Splinter Self

by S L Shelton

  Emrick reached the glass on the other side, looking pale, and sweating, glaring at the containment unit. The techs closed the lid on the portable containment cart and activated the decontamination mist in the second room.

  Emrick shook his head. “Jagger. Open the glass.”

  One of the Jaggers turned to Braun, who shook his head. The Jagger returned his attention to Tris.

  “Jagger! Open the fucking shield now!”

  Braun walked over to Emrick and stared at him for a second with a smug grin breaking his otherwise cold demeanor. “It would seem that even your Jaggers recognize you no longer have absolute authority over this facility.”

  Emrick pounded his fist against the glass, his face a red display of outrage, eyes wide, vein in his neck bulging. He turned and walked away without another word.

  “The remainder of the Jaggers are being sent to Mount Weather,” Braun yelled at his back. “With LOT 44 gone, you no longer have duties here. You should go and be with your Jaggers.”

  Emrick turned and flashed both middle fingers at Braun before continuing around the corner.

  Braun breathed out in relief and turned once again toward Tris who was busy ripping the confinement controls from the wall on the other side. That could be problematic.

  “Jagger twelve,” Braun said, drawing the attention of the nondominant Jagger. “What was your next task to be once LOT 44 was safely secured in travel mode?”

  The Jagger looked back toward Tris, his lip still curled in hate. “Notify Tris of the transfer and provide her transport to the airstrip to join LOT 44.”

  Tris stopped and looked through the glass, first at the Jagger then at Braun. “What you told him doesn’t change what you did.”

  Braun nodded. “True. But your response to her being moved shows me that I was right in my precaution.”

  Tris glared at him but remained inactive.

  He took a step closer to the glass. “You know full well that I can’t be the one there when she wakes. I’ve spent months on the edge of this, so she wouldn’t see me or make that connection.”

  Tris’s glare softened minutely and her posture relaxed a tick.

  “The entire reason you were pair-bonded to her is so that you become her handler,” he continued. “I’m not an idiot. I know she can’t just be turned on and off like a Jagger can.”

  Braun noted only a twitch of the ear from the Jagger in front of him.

  “I also haven’t missed the sentimentality you’ve displayed for LOT 44,” Braun said. “I need to operate with all conditions in mind. That is, unfortunately, one of those conditions.”

  Tris seemed to be genuinely disarmed by Braun’s logic. So much so that he decided another show of goodwill would be in order. “Jaggers, holster your weapons and open the containment walls.”

  Without even a second of hesitation, they did as commanded, decocking their weapons simultaneously while one went to the control panel and punched in the release code. The alarm ceased as the clear walls rose into the ceiling.

  Tris stood there, motionless for several seconds, staring at Braun. “It is only your affinity for LOT 44 that—”

  “Kathrin,” Tris said quietly.

  “It’s only your affinity for Kathrin that required the added level of reassurance,” he said. “You’ll note that the containment walls weren’t dropped until you broke through that door like a charging mother lioness coming to the aid of her cub.”

  Tris continued to stare.

  “It was in no way a personal slight or a deception to thwart you. Just a rational precaution due to the known condition that exists between the two of you.”

  Tris flexed her jaw.

  “Rational, and necessary as it turns out.”

  She turned and looked into the closed lab. The techs had finished their decontamination procedure and were standing, waiting for the all clear to disrobe and exit the room.

  “I’ll need to pack clothes and weapons for her,” Tris said without taking her eyes off Kathrin, seemingly humbled by Braun’s logic.

  “Clothes? Yes. But she won’t need any weapons.”

  Tris looked over her shoulder at Braun, seemingly trying to decipher his intent.

  “She’s a sleeper agent,” Braun added to clarify. “She wouldn’t be a convincing captive if she were armed.”

  Tris nodded and returned her attention to Kathrin being wheeled out of the containment lab. Without being told to, the two Jaggers took up guard position on either side of Braun as the techs wheeled Kathrin’s “crib” out and down the hallway. They were halfway down the hall when Braun realized Tris still stood alone in front of the lab.

  “Airfield, one hour,” Braun said over his shoulder. “You can bring her last injection with you. As soon as her containment is no longer necessary, you can give her the final injection yourself…wake her up, as it were.”

  He looked backward before passing through the metal door that Tris had kicked off its hinges. She stood there, staring at the floor. He could only guess, but it seemed he’d given her much to think about.

  Good, Tris. You know my logic is sound. You know you’ve been compromised. He looked forward again as they rounded the corner toward the loading bay. Now all you have to do is what you’re told, and we may survive this.

  fourteen

  Saturday, May 7th

  3:35 a.m. — Side of the Road, Inter American Highway, just outside of La Cruz, Costa Rica

  I woke hot, sweating, with my shirt sticking to my back against the vinyl seat of a Honda CRV. I knew where I was, where we were headed, and how we got there. I remembered it was Seifert who had his head under the hood of the car trying to fix an overheating radiator.

  Unfortunately, I didn’t remember my name, why we were on our way to Panama City, or how I knew Seifert. For a moment, I assumed we were both in the military since we had arrived at a Joint Task Force Airbase hours earlier, coming in on military transport. But I quickly discarded that notion based on the fact that we had left base without going through the gate. Also, I had purchased the CRV from two men with suspicious bulges in their waistbands that were anatomical impossibilities if they were penises.

  “I told you that you paid too much for this damn thing,” Seifert said as he tried to patch the ripped hose.

  “I didn’t feel comfortable negotiating the price down with our weapons stuffed in our bags,” I said. There! I remember that too. Why am I here?

  A memory came to me. M.C. Goughin…accountant for Combine.

  “Combine,” I said.

  Seifert poked his head around the hood. “What?”

  “Nothing. Just figuring out our timeline.”

  Seifert squinted at me suspiciously. “Who am I?”

  I smiled without consciously commanding it. “Seifert, Majesty, Queen of—”

  “Okay, okay.” He went back to his work, hammering on something under the hood with…with…the pliers I found in the trunk.

  “Right.”

  Seifert slammed the hood closed and returned to the driver’s seat. “You’re talking to yourself. It makes me nervous.”

  “All intelligent people talk to themselves. It creates an internal devil’s advocate to challenge notions, forming a more objective view of circumstances.”

  Seifert shook his head and started the ancient CRV. When I had purchased it, we thought we were getting a vehicle with a hundred-seventy-five-thousand miles on it. Six hours into our drive, the odometer still read a hundred-seventy-five-thousand, and judging by the roughness of the engine, it had been sitting at that number for another hundred-seventy-five-thousand.

  “What are the odds of getting enough signal out here to check and see if the others have tried to contact us?” He asked.

  “None. There aren’t enough towers here to hide our signal, and the speed is so slow, even if we didn’t encrypt, which would be stupid, it would take an hour to pull up the cloud interfaces,” I said. Good answer. But I didn’t answer it. But I heard it come out of my mout
h. But you didn’t know any of that. What the fuck?!

  My skull felt like someone had used it as an anvil, the pain reaching up from the back of my neck to behind my eyes. I turned to dig through one of our bags in the back seat.

  “What are looking for?” Seifert asked.

  “An analgesic.”

  “An analgesic?”

  I laid my hands on a bottle and pulled it out. “Aspirin,” I replied with more edge than I had intended.

  “I know what an analgesic is. I just don’t understand why you pick the ten dollar words.”

  “I have a fucking headache, alright?”

  He glanced at me with a pasted on thin smile. “Okay, okay.”

  He didn’t trust me. I knew he didn’t trust me. I just didn’t know why. And why was I in charge of this Op? I didn’t even know what we were doing. “We have to get Goughin before Combine figures out what we’re doing.” Why did I say that?

  “You don’t have to remind me why we’re here. It doesn’t make me like it any better,” Seifert replied.

  What the hell is going on?!

  “Do you want me to drive for a while?” I asked. “You’ve been behind the wheel since we got on the highway.”

  Highway. Ha. Two lanes most of the way and sometimes not even that.

  He looked at me and shook his head. “I’m fine. You keep devils-advocating and figure out how we’re going to do this shit without getting killed.”

  I smiled and nodded. “Let me know if you get tired. I’m fine to drive if you want.”

  “Nope. I’m good.”

  Try asking a question without speaking. I thought so clearly, I worried I’d said it aloud. I looked at Seifert in the glow of the half functioning dash lights and saw no response.

  Okay, I thought. Let’s give this a try. Why am I here?

  We have to capture Combine’s accountant before Combine realizes we’re after him.

  Who, or what is Combine, and why do we need their accountant?

  It took only a few seconds waiting for the reply before I realized I was holding my breath. I took a deep one and relaxed instantly.

  Combine killed almost everyone you care about, and they’re now getting ready to kill the President of the United States, my mind said back. This fact made me nervous.

  We should tell someone.

  You are the someone.

  I breathed again and looked out the window at the passing tropical flora, realizing I had no sense of past at all.

  You’ll remember, the voice in my head said. The memories are there. They just aren’t where they used to be. You’ll find them.

  “I don’t understand,” I said, then realized I’d spoken aloud.

  “Don’t understand what?” Seifert asked.

  “I don’t understand why the accountant would be in Panama. I wonder if it has something to do with the Latin American accounts being blown.”

  Seifert shrugged. “That’s your area. I drive, shoot, jump, and swim,” he said with a sideways grin. “You don’t pay me enough to think too.”

  I laughed, though it had been my mouth speaking without me that had covered so effectively. I had no memory of Latin American accounts being blown—or even Latin American accounts.

  I’m lost. And I’m freaking out a little.

  Relax. It’ll come to you and I’ll be here as long as I can to help you sort out the missing pieces.

  As long as you can?! “What the fuck does that mean?”

  Seifert turned to me.

  I smiled. “Still working on the same problem.”

  He nodded and returned his attention to the road.

  What the fuck does that mean?!

  Breathe.

  I did. I immediately felt better. A face came to mind—a woman I had strong feelings for. In the memory, her golden hair flit around her face in a breeze, and she smiled the sweetest, devilish smile, teasing me with her pursed lips.

  “Kathrin.”

  “What made you think of her?” Seifert asked with sadness in his tone.

  I shook my head. “I don’t know. She’s just there.”

  He patted meme on the leg. “I know, man. I know. But once we finish with this shit, there will plenty of time to grieve.”

  My chest contracted. Grieve?! She’s dead?

  Combine killed her.

  That’s why I’m doing this?

  That’s one of the many reasons you’re doing this.

  I nodded, then stopped before Seifert saw it.

  Breathe.

  I did and felt better. Now if I could only remember my name.

  You are Scott Wolfe, and you are going to fix this.

  I lifted one eyebrow. Well, I guess if I’m going to wake up not knowing who I am, that’s as good an answer as any. I just wondered how much of that answer was wishful thinking.

  **

  6:15 a.m. — South End of Runway, Joint Base Andrews, Maryland

  ROURKE DOKKEN sat in the passenger seat of the lead SUV as they wound their way around the base toward Air Force One. As team leader of the recent Homeland Security Secret Service Detachment, he would be taking control of the Presidential Detail today. All that remained was the preflight briefing, the assignments, and the handover of the team access codes from Michael Casey.

  Casey’s second in command, Camille “Cammy” Cortez, drove them across the apron in front of the hangars.

  “Where’s the meeting?” Dokken asked Cammy without looking at her.

  She turned off the apron and into a small parking lot in front of the Air Force One reception area. To the left, Air Force One sat straddling parking ramp one and two, surrounded by black SUVs like the one they were in.

  “Here, I think,” she said. “But I don’t see Agent Casey’s car.”

  She stopped the vehicle and the other two SUVs pulled up slowly beside them.

  Dokken sighed in an overly dramatic gesture and shook his head. “Well, do you think you could find out? We have a president to get off the ground in a couple of hours.”

  Cammy pressed her lips into a thin smile and pulled out her phone. “Hey chief, we’re at the staging site. Where are you?”

  She looked over her shoulder across the runway and nodded. “Right. Be there in a minute.” She ended the call and put the SUV in gear. “They’re in the support building across the runway. They’re doing a wiring upgrade here and had to relocate.”

  Dokken shook his head again. “I’m baffled by how this team managed so long, being this disorganized.”

  Cammy rolled her eyes but otherwise stayed on task. As she drove across the south end of the runways, the other two SUVs fell into position behind them and followed her. After rounding the other side, she stopped at the first building past a hangar with four roll-up, overhead doors.

  She got out and walked to the door while Dokken waited for his fourteen-man team to exit the other vehicles. Cammy waited while they organized then took them inside.

  “Is that the old team pulling ground duty on Air Force One?” One of the team asked.

  Dokken assumed it was the displaced team, pulling their last detail before being reassigned. “Probably the B team.”

  “More like Charlie Foxtrot team,” another said, drawing a harsh look from Cammy over her shoulder.

  They reached a closed door, and she knocked before entering. Dokken walked in and stopped. Around a small conference table were seven Air Force officers, Michael Casey, and another suited individual Dokken assumed was Secret Service.

  Casey looked up when they entered. “I’m just doing the pilot briefing. We’re almost finished,” he said as he got up and joined Dokken outside the room. “The regular briefing room isn’t available, but we’ve set up a temporary conference space through there.” He pointed to the door at the end of the hall. “Coffee and donuts are on the table. Help yourselves.”

  Dokken could feel agitation creeping up his spine at the delay. “Don’t you think you should brief the team that’s protecting the President before you
get the pilots set with their GPS settings…Michael?”

  Casey smiled thinly and looked down, obviously resisting the urge to tell Dokken what he really thought. “Well, Agent Dokken,” Casey said, handing him a briefing packet. “We are two hours out, and it takes roughly ninety minutes for the Air Force to program, check, then recheck the guidance system on Air Force One. So, we brief them first so they can get to work while we go over the itineraries, tactical logistics, and wave off procedures.”

  Dokken nodded with a smug grin. “I guess everyone has their own way of doing things.”

  Casey nodded curtly, then pointed toward the door again. “I’ll be over in a few minutes. Make yourselves comfortable.”

  Without waiting for a response, Casey returned to the small meeting room and closed the door. Cammy led them to the end of the hall and opened the door before going in and pouring herself a cup of coffee from one of the carafes on the table.

  The “room” was nothing but part of a hangar with blue plastic tarps hanging to separate it from the rest of the cavernous space. Except for the ceiling, nothing else of the hangar was visible through the makeshift dividers.

  Cammy took her coffee and left, walking back toward the other meeting room. Dokken looked around at his team before sitting at the head of the table in front of a large portable whiteboard.

  “What’s the hold up, chief?” One of Dokken’s men asked after fifteen minutes had passed.

  He looked over his shoulder at the door just as Michael Casey walked in with an armload of binders.

  “Okay!” Dokken said, standing and slapping his hands together. “Let’s get the show on the road.”

  Casey dropped the binders on the table. “I need a few more minutes to get the zone assignments loaded in the system,” he said, turning back to the door. “You can start thumbing through those briefing binders if you want. I’ll be right back.”

  Dokken stood, staring at Casey’s back as the door slowly creaked closed. He shook his head. “This is fucked,” he muttered.

  “I think they’re making us wait on purpose,” one of his men said.