Traveler

by David Yates

Anson glanced at his partners. Then he looked back at Bemis and said, in a slightly exasperated tone, “Colonel, we will be offering a new life to a child who has nothing to look forward to, anyway. No more orphanages, no more foster homes, no more concern about whether the child will be physically or sexually abused. We will quite literally be saving a child's life."

  Bemis considered this, and Anson waited patiently. Finally, Bemis voiced the obvious question. “Okay, exactly what do you want to do with this child?"

  Anson now spoke up quickly. “Nothing at all will happen to the child, Colonel. It will not be harmed in any way. When the child arrives at The Orchard, it will be cared for very well. After all, we are going to all this trouble just to find it; we certainly wouldn't harm it."

  Alexander jumped in. “When the child arrives at The Orchard, that is where it will live until adulthood. It will be trained in specific areas, from basic education to college-level courses. It will also receive very extensive training in military and law enforcement tactics, as well as firearms training and self-defense with a heavy emphasis on physical training and the martial arts. The staff will consist of instructors to properly teach the child everything it needs to know in all of these areas. There will also be medical staff, maintenance staff, and a very impressive IT staff. Obviously, this training will take the better part of twenty years to complete, so you and your staff must be dedicated to living there until the child reaches adulthood and is ready for operational status, with no outbound contact to the outside world. You will have all the comforts of home, including satellite TV, satellite radio, terrestrial radio, movies on demand, and full Internet access. However, any and all outgoing communication has been blocked, with the exception of a direct and secure email link to us. There are no landlines at the facility; there is, however, one hard line in the Director's office linked directly to us and us only. This hard line is to be used only for very urgent matters; otherwise, you are to utilize the email link to us. Cell phones are prohibited. All outgoing email is permanently blocked. The only staff members allowed outside the facility are the field operatives, of which you will have two. These operatives will only be allowed off site when absolutely necessary for the successful completion of the Project."

  Alexander paused, allowing Bemis to absorb what he had heard. During the pause, Bemis asked, “Once the child grows up and has reached...'operational status', what will he be used for?"

  Alexander replied, “We don't know. We know that he (or she) will be turned over to the Agency for field operations, but beyond that, we haven't been told anything. Need-to-know, and all that. You understand."

  "Yes, I had a feeling that would be the answer, but I had to ask,” Bemis said. Then, “What about this ‘retirement package’ you mentioned?"

  Anson reached into his inner coat pocket and handed Bemis a business-size envelope. As Bemis opened it, he glanced around the room at the five men. Four of them had expectant looks on their faces; Kobriger was still just sitting there with that same poker face plastered on his puss, staring flatly at Bemis.

  Bemis removed a single sheet of paper from the envelope and looked at the figures printed there. Although he had always prided himself on his ability to control his emotions, his eyes widened and there was a small, short intake of breath when he saw the amount on the paper. He couldn't help it; the figures were that large. He looked up at Anson.

  "You won't be receiving a traditional weekly or monthly paycheck,” Anson explained. “After all, you won't need money inside the compound. But, upon successful completion of the Project, the first sum you see listed there will be deposited in an offshore account in your name. In addition, you will receive the generous monthly pension you will see at the bottom of the page for the rest of your life."

  "And all tax-free, Colonel,” added Morrison.

  The room was silent for a few moments while Bemis stared at the paper, considering the proposal. As the time continued to spin out, Anson broke the silence by saying, somewhat regretfully, “Colonel, I'm sorry, but we need an answer immediately. Will you accept the position?"

  After a few moments, Bemis asked, “Just out of curiosity, what happens if I decline?"

  Anson replied, “Then we wish you a good evening and you walk away with no hard feelings."

  Bemis thought in silence, head down, occasionally glancing at the figures on the paper. Again, they waited patiently. Finally, Bemis looked up at Anson. “Okay, I accept."

  Relief and smiles from everyone (except for the statue of Kobriger in the corner chair). Walking toward Bemis, hand extended, Anson said, “Thank you, Colonel. Welcome aboard."

  Bemis remained in the suite for several more hours, ironing out the details of the agreement. When he finally left the hotel and crossed the parking lot to his car, it was a quarter past three in the morning. There was no one around to mark his departure. A few minutes after Bemis had accepted the offer, Anson had quietly slipped from the suite and went to the bedroom, while Bemis talked with the others. He shut the door and went to the window. He shone a small flashlight with a red lens out through the glass. There was an answering flash of red light from the roof across the street.

  The sniper packed up his rifle and left.

  "Sir?..."

  "Mr. Bemis?"

  Bemis cracked his eyes open and said, “Wuzza?” He had fallen asleep with his feet propped on the desk. Again. If he kept doing that, his back was going to rise up and secede from his body. In fact, it felt like it was already trying to.

  "We've got a live one, sir.” Agitated? No. Excited. Very excited, by the sound of his voice. Bemis came all the way awake and sat up. Now he could see the excitement in Espinoza's dancing eyes. Espinoza carried papers in his hand.

  "How live?"

  "Very,” Espinoza replied, the excitement in his voice rising. “We intercepted an email sent by a Dr. Frederick Fox to a Dr. Michael Reynolds. Here, look at this,” Espinoza crossed the room and handed Bemis two sheets of paper.

  Bemis scanned the papers, then went back and started reading every word. As he read, his own excitement began to grow. Could this finally be it? Bemis thought. Could this be The Golden Boy we've all been waiting for? But, Bemis was a professional who prided himself on looking before he leapt. He looked up at Espinoza. “Has any of this been confirmed?"

  "Yes,” Espinoza answered firmly with a wide grin on his face. “I wanted to make the confirmations before I notified you. Definitely confirmed. I'm certain this is the one.” He handed Bemis a small stack of printouts. “Here are the results of the tests that Fox gave the kid."

  Bemis gaped at Espinoza. “How were you able to get the test results this quickly?"

  Espinoza said, “The tests were administered on a computer in Fox's office. The entire testing procedure, along with all of the results, was immediately saved onto the hard drive. We were able to hack in and print out all the tests and all the results."

  Bemis perused the test results, but couldn't make any sense out of it. “Did you show this to Wiley?” Gwen Wiley was one of the professors on staff, a psych professor.

  "Yes, I came straight here from her office,” replied Espinoza. “It's just as Greek to me as it is to you. I told her I was bringing these papers here, and she said she would be here shortly."

  As if on cue, Gwen Wiley walked into the office. She had apparently been in the middle of her daily workout when she had been interrupted by Espinoza. She was wearing a sweatshirt and sweatpants and had a towel slung around her neck. “Hello, Joe (Bemis closed his eyes and waited for the inevitable...and here it came), whaddaya know?” she said.

  Bemis opened his eyes and held up the printouts. He asked, “Can you translate this Klingon into English for me?"

  "Well,” Wiley said as she plopped into a chair by the desk, “I could, but when I'd finished it would still be Klingon to you. I won't bore you with the scientific mumbo-jumbo, but I will tell you this.” She leaned forward and looked directly into Bemis’ eyes. “If those test r
esults are accurate, and I have no reason to believe they're not, this boy is the real deal. He is the one. I'll stake my professional reputation on it, and you know how important my reputation is to me, Joe."

  Bemis looked openly into Wiley's eyes, and Wiley looked back. They sat like that for several seconds, the Bemis asked, “Gwen, I trust you implicitly, and if you say so, I can have the kid here by tomorrow at the latest, but I need to be 100% convinced before I make a move this big. So I'll ask you this one time. Are you sure? Absolutely sure?"

  "I'm certain,” Wiley replied without so much as an iota of hesitation. “Joe, you can get this ball rolling right now. You won't be making the wrong decision. Get him here and let's start doing the jobs we've been waiting so long to do."

  They looked at each other eye-to-eye again for several more seconds. The room was silent, except for the ticking of the clock on the wall. Espinoza stood a little away from Bemis’ desk, looking expectantly at him. Bemis broke eye contact with Wiley and looked down at his clasped hands on top of the desk. He sat that way for perhaps twenty seconds. He raised his head and looked at the clock. 9:37 am. He turned his head and spoke to Espinoza.

  "Okay, Manny, let's crank it up. Go back and notify your IT people that we're a go. Get the word out to everyone in the compound. And get Bullard and Parker in here asap."

  "Yes, Sir!” Espinoza exclaimed and sprinted out of the room, still grinning.

  "I'll have to notify the Stooges,” Bemis said.

  Gwen smiled. “You're still calling them that? You know they hate it."

  Bemis smiled back. “Yeah, maybe that's why I keep doing it. I don't like them much."

  "Yeah, I can tell."

  Bemis looked at Wiley, who was still seated in the chair. “Gwen, a lot of this is going to depend on you. You're going to be the biggest influence in this kid's life while he's growing up here."

  "I know,” Wiley replied softly.

  Bemis paused, then said, “Are you sure this power-of-the-brain stuff is really going to work?"

  "Well, that's the big experiment. It's why we're here. My honest answer is I think so, as long as we have the right subject to work with. As you already know, I've tried it before with other subjects, but none of them were nearly as promising as this boy. Of course, I'll do my evaluation when we get him in here, but from what I saw on those test results, I'm very optimistic."

  Bullard and Parker walked into the office. Bemis nodded to Wiley. “Okay, Gwen, thanks. I'll keep you updated as to the kid's expected time of arrival here.” As she got up to leave, Bemis turned his attention to the field operatives. “Gentlemen, it's game time,” he said.

  Bullard was easing up the darkened hallway of the Atcherson home. It was just before 11 p.m., and Bullard knew that Parker was now at Fox's condo tying up that loose end. Earlier today, Parker had also taken care of Reynolds. Too bad about Reynolds, Bullard thought. Just a case of wrong place, wrong time. As he crept up the hallway toward the bedroom, Bullard tightened his grip on the survival knife he held in his right hand. This knife had seen plenty of action over the years, and Bullard kept the point and cutting edge keen. After all, it was his favorite knife.

  Bullard reached the master bedroom and saw that the door was slightly ajar. There was nothing but darkness inside. He had already verified that the boy's father was in his office at the other end of the house, typing on the computer. Also, the kid was in his bed, fast asleep. Bullard pulled the night vision specs down over his eyes and softly pushed the door open. It swung quietly on well-oiled hinges.

  He could see the kid's mother lying in bed, asleep on her back. He strode quietly but quickly to the side of the bed, clamped his left hand firmly over the woman's mouth, and used all his strength to bury the knife in the woman's left eye. In the last moment of her life, Mary Atcherson's eyes flew open, and when the knife entered her brain, her whole body tensed and straightened, galvanized, as if from a strong electric current passing through it.

  Holding his left hand over the woman's mouth, pinning her to the bed until he was sure she was dead, Bullard wrenched the knife free. He wiped the knife clean on the bedsheets. No need to worry about blood on his hands; he was wearing surgical gloves, as was Parker. No muss, no fuss, no prints. Bullard turned and moved to the door, removing the night specs and placing them back on top of his head. He peeked out into the dimly lit hallway. All clear. He could still faintly hear the ticking sound of Atcherson's keyboard. He moved silently up the hallway, peeking into the kid's room again as he passed by. Still asleep. So far, so good.

  Bullard moved like a cat to the end of the hall, through the living room, and down another short corridor. At the end of this corridor, a fan of light splashed through an open door. Bullard already knew the layout of the entire house, including the office, and he knew Atcherson would be sitting at his desk with his back mostly to the door. He waited until Atcherson began typing again, and then strode purposefully into the office. At the last moment, Atcherson knew someone was there, but he had no chance to even see his killer. Bullard walked up behind Atcherson and placed his left hand on Atcherson's forehead. He pulled Atcherson's head toward him, while at the same time plunging the knife into the spinal cord just at the base of the skull. He did it as he had been taught so many years ago, as he had done so many times since then. The knife went into Atcherson's head on an upward angle. When it was buried to the hilt, Bullard twisted his wrist sharply several times, scrambling Atcherson's brains like eggs. Atcherson slumped forward onto his keyboard, dead. Bullard removed the knife and glanced up at the computer monitor. He got a little jolt from what he saw there. Atcherson was apparently leaning on the e key, and it was as if he were screaming his last. Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! Bullard gently pulled the body off of the keyboard, and Atcherson stopped screaming.

  Bullard went to the kitchen sink and washed his knife. He dried it thoroughly, although it was supposedly rustproof, and sheathed it. He went out to the garage, opened the door, and walked to his black SUV. There was virtually no chance that anyone could see him, since the Atcherson home was located at the end of a short dirt track with no neighbors but the trees and the squirrels. Bullard started up the SUV and backed it into the garage. He shut off the engine, got out, and closed the garage door. He opened the back hatch of the SUV, made sure the plastic sheeting was in place, then went back inside the house.

  In the kitchen, Bullard reached into his pocket and pulled out a small bottle of ether, a cloth, and a painter's mask. He donned the mask, opened the bottle, and poured it onto the cloth. This done, he replaced the bottle in his pocket and went to the kid's room. He gently placed the cloth over the kid's nose and mouth and held it there firmly. The kid never woke up. He went from asleep to unconscious in a matter of seconds.

  Bullard picked up the kid and carried him to the SUV. He put the kid in the front passenger seat and belted him in. He then opened the glove box and removed a prepared syringe. He injected the boy with it, insuring that Tyler would remain unconscious for several hours. He replaced the syringe in the glove box and went back inside the house.

  Bullard went to the office first and carried Atcherson to the SUV, placing him on the plastic sheeting in the back. He did the same with Mary Atcherson. He closed the hatch, opened the garage door, and drove off into the night.

  The whole thing had taken less than ten minutes.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter 2

  "It's a done deal, Boss,” Bullard said into the secure-line cell phone.

  "No complications?” Kobriger asked.

  "None. The bodies were disposed of with the solution I brought with me. Not a trace of ‘em left. The kid's safe and sound, out like a light. I'll keep him that way until we get there. I should be there with him before sunup."

  "All right,” Kobriger said. “Keep me updated if plans change."

  "Will do,” Bullard replied, and hung up.

  Bullard loved it when an operation went just as planned. After l
eaving the kid's house, Bullard had driven him from Sedalia to the airport at Columbia, where a private jet was waiting for them. They flew several hundred miles west to Boise. There was another car waiting for them there. His orders were to drive the kid from Boise to Portland, where The Orchard's private helicopter would be waiting. He hadn't understood why they couldn't just take the jet straight to Portland, but Anson had said it was necessary “for the security of the Project".

  Bullard smiled as he drove along I-84, headed for the helipad in Portland. Bemis would be expecting the kid back at the compound ASAP, with no hitches. Bemis, he thought, and chuckled. Bemis was under the impression that Bullard was working for him. Parker, too. That was fine. Bemis thought that he was the first one hired for this Project, and that was fine, too. Let him go on thinking that and it would be a lot easier to do what had to be done when the Project was over. True, Bullard might not even be around anymore by the time it was over, but he thought he might be. The Project was going to take 16 or 18 years. Even if it took 20 years, Bullard would only be 49. And he always kept himself in shape; he knew that his physical regimen would continue throughout his entire life, so it was reasonable to assume that he would still be in good shape when the Project terminated. Also, Bemis would be in his mid-60's when it was over. Not exactly a spring chicken.

  Also, Bemis was under the impression that the kid was an orphan. That's what Kobriger and his pals had told Bemis, and that's what Bemis had told the rest of the staff. Bullard knew better, of course. Bullard and Parker had been told by Kobriger that Bemis and the rest of the staff were to be kept out of the loop as far as the eliminations were concerned. As far as the rest of them knew, the kid had come from an orphanage and they were doing the noble thing by “saving his life". Kobriger had said that this would motivate them like nothing else would.

  So let Bemis think whatever he wants. That's what Kobriger and his buddies wanted, and they were signing the paychecks. The truth was, Bullard, an ex-DEA agent, and Parker, and ex-CIA operative, were working for Kobriger and his four partners and had been for several years. Those five guys had been planning this Project for a long time. Kobriger had told Bullard and Parker (in a private meeting) that their jobs weren't quite going to be done when the Project was over. Kobriger was a blunt man. When it's over, all those people at The Orchard think they're going to just walk away rich, but that's not going to happen, Kobriger had told them. It will be your jobs to eliminate them. All 20 of them