The girl’s brows knitted together, and he shook his head.
"Cowardly thing for a man to do, leave a woman in that position. And your parents? Kicking you out of the house because of it. Now, if I were your father…" He waggled a finger in her direction. "That boy would have married you or gotten a bullet between the eyes."
With his peripheral vision, he could see Inez nodding vigorously in agreement.
"And now, through no fault of your own—" He wanted to make sure she understood. "—I'm gonna take your baby girl away from you."
Angela Johnson made a guttural cry of despair. It was heart-wrenching. Big tears rolled down her face and she shook her head, imploring with her big blue eyes.
"No!" she tried to say through the gag in her mouth.
"I'm sorry." The general lifted his left hand, and wiped the tears from her damp cheeks. "Just know that your daughter is a very special girl and her country needs her." The woman's shoulders slumped, accepting the inevitable. "And I promise you that she will be looked after. She'll have the best housing, the best food and education that money can buy. Okay?" he assured her.
"I know losing her is gonna hurt worse than anything you have ever been through in your life. You'll wonder every night where your baby is. Spend every waking hour trying to find her, while you live with a hole in your heart that will never heal. But I'm gonna spare you that pain, Angela."
The general lifted his right hand, and she only had a moment to feel fear before he shot her in the forehead.
The weight of the woman's body slumping backward caused the chair to rock, violently at first. As it slowed, the general rose, buttoning his jacket and ordering, "Get me out of this hellhole. And bring the cat."
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
There was only one reason the black SUV would stop in the middle of an open field, and that reason wasn't good. Ansel grabbed his gun, and sensing the danger they were in, Seneca stilled in the seat next to him.
"If anything happens…You drive away."
If she nodded, he didn't see it. His attention was completely fixed on the door of the car in front of them. Ansel tightened his grip on his gun, but the man stayed in the SUV.
His brows furrowed in confusion and Seneca said what he was thinking: "What is he waiting for?"
And then they found out as the side of the hill rose up like some industrial barn door.
The SUV pulled forward, disappearing inside, and Ansel threw the truck into park then slipped out, ordering Seneca to "Drive."
He did not wait for her to answer. But as he approached the large door on foot, Ansel heard the truck engine rumble up behind him.
His sprint became a jog, and then he had his back pressed against the hillside to the right of the garage door. Seneca was easing the truck into the parking structure and he crouched down, following behind it. The man was watching the Chevy pull into the garage, so he did not expect Ansel to step out with his gun drawn.
"Hands up," Ansel ordered.
"Are we really going to do this?" the man asked as the metal door swung shut, sealing them in.
Ansel waited for his eyes to adjust to the dark before looking around. The SUV had pulled in behind a tan Range Rover, but two more cars could have easily fit into the cavernous room. Gray paint covered the thick metal walls with rust peeking through at the edges.
This place was old. 1940's, 50's, maybe. And then it dawned on him. "Is this a missile silo?"
The man chuckled, dropping his hands, and Ansel lifted his gun.
"Used to be." The man's gray eyes held his. And even with a gun trained at his chest, this guy was calm. That's when Ansel knew he was law enforcement, or used to be. The guy lifted his left hand toward an interior door, offering, "Why don't you find out?"
Ansel's grin was sardonic. "You first."
The man in the suit rolled his eyes then walked to the smaller door. Ansel braced himself, expecting a flood of FBI agents to come bursting out.
He turned his head toward Seneca, warning, "Stay behind the truck." Just in case bullets started flying.
The man pulled down on the lever handle of the interior door to the silo, and it opened with a hollow creak. But rather than a swarm of FBI agents, the man was greeted by an elderly woman with long, gray braids and foggy blue eyes.
"Joe, you're back! I was starting to get worri—Oh!" She looked at Ansel and then at his gun before thrusting out her hand, totally unconcerned. "Hello," she said. "I'm Gwen. Welcome to my home." When he didn't shake it, she smiled, saying, "You must be Ansel Babineaux. Catherine has told me all about her baby brother. Cat, sweetie!"
"Yes?" Ansel heard his sister voice bouncing down the walls of several rooms. She seemed…fine.
The old woman took a step back, saying a little louder, "Your brother is holding a gun on us. Would you mind talking some sense into him, please?"
"What!" he heard Catherine shout.
"And who is this pretty little thi—" The woman was interrupted when Catherine came bursting through the door, shoving Ansel aside.
"Seneca!" Catherine gave her a big bear hug. "What are you doing here?" his sister asked her friend before glancing up at him. "Put that gun away, Ansel. Who do you think you are, Rambo?"
Seneca grinned at him, knowing that he kind of was. "We came to rescue you," she explained.
"Aww, you're so sweet." Catherine said it to Seneca, as if he had not driven halfway across the country to save his sister’s life. "But honestly, Seneca, I'm fine. Let's go inside, and I'll tell you all about what happened. Is Dave okay? I wish I could have called him, but there just wasn't any tim…"
Their voices faded the further they walked inside. Ansel lowered his weapon, putting his nine millimeter in the holster strapped to his right thigh. The man in the suit chuckled and Ansel glared at him, wondering how Catherine still managed to make him feel like that twelve-year-old kid she used to beat the shit out of.
"After you," Joe said, but he hadn't even gotten two steps into the room when the man added, "If it makes you feel any better…" His tone was anything but helpful. "I have four older sisters myself."
The guy was still laughing at him when he brushed past, leaving Ansel plenty of time to look around the eclectic room. The ceiling was low, as he would have expected in a decommissioned silo, but that was where the resemblance ended.
What used to be gray walls were now painted an earthy yellow. Two tan couches decorated with colorful pillows lined the walls of the square living room. A room that smelled of flowers, and citrus, and something familiar that he couldn't quite place. And from a distant room, he could hear water trickling down what he was sure to be a tranquility fountain.
"Are you hungry, Ansel?" the older woman was asking, and then she smiled. "Let's go to the kitchen and make some lunch for everyone," she suggested, sensing his discomfort.
Ansel let himself be led, while Cat and Seneca sat on a couch and he thought he heard his name mentioned.
"You live here?" He didn't know why he asked. It was obvious that she did.
"For five years now," Gwen smiled. The kitchen was pleasant, with herbs growing in the corner beneath a pink light. "It's a bit like stepping into the rabbit hole, isn't it? But…" She shrugged. "There were such bad intentions left in these walls, that I used Feng Shui to bring the place back into harmony. As a matter of fact, I burned some sage just this morning."
That was what he smelled.
"Sage?" This was so out of Ansel’s wheelhouse that he did not know how to respond.
"The burning of sage helps drive out bad…vibes." Gwen nodded as if it were a statement of fact, and then stuck her head in a very normal looking refrigerator. "You look like one of those guys who eats a lot of protein. Fortunately for you—" She pulled out a steak that had already been cooked, grinning. "My vegetarian days are long behind me."
Unable to stop himself, Ansel smiled back at the older woman. "I'm shocked."
"Of course," the woman began cutting the steak into thin slices,
"the meat is organic, and free range from my friend's ranch just down the road."
“Sounds about right."
He watched as she carefully prepared a bowlful of spinach, topping it with the steak before adding onions, pecans and crumbles of blue cheese.
"Here," Gwen handed him a stack of plates along with some homemade salad dressing. "I'll let you put the dressing on yourself, in case you're watching your figure."
Ansel chuckled. "Very thoughtful."
The woman walked out of the kitchen. And with the salad still in her hands, announced, "Why don't we go into the dining room, while we try to explain why we're all here." Gwen looked around the room. "Where are Frank and Matthew?" she asked the older man in the black suit.
"Mr. Babineaux," Joe said with utmost disapproval, "gave Matt a nasty concussion." The older woman tsked in Ansel's general direction. "We thought it best that he went to the hospital for observation."
"You're right," Gwen sighed. "Well." She looked at Seneca and then him. "Time’s a wastin' and the sooner we tell these two what's going on, the sooner they can help."
They all settled into the cozy teal dining room. Ansel sat next to Seneca and across from Cat, while Gwen and Joe took the ends of the mid-century wooden table.
Joe poured everyone a glass of sweet iced tea, and they were halfway through their lunch before Ansel looked up at his sister.
"Well?" he said. "I'm not sure what you did to piss off the United States government, but I sure hope there's a damn good reason for scaring the hell out of your husband?"
And me.
"There is," Catherine nodded, setting her fork down on her plate. "But…It's really hard to explain."
"Try," he growled.
Seneca put a hand on Ansel's forearm and his heart slowed. "We've all been very upset, Cat."
"I know," Catherine nodded, looking across the table at him. Her eyes were filled with sincerity when she said, "I'm really sorry, Ansel."
"Why did you leave without telling us?" Ansel felt calmer. "What did you do?"
Catherine opened her mouth to speak, but it was Gwen who answered, "Nothing. Your sister did absolutely nothing, other than be herself."
"No offense, ma'am." Ansel's could feel his blood pressure rising as he turned toward the older woman. "But I'm really not in the mood for some hippie bullshit right now."
"Ansel!" Cat gasped, appalled.
"It's alright, Catherine," Gwen defended him, making Ansel feel like an even bigger asshole. "The boy's just upset, and he has a right to be."
The man in the black suit didn't give a shit. Impatient, he took over, explaining, "Dr. Gwendolyn Huber is one of the leading geneticists in the world."
The older woman chuckled, "Used to be. I retired a few years back."
Joe continued, "She was the head of research for the company Decendants.com."
"Oh, wow," Seneca was impressed, but Ansel had no idea why.
"The online genealogy place?" he asked.
He had seen the commercials. Who hadn't? They were everywhere. The whole thing sounded really boring to him. But if he remembered correctly, Catherine had gotten into that stuff after their parents were murdered. It seemed to help her cope.
"It's a lot more than just genealogy, Ansel," Catherine defended her new friend. "They do historical research, and help in the preservation of historical birth records…" She ticked the list off on her fingers. "Census records, military records, not to mention the individual DNA testing to determine familial origins. It's amazing."
"Oh, yeah, Dave got you a kit for Christmas." Ansel pointed at his sister, remembering. "You swabbed your mouth with that plastic thing and sent it off for testing. I remember you said we're from France or something?"
Catherine rolled her eyes, sighing. But Seneca seemed interested. "Oh, I can totally see that. And of course, your last name is French."
"Oh, they're definitely Francs of some kind," Gwen chimed in. "The dark hair, green eyes, and olive undertones…Not to mention their bone structure. These are all classic characteristics of—"
"Can we stay on topic, please?" Joe begged, adjusting his suit jacket, and Gwen inclined her head toward him as a small show of contrition. "Six years ago Dr. Huber found an anomaly with one of the DNA tests submitted to their processing lab.
“She ran the test again, and even asked the subject to resubmit their sample. But the anomaly remained.
“Curious, and now knowing what markers to look for, Dr. Huber spent the next few years comparing the anomaly to the Descendants.com database of DNA profiles. Eventually, she found a handful of samples with the same DNA anomaly."
"You must understand," Gwen added, "we collect DNA samples from everywhere. It's the reason we know you have French and British lineage, for example. Decendants.com has collected DNA in France and China, England, Mexico, Nigeria… All over the world. So, to have a DNA test that was completely anomalous to anywhere is…" She raised both brows, nodding as she searched for the appropriate word. "…Alarming."
Ansel glanced at the formidable man in the black suit. "So, Dr. Huber called the FBI to help determine the origins of the anomaly?"
“FBI?” Catherine sat up, her face scrunched in confusion. "What are you talking about? What FBI?"
"You're not FBI?" Ansel asked, pointing at the older man.
"No. Of course not." The man in the black suit was shaking his head as if Ansel had offended him by even suggesting it. "I'm Mormon."
CHAPTER NINETEEN
"Why on earth did you think Joe was in the FBI?" Cat just stared at Ansel like he was an idiot, and Seneca felt the need to defend him.
"Seriously?" Seneca rolled her eyes at her obtuse friend. "You don't see it? The dark suits…" She held her arm out toward Joe to help paint the picture. "The three ominous men driving a black SUV?"
"It's an airport rental," Joe clarified.
Ansel ignored him and glared at his sister, shouting, "The kidnapping!"
"Kidnapping? I wasn't kidnapped." Cat looked appalled. "Honestly, Ansel. I told you there was a group of Mormons at the front door, and that…" She was shaking her head. "Oh." Her eyes went wide as she lifted a finger. "I see how it could have looked like I was being kidnap—"
"It looked exactly like you were being kidnapped!" Ansel was furious, but everyone knew it was based on fear for his sister's safety.
Cat reached across the table, and grabbed both of her brother's large hands. "I'm sorry, Ansel," she said, her tone softening. "But if you just listen to Joe, you'll understand why I left the way I did." She turned to the man in the suit. "Tell them what you told me at my house."
"After Gwen found the anomalous DNA, we started to do some research on the families who had it," Joe began, but Gwen finished.
"The familial origins of the people with the anomaly were primarily of European descent," Gwen explained. "But the lineage varied widely from Sweden to Italy, and one Hispanic family of predominantly South American origins.
“However, as I traced these families’ migrations they did have one place in common. They all seemed to have had grandparents or great-grandparents who lived in the southwestern United States with the majority of those living in and around New Mexico."
"Meaning what?" Seneca asked.
"Hell if I know," Gwen sighed. "My best guess is that with the nuclear testing taking place at Alamogordo, both above and below ground, the local population's water supply was compromised."
"Then they would have gotten radiation poisoning and died." Ansel looked skeptical. "Not had their DNA altered."
"A lot of people in New Mexico did get sick," Gwen began, sitting forward in her chair, excited. "But what if the radiation was the last link in the perfect biological storm? The right chemicals mixed with the right minerals in the water, and a receptive DNA type which adapted to its environment in order to survive?"
"Like…evolution?" Ansel asked, and she could see him thinking. "But it doesn't really matter how the anomaly happened. And other than
academic curiosity, why are you involved?"
Joe met his eyes. "Because we contacted the people we identified with the anomaly, to ask them if they would consider more in-depth testing. Bloodwork, tissue samples…That type of thing." Seneca nodded to indicate she understood, but then Joe turned his attention on Ansel. "But of the five people Gwen identified with the anomaly, two were missing, and two were found murdered in their homes."
Her blood went cold.
"And the fifth?" Ansel asked, before she had the chance.
"The fifth was a ten-year-old boy living in a foster home in Salt Lake City." A knot formed in the pit of her stomach as Joe continued with the story. "You see, I'm the Head of Security for Descendants.com, but Gwen knew that I was also a retired Secret Service agent."
"Oh, so you’re not even close to an FBI agent," Ansel snorted, looking down at Seneca. wanted to laugh, but she couldn't breathe.
Joe ignored them both. "Since the child was living so close to our headquarters, I decided to go talk to his caregiver personally to ask permission to obtain the sample.
“But when I got to the foster home…" The man looked down the table, and then at Gwen, whose eyes were welling with tears. "The kid was being taken into custody by the Salt Lake City Police Department and he hasn’t been heard from since."
"Oh my God!" Seneca's hand flew to her mouth.
"Why were some people with the anomaly taken while others were killed?" Ansel directed his question toward Gwen.
"I'm not sure," The woman sighed. "There seems to be some sort of age element involved. Of the two people murdered, one was a woman in her late forties and the other was a man in his mid-fifties."
"So, they take the young ones and kill the others," Ansel mused out loud, before looking over at Joe. "How did you find out about Cat?"
"She submitted the DNA test to the Descendants.com lab," he explained. "When Gwen retired, she told me what DNA markers to look for. And when Catherine's name popped up as a positive two days ago, I took a team to get her before they did."
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