Fallen

by Ann Simko

"I won't lie. It hasn't been fun, but we'll survive. No one knows where you went, and no one believes what they are saying about you."

  "Exactly what are they saying?" Dakota said, while looking out into the quiet of the night.

  An uncomfortable silence answered him. He heard Ivey sigh as he waited for her to continue. When she did, it was clear something more than worry had prompted the call. Undeniable fear laced her words as she answered him.

  "It's not good, really not good. The police are telling everyone you're armed and dangerous, and unstable. Dakota, they have orders to shoot on sight, both you and your brother."

  Jesus! Dakota pulled the phone away from his ear for a moment as the weight of her words fell on him. Shaking his head he made a decision. "No way, I'm letting that happen, Ivey. I was nowhere near Tommy or those campers when they bought it, and I can prove it."

  "I don't think they want to hear it. Look, whatever you're thinking, don't do it. Stay where you are, and stay safe. Shit! One of those weird government guys is here. I have to go."

  "Ivey, wait. What—" The connection went dead. Dakota stood on the rickety porch with a cool breeze washing over him, bringing him the scent of sage and yucca. All he'd wanted to do was help Michael Ricco. Instead, he and Montana were now Caliente's most wanted.

  What the hell? A murderer? He had to make this right. He couldn't let Montana get hurt or his reputation damaged because of him. He needed to talk to Cal Tremont. The sheriff had to know he wasn't a part of this. Cal had called him to tell him about Tommy being missing. He had to know the timeline just didn't add up.

  Keeping Ricco safe was a priority, and that meant Montana had to stay with the kid. It was his job to keep Montana out of this. If that meant Dakota taking the heat until this was all straightened out, then so be it.

  He dialed information and asked for the number to Cal Tremont's home. Cal didn't sound quite as intimidating at three in the morning.

  "What?" The voice was husky with sleep. "Who is it?"

  "You know Montana and I didn't kill Tommy Lawson."

  Silence filled the line for almost five seconds. Dakota let Cal figure it out.

  "Where are you, boy? Do you have any idea the trouble you're in?"

  "Cal, you know I didn't kill Tommy or those other people." Dakota said again.

  Cal breathed a deep sigh into the receiver. "Do you think I'm stupid? Hell yes, I know that, but why didn't you tell me you found Tommy? And why'd you run off with Private Ricco? And how the hell did an ex-special-ops man end up dead in your hospital? Dakota, you're in a deep pile of shit, and Montana just had to join you, didn't he?"

  Dakota felt relieved to hear that Cal didn't believe him to be a murderer, but there was still a lot of explaining to do. "Cal, I don't know any more about what's going on than you do. All I do know, is that whoever killed Tommy and those people in the bunker, also sent that guy to kill Ricco. We stopped him, and then the son of a bitch killed himself. It all happened so fast, there was nothing we could do to stop it. I'm sorry we didn't contact you right away, but I'm not used to people trying to kill my patients while I watch. This whole thing is way out of my area of expertise. Under the circumstances, Montana thought it safer to get Ricco out of there." It was Dakota's turn to take a deep breath. "At the time, I was inclined to believe him."

  Dakota heard Cal mumble something unintelligible before he said, "Something's not right here, Dakota. This is not how things work. I never saw the state troopers they sent out to investigate this. They aren't from the local barracks. Special procedures my ass. Something stinks here boy, and I don't like it. All I have is a dead deputy and no answers. You tell me how I'm supposed to explain this to the Lawsons?

  "We need to talk, Dakota. You need to come in, and Montana too. Hiding isn't going to do anything but make you look guiltier than you already do. The evidence isn't conclusive. Come in and talk to me, boy. You know I won't let them take you anywhere on trumped-up charges. What's going on, Dakota? Where the hell are you?"

  Dakota looked out across the desert. The night stared back at him, refusing to part with her secrets. Somehow, he needed to fix this. "I'll come to you, but Montana stays out of this."

  "It's not my choice anymore, boy. I'll do what I can to help you, but the Feebs have control now, and my word don't mean dick. I'm just a hick country sheriff."

  "Bullshit, Cal. I was sleeping when Tommy Lawson was killed, and Montana didn't even know Michael Ricco existed."

  "Listen to me, Dakota. I know you didn't kill anyone, but these dickheads don't want to look at evidence. They want you, and I want to know why."

  They want you. Cold crept through Dakota with those words. He wondered just how far and how deep this General's reach was. "Cal, listen, I'll explain everything to you. Can you meet me at your office in few hours?"

  "I'll be there."

  "No FBI?"

  "Just me," Cal told him. "I owe you that much."

  "Thanks, Cal. I have a hell of a story to tell you." He pushed the end button on the phone before Cal could change his mind.

  Dakota knew he should wake Montana and tell him where he was going. He should trust that he wouldn't be charged with a murder he couldn't possibly have committed. He should do anything but leave. What kept him from doing any of that was that he had dragged Montana into this. Never mind the fact that if he hadn't, he and his staff might well be dead now.

  This wasn't Montana's problem, or Ito's. Dakota had to take care of this himself.

  The Jeep was covered with early morning dew, and the keys were still in the ignition. He guessed Montana wasn't too concerned about anyone stealing it out here.

  He had a vague idea of how to get back to town. He knew if he kept going in the general direction they had come from, he would eventually find the main road. At least he hoped so. He got into the Jeep, and turned the engine over hoping no one in the house would wake at the sound. Then he realized that even if they did, there was very little they could do about it. Dakota was taking the only transportation.

  Man, Montana was going to be pissed at him.

  Chapter 10

  A half-hour outside of town, the Jeep started hitching and sputtering. Despite Dakota's efforts to keep it running, the vehicle stalled. He eased onto the shoulder and tried to get just a little more life out of the overheated engine, but all he got was a low hum and a click when he turned the key. He hit the steering wheel in frustration and swore at himself. "Stupid, stupid, stupid!"

  The Jeep was sitting on the soft shoulder of the deserted, two-lane blacktop. In his haste to get back to town and speak to Cal, he had left without any thought to provisions. He had the clothes on his back and his phone. The car thermometer indicated it was ninety-six degrees outside, and he had no water, with the prospect of at least a half a day's walk through the desert ahead of him.

  "I am freaking brilliant." The early morning heat seared him as he stepped out. The difference between the air-conditioned vehicle and the outside air temperature left him momentarily breathless. As far as he could see in either direction there was nothing but empty road shimmering in the heat. It wasn't even six in the morning, he was a wanted felon, and he was stranded in the desert without any water. He slammed the door in frustration and pocketed the keys as he started walking. "Brilliant!" Shaking his head, he concentrated on just putting one foot in front of the other.

  After twenty minutes, and soaked with sweat, he almost wished for Cal's cruiser to come and pick him up. Jail sounded pretty sweet. He hadn't had anything to drink since the day before and was seriously dehydrated by the time he saw a vehicle far ahead in the distance. At first, he thought it might be a hallucination, a trick of his heat-seared brain. He watched in fascination as the car drew closer. It took only five minutes for the driver to reach him, the flat terrain making distances deceiving. Seemed a lot longer in the searing heat.

  When it was clear that the occupants not only saw him, but also were slowing down, Dakota simply stood on the shoulder and
waited. He didn't realize something was wrong until the tan sedan stopped next to him. He wiped the sweat out of his eyes with a forearm, watching with detached giddiness as three armed men dressed in desert BDUs approached.

  An image of Ricco running through the desert flashed through his mind, as did his dream. This is why Ricco ran. He took a step back and the men split up. Two flanked him, and one stayed in front of him.

  "Dr. Thomas?" said the lead man.

  Dakota blinked and lifted a hand to shield his eyes from the sun's unrelenting glare. "Who wants to know?"

  The soldier nodded to his companions, who started to close in. Dakota looked from side to side, desperately seeking an avenue of escape. There was only the road before him and the desert behind him.

  "Where are you going to go? Come on, Dr. Thomas, we only want to talk to you."

  "You want Ricco." Dakota knew these men had killed for less, and would kill again with very little provocation. It was in the way they moved, a self-assured cockiness that only comes with never listening to the word, no.

  "Well, that too," the soldier agreed. "Get in the car, Doctor."

  Dakota tried to back away. If he got in the car, he was dead. He knew that. "How'd you find me?" A useless question. He knew that too, but he was desperately trying to buy some time to figure a way out of the impossible situation.

  "You can thank your friend Ivey for that."

  Dakota's eyes widened at the mention of the nurse's name. "You didn't hurt her?"

  "Relax, I can make quite a convincing state trooper when I want to. I actually used to be one in another life." Dark, reflective lenses shielded his eyes, but the smile faded with his words. He seemed to shake off an unwanted thought and grinned once more. "I questioned her and confiscated her cell phone. When I traced the last number she called, this is where it led me. I couldn't get a definite fix on the exact location, but that doesn't matter anymore. Imagine our surprise to find you coming out to meet us."

  The two soldiers flanking Dakota grabbed his arms.

  "Get in the car, Dr. Thomas." The lead soldier drew his weapon.

  Dakota considered his options. One thing was clear. They would have to kill him to get him into that car.

  He shook his head. "You won't kill me," he said, sounding more confident than he felt.

  "You're absolutely right, Dr. Thomas. I have no intention of killing you, yet. I know someone who would be very interested in meeting you." He gave a nod.

  Quicker than Dakota would have thought possible, the two soldiers holding his arms pushed him to the ground and held him there. The soldier in front of him knelt next to him and pushed his shirtsleeve up. He knelt on Dakota's upper arm, using his weight as a tourniquet, and pulled a syringe from his pocket.

  "What the hell?" Dakota saw him purge a clear liquid from the needle. The sharp steel glimmered in the heat and sun.

  The soldier smiled down at him. "This was meant for Private Ricco, but I don't think he would mind sharing it with you."

  Dakota felt a sharp sting, and almost immediately a warm fuzziness enveloped him. His eyes lost focus as the chemicals flooding his system took him under. He blinked once, twice, and then gave in to the inevitable.

  Sergeant Carlson released the pressure on Dakota's arm and made certain he was out. He gave a nod to his team and stood. The soldiers holding Dakota's arms relaxed. Carlson looked up and down the road to be sure there were no witnesses. Satisfied there were none, he headed back to the vehicle. One of his men bent down and pulled the unconscious doctor over his shoulders.

  "Get him in the car." Carlson ordered.

  "What about Ricco?"

  "The doctor's the next best thing. Before, we only had a guess as to where Ricco was being held. Now, we have a hostage."

  The soldier carried Dakota to the car. "The General's not going to like this." He rolled the doctor off his shoulders and into the back seat, and crawled in next to him.

  "I know, but he'd like it even less if we came back empty-handed."

  The other man took shotgun. He turned back to look at the unconscious man slumped on the seat. "He has a point."

  Carlson waited until they were all in and secured. "We good?"

  "Go." shotgun said.

  "Where? To get Ricco or back to the base?"

  "To the base." Carlson silently hoped the decision he just made was the right one. The General was not known for his forgiving nature.

  * * * *

  Dakota opened his eyes, and immediately squeezed them shut again. Glaring fluorescent lights were shining in his face. His head ached, and his tongue felt thick and useless in his mouth. He tried to sit up and found he couldn't. Opening his eyes to tiny slits until they adjusted to the bright lights, he looked down the length of his body and found leather restraints around his wrists and chest. He assumed his ankles were restrained in the same way.

  Panic began to cut through the drugs, and he pulled against the leather, testing its resilience. He quickly concluded he wasn't going anywhere. Adrenaline zinged through his system, only this time from fear, not excitement.

  "He's awake, sir."

  The voice came somewhere near his head. He tried to turn to identify the speaker, but was held fast by the restraints.

  Someone stepped into his field of vision, blocking the light, but the face remained shadowed. "Ah, Doctor Thomas, so nice of you to join us." He reached a hand up and swung the light out of the way, giving Dakota his first good look.

  He was older, maybe in his late sixties, with blue-gray eyes, a deeply tanned, almost kind-looking face. He smiled at Dakota.

  "Who the hell are you?" Dakota's voice sounded rusty to his ears.

  The man reached behind him to retrieve a glass and held it to Dakota's lips. Hoping it held only water, he sucked the glass dry without putting a dent in his thirst. "More."

  "Perhaps later." The man cocked his head and slowly inspected Dakota.

  He felt, for a moment, as he imagined an ant might, trapped beneath the scorching rays of a magnifying glass.

  "You have caused me a great deal of trouble, Dr. Thomas, and now I am left with a problem. Just what do I do with you?"

  A sudden realization hit Dakota. He knew with awful clarity who he was speaking to. Fear chilled him as it coursed through his veins, and his heart rate doubled in an instant. He tried to swallow, but he had no spit left.

  The man continued his disturbing observation. "You know who I am, don't you?"

  Dakota nodded. "You're the General."

  The General laughed softly. "Private Ricco has proven to be most inconvenient to all of us."

  Dakota's anger at the man's callous attitude caused his fear to recede for the moment. "Is that what you call murdering thirteen people? An inconvenience?" As he glared at the General, he saw, beyond him, a tray table holding an assortment of surgical instruments.

  The General followed his gaze and gave him a reassuring, almost fatherly smile. He picked up a scalpel and ran the razor-like edge carefully over the calloused pad of his thumb. The pressure wasn't hard enough to draw blood, but the intent was clear enough. He sighed and shook his head. "You were never a soldier, so I wouldn't expect you to understand concepts like duty and honor."

  "You don't have to be a soldier to understand duty or honor. What you did to Ricco and those others has nothing to do with either."

  The fatherly expression faltered just a little. "They were giving of themselves on a level you could never comprehend."

  "They never gave you anything. You took it from them without permission. They had no say in what you did to them, no free will."

  The General put the scalpel back on the tray and faced Dakota. "Free will does not exist. It is merely a fabrication we partake in to give purpose to the things we do. Everyone needs a cause, Doctor, and this is mine. In a way, it is very much yours as well."

  "What do you mean?"

  "The medical field has made amazing progress over the last century, wouldn't you agree?" When Dako
ta just stared in response, he continued. "I have heard it called miraculous, the advances that have been made. It's no miracle, just hard work and sacrifice."

  Dakota felt his blood run cold as what The General was telling him slowly sunk in. "What are you saying?" He knew Ricco had told him they did medical experiments. He only half-believed him, until now.

  "Doctor, really, do you think we would be where we are without the research my team has done? The new classes of antibiotics that are constantly needed to fight more virulent forms of bacteria, new surgical procedures to save limbs, to repair hearts. Better, more efficient ways to battle pain. We would still be in the dark ages if lab animals were all we used." The General sighed. "You are a physician. I had hoped you would understand."

  "Understand what? Torture? What you've done is wrong. No one asked for it. No one would want it done—not like this, not at the expense of innocent lives." Dakota closed his eyes and pictured Ricco's face. Opening them again, he looked directly at the man standing over him. "You're insane."

  The General looked beyond Dakota to an unseen audience. "You see?" he said. "You see why we work in secret? The work we do would not be understood. They would vilify what we strive to do in the name of decency, when what we do is for the good of all mankind."

  There were vague murmurings of agreement from behind Dakota.

  "Tell me, Dr. Thomas, don't you agree that the sacrifice of a few lives is worth the saving of thousands, perhaps hundreds of thousands? The good of the many being worth more than the good of the one?"

  "No life is insignificant." Dakota pulled against his restraints as anger surged through him.

  "You are reciting doctrines force fed to you and every other living soul for eons. Haven't you ever thought to question them?" The General sighed and shook his head once again, reminding Dakota of a disappointed parent. "It was too much to hope that you would understand the importance of our work here." He lifted his hands in resignation. "But we do have work to do."

  He reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew Dakota's cell phone. Turning it over, he examined the device in detail. "Amazing how small they have become." He turned the phone on. "You know, I have the exact same model. I'm especially fond of the camera feature."