by Erik Carter
When there was a good distance between them, he turned and sprinted back to the car, still clutching the child under his arm. The news station was nearby. But he had to hurry.
Because he didn’t have much time.
Chapter 47
Arancia came to a sudden stop in the parking lot of the Channel 16 news station. It was a big lot, blacktop, and the only available spaces were in the back, so Dale had parked her along the side, half blocking one of the driving lanes.
He and Spiro jumped out and ran toward the front entrance of the building, which was squarish, brick, and had a large fountain in the front. There were several news vans parked near the entrance, and people were making their way into the building as the broadcast drew near. As Dale sprinted forward, one of the people going toward the entrance turned and faced him. A man in a suit.
Lewis Copeland.
Dale and Spiro ran up to him and stopped.
“Funny finding you here,” Dale said. “So you knew all along that Adam Steele was one of the Five Wisemen.”
Dale glanced to the side. SAC Taft and Norman Tinner stood farther away, closer to the building. Dale and Taft made eye contact.
Taft. Dale knew he shouldn’t have trusted him last night at Andrew Riley’s house. He had told Dale that all he knew was that the CIA was watching them. Now here he was, again, with the CIA men. On the front line. Dale hadn’t been privy the fact that Adam Steele was Tyko Hautala. So Copeland wasn’t going to include him in this trip to the TV station. Yet there was Taft. Standing with Tinner. Looking back at Dale. All this time, Taft had known more than he’d let on.
Dale shot Taft a look of sheer contempt.
“I told you there were things that you didn’t need to know about this case, Agent Conley,” Copeland said.
Dale slowly turned his attention from Taft to Copeland.
Copeland took off his sunglasses. His parted hair was perfectly coiffed, not a strand out of place. Skin shaved smooth, clean. Eyes cold and precise. “But you found out on your own,” he said. “You’re good. I’ll give you that.”
“I never quit,” Dale growled.
Copeland looked at the building then to Taft and Tinner before looking back to Dale and Spiro. He spoke quickly. “We don’t have much time. Here’s the truth. The MKUltra experiment wasn’t just a replication of the Stanford experiment. The CIA was also trying to see how far we could control belief systems. The theory wasn’t created by the Five Wisemen. The two atheists—Owen Kelso and Gary Holzer—came up with it. At the same time, five Chinookan University students became violent, radical and were making plans to become modern Christian soldiers, plans to bomb places, attack people. All seven men were taken. Through mind control methods—mostly drug-induced—each group was completely reprogrammed.”
“Reprogrammed how?” Dale said.
“We were studying belief. Could we take five devout Christians and make them atheists and two devout atheists and make them religious? What would happen if we put them together? The Five Wisemen were convinced that they were atheists who had created Kelso and Holzer’s Jesus theory. And those two men were convinced that they were modern Christian soldiers who had to stop the Five Wisemen from getting their theory out. At all costs. When the experiment was ended, they were left with their new beliefs intact but without their respective missions. Unless they were to hear the trigger words we implanted. Now that they’ve been accidentally triggered, Tyko Hautala is the last remaining Wiseman. As I’m sure you’ve concluded, he’ll undoubtedly be trying to get his message out tonight, and Owen Kelso will be trying to stop him.” Copeland gestured toward the news station. “So my question for you, Agent Conley, is will you trust me now? You have about ten seconds to decide.”
Chapter 48
Adam sat at the news desk. Tissue paper was wrapped around his collar, and the makeup artist was working her magic on him. In front of him were his notes for the night’s broadcast. He flipped the pages back. Beneath the papers was his stack of note cards. He’d transferred the speech he’d written to the cards last night, practiced it, memorized it.
He thought about the finality of it all. Once he was done with this speech, his primary part in the mission was over. Of course, there would be fallout. He would be questioned by authorities. He’d lose his job, no doubt. But no matter what, when the speech was done, the theory would be out into the world.
In his mind, he ran through the complications that might arise. He had gotten Carl Bradford out of the way, but a religious member of the crew might try to stop him. He might stumble through his lines, damaging his credibility. Or someone might cut him off mid-speech, go to commercial, assuming he was having another strange incident like last week.
But the biggest threat was that Owen Kelso had figured out who he was. If that had happened, then there was a good chance that Kelso had waited through the weekend for the Monday broadcast. Hell, he could be in the studio at that very moment. Adam looked over the people in the darkened studio beyond, trying to find those icy blue eyes he remembered. But he couldn’t worry himself needlessly. He had no way of knowing for certain that Kelso had uncovered his true identity.
He thought about it now—the name change. Tyko Hautala. It was Finnish. When his parents immigrated to the United States, he was a toddler. The U.S. was all he had ever known. While he was proud of his roots and proud of being a first-generation immigrant, he knew there were certain realities at play in the media business. He picked a new name—Adam Steele. He decided that if he was going to change his name, he was going to have a little fun with it. Steele. Like steel. Something strong and bold. He had started dating Alicia when he transferred to Washington State after his stint at Chinookan and his religious change of heart. Though he and Alicia were still young at the time, they had already discussed marriage, and when he brought up the possibility of changing his name—presenting her with a different potential last name were she to marry him—she was fully on board with it. She had always been that type of partner. She was always on board.
He thought about her now. It pained him to realize that he had hardly thought about her since he left—or, for that matter, over the entire last few days. But now he was remembering those last moments. Smacking her hand off of his arm. The look of betrayal on her face. He felt a pang of guilt.
But then he thought about the mission.
He couldn’t entirely understand it, but he knew it had something to do with his time at the facility. As soon as he had heard the words that sounded so much like actiones secundum fidei, memories of the place came flooding back to him. He didn’t know how he had forgotten it. How he could have forgotten it. It was a dark, awful place, and he remembered how he and his four friends, the Five Wisemen, were subjected to relentless abuse by the other two. It was some sort of experiment, and he knew that he was going to have to look into it after all this was done. His journalism training was already leading him down paths of discovery. But first he had to get this theory out. Whatever happened after, whatever he needed to do to figure out his past, was inconsequential compared to the power of the theory. The world needed to know.
The makeup artist took the tissue paper out of his collar and left.
He took the note cards out from beneath his news script. He began to practice under his breath.
Chapter 49
Dale tried to assess Lewis Copeland’s blank face. The agent looked back at him, impassive.
Dale’s gut was telling him something new. Since Copeland had inserted himself into the case and taken over, nothing had seemed right. Everything felt off. But after the explanation that Copeland had given, Dale felt differently. Having done this BEI gig for a couple years, Dale had a good handle on when someone was telling the truth and when someone wasn’t. Despite the fact that this case was beginning to make him feel like he had lost that touch, he could see that Copeland had been honest with him. There was something close to relief in the man’s visage. Lewis Copeland was the picture of poise and polish, sp
it-shined to a glossy veneer, but Dale perceived the weight of deception had been lifted off his shoulders.
Dale glanced over at Taft again. And he felt another surge of resentment. But Copeland was right. He only had seconds. One way or another, he had to get into that news station. Immediately. And it looked like Copeland, Tinner, and Taft were also going, whether he liked it or not.
So he might as well trust them.
He turned to Spiro. She didn’t say anything, but from her look, he could tell she was thinking the same thing.
“Alright,” Dale said to Copeland. “Let’s do this.”
Copeland nodded, a minuscule smile formed on his lips.
Then there was a gunshot.
A loud crack from the TV studio followed by screams. Dale and Copeland exchanged a glance, then the two of them and Spiro ran into the building.
Chapter 50
Owen stormed down the hall. His ears were ringing—the shot had been only a few feet from his face —but he could still hear the wailing of the child as he tugged her along by her arm. She stumbled, struggling to keep up with him. He was practically dragging her. She was slowing him down, but he needed her. She was a vital component.
The security guard had been older, maybe in his fifties, but he was strong as a bear. He reminded Owen of the old man who had attacked him after he plowed into Nathan Cook’s car. When Owen had approached the metal detector, he immediately took out his knife. He thought the attack on the security guard would be as simple as the others. But the guard had managed to get his hand around Owen’s arm and twisted the knife from his grasp. Then he unholstered his revolver. There was a struggle for the gun, and Owen fought to pry it from the man’s grasp while still holding onto the girl. But his mission prevailed. And Owen shot the man in the chest.
Owen had been using knives for the duration of the mission, but at this most crucial juncture, he needed a gun. He wasn’t going to be able to accomplish what he needed to do with a blade. And now he held a gun in his hand. Divine intervention at work once more.
“Get out of my way!” he screamed at the people in the hallway as he moved briskly away from the security checkpoint.
He couldn’t tell for sure where the actual studio was within the building, and the uncertainty both frustrated and frightened him. He didn’t know if there were any other security guards in the building, and he didn’t know how much time he had left.
He waved the gun in the air, and the people in the hallway screamed and ran. When he had first walked in, there was a group of people at the end of the hall near a set of thick, metal doors. Now, as a couple of them fled through those doors, he saw darkness in the space beyond, accented by bright lights that illuminated the news desk. It was like peeking into a play that was in session.
The news studio.
He started running toward it. The child screamed.
“Shut up and hurry!” he said and yanked her arm harder.
Chapter 51
Dale ran into the building with Spiro and Copeland. In front of them, a group of people stood around a metal detector, all looking down to the floor, some of them kneeling over. The agents ran over to the group.
“Police!” Dale shouted, and the crowd parted for them. On the floor was a security guard wearing a gray, military-style shirt and black pants. Fifties. He had a gunshot wound to the chest. There was a large pool of blood on the polished floor. He was very much dead.
Dale bent over, craned his neck, and looked at the man’s belt. His holster was empty.
Footsteps behind them. Dale turned. It was Taft and Tinner. Dale made eye contact with Taft. Only for a second. Copeland and Dale drew their guns. Dale looked over at Spiro, gave her a nod. She drew her gun too.
“Where’s the studio?” Dale said to the crowd.
A woman answered and pointed. “Down the hall.”
The agents ran in the direction she had pointed.
Chapter 52
Adam always liked this moment. The moment right before a telecast began. The floor director counting down. The teleprompters loaded and ready to go. The lights, bright and hot. Sitting with poise. Watching Brittany settle into her position, getting ready. The anticipation. It was a giddy moment. Childlike in some ways. Like the night before Christmas. He was going to miss it. Because this was likely going to be his last broadcast.
Adam glanced over at Brittany and smiled. She returned the gesture. She’d always been good to him, and they’d always gotten along. The only tension Brittany had brought Adam was a brief period when he first started the job when Alicia became incredibly jealous of her. But it was unfounded and certainly not Brittany’s fault.
Brittany would always be a big part of his life no matter how this all turned out. Not just because of their friendship and camaraderie these last ten years, but now, more significantly, due to the fact that it was the words she had read from the teleprompter that had brought the mission back to Adam.
And brought out the person who was hunting him.
He had watched the footage several times, had seen exactly how it played out.
“And it was not until later,” Brittany had said, “that Barrington claimed the actions seconded Fidelity International’s earlier stance on customer relations.”
Actions seconded Fidelity.
Actiones secundum fidei.
It was strange how the smallest things could have the biggest impact on one’s life. Adam felt a strange sort of peace.
The floor director started his countdown cue. “In ten, nine …”
There was a bang from outside the studio, muted by the soundproofing in the walls, but still loud. Even muffled, it sounded to Adam like a gunshot. It had to be a gunshot.
Owen Kelso. He’d found him.
“… six … five …”
The doors in the rear of the studio flew open, and several people ran in. Panicked.
Brittany looked at him.
The floor director’s countdown concluded. “… three … two …” He mouthed one.
The red light on the camera lit up.
Adam took a breath, composed himself. “Good evening, Portland. I’m Adam Steele.”
“And I’m Brittany Smalls.”
“Another cool and drizzly day outside,” Adam said. “Several big stories tonight, but first I would like to share with you something very important. The most important thing you’ll hear on the news in your lifetime.” Adam paused, looked at the doors in the back, then to his notes. He felt Brittany staring at him. “Actiones secundum fidei. There are times when—”
The newsroom erupted in noise. A roar. Both Adam and Brittany jumped. It was another gunshot. The crew ducked, scattered. A man stormed into the room, waving a gun in the air. He was pulling a child along with him. Screams. A table fell over. The doors in the back slammed open as people rushed out.
Brittany grabbed Adam’s arm. “Come on!”
She ran off. Adam stood up, staring. The figure with the gun and the child approached in the darkness beyond the stage. But Adam knew who it was without seeing him. The man stepped into the light. And Adam saw the child he had with him.
It was Rachel.
She was crying. The man’s left hand dug into her arm, and he pulled her along violently. Adam fell forward, catching himself with both hands on the desk. A wave of nausea fell over him.
His little girl.
“I can’t let you finish that speech, Vespasian,” the man said. The intense blue eyes. It was Owen Kelso. He looked horrendous, like he’d spent a month under a bridge. And he looked demented. Adam hadn’t seen him in ten years, but even in his current state, he recognized him. Those frightening eyes.
“Daddy!” Rachel said.
“Oh my god, Rachel!”
Kelso put his gun against Rachel’s head. She cried harder, her face wrenched up tight, wet eyes squeezed shut. Adam felt the room close in.
“Leave my daughter alone. Your business is with me.”
Adam knew that Kelso was going
to kill him. He also knew that if he were to blurt out what he could of the theory for the cameras—which were still rolling—Kelso would harm his daughter. If there was one thing in the world that could stop him from completing the mission, it was something terrible happening to Alicia or the kids. Kelso had been smart. He’d got him where it hurt.
“You can have me,” Adam said. “Just don’t do this in front of my little girl.”
“I agree. If you cooperate, I’ll let your daughter go,” Owen said. “I don’t want to do this here anyway. Not on camera. You’re not going to be a martyr.”
Chapter 53
Dale threw open the heavy metal doors and ran into the main studio, Spiro and the others close on his heels. It was dark in the front, and the bright studio lights lit up the news desk in the back, a long stretch of desk with a blue and gray wall behind, sitting on an orange-carpeted dais. Two men stood behind the desk. Dale recognized the man wearing the suit as Adam Steele. Owen Kelso, draped in a ratty trench coat and looking even more disheveled than the last time Dale had seen him, had his arm behind Steele, his hand wrapped around the back of his neck, pulling him over and pointing a gun at his head. As Dale and the others entered, a screaming child—a small girl of about three—came running at them, wailing. As she streaked toward them, Dale recognized her as one of Adam and Alicia Steele’s children.
Dale realized what had gone on here. Owen had used the child as a hostage. A shiver of disgust rushed over him, and as the girl drew closer, he yelled out to her.
“Go out the doors, sweetheart!” Dale said. “Find an adult. Keep going! Go.”
