Maeve looked at the person she assumed was Colonel Hudson. “Colonel?”
“Maeve? Call me Evelyn. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Likewise. This is Archimedes Schmidt.”
The British colonel turned to Schmidt and said, “General. It’s also a pleasure to meet you. Let me introduce everyone. Lieutenant Laura Allen, Lieutenant Thomas Young, and Owen, Lewis and Carys—all friends of Mark Midway.”
The following five minutes were a mix of accents and introductions and welcomes.
“Did you have a good flight?” Maeve asked.
“Oh, yes,” Owen said. “We had a Cerberus company jet. It was marvelous.”
Evelyn Hunter agreed, “It was comfortable. I was fortunate; the captain on the flight over is instructor-rated and he let me add some hours on type, including two takeoffs and landings.” She explained when she saw Schmidt’s expression. “I’m a pilot. Bit of a varied career. I went to Sandhurst with a Masters in Aeronautical Engineering, and the Army lent me to the RAF for a while.”
“Evelyn’s a good pilot,” added Carys. “We didn’t feel any bumps when we landed.”
“I didn’t know UK had a corporate jet?” Schmidt was curious.
Colonel Hunter explained, “It was originally purchased for the late Chairman. No one else has used it. Lewis, Owen, and Carys created quite a fuss with Cerberus UK management. The Board was also concerned at the lack of communication from Mark. I think—to keep our three Welsh friends quiet—Cerberus UK offered to fly them to Germany where we are based. I’d previously agreed with Owen that something was wrong. They arrived in Stuttgart ready to travel and convinced me of the urgency. It’s an experience, dealing with these three.”
Owen looked as though he was about to object and sat back when Carys tugged his arm.
Maeve asked, “Let’s get down to the burning question—why are you here in the US?”
Colonel Hudson looked towards the three Welsh siblings. “Owen? Do you want to answer?”
“Yes, Colonel. Maeve, we’re here because of Mark. We know he’s in danger somewhere and no one has informed us—Cerberus UK or anyone—what’s going on. So, we want to know, we want to see Anna, and we want to ensure Mark is safe; rescue him if need be.”
Maeve wondered at the lack of communication. Schmidt had taken on the task of informing Cerberus UK, and she thought he had done that.
Schmidt said, “Well, you’re welcome to join in with us. Yes, you’re correct. He was kidnapped. Please accept my apologies for my communication failure. We’ve been totally focused on finding Mark. We believe we know where he is. We’re planning his rescue. There is some confusion; we seem to be making enemies as we go.”
“I knew it,” exclaimed Lewis. He turned to his two companions. “I said it was dangerous, that someone was out to capture or kill Mark.”
Evelyn Hunter said, “Enemies?”
“In addition to Mark’s kidnapper, we’ve traces of foreign terrorists showing an interest. Either Russians or Chechens,” Schmidt replied. “The kidnapper—at least we think it was the kidnapper—tried to blow up my apartment two days ago, with me in it.”
“We’re mounting an operation to rescue him. The terrorists are compounding our issues,” Maeve added. “We think two Chechens, refugees, were checking out Mark’s apartment a few days ago. We’ve additional security protecting Anna and the children.”
Evelyn nodded her head, “I understand.”
“What details do you have of Mark’s kidnapping?” the British colonel asked.
Everyone looked at Schmidt. He said, “We have videos. Too many videos. Maeve brought files and her computer. We’ll run them through for you. It will take up to an hour.”
Schmidt’s estimate was optimistic. The related discussions added another thirty minutes.
Schmidt concluded, “That’s why we believe he’s being held somewhere in Gitmo. I should be cleared tomorrow for active duty. The 145th is preparing to mount a rescue operation—I’ll lead it.” He looked around at the travel weary visitors. “We’ve probably done all we can, tonight. Tomorrow morning we’ll take you to meet with Anna and the children.”
“Yes, please,” agreed Colonel Hudson. “An early start?”
“We can leave at any time you wish,” Schmidt said.
“It’d be more efficient if we fly to Boston? Our plane’s available; we’ve a relief crew.”
Schmidt asked, “Do you have room for additional passengers?”
“We can manage three or four.”
“I’ll join you and bring two MPs. We may need extra security. Maeve, do you want to join us?”
“I’ll stay. Report in when you have news.”
Schmidt ended the meeting, aware the three Welsh teenagers—at least he thought they were teenagers—wanted to phone Anna and the children. He had not asked how these members of the small delegation had known of Mark’s kidnap and danger; that was a topic he intended to explore during the flight to Boston.
###
“There’s something wrong, here,” said Owen later, as they sat in his hotel room after a long phone discussion with Anna, Gabrielle, and Niland. The latter two had scarcely constrained their excitement on hearing from the visitors. Owen’s brother and sister waited for him to continue.
“Mark’s not in Guantánamo. He’s somewhere north of here, not south. We know—we—all of us—can sense him. Mark’s coded message was wrong. The kidnapper has tricked him somehow. Schmidt was meant to get a false message. He and his MPs are being set up—Gitmo is a trap.”
“When we get together with Niland and Gabrielle, we’ll be stronger,” said Carys. “We’ll know.”
“Yes. The five of us—with perhaps the addition of the Army types—Thomas and Laura’s talents are strong—we’ll soon confirm Mark’s location,” Lewis said.
“Don’t discount Evelyn. While she’s post-Cerberus, she has a lot of power, too.”
“Plus Anna. With all of us working together, we’ll find Mark,” concluded Owen.
Chapter 38
Mark was feeling stronger. His repeated intakes of food—far more than Emma had proposed—were providing fuel for the nanites working to repair his body. He had checked after his shower; he was still gaunt-looking, his eyes were not near as bloodshot, and he was in dire need of a shave. He was recovering.
Emma commented when he returned to her small office. “Your recovery rate is impressive.”
Mark shrugged. She had not permitted him to exit the CHU, and he persevered with the two rooms and this long hallway she now was using as an office. As a result, there was little he could do to increase his range of exercises. He was not yet ready to challenge and overcome the guards who she said were on duty outside the unit.
“There are always guards on duty; they’re stationed within ten or twenty yards. There are more further away. If they see you outside, they’ll sound an alarm and possibly shoot you.”
Realizing he wasn’t bulletproof, Mark didn’t push the issue. Emma brought him hot food as and when he required. There was no way she could make him return to the autopsy table; that would require weapons and muscle, lots of both. Or drugs. He was confident he could cope with the latter. His body was now aware and conditioned against the various chemicals that she had used in his torture. He was in waiting mode as the nanites rebuilt his body.
Another day would see him far more restless and willing to take risks. Surely, at night for example, there would be times when the guards would be less alert, their attention not as focused? Lack of a weapon was an issue, though. Emma no longer had her handgun, or so she said. He planned on searching the office in its entirety when she left for the evening, to discover what he could utilize for attack or defense. In the meantime he exercised; it was the only way he could think of to help the nanites with their repair tasks.
Emma left the small facility at five o’clock. She kept regular office hours and would be back precisely at nine in the morning. She had earlier returned wit
h three meals from what she called the mess facility, enough to last him until breakfast, which she would bring when she returned in the morning. He filled in an hour, watching the news channel on the small office television set with the volume low. If anyone outside heard the sound they should assume Emma had neglected to turn it off before departing for the day. The external telephone did not work—he had tested it a number of times while Emma was outside. His search had revealed nothing he could use as a serious weapon. Scissors, drugs, and needles were the most effective items on hand; however, it would be difficult to inject a guard with drugs. Eventually, he managed to sleep.
Mark suffered another day of boredom and eating. Emma visited only to deliver meals, with little discussion. She appeared fearful, as though she was worried about either releasing him or some requirement of O’Hare’s. She would not explain or clarify, no matter how much influence Mark brought to bear. She was surprisingly able to withstand his pressure. He wondered whether she was naturally immune or perhaps her training allowed her to devise defensive routines.
Emma returned late in the day, well after her normal time for closing down her office. She was pale and shaking. When she closed the heavy metal door, she checked that it was securely locked.
“There’s something happening,” she said in response to Mark’s question. “I—I don’t know what it is. There seems to be a pending threat of some kind.”
“You’re being vague,” Mark suspected some trap of O’Hare’s making. He suggested, “Probably your boss.”
“No, I haven’t heard from him for a couple of days, which is odd.”
“He might’ve found another girlfriend.”
“No—don’t try to agitate me. He has dozens of girlfriends; it’s how he operates.”
At least, thought Mark, she had no false illusions about her boss. “Tell me why you are afraid.”
“Afraid? No. Yes. I suppose.”
“Tell me.”
“I can’t put it into words.”
Their discussion was interrupted by a vigorous hammering on the steel door that provided entry into the modified CHU. Emma jumped. Mark was certain she had grown paler.
She said, “No one’s ever done that before.”
“Are you certain there’s no telephone facility here?”
“Yes. I don’t have my cell phone. The landline’s been disconnected for a few days. I don’t know why.”
The hammering resumed, louder, longer. Mark could hear voices. Neither he nor Emma spoke until after the hammering ceased.
Finally Mark said, “Do you have any idea why someone should be hammering on the door? Is O’Hare up to something?”
Emma shook her head. She was biting her bottom lip. Mark thought if she clenched her mouth any tighter, she’d start to bleed. He estimated five minutes had passed since the first hammering session. Emma began to say something, and Mark held up his hand, stopping her before the words formed. Another five minutes passed, straining his patience. Of course, this CHU didn’t have windows. It had heavy metal doors. Two of them. He was staring at one.
“Where’s the other door?” Mark spoke softly.
Emma pointed over his shoulder. Mark, as silently as he could, turned around. The corridor, narrow and long, stretched most of the length of the CHU; about forty feet, he estimated. He walked quietly to the far end. There was another door; it apparently provided egress from the housing unit. He checked the door. As far as he could determine, it was controlled by a single handle that was locked by two levered bars inserted into slots at floor and ceiling level. There was also a Yale-type lock. It would require a major effort to overcome the lock mechanism from the outside. He returned to where Emma was waiting. He checked that door. It too had a levered locking system, which was in the closed position. He looked at Emma and shrugged.
“Are there any windows? Other access?”
She shook her head. “No.”
Mark considered the situation. Emma did not know who was trying to attract their attention or gain entry to the CHU. He doubted it was O’Hare. He also doubted it was someone coming to his rescue. Conclusion: whoever, they implied danger. At least, for him. He had two doors. If there were only two people, one on each door, he could exit and overpower that person. Perhaps. If there were two people at the door when he exited, the overpowering result might be reversed. It was like playing chess blindfolded, without knowing the moves permitted by the pieces.
He drew Emma away from the door. “What made you afraid, earlier, when you came back here?”
She was still biting her lip. “I—I don’t know. I think—there were guards, but they weren’t the regular guards.”
Mark frowned. This was Gitmo, a military base. Guards were guards. Navy, Army, whatever. “How could the guards be different—they’re all military?”
She drew blood.
“I asked—how could the guards be different?”
“I—It was the way they looked at me.”
“How many were there? Hundreds? One? Two?”
“Here, at this CHU?”
“Yes.” He was starting to lose patience.
“Only two.”
“And in the rest of the NSA section of the facility?”
“Only two.”
Mark examined his torturer with intense curiosity. He held her hand, the one without the knotted handkerchief. “Where are we?”
He saw a mental image of a sign—it read Gitmo. “No, tell me where we are?”
‘He’ll kill me, he really will.”
Mark thought, that makes two of us with the same intent. He stared into Emma’s eyes as he fed a memory of the pain he had endured on the autopsy table. She screamed and her knees buckled. He held her up by the elbow.
“No, don’t. Don’t. I’m sorry. So sorry.” She wept, tears running unheeded down her face.
“Again, tell me where we are.”
“This unit is called Gitmo.”
“Where?” He grabbed her shoulders and shook her. “Where are we?”
“I can’t tell you.”
Mark shook her again. “Can’t or won’t?” He was not gentle.
“He’ll kill me.”
She collapsed to the floor, sobbing hysterically.
Outside, the hammering resumed.
Chapter 39
Schmidt, before he managed to get to bed, called Julian Kelly, the majority stockholder in RDEz. It did not take long for him to persuade Julian to purchase the empty apartment in the building where he and Mark had their apartments. There was an empty floor on the level below Mark and Anna.
“It’s a good investment,” Schmidt said. “I’ll be able to use it when I visit. For now, we’ve got six people arriving in the morning and they’ll want to be near Anna and the children. Tell your realtor friend we want it and hand him a bank draft for immediate possession. We can find someone to furnish it. We’ll add some temporary bunks and sleeping bags.Three of the visitors are British Army; they won’t mind roughing it. The teenagers should be able cope with temporary accommodation—they’re triplets—engaging, with hidden depths, I’d say. Yes, genetically modified, but not Cerberus. Same people who designed Mark and his sister, I suspect, or at least the same process. I’ll call you when we touch down—well before midday, I expect.”
That night he slept fitfully. His dreams were elusive and foreboding. He could not focus on the details and woke the next morning with a headache and an increasing awareness of danger that appeared to be threatening him and somehow it included Mark. He cursed. He was still unfit and, being realistic, knew it would be at least a week before he would be medically cleared for duty. He shook his head. He couldn’t send Bravo Company and Major Chouan off on what was effectively a major military raid without his presence. It was not that he lacked confidence in the major; rather, he needed to be the officer in charge. SECDEF would not agree to anything else.
Schmidt joined the visitors in the hotel lobby; two MPs had arrived earlier, and everyone was ready to travel
. Drivers and vehicles—three SUVs—were waiting and in less than five minutes the small convoy was on the way to Dulles International airport. It was 8:00 a.m. and the visitors, apparently suffering from jet lag, sat quietly. Schmidt was traveling with the three British officers while the three Welsh teenagers were in the second SUV. Their MP escorts were in the third vehicle. Fortunately, the road trip was uneventful.
He watched with humor as Owen and his younger siblings settled into the comfortably cushioned aircraft seats and fastened their seatbelts. They were obviously enjoying the luxury of flying in a private jet. They ordered coffee from the cabin attendant and after a minute or so, it seemed the caffeine worked; there was a buzz of conversation, although in soft tones. Schmidt was seated across the aisle and next to Colonel Hudson. The two lieutenants were seated in the block behind the teenagers.
“Swmpus,” said Lewis. “We need to do this more often.”
“You’ll need plenty of dosh,” chided Calrys.
“I can write some more apps,” volunteered Owen.
Schmidt turned his attention to Colonel Hudson. “I suspect they’ll provide a challenge as they get older.”
“It’s already happening. They have survived a difficult upbringing; I’m impressed with their abilities and behavior. They applied strong pressure on Cerberus management and on me. They weren’t accepting a refusal from anyone. It was like facing a battering ram. They were extremely concerned about Mark and were worried that no one knew anything. I wanted to contact Donnelly before we left; however, they were worried that the problem might have been at the Cerberus US level. They can be suspicious, at times. The welcome treatment when we arrived helped allay that concern.”
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