Cuff Lynx

by Fiona Quinn

  I felt the incredible weight of his body. How much bigger he was than me. I lay with him, sensing the rumble and sway come to a stop. “He is in a vehicle that had been moving,” I said aloud, not sure if Gater was with me or not.

  Time passed. His breathing had increased as he rose through the levels of consciousness and became more awake. His eyes were open. Everything was still dark with shades of grey, and I could sense if not see geometric shapes around me. Circles over rectangles—they seemed to move.

  “Hello, my love, can you hear me?” a woman’s voice crooned. She was a gossamer silhouette. “It’s time to get up and go to the bathroom. Here we go.”

  A hand behind his head pushed. It seemed to cover more of his head than mine would. She seemed to have very big hands; they moved to his shoulders, then moved around to pull his arms until Striker was standing. He draped his body over the person, and they moved slowly to the bathroom. Like moon walking. A blurry Vine stood in front of him. There must be a man holding Striker up. The movement made by Striker’s left arm had something catch near the elbow. I thought about how that felt—what I had experienced in the past that I was recognizing. My mind landed on the times I was coming out of a state of unconscious at the hospitals that catch on his arm was the tape from an infusion site. He was being drugged with an IV. Had to be. Everything was so fuzzy and softly focused. Dim.

  I stayed with him until they laid him back on the mattress.

  “Go to sleep, sweetheart. We have a long way to go.” Vine caressed soft fingers over his forehead and kissed his lips. I moved into her, thinking that I would be able to see down the road, get directions, and send help. But instead, she sat down in the dark space, and the rumbling started up again. Someone else was driving. Something must be covering the windows. I hoped for more information, but shouts suddenly yanked me back from behind the Veil.

  Gater stood in the open doorway, focused down the hallway.

  I blinked my eyes and reoriented myself. Slowly, I pulled myself up and shook off the effects of the medicine in Striker’s blood stream.

  “You okay, Lynx?”

  “Go. Go find out what’s happening.”

  So close to answers. My body shook violently. When Gater came back in, I lay in the fetal position, trying to keep my limbs from flailing.

  “What happened? What are they yelling?” I asked with tight lips and chattering teeth.

  “The guys were reading a piece of the log that pissed them off. I told them they couldn’t holler like that no more.”

  “Striker’s drugged.” I accidently bit my lip, trying to talk past my jack-hammering teeth. “They put an IV in his arm to keep him sedated. He won’t be able to help us. The vehicle he’s in is large enough to walk six paces from mattress to bathroom. The bathroom is large enough to fit two people in closely, side by side.”

  “He was able to walk to the bathroom?”

  “Stumble with support. A man held Striker upright from behind, and Vine had to aim his penis.”

  “She held his dick so he could pee? Then he’s some kinda fucked up.” He blinked. “Excuse my language, ma’am.”

  I shook my already shaking head to let him know I couldn’t care less about his word choices. “I would imagine that’s the case.”

  Gater called out, “Hey bring some blankets down here, stat.” He rubbed his hands over my limbs.

  “I’m not cccccold, Gater.”

  “Yeah, you’re coming off of Striker’s drugs. Bet you’re going to have a killer hangover when this shaking wears off. Fluids.” He raised both eyebrows to underline the importance of the word. “And you’re going to hang tight in here until you’ve got your muscles under control.”

  Blaze showed up with two blankets. He looked down at me, concern warming his eyes.

  “She went behind the Veil. They’ve drugged Striker.” Gater tucked the blankets tightly around me.

  “That’s what we just read in the log about General Elliot. Sorry we startled you, Lynx.”

  “Please. What happened to the general?”

  Blaze moved farther into the cell and leaned his back against the padding that made the walls soundproof. “Vine followed General and Mrs. Elliot on their vacation. The general was drinking liberally, and Vine slipped a ruffie into his drink. The busboys had to drag him to his room. Then, by looking at the time frame, we checked through the text messages. Vine sent her dad a text that said, ‘Done.’ Immediately after, in the logs we found Indigo did an influencing task–they used a tasking code instead of writing it out. We can’t tell for sure from the numbers who he targeted, but the seeds were for a comatose state. And then it said, ‘We’ll see how you like being stuporous for eighteen months. Just wait until you see I killed your kid while you were out.’”

  Jack moved into the room. “You okay? I apologize for that.”

  I nodded, still a little disoriented.

  “Are you sure he meant General Elliot? He don’t have kids,” Gater said, unconsciously rubbing my back.

  “I think he means he’s killing Iniquus.” Pushing myself upright, I said, “Okay, eyes on the prize. We need to find Striker.” I put my feet on the ground. Gater put a restraining hand on my shoulder, keeping me in place. I didn’t fight him.

  “Jack, we can’t get GPS coordinates on a burner phone, can we?” I asked.

  “Not GPS, no but if the phone is on, we can get a general trajectory by cell towers they pass,” Jack said.

  “Pooh, that’s what I thought. And we don’t have that equipment, right? We’d need to get it from the phone company. Does that mean warrants?”

  “Warrants and a lot of hoop-jumping – enough that it wouldn’t make any difference, because your target would be long gone.”

  “What about law enforcement in an emergency situation?”

  “That sometimes works, sometimes doesn’t,” Blaze said. “I had a buddy in PD working a case where a carjacker took off from the gas station, and there was a baby in the back seat. The FBI, police, the mother whose name was on the phone contract, everyone begged the phone company to track the phone, which was still in the car, and the phone company refused, citing privacy concerns.”

  “Holy moly, was the baby okay?”

  “The carjacker left the baby in her car seat by the side of the road. A good Samaritan picked her up and called the cops. I believe the phone company is being sued. Point being, it’s a crap shoot. Why do you ask?”

  I stood up and walked to the conference room with my hand on the wall for stability. “We have Vine’s private phone number on a burner phone between dad and daughter. It’s a long shot, but since these two aren’t street criminals or trained in law enforcement, they may not have thought through the significance of me having Indigo’s phone. As a matter of fact, Indigo may conclude that I have nothing at all, because he probably sent the self-destruction signal through the app, and all I’d be left with for my efforts would be a bunch of plastic and metal. Which is exactly what I would have had, if I hadn’t removed the battery. So this might be a viable route to follow.” I moved toward my chair.

  “NSA can follow them even with the phone turned off,” Jack said.

  Gater shook his head. “Yeah, but NSA has a lot of Assembly men. That would be like calling Vine up and saying, ‘We’re coming for yah.’”

  “Deep, do you have any drinking buds who can help with a burner phone location? Triangulation off their cell towers?”

  “Depends on the carrier. Who’s got the phone—IT or forensics?”

  “Forensics.”

  He stood up to leave.

  “Hey, ask them if we can text to Vine’s phone, or if that would mean putting Indigo’s phone in danger of self-destruction from the app. Can we take that app off? Turn it off? Bypass it somehow?”

  My phone buzzed, interrupting my train of thought.

  Spyder: Media, alphabets, police, senate, house, and president have files. High alert for retaliation. Need to talk to you now about PM. Call from secured
location.

  Lynx: Daughter kidnapped Striker. She definitely trained influencing with dad. Give me two seconds.

  I moved back down the hall and made the call over an encrypted line. “Hey, what do you need?”

  “I’ve been ordered to remove the threat to national security,” Spyder replied.

  “Which one?” I picked up the base of the phone so I could pace the room.

  “Indigo. I need intel on his penthouse. How can I best get to him?”

  “Well, I went up an internal fire escape chute that ended in his bathroom. Wait.” I stopped and focused on the floor in front of me. I was remembering back to Major Trudy’s conversation about saving me on the Metro platform. He said that Indigo was taken away in an ambulance. “He might not be there right now, Spyder. Can you give me some time to try to figure things out?”

  “Speed of thought and action are imperative, Lexicon. The files have been released. Very soon the rats will be jumping from the ships. We cannot allow this rat to escape down a hiding hole.”

  “Yes, sir.” I hung up the receiver and pulled my cellphone from my waistband. “Deep, I need you to pull two rabbits from your hat at the same time.”

  “What’s that, Lynx?”

  “Striker of course is a priority, and we need to know where the camper is headed. But I also need you to find the 911 call from Omega headquarters that took Allan Leverone—probably under the name Allan Hays—to the hospital. From the responders information you should get another alias if that one’s not right. Find out what hospital he went to, and then I need you to hack into their computer system.”

  “No can do with that last request, Lynx. Hospital computers aren’t linked to the Internet so that it’s impossible to hack them.”

  “I need that information. Is it possible that once you find the hospital that you might have a contact in their IT who is patriotic enough to send us a copy of Indigo’s medical files?”

  “If I don’t, someone here in our IT should. I’ll get back to you as soon as I have something.”

  “Deep. Fast. Please.”

  “I’m on it.”

  Back in the secure room I showed the team Spyder’s text.

  “PM?” asked Jack.

  “The Puppet Master, Indigo, Allan Leverone, one of the world’s only remote viewers and remote influencers, who apparently taught his daughter the tricks of the trade.” I took a steadying breath in before I said, “Spyder has been ordered by the White House to neutralize the threat.” At this point I couldn’t care less out who should be in the loop, what was classified, and who was need-to-know. This was my team, and I needed them working on all four burners. I’d deal with any fall out after this smoke had cleared.

  “Spyder’s neutralizing the threat?” Jack’s face was full military focus. “We’re on American soil, and we’re not going for an arrest?”

  “How could we contain him and stop him from continuing his behavior by imprisoning him? Put him in an aluminum-lined cell?”

  That was met with a general round of frowns and head-nods.

  “What are the files about? If the White House is involved, this is high-priority national security.”

  I took in a deep breath. “Files have been dispersed that include incontrovertible data to implicate the Hydra – the Sylanos cartel, the Assembly, and Omega in crimes against the state – and Indigo, but he obviously won’t be standing trial. That threat will be voided.”

  That stopped everyone in their tracks.

  “No wonder we’re on code yellow.” Blaze eyed the rifles lined up against the wall. “The Assembly? You and Spyder went after that Moby Dick? Shit, girl, you’ve got balls.”

  “The Indigo threat will not be void,” Jack said. “He trained his daughter.” He picked up a metal folding chair, spun it around backward, and straddled the seat, posting his crossed arms on the back. “If Vine drugged Striker to try to influence him, what could that mean to him? To security? What’s her endgame? What does she want him to do? Does this go beyond an obsession?”

  “It means nothing. Absolutely nothing. Influencing won’t work on Striker. Whatever it is Vine wants, it can’t work. He’s too solid, like the general,” I insisted.

  “But the general isn’t fully revived – brainwashing, Stockholm syndrome, it happens to the best of the best,” Blaze said. “We don’t know what’s been planted in his brain while he was out, and what he’ll do when he’s revived. He could be like some kind of sleeper assassin. If we don’t know what Vine’s planting in Striker’s head, we don’t know what the result could be.”

  Was it possible that there more to this than Vine manipulating Striker into a marriage?

  “Whatever it is, I bet she’s been trying for a while,” Jack said.

  I looked over at him, my nostrils flaring with anger.

  “He’s had a headache for weeks now.” Jack blinked and stared over my shoulder at the blank wall, thinking. “He started getting them after Omega attacked his house.” He focused solidly on me. “Think about it. If Indigo is Vine’s father and Vine wanted you taken out of the picture – look at the board and the things Indigo did. He worked on Frith, planted seeds of hatred and vengeance mentally, and physically he put Frith on your trail. Again and again, he gave Frith the information. I’d say he was reveling in the angst he was causing. Otherwise he’d just have sent someone from Sylanos’s cartel or from Omega to make a quick hit.”

  “Those were my thoughts as well. Also, he’s angry that Spyder didn’t stand up for the Galaxy Project in front of the Senate, I would guess that by making bad things happen to me that Indigo felt he was punishing Spyder.” I said.

  “If we follow that line of thought, I bet good money Frith didn’t find you at Striker’s bay house the way he said he did with computer searches,” Jack said. “I’ll bet Indigo gave Frith the address and told Omega to go after you.”

  “But Indigo would have wanted me dead as a result, and the Omega operator said I was precious cargo and not to be hurt.” I sat there, wide-eyed. Layers upon layers. Like an army private, Wilson took orders from his superior Frith, and Frith took orders from Indigo. Next I could find out it’s the President of the United States, the Pope, and maybe even God Almighty Himself that wanted me to suffer and freaking die.

  “Frith thought that he was playing his own game. He’s the one who ordered Omega in to capture you for profit’s sake. But I saw that operative’s face right before Bella bit him. His job was to take the kill shot, he was Indigo’s man, I’d swear it. I’ve been in too many gun fights not to recognize that conviction,” Deep said.

  “So you think that when Omega failed to kill me, Indigo started trying to influence Striker to gain allegiance for both his daughter and for his own ends?”

  Blaze leaned forward. “Vine wanted Striker to love her. But think what an asset Striker would be to the Hydra. What if they were weakening Iniquus for a takeover? Then we’d be another strong arm for them, just like Omega.”

  “We need to figure out what the hell they’ve done to the general’s and Striker’s brains,” Jack said.

  Forty

  “Spyder,” I said into the secured line. “Indigo is at St. Bernard’s hospital in ICU under the name Allan Hays. Things aren’t looking good for him.”

  “Tell me more.”

  “Seems he has a case of diverticulitis with a perforated abscess. He was brought in by ambulance in septic shock. I’ve done some quick research if you need it.”

  “Yes, please. Making his death look natural is in everyone’s best interest.” Spyder’s voice was soft, warm, and matter of fact. We were plotting a man’s death, but it sounded like any other conversation we might have. As easy as, “will you be joining me for tea and meditation?”

  “Okay.” I began. “The infection had gotten into his bloodstream and made his blood pressure drop. He was delirious, and they put him on a ventilator right away, so he can’t talk and his hands should be tied down to keep him from yanking the tube from his thr
oat. That will make anything you do easier.”

  “Agreed, go on.”

  “All of his organs are shutting down. That means his kidneys are failing, too. I believe now is the time to act if you want to make sure he won’t survive this.”

  “A concern would be that anything I do needs to look natural and be quick acting. I’m sure that his machines will send an alarm to the nurses station, and I need to have exited the floor by the time that happens.”

  “Well, septic shock has an extremely high mortality rate so that’s on your side. The medical staff will assume that he might die. From what I can tell from this research site, the heart problems comes about because of something called ‘output failure’. The heart can’t keep up with the amount of blood that needs to be circulated to get enough oxygen and glucose into the system.”

  “So his systems is shutting down at a cellular level. Still, I need to make sure that the threat is terminated. Immediately.”

  “Okay. Um.” I flipped through the pages that Deep had provided me. “So I’m looking over Indigo’s bloodwork. It looks like you could do one of two things. He’s already hypoglycemic so you could shoot some insulin into his IV line. No, wait. Now that I hear myself say that aloud, I realize that’s a bad idea. When I’m admitted to the hospital, they’ve been pretty attentive to my glucose levels, and the nurses can counter excess insulin pretty quickly with dextrose. And with the sepsis, the nurses will be vigilant about those levels. Scratch that.

  “The other thing I thought of was potassium. When Mom was in hospice, and she was experiencing kidney failure, the doctors could tell by, among other things, the high potassium levels in her blood. So yeah, a gigantic bolus of potassium would do the trick. There’s not much anyone could do about it, and an external source of potassium would be pretty untraceable if he were autopsied. In other words, high levels of potassium would be expected and not suspect.”

  “The diverticulitis is why he was in gastric pain the night you went in to photograph the logs?” Spyder asked.