Devil's Den

by Jeff Altabef

  “And their business model makes no sense,” says Kate. “Tina mapped out where they have places. Take a look.”

  Tina twists the tablet so I can see it. “They’re a new company. Just three years old. They started here in Philadelphia and they’ve expanded fast, but look where.”

  The pattern jumps out at me immediately. “They’re in ghettos and Lower Districts and a few of the exclusive Upper Districts around the country. They’re not in any of the Middle Districts where they should be able to make a good deal of money.”

  “Right,” says Tina. “They could charge more in the Middle Districts than the Lower ones and there should be demand. Other virtual reality places have shops in those districts, but not Otherworldly. And it’s weird how they have one or two stores in an Upper District at each of the big cities.”

  “And,” Kate adds, “they’ve expanded internationally. Just a few places, but each one is in a major city.”

  Tina ticks them off her fingers. “London, Hong Kong, Tokyo, Rome, Berlin, Moscow, Tehran, and New Delhi.”

  Another piece to the puzzle falls in place. “Mary said the van The Farm used to abduct Megan was owned by a shell company. I bet it’s connected to Otherworldly. I thought it was probably stolen, but now it doesn’t look like it. Otherworldly is involved somehow. These kids must be part of their plans. And their plans must involve more than just entertainment.”

  “But what?” says Tina.

  “And why would a virtual reality company want kids?” asks Kate.

  I can think of a few reasons, and all of them bad. It won’t help to guess. Tina keeps her mouth shut also, even though the look on her face confirms that her ideas on the subject track along the same lines.

  “We’ll find out,” I say. “Did you discover anything about The Farm on the net?”

  “Nothing,” says Tina.

  “I have a contact inside Homeland who’s looking into The Farm. He’ll track them down if the government knows anything.” Mary said she’d involve Gabriel, and he’d move a mountain for me if it needs moving. I don’t tell them what Father Paul said about the symbol. Keeping it secret feels like a lie, but I can shoulder it. A satanic symbol might be too much for Kate to take right now, and I don’t see how that’ll help us get Megan back.

  Kate stares at Tina until Tina huffs. Tina pinches her face together angrily and says, “I’m going out to grab us some food. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” Before she reaches the door, she shoots one last glare at me. She doesn’t say anything, but she’s reminding me of our last conversation, the one where I promised that I was here only temporarily and would leave after we brought Megan home.

  I shrug.

  And she’s gone.

  Kate and I are alone and the past barrels down on me like a big rig on an open highway. Sixteen years ago, when I was twenty, I left her without an explanation. I gave her a number she could use to text me if she ever needed me and walked out. Over the years, I’ve regretted that moment. I’m not sure what I could have said or done, but surely walking out without explaining myself was wrong. And now that original sin is coming home to roost. Kate deserved more back then, and she deserves more than I can give her now.

  She stands beside me. “I need to know.”

  Four fucking words, yet they might as well be a full-length novel. “It was a long time ago, Kate.”

  “Bullshit. It feels like yesterday. What did I do? Why wasn’t I good enough for you? Weren’t we good together? Tell me.”

  Her voice drips with pain. Pain I’ve caused her, and my heart twists. I look to the door, but I can’t run out now. Not now that I’m older, and with Megan missing. I’ve got to make some sense out of this for her, so she knows it wasn’t her fault. She has no blame in this. It’s all me.

  “You were always out of my league. From that first kiss when we were thirteen until now.”

  “Then why? Why did you run out on me? I know it wasn’t another woman. You would never have done that to me.”

  It all comes back to me in a rush. The pain and confusion that tormented me back then. The power and sense of destiny I felt when I joined the secret special operations group. All those emotions swirled inside me. A toxic stew of part dark and part light. I feared what I was becoming, yet I wanted to explore it, seep into it, be free to experience it.

  “I had started in a new group. You remember, I told you about it. Special operations.”

  She nods.

  “It was more than that. It wasn’t an official government agency. It’s what they call dark ops. We were off the grid and could employ whatever extreme measures we needed to fulfill our missions. And we had important objectives. At least they seemed important back then.”

  “So, you left me to join this group?” Kate asks. “Why couldn’t we still be together? I wouldn’t have asked about your missions or any of that. I didn’t care about what you were doing.”

  Lying would be easy. I can just say they watched me, and they needed me unattached at home. I can say my schedule was going to be crazy, and I would be on assignment for months at a time with no way to contact her. All that would be true, but that’s not the reason I left Kate, and she’d see through the excuse. She deserves the truth, even if it’s harder to believe and harder for her to take.

  I swallow my cowardice and say, “It wasn’t the job. Not really. It was me.”

  “You?”

  “I’m no good, Kate. During the training for the group, I realized I’m bad. I have demons inside me. I did things.”

  She grabs my hand. “I’m sure you did things you had to do to complete your missions. Every soldier grapples with that. I could have helped.”

  “It’s different with me. Yes, I was ordered to do some rotten things, but there were others I did just because I wanted to. I enjoyed it. And I couldn’t give it up. Not then, so I couldn’t trust myself around you. I needed to leave.”

  “What types of things did you do?”

  What a simple question. I wish she hadn’t asked it because now I’m stuck. For her to fully understand, she needs to know the monster I’ve become. “I killed people. And I tortured some before I killed them. What I did to Brad was nothing compared to some others. And that’s not the worst thing.” I sigh. “I liked it, Kate. God help me, but I like hurting people. I’m a monster, and it’s not getting better. I’m worried my mother was right. I’m turning into a demon.”

  Kate releases my hand. She should slap me or walk away, but she doesn’t. She looks at me for long moment. Her beautiful blue eyes shine on me. “Steven Cabbott, I’ve known you a long time. I know you better than you know yourself, and there’s good in you. You may have done bad things, and even enjoyed it, but there’s good in your heart. You can’t convince me otherwise. You’re no demon, and you’ll never be one if I have anything to say about it.”

  “I don’t know. I want to change. That’s why I came back. I was hoping to find out what happened to my mother. Maybe... if she changed, I can change.”

  “Your mother was a drug-dealing psycho. You’re nothing like her.” She brushes her fingers against the rough stubble on my chin. “Thank you for being honest. I know it was hard.”

  “Do you forgive me?”

  She kisses me. It’s nothing like our first one at Kissing Park. Love is here, in this kiss also. It fuses along the contours of her lips and mouth, but none of the promise of our first kiss comes along with it. This doesn’t feel like the start of something. It feels more like the end of a long road.

  Kate says, “Yes, I forgive you. We were just kids. I forgave you long ago. I just needed to know why.” She frowns at me. “But I can’t forgive you for the other stuff. You’ll have to do that yourself. Put the past behind you. Give yourself a chance to change. Let the good come out.”

  “You really think I’ve got good in me?” I ask, hoping she still sees the real me, the one underneath the messy exterior.

  She kisses me again. Longer and harder this time. She slides her tongue
inside my mouth, and I push my body against hers. She feels familiar and different at the same time. My hand moves under her shirt. My body aches for her.

  I hear a commotion outside as if someone is fumbling with a set of keys and a foot kicks the bottom of the door.

  Kate pushes me away and smiles. “Tina’s back.”

  “And great timing,” I say. “That’s the fastest food run in history.”

  The door opens and Tina walks in holding a pizza box.

  I’m neither upset nor disappointed. I’ve had one more moment with Kate than I deserve, than I thought I’d ever have, so I thank the Fates for that. When good things happen, they deserve the gratitude. Their antics can take you up or down. Today, I’m fortunate.

  Tomorrow, well, I’ll have to burn that bridge when I get to it.

  “Who’s hungry?” Tina places the pizza on the table in front of the couch. “I got half Neanderthal style for Stevo. Meatballs, pepperoni, and sausage, although God knows what lab they got the meat stuff from. And the other half for us civilized folk, with mushrooms.”

  At least Tina remembered my favorite pizza toppings. She throws me a curious look, and I give her nothing, just a bland smile in return. She doesn’t need to know what’s going on between Kate and me. At least she won’t get that from me. Kate can do as she pleases.

  “I’ll take one of each,” says Kate. “I like a combination of caveman and civilization.”

  While we eat, I explain my plan. “I’ll go into District 3 and visit the Otherworldly Experience place. My identification card will let me in, and I’ll inquire about a membership to their exclusive club. While I’m there, I’ll sneak around and see if I can find an address for The Farm, or some other clue as to where they’re located.”

  “I thought this club is exclusive. How are you going to get in?” asks Tina. “No offense Stevo, but you’re never going to pass for a rich guy.”

  “My identification card says I’m working as a private bodyguard for a rich billionaire named Samuel Jeffries. Jeffries doesn’t really exist, but if they check him out, they’ll find a fictitious pharmaceutical man whose family goes back for generations. The cover will hold up. It always does.”

  “What about us?” asks Kate. “How do we get in?”

  “You can’t. There’s no way I can get you guys into Districts 1 through 5. The Green Zone is off limits for you. The security at those checkpoints is too tight. And if I managed to smuggle you in somehow, you’ll get thrown in jail as suspected terrorists if they catch you. You’ll do at least seven years hard labor, if not more. It’s not worth the risk. Besides, I’ll be better at snooping on my own.”

  “I don’t like it,” Kate says.

  “Neither do I, but we’re going to have to trust Steven on this one,” Tina says. “We can’t help Megan if we’re stuck in a work camp for the next decade.”

  With the matter decided, I go into Megan’s room, retrieve my duffel, remove a pair of black slacks, a plain white dress shirt, and a black blazer. Made from the most advanced wrinkle free fabric, the clothes look finely pressed. I can keep my Smith and Wesson because I have a carry permit, but that’s the only weapon I’ll bring, except the tab of explosives in the heel of my boot and my ceramic throwing knife in my belt. They won’t detect those at the checkpoint, but they will my knife. The knife has to stay behind. I can’t give them an excuse to detain me.

  When I enter the living room, Kate smiles.

  Tina chuckles. “Yesterday, I said you look like shit. I take it back. You don’t look half bad. Only partially shitty.”

  “Thanks,” I say. “Really touching.”

  Kate places her hand on my chest. “I think he looks handsome. He’s filled out in all the right places.” She kisses me on the cheek. “Be safe and come back soon.”

  I hit the streets. It will take me hours to walk to District 3. Each checkpoint will take progressively longer, and I don’t want to waste the time. I find a cab and whistle him over.

  When he pulls over, I talk to the driver through his open window. “I need to go to District 3.”

  The cabbie twists his head. “Do I look like I have clearance for the fucking Green Zone? This isn’t a limo. The best I can do is drop you off the highway next to the checkpoint. After that you’re on your own.”

  “Good enough.” I open the backseat and slide across the vinyl seats. It’s dirty, with a candy wrapper on the floor and the smell of cigarette smoke in the air. The cabbie drives west and merges onto the highway that loops the city.

  The checkpoints only start when a car exits the highway, so he can exit in District 3, turn around, and pull back on the main road without running afoul of Homeland.

  The cabbie looks forward as he talks. “You’ll need clearance to get into District 3. If you don’t have it, they’ll arrest you just for showing up at the checkpoint.”

  “Don’t worry about it. It’s none of your concern.”

  We pass a gigantic screen off the highway. A large eyeball moves around on it in a disturbing way with the words “Report UnAmerican Activity. Rewards Paid.” Underneath that the Originalist logo appears in white.

  “Fucking Originalists. My son died overseas defending our country for this shit. I remember when we didn’t have any checkpoints. You could drive anywhere you wanted in the city. Now they pen us in like animals. It won’t last long though.” The cabbie’s eyes search mine in the rearview mirror. “If you know what I mean.”

  Cabbies like to talk. I call it ‘cabersations.’ I guess it’s a byproduct of an otherwise lonely job. They spend a lot of time by themselves looking for customers. When they take in a live body, they want to connect. Part of the human condition.

  I indulge him, since cabbies have a way of knowing things. “Have you ever been to a place called Otherworldly Experiences?”

  “Me, no,” he flashes his eyes at me again in the rearview mirror, “but I’ve picked up people who have. I hear some crazy shit goes on in those places. People get addicted and hooked on it like a drug.”

  “What type of experiences are we talking about?”

  “All kinds. Adventures to far-reaching places. One guy told me about a fantasy game where he fought like a knight. Sounded stupid to me, but he was jazzed by it. Said he could feel his sword slice into someone’s chest like he was carving a turkey. And of course, there’s always sex. These things always include sex.”

  “Sex?”

  “Yeah. Those virtual reality places are driving hookers out of business. I don’t get it. Maybe I’m an old-fashioned guy, but I want to feel real flesh. You know what I’m saying?”

  I nod, and he continues, “Still, some of these guys say the sex is mind blowing. The technology hooks into the pleasure centers in the brain and makes them go nuts. They spend all their money at these places.”

  I grind my jaw. Mind-blowing sex and The Farm’s collecting beautiful young people. I may not be a genius, but the connection seems obvious.

  The cabbie must have misread my tense expression because he says. “You don’t work for one of those joints, do you? I’m sorry if I offended you. Like I said, I’ve never been to one of them. I’ve only heard stories from other people.”

  “No offense taken. I’ve never been to one either. I’m just curious.”

  The cab pulls off the highway and stops behind a limo. “This is as far as I can go. You’re on your own from here.”

  The meter says I owe him twenty-five dollars, but I give him a fifty. “I’m sorry about your son. I knew a lot of good people who died overseas.”

  I approach the checkpoint on foot. Spotlights brighten the area like it’s daytime. A heavy, metal bar blocks cars from coming through, and sharp spikes in the road will rip through the toughest tires. Booths made of bulletproof glass block both sides of the barrier. I count eight Homeland officers at the checkpoint. Each wears body armor and is heavily armed with an M18 assault rifle as well as a handgun holstered at the hip.

  The metal barrier lifts, and
the limo slides through and disappears. I walk toward the checkpoint with both my hands lifted over my head, palms out, my identification card held in the open so they can see it. Violence has escalated lately, and I don’t need a nervous Homeland goon blowing a hole in my head.

  Six of the eight guns point at me. Two from inside the bulletproof booths. The barrels of those guns stick out through narrow slits. The six officers on the street spread out in groups of two. A good formation. Tight. It offers me only two easy shots. By the time I tried to take out the third officer one of the gunmen in a booth would put a bullet in my chest, another would aim for my head, in case I’m wearing Kevlar under my shirt.

  “I come in peace,” I say with a smile. “I have access to District 3.”

  “Sure,” says an older officer, with gray hair that flows past his helmet. “You look like a high roller. Do you have any guns on you?”

  “I have a carry permit for a handgun. It’s holstered on my back.”

  “Don’t move a muscle. I’m not in the mood,” he says warily. He squints and works his jaw hard. He’s on edge.

  He nods to one officer on his left and one on his right. “Pat him down. Take the gun and the ID card. If he moves or even blinks weird, shoot him in the face.”

  The officers stalk forward, carefully, both guns trained on me. They pat me down, remove my Smith and Wesson, and take my identification card. The older officer, in charge of the group, takes the card and swipes it through his handheld device. A moment later, he visibly relaxes.

  “Okay, Steven,” he says. “Place your hand on the reader so we can do a DNA validation. Blink at me too fast and you’re a goner.”

  I try not to blink, place my hand against the glass screen, and wait five seconds until it flashes green.

  The leader smiles and hands me back my identification card. The other officer returns the Smith and Wesson.