by Erik Carter
The girl ran past Dale. He heard the door open and close behind him. He didn’t turn to look. He kept his gun aimed toward Kelso.
“Put those guns down, or I blow this heathen’s head off,” Kelso said.
That made Dale think. Why hadn’t Kelso already killed Adam Steele? Something else was going on here. And Dale presumed that it had something to do with the MKUltra experiment.
Copeland positioned himself to Dale’s left, and Spiro stepped up to his right. Farther down from her, Taft and Tinner took positions. Everyone had their guns drawn.
Dale glanced at Spiro. She had good form. Her left hand was under the butt of her Colt, and she had her feet staggered and set. She had taken to this naturally. Or she’d watched a lot of movies.
Kelso pushed his gun into the side of Adam Steele’s head. Steele grimaced. “I said put the guns down!” Kelso’s voice cracked, and Dale could sense the insanity in it that matched his haggard appearance. His viciously blue eyes looked out at the agents, scanning from left to right. When they landed on Copeland, he turned his head to the side, looking confounded. Slowly a smile formed on his face. Still looking directly at Copeland he shouted out, “Actiones secundum fidei.”
In his peripheral, Dale saw movement to his left. He turned. Copeland’s gun dipped in his hand. Then completely lowered. The agent bent over, put his right hand with the gun on his knee and his other hand to his head, squinted his eyes.
Dale and Spiro looked at each other.
“Copeland, what the hell’s going on?” Spiro said.
But Dale already knew what was going on. The trigger words. Copeland’s reaction. The one missing person—one of the two atheists from the MKUltra experiment. Gary Holzer. Copeland was Holzer. Dale couldn’t fathom why, but the CIA agent in charge of the investigation was one of the original participants in the experiment.
Copeland looked at Spiro, bewildered. His eyes turned to Dale. He raised his gun again, pointing it at Kelso …
But then he swung the gun around to Dale.
“Everyone, put your guns down,” Copeland said.
“Copeland, what is this?” Dale said.
“I said put them down! And get your hands in the air.”
Dale, Spiro, Tinner, and Taft all put their guns on the ground then put their hands up. Copeland approached Dale, keeping his gun pointed at him. The two of them locked eyes.
Owen called out to Copeland. “Vespasian said there are files in storage at the facility. He may be bluffing, bargaining for his life or his daughter’s.”
Copeland kept his eyes on Dale then looked over at Owen before flicking his eyes back to Dale again. “No, I … I think he’s right.” Copeland stopped, clearly processing hundreds of old memories. “I think there are files there. We need him to find them for us so we can destroy them before we eliminate him.”
“But there’ll be thousands of documents there. Old history documents.” Owen said. “We won’t have time to destroy them all. How will we figure out what we need to get rid of?”
Copeland thought for a moment without taking his eyes off Dale. He smiled. A sinister smile. Then he walked up to Dale and put his gun against Dale’s chest. The hard metal pressed into Dale’s flesh.
“We’ll take Mr. History with us,” Copeland said.
Chapter 54
Dale looked out the rear window of Copeland’s car. Right behind them was another car. Dale could see Taft behind the wheel; Spiro and Tinner were riding with him. Behind that car were a half-dozen state troopers, lights on, sirens blaring.
Dale turned back around. He was in the backseat with Adam Steele. Copeland was driving, and Kelso was in the passenger seat, turned around with a gun pointed at Dale and Steele, the blue eyes locked in on them.
Outside, thick pine forest flew by on either side. Gray skies. Misty with drizzling rain. They’d been driving for almost forty-five minutes. They were in the fast lane, and cars were clearing out for them, responding to the lights and sirens of the cruisers. Copeland wasn’t speeding, wasn’t trying to lose the cops. He knew just where he was taking them, and he was driving with a detached certainty. He was zoned out. Like a harried father on the last leg of a long family road trip.
“And where exactly are we going?” Dale said.
Copeland, Kelso, and Steele all answered at the same time. “491 Stamford Road.”
They responded in unison, Steele joining in with the other two a beat or two after they started, a tone of reluctance in his voice. Copeland and Kelso looked at each other. It was as though they were surprised that they’d all known the exact address. And yet somehow not surprised at all.
Steele turned to Dale. “It’s in Mt. Hood National Forest. An old government medical facility.”
Copeland and Kelso shared a look again. “It’s not a medical facility, and you know it, Vespasian,” Owen said. “It’s a center for religious studies.”
“Operated by the CIA,” Copeland said.
Owen nodded in agreement.
The drive never ended.
Pine trees, endless trees. The elevation increased as they drew nearer to Mt. Hood. The drizzle picked up a little, and Copeland turned on the windshield wipers.
Dale looked out into the trees as they zipped by. Behind them, the sirens continue to wail, but they had been blasting for so long that Dale had grown used to the sound. Instead, he imagined the silence out in the trees. How wet and soft the needles would feel under your boots if you were out there hiking. It was these moments of calm that he cherished in the frantic crisis of a case. Like enjoying five seconds of intoxicating beach air at Seaside, moments after seeing a corpse with its throat slashed. People always commended him on his ability to stay detached. One way he did it was by savoring these small moments. Another way was through his joking, his irreverent attitude. The latter often got him into trouble until people realized this was how he coped. Dale knew he had a special brain, so he also knew that he wasn’t going to be able to handle his job in the same way that other people would. He had to adapt.
So things like this helped. Trees. Beaches.
He glanced at Adam beside him. Then he looked at Kelso, still turned around with a gun trained on him, still boring those crazy blue eyes of his down upon Dale and Steele. Like the sirens behind, Dale had grown accustomed to the loaded gun that was pointed at him.
Adam Steele’s erratic behavior now made sense to Dale. And so too, sadly enough, did the horrors that Owen Kelso had brought forth. Both men had been betrayed by their own government. But what didn’t make sense to Dale was Copeland—or Gary Holzer, rather. How had he been deceived? He had told Dale he’d only been with the CIA for a few years, so he would have joined long after the time of the experiment. It would be a bizarre coincidence that one of the former members of the experiment would stumble into a career at the CIA, so it stood to reason that Holzer was programmed in some way similar to that in which the Five Wisemen were programmed to obtain media jobs. But if Kelso and Holzer had been programmed to destroy the Five Wisemen, why would Holzer join the CIA? Wouldn’t it have made better sense for Holzer to gravitate toward local law enforcement? Or the FBI?
Dale was behind the driver seat, and he watched the back of Copeland’s head as they continued to drive on. He sat perfectly straight, his head barely moving with the motion of the car.
The car slowed down. Copeland turned to the left. They crossed the other lane and drove onto a gravel road. After it curved to the right, Dale could see the road snake its way up into the trees before the wet gravel was consumed by sweeping pine branches and cold, misty air.
Chapter 55
The car took a final bend, and the facility appeared before them. It was massive, two stories in height, and composed of crumbling concrete. There was no glass in the place, nor any doors, just open windows and open doorways. Piles of broken concrete and bricks. There was a short tower on the far side, and facing the front was a landing area with broken steps, a platform, and an awning that looked like i
t was about to collapse, all of which led to a large, open, entranceway. There were plants growing in the cracks. Puddles everywhere. Gravel. The trees surrounding the building closed in on it, their piney tentacles draped on the walls, ready to reclaim it into the forest.
Right before Copeland slammed on the brakes, Dale could sense the reaction of the other three men in the car. Earlier it was evident that the three of them had different impressions of what the place had been. Kelso and Copeland had thought it was some sort of religious facility whereas Steele had thought it was a scientific operation. But as the building drew nearer, a sort of silent reverence filled the car. All three of them stared forward at the structure, each processing their own reactions. One of them gasped.
The car came to a quick stop, the wet gravel sloshing beneath the tires. Copeland yelled. “Out! Fast!”
All four of them got out of the car, Kelso keeping his gun leveled at Dale and Steele. The sirens of the cop cars were right behind them, bouncing off the trees. Copeland drew his gun too and grabbed Dale. Kelso grabbed Steele. The other cars pulled up.
“Hurry!” Copeland said
Copeland and Kelso rushed their hostages toward the facility. As Copeland pushed him forward, Dale looked behind him.
Taft, Spiro, and Tinner jumped out of their car and rushed after them, guns drawn. Behind them, the cop cars stacked up, and the troopers got out, took out their guns.
Kelso wrapped his arm around Steele’s neck, whipped around, and fired off three shots into the crowd behind them. One cop went down with a grunt, hit in the shoulder. The others all jumped behind vehicles for cover.
Dale stumbled up the steps to the landing as Copeland pushed him again from behind. They crossed the patch of concrete and went through the entranceway and into the building.
It looked even worse on the inside than it had on the outside. Everything was crumbling, falling apart. Piles of debris everywhere. Pine trees were visible at every turn through the open doorways and windows. Puddles and plants. The sound of dripping water. It smelled musty. There was the lingering scent of an animal carcass coming from somewhere in the building, the sweet and disgusting smell of death.
“Come on,” Copeland said to Kelso as he led them quickly down a hallway. A few feet later he took another turn and held up his hand. The group stopped. Copeland listened intently. In the distance, there was the sound of the other cops entering the building, boots shuffling in crumbling concrete.
Copeland waved Kelso to the front. Kelso drug Steele with him, and the group moved again.
“You’d better hope we find this, Vespasian,” Kelso hissed under his breath.
“I know it’s here somewhere,” Steele said. “But everything looks so … different.”
“Keep your voice down,” Copeland said.
Dale could sense their desperation. The four of them were making so much noise, their feet scratching on the wet, broken surface of the floors. Their sounds echoed down the empty hallway. The other cops would be on them in no time. Copeland kept checking behind them.
“What’s the plan, Copeland?” Dale said. “Adam Steele finds the documents for you, and you destroy them. Then what?” Dale motioned toward the sound of the footsteps behind them, which were getting closer. “They’re closing in on us.”
Copeland ignored him. “Vespasian, dammit! Where is it?”
“I know it was right around— There! There it is!”
They took a turn through a doorway into a large room, about fifty feet across. Two-foot-wide rusted steel support beams crossed the ceiling. Bricks and chunks of concrete were strewn everywhere. It was a vast space but completely empty.
Except for a vault in the back.
The vault was covered in green paint that was flaking off and bubbled out with large patches of red rust. There was a large circular locking mechanism on the front.
And the door was slightly open.
“Hurry!” Copeland said and pushed Dale forward. The four men ran to the vault.
Steele grabbed the door, grunted as he put his weight into it and tried to pull. It started to move. Copeland and Kelso grabbed the door too, and the three of them powered it open. The door moved slowly, with force and weight.
Inside the shelves were empty. Nothing but rust and dirt.
Steele scrambled forward and reached into the vault.
“No!” he said. “No, I know they’re here. They have to be.”
“There’s nothing here!” Kelso screamed at Copeland. “He lied to us. We do this. Now.”
Noise behind them. They all turned to look. Spiro, Taft, Tinner, and the troopers burst in and took positions, guns aimed.
“Drop your weapons!” Spiro said.
Kelso’s gaze fell on Dale, his blue eyes searing into him for half a moment. Then he pointed his gun at Adam Steele.
Chapter 56
Dale watched Kelso’s gun swing toward Steele, his finger already tensed around the trigger. The blue eyes were zeroed in on his target, and there was a look of certainty and grim determination on his face.
Dale was a few feet behind the other men, who were circled around the open vault. He lunged toward Kelso, one of his boots slipping in loose concrete. Kelso’s body came toward him as he soared across the few feet separating them. The corner of Kelso’s mouth curled up. He squeezed the trigger. Dale’s shoulder collided with his ribs. Kelso buckled in the middle. Momentum carried both of them forward, and Kelso’s arms flailed into the air.
The gun fired. A deafening bang. The bullet struck the ceiling. Debris rained down, pelted Dale on the head and shoulders.
They hit the floor. Dale landed on Kelso and grabbed at his neck. Kelso swiped Dale’s arm, pulled at his hair. Searing pain from Dale’s scalp. His neck snapped back. A fist connected with Dale’s side. Dale threw his own punch across Kelso’s jaw, smashing the man’s head to the side. The grip on Dale’s hair released, but Kelso’s face snapped right back around to Dale, the cold eyes zoning in on him.
The man was like a robot.
Dale spotted a brick. A few feet from them. He reached for it. Touched it. It moved. He threw a punch into Kelso’s shoulder and shuffled their combined weight toward the brick. Reached again. Grabbed it.
And smashed it across Kelso’s face.
There was a sickening, wet thwack. Kelso’s jaw had broken. He fell over. He moaned and his body twisted. Dale was stunned that Kelso hadn’t been knocked unconscious. He really was a robot. Or a zombie.
Something grabbed Dale, yanked him up onto his feet, wrapped around his neck, squeezed into his esophagus. Dale coughed. It was Copeland. Copeland kicked Kelso’s gun away, which had come loose in the scuffle. Dale felt something cold and metallic press into the side of his head. The barrel of Copeland’s gun.
Copeland whipped them around to face the cops. He kept his forearm against Dale’s throat and his gun to his head. The cops all had their guns pointed at Copeland. They were knelt down. Some of them had positioned themselves behind what little cover was available—a few support columns.
Copeland took his gun off Dale and pointed it at Steele. Then back to Dale. Then to Steele again. He kept swinging the gun between the two of them. Steele put his hands in the air.
Dale looked across the room at Spiro. There was a determined look on her face. She briefly met his eyes. Then she did something extraordinary.
Spiro leaned down and put her gun on the ground. She stood back up, her hands in the air, and started to slowly walk toward Copeland.
“Spiro!” Taft said. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“Copeland,” she said. “Copeland, listen to me. Let’s talk through this. I can help you. I’m a psychologist. Put the gun down. Please.”
“She’s right, Copeland,” Dale said. “Listen to her. She can help.”
Copeland swung the gun on Spiro. “Stand back, Spiro!”
Spiro stopped for a moment. Then slowly started moving again. “You don’t want to shoot either of these m
en. You know that. That’s not you.”
“Every bit of me is telling me to shoot Vespasian,” Copeland said, looking desperately at Spiro, pleading. “But I know it’s not right. I know there’s something wrong here. I don’t … I want some damn answers!”
Tinner stepped forward. He holstered his gun. “Listen. Please. Here are your answers. You and that man on the ground,” he said and motioned toward Owen Kelso, “were college roommates. Outspoken atheists. You developed the theory about Jesus’ existence. The CIA took the two of you for Project MKUltra mind control experiments.”
Copeland shook his head. “That’s not true. I’ve been studying this case for years, since I became an agent. And I’ve always been a Christian.”
“Where were you baptized, Mr. Holzer?” Tinner said.
“That’s not my name. I’m Lewis Copeland.”
“If you’re Lewis Copeland, then tell me why you brought us all here. And why do you want to stop the Five Wisemen? Why are you pointing your gun at Tyko Hautala? Now, answer me. Where were you baptized?”
“At a small river in —”
“At a small river in Snohomish County, not far from Seattle. Baptized by your uncle on a sunny day beneath a big oak tree. The story that we fed you. Have many fond memories of this particular uncle, do you?”
Dale peered to the side to get a glimpse of Copeland. He looked confused.
“That’s not true,” Copeland said. “My faith is the reason I’ve done everything. Why I became an agent.”
“And how long ago did you become an agent?” Tinner said. His tone was even and calm, but Dale could sense Copeland’s frustration. Tinner was badgering him.
“Not long,” Copeland said. “But it’s something I’ve been working toward my entire adult life. I’ve been an agent for three years.”
“Try a few days,” Tinner said.
Copeland shook his head. His mouth was open. He breathed hard.
