by Martin, CJ
Sam glanced at Suteko. He smiled seeing that she already had much of her color back to her face. Returning his attention to Catherine, Sam jumped in fright. Her eyes were now wide open; she began to speak, but this time her words were recognizable and at normal volume. “War and Treachery...The leech!” Her voice brought Ian back into the room. Suteko recoiled slightly at the word “leech.” Ian ran to Catherine’s side and took her by the arms.
“Catherine!”
His smile turned twisted as he heard her say, “War and Treachery, the strong shall become weak—a slave!”
“Catherine!” Ian’s eyes—as confused as they were—poured with concern. “You’re okay. You are going to be all right,” he said as he cradled her head and gently stroked her hair.
“War and Treachery, the strong shall become weak—a slave with a cruel master. A temporal trust—united then betrayed.”
All eyes were on Catherine. Ian and Sam were kneeling at her side, trying to provide the comfort she needed but not knowing how.
“Suteko,” Sam said, turning his head in her direction, “Do you know what’s going on? What happened?”
Suteko’s face went white. “I...I don’t know. I thought for sure I was helping her.” One of Suteko’s hands flew to her face to conceal a tear and regain some composure. “I’ve never gone that far, never experienced a touching that close.”
“Not even with me?” Ian’s lips were tight and serious.
Suteko was too guilt-ridden and exhausted to address Ian. Instead, she directed her tearful eyes to Catherine. “There was just so much darkness to rid. I’m so sorry…”
Catherine moaned, but did not speak. Her eyes remained open—without blinking—but she seemed oblivious to the concern of those around her. She offered no solace or condemnation for Suteko.
“No, Suteko,” said Sam, shaking his head. “I do not believe you caused this. I believe this is a message.”
Sam fished his cell phone out from his pocket. He quickly found the microphone icon and began recording.
Sam turned back to Catherine. “Catherine, can you hear me?”
Then, with a slow, smooth motion, Catherine’s head tilted into Sam’s direction. There was some moaning, but no words.
“Catherine!” This time, Ian’s voice made her tilt her head into his direction.
“They know, Ian.” Catherine’s voice was clear and directed at Ian.
She closed her eyes and spoke no more.
“What? They know what?” Sam, Suteko, and Ian turned their heads toward the source of the questions, to the doorway. Marcus had returned. Lieutenant Harrison stood behind him.
“Marcus? Where have you been? We’ve been trying to get you for hours.” Sam’s voice had a touch of anger as he thought of the missing and dead, people he had never met but somehow, through his gift, he felt he knew intimately.
“I’m sorry, son, but I was...delayed.”
Ian let out a huff and turned back to Catherine.
“You could have called,” added Suteko. “Or at least answered our calls.”
“No, I couldn’t have. Both my cell and Lieutenant Harrison’s were confiscated when we tried to see the president.”
“The president said you hadn’t visited him.”
“That part is true—although it wasn’t for lack of trying. I will tell you more later. What’s going on?”
“Catherine...she…”
Marcus looked at her bandaged wrists and said, “I see and how is she?”
“Not good. But she seems to be stable thanks to Suteko,” said Sam who had stood and was now next to Marcus. “Maro and Amato were under attack,” Sam continued. “I’m having a hard time locking on Maro and we haven’t heard from Amato.”
“Of course you wouldn’t. I only gave him my contact information. Sam, were you able to discover Maro’s phone number again?”
“Yes,” answered Suteko for Sam. “But he isn’t answering.”
“How about Amato? Is there any way you can get his information?”
“I’m afraid not,” answered Sam. “I may be able to sense that he has been around the Temporal, but he is not one of us. Is there any way you can get your phone back? Call the president?”
“I’m afraid it is all gone. The president did not authorize our detention and, although Dr. Bracker is investigating, so far it has not been found.”
“That means Kaileen may have all the contact numbers. Marcus, she can mimic your voice.”
“I password protected the numbers and coded the names, but a clever girl like Kaileen…” Marcus’ voice trailed off.
“Marcus,” asked Sam hesitantly, “she was your student, wasn’t she?”
Marcus’ weary frame stooped. He placed a thick hand around the door jamb for stability. Prompted by the unexpected question, the old man was lost in thoughts of the distant past. Against his will, a tear escaped his eyes. Sam noticed Suteko look down and avert her eyes.
Marcus shook his head. “No, Sam, she wasn’t my student.” He wiped the solitary tear away and turned to leave the room while saying to Suteko, “Keep trying to contact Maro.”
Chapter Eighteen
“General, if you have concerns regarding Dr. Bracker, I’d like to hear them now.” Marcus’ eyes were tired; his voice was bitter. He directed his attention squarely at General Gordon who had come to the Berkshire House as soon as he heard of Marcus’ detention.
An additional plane had been destroyed. A crew of ten men, all dead. The general was not totally surprised to hear that Marcus knew it had occurred in Italy. Gordon whispered Bracker’s name under his breath which prompted Marcus’ question.
“A few months ago, the media acquired certain papers that led to the revealing of several deep cover CIA agents.”
“Right. It was quickly buried by the drama surrounding McGregor, but I remember. It was some anonymous hacker group that released the names online, right?”
“Yes, but it was an intentional leak and not the fault of lax internet security. The hackers were handed the codes and passwords. Two of the operatives were assassinated and at least one of them was hot on al-Zawahiri and several other leaders of al-Qaeda. Marcus, we could have brought the whole thing down in one fell swoop.”
“And you believe Bracker was the leak?”
“Bracker was a research analyst for Senator Harper, the chair of the security council.”
“A research analyst? He doesn’t seem the type.”
“It’s a title, a government job that leads to other government jobs. Probably nothing more than a payback position—hired as a thank-you-for-your-support.” The general shrugged. “While nothing was conclusive, an internal investigation narrowed down the likely source of the leak to that office. Besides the senator, Bracker was the only one with access to that information. There have been other less traitorous instances of him playing politics with national security. Everything is conveniently circumstantial, of course.”
“And yet,” Marcus said with a concerned look, “the president trusts him.”
“I greatly admire the president, but some of his cabinet choices were made out of political expediency. You may well remember the circumstances of his taking the oath.”
Marcus nodded. He knew far more than most. Kaileen had made a deal with the previous president. The deal turned raw when McGregor was exposed and disposed of. The nation was reeling and it was thought that Plato’s Noble Lie was the only way to handle the situation. Not knowing the whole truth, the American people—indeed the world—still had great admiration for McGregor and the previous president. They were remembered as fallen heroes. President Gardner had a solid following, but to not choose advisors from the previous cabinet would have been seen as ungrateful and purely partisan politics.
“Let’s just say that some of the people who are closest to his ear would not be my first choice.”
“And yet you didn’t appeal Dr. Bracker’s authority to return to us.”
“I do not have solid proo
f he was behind the CIA leaks. And while Dr. Bracker and I have major philosophical differences, the man has a wealth of experience and a vast array of contacts. As long as he has no direct access to sensitive information, he could be useful in specific and limited ways—I would personally emphasize the ‘limited’ aspect of his help. Besides, even if he did have access to the information—which he didn’t—he isn’t a murderer, at least not intentionally. We are talking about treason of the highest order.”
“I shall talk to the president. This is most concerning. Someone gained knowledge of the operations—knowledge that not even the president had and these people had the pull to have Harrison and myself detained at the White House.”
Chapter Nineteen
“Little one, what do you think of Hikari?”
The Nephloc spy was still huddled in the darkness. He had slithered to a far corner the moment he heard the door open. It wasn’t so much that he was afraid of the woman or even any other Temporal—except the hard man, of course—but he wanted to avoid the painful light that the open door might usher in should it be daytime. There was a terrifying outside window in the hallway just outside the door.
“Hiikarii?” he said, lifting his head enough for one eye to peek in the woman’s direction. He looked beyond her and into the hallway. The corner of the window that he could see was dark. It was night. Relieved, he turned his attention to the speaker. Suteko was her name, he reminded himself. She was from Japan. In a different world, a different lifetime, he had once been to Japan.
Nearly forgotten and illicit memories of an existence long gone were returning as a flood. Conveyer-belt sushi restaurants, the warm shouting of “welcome!” to customers as they enter, the wonder of Japan’s long history with ninjas, samurai, and geisha—the memories and thoughts frightened him. It was wrong to remember, to cherish his memory, but he did and the woman’s presence only made him want to explore his memories more.
“Yes, Hikari. I think Hikari is a good name for you.”
He was quiet, hoping she would close the door. It wasn’t natural light and therefore not painful, but the hall light was on and this bothered the spy’s eye. What game was this Temporal playing? Why was she doing this? He knew there was only one thing she wanted from him: information. He would not betray the High Lady. She would not tolerate any deviation from the plan. He also knew that if the Temporal didn’t get some information soon—or the right information—there would be punishment. The High Lady had warned him. He was treading a dangerous and narrow path; a slight deviation on either side could be painful and...deadly.
And yet, assigning him a name didn’t seem to fit in his pat theory. What was she doing?
“Hikari, in Japanese, means ‘light.’ I think there is more light in you than darkness.”
The creature was silent.
“I want to understand you and offer you a second chance. People can change; people can become better than they are.”
“Wees not people.”
“But you once were.”
He was silent again.
She knelt down and softly touched the inch of exposed flesh on his right hand, the hand that was still covering his head as if bombs were falling.
A feeling of warmth bubbled within him. As before, it was a good warmth, the same warmth he had experienced the last time she had touched him. He hated himself for feeling desire—a desire to be touched...by a Temporal woman.
Then he remembered his mission. He had almost forgotten what the High Lady had said. She had commanded him to pretend, to be an actor. He was to pretend to like the Temporal; he was to pretend to want to join them. In his disgust upon seeing the Temporal up close, he had fallen back to the defensive act of seeking spatial and verbal distance from his captors. He must obey. He must act.
“Lady’s nice.” He lifted his head higher, attempting to smile. The flesh that still clung around his mouth cracked slightly. “Hiikarii is good.”
“Good. I’m glad. Is there anything I can get you?”
“Noo, lady. Temporals nice to usss.”
The Temporal woman smiled and removed her hand. He shivered slightly as the warmth vanished and the familiar cold returned.
“Well, Hikari, I have a present for you.”
He lifted his head entirely. He expected the woman to reel back in disgust. The lighting from the hallway was enough to illuminate his features. He could feel what little skin he had warm because of it. It was an incandescent bulb and therefore not painful. Natural light, on the other hand, would induce immediate burning and extreme pain. It was part of the process of removing his humanity. Light gave life; darkness was only embraced by death.
But he realized he wasn’t as fearful of the hall light as before. It was as if her touch was healing him even after contact was lifted.
He noticed that her smile did falter slightly, but it wasn’t from disgust or horror. It was closer to pity, but even that was laced with something else...compassion.
His face was a mixture of pale bone, black, and gray wizened skin. He had no nose to speak of and much of his eye socket had rotted. He couldn’t wait until all of his humanity would rot and fall off. Then he would be free of disgust, pity, and even compassion; he would be free of pain—that was the promise. Then, he would become Perazim—one of the named, respected, and proud—if he survived the initiation ceremony, of course. There were few who did.
“Dear Hikari, please stand.”
She stood and held out her hand. Without a moment’s thought, he gladly took it, eager to feel her warmth again.
He was not disappointed.
A pleasant feeling drifted through him like the sun had as a child, before the Changing. He remembered the snowy days, the bone-chilling cold. He was a kid—once again—running free in the streets of Chicago, throwing snowballs at his little sister. The snowball left a cold that bored through his gloves like nails to a board. And then the sun broke through, blessing and revitalizing all that entered within its healing domain. Her touch was like that.
He stood and his smile returned. This time, it wasn’t forced.
“I think you have been in this room long enough.” She gently pulled his hand and he reluctantly moved toward the door, following the woman.
A tornado of fear whisked away the smile. He was about to enter the hallway; he was about to enter the light. But as he followed, he realized he was not afraid of the light. Not while he was touched by her.
He moved closer to the lady’s side and hugged her leg. He was a diminutive representation of what he once had been. Barely standing to her waist, his humped over stance had his chin just above her knee. She placed her hand on his head. His scalp could feel her warm hands. It was the grandest sensation.
“Let’s go outside.”
At this point, he would do anything this woman said. He hated himself and knew that his spirit was betraying the High Lady, but it was the truth—and besides, if confronted about his actions, he could say he was acting. That had certainly been his intention. The Lady had wanted him to report on all he saw; leaving the room gave him ample opportunity to spy out the Temporal layout, their numbers, and objects they had around, and yet, all he wanted to do was look up at the Temporal woman whose leg he was hugging.
Holding on to her leg loosely and feeling her hand on his head, he hobbled to the door doing his best to match her stride. He could tell it was night. He could almost smell the outside air. He could smell the rich, oxygen-saturated soil.
She opened the door and he dashed outside. He had lost her touch, but the moonlight took the soothing warmth’s place. It was vastly inferior to her touch, but the moon had always been a healer to Nephloc. It was not direct sunlight, after all. Having been depleted of its terrible heat, the pale, blue light was a balm to the Nephloc’s wounds. It allowed them to once again use what remained of their natural sight.
He was suddenly distracted by the smell of a fresh patch of moist dirt and moss. In an instant, he was on the ground, digging. He fi
lled his cupped hands with gloriously rich soil. Holding it up to the holes where his nose had once been, he took it all in, allowing it to spill over his chin and down his chest.
Then a thought crossed his mind. He could escape. He could leave right now. The patch of dirt in front of him—indeed, directly under him—was adequate for travel. He could leave now.
He let his toes sink a few inches into the soil. It was like dipping one’s toes into a cool spring on a blistering summer day—cool, refreshing, cleansing. He stopped. He remembered the lady Suteko’s touch. She was standing a few feet away on the hard concrete just watching. That warmth from her touch was unlike anything he had experienced before. He then remembered the High Lady’s threats and his mission. He pulled his feet back above ground.
“Hiikarii likes. Taaank you.”
Suteko walked behind the creature. Her hand stopped, hovering over his head. She looked on him with intense pity. He had been human once; she was now sure of it. He had been deceived and was now paying the price for his bad decisions. Hikari had his hood down, draping over his back. The few strands of remaining hair made him seem even more pitiable.
“You are welcome, Hikari. And I’m glad you like your name. Of course, if you remember your real name, please tell me.”
Information…, the creature thought. The Temporal wants our name. Wee will never give it...
Suteko was slightly taken back by the Nephloc’s sudden change in facial expression. He had seemed so happy to be outside that dark and dank room. But at the mention of his name, his face looked angered.
“It is fine. You don’t have to tell me your name. Hikari is just fine.”
He had a forced smile. “Foorgive usss. Wees want to stay with Temporal.”
For the first time this session, Suteko saw insincerity in his face as he spoke. There was a war within him, but at this moment, Hikari was on Kaileen’s side.
“I’m sorry to cut it short, but if you wish to remain with us, we must go back inside.”
