To build the containment shells, The Cell had acquired experimental materials from another clandestine arm of the United States’ military industrial complex—a division focused on R&D. This technology’s original application had nothing to do with holding prisoners who were in danger of suddenly vanishing. Rather, the insulating black walls had been developed to protect what was inside from anything harmful getting in. Nothing getting out was a secondary consequence—but also exactly what The Cell needed to contain their new prisoners.
As was the case with most things, solving one problem created another. Data could not be downloaded from inside the shells without compromising the containment field. Obviously, The Cell wasn’t comfortable with a holding facility they had to physically enter each time they wished to observe their prisoners. To solve this problem, surveillance video was retrieved from within the shell at randomly changing time intervals. This limited the predictability and size of any weaknesses in the shell’s defenses.
This was also why Leah was watching footage that was already half an hour old but still the newest batch uploaded to the server.
A notification alert took over one of the feeds, abruptly indicating that her commanding officer was opening a secure line of communication.
She had been waiting for the call—not looking forward to it. Leah closed her eyes and took a long breath—bracing herself—before entering the necessary keystrokes to accept. The camera feeds she had been watching shrank to small boxes along the bottom of her display, making room for General Delacy’s face to fill most of the screen.
He looked haggard, but his voice wasn’t angry. He sounded like a person who expected bad news but still had to ask. “Is it true, are you carrying his child?”
Leah lowered the ice pack and answered with a single slow nod.
A long silence lingered afterwards.
Her entire life, General Delacy had told her that there was a time and place to assign blame and it came after everyone you cared about was safe. This was not how either of them had ever imagined this day. They were supposed to be on the brink of celebration—having accomplished what they had set out to do two years ago.
Yet, with a resigned sigh, the General began adapting to their reality. Leah, in no hurry to divide up the blame herself, was quick to join him.
“This is a precarious corner we’re backed into. Olivia tells me you counseled her to keep this between the three of us. Does anyone else know?”
“Rylee. When we were alone in the garage, before she vanished.”
He thought it through for a moment. “The footage from the garage may have been corrupted by The Mark’s interference. If not, one of the lip readers will eventually catch it.”
“I can claim that I was just trying to de-escalate a situation that had already turned violent,” Leah said.
He gave a shallow nod. “That’s an easy enough sell for now, but we’ll be on borrowed time. Olivia will not entertain this for long. Even if she could be persuaded, when you show physical signs there won’t be any hiding the truth; this is going to catch up to both of us.”
He grew thoughtful. “For now, my orders to Olivia are to keep you on-site for as long as your relationships with the prisoners may be of use. You’ll be under the microscope like never before. Assume she is watching your every move, and . . .”
Her father trailed until she met his knowing gaze. “Don’t give her any reason to believe you won’t exploit the relationships to the best of your ability. She’s not stupid and she knows she has leverage on you now.”
Leah nodded, though she looked as if she had swallowed something bitter.
The General hadn’t seen the way Jonathan had looked at her before they were taken prisoner. She didn’t think there was much relationship left to be gambling on. At the same time, she wasn’t sure her father’s assumption about Olivia’s leverage was certain. There had been something off with Olivia when she’d confronted her about the pregnancy—a moment of compassion in the woman’s consistently stone-faced professionalism. That said, the prospect of catching a second glimpse of Olivia’s repressed humanity was something she wanted to depend on even less than the state of her and Jonathan’s relationship.
“There is only so much I can push under the rug before I cross a line that won’t be ignored. You . . .”
He hesitated, sighing heavily before continuing. “Leah, there is no gentle way of putting this. Under the circumstances, you may not be given a choice in what happens. The Cell will want you to carry the child to term despite whatever your wishes may be. It will be the subject of research. If I were to attempt to intervene—”
“I know,” Leah interrupted, closing her eyes as a shudder passed through her.
“It’s why you kept this from everyone—including me?” her father asked.
Tears came, though she fought them. “Was going to wait as long as I could, until pretending I didn’t know would be too suspicious. I thought that I’d have more time.”
His features softened as he leaned back in his chair.
“Not the way I imagined hearing I will be a grandfather,” he said.
She smiled—grateful that he was still being decent despite her missteps.
“Leah, should the time come, you do what you must. Don’t look back. Don’t give me a second thought. Remember that I said that,” he emphasized.
She blinked, looking up at him with a frown despite the tears still running down her swollen cheek.
“Usually . . . you’re the smart one,” he said. “We both know it. So, if the opportunity presents itself, take it.”
What he was saying—exactly—she wasn’t sure. She knew her father, and it felt like he was giving her some sort of permission to leave him behind. The moment slipped away as quickly as it had come. He didn’t seem to want her overthinking what he said. He cleared his throat and that softness that had been in his voice departed. “For now, we’re too close. So, nothing changes. We’re going to find out what happened to Peter and all the others. If we lose sight of that—it’s all been for nothing.”
Leah had to look away. She tried to give the appearance that she was simply wiping away her tears, putting on her game face. Not let him see how little hope remained in her that either of them would see Peter alive again.
“To that effect,” he said, drawing her attention back to the monitors. “You requested the footage from the alien’s capture. Olivia said you expressed a certain degree of urgency.”
As her father’s face shrank down to a manageable size on the display, the feeds of Jonathan and his roommates inside the containment cell were replaced with footage from their capture.
She had to pull herself out of the murk of her thoughts. Her lips drew into a line as she forced herself to concentrate on the events that played out around the time of Rylee’s disappearance. Her father waited as she watched the video in its entirety three times.
Something in the film was eating at her, and the feeling grew with each viewing. For a while now, Jonathan’s expressions, the language of his face, had been less and less of a mystery to her. Yet, while in the midst of those last words to Rylee, everything about him lost certainty. The way he stood, the cadence of his voice, even the words he used.
They all came from Jonathan—yet they weren’t quite right.
When she’d first noticed the subtle differences, she thought it was the stress they had all been under at that moment. Now, with each review of the tapes, she was more convinced. Her suspicions had only grown as she watched the security camera footage from inside his prison cell. It had been hard for her to watch because whatever was different about him, he wasn’t simply having an off day—he seemed broken.
She started the film over again. Watched Jonathan turn a hard, calculating gaze on each of The Cell’s agents as they demanded he stand down. He’d stood there unmoving longer than any sane person with so many guns trained on him would have dared. It would have been one thing if she thought he had frozen up in fear, but
if anything, The Cell’s arrival gave him a look like . . . like . . . he didn’t have time for them.
Finally, with a strained tremble, Jonathan closed his eyes. She couldn’t tell if it was in defeat or frustration. Neither seemed right. And as she watched again and again, she was more convinced that it was neither. That if anything, it was more like something had made his skin crawl. Then, each time, a look of resignation came over him just before he went to his knees.
Finally, Leah shook her head. “I don’t know. Something is wrong here.”
Her father gave no indication that he doubted her. Even as a child she had an intuition for people that was seldom wrong. “Get a tech to examine the footage, might help reveal what your gut is trying to tell you. I’d be quick about it though, there is a growing chance that Olivia will send you back in per the contingencies we’ve discussed.”
Leah looked up in surprise, almost like she must have had misheard him. “I . . . I don’t understand.”
“You saw The Mark’s state when he was captured?”
“He was bleeding . . . unconscious,” Leah said.
Delacy nodded. “He’s still not regained consciousness, and his condition is deteriorating. The consensus of the medical team is that his apparent coma isn’t natural, and any attempt to bring him around is more likely to kill him than help. Until that changes, interrogating The Mark isn’t on the table.”
Her heart sank into her stomach. When The Mark had been captured, she’d hoped Jonathan wasn’t going to be in real danger. He’d be held against his will, but realistically that fate had been sealed the night The Mark had turned him into a person of interest.
The Cell assumed Jonathan would be better off in their custody. For years, it remained unknown if those they considered accomplices to The Mark were willing or unwilling allies. Leah had believed the latter, that both Jonathan and her brother had somehow been ensnared in a trap of The Mark’s making. That the alien held something over them to force their compliance with whatever it was he was doing on Earth.
After this morning, she wasn’t sure. When The Mark appeared in the garage, Jonathan had been frantic to help him. So frantic, he’d been able to temporarily push his grief for Rylee aside if it meant getting the alien to safety. He’d known what was coming.
Leah had done all she could to keep him out of custody as long as possible. But, if The Mark couldn’t be interrogated, Olivia’s full attention would turn to Jonathan. It was also why her father was talking about contingencies she’d thought obsolete. The Cell had planned ahead, knew better than to burn a bridge that might be useful. It was why so much effort had been put into the pageantry of making it seem that Leah was captured along with Hayden and Collin. They wanted her cover to remain intact.
“Putting me anywhere near Jonathan is a mistake,” Leah said. “He’d made me, I saw it in his eyes when we were captured.”
“Are you certain?” Delacy asked.
“I slipped and he caught it,” Leah said. “I doubt I can convince him otherwise.”
Delacy sighed. “We better hope he cooperates then. For his sake as well as yours.”
She despaired at the thought—knew what The Cell was capable of when a prisoner didn’t talk. Grant Morgan had been stubborn. She had not been able to watch. His interrogation was still ongoing—The Cell didn’t stop until they were sure they knew everything.
Jonathan’s interrogation would be worse. Grant had no family or friends that could be threatened for leverage. Meanwhile, two of Jonathan’s best friends were sitting in cells no more than ten feet from his own. His mother and Paige could be added to the list of prisoners within an hour if Olivia ordered it.
“Be ready to play whatever role Olivia asks. You’re in a better position if she doesn’t lose confidence that you can influence him,” Delacy said.
Leah nodded, but the fire she normally felt for the mission wasn’t there. She thought her father would sign off, and she’d be left in the dark room with her thoughts again. When she looked up, he was still there. She saw he was weighed down considering—something.
She waited, and he finally spoke. “Leah, if this all falls apart, we need to be ready. There are a few things you need to know about this facility.”
CHAPTER SIX
OCT 15, 2005 | NOON | SEATTLE
PAIGE HADN’T SPOKEN to Colonel Hamill in years.
‘Black hole sun . . .’
Anxious as she was, humming along with the lyrics helped.
‘Won’t you come . . .’
She’d been young the first time she saw the Black Sun. A sculpture the size and shape of a monster truck tire that stood in front of the Asian Art Museum in Volunteer Park.
‘And wash away the rain . . .’
She remembered asking her father why anyone would sculpt a giant metal donut. He’d shrugged. “I haven’t the foggiest idea what goes on in the head of an artist, Gigi.”
He’d shown her how if you stood in the right spot, you could see the Space Needle through the void at the sculpture’s center.
‘Won’t you come . . . Won’t you come . . .’
Evelyn had wanted to be here, but Paige thought it best to come alone. Jonathan’s mother had compromised and was now parked up the road watching from the rear-view mirror of her car. This early, the only occupants in the park were walkers and joggers. Which meant Evelyn’s car was one of only three nearby and was easily noticed as being occupied.
The Colonel had been understandably awkward on the phone. They hadn’t spoken in years and for good reason. Paige hadn’t wanted him in her life, and for the most part he’d respected her wishes. When she had called out of the blue last night, he’d been at a bit of a loss. She’d sidestepped the insincere pleasantries, let him know quite bluntly that nothing had changed, and she wouldn’t be calling—but her friends were in trouble.
She had begun to feel the emptiness in their house last night. More than their mere absence, but the sort of painful loneliness that stirred in her gut when she feared she’d never see someone again.
Her father hadn’t said to come alone when she’d told him where to meet. Paige figured he would have, but he wasn’t taking her seriously yet. On the phone, he’d made a show of believing every word of her story. He hadn’t heard from her in so long he was afraid that questioning anything she said might push her away. She knew how it all sounded. In a way, she wanted him to be skeptical because she wanted to be wrong. As long as his skepticism didn’t stop him from looking into the matter in earnest. Thing was, being a Colonel gave him the keys to doors that a frantic mother and a civilian couldn’t open.
She saw him approaching, recognized the way he walked long before she could make out his face. He had a pink cardboard box under one arm, the sort you picked up at a bakery. He wasn’t in uniform. In civilian clothing his presence seemed diminished from the figure in her memory. She supposed he’d always been skinny; when she was younger it hadn’t seemed as severe, but now he bordered on unhealthy. The closer he got she saw how his skin had aged, grown darker with liver spots. His eyes were puffy, as though he’d gotten as little sleep as she had of late.
“It’s good to see you, Gigi,” he said.
She sucked in her lips, and bit down a bit. “No one calls me that anymore.”
“I’m sorry, you’re not a little girl, I get it,” the Colonel said.
“It’s fine,” Paige said. “Thanks . . . for coming so quickly.”
“You did the right thing,” the Colonel said. “Calling me that is.”
“I did, did I?” she asked. “That mean you can tell me something?”
Colonel Hamill gestured to the space beside her. “May I?”
She shrugged, and he took a seat, placing the cardboard box between them.
“Don’t suppose you recognize these?” he asked, lifting the lid.
She let out a small breath of amusement. “They . . . look like blueberry glazed.”
He nodded. “I hope they’re still your favorite.
”
She knew he meant well, but she was on guard against cheap sentimental gestures. He owed her a debt, and being honest, it wasn’t one she ever really wanted to see him find a way to repay.
“I’m not really hungry,” she said.
“I understand,” he said. “Do you mind if I go ahead and have one?”
“Knock yourself out.”
He took a napkin and picked up a donut. As he did so, she thought she saw the outline of an envelope beneath the thin wax paper lining of the box. She pondered that for a moment.
“Um, you know what, now that I can smell them, maybe I could eat . . .”
The Colonel smiled, endearingly as he did so with his cheeks full. She’d been careful not to stare too intently as she took a pastry herself. Still, there was no doubt, the Colonel had placed something inside the box. If he were drawing her attention to it like this, he must have needed her to realize he couldn’t be seen handing it to her.
So, they were being watched—they weren’t paranoid.
“You keep the rest,” he said. “I shouldn’t be eating these things anyway. Blood sugar isn’t that forgiving these days.”
“Huh, right,” Paige said; she’d forgotten he was diabetic.
She took another bite, savoring it before getting on with their business. At this point, their interactions were a performance for those watching.
“So,” Paige said. “You were saying I did the right thing calling you?”
The Colonel nodded.
“Generally, these things are handled with more discretion. It is true, sometimes citizens are taken into custody for reasons outside the norms of an everyday arrest. That said, even taking your word that everything was as you described it, I had to keep a measure of doubt, not jump to scandalous conclusions.”
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