“Maybe, but we can’t find any evidence that Summer and Olivia had any contact since the death of Robin back in 2003, other than the phone calls that have been taking place over the last few months. And that alone may not be enough to draw conclusions, but it turns out Summer worked for Port Authority on the Corpus Christi coast for a brief period last year, and her access card was used for the first time in nine months last week.”
“She could just be working there again,” Seeley said.
“I checked. She isn’t on their current employee records,” McCoy said.
Seeley and Hammon shared a look.
“Trying to get her out of the country,” Hammon said.
“Somewhere they could start a new life,” Seeley answered.
“All of this so Olivia could play mommy,” Hammon huffed.
“Love is the most dangerous kind of motivation.”
“Then why copy our files?”
“Insurance?” McCoy speculated.
“Any leads on this elusive deadline or source that Krum mentioned?” Hammon asked.
McCoy swallowed, signaling bad news before he delivered it. “Nothing. I mean, Olivia had dozens of contacts, abroad and locally—any one of them could be the source. We’re re-scouring her files and records, looking for any clue.”
Hammon swore under his breath. “We’re flying blind.”
Before anyone could respond, a petite, graying woman in a white lab coat interrupted. “Director.”
Hammon turned and nodded to the woman. “Gina Loveless,” Hammon started as she approached, “this is Tom Seeley and Dave McCoy.” The woman stepped forward and offered a handshake to both as Hammon continued. “Dr. Loveless is a cognitive neuroscientist brought in to run diagnostics on what was done to the subject’s memory.” Then to Dr. Loveless: “Did you find something?”
She gave a nod as sharp as the angle of her jaw. As she opened her mouth, Hammon said, “And skip the science crap. Just give me the results.”
She blinked and adjusted the thin-rimmed glasses on her nose. “Memory is a tricky thing. It isn’t fully understood. It’s created and stored by the brain, so her level of memory loss is complicated to say the least.”
With the data pad in her hand, Dr. Loveless took over the large screen where McCoy had been displaying profiles. A brain scan appeared in black, white, and grays, different parts smudged and highlighted.
“This is your patient’s final scan. You can see the entirety of the brain was exposed to the memory wipe, which originally seemed to have removed all short-term, long-term, and sensory memory. That’s close to the truth, but”—Dr. Loveless enlarged one section of the brain—“a closer look at this image here around the temporal lobe shows something out of place. See this distortion? My theory is that the memories weren’t removed, so to speak, they were just moved to places where they shouldn’t be.”
“They were relocated?” Seeley asked.
“Yes. Imagine someone came into your house, took all your things, and put them in places you’d never kept them before. You wouldn’t be able to find anything. Memories are like things you need to access in order to use, but if that thing you are trying to find isn’t where it should be—”
“Then you won’t be able to use it,” Seeley finished.
“If my theory is correct, then your patient has all her memories, but they just aren’t where they should be, so she doesn’t know she has them,” Dr. Loveless said.
“Olivia had the skills to pull that off?” Seeley asked.
“I would guess not. With the limited knowledge Dr. Rivener was working with, and the time constraints, I hypothesize it was an error. The intention was to fully remove the memories. Good thing for you, because completely removed would be much more difficult.”
“But can we put them back?” Hammon asked.
“Potentially.”
“What do you need?”
“I need her to be in a lab setting where I have access to the proper equipment—”
“Do you have all of that here?”
“Yes, but—”
“Get a team,” Hammon said to Seeley. “Head to Corpus Christi and find the patient.”
“It’s not that simple,” Dr. Loveless interjected.
“Why not?” Hammon asked.
“To explain without the ‘science crap,’” she bit off, “memories are unpredictable and believed to be highly connected to our emotional and mental state. You can’t force someone to remember something. You need her to be a willing participant.”
Hammon looked as if he might bark back at the small doctor, so Seeley intervened. “If we could convince her to participate, is there a chance it would work?”
Dr. Loveless considered that and nodded. “A chance. Even then, we may not be able to get everything back in order. There are no guarantees. But the more she trusts you, the better her conditions for recovery will be.”
Seeley turned back to Hammon. “She’s never going to cooperate here. We need a different approach.”
Hammon nodded. “Do you have one?”
Seeley’s mind started to formulate an idea. “Maybe.”
“There’s something else you should know.” Dr. Loveless flipped to another part of the brain image and illuminated a small section. “This is the cerebellum—it’s associated with our motor function, or physical skills. Hers hasn’t been touched. It’s one of the only places that remains intact.”
“Her training wasn’t affected by the memory wipe,” McCoy said, drawing the others’ attention.
“Well, it wasn’t misplaced,” Dr. Loveless said. “I imagine in the chaos that is now her mind she probably doesn’t understand what she is capable of, but that won’t stop her from being able to access her skills.”
A moment of silence passed between the men before she continued. “She’s still as dangerous as you made her to be.”
Seeley was already starting toward the door.
“Go with him,” Hammon said to McCoy, and the young analyst responded, his shoes slapping on the hard ground as he rushed to follow.
“What now?” McCoy asked as Seeley pushed open the double doors and stepped into the hallway.
Seeley squared his jaw, his body tensing as his mind prepared to execute its plan. “We get her to trust us.”
THIRTEEN
ZOE FOLLOWED CLOSELY as Summer led them into her strange home. It was odd enough that it was tucked back in the corner of a junkyard, but things got stranger as they stepped into her space to find a shop of sorts. A long wooden counter with a cash machine, shelves bearing repurposed items, a collection of more KEEP OFF MY PROPERTY signs. There were other odds and ends found in any office: a printer, a copy machine—which Zoe was certain no longer functioned—a desk and chair, a round table without chairs holding stacks of paper and files.
The place was dim, dusty, and unused. Maybe at one time it had been the service building when people came through to purchase junk or drop junk off.
Summer crossed to the only other door in the small, dingy room. The lock above the handle had been replaced with a touch-screen keypad, which responded to her palm and illuminated numbers. “Turn around!” she yelled. It was clear she didn’t want them to see her precious code.
The girls did as asked, and after a moment Zoe heard the dead bolt crank open. Then she was following Lucy and Summer down a flight of stairs. The narrow stairwell opened up to a large basement apartment. Three times the size of the room upstairs, the apartment had an open floor plan, cement walls, and a low ceiling that nearly brushed Zoe’s head. There were zero windows or overhead lighting.
Summer placed the shotgun on the kitchen island that also served as a table, then reached for an off-white power strip on the floor at the island’s base. She flicked the red switch, and a handful of lamps, all shapes and sizes, sprang to life, illuminating the apartment.
She had an eccentric collection of things, from the small kitchen area in the left corner to the single bed, nightstand, and dr
esser in the far right corner. Rugs of different shapes, textures, and colors were scattered between them. Zoe noted two couches and several plush chairs, as well as what appeared to be the missing dining chairs from the table upstairs. There were items that didn’t make sense in the space, like a china cabinet with nothing in it, a metal bed frame leaning upright against a wall, and a stackable washer and dryer standing next to one of the couches in the middle of the room.
A decades-old TV and VCR sat on the floor in front of a large, worn chair, but Zoe saw no computer, no tablets, no laptop, no other electronic devices. The entire place was maddening, like the cellar of a kidnapper. She could feel fear gathering in her chest.
She looked at Summer, who was nervously glancing around her home. Dirty dishes, unkempt bed, clothes strung here and there.
Summer cut her eyes shyly at Zoe and cleared her throat. “Sorry for the mess,” she said, leaning against the island. “I don’t really have guests.”
“You live here?” Lucy asked.
Summer’s absence of an answer was an answer.
“Why?”
“It’s off the grid,” Summer began. “Safe, secure, and people don’t know I’m here.”
“But Olivia knew you were here,” Lucy continued.
“She tracked me down about six months ago. We hadn’t spoken in over fifteen years, so I knew if she was trying to reach me it must be important.”
“Why hadn’t you talked in so long?”
Summer’s eyes glazed over as if her mind had momentarily gone somewhere else. She stared there for a beat, then shook her head and pushed off of the island. “It doesn’t matter. That isn’t why you’re here.”
“You know who I am?” Lucy asked.
“No.”
Zoe could feel Lucy’s hope tarnish.
“What do you know?” Zoe asked.
“I know I warned Ollie about going to work for those people. Of course she didn’t listen. She and Robin always thought I was paranoid, and now where is she?” Summer shook her head.
“Work for who?” Zoe pressed.
“The government! The powers that be. The ones fixated on disguising their mind control with promises of opportunity and freedom. When really, freedom is a lie. They control us all, like sheep, telling us what to do and when to do it. Spying on us through little devices that fit into our pockets that they convinced us to buy. All part of a ruse to keep us dumbed down to what is really happening.”
“What does that have to do with Lucy?”
“Everything, child! Ollie was just like the rest, lured by their shiny trinkets. ‘You can change the world, you can make it safer, brighter, better.’ But it’s all about power and control. Fear is the heartbeat of this country! And she was caught right in the center of it.”
Zoe could feel her tolerance for this nonsense teetering. She knew Summer’s type, the anti-government radicals who thought the whole system should burn down. Zoe wasn’t necessarily signing up to join the charge of red, white, and blue, but this was over the top.
“I don’t understand,” Lucy said.
Summer started across the room. “I’ll show you,” she said, moving toward the far wall where, for the first time, Zoe noticed there was a door. The same kind of keypad that secured the door at the top of the stairs occupied this one as well. After a moment the lock churned as it opened, and Summer pulled the door ajar. “Come on.”
Warning bells rang in Zoe’s brain. What was the likelihood that if they went in that room they would never come back out? But Lucy was already moving, and they were way beyond turning back now.
Zoe stepped through the open door and found herself in a long, dimly lit hallway. She glanced back at Summer, who pushed past her and Lucy. The girls followed, traveling the pathway until they reached another keypad-secured door. Another moment of anticipated waiting, and then they were through, up a flight of matching iron steps and into what Zoe knew immediately was the warehouse they’d seen from outside.
It was easily double the size of the basement apartment, made of the same dull, sad concrete. They moved deeper into the windowless space, Zoe taking in the strange scene. Barrels of wheat, stacks of canned foods, water jugs, blankets, firewood, buckets of medical supplies—everywhere her eyes traveled, they were met with survival essentials.
This woman was ready for the zombie apocalypse.
Or worse.
But the main event sat dead center: a six-by-six-foot table, five whiteboards placed around it filled with printed images, articles, mathematical equations, dates, names, and faces, many with red string connecting point to point. The very scene Zoe might dream up if she were creating a story about a delusional mind caught in deep paranoia.
Summer stormed toward the center table, which Zoe realized was covered with weapons in neat lines. Shelves below the table held handguns, rifles, heavy artillery, bullets, grenades. Weapons she shouldn’t have access to. Weapons no one should have access to.
“What is this place?” Lucy asked, eyes wide.
“This is preparation for the day it all happens,” Summer said, a brightness to her voice. She was excited about her stash. She was certifiable, Zoe thought.
“When what happens?” Lucy asked.
“The fall of the powers that be.” Summer made direct eye contact with Lucy. “You’re going to be a part of that.”
“I am?”
Summer smiled and pulled a file from underneath a sleek black handgun. She held it out toward Lucy, who stepped up to grab it from her.
“Ollie didn’t give me details,” Summer started. “Most of this I found myself, and most of it is from before she went to work for Grantham.”
“The Grantham Project,” Lucy said as her eyes traced the information inside the folder.
“A top-secret government program. In fact, there aren’t any public records of the program, its funding, or its intent, which means whatever they are doing, they don’t want people to know. They hired Ollie back in 2005, a couple of years after Robin died.”
Robin. That was the link that connected Summer and Olivia, Zoe thought. She recognized the pain in Summer’s eyes when she mentioned Robin’s name. Zoe knew that kind of pain. Summer had loved this Robin very much.
Summer continued, “There is some speculation on the dark web that Grantham was created to build and test biological weaponry. The kind you wouldn’t know was a threat until it was too late. As far as I can gather, the Grantham Project wanted Ollie for her breakthrough work on genetics and the understanding of cell reproduction and manipulation. She all but confirmed that she’d joined to be part of something she believed would be revolutionary, but things got out of control, and she was afraid for her life.”
Zoe peered over Lucy’s shoulder into the file. There was a collection of articles about Dr. Olivia Rivener, decorated geneticist. A photo of her smiling was at the top right corner of one of the articles. Her face looked kind and warm, her eyes inviting.
Zoe looked up at Summer. “Why did she come to you?”
“I worked for Port Authority at the beginning of the year. Due to some flaw in their security system, some of us that were hired earlier in the year still have access. She wanted to know if I could get her and a young friend out of the country on a boat.”
“And?” Zoe asked.
Summer paused and stared at the girls for a long moment. Then she reached down under the table and yanked at a small package that was taped there. “She was the only family I had left. I would have done anything she asked.” A small smile played at the corner of her mouth. “Besides, any chance to rage against the machine right under their noses? Sign me up.”
Lucy pulled her eyes up from the folder and bored them directly into Summer. “You said I was going to be part of bringing down the powers that be. What did you mean?” The way she asked, Zoe thought she might already know the answer and was hoping Summer would prove her wrong.
“Ollie I knew, but you? I don’t help strangers.” Summer took a step forw
ard, the small package in hand. “She told me you were the key to bringing down Grantham and the whole system. She told me if I really wanted to expose them, making sure you stayed alive was the only way.”
Summer took a couple more steps, and Zoe inched backward. But Lucy stayed firm, showing no sign of the childlike fear Zoe expected.
“Ollie was many things, but a liar? No way,” Summer said. “She never told me how you were going to do it, only that your safety was essential. So much so that Ollie sacrificed her life for this. For you.”
Summer was only a couple of inches from Lucy now, and the girl remained like stone.
“So, you tell me. What’s so special about you, Lucy?”
They held one another’s stare. Zoe stood a foot away, waiting to react if needed, each breath slow and cautious.
Lucy snapped her gaze to the ceiling, her eyes focused and robotic. “Someone’s here.”
“Impossible,” Summer said. “They would have tripped the alarm—”
A siren pierced the warehouse, and Zoe clamped her hands over her ears.
Summer cursed and rushed to the side wall to silence the alarm. Within a moment the shrilling sound died, and Summer powered up a large arrangement of screens on the wall. Zoe hadn’t even noticed them. Six screens revealed security footage of the junkyard.
Armed soldiers in black ran in formation, hunched over. Again Summer swore. “I thought you said you weren’t followed!”
“How do we get out of here?” Zoe asked.
Lucy scanned the screens, calculating. “There’s at least fifteen on-site, others waiting in the surrounding streets. They have orders to obtain, not to kill.”
Summer and Zoe both looked at Lucy.
“How do you know that?” Summer asked.
“She can hear them,” Zoe answered in disbelief even as the words left her mouth.
Summer’s eyes widened, her mouth slightly ajar as the reality that Zoe knew but didn’t want to believe started to sink into her bones.
Lucy turned to Zoe. “I can get us out.”
Summer was moving then, toward the back of the room. Lucy also moved, toward the middle table. She grabbed a long black rifle, and Zoe nearly told her to be careful. But before the words could finish forming, Lucy was assembling the weapon, loading it with a large magazine, and cocking it for use. She grabbed a small pistol and did the same, then stuffed her pockets with extra ammunition and tucked the pistol in the back of her jeans, all within seconds. Zoe stood mesmerized, too stunned to process the stream of questions bombarding her brain.
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