Secrets She Kept

by Debra Webb

  “Remove your clothing,” the tech ordered.

  Buchanan glanced around the room, noted the imaging equipment and then did as he asked without question. The top came off first, revealing high, firm breasts and a narrow waist. As the sweatpants slid down her hips and thighs, Smith’s gaze followed. Despite his own training, his body tightened. Her shape was undeniably attractive. Gently rounded hips and long legs sculpted by hours of running. Her long hair hung around her shoulders, the only remaining shield she possessed.

  The quality he found most surprising and interesting was that she stared square at the male technician without the slightest flinch. She was not shy or afraid.

  Smith continued to observe as the scans were accomplished. On a second screen, he monitored the results. There was no indication a tracking device or other electronic object had been inserted or implanted. She was clean.

  His curiosity roused. This woman—this Federal Bureau of Investigation agent—had walked into a compound filled with heavily armed and well-trained extremists. In truth, the people here were more mercenaries than preppers. She had done this while completely unarmed and with no way to call for backup or hope to escape.

  Sadie Buchanan was either telling the truth about her agenda for being here or she was completely insane.

  He would know the answer soon enough.

  Chapter 4

  Saturday, August 4

  Sadie opened her eyes. Darkness crowded in around her, jolting her heart into a frantic run.

  For a moment her brain couldn’t assimilate where she was. Air refused to fill her lungs.

  Then she remembered. Compound. Resurrection.

  Trouble.

  She froze.

  What had awakened her so abruptly? A sound. The slightest brushing of fabric against fabric as if someone had come far too close to her huddled position on this rock-hard cot.

  She dared to take a breath and the subtle scent of leather and wood whispered against her senses. Adrenaline burned through her once more.

  She was not alone.

  Forcing herself to relax, she peered into the darkness. Slowly but surely her eyes filled in the dark form sitting on the edge of the thin mattress, barely centimeters away. Whoever it was sat perfectly still, didn’t even breathe.

  Someone had come into her cell, had walked the half-dozen steps across the small concrete room and sat down on the edge of her cot. The door opening should have awakened her but it had not. Had they put something into her food?

  She never slept so heavily.

  “What do you want?” She said the words then waited for a response, holding her breath for fear she would miss some part of the answer, assuming an answer came.

  “Why are you here, Sadie Buchanan?”

  Male. His voice was intensely deep, and...dangerous. She couldn’t stop the shiver the sound elicited.

  Grabbing back her usual unflappability, she fired back, “You already know the answer to that question.”

  A grunt was his immediate reaction.

  She ordered herself to relax. Where was her usual fearlessness? It was something for which she didn’t typically have to search. Granted he had startled her from sleep in the middle of the night. Then again, she couldn’t be sure what time it was. It could be morning for all she knew. Without a window with which to judge, she couldn’t make an accurate assessment. There had to be something in the food she had dared to nibble at. She had known better but hunger sometimes overrode experience.

  “Why are you here, Sadie Buchanan?” he said once more.

  The words were harsher this time. His patience was thinning, and he obviously didn’t like repeating himself. Well, she didn’t, either.

  “Like I told your friends, I have information that could help your cause. I came to make a deal.”

  He laughed. There was zero humor in the rough noise. “If you were half as smart as you apparently believe you are, Sadie Buchanan, you would know that people like us don’t make deals.”

  The full depth and breadth of her courage finally reared its head. About time. “Well, now, that’s not entirely true, Mister...?”

  “Flynn. Smith Flynn.”

  Her brain instinctively searched her memory banks. No Smith Flynn was found there. “Perhaps you’re unaware of the deals those in charge make quite often. Deals with a certain South American gunrunning cartel. The recent shipment was detained by the feds and local authorities right here in Winchester—assuming we’re still in the Winchester area. And that’s only the beginning of your troubles. Things are not going to go so well for your friends if you refuse my generous offer of help.”

  He appeared to contemplate her warning for a time. If she was really lucky, his curiosity would trump his logic.

  “What happened recently,” he said, his voice still somehow disturbing to her senses, “was an unforeseeable stroke of good fortune for your friends, but it won’t happen again.”

  Sadie was the one who laughed this time. “You really believe all those stored weapons were found in those underground tunnels at the church by accident? A lucky break for the feds?”

  His tension shifted to the next level; she felt it in his posture even if she couldn’t see him in the darkness. Though their bodies weren’t touching, tension crackled between them. He was as edgy as she was. She squinted, peered harder through the darkness. Her eyes had adjusted more fully to the darkness allowing her to see that he had lighter hair. Blond, she calculated. Maybe gray. She couldn’t say for certain.

  “You have proof it wasn’t?”

  The next step was a risky one. Other than Levi Winters, she had no names of members except the one she was saving as the ace up her sleeve. “I know what the local authorities said. A heads-up took them to the church. The Winters family meltdown was secondary. They were already going there anyway. The church had been on their radar for a while. The goal was to hit when it counted. We both know how that turned out.”

  He considered her statement for long enough to make her doubt herself.

  “I can’t decide, Sadie Buchanan, whether you actually have relevant information or if you simply have a somewhat complicated death wish. If exiting this world is your goal, putting your service weapon to your temple would have been far easier.”

  “I can assure you, Mr. Flynn, I do not have a death wish.” She was winning this round. “What I have is information you and your friends can use. But I can’t force your interest.” She relaxed into the thin mattress as if she’d said all she had to say.

  “I will be watching you, Sadie Buchanan. If you’re lying, you will regret your actions far more than you can imagine.”

  She reached out, her hand landing on what felt like his upper arm. The muscles there were like steel but she suspected that had nothing to do with him not being relaxed and everything to do with serious workouts.

  “Tell me about you, Smith Flynn. What’s your story? What are you running away from?”

  He snagged her hand, clutched it in his own. “Why would you think I’m running from something?” His thumb found her palm and stroked the tender flesh there. “You don’t know me.”

  His touch unnerved her, which was the point. “How can you be certain I don’t know you? No one is invisible, Mr. Flynn.”

  The mattress shifted and fabric rustled as he leaned close. His face came so near to hers she could feel his breath on her skin. Her own ability to breathe stalled.

  “I know this because you have never seen my face. A name is only a name. It’s the face—the eyes—that tell the story, and I will know yours.”

  With every ounce of courage she possessed, she forced herself to turn fully toward him, putting their mouths mere millimeters apart. “Then show me your face and we’ll know for certain.”

  She felt his smile. “You are very brave, Sadie Buchanan. Or perhaps you are more naive than I thou
ght.”

  “I thought you had me all figured out, Mr. Flynn.”

  “So did I.”

  He drew away and she dared to breathe again.

  “You have a command performance this morning, Ms. Buchanan.” The mattress shifted again as he stood. “I hope for your sake you pass the series of tests you are about to encounter. If some part of you recognizes that you’re in over your head, you might consider quitting now. I’m confident the Council would be willing to permit a quick, merciful death if you confessed the truth before wasting more of their time.”

  “I’m not a quitter, Mr. Flynn.” Sadie dropped her feet to the floor. “If you knew me at all, you would know this.”

  The next sound she heard was the door closing and then locking.

  Just to be sure he was actually gone and not waiting in the darkness, she stood and moved around the walls of the room, reaching out to ensure he wasn’t standing in the center of the dark space.

  She leaned against the door and closed her eyes. He might be right about one thing—there was a very strong possibility she was in over her head.

  * * *

  The guard ushered her out the exit. This one, like the ones yesterday and the men who had accompanied Prentiss, wore a camouflage military uniform. The boots were military style, as well. Outside, Sadie squinted at the light. It seemed so bright she had to remind herself it wasn’t the sun. There was no sky because this place was underground somehow.

  “Where is this place?” she asked the man ushering her along. “Underground? In a cave?” If it was a cave, it was a really large cave. Maybe it was built into a mountainside. That would explain how they’d driven directly in and why the facility had not been located by any sort of aerial surveillance.

  As usual, the man ushering her along said nothing. Even when he’d opened her cell a few minutes ago, he hadn’t spoken. She had gotten up from the cot and walked out, grateful to escape the concrete box.

  “If we’re underground...” Sadie stopped, causing him to almost trip over her. “Technically I don’t need these cuffs. Where would I go if I ran?”

  He glared at her, grabbed her by the upper arm and steered her forward.

  “Where are we going?”

  Still not a word.

  The smaller buildings, almost like cabins, captured her attention again. Living quarters for those in charge, she surmised. Somewhere around here there would be a barracks for those members like the one escorting her this morning. She wondered about the man who had come to her cell sometime during the night. He probably lived in one of those private quarters.

  “Were you on duty all night?”

  Still no answer. He walked forward, his gaze straight ahead.

  “A man came into my cell.” She almost stumbled trying to look back over her shoulder at the mute guard as she spoke. But she was glad she did. He made the slightest little flinch in response but quickly schooled his face. She couldn’t decide if he’d felt a fleeting hint of concern that she might fall or if the idea of the man who visited her unsettled him somehow.

  “He tried to scare me.”

  No reaction.

  “But he didn’t scare me. If he’d intended to kill me, he would have.”

  “There are worse things than dying.”

  His fingers wrapped around her upper arm once more and ushered her toward a building on the left. The sign posted by the door read Clinic. She wanted to question him about the comment, but he ushered her through the entrance and walked away before she could. A woman wearing a white uniform took charge of Sadie.

  “The guard will wait for you outside,” the nurse, doctor, whatever she was, explained.

  The woman, her black hair slicked back in a tight bun, led the way to a plain white room with an exam table as well as a side table loaded with medical equipment. Sadie decided the woman was a nurse or technician. She checked Sadie’s temperature and then led the way back into the corridor.

  In the next room, there was yet another examination table. A stack of neatly folded sweatpants and a tee sat on the table. Beyond that was a curtain—the type that would hang over a shower.

  The nurse pulled a key from her pocket and removed the cuffs, then gestured to the curtain. “Take off your clothes and shower. Use the soap in the bottle.”

  Sadie didn’t argue. She took off her clothes, got into the shower and washed her hair and body as instructed. When she’d finished and stepped out of the shower, the woman—nurse, whatever she was—waited by the exam table. She wore an apron, a face mask and gloves. Stirrups now extended from one end of the table.

  “We’ll do your exam now.”

  No point in arguing. Sadie climbed onto the exam table and placed her feet in the stirrups. A close physical examination followed. She rolled Sadie onto her side and checked her back and buttocks. She scanned her arms and legs, hands and feet. Her face and scalp. Then she did a pelvic exam.

  Sadie grimaced. “You looking for anything in particular?”

  They had scanned her thoroughly yesterday. This seemed a bit overkill.

  The woman peeled off her gloves and tossed them into a trash receptacle. “Put on your clothes.”

  Sadie complied. When the fresh sweats and tee hung on her body, the nurse recuffed her and led her back out the front entrance to where the guard waited. From there, he led Sadie toward yet another building, this one about the same size as the clinic. The sign on the door read Council. The building was like all the rest, gray, like concrete. Austere. This one was a one-story like the clinic and the detention center.

  As soon as they stepped inside the building Sadie understood this was a place of importance. The floor was carpeted. Something commercial with low pile, but enough to quiet footsteps. The walls weren’t a stark white as all the others had been. This was more of a beige.

  “What did you mean when you said there were worse things than dying?”

  “Wait here.” He steered her toward the waiting bench. “Maybe you won’t have to find out.”

  Sadie sat on the bench against the wall and watched as he walked away. She ignored the idea that he had a point about there being some things worse than dying. For now, she preferred to focus on more optimistic scenarios. She had a feeling she was on a dangerous precipice. Whatever happened in the next few minutes would determine her future. One slip either way and she could go over the edge completely.

  Minutes passed. Three, then four and five. Eventually ten. Sadie crossed her legs, uncrossed them and then crossed them again. She swung her foot up and down. Someone in this place was watching her. She might as well show them how thoroughly unimpressed and utterly bored she was.

  A door on the opposite side of the corridor, a few yards beyond where she sat, opened. A different guard—she recognized the camo uniform but not the face—strode to her, pulled her to her feet and shepherded her toward the door he’d exited. The room was fairly large. A long table stood across the far end; seven, no eight men were seated on the other side. One chair sat on this side of the table. Sadie suspected that chair was for her. The guard nudged her forward, confirming her suspicion. When she’d taken a seat, he waited behind her.

  Most of the men were old and Caucasian. Not a particularly big surprise. There was one, however, who was not so old. A few years older than Sadie. Maybe forty. Blond hair. Piercing gray eyes. He stared at her, as did the others, but there was something about his stare that penetrated far deeper. They wore civilian clothes. Jeans, short-sleeved shirts—some button-down, others pullovers—and hiking boots. Except for one.

  Of all those present, the only person among them she had seen before was the man named Prentiss. He wore the same style overalls and long-sleeved shirt he’d worn in their first meeting. No fedora this time.

  He spoke first. “Agent Buchanan, you’ve created quite a stir around here.” He glanced side to side, acknowledging his
colleagues. “We’re mostly in agreement as to what should become of you. There’s a single holdout, preventing a final decision.”

  Sadie made a face. “I’m not sure I understand, Mr. Prentiss. You haven’t heard what I have to say. Maybe you’re not interested in protecting your assets and followers.”

  He stared directly at her, his glare as deadly as any weapon she’d ever faced. “I don’t think you understand, Agent Buchanan. We have no interest in anything you have to say. We have our doubts as to the worth of anything you might have to offer and we’ve decided we have no patience for whatever game you’re playing.”

  Not exactly the reaction she’d hoped for. Time to throw out the ace up her sleeve. “Mr. Trenton Pollard.” She scanned the faces as she said the name, looking for a reaction or some indication that one or more of those present recognized the name. Everyone seated at the table—except the younger man—had shoulder-length hair, a full beard and mustache, hiding a good portion of their faces, but not one of them outwardly flinched, grimaced or so much as batted an eye.

  “The Bureau and the ATF,” she went on, “have targeted Resurrection with the intention of taking down those in power, starting with you, Mr. Prentiss. They consider you the weak link in this group. The necessary information to accomplish this feat will be provided by Mr. Pollard. It’s my understanding there’s more than simply your location, far more, he plans to share.”

  All eyes stared at her.

  Good or bad, she’d shown her hand—her only hand. Now the ball was in their court.

  She had nothing else.

  Except what she could make up as she went along. She’d always been fairly good at improvising.

  The men whispered among themselves, save the younger one. He sat staring at Sadie without saying a word or even glancing at anyone else. That he still watched her so closely had begun to get under her skin. She kept her attention on the others, hoping all that going back and forth was in her best interest.

  Finally, a hush fell over the group and Prentiss settled his attention on her once more. “Agent Buchanan, we still have reservations about your decision to come here with this so-called warning. Though I will give you this, you have our attention. Still, my question to you is what could you possibly hope to gain?”