by LC Champlin
“What if I don’t need that much time? Many of the files are likely the ones I gave you. You’re aware I’m working under a deadline.” He burned the candle at both ends and the middle, but if he didn’t, they’d throw him in the fiery furnace.
“A deadline in more ways than one.” No change in her businesslike tone. “By the way, there’s a shower at the end of the hall.” She jerked her head leftward. “Also in that case are clothes. I’ll be in the room down the hall. I’ll have my eye on you.” Her gaze flicked to the black dome camera in the center of the ceiling.
“Big Sister is watching?” He smirked.
++++++++++++
As the plane sped eastward, Albin forged deeper into the documents, exchanging few remarks with his companions. Behrmann occasionally enquired after his progress, but he would wave her away.
The rest of the group said little to one another. Concerns apparently plagued them as well.
The pilot announced they would land in northern Colorado for refueling, but neglected to specify at which airport.
The landing went well, the pilot easing the wheels down with hardly a bump. The dark foothills of the Rocky Mountains loomed in the distance, while a flat expanse surrounded the airport.
The aircraft taxied to the boarding area, where its passengers disembarked. The government agents accompanied the six civilians and dog. While the crew refueled the aircraft, Albin and his companions wandered into the FBO, a structure barely fifteen by fifteen meters in size.
Inside, a Coke machine and a check-in / attendant counter occupied the side of the room. Chairs lined one wall beside the door to the washroom.
The lone employee emerged from behind the front desk. “Albin Conrad?” the young man asked.
“Yes?”
“I received an email that said to hand this to you, and that you’d know what it meant.” He offered a sheet of paper.
Albin accepted it. The text read, Beware the tengu who are your lords. Do not trust the yokai. They are not who they appear. They serve logic and reason. Their word is deceptive. They are interested in you alone.—Your friend from the Fortress.
No doubt the warning originated from Kenichi Oshiro. Brows lowering, Albin folded the paper in half. “Marvin.” He waived the economist over. “I received this message.”
Bridges read the email, looking more confused than Albin felt, perhaps because he understood the meaning.
“Well?”
“We all know who the ‘friend from the Fortress’ is,” Bridges murmured. “But I don’t know what he means with the rest of it. I have a suspicion, but it just makes this weirder.”
“What do you suspect?”
“A tengu is one of the creatures in the Faithful Dark computer game. It’s a bird-like humanoid demon. It’s evil and tries to lure away the player. It offers powers, though, if you side with it. If you’re playing on the dark side, it can be an ally. As for yokai, they’re shapeshifters. They can look like humans or animals. They’re demons too. I’m not sure what the reference to ‘reason and logic’ means, though.”
“LOGOS. The word means reason behind an argument, or the logic of a premise. In the Bible, it refers to the Word.”
The two men stared at the paper, the import of this realization dawning.
“Those men,” Bridges began, “are—”
“Not from the government, or at least, they are not from a government agency that has our best interests at heart.” Not that any did.
“They’re from LOGOS?” Bridges glanced over his shoulder at the two agents, who strolled along the perimeter of the FBO.
“Perhaps. But Kenichi-san has been known to dissemble.”
“But why would he? It took effort to track us down and contact us all the way out here.” The economist frowned, posture tense. “How do you know he isn’t helping LOGOS? He’s in bed with them, remember.”
Albin shook his head. “We cannot be sure. However, of late, his words have been trustworthy. Though he used us as pawns, he provided resources we desperately needed. He in no way interfered with our objectives.”
“But how do we tell he hasn’t changed his team? He was only helping us because somehow our goals matched his.” Bridges shot another furtive glance at the agents. “There’s no real way of knowing whether these people are with the government or with LOGOS. No matter what we ask them, there’ll be an explanation for how they answer. If they don’t know anything, it’s because they’re with the government. If they won’t let us leave, it’s because they’re with the government as much as with LOGOS. This is nuts!” Shaking his head as if dislodging mosquitoes, Bridges growled.
Albin tapped the paper against his thigh. “If I request to speak with Director Washington, they may respond that she is occupied. If I ask to locate my own transportation, they could reasonably say I am a person of interest and they are charged with bringing me to New York. At this point in the chaos, the government can claim any power it desires.”
Bridges crossed his arms, shoulders hunched. “Doesn’t seem like there’s much difference between the government and LOGOS.
Albin nodded, keeping the agents in his periphery. “Inform the others of our suspicions.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I intend to discover if they are truly government agents.”
Bridges rubbed the back of his neck in unease. “Be careful.”
Chapter 37
Remember Los Alamos
What I’ve Done – Linkin Park
After showering off the blood—an all-too-common activity lately—Nathan dressed in the government-provided clothes: jeans; a plain, white T-shirt; and a gray button-down. Last, he pulled on the Rockies boots, a vast improvement on the slip-on prison shoes.
The next few hours fled as he studied the files on the laptop. The government had taken a few right turns where he had taken lefts in the development of the data, but overall their work paralleled his people’s. In some areas, his surpassed the government’s, largely thanks to the data from Lexa Birk.
Nathan scribbled notes as he went, and re-sorted the data files. Every forty-five minutes, he would close the laptop and pace about the room, read his Bible, or attempt bodyweight exercises to recharge his mind.
In the mini fridge, he found a take-out meal from a local restaurant. At least it didn’t come from a chain. The coffee maker and tub of Maxwell House served as a crude form of caffeine delivery.
Darkness had covered the land for a few hours when he pushed back from the computer for the last time. The previous several pages of the document he’d read made no sense, a sure sign of mental exhaustion.
He collapsed onto the cot. He should at least take his boots off . . . Yes, after a quick nap.
RIIIIIIIIINNNNNG!
Jerking into consciousness—“What the hell?” A fire alarm? Not again. A white light strobed from the alarm’s speaker. Perhaps the building’s ancient wiring sparked. Maybe his hosts just wanted to fuck with him.
Bolting up, he grabbed the laptop. As he always did when in a hotel room, he had returned it to its case to prepare for this very situation. Habit came in handy sometimes.
He reached for the door knob—The door burst open, missing him by an inch. He stumbled back as two Soldiers in combat gear shouldered in.
“Come on,” the lead man ordered. “We’re going to get you out of here.”
He grabbed his target by the arm, but Nathan centered his weight and held his ground. “Where’s Officer Rodriguez?”
“We already got her out. Move.”
Holding the laptop to his chest, Nathan stepped into the hall with them. Shit! “Wait.” He twisted from the man’s grip and dashed back into the room. There, the Bible.
He rejoined them in the hall. They hustled him out the back door and into the chill night. A Humvee waited, side door open. They pushed him inside.
No one else in the backseat. He leaned forward, toward the driver. “Whe
re’s Officer Rodriguez, the DHS officer who was guarding me? The Soldiers said you had her.”
The man at the wheel glanced back. “She’s in another vehicle, sir. Sit back and buckle up. There’s been an attack. We have to get you out of here.”
“An attack? Here? Rather daring of them.”
“That’s how our enemy operates.”
Clicking the seatbelt home, Nathan settled back in the seat. A nagging itch at the back of his mind made him roll his shoulders in discomfort. Something seemed off. He hadn’t heard any gunfire or explosions, but that didn’t mean anything. The security forces had likely intercepted the enemy and now took precautions with him. The government, ever dismissive of the opinions of the peons, had evidently disregarded his suggestion of using him as bait.
“Did you also evacuate the rest of the scientists?”
“Don’t worry about them,” replied one of the Soldiers who had escorted him out. The serviceman took a seat beside Nathan. “They’re safe. The attack didn’t get very far. We just don’t want to risk our critical personnel.” He wore a smile of reassurance.
“Safety first.” I could do with fewer risks.
The Humvee rolled through the exit, the guards waving them on.
“Where are we going?” Nathan asked.
“That’s classified,” the driver responded.
“Why? It’s not as if I can share the location with anyone.” Something definitely felt off about this. Then again, given how rarely the government used common sense, “something feeling off” could qualify as normal.
“Relax,” the Soldier in the seat beside him reassured. “You’re in good hands.” He patted Nathan on the shoulder.
“If you say so.” Nathan turned to gaze out the window into the dark desert.
Pain knifed into his upper arm—Reflex jerked him from the stimulus. “What the—”
The Soldier held a syringe at arm’s length, using his thumb to close the needle guard.
“What the fuck!” His back against the door, Nathan clapped his hand over the site as if it would stop whatever the bastard had injected him with from spreading through his system. “Are you drugging me again? Why? I’m cooperating!” How long did he have before his clear thinking slid into the Misty Mountains of narcotics? Not long.
“Chill out and enjoy your drugs.” The man grinned. “When you wake up, you’ll have enough to stress about.”
“You’re not . . . the Army.”
“You’re a real genius.”
His surroundings turned gauzy. Resistance melted. The government could rescue him from his kidnappers any time now . . .
Chapter 38
Trapped
Viva la Vida – Coldplay
Under the auspices of studying the pictures of aircraft on the walls, Albin waited for Bridges to share the message with their companions. Judging from their expressions, they found the suspicions credible.
Albin sauntered toward the nearest supposed government agent. As he did, Bridges and the other civilians eased closer to the rear exit.
“Sir,” Albin addressed the agent, “may I ask a question?”
The man’s sunglasses flashed in the late-afternoon sunlight. “What is it?” His features revealed no emotion.
“I would like to remain in this area for a time. I will arrange my own transportation. The others will continue the flight, however. Is this acceptable?”
“You’re a person of interest; our orders are to bring you to your destination. So no, it is not acceptable.” No change of expression or tone accompanied the declaration.
“May I speak with Director Washington of the Department of Homeland Security, or Special Agent Greg Saito of the FBI?”
“We have orders to not delay.”
“I see.” As predicted, they dodged his questions. “Tell me, do you work for the United States government, or do you work for LOGOS?”
The sunglasses could not conceal the brows’ twitch. He sniffed. “I beg your pardon, sir? We’re agents of the FBI.”
While Albin could demand to inspect their badges, he lacked intimate knowledge of a genuine FBI badge’s appearance. Thus, he would not recognize a forgery. Besides, an organization of LOGOS’s power could not only create a perfect match, it could also corrupt FBI agents to join its cause.
Albin forced a smile. “Of course. I was jesting. My friend”—nod to Bridges—“commented upon government agents’ resemblance to enemy agents. Do you know when the aircraft will be ready for departure?”
The question distracted the man from Albin’s previous comment. “We’ll be fueled in another fifteen minutes.”
“Thank you.” Albin strode toward his colleagues.
They regarded him with the interest one reserved for a messenger bearing long-awaited news.
“I believe our friend in the Fortress,” he murmured. He had no reason to believe the agents over Kenichi-san.
“Now what?” Behrmann whispered.
What indeed? The barren land around the FBO offered nowhere to hide. The maintenance pole-shed across the dirt drive provided no concealment either, as the employees likely kept the doors locked.
“What if you’re wrong?” Eyes narrowed, Amanda regarded the agents. She asked the question of the moment.
“I am more concerned about being correct. The onus is on the government to prove it is keeping its word. In town, we will be able to contact the DHS to verify the FBI’s claim and perhaps request alternate transportation.”
“It’s worth a try,” Behrmann decided, “if we can get past the Men in Black over there.”
“I hope they don’t try to wipe our minds,” Bridges muttered.
Albin drew a deep breath. “You five act as if you are going to the washrooms. I will attempt to distract them.”
“Let me do it,” Marvin responded. He shot the agents a glare.
Behrmann shook her head. “I should go. They’re not going to do anything to a reporter.”
“As admirable as this is,” Albin broke in to their vying for martyrdom, “I am their primary interest. Also, if they are truly with LOGOS, they will respond differently than will the government. Now go.” In addition, as the party who accepted the government’s offer and encouraged the others to do likewise, the responsibility for protecting his companions fell on his shoulders.
Displeased with the arrangement, the five set off for the washrooms and rear exit.
Albin made his way toward the front door. He pushed it open, moving outside with the casual bearing of someone who desired fresh air. While the government men did not hinder him, they did watch him.
Hands in his pockets, he meandered leftward. Several meters off, the dirt driveway joined a cracked asphalt road. The road veered left, then straightened to connect with a highway. Four pickup trucks occupied the intersection. No doubt the locals had taken it upon themselves to see that no one fleeing the infection left the airport to contaminate their town. Would they use lethal force in their mission? If not, they offered a chance for escape.
++++++++++++
June ?, 2016—
Morning already? Nathan’s eyes opened a slit. Darkness. Wait, where was he? Who was he? Oh, right. The drugs. His right deltoid ached in confirmation of the assault.
A glow to his right provided consolation that he hadn’t gone blind. He rolled onto his side, facing it. Soft bed, not a concrete floor or a bathtub of ice. Under a sheet and blanket . . . Clothes? Shorts only. Panic rose like the tide, cold and suffocating. Waking up with fewer and / or different clothes on than one remembered removing pointed to undesirable events taking place. His hand went to his mid back. “At least they didn’t take my frickin’ kidneys.” And aside from his arm, he didn’t feel any pain. His back itched near the suture line, though.
With a grunt, he sat up. The throbbing in his shoulder burst into a stabbing pain.
The nightlight glowed beside a door. He eased out of the bed, aiming for the illuminat
ion. His bare feet hit hardwood. With shreds of dizziness harassing his equilibrium, and nausea turning his stomach, he moved to the light. Feeling along the wall located a switch.
Click.
His accommodations resembled a hotel room, and not a Ho-Jo or Motel 6, either. Along the lines of a Hilton, it boasted a widescreen flat-panel TV on the wall at the foot of the king-sized bed. A glass-top desk with executive office chair occupied the corner, while an upholstered armchair and footstool sat at the far end of the room. No windows, though. Odd. He barked a laugh. Odd? As if anything that came after a kidnapping and drugging would count as a normal.
Perhaps the chest of drawers beneath the TV would offer clues. Slinging them open produced nothing.
Next, the closet beside the door. Opening it revealed a pair of black cargo pants, a dark-blue long sleeve, and a gray T-shirt. The tee bore the image of a mobius in white and black, the figure eight’s colors shifting in what might represent a yin-yang symbol. Nikes on the floor. So much like his own style it made his skin prickle.
After visiting the bathroom, he tossed the clothes onto the bed. First things first, though. Moving under the light, he examined his extremities. There, a needle puncture on the inside of his right arm, in the vein phlebotomists usually targeted during blood draws. When LOGOS drugged a person, they did it right. With an IV, they could have kept him under for hours, or even days. Well, nothing for it now.
With a shake of his head, he began to dress. As he finished tying his Nikes, the TV switched on.
Big Brother watched.
Chapter 39
Nowhere to Hide
Madness – Ruelle
When the government men turned from Albin’s direction, he slipped around the corner of the building. With the assistance of his traveling companions, he could subdue the two escorts. However, if the men truly did represent a government entity, he would have assaulted Federal agents.
