by Martha Carr
Father Donald turned into the parking lot of a strip mall that was fronted by a Chipotle and a For Eyes with a large multiplex movie theater in the back.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“Just another moment,” said the priest.
She thought of all the times she had taken Ned to the movies there or gone out on date night with Norman and been able to rest her head on his shoulder.
Grief suddenly hit her in the middle of her chest making it hard to catch her breath. Everything she held dear felt like it was in jeopardy and the pool of people willing to help her seemed pitifully small.
He took a right through the over-sized parking lot that was in the back and off to the side and turned down a small, narrow side street that was rarely ever used. The tall grass on either side of the cracked pavement looked like it was going to take over shortly and erase the road altogether.
They quickly came to the end of the street and abruptly turned, driving between large stone pillars onto a campus with manicured rolling lawns and clipped hedges. Wallis had never noticed there was anything back here in all of her years driving up and down West Broad Street or parking at the nearby theater. It was like a secret garden hidden in plain sight.
“What is this place?” she asked as they pulled up to a small beige rancher. Here and there along the curving road Wallis could see other identical houses tucked behind trees.
“In the old days we would have called this place a home for foundlings,” said Father Donald. “Now, they have the moniker of residential education facilities.”
“You mean orphanage?” said Wallis, drawing in her breath. “Wait a minute, I know this place. Norman has been sending them donations for years.”
“Yes, good cause, nice cover. Your husband is a great multi-tasker. He’s also their legal counsel.”
“Why are we here?”
“More will be revealed. Come on, we need to get inside. No one has ever bothered us here but there may be a little more effort put forth tonight.” He quickly got out of the car and came around to Wallis’ side.
“How is it I have never noticed something this big?” she said, as Father Donald held open the door.
“Yes, I hear that a lot. We don’t notice what we’re not interested in or don’t see as useful. Troubled or unwanted groups of older children are often overlooked. Some might see that as an insult but I have always seen it as a blessing.”
Father Donald knocked once before opening the front door of the closest cottage. Wallis entered the small foyer as several boys of varying heights popped up off of a couch and came to greet her.
“Hello, I’m Daniel. Nice to meet you. Can I take your coat?” a boy said standing up straight. He looked to be about thirteen, tall and lanky with a shock of blonde hair. Wallis started to peel off her coat as a smaller boy stepped forward to help. “Hello, I’m Arthur. Very nice to meet you. May I help?” He kept steady eye contact with her as he helped her get her arm out of the sleeve. Wallis glanced at Father Donald.
“Nice job, gentlemen. Points will be noted all around. Let her pass now,” he said. The boys stepped back as Daniel gestured with a sweep of his arm toward the main room. Wallis felt an ache inside and wanted to go find Ned.
She stepped into the main room and counted five more boys helping in the kitchen. A man was patiently showing them how to layer lasagna in a large baking dish.
“Stanley Woermer,” said Wallis, gasping. She was relieved to see him alive. Still it felt for a moment like the wind had been knocked out of her again. It was startling to see how the pieces broke apart and kept coming together behind the scenes.
“Yes, he’s going to be our guest for a while,” said a young woman. “Hi, I’m Lucy. This is my husband, Joe,” she said, gesturing toward the large man still sitting on the sofa playing a video game. “Joe’s just a giant kid, himself,” said Lucy smiling. “We’re the house parents for this home. I take it you already know Stanley? He’s been great. The boys just love him.”
Stanley turned and gave Wallis a small smile as he turned back to the task at hand. “You don’t want to put too much in any of the layers or it all starts to ooze together.”
Wallis went up behind him and squeezed Stanley’s arm to make sure it was really him. “Stanley Woermer, how did you get here?” she asked. “I thought you were, I mean, I was worried you were,” Wallis glanced at the boys who were waiting for her to finish her thought, “not doing well.”
Stanley glanced back at her but kept working with the boys.
“That would be my doing.” Helmut Khroll interrupted as he came in the back door, locking it behind him. “On both counts.”
“You,” said Wallis. “You helped Stanley?” Wallis willed herself to slow down and take note of her surroundings. Everything has a reason, a motivation behind it, she thought, including all of this. That was basic courtroom training. If I can hang onto that I can keep my bearings.
“Yes, I was driving by at an opportune moment. We never got the opportunity to exchange last names when we first met. My name is Helmut Khroll,” he said.
“We can do proper introductions in just a little bit,” said Father Donald.
Stanley placed a reassuring hand on the boy next to him. “Pete, pay attention,” said Stanley, gently. “This is one of my nana’s secrets to killer lasagna. You put a little extra fresh oregano just under the top layer of noodles. Then it’s a little harder to tell we were using sauce from a jar.”
“I have a few questions,” said Wallis. “I need to speak with Stanley.”
Stanley turned and looked at Wallis. “It’ll be okay,” he said, gently. “I had no idea, you have to believe me.” He was almost whispering, speaking to her as if his words could wound her. “I would have left you alone.”
“What is it you know?” asked Wallis.
“We should take that tour,” said Father Donald, interrupting. “Come on, we can come back in a little while for dinner.”
“I have to get home to Ned at some point and soon,” said Wallis. “It’s already getting late. I can’t stay for dinner.”
“Someone named Laurel is there with him,” said Helmut.
“How did you find Laurel?” asked Wallis.
“I didn’t, Norman asked her. It’s okay,” said Father Donald.
“Is Ned your son?” Arthur had sidled up next to her and was holding large sheets of paper at his side. He was about Ned’s size and coloring and almost tall enough to look Wallis directly in the eye.
“What?” Wallis looked at him. He seemed so earnest.
“Can we look at my room first? I can lead the way.”
“Arthur, that’s a great idea,” said Father Donald. “Why don’t you give a quick tour and we’ll pick up where you leave off.”
“Right this way,” said Arthur, giving a little bow. They went down a short hallway that reminded Wallis of the rancher from her childhood. There was a laundry room tucked into the wall, followed by two bedrooms on either side with nondescript framed pictures of different large animals that decorated the walls along the corridor.
“This is my room,” said Arthur. “I share it with Pete. Come on in,” he said. The walls nearest the door were covered with drawings of men in various stages of combat. “This is my side of the room. My dad was a Marine in Afghanistan but he died over there last year. These are some pictures I’m doing for my mom. She took it pretty hard,” he said as he held up the pictures so that Wallis could get a better look.
“These are very nice. You’re very good at perspective,” said Wallis, “That’s not easy.”
“Thanks,” said Arthur. “That side of the room is Pete’s. He’s kind of messy,” he said, sounding annoyed, as he picked up a tie from the floor and tossed it onto Pete’s bed. “Makes me mad because it’s a chore and he doesn’t do it. I can’t wait to leave here,” he said, looking around at his room. All of his words tumbled out of him as if he’d been saving them up for a while.
“It’s not so
different anywhere else, Arthur. My son, Ned would love to change things, too but he’s a kid. He has rules.”
“Really?” Arthur looked surprised. He looked like he was going to say something but thought better of it. “I have a stepdad but the cops took him away. He od’ed on heroin and some guys left him in a dumpster. I saw the EMT’s stab him in the heart with a needle. I don’t know where he is now. Hey, you know, I can tell you all the right doses for any pilz you can name. Try me,” he said, in his run-on style. All of the words were bunched up together.
“That’s amazing, Arthur. I’m not sure I could get past aspirin.”
“I know the right amount for bricks, chill pills, Christmas trees, Jif. Those two are the same. Blues, that’s one of my mom’s favorites along with vikes. Name one, go ahead, I can do it.”
“Tell me more about your dad,” said Wallis, changing the subject. She knew she was in tricky parenting territory.
Arthur hesitated and let out a deep sigh. “He died in combat. Some roadside bomb blew his Humvee apart. They said it was an IED. There was even footage, I saw it.”
“You saw it?” said Wallis, startled.
“Yeah, the Al-Qaeda filmed it and showed it on YouTube till they took it down.”
“Arthur, that was wrong,” said Wallis softly, lightly touching the boy’s shoulder. “You should never have seen that.”
Arthur shrugged. “It’s a war.”
“Wallis, you ready for the tour of the rest of the joint?” Father Donald stood just outside the doorway. “Thank you, Arthur. Are those new pictures? I’d love to see them sometime soon.”
“These are for my mom. She’s gonna’ be here this weekend. I’ll show you the next ones.” Wallis looked at him standing there alone in his room, still gently holding the present he had made for his mother as she left the room.
“How is it possible to leave someone so young behind and almost forgotten?” she asked. She had seen it hundreds of times a year as an attorney and come to accept that was the way some people were wired but it didn’t mean she ever understood their motivations.
“It’s not always a choice, Wallis,” said the Reverend. “Come on, there’s more to see and it’s growing late.”
Wallis and the Reverend passed back through the living room as all of the boys jumped to their feet again to shake her hand goodbye. She looked over their heads at Stanley who was still in the kitchen as he quickly turned and mouthed good luck.
Helmut was waiting outside smoking a cigarette.
“I’ve asked you more than once not to do that here,” said Father Donald.
Helmut dropped the cigarette and ground it out with his heel. “Sorry, long day. Calms my nerves.”
“That was interesting,” said Wallis. “Did you know that Arthur is a human PDR?”
“Yes, I believe we’ve all gotten the run down. Arthur, I’m afraid, sees it as a useful skill in order to keep loved ones alive and occasionally to shock other adults,” said Father Donald. “I picture him someday using it as a pickup line.”
“And it will still be a winner,” said Helmut, smiling.
“Who are you?” asked Wallis, as they started walking across the campus under a dark, overcast sky. No stars were visible and Wallis had to carefully watch her step.
“In the old days I would have been called a journalist but these days I keep getting mistaken for a blogger.” Father Donald shot him a look. “I’m sorry. I suppose right now jokes are not very funny,” said Helmut. “I’m an investigative journalist who doesn’t know when to just say no. I stumbled into this story a few years ago by accident and now it’s become an addiction.”
“Who do you write for, a German paper?”
“Good ear, but no, I’m on my own. I don’t know who’d be willing to take this story. Maybe it’s a book someday.”
In the past it had been necessary to have Management or Circle operatives inside major newspapers as editors or reporters to make sure that information could be slanted in a certain direction to get the public to easily play follow the leader. If they saw something printed in their newspaper they always took it as gospel and never asked questions. The hard part was always finding talented journalists willing to believe in a large power structure. It wasn’t normally in their DNA.
However, in the past ten years both sides had figured out that big money can make anyone rethink their position, even journalists, and they’d found ways to sanitize the payoffs so that busy investigators could still feel good about themselves as they looked for the proof to support the theory they’d been handed by their cell leader.
There were still people who were oblivious to the giant organizations surrounding everything else and did their best to do a good job but the operatives around them worked quietly to portray them as cynical or outliers, just in case they ever caught a glimpse.
These days it was even easier with all of the bloggers and online pundits who never bothered to check facts. All that was needed was a whiff of suspicion from a halfway decent source. They were openly courting corporate cash and didn’t even try to look objective or as if they’d ever originated a thought of their own. It was a golden era of information, particularly for Management.
That’s why Helmut Khroll was such a thorn in their side.
“Then why pursue it?” she asked.
“You know, that’s a good question but journalists have never been good at making sure they get paid when there’s a good story involved. Long story for another time.”
“Let’s take a short tour of the chapel,” said the Reverend, “and we can answer a few of your questions.” He held the door open to the small building near the center of the campus.
“That’s not the same as offering up information I might not think to ask about, is it?” asked Wallis.
“No, it isn’t,” said Father Donald, “but it’s going to have to do.”
Chapter Five
Robert sat in front of his laptop quickly scanning the ads on Craig’s List. He had made sure the computer’s MAC address was already spoofed and he added further layers to any search that was being conducted to rout him out by using a proxy system to hide that he was still in the area.
Computers were regularly pinged by their host providers whenever they were connected to the internet, sending back signals that tracked someone’s every move. If someone logged on at home, the host knew they were there and if they went over to Starbucks and logged back on, they could tell how long the user was sipping a latte and updating their Facebook status.
However, it was possible to spoof both an IP and a MAC address, which would still allow a third party to know someone was on the net, just not who was typing the keys. But if there was a long enough trail of an unidentified user it could pop up and alert anyone who was trying to ferret out a lost Circle member. However, doubling up with a proxy made it nearly impossible to know where the unidentified computer sat, masking that someone was actually trying to hide.
None of it though was going to stop the Management from scouring Richmond for what was left of Robert’s family. He knew an alert had been sent out and they would keep up the search.
He was squatting with his sons in a newly renovated apartment on Lady Street in the Randolph neighborhood just on the edge of Oregon Hill, which was an old blue collar neighborhood. Both areas were being absorbed by the nearby urban college.
Virginia Commonwealth University had been slowly taking over the area for years pushing out some of the black residents of Randolph and tearing down old boarded up houses for new places to put up the growing student population. Other developers had followed behind them and were back-filling with renovated houses and three flats on the side streets in an attempt to take part in the gentrification. No one would notice with any interest for at least the first few days a man coming and going out of an apartment building. They’d assume it was finally being rented out. Robert’s two boys would have to stay hidden till they were ready to move again.
They hadn’t said
much since the rush from the soccer field.
Robert pulled up the jobs wanted ads and looked for the internships under each category searching for the key phrases. He had to memorize hundreds of new short phrases each year that were taken from the Constitution. They came in the iPhone transmissions and were never to be written down or spoken out loud. Each phrase could be easily reworded to sound more natural and then placed in an ad to help a Circle operative come in from the cold. Somewhere in there would be the regular posting for the new safe house address in the Richmond area. The postings changed daily and the addresses were moved almost as frequently.
He would have to hope that the address wasn’t too far across town. He had left his car in the soccer complex’s parking lot and the Richmond area wasn’t built for walkers. The city and its’ suburbs lacked any real public transportation, long stretches of sidewalks or even many taxis. A man with two kids on a bus would be easy to spot.
There, under Human Resources he saw a senior internship stating that there was no pay but ‘all receipts from purchases made at appointments would be reimbursed.’ The beginning words of Article VI. Robert felt himself relax just a little. It was still possible salvation from this murderous hell was near at hand.
He took down the number and carefully shut down the computer making sure that all the software masking his time online was the last thing to switch off.
His two boys were asleep on the floor curled up in the sleeping bags they had hastily grabbed that afternoon.
He had seen the man slowly fall on the sidelines at the soccer field and the crowd start to gather with everyone’s attention turned toward him. Robert knew to immediately look for the telltale signs that it was all a diversion.
