The Network

by L. C. Shaw

  “What?”

  “He told me that I’d made the right choice with you. That you were the real deal and to never let you go.”

  She felt like all the air had been sucked out of her lungs. “He—”

  Jack tapped the steering wheel. “Guess it’s a good thing he didn’t live long enough to see that I’d disappointed him once again.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  THE INSTITUTE, OCTOBER 1975

  I AM READING WHEN THE DOOR OPENS AND CROSSE WALKS in. He gets right to the point.

  “Any message you’d like me to take to your parents?”

  I feel my blood turn to ice. “No” is all I can manage. He can’t go near them. Please let him only be taunting me.

  “Since you don’t have any useful information, I have no choice but to go to the source.”

  I scramble to come up with a solution.

  “Let me talk to them. They’ll tell me. I can get the coins for you and then you can let me go.”

  He laughs at me. “You have no bargaining chips, Maya. Once they know I have you here, they’ll hand the coins over, I’m quite sure.”

  My parents were expecting me home a month ago. I wonder if they believe the lies they have been told by Damon’s people. That I failed out of the fellowship and took off to parts unknown. They may believe that I was ashamed enough not to return to them. It’s a feasible cover story, considering how I’ve always defined myself by my accomplishments. They must be so hurt. But my sister will know better. She knows I would never do that to her. I know with certainty that she is searching for me.

  I think back to the last Sunday we were all together. Mama always made a big dinner, and I joined them whenever I could. As soon as she and Papa would return from church, my mother would cook—homemade meals full of calories and love. Over dinner she would tell me about the priest’s sermon. She was always trying to talk me into going back to church with them, but I refused. How many times did my mother look at me, tilt her head, and cluck her tongue? Maya, my girl, God loves you. Don’t you know he loves you? After dinner, we’d linger, sipping our coffee and sampling the assortment of pastries sitting in the middle of the table on a large platter. I close my eyes and will myself there, to that table I took for granted, where my papa’s smiles warmed me, and my mama’s hand fed me. What I would give for one more dinner.

  “I suppose you think your parents are wonderful, don’t you?” His voice brings me crashing back to the present.

  I don’t know whether he expects an answer or not.

  “Well, Maya? Are they? Are they wonderful?”

  “They’re good parents,” I stammer. “We never wanted for anything. They did their best to provide good futures for us.” I become emboldened. “They sacrificed to pay for medical school for me and my sister.” I sit up straighter. “Yes, they’re great parents.”

  He laughs. A soft, mirthless laugh. “You are a fool if you believe that. Sacrificed? Nonsense. You fed their egos, fulfilled their purpose in your life. Two doctors in the family. How admirable. What good parents. They didn’t do it out of love for you. No, they did it purely for bragging rights.”

  I shake my head, lift my hands, and cover my ears. He’s wrong. My parents love me with all their hearts, and I love them. But I may never get to tell them that again. I will not allow him to steal my past. To pervert my memories, as well as trying to claim my future. I haven’t given up on getting out of here, though. I’ve been studying everyone who comes in and out of my room. Striking up small talk, trying to identify if there’s anyone I can convince to help me escape. There doesn’t seem to be a way, yet there must be. I only have a few months to figure it out. Once my baby comes, I am certain he will kill me.

  He stands up. “Cover your ears all you like. The fact remains: no one loves anyone but themselves. The sooner you accept that fact, the sooner you’ll learn not to be taken advantage of.”

  “Not taken advantage of?” I explode. “I’m a prisoner. I’ve lost everything. My freedom—even the right to my own body. You dare to lecture me on how to live? What choices are left to me now?”

  He advances until he is towering over me. I recoil and slide back.

  “Why are you complaining? You always wanted to be the best. You beat out all your fellow female students for the privilege of bearing my heir. You should pat yourself on the back that you were selected. But remember, pride goes before destruction and a haughty spirit before a fall.” He laughs again. “Imagine that: me, quoting from the Bible.”

  Chapter Thirty

  JACK PULLED THE CAR INTO THE PARKING LOT OF A SMALL highway motel and turned the ignition off. Taylor glanced at Jack’s hand as he pulled out the keys and remembered his touch. He had strong hands. They were nice hands, she thought, not too big but still masculine. They were hands you could depend on. Or they were once. Forget about his hands. What was wrong with her? She sighed.

  He put on dark sunglasses and went to the front office. Minutes later he returned with a room key, and she looked up as he got back in the car.

  “Any problems?”

  “Nope. The guy hardly looked at me. I gave him an extra twenty to let us bring in Beau.”

  “Good thinking.”

  In the room, Taylor threw her bag on the bed and sorted the dishes and food they had picked up for the dog.

  “Tomorrow we’ll go to the library and find the address. This time tomorrow night we could be talking to Jeremy,” Jack said.

  Taylor nodded at him absentmindedly while she fed Beau.

  “Any luck on tracking down the pharma company involved with the vaccine?” he asked.

  “No, but I did some digging on Brody Hamilton and he has sponsored a number of bills relating to a company called Alpha Pharmaceuticals, mostly lessening of regulations, like labeling and side effect warnings,” Taylor answered. She pursed her lips. “Wouldn’t surprise me if they’re the ones developing the vaccine.”

  “Could you find any connection between them and the latest bill? Or the vaccine?”

  She shook her head. “Not yet.”

  “Hopefully Jeremy can shed some light on it,” he said.

  “We’ll know soon enough.”

  She went into the bathroom to get ready for bed.

  “Taylor! Come here!”

  She ran out. “What’s wrong?”

  He pointed to the television screen. “Guess who’s on the news again.”

  She listened, horrified, as the anchor spoke.

  “Police are still looking for Senator Phillips’s widow, Taylor Phillips, who went missing the same day her husband was found dead on an overseas diving trip last week. It’s now been confirmed that she’s been kidnapped by Jack Logan, an investigative reporter who spent some time as a mercenary. A motive is unknown at this point. He’s believed to be armed and dangerous.” Jack’s picture flashed on the screen.

  “Mercenary? What is she talking about?” Taylor asked.

  He swore. “They’re making it up. I was a bodyguard. This is bullshit!”

  “Why would they say that, then?”

  He sighed. “Taylor, come on. If I was a mercenary, would I be writing articles about civil liberties and living in a tiny apartment in New York? I went there after Dakota . . . did what she did. I was protecting people, not killing them.”

  Taylor had to admit, she didn’t see him as a killer, but she couldn’t think straight anymore.

  “I’m beat. Why don’t we get some sleep?” she said, climbing into the bed closest to the wall.

  Beau hopped up and nestled by her side. Her mind was racing. A part of her wanted to call out to Jack, to feel his arms around her and relax in his comforting embrace. It would be so nice to just pretend everything was good between them. She shifted again, restless. Stop thinking ridiculous thoughts. She felt disloyal to Malcolm, then a quick surge of anger coursed through her when she remembered she didn’t owe him anything. She didn’t even know who he really was. She still didn’t understand how she could
have been so easily deceived.

  Watching as Jack bolted the door and pushed a chair against it for good measure, she noticed how the T-shirt he was wearing showed off his muscled back and trim waist. The stirrings of desire fluttered as she remembered the feel of those strong arms. She flipped over to face the wall, her back to him, and pulled the covers up to her chin.

  When he got into the other bed and turned the light off, she closed her eyes, but sleep wouldn’t come. She kicked her leg out from under the sheet, trying to find a comfortable position.

  “You still awake?” Jack whispered.

  “Yeah.”

  “Did you ever have any idea about Malcolm? Any suspicions that something was off?”

  “Of course not. Some journalist, huh?”

  “It’s not your fault. People aren’t always what they seem, and we want to see the best in those we care about.”

  They had both married frauds, she realized. But surely, there had to have been more to her marriage than Malcolm’s deception. She couldn’t believe that everything between them had been a lie. No one could be that good an actor. Lying there in the dark, it felt comforting, unburdening, to talk about it.

  “I met him the night I returned from a trip to Greece. My father had invited him to dinner.”

  “Were they friends?”

  “My father supported his campaign for Senate. I’d heard about him, but it was the first time I’d ever met him. At first, I wasn’t interested, thought he was too much older than me. When you’re in your twenties, a ten-year age difference seems like a lot. And you know how I’ve always felt about those Washington-power types. With Dad’s position at the paper there was always some blowhard politician or another over for dinner. But Malcolm was different. When he told me that he’d lost both his parents when he was a teenager, it made me feel close to him.”

  “I can see that. What you went through, losing your mom—not many people get what that does to you.”

  She thought back to the days following her mother’s funeral, after everyone had gone back to normal and expected her to do the same. Everyone except Jack. He’d been by her side, not asking anything of her, instead offering a steady and consistent comfort.

  “I’ll never forget how you helped me through it. Looking back, I don’t know how you stood it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “All those nights when I snuck next door to your house and crawled in your room, and you held me while I sobbed. That went on for months. It had to get old.”

  She heard him shift in his bed. “It never got old. But it broke my heart.”

  The raw pain of that memory took her by surprise, and she brushed a tear from her cheek. All of a sudden, she didn’t want to talk anymore. “Good night.”

  “Taylor . . . Good night.”

  She tried to empty her mind and fall asleep, but memories bombarded her, playing like a video reel. Images of Jack faded and were replaced by Malcolm. After Jack, it had felt impossible for her to trust again. The hard shell she’d built around her heart had served her well. She had gotten her career on track, she was doing work she loved, and she was happy. When she finally opened her heart again, she’d believed she had found someone who would never hurt her. The bond she and Malcolm had shared over the tragedies they had suffered, and then their ardent desire to create their own family, had eradicated any remaining reservations she’d had about opening herself up again. Malcolm’s betrayal wasn’t just hurtful, though—it had caused her to lose faith in herself. If both times she’d fallen in love she’d been deceived, what did that say about her? Maybe there was some part of her that sought men who were incapable of true intimacy. Masks. Everyone wore one. She was done being a fool. She would take nothing and no one at face value ever again.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  THE INSTITUTE, NOVEMBER 1975

  HE HASN’T COME FOR THREE DAYS NOW. I AM GOING CRAZY with worry, imagining all sorts of scenarios involving my parents. Desperation has driven me to prayer. If there’s any chance that someone up there can hear me, I have to try. I hope with all my heart that they give him what he wants, and he doesn’t hurt them. But I don’t really believe that’s possible. I think of a story my mother used to tell me when I was a little girl. It was about three men in Babylon who refused to worship a gold image made by the king because they would worship only their god. They were thrown into a fiery furnace so hot that it burned even the soldiers who threw them in. The next morning, the men were all still alive, not a hair on their heads singed. The king was astounded, promoted them to better jobs, and ordered everyone in the land to worship their god. I remember asking my mother why they didn’t just pretend to worship the image, just say something to save themselves. She told me that true faith requires sacrifice, and that to love our lives more than we love God is not serving him but ourselves. So I asked if God would always step in and rescue his people like that. She hugged me, put her hand on my face, and said that, no, not always in this life, but yes, always in the next.

  My door opens, and it’s him. I hold my breath, dreading what he has to say. His eyes are stormy, and his face looks tense. He slams the door behind him and stares at me.

  I stand and put one hand on the table behind me, steeling myself for whatever he is going to say. He just looks at me, until finally I can’t stand it anymore.

  “What happened? Did you see my parents? What did you do?”

  “Yes, I saw them. You look like your mother.”

  “Please!” I shout. “Just tell me. Are they alive?”

  “They were when I left them.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He sits.

  “Patience, Maya. I was waiting for them when they returned from church. They’re very polite. When I mentioned I knew you, they let me right in. Gave me coffee and some delicious Greek pastry.” He taps his index finger against his chin. “Thiples, I think they’re called?”

  I want to scream. I tap my foot and wait for him to get on with it.

  “I told them I’d worked with you here. They’re quite heartbroken that they haven’t heard from you.”

  “Stop toying with me.” I can’t stop the tears now.

  “Indeed. Well, I got around to the real purpose of my visit. When I asked about the silver pieces, it was obvious by their reactions that they knew exactly what I was talking about.”

  I hold my breath, waiting for him to continue.

  “Your father was the first to figure out that I wasn’t just someone who knew you. He demanded that I return you to them. He’s a brave man.”

  “You’re loathsome.”

  His eyes narrow. “Do you want to hear the rest or not?”

  “Go on.”

  “I promised I would let you go if they told me where they hid the coins. Even told them they have a grandchild on the way. That garnered a mixed reaction.” He looks at me with a triumphant expression. “You should have believed me when I told you they didn’t really love you.” He pauses for effect. “They said no.”

  All the breath whooshes from me.

  “They said no?” I whisper.

  “Oh, they blabbered on, said how much they loved you, but they had a sacred trust in guarding the coins. They couldn’t betray it or betray God. The fools.”

  I sit up straighter. “They are not fools. They knew you wouldn’t let me go. You’re the fool if you think you can trick them so easily.” I want to wound his pride, to say anything to wipe that smirk off his face.

  He arches an eyebrow. “It doesn’t matter. We’ll get it out of them. They could have done it the easy way.”

  “What are you planning to do?”

  He stands. “It’s done. Friedrich’s men are interrogating them. They’re extremely skilled in getting information.”

  I clutch my chest as a knifelike pain sears me. “You’re torturing them?”

  He tilts his head. “Well, I’m not.”

  “You monster!” I pick up the glass pitcher from the table and throw
it at him, narrowly missing his head. It crashes to the floor.

  He shakes his head, steps over the broken pieces, and opens the door.

  “I’ll send someone in to clean this up.” And he leaves.

  I walk over to the mess and begin to attend to it myself. Making sure my back is to the camera, I take the largest jagged piece and slide it into my pants pocket.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  DAKOTA SAT IN THE COMMON ROOM OF BELLEVUE STARING straight ahead, missing nothing. The chaos surrounding her made her want to scream, but she swallowed her rage and remained silent. To her right, a woman carried on an animated conversation with no one, gesticulating, grimacing, and flailing her arms about. Dakota wanted to slap her, tell her to shut up, but she kept her expression neutral. Across the room, a man pinched his own arm every few seconds then yelled, “Ow, stop!” No one paid any attention.

  A young man in his early twenties was screaming as a nurse chased him around the room.

  “No needles, beetles, stop, lop, mop. No!”

  Dakota sprang up from her seat and ran to his side. “Nathan, eyes!” She got between him and the nurse.

  He looked at Dakota with terror in his eyes. She spoke calmly. “The nurse is not giving you a needle. It’s just your medicine. I promise.” She turned around to the nurse who was new to the floor. “You have to show him the pill, be careful how you approach him.”

  The nurse held her hand out, showing Nathan the cup holding several pills. “See, Nathan? It’s okay.”

  His breathing became less ragged, and he took the pills and water from the nurse and swallowed them. Dakota led him over to a sofa and sat next to him, whispering in his ear. “I’ll come back and get you out of here, I promise. Just be good until then. Okay?”

  He looked at her with adoration. “You promise?”

  “Cross my heart.”

  “Okay, dokey, lokey.”

  “Good. Now just relax and watch the TV. I have an appointment with Dr. Clary.”

  She had been here over two years—after the court decided her mental state deemed her not criminally responsible for what she had done. She had to make Jack understand how miserable she was at being forced to accommodate the intruder that was taking over her body. In the beginning, when she still looked pretty and thin, she had liked the attention. Everyone was congratulating her and smiling, making her feel so special. But then things began to change. Her breasts were sore, and her legs turned lumpy with ugly blue veins. She had to pee constantly, and she was always exhausted. She was sick of being told what to do. No drinking, eat right, take your bloody vitamins. And Jack, always looking at her as though she was doing it all wrong, like he didn’t trust her with his precious child. She knew what he had planned, could see the disdain in his eyes when he looked at her. He was biding his time until she had the baby and then he would leave her. Take the wretched thing and start a life without her. Well, she wouldn’t let him. The baby was in her body and he would never get his hands on it. She chose the day knowing he would be working late. She intentionally started a fight with him so that when he came home and found her he would blame himself. The last words he said to her—that she made him say to her—would haunt him forever. She recalled the conversation with satisfaction. Her vitamins had been sitting on the table, unopened.