by Nick Thacker
The single fragile page.
Reggie’s heart raced. He knew the invaluable worth of the artifact, and he couldn’t help but feel anxiety at Ben’s reckless treatment of the book.
Derrick did a worse job trying to hide his emotions.
“Harvey, give me the damn journal,” he said, his voice tight. “You’re going to rip it in half. You do that and I knock you on your —”
“Look,” Ben said, effectively shushing the man. “Right there.”
Now holding the page — and the rest of the journal — with one hand, he pointed to the mountains with the other. “See that?” Ben asked.
“What?” Joshua asked. He had stepped to Ben’s other side and was trying to understand all the fuss. Reggie, too, was confused, so he walked around the other three men and tried to see what Ben was pointing at from his perspective.
He looked at the page, horizontal to the small mound they were standing on, a ridge that had been named ‘Camp Disappointment,’ and then he looked up and focused on the range of mountains just in the distance.
And then he saw it.
The mountain range.
And the torn edge of the page.
They lined up, perfectly. Reggie shifted to his right, now standing almost directly behind Ben, and he stood up on his toes and craned his neck to get a better view, more accurate to Ben’s own view.
The torn edge was precisely the same shape as that of the range of mountains in front of them. It had been torn purposefully, likely by Lewis himself, to forever match the landscape he’d wanted someone to see.
Someone who might find his treasure.
“It’s a map,” Derrick said, his voice filled with awe. All Reggie’s anxiety, too, had melted away, yet his heart beat even faster.
“It’s a treasure map,” Joshua said. “Ben, you found it. This is the exact spot we’d have to be on to see this and have it make sense.”
“He’s right,” Reggie whispered. “We’re here.”
Chapter FIFTY-EIGHT
BEN’S MOMENTARY FEELING OF PRIDE at having discovered the ‘map’ within the journal’s pages faded quickly. Julie was still gone, they still had a gang of trigger-happy thugs somewhere behind them, and they were running out of time.
“How long’s it going to take to get out there?” he asked.
“Where?”
Ben pointed again. He’d handed the journal back to Roger Derrick, who’d inspected it, then placed it carefully into a plastic bag and then into his briefcase once again.
“The mountains. The map is pointing the way, but we still have to get out there. There are more clues, remember?”
“Ah, right,” Reggie said. “I was sort of hoping the other ones were just for fun, and this spot was it.”
“You’re welcome to start digging,” Derrick said, “but I think Ben’s right. The treasure — if there still is one — is that way.”
“Due west, into the mountains. How far, though?” Joshua asked.
Ben looked around at the rest of them. He was on a roll, so he figured he had nothing to lose. “Well, I’ve been thinking about that, too.”
“Yeah?” Reggie asked. “You cracked the next clue?”
“Nope,” he said. “Still part of this one. I’d bet you we’re supposed to walk along the Marias River, starting from right here, straight up into the mountains.”
“But for how long?”
“23 miles,” Ben said quickly. “And I’d further bet you that we’re standing on a spot exactly 23 miles upstream from where the Marias meets the Missouri.”
“In the middle of where the ‘three unique Cottonwoods’ grow together,” Derrick added, a smile on his face.
“Well damn, Ben,” Reggie said, matching Derrick’s smile. “That’s got to be the smartest thing you’ve ever said.”
“That’s why I don’t talk that much,” Ben replied. “But going back to my first question: how long will it take us to walk over there? There aren’t any roads, so I don’t see any other way up there.” He turned to Derrick. “Unless your boss wants to lend us a helicopter.”
Derrick frowned. “The day the Bureau just ‘hands out’ choppers is a day I’d like to see. I had a hard enough time convincing my boss that I needed a larger arsenal of weapons.”
“So we walk?”
“No,” Joshua said. “There are a few towns up in the mountains. Bit of a circuitous route, but we can drive and get there a lot faster.”
“Plus, we won’t be 23 miles up in the mountains without a way to get back.”
“Works for me,” Joshua said. “Let’s roll.”
Chapter FIFTY-NINE
“OKAY BOSS,” MORRISON SAID. “WE’RE ready for you.”
The Hawk nodded, stepping away from his perch at the end of the gymnasium. Juliette Richardson sat in the center still, arms and legs bound, her head down.
She’s starting to break, he thought. They always start to break.
Usually it took a scare, or a threat, but sometimes — like in Julie’s case — it took something more psychological. In her case, it was darkness. Pitch-black darkness for a certain number of hours did the trick, even when everything else had failed.
He never had to touch them, or point a gun at them, or do anything else drastic. These matters were simpler, far simpler than the over-complicated things his men would have had him do.
Morrison, for example, would have ruined every chance they had at extracting information from the woman. His idiocy had nearly derailed The Hawk’s plans, but thankfully he had strolled near the gymnasium and heard Morrison’s advances.
There was no need for punishment, not yet. Morrison was still a good soldier, and he needed all the good soldiers he could get. The team of recruits he’d sent to retrieve the FBI agent and his friends had failed, at least initially. They had allowed for numerous mistakes, but the small team was now headed toward Montana. The Hawk knew they would make mistakes; he planned for it. Only through mistakes could one learn to succeed. He had no problem with failure, only a problem with failure when there was no disciplinary action taken afterward.
The recruits would be punished, made to understand their failings and what they should have done instead. For that they would grow stronger, and only then could they earn their spot on The Hawk’s team. Ravenshadow would be stronger for it, and The Hawk could then charge more for his security.
It was a win-win for them, even if they didn’t realize it while they were being punished.
But the discipline could come later. Right now he had a job to do, and that was to get Daris the information she needed.
The Hawk reached the center of the room and looked down at Julie. She was looking at him, under that tussled crop of black hair, looking up at him but not leaning her head back. Her eyes snuck out from her downturned face, only the bottom halves of them visible.
If she hadn't been bound to a chair in the middle of a room surrounded by soldiers, The Hawk would have thought she looked terrifying.
Instead, he knew she was terrified. She was acting, playing the game, and playing it well. She was close to broken, and when she broke she’d give him whatever he wanted.
He motioned for one of the soldiers to bring him the rolling cart Morrison had set up earlier. It rolled over, the glass jars and the box on top of it clinking as they brushed against each other. The man walked it steadily over to Julie’s side, and The Hawk watched her reaction.
There was no way she could know what it was, but that didn’t matter. She didn’t need to. Not knowing would add to her terror, which would allow it to work faster. It would make her break faster.
He strolled over to the cart, slowly, making sure Julie’s eyes were following him. He reached down and opened the top of the box that sat in the center of the tiny jars. He opened the lid and extracted one of the syringes lining the inside, and then grabbed one of the jars.
He tipped the jar upside-down and inserted the needle through the lid. Pulling back on the syringe’s shaft,
he filled the chamber with the silvery, translucent fluid.
Julie’s head snapped up.
Good, he thought. She’s already starting to break.
The serum was still in the testing phase, but he’d found that a far smaller dosage was necessary than what Daris’ chemists had informed him of. Part of the effect of any drug was a placebo, and it needed to be factored in. Double-blind studies had shown that the placebo effect, in some cases, could be just as strong as the drug itself.
He had factored in the placebo now, knowing that the mere thought of injecting an unknown foreign fluid into Julie’s arm would cause sheer terror and panic. It would lay the groundwork for the drug to do its actual job.
“Juliette,” The Hawk said. “I’m going to put this in your arm, and then you’re going to tell me everything you know about your team.”
She glared at him. “Truth serum? Really? That’s science fiction.”
“Correct,” he said. “But a hit of scopolamine to the neural receptors in the brain, telling it to shut down temporarily and allow voluntary thought to be, for the most part, replaced by involuntary reactions, is not science fiction. It’s science — and it’s in my hand right now.”
She tensed, and The Hawk took a bit of pleasure in this. He leaned down and stuck the syringe into Julie’s arm. He’d done some quick research online, and though he wasn’t a nurse or doctor, he thought he had the basic concept down: find a vein, stick the needle in, and pump slowly.
The bedside manner and precision was for the real doctors. He just needed to get the stuff inside her.
She gasped, obviously startled by the painful needle and lackadaisical way The Hawk had done it, but he leaned down further, focusing now on not letting the needle bend. Straight, carefully, and slowly — that was the goal. He pushed the syringe closed, watching the fluid press into her bloodstream.
“Wh — why are you doing this?” Juliette asked.
“It’s my job, Juliette,” The Hawk said. “And I like my job.”
“I don’t know anything about —”
She gasped, bucking in her chair and throwing her head back. Her eyes shone white for a moment as they rolled backward in her head, and her mouth stretched open. She rocked a few times, the spasms increasing to an excited intensity then subsiding.
The Hawk waited, knowing this phase was the worst for the patient. This initial intake was the most physically painful phase of the process, but it ended quickly. At such a low dosage there wouldn’t be too many side effects, and none would be permanent.
He hoped.
He’d been informed by Daris that her chemists were still trying to understand how the fluid reacted to different blood types, as there were differences. Slight, and largely unnoticeable but for the side effects. They had told The Hawk that they could eventually isolate the active ingredient and focus it, alongside the scopolamine, but that was for a later testing round, after The Hawk’s team had delivered what she was looking for.
So Juliette Richardson got to be a test subject of the beta version of the drug. The serum was effective, but he’d had to dilute the potency to ensure there was no cardiac arrest or renal failure. He may need this woman again, so he had to be careful.
Finally Julie’s head came back up, and her eyes stopped floating. She blinked a few times, the eyes trying to automatically adjust. Her hands opened and closed, and she rolled her head sideways a couple times, her neck cracking.
The Hawk liked to think the subject was ‘resetting,’ preparing their minds for his inclusions. The serum worked far better than the smoking method for a controlled, balanced test, yet the effect wouldn’t be as pronounced at this low a dosage.
“Juliette,” he said.
“I prefer Julie,” she answered.
“Of course. My apologies. How do you feel?”
“I feel — I feel okay, I guess. What did you do to me?”
“I injected you with the serum that my boss is developing. It renders the subject ‘consciously unconscious.’ You are able to respond, and move, but not of your own will.”
Julie stared back at him. “That’s nice.”
“It is nice, Julie. Further, you will have no recollection of this conversation in fifteen minutes when you ‘wake up.’ There will be a mild-to-severe headache, but aside from that, we don’t expect any side effects.”
“Great,” she said. Her voice was calm, unperturbed, as if she had just been told there was an in-store coupon a clerk had just applied to her grocery bill.
The Hawk loved this part. He couldn’t help having a little fun with the subjects.
“Julie,” he said. “Who is your fiancé?”
“Harvey Bennett,” she said. “Ben.”
“Ben, right. But who do you really love?”
“I love Ben.”
“That’s great, Julie. Loyal to the very end. What about Gareth Red?”
“Reggie?” she asked.
“Yes, Reggie. He’s a fine-looking man, wouldn’t you say? Do you love him?”
“I do,” she said, “but in a different way. I always saw him as sort of an older brother.”
“Ah, I see,” The Hawk said. “Well, let’s get into things. Who is Roger Derrick?”
“He’s an FBI agent.”
“And what does he want?”
“He… he wants to find Daris Johansson, I think.”
“You think”
“I mean that’s what he told us. I don’t have any reason to suspect anything otherwise.”
“I see. Why does he want to find Daris Johansson?”
“He wants to stop her. She’s trying to find something that’s dangerous, at least in her hands.”
“Correct.”
She looked at him inquisitively, like a mouse looking up to a cat. Unaware of the danger.
Unaware that she was being controlled.
“Julie,” The Hawk said, “I’m going to take the ties off of you. Is that okay?”
“Sure,” she said. “That’s okay.”
Morrison walked over and started cutting the zip ties off Julie’s arms and legs. The Hawk watched closely, but his man didn’t try anything stupid this time. When he’d finished, he picked up the broken ties and walked back behind the cart.
“Thank you, Morrison. Julie, can you move your right arm?”
She lifted up her right arm and waved it once, then set it back down.
“Very good, Julie. Now, that was one of my men, Morrison. How do you feel about Morrison? I believe you had a chance to meet him earlier?”
Julie’s face remained expressionless. “I did meet him. I’m going to kill him.”
One of the men chuckled in the background, but The Hawk stepped closer to Julie’s chair. “Julie, you are not tied down any longer. Do you want to get up and kill Morrison now?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Okay.”
“Okay.”
Julie didn’t move. She sat in the chair, transfixed, as if the ties were still in place.
“Julie, do you want my knife to kill Morrison?”
“That would work, yes.”
“Here, Julie.” The Hawk took the last step to Julie’s chair and held out a huge combat knife, the razor-sharp blade in his hand with the handle extended out to Julie. “Take the knife, Julie.”
She took it. It didn’t move. She just held it in her hand, her eyes wide, unmoving.
“Morrison,” The Hawk said. “Come here.”
Morrison took a few steps forward.
“Closer, Morrison.”
He followed the order, and he was now standing directly to Julie’s right, his stomach at the woman’s shoulder.
“Julie, do you still want to kill Morrison?”
“Yes.”
The Hawk waited, watching both his insubordinate soldier and Julie. Neither moved, but Morrison was frozen in fear, not from the drug.
After a minute, The Hawk dismissed Morrison with a wave of his hand.
“Julie, you didn’t
kill Morrison, even though you wanted to. Is that correct?”
“Yes,” she said. “That’s correct.”
“I see. Julie, we don’t have a lot of time before your drug wears off. You’ll want to take a nice long nap at that point, and I can’t blame you. That means I need to know, right now, everything you know about the rest of your team. Can you tell me that?”
“What do you want to know?” Julie asked.
“Let’s start with your leader, Joshua Jefferson. Tell me about him.”
Chapter SIXTY
THE PHONE CALL CAME TO Reggie’s phone, about halfway up a steep mountain pass. Ben was in the back seat, behind their FBI teammate once again, when Reggie slid the phone out of his pocket and looked at the screen.
“Unknown caller,” Reggie said. “Probably a telemarketer.”
“Let it go to voicemail?” Ben asked.
“Let me answer it,” Derrick said. “It’s not a telemarketer.”
Ben knew he was correct, but he didn’t want to think about what it meant. Mr. E, had he been the caller, would have routed the call through a local Alaskan area code. And their current situation in consideration, Ben knew it was far too much of a coincidence for a telemarketer to be calling Reggie’s phone right now.
Reggie sighed. He tapped the button on the front of the phone and then another to turn on the speakerphone option. “Gareth Red.”
A low, rumbling voice emanated from the tinny speaker. The Hawk.
“Reggie. How are you? How’s that gang of misfits?”
Ben’s jaw tightened. He looked from Reggie to Derrick, then to Joshua. Joshua turned to the others and mouthed the words, need me to pull over? Derrick shook his head, then spun his index finger in a circle. Keep him talking.
Joshua hit the gas, taking advantage of a long straightaway. By Ben’s estimate, they were only ten minutes or so from the first of the ‘small towns’ Joshua had mentioned, and that meant they were only a few minutes from parking and setting out by foot. What they were looking for, they didn’t know. But Joshua had marked a few locations on his phone’s map, hoping that their search area was relatively close within the two-mile square he’d outlined.
