by Erik Carter
He scrambled to the top of a tall rock to his right and looked back to where he had seen him. The Man in Black was gone. Dale cursed but knew that if the pattern remained from the other incidents, the Man in Black would have left him another clue on a stone. From his perch high atop the rock, Dale scanned the area around him.
He was completely surrounded by stones. Stones of all shapes. Big stones, small stones. Thousands of stones. It would take days—hell, a lifetime—to go through all of them. It seemed like the Man in Black’s main goal was to run Dale ragged, humiliating him all the while. And he was doing a damn good job of it so far.
Dale put his hands behind his head.
Then something occurred to him. The Man in Black wouldn’t want him to fail at this. Going through all of these rocks, while humiliating, would be impossible. No, the Man in Black would have left the next clue somewhere more obvious. But aside from the rock outcrop, there was just the forest and a trail. So the only logical place …
Was exactly where the Man in Black had been standing.
Dale climbed down and jogged over to where the Man in Black had been standing at the edge of the woods. There were no stones. He pushed the grass aside with his foot, looking left and right.
Nothing.
He kicked the grass out of frustration. The last two stones had a time limit. Odds were this stone would have one too. He didn’t want to piss his time away looking for the damn stone itself. And he couldn’t be certain that the stone wasn’t out there with the thousands of rocks behind him.
He kicked at the grass harder now, and his boot connected with something hard, stubbing the big toe on his right foot and causing him to curse.
It was a stone, about a foot across with letters carved onto it. Dale got on his knees. The message was brief.
They were ramping up the face-to-face. Good. Dale had no problem with looking scumbags in the eye. In fact, he excelled at it. At least there wasn’t another damn riddle; though chances were he’d get a riddle from Marshall himself.
Like the first two stones, there would be writing on the bottom side. Dale dug his fingers into the dirt and pried. He rocked the stone a time or two, and it came out of the ground with a heave, crushing the grass behind it. As before, he brushed the dirt off the backside. Letters began to appear. The beginning of the new message—you’ve done well so far—didn’t raise his eyebrows, but when he brushed the dirt away from the last two words, his heart stopped.
It was his PI, his Prior Identity. They knew his real name.
He looked at the message in disbelief, thinking that somehow it might change. But it didn’t.
You’ve done well so far, Brad Walker.
Cold sweat flashed over his body. He took a step backward, his eyes never looking away from the stone.
Brad. Brad Walker.
A BEI agent’s PI was the most guarded secret of a very secretive organization. BEI agents didn’t exist. They had no social security number and paid no taxes. This was what kept the small selection of geniuses ahead of the darker geniuses they aimed to stop. BEI agents were created to be shadows, whispers, the only thing that could stop the world’s most sophisticated criminals.
Dale couldn’t remember the last time he’d been called Brad. Mom had been diligent with her promise not to use his real name, despite her vehement objections. She was the only person he was in contact with who might use his PI. The Bureau had wiped his old personality from existence. He had no birth certificate, no death certificate, no school records, no debt. Brad Walker no longer existed. He was dead.
Brad Walker was so dead that when Dale looked at the name on the stone, he hardly recognized it. It had only been a couple years, but when your past has been obliterated as much as Dale’s had, it was easy to forget your name. Especially when you wanted to.
What was tying his stomach in knots, though, wasn’t seeing his PI again. It was knowing that the kidnapper was in a situation to know it. BEI security had been breached. If the kidnapper was this well informed, what could that mean for the rest of the investigation? He cringed to think that the Man in Black had been following him the whole time. He scanned the trees around him for the masked man.
Dale put a hand to his forehead. It was sweaty. He looked back to the stone.
He ran his tongue over his dry lips and tried to say something, though he didn’t know why.
“My … name. They know who I was.”
Chapter 30
Dale was still dirty and covered in sweat and blood. Facing him, standing not a foot away on the other side of the bars of a jail cell, was Camden Marshall. He wore an orange prisoner’s jumpsuit and a smug grin. There was a glint in his lifeless green eyes.
“Brad,” Marshall said. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“How the hell do you know my real name?” Dale’s jaw was clenched so hard it hurt.
Marshall laughed. “You BEI fools think that you’re so secure. There’s a lot that we know about you.”
Dale flinched at hearing “BEI” come from Marshall’s lips. There were very few people in the world who knew about the Bureau of Esoteric Investigation. “Who are you?”
Marshall gave him a confused look. “We’re the Marshall Village, of course.”
“What do you want?”
“You asked me that already. Earlier today. In the questioning room.”
Dale jabbed a finger at Marshall’s face. “I’ll find out how you know these things.”
“Careful, Agent. Aren’t you supposed to ease into this? Start gentle and get more aggressive?”
Dale gritted his teeth. “I’m willing to make an exception.”
“Now, now. Remember, I have what you want. I have all those people.”
“And you’re releasing them a few at a time. But you never ask for anything.”
“Then there’s no time to waste. I’ll let you know how to find the next group of Marshallites. But first you’re going to have to do something for me.”
Dale scoffed. “Me do something for you?”
“I have the people. And the last stone did tell you to talk to me. Don’t be so obstinate. You’re only making it worse on yourself.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Dale suddenly had a really bad feeling.
“My little project outside Staunton wasn’t so different from the Collective Agricultural Experiment, of which I understand you were a member. I heard that Glenn Downey used to have some really interesting ways of punishing his dissidents. I even heard that when one of his favorites tried to leave, he gave them a very special punishment. Did you get a special punishment when you tried to leave, Brad?”
“What are you implying?” Dale said.
But he knew exactly what Marshall was getting at.
Marshall leaned closer, put his hands on the bars. “Oral sex. Fellatio. A blowjob. Did you give Glenn a blowjob, Brad?”
“No. No, I did not.” Dale had not. But he knew that Spencer Goad, the photographer intern who had gone on the assignment with him, might very well have faced that fate.
“Too bad.” Marshall took a step back. He lowered his eyes and smiled.
“Piss off, creep!” Dale’s heart pounded. The fear came rushing back to him, the fear he’d felt when he and Spencer were captured the first time they tried to escape the camp. His eyes focused on Marshall’s neck, and he pictured his hands wrapping around it, fingers piercing through skin and muscle and tendon.
“Don’t worry, Brad,” Marshall said. “I’m not going to ask that of you. I want something else entirely.”
“What’s that?”
“I want you to bark.”
“Bark?”
“Bark. Like the dog you are.”
Dale knew what Marshall was trying to accomplish here. Humiliation. This was something that Glenn had also used back at the CAE. Small things. Constantly. Things that were crafted to suck every drop of dignity and character from a person. At the end of every conversation with the Father, Glenn req
uired his children to “close it out” with a groveling, mortifying speech.
And now Marshall was trying to humiliate him. But he had another thing coming. “Again, I say you can piss off!”
Marshall tsked. “Brad, Brad, Brad. You really don’t want to save those people, do you? Remember, you need to be extra nice to me, or I won’t tell you when and where you can find them. Come now. Bark for me.”
Dale did nothing. He could feel his nostrils flaring.
“Bark.”
Dale was damn near hyperventilating. He thought of the people Marshall had kidnapped. Locked away in a barn. Or a cellar. Or cages.
“Bark!”
He knew what he had to do. But he couldn’t give that part of him away. There had to be another way.
Marshall smacked his hand against the bars. “I said bark, goddamn it!”
Dale barked, quietly, his eyes firing smoldering contempt right into Marshall’s.
“Louder!”
Dale grabbed the bars and leaned right into Marshall. And he barked. He barked loud. So loud it burned his throat.
“Louder!”
Dale barked louder. The room was so loud he felt the noise closing in around him.
“Louder! Louder, louder, louder!” Marshall jumped up and down.
Dale’s neck expanded. His eyes watered. He barked. He felt his throat tearing apart.
Marshall clapped his hands. Dale couldn’t hear it. Just the sound of his own barking. Marshall waved, and Dale stopped. The room echoed. Dale was lightheaded, and he steadied himself with the bars. He was short of breath.
“Very good,” Marshall said with a bout of laughter. “You’ve earned your reward. There will be a performance. The day after tomorrow. You’ll find them at the performance. We’ll contact you that day about the specific time.”
“How the hell will you contact me?” Dale said. It hurt to speak.
“You’ll just have to wait and see.”
Dale turned to leave and stopped. The humiliation made him feel small and weak. His eyes were wet with exertion from his screaming. And he was glad. Because he didn’t want Marshall to think there were angry, burning tears welling in his eyes.
He looked back at Marshall. “I will find out what’s going on here.”
“One hundred thirty-nine people left, Brad. And I’m the only person who knows where they are. Remember that.”
Dale glared at Marshall.
He had thought Marshall and Glenn Downey to be similar before. But now he could positively see him again. Glenn. Smiling back at him from the other side of those bars.
Dale turned and paced off. But he could still see Glenn Downey. In his mind. And he felt the same need to escape that he’d felt four years ago.
Chapter 31
Brad Walker stood under the awning of the shed and looked out at the water. If he had the space to do so, he would have been pacing. As it was, with his need to remain hidden, he simply twisted his fingers around in his hands.
He’d heard a ship’s horn.
They were to meet at sunset, but that had long since passed. It was already pitch black. He had no way of telling the time, but he knew he had to have been there for at least an hour. Something must have happened. Spencer hadn’t arrived.
It had only been two weeks since their first escape attempt, when they were caught and beaten by Darnell and the Blue Guard. They had one shot at this. The boat arrived at 7 p.m., and the final inspection of the barracks was also at 7. Just when the boat would arrive, the guards would find that Brad and Spencer were gone. There was no turning back now. They’d both agreed to the risks.
Brad saw a light on the water in the distance. The ship was approaching. He looked back to the camp.
The road parallel to the generator shed by which he was standing stretched about two hundred yards before reaching the main area of the camp. There was the Pavilion, lit by its tall spotlights on all four corners. Nearby was the kitchen where two guards stood watch, one on each side, AK-47s in hand. This was one of the places that Glenn kept under lock and key. Food rations had gotten smaller, even in the short time that Brad had been there.
He saw no sign of Spencer.
The small cargo ship arrived. The armed men on the dock waved it into position. Their backs were turned to Brad now. This was it. He couldn’t wait any longer. Whatever happened to Spencer now couldn’t be undone.
Brad got on his hands and knees and crawled through the tall grass toward the dock. When he got closer to the water and the grass thinned out, he lowered himself to his stomach. The ground scratched at the fresh wounds on his chest and sent fire through his body. He clawed at the earth with his fingers, pulling himself inch by inch. Mud packed under his nails. The surf lapped at his hands, and he pulled himself into the water. His clothes felt heavy, and in his weakened state he struggled to keep himself afloat.
The plan was to swim under the dock, approach the ship, and climb up the side. They would then stow away on the ship and use cover of darkness to get to its return destination—Charleston.
He made it to the dock and clung to one of the wooden beams, catching his breath. It was cold and slippery with moss. The voices of the CAE men and the ship’s crew filtered down through the boards of the dock.
He pulled himself onto the rope net on the side of the boat. It was tough going, and after he tugged his tired body into the net, his final position left him twisted and bent in half—a sadistic hammock. His heart beat faster, and a feeling of guilt fell over him. Had he been too brash? Was it too early to attempt another escape? Spencer wouldn’t be able to handle another punishment like they’d faced the last time.
Brad looked back to the camp. Still no sign of him.
There was shouting from above, and the whole ship shook around him. He held onto the wet rope. The ship’s anchor retracted, and he began to drift away from the camp.
His stomach was empty, and it rumbled. He tried to think of how incredible a full meal was going to taste. He tried to think of anything that would distract him from the fact that Spencer was being left behind at the Collective Agricultural Experiment.
As the ship began to slowly pull away, there was a commotion. The men on the dock were shouting as they sprinted back toward the camp. They were focusing on something, but Brad couldn’t tell what it was. Then he saw it.
It was Spencer.
The kid was running at full speed toward the ship. He was short and thin, but he still managed to push one of the men aside with his elbow. The man fell off the dock and into the water with a terrific splash. Brad was impressed.
Brad tried to stand. His foot slipped on the wet rope, and his leg fell through one of the gaps in the net, all the way. The rope hit him painfully in the crotch.
As Spencer ran toward the end of the dock, two men converged upon him. Spencer flailed his arms in the air, waving desperately at the boat.
The ship had cleared the dock by a few yards. If Brad could get himself free from the rope, he just might be able to get back. He clambered to pull his leg out.
As the ship drifted farther, Brad could make out less and less of what was happening on the dock. There was a guard on each of Spencer’s arms, and still he thrashed about. One of the men released Spencer and brought his rifle into the air. He cracked it down on the back of Spencer’s neck, and the kid collapsed.
Rope tore into the flesh of Brad’s inner thigh and wouldn’t let go. He managed to get his right foot against the side of the ship, squeezing the net between his shoe and the hull. With a heave, he pulled his whole body up, freeing his imprisoned leg.
Back at the dock, the two guards were dragging Spencer toward the camp, each holding one of his wrists. He was conscious but just barely. Blood ran down the side of his face. He screamed out.
“Brad! Brad!”
Brad clambered to the top of the net. He froze. The ship was already a hundred yards away from the dock. If he jumped, it would take several minutes to swim back to shore. He’d never catc
h up to Spencer.
There was only one thing to do. When he returned to civilization, he would tell the rest of the world about what was going on at the Collective Agricultural Experiment. If he went back to the camp, he would never get this opportunity, and the rest of the people would continue to suffer.
So he had to let him go.
“Brad!”
He watched as the men dragged Spencer past the end of the dock. They walked through the last patch of lamplight and disappeared into the darkness.
Chapter 32
Arancia grumbled in protest. They were driving north on Interstate 81 in the right-hand lane, somewhere she was unaccustomed to, a place that made her very pissy indeed.
But Dale’s mind was elsewhere. He had until tomorrow, when he would be contacted about the next group of Marshallites, to put something together. The investigation had taken an unexpected turn into painful reminiscence. Camden Marshall’s methods bore such a resemblance to Glenn Downey’s that Dale was beginning to think that there were more than just similarities between them. There was a damn connection. And he was going back to the only place where he could look into this connection. The Worldwide Weekly Report.
When Dale’s PI, Brad Walker, had been on assignment at the Collective Agricultural Experiment, his escape from the camp triggered a chain reaction. He told his story not only to his own paper but every major newspaper in the country. The story was a sensation, and government action came swiftly.
The feds closed in on the camp. After a month of failed negotiations, they found their reason to enter the camp by force. Intel indicated that fully automatic AK-47s had been imported into the camp, something illegal after the Gun Control Act of 1968. The ATF and the FBI’s hostage team moved in to take Glenn’s followers by force and came face-to-face with the alleged AK-47s in the hands of Darnell Fowler’s Blue Guard. The shooting began around midnight.
