Deus ex Machina

by K Alexander

  "No." He shakes his head. "I've already told them it was a false alarm. Been expecting you, Ryan." Pulling out a chair he sits down next to Claire, shooting her a smile.

  "Hold on." Ryan gets to her feet and approaches him. "I'd like you to take out that pistol and pass it to me." Claire holds her breath, hoping that he'll take action, but instead he slips the gun out of its holster and places it on the table in front of him. Reaching over Ryan picks it up and checks the magazine before she slips the safety on and puts the gun behind the pillow of her seat, sitting down again. "Thank you. If you expected me, then you know why I'm here, Victor."

  "Yes. You want to know what I was doing at Fairwater." He shakes his head with a self-deprecating smile. "That was a mistake, I knew it before it even happened. You always were too sharp for your own good. But who knew that you'd… " Glancing sideways at Claire he lays his fingers on her arm lightly. "Are you alright, Doctor Walsch?"

  "I am, thank you, Vice-Admiral Banks."

  "I haven't done anything to her. Yet." Ryan's voice is sharply sardonic. "Talk, Victor, I don't have the rest of the year."

  He puts his hands on the table as if to push away from it and then pauses to look at Ryan. "Would you mind if I got myself a whiskey?"

  "No." She waves him up. "If that's what you need. But no funny business, Vic."

  He smiles grimly. "They warned me that you might stop by, Ryan, and they're all on alert for one call from me. If I wanted funny business I could have set the whole army on you the moment I saw the car in my driveway."

  "And why didn't you?"

  "Because I'm a fucking bastard and this what I deserve." He turns to Claire. "Please excuse my language, doctor. Would you like a drink?"

  She glances at Ryan, unsure for a moment, and the soldier shrugs.

  "If you want one, have one. It won't make a difference tonight."

  When Claire nods the gray-haired man turns to Ryan and then shakes his head. "No, of course not for you."

  "No." She watches as he moves into the sitting room and slides out a tray at the bottom of the wall unit, taking two glasses and a bottle of scotch which he places on the dining room table. When he returns from the kitchen he has a tray of ice blocks, which he neatly cracks into the glasses before he pours a stiff tot into each and passes one glass to Claire.

  "Prost." Lifting his glass he takes a healthy sip before he rests his hand on the edge of the table and looks over at Ryan. "What do you remember about the week before you went into Somalia? The briefings and medicals and preparations?"

  She sits forward, her dark eyebrows pulled together in frustrated perplexity. "What? I remember all of it. What are you asking, Victor?"

  "Is there anything unusual that you recollect? About the medicals, specifically?"

  Now she sits on the edge of the seat, her hands splayed tensely against her knees. "Where is this going?"

  "Think back, Ryan."

  With her eyes unwaveringly on his she ponders for a moment before she shakes her head. "No, Victor. Nothing out of the ordinary… " yet even as she says it he can see the memory surfacing. Silently she scrutinizes him, her face impassive. "During the medical exam I blacked out."

  He rolls his glass slowly in his hand. "Did they tell you that?"

  She stands up suddenly. "I lost consciousness and woke up a day later. They didn't need to tell me."

  "What did the doc say it was?" He is not looking at her anymore, but is studying the blocks of ice in his drink impassively. Claire's eyes are fixed on the Vice-Admiral, her face curious as she sips at the scotch.

  "Some sort of light seizure." She folds her arms belligerently. "Why don't you just say what you have to say, Victor? Don't make me ask."

  With a sigh he puts his glass down on the table and then meets her eyes. "A faction of the US Army's been working on some sort of secret project for the last eleven or twelve years. I don't know what exactly it entails… " Catching her dark look he shrugs quickly. "Honestly, I'm not privy to that information. I can't tell you more than I know. From what I can tell I think it's some sort of nerve gas that they're engineering to create super-soldiers - I can't even tell you precisely what it is that it's supposed to do. As far as I know it was supposed to have altered brain chemistry for a certain effect." He lifts the glass to his mouth and this time drains it before he looks back at Ryan. "I'm sorry. I want to tell you more about it but I just don't know anything. The security clearance on this thing is minimal."

  "Hmm." She approaches him and stands so close to him that he has to look up at her. "How is it that you even know about this project… but you don't know details? Surely if you're important enough to know about it at all you wouldn't be in the dark? And if you're not important enough to be told anything, why do you know of its existence in the first place?" She shakes her head. "I don't know where your story is going, Victor, but already I don't like it. Persuade me that you're telling the truth."

  Moving slowly so as not to agitate her he pours himself another tot, this time filling half the glass, and then shifts the bottle towards Claire, who is still sipping at hers. "Just before we went to Somalia - I was a Lieutenant Commander, then - I was approached by Vice-Admiral Mike Collins on behalf of General George Turner. They were working on this project - they called it DEX, or DAX, so something like that - and they needed a test subject in the field."

  Ryan interrupts him testily. "They… what? Wanted to inject you with something?"

  His hand motions to her to calm down. "Wait. They didn't tell me what they would have to do, Ryan, it was too sensitive an issue. All they said was that they needed a subject to test their project on. According to them it would help me in the field in some way which they weren't prepared to discuss without my agreeing to the test and signing an indemnity form." He sips at the drink. "I did consider it for a moment there - the chance to make history only comes along once in a lifetime, and then I was still an arrogant man - but when I asked about side-effects they were a little imprecise. Mentioned that it would be interfering with natural brain functions and that it hadn't been tested accurately yet."

  "What then?"

  "Well," he smiles slightly, "history was tempting, but Ingrid more so. I couldn't choose something like that knowing that I had no idea what would happen, with her raising Clancy alone at home and none the wiser. I turned them down."

  Ryan is motionless. "Connect the dots for me, Banks."

  He sighs, and it is the sigh of a man who is about to do what he truly doesn't want to. "Before I say anything else, I want you to know that they made me sign a gag order, Ryan. I had no choice there." He casts a longing look at the bottle of scotch, and then sits back squarely and fixes his gaze firmly on Ryan. "After they'd made me sign it, they asked who I thought would be the best candidate for something like that. I … I told them it was you." Claire inhales sharply, but Ryan is motionless. "I told them you would be the best option, because you were so dedicated, and such a damned good soldier. I mean, I was just an ordinary navy grunt, but you, you were bona fide special ops." He taps the table with one finger. "But then I also told them that you almost certainly wouldn't be interested, that you wouldn't like the thought of losing control like that."

  "What happened then, Victor?" Ryan's hoarse voice is low and muted.

  He shakes his head and drops it. "I don't know exactly what happened then, Ryan…"

  "There's a lot of not knowing going around."

  "Look," his gray eyes are filled with something she can't place, "I'm sorry, I really want to tell you everything, but there are parts I truly don't know. All I know is that before Somalia suddenly you're gone for a day; they feed me a story about a seizure of some sort - in a soldier who's considered exceptionally hardy - and after you come out at Baraawe two weeks later you disappear again. They said it was because of the… " He glances at Claire, "torture… but something wasn't right. I knew that. For how many months you're in solitary confinement, and then they put you right back into Vietnam. And then
you go into Fairwater, saying that you're hearing voices, and in '97 they offer me a cushy desk job and a raise, reminding me with a nudge-nudge wink-wink of the agreement I signed… "

  "They fucked with my brain and you didn't think to tell me?!" Ryan is as livid as he has ever seen her, her green eyes spitting fire as she roars at him. Beside him he sees Claire flinch from the corner of his eye.

  "I couldn't! You know what it means to sign something like that, Ryan! I break that agreement and depending on the importance of the issue I either find all my limbs broken or I come home to find Ingrid raped and killed and the house burnt to a crisp… " He is pleading, and he knows it. "Don't you think it killed me? To know that what was wrong with you had probably been done to you by your own people? That I had been the one to indirectly elect you? Jesus, Ryan, I thought they'd get your permission first! Until Fairwater I thought that you knew!"

  "How sure are you all of it wasn't just co-incidence?" It is the first time Claire speaks, wide-eyed but measured, and they are both startled by the sound of her voice. Victor pours himself another glass of scotch, this time not bothering to stop until he reaches the top, and takes a long drink before he speaks. His voice is almost as hoarse as Ryan's now.

  "It's not, doctor Walsch. If it were they wouldn't have been sedating Ryan to check her levels every few weeks. If it were they wouldn't have been flying in army specialists instead of using the residents at Fairwater. If it were," he takes another sip, "they wouldn't have gotten me in to keep the issue official. She's not officially in the US Navy anymore, doctor. She's a liability and they've acknowledged that by sending her to Fairwater. Why, then, do you think the army's still sniffing around? Why do you think they were keeping her there? They've done something, doctor Walsch, and they're watching. Waiting to see what hatches."

  In fury Ryan lifts her foot and kicks wrathfully at one of the dining room chairs, splintering its back and collapsing it beneath her expert force. Her face is pure white, and her eyes are on fire. "Christ! They did that to me? YOU did that to me?!" Helpless with rage she rips the cap from her head and throws it across the room. "I thought it was me… and all the time… fuck!"

  "Ryan, calm down." Claire's voice is conciliatory as she stands up, but when the soldier turns those smoldering eyes on her she almost recoils.

  "Sit down, Walsch." It is a command, given in a hiss by a livid and dangerous woman. Frowning, Claire squares her shoulders.

  "Don't order me."

  "SIT DOWN!" This time she obeys, afraid of what the soldier will do if she doesn't. It is clear that Ryan is beyond control. Clenching her hands at her sides the lean woman clenches and unclenches her teeth as she glares at Victor. "Don't you understand what this means? If it were just my own mind I could take something for it if I choose to, pretend it doesn't exist under the fog of medication… now I know it's something far more ugly and this probably isn't the worst of it! And there's nothing I can do about it!" Reaching out she snatches his glass and hurls it against the wall, where it shatters into a million pieces. The blonde cringes back in her seat but Victor sits there passively, his face resigned as he looks at Ryan. She lifts her fist and presses it tightly to her mouth, then fixes her stare on Victor. "Who knows more about this thing? Turner?"

  "Yes, Turner, but… " He stops her as she moves for the gun, "you'll never make it that far, Ryan. Wait. One of the specialists who comes in regularly, Mark Grossman, I'll get you his number and address. He's in Helena. He'll talk to you, I'm sure. Wait, will you?" As she throws herself on the seat, her limbs trembling, he gets up. When her gaze falls on him he lifts his hands. "No funny business, Ryan. I'm getting his address from the study."

  Ryan glares at him hotly. "If I find out you know more than you let on… I'll come back for you, Victor. I promise you that."

  "I know." He nods silently and walks into the hallway, his head sagging as she slips the gun into her pocket and follows him into the study. Unlocking a drawer he pulls a plain brown folder from it, through which he begins to rifle. When the phone suddenly starts to ring he casts a quick glance at it but Ryan prods him roughly in the back.

  "Ignore it."

  Following her command he shuffles through the documents and retrieves a sheet of paper with a series of addresses printed on it. Passing it over he points at the correct entry, just as the ringing phone gives up and the answering machine kicks in.

  "You have reached the home of Victor Banks. I am not currently in, but please leave a concise message and your contact details, and I will get back to you as soon as possible."… beep…

  "Vic, are you there? Pick up, it's Turner… " Victor's eyes widen and he turns to speak to Ryan, but she lifts one hand grimly to keep him quiet as she listens to the rest of it. "Okay, obviously you're not home yet, but I had to share some absolutely exhilarating news with you - that last analysis came back 20% improved." Ryan's face is pale and infuriated as she glares at Victor. "Brilliant, don't you think? Pity the margin wasn't this good with Ryan, but then, as you said, you have to break an egg or two… I think the machine's going to cut me off - give me a call when you do get in - you have my number."

  beep

  Victor Banks can feel his body freezing as Ryan's ominous green eyes remain motionlessly focused on him. "I didn't…" he begins, but the words die in his throat as she steps closer, her face almost against his.

  "You fucking bastard. You fucking coward! You sold me out!"

  "No, it wasn't like that… " He tries to step away, but the desk is against his back. "It's not what you think… "

  Wrapping her hands in his collar she pulls him closer, hissing in his ear. "Tell me they set you up, Victor."

  "They did!" He pulls back, his eyes pleading.

  Her hands yank him forward again. "Tell me I'm a friend and you would never sell me out, Victor."

  "I wouldn't!" His voice is breathless. "I wouldn't!"

  When she drags him forward her strength is startling, and he stumbles over his own feet, barely held up by his quivering legs. She pushes him out ahead of her and sharply wraps an arm around his throat, pressing her forearm to his windpipe. The other hand grasps his wrist and turns it upwards behind his back painfully.

  Claire is in the hallway, torn between getting out of the front door and going to Victor's assistance - she has heard most of the discussion and knows that the soldier is likely to now be completely out of control - but when Ryan appears with him locked in her grip Claire's shoulders slump.

  "Get in the bedroom." It's a short barked order and the blonde complies, her wide eyes locked on Victor's panicked gray ones as the door closes between them and Ryan turns the key. Claire glances around helplessly at the posters of sportsmen, the dressing table in the corner, the too-small window, before she sinks down onto the bed, holding her breath as she listens to the sounds from next door. Ryan's voice is loud and strident, roaring over Victor's more muffled and beseeching pitch, and when suddenly there is a loud thump she closes her eyes and a shocked gasp escapes her mouth.

  To her relief Victor's voice starts again, still muffled but louder, and then his pitch rises and rises until a shot sounds out and silence takes over.

  At the sound Claire jerks and a sob escapes her lips involuntarily. Covering her mouth with both hands she looks at the closet door wildly as if she can see through it to what's happening behind it. There is shuffling in the room and then another thump, and Claire is still staring at the closet when the door opens unexpectedly and she shrinks back against the wall behind her.

  The soldier gazes in, her face set and ashen, a smear of copper beneath her mouth. "Go to sleep." She slams the door closed behind her and turns the key again, leaving the doctor curled up and sobbing on the bed until exhaustion and helplessness sends her into a dreamless sleep.

  7.

  When Claire wakes up, for a moment she is confused and blank, her eyes taking in the unfamiliar stars stuck on the unfamiliar ceiling above her. She is about to smile at the sweetness of it when re
alization rolls in and her eyes fill with tears. She takes several haggard breaths and rolls over to sit upright, still dazed when the door opens and Ryan walks in. The soldier has obviously showered, by the clean fresh smell which wafts in with her, and in a pair of camouflage pants - which fit much better than the jeans had - and a clean black t-shirt she looks almost presentable, discounting the fact that her skin is unnaturally pale and her intense green eyes, ringed in black, burn from her face in something akin to insanity. When she speaks her voice, more hoarse than usual due to the previous evenings shouting, is level and without inflection.

  "Here." She holds out a steaming cup of coffee, strong and sweet-smelling, and waits until the doctor takes it with trembling fingers before she steps back. "Do you want to take a shower?" When Claire nods she walks out into the hallway and waits. Sipping at her slightly quaking cup the blonde gets up and joins her, trying not to look at her face as Ryan leads her into the bathroom. There is a baby blue terrycloth towel folded on the toilet, and inclining her head towards it the soldier closes the door behind her, leaving the shaking and nervous doctor to step under the warm soothing water.