Maze Master

by Kathleen O'Neal Gear

  Micah turned away.

  The faint odor of cleaning fluids clung to the room, stinging his eyes.

  He’d been waiting for over thirty minutes. Was Cozeba just busy or was the general giving Micah time to get worried?

  “Won’t work,” he muttered to himself.

  Micah had seen much worse than the general could throw at him … at least, legally. And even illegally, the United States simply didn’t have the amoral creativity of the torturers in Russia.

  Despite the sunshine streaming through the four shooting portals, the stone walls radiated cold. Micah’s coarse linen shirt and Levi’s would never keep him warm in this place. He started pacing. Every tiny sound seemed louder—the rattling of the windows, the flag snapping in the sea breeze outside. The longer they made him wait, the more time he had to contemplate the things Anna had said, and it frankly scared the holy hell out of him. Since Micah knew he was not the Russian agent, who was? Yacob? Cozeba? What did the villains want?

  The cure.

  An eerie sensation of doom came over him. Was it possible that Anna was on a clandestine mission? And had been all along? If so, what was the objective?

  Find the cure before the enemy does.

  Faintly, ever so faintly, he heard Irayna’s voice, filled with tears, call to him from the darkest depths of his soul: “Micah, just run. Leave me. Run!”

  He inhaled a breath and held it for a time. He couldn’t run now any more than he could have then.

  When steps sounded in the hall outside, he turned.

  Male voices rose.

  Micah ran a hand through his black hair and beard, then smoothed his wrinkled shirt and Levi’s as best he could, making himself presentable.

  An African American sergeant opened the door and stepped inside. He saluted as the general, and an air force major, strode past him. Cozeba said, “You’re dismissed, Sergeant Armstrong.”

  “Yes, sir.” Armstrong closed the door, leaving Micah alone with the men.

  Micah snapped to attention and saluted.

  The general returned the salute. “At ease, Captain.”

  Spreading his feet, he clasped his hands behind his back. He recalled Anna describing Cozeba as a “narcissistic psychopath.” As he studied the man, that seemed a good description. Cozeba’s dress uniform had been starched and pressed, his copious medals polished. A little shorter than Micah, he must be around six feet, and had black hair, shaved close. His lean face was a mask of righteousness.

  The major was shorter than Cozeba, maybe five-ten, but looked fit, with brown hair, graying at the temples. He wore common fatigues. No medals. And, to Micah’s relief, no apparent righteousness.

  Cozeba extended a hand, and introduced, “This is Major Samuel Lehman. He’s a historian, formerly assigned to Air Force Clandestine Operations, Washington, D.C. He was transferred to my command six months ago when Anna Asher came into my sphere of operations.”

  Micah respectfully dipped his head to Lehman, and returned his gaze to the general.

  Cozeba walked toward Micah, but halted three paces away to distastefully look Micah up and down, apparently noting his slovenly appearance. But he gestured to a chair. “Please, be seated, Captain.”

  “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” Micah pulled out a chair and sat down with his hands clasped on the table in front of him. Cozeba continued to stare at him as though Micah were a maggot.

  “Sam, why don’t you sit down, as well? This could be a long discussion.”

  “Yes, sir.” Lehman took a chair at the opposite end of the long table, near the door.

  The general remained standing, staring down at Micah with his thick black brows knitted. “My staff tells me you’re a traitor. Is that correct, Captain?”

  “Negative, sir.”

  Cozeba grunted and gripped a chair back with his right hand. “Can you explain why we found you with a known spy?”

  “To whom are you referring, General?”

  “Anna Asher, of course.”

  “She’s not a spy, sir.”

  “Do you have evidence to prove that assertion, Captain, or is this your personal opinion.”

  “My opinion, sir.”

  The muscles of Cozeba’s jaw hardened. He shook his head, a small gesture of annoyance. “I know she’s persuasive, Micah. May I call you Micah?” The general continued without waiting for an answer. “But if you’ll give the major and me a few minutes to provide additional evidence, maybe we can change your mind.”

  Micah didn’t move. He kept his eyes focused on the door over Lehman’s left shoulder.

  Cozeba unconsciously reached up to straighten his medals. “First, what has she told you?”

  “I don’t know what you’re asking, sir.”

  “It’s a simple question, Captain.”

  Micah continued staring at the door. “The general needs to be more specific if he expects a forthright answer.”

  Cozeba glared at Micah. “Sam, please tell Captain Hazor everything you know about Anna Asher and her treasonous activities.”

  Lehman sat up straighter in his chair. “Captain Anna Asher served the United States Air Force with distinction. Prior to being assigned to the cryptography division, she was awarded two Purple Hearts and the Silver Star for unspecified service in Kazakhstan.”

  Micah’s eyes narrowed. “Unspecified” was code for “we’re not telling you what she was doing there.”

  “Five years ago, after being wounded, she was reassigned to code-breaking duties involving national security in Washington, D.C.” Lehman blinked and lowered his gaze to the tabletop. “She was brilliant. Over and over, her insights proved correct. She saved the lives of more field officers than I can tell you. Her reputation lulled her superiors into giving her more and more access to restricted information. Her work was stunning. No one questioned her activities until a newcomer to the department flagged one of her requests, a young man who’d never heard of her. If he’d known her reputation, he’d have never dared to suggest—”

  “Stick to the topic, Major.”

  “Yes, sir.” Lehman tugged at his collar, as though too hot. “It required six months to trace the extent of her clandestine efforts. Based upon the outstanding work of analysts provided by General Cozeba, three months ago we connected Captain Asher to a secret group called The Ten, followers of a geneticist named James Hakari. Hakari was a celebrated—”

  “Tell him about Asher’s recent activities, Major,” Cozeba interrupted, cutting off what sounded like a lengthy historical overview. Micah wished he’d heard it.

  “Yes, sir. Captain Asher’s search for the Marham-i-Isa, a legendary cure supposedly developed by Jesus of Nazareth, was a cover story that allowed her to infiltrate a variety of Middle Eastern groups posing as a tourist and truth-seeker, where she delivered classified material to enemy operatives regarding the manufacture of bioweapons.”

  Micah couldn’t help it. He laughed. “Not possible.”

  Cozeba’s shoes squeaked as he paced, giving Micah a few moments to reassess the possibility. Finally, he said, “He’s telling you the truth, Hazor. Listen.”

  Micah’s nerves prickled. “Why would she do that, sir?”

  Cozeba turned halfway around and tipped his chin to Lehman. “Major?”

  “Hakari believed the End of the World was at hand, and he had the skills to assure it. He—and The Ten—developed the LucentB virus and loosed it on the world.” He paused, and looked up at Cozeba. “Sir, may I venture an opinion for the captain?”

  Cozeba adopted an at ease stance. “Speak freely, Major.”

  Lehman nodded and leaned forward to stare across the wooden table at Micah. “I worked with Anna for three years. She was the most dedicated, reliable, and brilliant officer I’ve ever had the privilege to work with. I didn’t believe any of this when I was first informed.” Lehman paused. “I don’t blame you for not believing it. But trust me, the evidence is irrefutable. I think she’s trying to make amends for loosing the virus.”


  Micah cocked his head and turned to stare up at Cozeba. “And just exactly why do you care what I believe?”

  Cozeba stopped pacing. His face fell into stiff lines. Five seconds passed, then ten. “Colonel Logan says you are the most talented officer he’s seen in his long career.”

  Micah waited for the answer to his question.

  As the general’s gaze traveled over Micah’s face and down to the wooden anchor and golden cross visible on his chest, his mouth widened a little, but what Micah saw in his eyes could never have been called a smile.

  “You must have figured out a few things by now, Captain. Are you aware that I’m the one who dispatched a team to find you after Bir Bashan? You were wandering in the desert like a lost nomad. I’m also the one who ordered you put into that boat on the Nile.”

  Before Micah realized what was happening, the acrid taste of metal-flavored sand filled his mouth, followed by hot, agonizing flashes of Cobra gunships hovering against a sky scribbled with lasers … then a barrage of blinding light … I remember the sound of American voices. And Russian.

  Micah pulled his hands off the tabletop. “I don’t understand. Why wasn’t I delivered to a field hospital where my wounds—”

  “The hospitals were overflowing with plague victims, Captain. If we’d taken you to a hospital, you’d be dead.”

  Numb, it took Micah a few seconds to correlate the data. “Are you also the one who ordered me pulled out of the Nile at exactly the moment when Captain Asher arrived?” Fear was building beneath Micah’s heart. Anna said she didn’t know whose side Cozeba was on. He wants me to know that I owe him my life. He expects me to be grateful. How long would it be before the general told Micah how he could show his gratitude?

  “Yes, Captain.”

  As the truth began to congeal inside him, blood surged deafeningly in Micah’s ears. Time and events telescoped, jumbled together like a senseless dream with no beginning or end. When Micah spoke, it surprised him that he sounded calm. “Why are you telling me these things?”

  Cozeba straightened. “The major and I hope this information will help you make decisions more clearly.”

  “What specific decisions did you have in mind?”

  Cozeba looked down without moving a muscle. “Decisions regarding Captain Asher.”

  “Oh, I see.” Micah balled his fists to keep them still. “You’re planning on making me an offer I can’t refuse.”

  As though he hadn’t heard, Cozeba turned his back on Micah and walked quietly toward Major Lehman. When he reached the end of the table, he said something, and Lehman rose to his feet and walked out of the room.

  Cozeba stood perfectly still, facing the door with his hands clasped behind his back. A vulnerable position, given Micah’s skills. Apparently, the general was unconcerned. He seemed to be waiting for Lehman to return.

  Finally, Lehman stepped into the room and stood at attention by the door. When Anna entered the doorway, she looked up at him and with genuine warmth said, “Hello, Sam.”

  “Anna.”

  Cozeba ordered, “Please wait outside, Major.”

  “But, sir,” Lehman objected. Beads of sweat glistened in the gray hair at his temples. “Regulations require that a witness and recorder be present during all interrogations of pris—”

  “We are way past regulations out here, Sam.”

  “Yes, sir, I realize that, but you at least need armed guards in the room during this interrogation. It’s not safe for you to be here with two highly trained—”

  “I appreciate your concern, Major.” Cozeba patted his belted pistol. “But I’ll be fine. Please, step outside and close the door. I’ll call if I require assistance.”

  Lehman said, “This is highly irregular, sir, I must insist—”

  “Step outside, Major.”

  Lehman snapped off a salute. “Yes, sir.” He stepped outside, and closed the door. A hushed flurry of conversation spiked in the corridor.

  Cozeba gestured to the table. “Sit down, Captain Asher.”

  CHAPTER 45

  Micah watched Anna quietly take the chair at the end of the table where Lehman had been sitting. Against the gray stone wall behind her, her oval face, deeply tanned, looked exotically dark, almost Egyptian—her skin very close to the rich color of Micah’s skin. In the time that he’d been gone, she’d unbraided her hair, combed it with her fingers, and left it hanging in waves around her shoulders. The style made her hard eyes look huge.

  Cozeba studied her as though examining a mythical beast. “Who are you?”

  Micah frowned. Cozeba knew exactly who she was.

  Anna sighed, and some of the tension seemed to drain from her muscular body. “Anna Asher. Captain, United States Air Force, serial number—”

  “Enough.”

  Anna stopped.

  It intrigued Micah that she had not said “formerly” of the air force.

  The general’s brown eyes slitted. “I don’t want your cover story. Who are you? Where were you born?”

  Micah straightened. The general was suggesting she was a foreign spy?

  For a long moment, Anna studied the general in the dim sunlight streaming through the portal windows. The medals on his chest flashed rhythmically, and it occurred to Micah that they moved in time to Cozeba’s shallow breathing. Fear? Excitement? Micah wished he knew which. If it was fear, he had orders from superiors, which meant that some semblance of the U.S. military hierarchy remained. If it was excitement, Cozeba was likely answering to no one. Or to the enemy.

  When Anna didn’t respond, Cozeba walked away.

  He stopped at the midpoint between Anna and Micah, before he turned to face her, his back, once again, to Micah. Did the man trust Micah so much? What else had Logan told him?

  Cozeba watched Anna as if he expected her to suddenly change into a bird and fly away. A thin-lipped smile touched the general’s face. “We found the jar in Dr. Nadai’s backpack. It’s being opened as we speak.”

  Anna’s expression betrayed no response.

  Cozeba seemed to drop into a trance where all he could do was stare at her. He must have realized it. He stopped, and started pacing, three steps toward Anna, turn, three steps toward Micah. It had an odd obsessive-compulsive precision. His dread—or maybe anticipation—seemed to be building.

  “Why don’t you save me the trouble, Captain, and tell me what’s in the jar?”

  “Because I don’t know. We didn’t open it.”

  “My staff tells me the jar was opened once before and resealed.”

  “Wasn’t us.”

  Cozeba spun around and bulled toward her. He flung out a hand as though to strike her, but halted an inch from her cheek. Anna hadn’t even flinched. She just looked up at him. As though he feared her and had to nerve himself, he clamped his jaw before he lowered his hand to lightly touch her cheek. Their gazes held. Finally, Cozeba pulled his fingers away and wiped them on his pants. “You look American. You sound American. I know you have Asian blood. Chinese?”

  Micah called, “General, what are you—”

  “Silence, Captain.”

  Weaving a little on his feet, Cozeba stepped backward, away from her, but his eyes never left Anna’s face. “I know that torturing you for information will do no good. Others before me have tried and failed.”

  Anna watched him with barely concealed anxiety, as though she feared he was on the verge of revealing some epic fact. Though she continued to sit perfectly still, for the first time her eyes shifted to Micah. She seemed to need to see him. Or … or maybe she wanted Micah to be looking at her when General Cozeba said:

  “I’m told you are still in contact with Hakari. That he’s given you the Divine Word that unlocks the cure.”

  Anna’s face remained expressionless, but Micah’s didn’t. He leaned forward, staring down the table at her. “General, I’ve been with her for weeks and I have seen no evidence that she’s in contact with anyone.”

  Cozeba whirled arou
nd and aimed his hand at Micah like a pistol. “From this moment onward, Captain, you will speak only when spoken to. You will not make a sound unless I instruct you to do so. If you continue to disrupt these proceedings—”

  “General Cozeba,” Anna said. The beauty of that deep voice seemed to calm the man. He slowly lowered his hand, and his attention moved back to her. “I am not a spy.”

  “In D.C. you discovered something important about the plague, yet you withheld that information from the military—and my intelligence analysts suggest that you gave it to the Russians.”

  “What evidence do you have—”

  “They have a vaccine that we do not, Captain. Where’d they get it?”

  “I don’t know, sir.” Her voice still low and soothing, she said, “But I did not give it to them.”

  Micah glanced back and forth between them. The vaccine they gave me?

  Cozeba’s jaw clenched. He stood glaring at her for a full five seconds before he looked away, perfunctorily straightened his uniform coat, and reached up to touch his medals. It occurred to Micah that doing so also drew attention to them, reinforcing the general’s military record to anyone watching, and thereby his authority.

  In a booming voice, Cozeba said, “Captain Asher, did you deliver classified information to the Russians—”

  “I don’t believe this! Is this charade for Micah’s benefit? Or the soldiers in the hall? You know they can hear you shouting.” Anna raised her voice to match the volume of Cozeba’s. “What did the Russians offer you, General? The presidency of a devastated world? Money? It had to be something monumental to get you to betray—”

  “I ask you again, Captain! Did you deliver—”

  “You know I didn’t.” Anna flopped back in her chair. “Is that the case you’ve manufactured against me?” She waved a hand through the air. “My God, General, you’re the one who gave me the code and tasked me with encrypting—”