by Rob Horner
He ruthlessly squashed the hopes that tried to rise at the coincidence. Yes, Jimmy had been sent to the East Coast, but after nearly five years of searching, they hadn’t discovered any sign of him in any of the Virginia Naval installations.
He turned to look at the woman, feeling some measure of sympathy for her condition. She probably had no idea what would’ve happened to her and wouldn’t believe them if they told her. But she’d live through it. Maybe they’d be able to reunite her with her daughter. At the very least, they would give her the truth, that her daughter lived.
Brian had read the records; he knew Victoria was convinced of her daughter’s death, the victim of a horrendous traffic accident. It was the only way she would’ve been allowed to live.
The woman’s words penetrated his doubts. Closing his eyes, he listened for a moment to the conversation. Poor woman, he thought, shaking his head. She believed her daughter might be with her. To listen to her talk, Sherry broke free of her programming, which was impossible. No matter how many people they’d rescued, none of them had come close to regaining their memories on their own. Some of their backers gave them access to a team of psychiatrists and psychologists and they’d managed to restore some memories. But the therapies and procedures needed took longer and were more complex than the brainwashing that altered them initially.
“She was!” Victoria shouted, forcing away Debbie’s restraining hands and struggling to sit up.
“Mrs. Galer,” Billy said. “You really should lie still. There are bound to be side effects—”
“To hell with that, young man,” the woman snapped.
“You!” she shouted, pointing an accusing finger at Brian.
“Yes, Ma’am?” Brian replied, not bothering to rise from his seat.
“You’re him, aren’t you?”
“Beg pardon?”
“Travis’s father. That’s who you are, aren’t you?”
“I’m afraid I don’t know what—” Brian began.
“Oh, you might not recognize the name,” Victoria said softly—her voice was quite pleasant when she wasn’t shouting—” but I recognize you. He’s got brown hair the same shade as yours. He’s got these green eyes that make you wish you were a teenager again.”
Brian’s heart pounded in his chest. She was wrong. She had to be! He rose from the chair and walked over to the side of the couch. Kneeling, putting his head on a level with Victoria’s, he asked, “How tall is he, Ma’am?”
“Brian—” Debbie whispered.
“I have to know,” Brian replied.
Victoria didn’t answer right away. Instead, she looked from Debbie’s face to Brian’s, back and forth several times, like a spectator at a tennis match. She had the clearest gray eyes he’d ever seen, like the lowering sky before a snowstorm, eyes that wouldn’t change color to blue or green no matter what she wore. “You didn’t know, did you?” she asked softly.
“Know what, Ma’am?” Brian asked.
“That your boy was alive. They fooled you just like they fooled me.”
“Actually,” Billy intervened, “we knew his son was alive, but we couldn’t find him. So many of those who were—”
“Brainwashed?” Victoria supplied. When all she received were looks of astonishment, she laughed. “You didn’t believe me, did you? About my Sherry coming back to me?”
No one answered her.
“She did! And she said Travis had something to do with how she’d been able to break free of the brainwashing. It was something about him, maybe just that he’d gone through the same thing, but they have a…connection. Anyway, she came to me, told me that she’d been told I died in a car accident.”
“Was there…anything else?” Debbie asked.
“Yeah, they gave her a fake husband. Isn’t that the strangest thing? Why would you give someone a fake husband?”
Brian nodded, his eyes meeting Debbie’s. Whatever else this woman might or might not know, it was obvious her daughter really had, somehow, broken free of her implanted memories. “So that’s why they brought you to the facility,” Billy said softly.
“What do you mean, ‘the facility?’” Victoria’s eyes showed even greater confusion. “The FBI men said that they were going to hold onto me until they had Sherry and Travis.”
“They lied,” Brian informed her. “You’re in Illinois, just a few miles outside of Chicago.”
“Ohmigod!” Victoria breathed. “We’ve got to get back. We’ve gotta warn them that they don’t need to turn themselves in! Your son—”
“Ma’am, please. Stop referring to this Travis as my son. The names—”
“Bother all that! He’s a few inches shorter than you, maybe five-seven or five-eight, and all manners. He even has your nose.”
“My son’s name is Jimmy!” Brian shouted, lurching to his feet and staggering away from the infuriating woman.
“Awful stubborn, that one is,” Victoria remarked to Debbie, who forced herself to hide a smile.
“Don’t we know it?” Billy asked rhetorically.
“Just like his son,” Victoria added softly, her eyes focused on Brian’s back. She didn’t see Debbie and Billy looking at each other, their eyes debating, agreeing.
2
“Think about it,” Debbie said an hour later, as Victoria made use of their bathroom and shower.
“I have,” Brian replied morosely. Looking down, he concentrated on his hands.
“It was never proven that Jimmy was dead, just that we couldn’t find him,” Billy offered.
“And we’ve never found a single reason to believe he’s alive.”
“What’s wrong with you?” Debbie demanded, the sudden increase in the volume of her voice enough to make Brian look up. “I would’ve thought you’d be the last person to doubt news of your son. I figured Billy and I would be straining to hold you back.”
“And what’s the alternative?” Brian asked, his voice still carefully quiet. “That I get my hopes up again only to have them shot down?” He gave a small laugh. “No thanks. I’ll believe it when Jimmy shows up in front of me.”
“But the description—” Billy began.
“—could fit any of a million young men,” Brian finished for him.
The three friends were gathered around Debbie’s kitchen table, steaming mugs of coffee before them. No one spoke for several moments, each lost in his or her own thoughts.
Brian couldn’t believe the amount of badgering his friends were dishing out. Always before, like Debbie said, they were the ones who cautioned him not to get his hopes too high. But this time he had to be the voice of reason.
Why couldn’t they leave him alone with his hopes? He believed the woman when she said she’d seen his son. How could he not? But if he gave voice to them, he might be the reason they didn’t come true. He knew his thoughts were hopelessly superstitious, but he couldn’t get past them. Did that make him a little bit crazy? Maybe. But at least he wouldn’t be the one to jinx Jimmy’s existence.
Part of him wanted to jump onto the first available airplane and fly to Virginia Beach. It was unlikely Jimmy would return to the naval base he’d escaped. And Brian knew, better than anyone else gathered at the table, just how big Virginia Beach was. He’d spent the better part of five years taking short trips there, showing Jimmy’s picture at every military bar and hangout he could find. There were a million places the young couple could hide.
Patience. That was the key. Any action he took might only confuse things. Sooner or later, even if they were captured again, the agents would bring them back to be reprogrammed. That would be their best chance to rescue them. And until then, Brian would sit and wait, forcing his hopes and his fears to the lowest level of his subconscious.
“Has this happened before?” Debbie asked, surprising the two men with her question.
“What?” Billy asked in reply.
“Anyone breaking free of their training?”
“Not that I know of,” the programmer replied
. “Much as it disgusts me, their techniques have been flawless so far.”
“So much so that we often have trouble fixing them,” Brian added.
“Of course,” Billy added, “we don’t know what goes wrong with the people who just disappear.”
“So how could she have broken free?” Debbie asked.
“Well,” Brian said hesitantly, “Victoria did mention this…Travis—” he forced himself to say the name as though it meant nothing to him—"who seemed to have gone through the same process as Sherry. Do we have any records of two people from the facility meeting up with each other?”
“No,” Billy answered readily. “In fact, it seems the government has gone to great lengths to prevent such a thing.”
“Until now,” Debbie said softly.
“Yeah,” Brian agreed, “up till now. So, what if—”
“What?” Debbie asked. Then, brightening, she became hyper-verbal, the scientist taking over. “Holy shit! Don’t you get it? Like calls to like, remember? They’d both been changed. It has nothing to do with the mental tampering; we all know that. It’s the genetic material calling out. It’s what we originally hoped would happen when we were brainstorming, still sorting out the genetic soup we were given to work with.”
Brian forced himself to remain silent. He fought against a moment of irrational hatred for the tall brunette. She was one of the pioneers of the genetic…experiment that dragged his entire family along for the ride. If she hadn’t had her epiphany of conscience, she might have been one of the doctors injecting needles into Jimmy’s body and jotting down notes about the effects.
“I’m not following,” Billy said.
“Look at it this way, guys. We separated out differences in the alien DNA, something like our concept of male and female. We identified base pairs that appeared to have a long-established affinity for each other. I don’t know where they went after that, but our initial thoughts were to set up test groups, where some subject animals would receive both sets, while others got half each. Of course, even that wasn’t off the ground when I left, because it became obvious there wasn’t enough source material to waste on animal trials.
“Anyway, the genetic tampering would have to come first, before any of their memories were messed with. It wouldn’t make any sense to go messing with their heads before we knew whether they’d survive the procedure. They’d get injected, then go into observation. Once it was proven they’d survive, they could erase all memory of the procedure and replace them with new memories to cover the loss of time.”
“I know all that,” Billy said. “It’s exactly how it played out.”
“Except for the pairings,” Debbie said. “Those were kept with the material itself, kind of a mechanism for maintaining some anonymity. They shipped these sailors all over the country, tapping into various federal agencies and sympathetic military leaders who could oversee them for us. But if there was something special about those pairings. We couldn’t just go blabbing about it, so maybe only a select few people are even aware—” She trailed off, following her own thoughts just long enough for Billy and Brian to glance at each other.
Then she slammed her hands down on the table, making the coffee mugs jump. “Bam!” she said. “That’s it. Let’s say you run into someone else with the same genetic make-up, a full pair with that strange affinity for one another. Something slams into you with the force of a comet, and genes that have lain dormant now start to wake up. Who knows what changes they might cause within a human body? Who knows what effect they might have on the human brain? But let’s assume that, at least in Sherry’s case, they blasted through her mental block, restoring the memories she had before the tampering. That could explain her ability to find her mother.”
Brian kept his silence, afraid to hope, wanting to say the words that would destroy Debbie’s little theory—or at least weaken it a bit—but unable to do even that. If what she said was true, then why hadn’t Jimmy come back to him? If it even was Jimmy?
Then the answer came to him. Jimmy wouldn’t be able to find him, even if he somehow got himself down to South Carolina. Their old house was gone, and Brian was holed up in Chicago, five hundred miles away from where he should be.
“You’re forgetting something,” Billy said.
“Like what?” Debbie demanded.
“There was never anyone named Travis in the facility’s records.”
That caused a painful stirring in Brian’s heart. No Travis in Chicago. No James Jennings at Oceana, or Dam Neck, or Little Creek, or Norfolk. Wasn’t it possible his name had been changed at some point in between?
“All right, I’m ready,” Victoria said, emerging from the bathroom. Though she’d been forced to continue wearing the same clothes—nothing of Debbie’s would fit the shorter woman—she’d somehow managed to straighten them to the point where they looked almost fresh.
Billy snorted, giving Brian a small nudge with his hand.
“Ready for what?” Brian asked.
“To go home, of course. You can’t expect me to sit out here while those…men chase after my daughter, can you?”
“Unfortunately, Ma’am—” Brian began.
“And would you please stop calling me, ‘Ma’am?’” Victoria protested. “You’re my age if you’re a day. Hell, you’re probably older. My name is Vicki, to my friends.”
Brian fought against the smile threatening his composure. Then he realized Vicki was smiling at him, and his iron facade crumbled.
“There now, was that so bad?” Vicki asked. “You even have the same smile.”
“Vicki…please,” Brian pleaded.
“Oh, all right. I’ll stop referring to Travis as your son. Though I warn you—” she waggled a warning finger to emphasize her point—"you’re going to feel twenty kinds of a fool when he shows up in front of you.” Then she spread her hands, indicating that she was through.
“As for going home,” Billy said, “I’m afraid that’s going to be impossible.”
“And just what the hell are you talking about?” Vicki demanded.
“They’re the government, Vicki. They’re never going to leave you alone, not knowing what you do.”
“So…what? I’m to become a fugitive? At my age?”
Brian smiled openly now. “And is it so different from me, Vicki?”
“Oh dear.” Vicki collapsed into the fourth kitchen chair.
“Coffee?” Debbie offered.
“Please.”
“As I was saying,” Billy continued while Debbie poured for Victoria, “we’ll wait here where it’s safe for now. Eventually, if Sherry has all her memories, she’ll come back to the facility, probably with this Travis in tow.”
“You mean she’ll be brought back here, don’t you?” Vicki asked shrewdly.
“No matter the case, Vicki,” Brian said, reaching across the table to take her hand, squeezing it empathetically, “we’ll get her back to you.”
“And what happens then?” Vicki asked.
Debbie spread her hands to indicate their foursome. “You can become a part of our group, working to help others like yourself and your daughter.”
“Or?”
“Or we can use our funding and influence to create new identities for you and Sherry, and you can continue your lives in a different part of the country.”
Vicki was silent for a moment, absorbing this sudden change in her circumstances.
“But no matter what, Vicki,” Brian said, feeling her grip on his hand equaling his own, “you’re not going to be able to go home.”
Chapter 22
Pursuit
1
“Stop them!” Agent Travers shouted as he emerged from Watchtower. Captain Ortega was only a few steps behind. A sudden whooshing noise erupted behind them as something upstairs came alive with fire. Two of the agents were already outside; Agent Black was down on the ground with Kirkson kneeling at his side. Travers helped haul Black to his feet, then stuffed something into his trouser pocke
t. Black looked a little woozy. Blood and dirt covered his face like a mask and his right arm hung awkwardly.
“Get him in the Dodge. The keys are in it!” Travers shouted, already turning away.
The big man moved several steps beyond the cars, reaching into his suit jacket. Ortega lunged forward, only now hearing the wail of sirens…
Too late, they’re gonna be too late!
…as Agent Travers removed a pistol from his shoulder holster, quickly spinning the silencer off the end and letting it fall to the ground. The two subjects were sprinting across an open field between Watchtower and a smaller building, the female in the lead. It’s too far, he thought, then winced as the first gunshot rent the still Sunday air. He could swear the female flinched to the side, as if the shot had come close enough for her to feel it. The young woman darted behind a tree, seeking cover, removing herself from the agent’s sights.
Ortega dove at Travers, but he was too slow to prevent the second shot. The male staggered from the force of the impact. His right shoulder jumped, pulling him, like it had decided to leave the rest of him behind. The boy somehow remained upright, feet stuttering to maintain balance, and then Captain Ortega collided with the larger man, one hand reaching for the hot barrel of the pistol, wrenching it down toward the ground.
“Are you crazy?” he shouted, or tried to, but a quick response from Travers had Ortega on his back, his entire face on fire.
He punched me! Ortega thought, even as the agent pivoted, quick as a snake, and knelt on top of him, pinning his arms to the ground.
The sirens roared louder, the police finally arriving. Travers pressed the burning end of the CZ P-07 into the captain’s soft abdomen. There was another shot, so close, deafening. Ortega felt a white-hot bar of liquid pain streak through his intestines, even as Travers got a big paw under his armpit and hauled him upright.