature’s history? Ben Mason was born in Kansas in 1971.” He sighed. “This is pointless. You aren’t getting anywhere.”
“The creature binds them all together somehow,” a woman argued. “I know it does.”
Ben blinked but couldn’t see anything. His body floated, numb.
One thought was upmost in his mind.
“The life is in the blood.”
Chapter 20
Kansas City, KS. Wednesday, 13:47hrs CDT
Mei raced down a side street to a rear entrance for the warehouse, Daire right behind her. Kansas City was the most central you could get without driving west past Lebanon. Wherever they were in the US, this was the middle. A good meeting spot, considering none of them cared to get picky. Not when pineapple slush had been activated.
Mei hauled the door open and ran inside.
Dauntless barked once, then sat. Remy swung around. Even Grant braced. When they saw it was Mei and Daire, they both relaxed.
Mei said, “Aren’t you guys armed?”
Remy winced. “I have Dauntless.”
Grant patted the holster under his arm, gun still clipped in.
Mei zeroed in on Remy. “We could have been anyone. You’d be dead by now. Because you don’t like guns.”
“Mei.” Daire’s voice was short.
She wasn’t going to apologize. Remy had to protect herself, if Grant wasn’t going to be a help. “What would Shadrach do if he came home and found Dauntless was injured, or dead, because you let him protect you?” Whatever was going on, it wasn’t worth them putting themselves at risk like this.
Grant at least had the decency to look guilty, and glanced at Remy. “I suppose at this point you being armed as well might prove a good idea.”
Might? Mei didn’t even know where to start with that. “What’s going on?”
Daire stood shoulder-to-shoulder with her. He’d been with her since they’d left the team meeting in Chicago. Didn’t matter how it felt, though. It wouldn’t be this way forever.
Mei shifted so they weren’t as close. “Someone explain pineapple slush.”
Remy’s face fell. “What I couldn’t tell you before is that Ben was abducted from the hospital by Ted Tiller and another man.”
Buzzing flooded Mei’s brain. She sucked in a breath while Remy continued on about a cloned phone and a computer breach.
“They got into your system?” Daire was as shocked as Mei. Just not about the same thing.
Remy said, “I dumped all the files and got out of there.”
Mei set her hands on her thighs and hung her head. Tried to catch her breath.
A hand touched her shoulder. “Mei?” Daire’s voice was soft.
She pushed up and stepped away from him. Sympathy was the last thing she needed. “Ted Tiller?”
Remy nodded. “He and another man took…Ben.”
She’d better not have been about to say your father. Mei knew that wasn’t true. The truth was that he wasn’t her biological father, at least. They’d get the prize for “most screwed up” family. Or “most left unsaid,” at least. “How could they have taken him? I wouldn’t have thought that was even possible.”
�
�I know,” Remy said. “If I hadn’t watched the surveillance myself, I wouldn’t have believed it.”
Was Roger behind all this? Mei couldn’t stop the shudder that moved through her just thinking about that man. Her mother didn’t know the half of what Roger had done to her.
“Why didn’t you tell us as soon as it happened?”
“You were on a plane,” Remy said. “And then you’d be on assignment. Until I had a solid lead worth you flying all the way back, I was going to hold off.”
“Sit on it.”
“Before I had the chance to realize that might have been a bad idea” —at least she had the decency to look chastised— “I realized our system had been compromised.”
Daire set his hand on her shoulder. Again. A wave of nausea moved through her that had nothing to do with Daire. Again she backed up. Hating herself for the weakness even while she retreated. “You need to stop touching me.”
“Okay.” He lifted both hands, palms out. “I’m sorry.”
She had to call her mother and find out if Roger ordered Ben’s abduction. Not the first time. She’d have to loop in Remy, Grant, and Daire. Otherwise they’d be looking for information Mei already had.
Mei scrubbed her hands down her face. “So you have a lead for us?”
“We’ll get to that.” Remy swung her backpack off and unzipped it. She handed a new phone to each of them, then a bundle of bills secured by a rubber band. “The phones are clean. Unregistered. All of them are loaded. You’re good for a while before you have to buy more minutes. Did you ditch your old phones?”
It was part of the protocol on pineapple slush that they toss all electronic devices. Still, the question had to be asked. Mei nodded last. She looked at Dauntless, who laid down. He seemed completely at rest. His master was safe as far as he knew, he just wasn’t here. Meanwhile, Ben was—who knows where—probably being tortured. Dauntless didn’t know enough to realize he should be alert.
Mei shut her eyes. Heard the beep of machines, felt the prick of a needle in her arm. She’d been strapped down, unable to move. She could still feel the knife. Kidnapped, just like Ben.
