She turned back to the window and looked at the alien lying on the table. “Or our comatose friend prepared him for this somehow. Told him what he would need to say to slow us down, showed him a map of the area he would need to draw us.”
Rivers sighed, he understood why all these scenarios bothered her. None of them seemed likely.
“Seems like our only option is to send a team to extract the package,” Rivers said.
“Or ignore it, assume Jonathan is playing games,” Olivia countered.
“We got the resources, it’s not gonna distract from what we’re doing here,” Rivers said.
She nodded.
“For whatever it’s worth, I don’t think Jonathan spent that entire interrogation building up to this for nothing. He knows that he won’t get any second chances if he wastes our time.”
Olivia didn’t disagree, but her distrust for the situation radiated off her as she stared down at the comatose alien.
“Put the team together. Use assets already in Libya. Tell them to be ready to get it done quickly when and if I give the order,” Olivia said.
“If?” Rivers asked. “You’re holding off?”
Olivia tongued the side of her cheek.
“I’m sending Leah down, she is being prepped to go into solitary with him,” Olivia said. “Before you ask . . . no, I didn’t tell her how the interrogation went.”
Rivers was quiet for a moment. “I get that you want to see if he knows something you don’t about her, but what do you really expect her to learn if you send her in so unprepared?”
“I don’t expect she’ll be successful,” Olivia said. “But, of all the things he discussed today, he didn’t say her name once. Even when he was talking about his loved ones. I find that very curious. That, and I don’t plan to just let him sit in that cell plotting.”
Rivers nodded and left to do as ordered. As he walked away from the alien’s containment shell, he couldn’t help but think this sounded a lot like what Jonathan had said. Olivia would resist anything she saw as a threat to her control.
For the second time that morning, he worried. Why had Tibbs wanted him in that room?
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
OCT 15, 2005 | 6:30 PM | JBLM FACILITY
THE SOUND OF the shell depressurizing brought Hayden and Collin to their feet. The shell’s door opened. They traded uneasy looks when they saw who it was the guards carried inside this time.
Leah was barely conscious. She was wearing the same white prisoner outfit as they were, she was soaking wet and not walking on her own. She looked as helpless as Grant had when they threw him back in the cell the night before.
The guards didn’t stop at the one remaining empty cell across from Grant; they kept walking, headed straight for the white wall at the far back where Jonathan was being kept in solitary.
One of the guards ran a badge over a card reader, and the plastic became transparent again. They could see Jonathan. He stood slowly from his bunk. While there was no threat in his demeanor, the guards behaved as though he was fully intending to lunge the moment his door was unlocked.
“Get back, Tibbs, I want your legs touching the bunk.”
Jonathan’s expression was strange. He looked—amused—as he raised his palms and stepped back. Hayden was scared for him, thought he was being overly cavalier, practically asking them to wipe the grin off his face. Yet, the body language of the guards told a different story. They were far more uncomfortable getting close to Jonathan than the other way around.
When the door was opened they tossed Leah inside with a cruel carelessness. Jonathan didn’t hesitate, he moved to catch her before she fell limply to the floor. She slumped against his chest as the door slammed back into place.
“Treasonous bastards deserve one another,” the guard said. There was real venom in her voice, a loathing that gave Hayden a shiver.
Jonathan turned his eyes to her. “See you tonight, Rolland.”
The guard hesitated, trading looks with her partner. Jonathan didn’t let his gaze linger on her. He looked down at Leah and held her to him to keep her from falling. He was careful, maneuvering her to the thin mattress and covering her with the blanket; his fingers gently guiding some strands of her damp hair from her face.
Finally, he backed away, retreating until his back touched the door of his cell. One of the guards ran a badge over the reader and the cube turned white again. Hayden could only see the shape of Jonathan’s shadow against the door. He watched as the man slide down to sit on the floor.
Until the guards were gone, neither Hayden nor Collin spoke. The moment the shell pressurized, Hayden swallowed. “They said treasonous.”
His worry was reflected back at him from Collin’s face. They stared at the outline of Jonathan’s shadow on the door. “I don’t get it. They don’t want him talking to us, but don’t care if he talks to Leah?”
Collin shook his head. “Maybe they just don’t want us to hear.”
“Hear what?” Grant said.
His voice startled both of them. They turned to find he was sitting up on his bunk with his head in his hands. He was groggy, and there was a brittleness to him, as though every muscle was making him wince when he moved.
“Ohhh. Yay, Grant’s awake,” Collin said, with flat sarcasm.
“Grant?” Hayden asked. “What did they do to you?”
He turned an annoyed glance at Hayden, as if to say, exactly what it looks like, but his attention was drawn to the white wall at the back of the shell.
“That’s new,” Grant said. “How do I get a white room?”
Hayden exchanged glances with Collin, “Grant, how long have you been here?”
He shook his head. “Don’t know. First time they’ve really let me sleep. Told them everything, didn’t matter, they wouldn’t stop making me say it all over and over. Injected me with . . .”
He trailed off with a shudder, as though he didn’t want to think about it let alone explain. “Tuesday. They took me on a Tuesday. They moved me once, don’t know where from or to. My head was always in a bag. Whenever they’re done with me, they toss me back in this damn egg.”
Hayden wasn’t sure how accurate his own sense of time was, but if meals and artificial light patterns were anything to go on, he estimated Grant had been a prisoner for at least six days.
“What did they want to know?” Hayden asked, the question earning him a scowl.
“Not really any of your . . .” Grant paused midsentence. “What the hell are you two doing here anyway? No one gives a damn about either of you.”
Hayden shrugged. “We think we were just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“They came for Tibbs,” Grant said, with a bitter vindicated smile, “. . . and you all thought I was crazy.”
“Well, to be fair—”
A sharp look from Grant made Collin decide not to finish that thought. The man was still intimidating even if they were separated by thick layers of plastic.
“So, where’s Paige then?” Grant asked. “Why isn’t she here?”
“Wasn’t home when they took us,” Hayden said.
Grant’s eyes narrowed as though unconvinced. He glanced back and forth between Collin and Hayden as though he suspected a lie. “No, that ain’t right.”
“Why wouldn’t it be?” Collin asked.
Grant snorted and rolled back onto his mattress. “I said they didn’t give a crap about you two, but Paige was at least on their radar.”
“Maybe because her dad is military?” Collin offered.
He looked at Grant to see if he thought that had anything to do with it, but the man was already curling back up on his bunk. “All I know is the lady running this operation always played it like I was supposed to be keeping my eye on Paige—even when Jonathan was clearly the real interest.”
Collin and Hayden looked at one another again—worried, but with no idea what to make of it.
“Grant, where does the tall guy in the hat fit into all thi
s?” Hayden asked.
Grant’s head popped up from the mattress. “They catch him?”
Hayden nodded. “Yeah, sort of.”
“What do you mean sort of?”
“They took him when they took us, but I don’t know how . . . alive . . . he was.”
Grant grew quiet. He laid his head back down but didn’t go to sleep. They tried to ask him more questions, but he rolled to face the wall.
“Just leave me alone.”
White noise. No, there was a rhythm to it, a low vibration. Thrum. Thrum. Thrum. It built up slowly in the background.
Leah woke in a fog, but she was almost sure she’d heard Jonathan whispering to her.
She opened her eyes to a dull white light. Her surroundings pressed in on her as her conscious mind finally realized what her unconscious mind had been trying to tell her. You fell asleep in one place and woke in another.
She turned over but stiffened when she nearly rolled off the edge of a plastic shelf. Her palm shot out to catch her, and she saw her hand planted on a cool white floor.
“Doesn’t fit,” she heard.
He was a few feet away, sitting with his back to the wall. His head laying limp as his chest slowly rose and fell.
“Somewhere . . .” he whispered.
“Jon—”
A moment too late, it dawned on her he was talking in his sleep. She wasn’t sure she should wake him, but his head lifted slightly at the sound of her voice. He inhaled a quick breath, deeper than the rest. “Rylee?”
Leah swallowed. No, please don’t think that.
“I remember,” he said, his head swaying. “Holding myself, the day . . . the day I was born.”
She closed her eyes and relaxed. He was only talking nonsense to a dream. When she looked again, his head was up, and he was watching her. They stared at one another a while. She spent the whole time stumbling around in her head searching for words. A place to start. When her mouth opened, she really had no idea what would come.
“Stop,” Jonathan said. “You’ll have an aneurysm if you keep thinking that hard.”
Leah closed her mouth and frowned while he slid a tray over to her with his foot.
“I saved this for you,” he said.
There wasn’t much to be excited about on it, an untouched pile of rice and some crust-less bread. She looked at the tray and then back to him. She hadn’t expected him to speak to her. If he did, she’d expected the words to be less civil. She realized, with sudden urgency, that she was hungry. Her hand reached for the food as though it had a mind of its own. She picked up the bread first, stuffing it into her mouth greedily. After a few seconds of chewing she discovered she couldn’t swallow it.
“It’s the drugs,” Jonathan said. He’d come closer, was already holding a cup out to her. “Only thing worse than the hunger is the dry mouth.”
He wasn’t wrong. She took the cup. It was lukewarm milk, but it hadn’t spoiled. She didn’t much care, anything to help the lump in her throat go down.
“So,” Jonathan said. “Olivia says she is going to put you in here looking like you’ve been in interrogation for days. That I’ll assume you can’t be a part of this if they’re treating you like a prisoner. It’s a good plan, clever. I wouldn’t fall for it if I were you.”
Leah swallowed the lump. Not the best start, she hadn’t spoken a word and he’d guessed her cover story. But, why was he telling her not to fall for it?
“Jonathan, I . . . I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Leah finally said. “Are you all right?”
He smiled as if he found her commitment to the act adorable.
“I’m serious, Leah,” Jonathan said. “None of this is necessary. I’m gonna tell Olivia everything she wants to hear, but only if she waits another six and a half cycles.”
Leah frowned as she took another sip from the cup, doing so as slowly as possible to stall for time to think.
“I don’t know who Olivia . . .” She trailed off for a moment. “Cycles?”
Jonathan ran his eyes over the cell, moving his finger in a circle with the rhythm of the thrumming vibrations. “They’re about twenty minutes, give or take.”
Well, he wasn’t wrong. Again.
“. . . And what is going to happen after six of them?” Leah asked.
“Six and a half.” He tilted his head. “But it’s a surprise.”
She studied him, but he wore a reassuring smile, and she couldn’t see anything further. “Jonathan, don’t mess with these people. I don’t want to see you get hurt.”
He lifted the bowl of rice and held it out to her. “I know you don’t.”
She didn’t understand how, but as she searched his face, he seemed to mean what he’d said. After a moment waiting under her gaze he bobbed the bowl of rice in front of her to remind her he was still waiting for her to take it.
Her hunger was still stronger than her confusion. She blinked and took the bowl. With no utensils, she had to spoon the rice out with her fingers. She tried to eat slowly, use the time to get a better grip on the situation.
“You’re worried,” he said.
Her fingers came away from her lips. “If you had been through what I have you would be too . . .”
She sighed and trailed off. It was the look he gave her, the look that says I know you feel you must keep trying but this was over before it began.
“It’s okay. I know why you’re afraid. I’m telling you, Olivia already knew this would fail when she sent you down here. You don’t need to play her game. She’s playing mine.”
She was transparent to him. He seemed to know everything. She let the bowl come to rest limply on one leg. “I . . . I don’t know what happens now.”
“This morning, Olivia brought me in for questioning. She wasn’t ready to hear what I had to say. However, she could not deny that I knew more about her than she could ever explain,” Jonathan said. “And so, it occurred to her that I might also know about the mysterious contractor forced on her investigation. You see, she always wondered why.”
She understood then, and fear sent a shiver through her. How many times had Olivia pushed to know more about her background? Why she’d been forced to work with her, and why Command seemed to give her so long a leash. The last few days had only made Olivia more aggressive in her search for answers.
“I’m not here to find out what you know about the alien,” she said, her words almost a whisper. “I’m here so she can find out if you know who I am.”
If he was telling the truth, Olivia had just walked her willingly into some trap. Her father wouldn’t see it coming. Everything could fall apart if Jonathan knew what she was looking for. That is, if he knew, and decided to say it.
“Olivia’s as sharp as she is ruthless. Don’t feel bad. If this were a fair fight—I’d have lost. We’d have lost. But it’s not a fair fight, and she’ll refuse to accept that until the moment she loses.”
Had he said ‘we’? Why was he saying we? We who?
Jonathan’s hand tightened gently on hers. When she looked into his eyes, she could see he was trying to steady her.
“You’re doing the math in your head. You think that at best you have twenty minutes before Olivia reviews this conversation. That she’ll realize I’m on to her game. I know why it scares you. But you have my word, you and your family will be safe. She will not take you out of this cell.”
Leah’s lips were trembling. “Why?”
“Because, when she watches this, she’s going to know I’ve made her a promise,” he said.
He looked away from her, stared straight into the nearest camera as though it weren’t hidden to him at all. “In six cycles. I’m going to tell you everything Olivia wants to know about you.”
He turned back to look at her.
“Don’t be afraid, the truth will set you free. Rachel.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
OCT 15, 2005 | 9 PM | ANCHORAGE, ALASKA
THE INSTRUCTIONS HAD been to act natural. The
first problem with that was that Sam usually avoided going out this late. He didn’t feel like he was acting natural as he zipped up his heavy coat or stepped out of his building. None of it seemed to matter much. As he’d made his way to the address, he didn’t remember passing a single soul out on the cold streets.
This was how Sam came to be standing in front of a gas station’s 24-hour convenience store in the middle of the night. He went inside and saw that he and the night clerk were the only folks present. The man barely looked at him, nodding once to confirm Sam’s existence without ever really taking his eyes off the magazine he’d been reading. Sam spent a few minutes deciding which snack to pretend he craved so badly it had made walking here in the middle of the night so important.
He went with a Slurpee and a bag of Funyuns.
As he paid the cashier, Sam asked, “You guys got a restroom?”
“Around back,” the man said, then handed him a large rubber stirring spoon duct-taped to a key. The sort of thing meant to keep customers from walking off and forgetting to return it.
A moment later Sam was alone in the most typical of convenience store bathrooms. His pocket began vibrating as soon as he’d locked the door. He tucked the spoon under his arm, put the Slurpee on the sink counter, and fished his phone out of his pocket.
“I’m here.”
“You did well, Samuel, but we don’t have much time. Your tails are already aware that the audio surveillance equipment they’re using to overhear this call isn’t working.”
“What do I do?”
“We have to bring you in,” Mr. Clean said.
“In? Where’s in?” Sam asked.
“That will be evident soon enough,” Mr. Clean said. “For now, I need you to follow instructions.”
“I’m listening.”
“On the sink, behind the soap dispenser, you’ll see a disc about the size of a dime,” Mr. Clean said. “Retrieve it.”
Sam frowned, but turned to face the bathroom mirror. At first, there was nothing, then the disc just appeared.
“Wow . . .” Sam said, hesitating a bit before picking it up. “Okay, got it.”
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