“What do you want?” she demanded, trying and failing to hide the fear in her voice. She scolded herself for allowing it to tremble. “You can’t keep me locked up in here! I’ve done nothing wrong!”
The soldier remained silent. He glowered at her as he held open the door, and behind him another man shuffled through before the soldier vanished, pulling the door closed behind him. The new arrival entered the room clumsily, dragging a black folding chair in one hand and juggling a mug of coffee and a sheaf of papers in the other. He flinched slightly as he heard the lock click behind him.
Karen’s first reaction was surprise, followed by relief. All she’d seen here so far were men in uniform, tough and – she felt the throbbing pain in her head – decidedly aggressive, but this man was… well, he appeared to be the polar opposite. He was middle aged and running to chubby, his tan corduroy blazer hanging open to allow for the slight paunch that hung over his belt. He wore a pair of round horn-rimmed glasses that might have looked stylish on a younger, more attractive man, but resting on his face they gave him the air of a lecturer at a low rent community college.
The most arresting thing about him, though, was his hair. He was balding, but if there was a way to lose hair gracefully this man had chosen the path furthest from it. What little remained of his curly thatch was cut in such a way that it looked as if the top of his head had simply grown vertically through a full head of hair, a shiny, sweaty dome rising above a wispy ring of brown.
“Sorry for the… oh, damn,” he mumbled as he tried to jiggle open the folding chair, tipping his mug and splashing his coffee on the floor at Karen’s feet. “Would you mind holding this for a second?” He held out the dripping mug, and then noticed the handcuffs that bound her hands to the chair. “Oh, right, sorry. Umm…” Absently he glanced over to the mirrored glass at the back wall and called out. “Are the cuffs really necessary, do you think?”
As he waited for a response he finally managed to shake open his chair, the legs screeching across the floor, and with a graceless slump he lowered himself to the seat and shook his sheaf of paper, flicking away a little coffee that had spilled on it.
“Seriously, you guys? Is it OK if I…?” He waved at Karen’s hands. “Sorry about this. Military types, y’know? They like to do things by the book.”
Again he stared impatiently at the glass, and when he heard nothing but silence he hauled himself back to his feet with a sigh, clomped over to the window, cupped his hands and pressed his nose against the glass.
“Hello? Anyone there? Hello-ooo?”
After a long moment of silence he turned back to face Karen with an awkward smile. “Huh. I don’t think anyone’s in there,” he said, stepping over to the chair and lowering himself into a crouch as he fished a key from his jacket pocket. “You always just assume, right? To be honest I feel a little cheated,” he muttered, half to himself. “First time in a room with mirrored glass and there isn’t even anyone on the other side.”
He paused, staying his hand as he gripped the key in the lock. “Hey, you’re not gonna try to escape or anything, right? I mean, there’s nowhere to go. You wouldn’t make it ten steps past the door before the guard put you on the ground, but I don’t want to look like an idiot for uncuffing you, know what I mean? Can I trust you not to do anything crazy?”
“I’m not going anywhere without my daughter,” Karen managed to reply. Her words slurred a little, and her tongue felt numb in her mouth. “Where’s Emily? What have you done with her?”
With a click the cuffs came loose, and her hands were finally free for the first time since she’d been captured. She swung them out ahead of her, stretching out her aching, bloodless arms as the man returned to his chair, defensively shuffling it back a few inches out of her reach.
“Your daughter?” he asked, peering down at his papers as if he’d find the answer there. “Oh, don’t worry, she’s right as rain. She’s in the mess right now eating her body weight in ice cream. She’s a real sweetie, that one,” he said, with a distracted smile that slowly faded as he studied his papers. He flipped the pages, frowning at the handwritten scrawl, and after a few moments of silence he looked up at Karen as if he’d forgotten she was there.
“So…” he said, squaring off the pages against his knee, “why don’t you tell me what you were doing trespassing on a US Air Force base? Not the smartest of moves, given the events of the last couple of days.”
“We weren’t trespassing,” Karen replied, her voice still a little slurred and her mind working at half speed. Her fingers tingled with pins and needles. “We were looking for help. Someone stole my car. We were just trying to get to somewhere safe.”
“Your car? You mean the Prius?” The man frowned and looked down at the front sheet. “Is your name Toby Zimmerman?”
“What? No, I’m Karen Keane.”
“I see. And are you traveling with anyone named Toby Zimmerman? Perhaps the African American woman you were with? Or maybe the Hispanic gentleman?” He flashed her a smile. “Your daughter isn’t Toby Zimmerman, is she?”
Karen frowned, confused. “What are you talking about?”
“Forgive me,” he smiled, “‘but I’m a bit of a stickler for details.” He held up his hands. “Guilty as charged, your honor. It’s just that the registration documents for that car tell us that it belongs to a Mr. Toby Zimmerman of Forest Hill, San Francisco. Now I know that none of you guys are Mr. Zimmerman, and the three young gentlemen who were caught in the deeply regrettable incident out on the road weren’t carrying ID that would suggest any of them were of the… ah, the Zimmerman persuasion. So I guess I’m just wondering in what sense this was your car. Can you help me out?”
For a moment Karen could do nothing but stare at him, open mouthed. Maybe the whack on the head had been harder than she’d realized. She just couldn’t understand why he…
“Sorry, are you really making a big deal about a stolen car when nukes are exploding across the country?”
The man let out a soft chuckle and shook his head. “Not at all, Ms. Keane. To be honest I don’t care if you stole the Space Shuttle and took it on a joyride, but I’m just trying to get your story straight. I’m trying to figure out how and why we found you strolling toward an Air Force base at the highest level of alert in the aftermath of a nuclear attack. You tell me someone stole your car, but now it turns out that you yourself stole the car. I’m sure you can understand why I’m a little skeptical of your story when the first words out of your mouth were a lie.”
Karen took a few seconds to gather her thoughts. Her mind was still just a little too foggy to understand what was really going on, but she got the sense that the sweaty, awkward man sitting in front of her wouldn’t let up until he’d worn her down with a million questions. Everything about his demeanor screamed lawyer, and right now she just didn’t have the energy for it.
“You want to get my story straight?” she asked, taking a deep breath. “OK, fine, let’s get it straight.”
For the next five minutes she spoke almost without pausing for breath. She fought through the confusion and ignored the throbbing pain in her head to tell the story of every last thing that had happened since the car accident on the highway the previous morning. She told him about the first car they’d stolen, the Corvette in the underground parking lot near the hospital. She told him about the looters in Union Square, and the collapse of the bay bridge. The struggle to turn off the ventilation fans, and the terror of finding Jared clutching onto her little girl in the control room. The radiation poisoning, stealing the Prius on the highway, and the dying couple in the pharmacy. She told him everything up until the point the truck has chased them across the field, and by the end of it all her vision swam behind the exhausted, frustrated tears in her eyes.
“Is that straight enough for you?” she demanded. “Or do you have any more dumbass questions?”
For a long moment the man stared silently at her, either carefully observing her or just shellshocke
d from the five minute long stream of consciousness rambling from an exhausted, mildly concussed woman, but eventually he pushed himself out of his chair and nodded toward the mirrored glass on the wall behind her.
“Story checks out,” he said, as Karen spun around and narrowed her eyes at the window. “It’s pretty much what we heard from the others, and unless they coached the kid I can’t imagine they’re involved. I recommend we cut them loose.”
A few seconds later a scratchy voice rang out from a small speaker hanging from the ceiling above the window. “She’s free to go.”
Karen turned in her chair. “There was someone back there?” she asked, pointing at the window.
The man raised his hand to his mouth with a mock guilty expression. “Oops, you got me.” He reached out a hand and waited for Karen to take it, helping her out of her chair. “Nobody gets interviewed without a witness. Base policy. And sorry about giving you the third degree. We just needed to figure out if you were with us or them. I’m Ted, by the way. Ted Krasinski. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Them?” Karen felt like she was experiencing this conversation on a tape delay. She had no clue what the hell was going on. “Who’s them?”
Krasinski raised an eyebrow. “You know… them. The people who did this. I’m sure you can understand why we’re a little antsy about letting people just wander in off the street.”
Karen felt her frustration finally reach breaking point. She tugged her hand from Ted’s and snapped. “OK, look. If one more person gives me some cryptic bullshit about what’s going on I’m going to start kicking people in the balls. Now would you please tell me what’s happening here? Who attacked us? Just give it to me straight, OK?”
Krasinski looked flustered, and before he replied he surreptitiously turned away from Karen, protecting his crotch from possible attack. “OK,” he said, trying for a soothing tone. “I can debrief you, no problem at all.” He looked down at his mug, finding it almost empty. “Look, I need some fresh coffee, so how about we go grab some in the mess? You can see your little girl and your friends, and I’ll try to answer any questions you have.”
“Fine,” Karen snapped, pointing to the door. “Lead the way.”
Krasinski hustled over to the door and gave it three sharp raps, and a moment later it swung open to reveal the same soldier guarding it. He stepped aside as Krasinski led Karen out into the hallway, and the chubby man’s cheeks glowed red as he turned back to her.
“Just make me a promise. No ball kicking, OK?”
΅
CHAPTER THREE
ALL THE WAY DOWN HERE
THE MESS HALL resembled nothing so much as a vast, repurposed high school gymnasium. Rows of tables filled the space from wall to wall, each of them illuminated by the harsh fluorescent glow of strip lighting to supplement the dingy sunlight that crept in through the high, dusty windows.
The room seemed large enough to seat at least a thousand base staff at a time, but as Karen entered beside Krasinski she found it virtually deserted. Only a handful of the tables were occupied, and the only sounds were the sneaker squeaks of the cleaning staff as they shuffled across the rolled vinyl floor from table to table.
She scanned her eyes around the room, searching for Emily in the sea of tables, and at first she didn’t spot her. The little girl was sitting alone at a table in the middle of the mess, a sticky spoon in one hand and a squeeze bottle of chocolate sauce in the other, but she was almost completely hidden behind the industrial sized tub of vanilla ice cream that sat on the table before her.
Karen rushed across the room and swept her daughter up in a bear hug, tears pricking at her eyes as she joyfully held her. She barely even noticed that she’d managed to get more ice cream on her hands and face than in her mouth, and she didn’t care that Emily was leaving sticky stains on her clothes.
“Oh, I’m so glad to see you,” she cried. “Are you OK? Did anyone hurt you?” She leaned back and started to check Emily for signs of injury.
“Nuh uh. They just kept asking questions, and then they said I could eat all the ice cream I wanted if I stopped crying.” She tried to wriggle from Karen’s grip. “Mommy, don’t squeeze me so tight. My tummy hurts.”
“Sorry pumpkin,” Karen laughed, carefully lowering the digestive time bomb to the ground. “I’m just so relieved you’re OK. I couldn’t stop worrying about you.”
As Karen fussed over her daughter Valerie and Ramos entered the mess, closely followed by a young soldier who seemed to be apologizing profusely as he hurried after them. Karen turned at the sound of a hissed curse word and the echoed scrape of a chair kicked across the floor, and immediately it was clear that something had happened. Valerie looked furious, storming away from the young soldier at a fast walk, and the soldier’s cheek glowed pink with a fresh hand print. Still he apologized, but it didn’t look like Valerie was in any mood to accept it.
Ramos flashed Karen an awkward smile as he reached the table and grabbed a chair, and she gave him a questioning look. “What happened to—”
Ramos cut her off with an urgent wave of his hand an expression that said Leave it alone.
“If you’d like, ma’am, we can arrange for a hot shower,” the soldier babbled, pulling a chair back for Valerie. “And I can find you some fresh towels and clean clothes.” He seemed desperate for her approval, but it was clearly a fool’s errand. Whatever he’d done to her he’d made an enemy for life.
Valerie shot him a look that could have burned a hole through an inch of solid steel. “I’m fine,” she hissed, somehow managing to make those two words sound like a vicious rebuke. She ignored the chair he’d pulled out and took her own on the other side of the table. “You can get out of my sight now.”
“Actually,” Ramos said, meekly raising a hand, “it might not be a bad idea to get Emily cleaned up sooner rather than later. I want to make sure she doesn’t still have any fallout in her hair. Better safe than sorry, right?” He looked up at the soldier. “Can you show her to the showers?”
“Yes, sir,” the young man replied enthusiastically, eager to win favor. He held out a hand for Emily. “You want to come with me?”
Emily looked at Karen, who nodded, and she planted her spoon in the ice cream like a flag. “I guess so. I don’t think I can eat any more anyway,” she said, pushing the tub across the table, but a moment later seemed to have a change of heart. “Mommy, don’t let them take the ice cream away, OK? I might be hungry again when I get back.”
“If you say so, pumpkin,” Karen skeptically smiled. By the look of the tub it would be weeks before she’d be able to face ice cream again.
Emily took another step away from the tub, wavered for a moment, and then grabbed the spoon for a final scoop. “OK, I’m ready now,” she said, ice cream running down her chin as she offered the soldier her sticky hand. “Don’t eat my ice cream, mommy.”
“OK,” agreed Karen. “We’re just going to have a little grownup talk with this man.” She pointed to Krasinski. “It’ll still be here when you get back.”
Emily nodded, satisfied that her treasure was safe, and finally she allowed the young soldier to lead her away. As he left Valerie glared after him, hate in her eyes.
“OK, seriously, what happened to you guys?” Karen demanded.
Valerie grabbed the spoon from the tub and helped herself to a heaping scoop of ice cream. “Let’s just say we didn’t get the warmest of welcomes.” She turned to Krasinski. “You work here, right? Well top tip, hot shot,” she said, her voice muffled with her mouth full. “When your boys interrogate someone like me they should stick to black or African American if they feel the need to talk about my race. When they decide to go off script they shouldn’t be surprised if they get a slap in the face.”
Krasinski cringed uncomfortably, his cheeks glowing with embarrassment. “I’m terribly sorry, ma'am” he said, taking a seat on the other side of the table. “We have a zero tolerance policy for that kind of behavior. If you’d li
ke to file a complaint with the base I’d be more than happy to…” His voice trailed off as he realized how ridiculous he sounded. “Well, I don’t suppose much would come of it, given the current circumstances.”
“Probably not, no,” Valerie scowled, digging the spoon into the ice cream. “So let’s just put it down to a regrettable slip of the tongue and move on.”
“Guys, this is Ted Krasinski,” Karen said, eager to move the conversation to safer ground. “He’s a… a lawyer, I think? He’s going to tell us what’s been going on while we were on the road. Ted, you wanna just jump right in?”
“Thank you,” Krasinski nodded. “And thank you.” He smiled up at a member of the mess staff as she placed a tray on the table. He gratefully grabbed a fresh cup of coffee, shook out two sachets of sugar into the mug, and his hand hovered over a third before he thought better of it.
“Actually, I’m not a lawyer,” he eventually began, cradling the mug in his hands as he blew across the surface, apparently enjoying the attention of his captive audience. “I’m an accountant. A forensic accountant, to be exact, working for the DoD. It’s my job to make sure that your tax dollars go exactly where they’re supposed to go.”
He took a sip, cringed, and reached for the third sugar. “I check for… y’know, irregularities in the books. Unexplained hammers that cost twenty five grand, accrued vacation pay for staff who retired ten years ago, that sort of thing. You’d be amazed to learn how often people try to skim a little off the top, even when they know the military courts will come down on them much harder than any civilian court. In fact, one time I found a lieutenant who...”
Jack Archer (Book 3): Year Zero Page 2
