"Well, then we better hurry up," Win said, "before they turn him into a bigger asshole than he already is."
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
His breakfast was hot, but that was the best thing Ansel could say about it. Bland oatmeal and a square block of protein that he knew was supposed to be eggs, because it was unnaturally yellow in color.
Determined to regain his strength, Ansel used his plastic fork to cut the rubbery substance then placed it in his mouth, chewing around his split lip.
"Ugh," he complained to no one.
He forced himself to swallow, before ripping the tiny little packet of salt that came with his napkin, sprinkling it all over his food.
Ansel glanced around his barren cell as he tore open the pepper. Concrete walls and a green metal door opposite a small window reinforced with five black iron bars.
It was light out, and he assumed it was morning because of his food. But he couldn't be sure. His left arm was bandaged, and hung in a sling that was digging into the back of his neck. He adjusted it, then remembered a doctor, and he sure as hell remembered being shot.
But the entire time that evil bitch was shoving gauze into the hole in his arm, Ansel reminded himself that he had taken that bullet so Seneca could escape.
She had, and a tremendous weight was lifted off of his shoulders because he knew that she was safe. He sighed, comforted in the knowledge that she couldn't do something stupid like try and find him, because she had no way to follow.
The watery orange juice was better than nothing and he took another sip, racking his brain for a way to find out if Cat had been brought here as well.
God, he hoped not.
Escaping would be difficult enough, but escaping with a pregnant woman who was undoubtedly being housed in a separate location was…almost impossible.
Ansel tried not to waste his energy thinking about things that were out of his control. What he could control was the recovery of his strength, and the observations that he made while in the brig.
What he did know was that they wanted him, and Cat, alive. Needed them alive. They were the golden geese, providing the anomalous DNA to build their new nation. Ansel doubted they would kill him if he tried to escape. But as his arm would attest, these people would not hesitate in hurting them either.
What else did he know?
Since they left from Seattle, they had obviously been heading east. To a state with a desert. The Southwest. To an army base. Most likely. An army base with the facilities and equipment to conduct the research required to…Ansel smiled, knowing that they had brought him to one of two places.
A black site that no one knew existed, or the Proving Grounds in western Utah. Shrubs. Red dirt. Ansel nodded, knowing he was right. They had taken him to the Proving Grounds, hiding the biological research on the DNA anomaly with all of the chemical and biological research being done here. In plain sight.
He tried to remember what he knew about the Dugway Proving Grounds, but he had never been here before.
"Shit." If he knew the lay out of the base, he could…
Footsteps. He froze, staring at the heavy metal door. Keys rattled, and then the sound of one turning in the lock. The door swung open and an older man in his late fifties, or thereabout, walked into the room followed by the bitch that shot him in the arm.
"Good morning, Sergeant Babineaux."
"General Hawkins, I presume?" Ansel said, but it wasn't a question.
The man grinned, nodding, "Good. You know me. So then, you'll know my reputation."
"Only by experience," Ansel said, glancing at his injured left arm.
The general looked at the vicious woman, a flash of irritation crossing over his eyes. Interesting.
"Your injury was unfortunate, but you did kill one of my men."
"A man who was trying to kill me," Ansel pointed out.
"A man who was trying to capture you, Sergeant Babineaux," the general corrected, adding, "and had you come in when you were ordered…" he emphasized, "To do so, perhaps we could have avoided this unpleasantness altogether."
"Oh, and by unpleasantness you mean, the kidnapping of my sister and myself?"
"Kidnapping is such a loaded word," the general observed. "I prefer, the compulsory performance of your civic duty."
Ansel snorted in disgust, and the general looked at the evil bitch, saying, "Sergeant Munoz." Sergeant Munoz. Ansel would never forget that name. He looked at her, grinning. "Please get me a chair, and then you're dismissed."
"But General,” she scoffed. “What if he attacks you?"
The general looked at him, cocking his head to one side. "He won't. Because if Sergeant Babineaux harms me in any way, you are to kill his sister." Ansel's smile faded. And when the general knew that they understood one another, he repeated, "A chair, Sergeant."
Munoz returned with the chair then left with obvious reluctance. Ansel just stared at the general, forcing the man to initiate their inevitable conversation. The general sat, leaning back.
"I understand that you're angry. I would be too," he began. "But put yourself in my shoes. My researchers stumble across this miracle. The gift from God. A strand of DNA that can change not only America…but the world.
“Imagine if we could use your DNA to make us all geniuses. Imagine the problems we would solve. Global warming. Species extinction. Green energy."
The man shook his head at the infinite possibilities.
"And diseases,” the general said. “Disease would be a thing of the past. No biological weakness to…breast cancer, alcoholism, autoimmune diseases or even seasonal allergies. Cured." He snapped his fingers. "Just like that." The general continued, "You and your sister are the pioneers of this evolutionary jump for humanity."
"A jump lacking all humanity," Ansel observed.
The general smirked, "Some might consider it inhuman to allow disease and suffering to continue. To have a cure for the plagues of the world, and allow the vanity of a few individuals to get in the way…"
"Vanity?"
"Yes, vanity!" the general shouted, standing up. "What I wouldn't give to be in your shoes," he growled. "To know that what I gave, what I sacrificed would save millions, even billions of lives. You vain boy."
It was Ansel's turn to stand.
"Vain?" he spat. "You of all people should appreciate what I've done for this country. What I have given of myself. Don't you dare lecture me about sacrifice and the vanity of youth."
"I know what you've done for this country, which is why I don't understand your reluctance to do it now.” The general was staring at him, trying to stare through him.
"You don't understand my reluctance when you snatch a pregnant woman from her husband? My reluctance to let you experiment on our own citizens without their consent?" Ansel scoffed. "I gave my life in service to this country so that would never happen here."
"Well." The general raised a brow. "We'll just agree to disagree on that philosophical point." The man walked toward the door, then turned back, adding, "Unfortunately for you, Sergeant Babineaux, it's my philosophy that matters here. Enjoy the rest of your day."
The door slammed shut with a metal clang that echoed his growing despair. A despair rooted in the knowledge that the general would not waver in his beliefs, and Ansel would never be free of them.
Unless he freed himself.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
The turbulence flying into Salt Lake City was some of the worst she had ever experienced. A winter storm blew in, stacking itself up against the mountain range that ran parallel to the valley below.
The thunderclouds were causing pockets of air that the plane would drop down into every thirty or so seconds. Not small little bumps, but freefalls that caused a woman five rows back to scream every time it happened.
Seneca was getting a headache just listening to her.
"Ladies and gentlemen, please remain seated as we make our final descent into Salt Lake City," the flight attendant announced over the loudspe
aker, but she was difficult to hear with the storm raging just outside the cabin.
Seneca smiled at the man next to her, who was pretending to read a magazine. They fell again, and she was just letting go of her armrest when there was an enormous crack that took out all the lights on the plane.
More than the woman screamed then. And as the lights flickered back on, the flight attendant was calming everybody down.
"Ladies and gentlemen, we were just struck by lightning. It happens all the time, and there's absolutely nothing to worry about," the woman said over the intercom in a tone that conveyed confidence. But it had just a touch of adrenaline that made Seneca think lightning strikes were not as common as she was leading them all to believe.
The lady five row back was crying now, and her husband was reassuring her in hushed whispers. It didn't help. They landed ten minutes later in a torrential downpour, but Seneca didn't mind. She was here in Salt Lake City, where she could do something to help Ansel.
She hoped.
Seneca gathered her carry-on luggage and did the requisite waiting in the aisle until it was her turn to move.
"Thank you," she mumbled to the flight attendant, who gave an apologetic nod as she exited the plane.
Seneca walked up the gangway to excited conversations about the eventful flight, but she didn't really hear them. Her jacket slipped out of her hands, and she stopped in the terminal in front of her gate to put it back on.
She had never been to this airport before, so it was difficult to find the signs for the train heading downtown. The people on the plane walked in a herd toward the security exit. And just when Seneca was turning toward the train station, she saw him.
"Joe?"
He smiled. "I didn't want you taking the train in this weather."
The guy was such a gentleman that it was hard to believe he had kidnapped her from a gas station less than a week ago. Joe grabbed her luggage out of her hands as they walked through the sliding glass doors of the airport. He spared her any chit-chat about the flight, and put her things in the back of his large, navy blue SUV.
"Thanks," she nodded as he opened the passenger door for her, before walking around to the driver’s seat.
Seneca glance back, and was surprised to see two car seats strapped down in middle the row behind her. She looked over at Joe and smiled.
"What? I'm Mormon," Joe shrugged, his suit jacket was lifted by his broad shoulders. "I have a lot of kids." She laughed and they pulled out, merging into traffic. And when they were safely headed down the freeway, Joe looked at Seneca, saying, "I'm sorry you're here."
The constant hiss of water being pushed out of the way of the tires was somehow comforting, and Seneca stared through the windshield.
"I couldn't stay in Seattle when I knew they were at Dugway." She managed not cry.
"Are you sure they're at the Proving Grounds?"
She had told Joe they were here, but not all the details of how they were taken. The image of Ansel holding the man underwater flashed in her mind, and it wouldn't let go.
"Yes, I’m sure."
Joe looked over at her and then at the road. "You know you're always welcome to stay at my house?"
It was a kindness he had offered when Seneca called to tell him that she was coming to Salt Lake City.
"Thank you, Joe. But you have a family to think of. And honestly, I would feel more comfortable making a mess in my own hotel room."
"Hotel it is." Joe gave her a somber smile then held up a piece of paper. "Here's that list you asked for. It's not long, but it’s all the names we have so far."
"Thank you so much." Seneca slipped the list into her purse as they pulled into the covered entrance of the chain hotel she'd booked for the week. "I'll let you know if I find something."
"You do that, and if there is anything…" Joe stared at her. "Anything you need. You call me."
She squeezed his hand, more than appreciative. "I will, I promise." Seneca slipped out of the car and walked into her new home trying to feel hopeful, but it wasn't working.
"Good afternoon." The guy behind the desk was good-looking and he knew it, smiling at her a little too hard.
"Seneca Reed, checking in."
"Yes, Ms. Reed," he said, all charm. "I've booked you into a king suite, on the top floor at the back of the hotel."
"Thank you, that sounds perfect." And it did.
"Would you like one key or two for your room?"
"One is fine," she said and the guy’s grin widened, taking the opportunity to chat her up while the key was being made.
"So, have you ever been to Salt Lake City, Ms. Reed?"
"No, this is my first time," Seneca answered, hoping to leave it at that, but the guy did not let up.
"Well," he said, taking a quick look at her breasts before looking at her eyes. "If you need a recommendation on things to do while you’re here in town, please feel free to give me a call."
The man handed Seneca a business card, and she had the distinct feeling that if she called that number his recommendation would be that she do him.
"I think I read that the hotel serves a full breakfast?" She brought the conversation back to where it should be.
"Uh, yes, that is correct," he nodded. "Breakfast is complementary. And the hours, as well as the hours for the hotel pool and gym can be found in the hotel literature in your room."
He ran her credit card, and she signed for the room without reading the fine print.
"Thank you." She took her key, avoiding his touch.
"It was entirely my pleasure," the guy said in a practiced way that made her think he slept with a lot of the hotel's female guests.
Seneca rolled her bag to the elevator, and was already thinking about what to do before she arrived at her room. She stuck the key in the door and pushed it open, finding herself pleasantly surprised.
A comfortable looking king sized bed was in the back of the large room just beyond the small sitting area equipped with a mini fridge, pullout couch and, most importantly, a desk for her to work on.
The bathroom was nice and clean, and she used it before setting up her computer. She settled in the desk chair, then reached into her purse to pull out the list Joe had given her. A list of the names of the people he and Gwen had been able to identify as having the anomaly.
She read the first name and typed it into the search engine on her computer, praying that she would find something that they did not. Praying that she would find something that would help Ansel, before the army killed him.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
The battery of samples being taken from him was exhaustive. Blood, tissue, urine and even saliva had been extracted by a steady stream of polite nurses.
Ansel sat at the end of yet another examination table and said to the young woman currently yanking his hair out by the root, "I'd like to speak with Dr. Rumsey."
The woman's tweezers stilled and she looked down at him, her dirty blond hair twisted into a tight, regulation bun. "I'll see if that's possible."
She yanked one last hair, stuffed it in a plastic bag with all the others, then left the room without saying another word.
He stood up, the paper he had been sitting on objecting to his departure with a loud crinkling sound. The cheap tile squares were cold on his bare feet as he paced across the tiny exam room, thinking.
The wait was not long before Dr. Rumsey knocked before walking in, and it struck Ansel as absurd. The man seemed concerned with disturbing his privacy after having been complicit in his abduction.
"Sergeant Babineaux, what can I do for you?"
"First," Ansel began. "I would like my shoes, unless you intend to draw blood from my feet."
"Of course." The doctor acquiesced. "My apologies, I'm afraid army nurses tend to follow instructions to the letter. What else?"
Ansel walked closer to the man, staring down at him to make his point. "I think we both would agree that I have cooperated fully with your requests, despite the fact that
I could kill you with very little effort."
"Yes, I am quite aware of that Sergeant Babineaux," the doctor nodded. "Which makes your examination especially exhilarating. But," he sighed. "I think we would also agree that you would not do so, because you have your sister's welfare to consider."
"Which brings me to my second request." Ansel’s smile was amiable. "I want to see her. I want to be moved out of my cell and into the barracks housing my sister, and I assume the other patients you’re experimenting on."
Dr. Rumsey crossed his arms, hugging the chart he was carrying to his chest.
"I'll allow you to see your sister." The man raised a brow as he considered Ansel's request. "However, moving you into the residential quarters will have to be approved by General Hawkins."
"That sounds reasonable," Ansel nodded. His priority was seeing his sister, but the army had taught him a long time ago to ask for more than you wanted. "When can I see her?"
"I'll allow you to see her after dinner." The doctor set the chart down and examined his injured arm. "You haven't been experiencing any nausea after your surgery?"
"None." Ansel shook his head.
"Excellent," Dr. Rumsey smiled, satisfied with his progress. "Please, make sure you eat your dinner. I've ordered a high-calorie diet, which will help speed up the healing process. As for your sleeping arrangements, I'll let you know what the general decides."
Ansel was escorted back to his cell by armed guards. But as promised, he was retrieved at eight o'clock sharp and taken to the residents’ quarters.
His escorts led him down the long, dim halls of the brig, and he made sure to map the building in his mind. The hall came to a dead end and he knew that the hospital was to the right, but the soldiers turned left. They walked through a twisted maze but Ansel took in every detail, and then one of them was opening a door.
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