by Peter Idone
But Glass didn’t seem to hear. He lowered the gun but kept it at his side. “Where’s Natalie?” he barked.
“I was hoping she finally made it back and was here with you.”
“Well she’s not, and I’m beside myself with worry. You both have been gone for nearly three whole days!” And in the nearly seventy-two hours that had elapsed, it was evident that Glass had given up on himself; actually the man’s deterioration was remarkable. He wore the same military jumpsuit and robe, which were rumpled and soiled, and he had yet to shave or bathe since even the last time Logan had seen him. His hair appeared lank and oily, and there was a malodorous combination of cooked food and flatulence in the house. By all appearances, it would seem that Natalie’s presence was the main motivating factor for simple hygiene. Whatever their relationship had become, she was definitely the glue that kept hold of some semblance of wholeness and order.
“I was caught and underwent truth therapy. The last I saw of Natalie she was running away. My guess is she linked up with Creech at the rendezvous point. Turner said she and Creech were still listed as missing.”
“Did you say Turner? You spoke with him?”
“Yeah, I met him after the interrogation. He laid it all out for me. Did you hear me, Glass? I was subjected to truth therapy. You know what that means, don’t you?”
“You poor thing.”
“I blabbed about everything. You, me, Natalie. It’s all over. I can go to jail and lose my house. I killed one of their K-nine units. Maybe it was a chimera; I don’t know, but I’ll definitely be fined for that.”
“There are no chimeras. It’s the stuff of myth and fantasy. Besides, anything said while under truth therapy is inadmissible in civil court. It’s still highly experimental and is used for cases involving terrorism and espionage and the like. What I do find interesting is that Turner has the technology at his disposal. Now that indicates that the technique is more widespread than previously imagined.”
“Well you don’t have to use your imagination anymore. They know everything, and I was told a couple of things I didn’t know.”
“For instance?”
“You played me from the beginning. This was an exercise all along. Turner told me you presented the idea as a test, a drill to see weaknesses in the security of the exclusion zone. What he didn’t know was your plan to use the exercise to get to the pump house or that you had inside help. That’s all on you. So I have to ask myself, do you work for Response Team Management and Control? Are you part of some intelligence-gathering operation for the Tacticals? Does Natalie even know, or has she been kept in the dark as well? Which is it?”
“I told you to beware of Turner. The man has made up a story to drive a wedge between us. Get us all fighting amongst ourselves. He’s a twisted man.”
“He knows about the whole plan, and still he lets me go. What’s up with that?”
“The colonel works in mysterious ways.”
“The Tacticals, I’m sure, have planted a transmitter on my truck and can follow me anytime they want.”
“You are being paranoid. The colonel can reel you in whenever he desires. He doesn’t need to plant some intelligence GPS tracking system on your vehicle. Even despite what has just occurred, you are not that important. For now he will be content to let you sweat. He told you Natalie and Creech are missing? He could be lying. Has that ever crossed your mind?”
“Well, she isn’t here, Glass, and I don’t know where she could be.”
“The fact that Creech hasn’t turned up is a good sign. He probably has Natalie in hiding and waiting for the right time. Tonight, for instance.”
“The thought of Natalie being in Creech’s company for this long doesn’t sit right. The guy isn’t fastened together all that well, Glass.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s a feeling I have about the guy. I think Natalie believed he was a little off and didn’t want to be alone in his company. It’s why she brought me in. The guy has a big hard-on for her.”
“Oh please, Logan, how indelicate of you.”
“Fuck delicacy. Natalie used the guy, and I think he knows it by now.”
“Should I be jealous?” Glass said mockingly.
“Jealousy is the least of your worries. The undercurrent of hostility he showed was intense when I arrived at the scene. This was to be their little excursion. I was a spare wheel, and he made sure I didn’t forget it. He wasn’t expecting anyone else.”
“Natalie’s a big girl. Don’t concern yourself with—”
“She played the guy all wrong. He’s off balance from whatever splicing operations he was put under. His whole demeanor was like some schoolboy with a crush on the most popular girl in class. Naive, inexperienced. When I showed, after the initial surprise, he looked murderous.”
“Maybe you exaggerate. So what if Natalie used her charm. She had an important, difficult objective to carry out. Creech is obviously immature in that field. Natalie is tough. She is hiding out, waiting for the right moment to evade the patrols and get over the wire. Home free. You said yourself there could be difficulties and that you might have to stay hidden for a few days. Smart girl. She’s taking your advice.”
He was attempting to minimize the seriousness of Natalie’s predicament, Logan thought. There was no telling what type of grim scenarios he had been playing out in his cross-circuited brain over the past couple of days. Finally Glass pocketed his weapon and sat down on the stairs. As for Logan, he still wasn’t invited in, so he stayed in the foyer, not getting too close or threatening for the high-strung investigator/Internet journalist and whatever else he might actually be. “Turner has spoken to you since all this has occurred, so don’t lie to me. He already told me.”
Glass nodded. “Yes, we talked. All will be forgiven in time. He’s a little concerned about his job, I should think. His main concern is Creech. Once the glow boy is discovered, we can all breathe easier. If Creech has some hiding place on the estate grounds, then they will be found, eventually. Sooner rather than later. If they managed to get off-site…”
“I think that’s the more likely scenario.”
“But where? If Creech has established a safe house or nearby secret location, then she never told me about it.”
“You know, you haven’t once asked what we saw over at Pine Haven. I was expecting a debriefing.”
“I was coming to that. I know there wasn’t a hard drive recovered from the pump house, and a transmission of sorts was observed on some old equipment. Turner was kind enough to inform me of that. Anything else?”
“Yeah. The radioactive waste they’re dumping over there is a lot hotter than low-level. At least I think it is. But maybe that doesn’t matter to most people. At least not to the folks who don’t live around Essex or the power station. There have been enough blackouts and brownouts over the past few years for people to forget how the Triumph plant makes its electricity. I won’t forget. That’s a lot more important to me than some weird, extraterrestrial experiments the Air Force was up to. Personally, I think it’s just a lot of UFO wet dreams made up by a bunch of pathetic geeks with too much time on their hands.”
“Is that what you think I am? A pathetic geek?”
“No. If you were, you’d be considered somewhat harmless. I think you’re a duplicitous scumbag. And that makes you dangerous. You’re some kind of entity that hasn’t a clear fix on what your exact role in life is. I think you’re a pathological liar, and Natalie runs a close second. You and Turner have some kind of connection…Natalie knows or doesn’t know. It doesn’t matter. I’m exhausted and can’t even think straight. I’m through.”
“What you think doesn’t concern me, Logan, or Turner, for that matter. I wanted inside Pine Haven to discover some kind of truth as to what actually went on there. Any association I might have had with Turner is immaterial. It was an edge, a pretext used as a failsafe in case you were caught. Creech was the trump card, and the truth therapy…well how very un
pleasant for you and I’m sorry. I really had so much faith in Natalie’s ability, I didn’t think it would come to this.”
“Too bad while she was sleeping with some of those guys at the Hotel X they never once mentioned anything about a souped-up Rottweiler called Havoc that damn near tore her apart. If I hadn’t shot it, we’d have bigger worries than getting caught.” He could see his words tore into Glass. His face showed grave doubt.
“I think it’s terribly unfair of you to impugn Natalie’s character. She’s…she is a very spirited girl.”
“I guess Turner didn’t tell you how they were on to her and fed her disinformation? They fed her a whole lot more as well, I gather.”
“Watch your tongue boy or I’ll yank it out of your head.”
“Just think it through. How do you think she managed to rope me into this fucked-up scheme without pay? I was vulnerable, so she made herself very, very available. It only occurred once, but I have to admit, it was enough to get drunk on. I’ll leave you to consider that while waiting for her return. Honestly, I do hope she’s all right. I may think you’re two of the most fucked-up people I’ve ever crossed paths with, but I wouldn’t want to see anyone hurt. You’re doing enough of that on your own.”
Logan turned and reached to open the door. For the merest second, he believed he’d spoken unwisely and was now turning his back on an intrinsically unstable man who was holding a gun. But the door opened and he walked out through the antechamber, to the crushed bluestone driveway, and into the Toyota. His work here, if that’s what it could be called, was done. He drove home.
22
When Joe Logan returned home, the first thing he noticed were a couple of messages on the landline recorder. The first was from his sister, Bridgett, asking about his plans for the holidays. Thanksgiving, such as it was, had come and gone, but Christmas would be arriving sooner than one would think possible, and it would be great if he could come out and spend it with them. If that was the case, she’d like to plan ahead. She and Todd were doing OK for the most part, although her hours had been reduced to parttime at her job, but at least her husband was still working full-time in the bursar’s office at the university. Things were a little tight, but manageable, barring any unforeseen economic calamities. Fortunately, they were both accountants, and no matter how bad things got, their services were always required.
She sounded a little smug, Logan thought. Christmas. He was in no mood to celebrate any holiday at the moment and doubted he’d travel to Wisconsin to spend it with Bridgett and his brother-in-law. He knew his sister would use his time with them to chip away at his obstinacy about not selling the house; either that or try to wheedle out of him her share of the property’s worth. That he would do, but only after he’d raised the money, and he didn’t see that happening anytime soon.
The next message, interestingly enough, was from Henry Bock wondering when they could get together again. Nothing specific was mentioned, only that they should get together and have a chat. Logan decided to get some sleep and then determine who he would call first. Actually Bridgett was ruled out immediately. He didn’t want to say anything about how unstable his situation was at the moment. Until there was a clear, definitive course of action Turner was going to take against him, it was better to pretend that everything was as normal as could be in these abnormal times. Besides, Bridgett had a knack of getting him to open up when he didn’t want to. Ever since they were kids, she could tell something was up, usually serious, even if she didn’t know the details. She wouldn’t let go until she managed to get something pertinent, tangible, and then they would end up fighting. Once she got the picture, or a partial detail, Bridgett could plot the course of action that would most benefit him. Then triumphantly she would declare how it was good to talk, air things out in the open. Turner could scrap truth therapy and hire his sister. She could wring information out of a brick.
As far as Henry was concerned, there were several things he wanted to tell Bock: that he had penetrated the exclusion zone and saw the burial site up close, and that Henry and the state Enviro department should focus their energies on the potential hazards of this hot, allegedly low-level waste; given what Logan witnessed, it looked as though it was a lot hotter than Enviro thought. The other thing he wanted to tell him was to not trust a single word Glass or Natalie Schneider had ever said to him. Logan had found out the hard way.
Physically and emotionally exhausted, Logan collapsed onto the couch in the den. He found that his mind was a bit on overdrive, with thoughts and images racing through his brain, actions and events over the past several days all colliding into an uncongealed mass. He wondered if his brain synapses had been overheated and now misfired as a result of whatever diabolical means Turner’s truth therapy had used. Were there side effects from either the directed energy beams or the drugs involved?
Something else was bothering him; he had felt it after he had picked up the truck and made the drive home. He didn’t know how to explain it. When a person had thoughts, the consciousness of one’s own mind could sense that the cognitive process was centered in one’s head. In other words, you were aware of where the thinking, the thoughts emanated from: from your head resting on your shoulders, not your lower back or your ass or your feet. What Logan sensed was a type of misalignment; his thoughts now seemed to be emanating from either the right or left. Did some sort of cleavage occur in the hemispheres of his brain? It felt as though his head was positioned either to the right or left of his body, not centered between his shoulders.
At first he tried to shake the feeling, passing it off as a byproduct of extreme fatigue. But the sensation had yet to go away. The thought of living the rest of his life feeling this out of kilter was beginning to bring on a panic attack. He breathed deeply and regularly to get a hold of his emotions and calm himself. After about five minutes of this, he clicked on the television and tuned to the weather channel. Focusing on the screen helped to center the position of his brain. It no longer felt as though his head was either right or left of where it should be.
Concentrating on the weather maps and graphs and the commentator’s voice, he learned that it was expected to remain cold with a further chance of snow overnight and into the next day, with accumulation not to exceed an inch or two. But a large system was pushing down from the north and could dump at least six inches locally and anywhere from eight to twelve inches farther north of the county at the convergence zone. Logan would start making calls soon with some old clients to see if they would need parking lots plowed—that is, if their businesses were still open. He was beginning to feel better; looking away from the television screen, he could sense that the location of his thoughts, his actual head, was more centered.
These people were into some seriously evil shit, he thought, as the picture of Turner’s unpleasant, alien face came to mind. If this technology were made available as a regular law enforcement tool, then they were all seriously fucked. This was some serious mind control. To enable a police or military apparatus to employ this on its population would make people not fellow citizens but the enemy. He guessed that’s what a citizen now was to anyone in the government panoply of management and control bureaus and agencies: a potential enemy.
He fell asleep and awoke in the dark. It was a little after six p.m. He showered, which helped give him a burst of energy, then dressed in some clean work clothes. He felt much better, more himself. He put on a pot of coffee and boiled a couple of hot dogs, which he wrapped in cheap bread. After downing one, he dialed Henry Bock.
“Hello, Logan. I was thinking about you the other day and thought I’d call to see how you were making out. Anything new about your dog?”
“I broke into Pine Haven the other night, Henry,” he blurted out.
“Oh my.”
“I was caught.”
“Good Lord. What’s going to happen to you?”
“That hasn’t been decided yet, or I should say Colonel Turner hasn’t decided. It’s all very convolut
ed, and I’m trying to make sense out of it all.”
“So you met the colonel. That’s not good. I was hoping we could meet down at Gleason’s Pub and talk. Tomorrow afternoon, perhaps?”
“Ordinarily I would, but I think it would be better if I lay low for the next few days. Not attract any attention, you know what I mean? It might be better if you’re not seen in my company for the time being. Once I have a clear understanding of where I stand, I’ll give you a call.”
“Yes, of course. That makes the most sense. It would be unwise to commiserate in a public venue for the time being. I understand, perfectly.”
“There is one thing I will say. Don’t trust a single word Chris Glass has ever said to you. Either directly or through his mouthpiece Natalie Schneider. They are not to be trusted. I think Glass has been passing along disinformation ever since he arrived in Essex. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s on Response Team payroll.”
“Funny you should say that. Well, not funny actually. I’ve come across something similar that I wanted to share with you. Something I learned from a contact. The individual in question used almost the exact same words. I thought we could all meet at some point. But let’s not discuss it over the phone. When you are ready, Joe, we can all get together and talk in-depth.” Logan agreed and rang off.
He stood at the kitchen counter and thought for a moment. An idea had been bouncing around in his head, almost furtively, ever since he had awakened. He threw on his coat and hat and grabbed the large household flashlight and the keys to the Toyota.
Outside he fired up the truck and repositioned it off the driveway and onto the barren patch of yard between the house and tool shed. If he was under surveillance, he didn’t want to be seen from the driveway. It was a precaution, though Logan had no idea how effective it would be. He turned off the engine and proceeded to search every square inch of the truck.
If the Tacticals had planted a tracking device, it was just a matter of where and how small. The farmer had told him that Turner’s people were all over the truck, both inside and out. He began the search within the cab, lifting the floor mats, feeling under the dash. He emptied the glove compartment of its contents: vehicle manual, a box of spare fuses and turning-signal bulbs, old receipts and a warranty from when he had last bought tires, the most recent emissions test, registration, and insurance card. What he was looking for was any indication of scuffing or denting from tool marks, if the compartment had been molested in any way. It didn’t appear to be. He then looked over the door panels to see if there were any loosened screws or bolts or torn fabric. The truck was old and well-worn. Signs of use, age, and grime were evident on every surface. Fatigue was settling back in real quick, and Logan was tempted to call it quits, but stubbornly he pressed on. The 4X4 bed and wheel wells proved to be void of anything that looked suspicious. He went to the front end and opened the hood, shining the flashlight into the engine compartment. There was nothing inside he could not identify, no stray device that seemed out of the ordinary or out of place. Then came the hard part: he lowered himself to the ground and examined the undercarriage. He poked the flashlight beam around, scooting under the vehicle as far as physically possible. Then he saw something so obviously out of place it was almost laughable.
