by A. K. Smith
He remembered the second visit more vividly than the first. It was burned into his memory forever. He had entered Camp David from underneath the ground.
Tim was with him, and it was that moment, Steve could now confirm Tim was hiding something.
No one else would have noticed the peculiarity in Tim. The stillness of his eyes or the way his genuine personality slipped into the Intelligence mode when directly observed. Only someone who shared a college dorm room might catch the slight change in his presence, but he knew Tim was lying to him.
The deceit affected Steve mentally, zapped his self-confidence, and kept him awake at night.
So, yes he remembered his last visit to Camp David vividly, not just because it was one of the two times he entered Camp David but because of Tim’s actions.
They had just returned from a government diving trip in South America where they found some interesting biological elements. They were called to Site R to meet with biotech staff for follow-up reports on their samples
Steve was excited, Site R was an amazing engineering feat. It went down multiple stories below ground level. Previously, they had only been on one level but had heard the talk, the whispered leaks, a tunnel ran from Site R to Camp David. The underground base was rumored to be so large, it actually qualified as a high-tech subterranean town.
But, on that particular day, he and Tim were taken to a different level of Site R, where they boarded a type of monorail and ended up in a tunnel, a back way into Camp David. The tunnel. The rumors were true.
Laboratories, one after another, labeled with numbers not in sequential order, lined the deep hallway. Most were box rooms with both clear and opaque bulletproof Plexiglas, giving a foggy glimpse to a sterile environment with stainless steel tables, trays of glass vials, and computer biotech equipment. No expense for lighting and technology was spared here, as the doors were fingerprint accessible. They entered Lab 139, following a robot-like man with no conversation skills.
Two white-coated scientists were absorbed in the large computer screens on the wall highlighting projected images from a computerized microscope. The taller of the two portrayed the typical mad scientist look—white lab coat, round rimmed glasses, wispy grayish-white hair styled in a partial Einstein look. The other had no striking features, just short brown hair, brown eyes, and no expression. As they walked into the lab, the taller one focused on Tim with laser precision.
Perhaps staring was an understatement. His eyes locked on Tim as if he were looking at a lab subject under the microscope. After introductions were made, Dr. Thomas, the gawker, went back to the corner of his lab and started rummaging through files and paperwork. At high speed, he opened and closed file drawers. He picked up his tablet device and was rapidly flipping through touch screens, swiping picture after picture in rapid procession. The images were reflected on the wall. He was swiping them so fast, it was hard to catch any of the details of the photos on the wall, just groups of men in a jungle. Possibly one of Kennedy?
Dr. Thomas noticed Steve’s observation of the wall, and turned the projected images to a blank screen. He was drumming his fingers, then running them though his frayed white glob of hair in a repetitive motion. But what was most disturbing was the constant turning, stealing glances at Tim.
The other scientist, Dr. Helsel, brought up photographs of the last dive trip on his computer, a touch screen on the wall. He zoned in on the topography. He wanted Steve and Tim to circle with the computer pen the different areas where they entered the water. He remembered spending many hours that day sitting in the lab answering questions about the exact location of particular samples. They looked at picture after picture of underwater rock, coral, and pinnacles Tim and Steve had photographed and clearly marked
Dr. Thomas, the Einstein twin, had abruptly left the lab about two hours into the meeting. Steve couldn’t help noticing as he stepped out of the access door to leave, he turned around, his eyes locked on Tim. Tim turned and Steve was certain from the way Dr. Thomas held his tablet, he snapped a picture.
Finally, Steve caught Tim’s attention, Tim returned his gaze with a slow shake of his head signaling silence.
He remembered thinking, Why am I out of the loop?
They were diving for a specific type of underwater bacteria. It’s what they always were diving for. Most of their diving trips over the years had been in carefully selected areas of the world focusing on retrieving bacteria, plants, and minerals for any type of life that lived on or around the bottom of the sea. In the last few years, they focused on Belize, Mexico, and Central America. With almost seventy percent of the world being water, The Collective research scientists believed what lies beneath, what rests on the ocean floor, played a significant role in essential nutrients, beneficial pharmaceuticals, and anticancer agents.
Their mission, from the beginning, was to discover and preserve the valuable resources on earth, to find them before they were extinct, before people destroyed the very parts of earth that would save them. The Collective would collect and safeguard scientific research, in order for humankind to exist healthfully and successfully.
After several hours in the lab, their host, the non-talking, brown-haired, white-coated scientist, entered the lab to escort them back to the top of Site R. They were shuffled toward the tunnel with the monorail. The door opened and they all got inside. He could see the concentration on Tim’s face; he was busy observing everything, the touchpad, the tracks, the doors. He had seen this look before. Tim’s many talents keen observation and photographic memory; during his training in black ops, he could memorize the phone book.
Chapter 41
Scout picked up the phone, cursing silently. He despised cell phones. He didn’t hate the technology, he just detested how the technology changed people. He had been leading dive trips for over twenty years and even though he understood the advantage to having a satellite phone for emergency purposes—especially stuck out in the middle of the Yucatán—he didn’t agree with the obsession and addictiveness humans had with the iPhone, cell phones or the iPad. Why couldn’t they put it down and talk to each other.
With the new satellite coverage in Belize and Mexico, he observed the obsessed, talking on the phone constantly, texting while hiking back to a cenote. What really got him, a mere five minutes after a beautiful dive, oblivious to the beauty of the world around them they would be back on the phone. Trekking through the jungle, a snake could be dangling down from a tree branch, and if they were on their phone they would keep walking until the snake hit them on the forehead. It drove him mad, in the middle of desolate beauty, an uninhabited, exquisite stretch of beach, and there would be a beeping every so many minutes, because somebody’s phone updated.
He remembered the incident clearly. It was a group of five men, and as the night went on, the beeping continued on and on. Each time it beeped, a thorn was being pushed further under his fingernail. He found the phone and threw it in the ocean. As he was hurling it into the water, he turned around and said, “Now, the fucking fish will be pissed.”
Since then, he included as part of his dive talks, a lengthy section on cell phones. Turn them off, keep them in a waterproof dry bag and use only for emergency purposes. He promised, “If I hear your phone ringing, beeping, whatever, in the middle of the jungle, it will be confiscated.”
He knew this pissed divers off. Taking away a man’s cell phone, his modern technology—to some it was like cutting off their hand, so dependent were they on this extension of their arm, they couldn’t function without it. Frankly, he didn’t care. The real world was waiting for you to be in the moment.
Yet, here he was, Mr. I hate technology, holding the phone willing himself to call Kendall. He couldn’t stop thinking about her. He couldn’t stop dreaming about her. He wanted her back in Puerto Morelos. He wanted to show her the cenote her husband wanted his son Ryder to see in the first place, not only because of the guilt of having lied to them, but hoping it would close the door of uncertainty. H
e wanted her to have closure so she could move on, put the past behind her. He wanted her. If I help her figure this out, we might have a chance.
He inputted her number.
The call went straight to voicemail. He hesitated, should he leave a message? It was certainly not what he was wishing for but he owed it to her. He told her about the break-in at the dive shop, rambling, speaking rapidly; he mentioned the possibility of it being related to the map of the cenote, her cenote. He ended with a few simple words. “Kendall, will you come back? It’s my responsibility to help you carry out Tim’s wishes.”
He did not mention Ryder. He did not express how much he wanted her, thought about her, or that he missed her. He hated voice messages and texts as much as he hated cell phones. As soon as he left it, he wished he could erase the message.
He headed to the sea, lowering his body on the beach, peaceful, shimmering, the soft sugar sand with the curved low palm tree almost touching the water’s edge, as if taking a bow. His mouth was set in a straight line, eyebrows scrunched together; he held the phone in his hand, ready to throw it in the sea.
Chapter 42
The dark circles under Kendall’s eyes reflected back from the mirror. Up all night, again. It had been a long time since she kept such hours.
She remembered when she first met Tim how they couldn’t get enough of each other. It didn’t matter if they worked ten long strenuous hours, or how many minutes they slept the night before. The energy of their love and desire for each other’s touch kept their nerve endings wide-awake. A conversation could start about what to eat for dinner and the next thing they knew, deep intimate discussions on the meaning of life and how they found each other in this world…born total strangers, living life as one. She wondered if she would ever feel that way again.
Irritated and frustrated, she stepped out of bed, throwing on one of his treasured sweatshirts, and walked over to the safe where she kept the zip drive. She was still uneasy after the break-in, so she locked it away carefully after each use. Turning on her computer, she started going through the files for the hundredth time.
Loneliness swirled all around her. She had pushed away her close friends one by one when Tim died. She didn’t blame them for staying away. They continued to call for a long time, but finally when she never returned calls and blocked everyone from her broken heart, always turning down invitations, they backed off, they retreated. They have forgotten about me now.
Now, in the wee hours of the morning, she longed for someone to share her thoughts and space with.
Her mind wandered back to Puerto Morelos. She picked up her iPhone. She was amazed she had taken only six photos on the entire trip. The photo she continued to go back and look at, repeatedly, was a photo of Ryder, Scout, and herself by the Land Rover in the jungle. The photo cut off the very top of Scout’s head, and it looked more like a candid action shot. Ryder looked tan, rugged, and nonchalant staring off into the distance, ready to walk away. Her head was bent down looking at the ground, but Scout was looking directly into the camera, mouth closed, with a sexy little smile. It gave her a funny feeling in her stomach.
The message Scout left her earlier about the break-in was troubling. She opened the safe, and rolled the map she had not shared with Andrew, out on the floor. She now knew it was a cenote, a cenote Scout confessed they did not see. The paper the map was drawn on was delicate and old, but it wasn’t disintegrating. It was an original drawing on unusual paper.
She pulled out her iPad calendar; the students’ graduation ceremony was coming up. She needed to be there for the keynote address by Conrad Nathaniel. She decided once the ceremony was over, she would go back to Puerto Morelos.
Would she be able to persuade Ryder? This was, after all, the real trip his father wanted to take him on. However, at this point, it was so much more than a father-son celebration. She knew, with or without Ryder, she would follow this journey through and see it to the end.
Just the thought of trying to persuade Ryder to go back with her a second time seemed impossible. Nonetheless, for Tim she would do her best to convince Ryder.
She clicked on the slideshows of the various presidents with a group of men. The locations were always near water, but not in the same place.
The photos…what was she missing?
She printed the photos out to her air printer and arranged them in order of date, in rows and columns making a huge puzzle on the floor. She then rearranged them by similar location. Nothing new. As she ran her fingers through her hair and sat back on her heels, she picked one up studying the detail of the photo. President Bill Clinton was in this one. She took her magnifying mirror from her top desk drawer and began holding each photo up to the glass.
An hour later, she picked up her phone and tapped Ryder’s name under contacts. Of course, his generic voicemail. “Ryder, hi it’s Kendall, there is something I need to discuss with you and something I need to show you. Please call me back.”
She set the phone down, then picked it up again. It was too late to call Scout in Puerto Morelos, but she clicked on his photo, wishing she could talk to him.
Back to the briefcase she opened up the other map. Definitely an architectural map, blueprints of something structural. She laid it out on the floor next to the map of the cenote. She pulled out her Spanish dictionary and tried to interpret the infinitely tiny words on the cenote map. The words did not translate; they were not Spanish, but unquestionably similar. Perhaps Maya.
Andrew might have a Mayan dictionary. It was curious, even to herself. She let him inspect every part of the briefcase, but not this map. She wasn’t sure why. Something inside of her kept the map secret.
Her eyes settled on the business card lying on the floor. Johns Hopkins Medical Center, Dr. Peter A. Trailov, Department of Neurology and Neurosurgery. It was too late to call but she decided to Google him. Typing his name in the computer, she hit search.
Dr. Peter A. Trailov was the co-director of Adult Brain Tumor Consortium, a group of sixteen medical centers dedicated to improving treatments for adults with malignant brain tumors. His program focus was on clinical research and treatment of primary brain tumors, neoplastic meningitis, brain metastases, epidural cord compression, neurotoxicity, anticancer agents, and cancer pain management. The centers specialized in new drugs and treatments.
Why would Tim have his card? She did not want to jump to any conclusions but as the tears ran down her face, she could not keep her mind from going there.
It was getting late and after playing back Tim’s video yet again, she wiped her swollen eyes, resigned to the fact she had to function tomorrow. She couldn’t help herself. She was desperately trying to discover something she missed before.
Chapter 43
Kendall bolted up the stairs and opened the heavy glass back door of Decker Center. She was almost on time. As she ran/walked into her office, the Student Affairs office manager Nancy held out a thick stack of pink slips.
“Good morning, the top message is from Conrad Nathaniel. He wants you to call back right away as he is coming into town today.” She could feel Nancy studying her appearance. “It’s going to be warm today, it’s supposed to hit seventy-five degrees.” Kendall looked down at her black long-sleeved blouse and black pencil skirt, realizing the weather was the last thing on her mind.
She picked up the soft, pale gray sweater draped over her arm, and held it up with a smile. “Well, I guess I won’t be needing my sweater.” Nancy gave her a peculiar smile. Most of the employees and college students thought she lost her husband and her mind. They might be right.
She closed the door to her office holding the stack of pink message slips in front of her. She would get to them, but first, she pulled out the business card from her purse. I need to know, she dialed the number.
“No, Dr. Trailov is in surgery today. Is there something I can assist you with?”
“No, I don’t think so, I wanted to leave my name and number and ask him to give me a call back.�
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“What is this regarding?”
“My husband, Tim Jackson.”
“And is he a patient of Dr. Trailov?”
She hesitated. “I don’t know, can you tell me if he is a patient of Dr. Trailov?”
Silence. “You are asking me if your husband is a patient of Dr. Trailov?”
“Yes, Tim Cord Jackson—is he a patient?”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Jackson, I cannot answer that question according to HIPAA regulations.”
“Well, can you ask the doctor to call me back?”
The woman hesitated as if she wanted to say something else. “I will give the doctor your message.” She disconnected.
The next priority, Conrad Nathaniel. She dialed his number and was surprised when he answered it directly. “Conrad Nathaniel speaking.”
“Conrad, hello, this is Kendall Jackson, returning your call.”
“Hello, Kendall Jackson.” He chuckled. “Do you drink that wine?” He laughed again. “I’m actually driving on the 95 headed up toward Maryland this afternoon, and wondered if I could take you to lunch today?”
“Let me look at my schedule.” She hesitated. “I’m sorry, Conrad, but I have several Commencement meetings today where I have to be present, although I’d really like to talk to you about the Commencement keynote. Could I meet with you later in the afternoon?”
Conrad’s voice echoed as if he was speaking on a hands-free device. “Yes, let me take you out to dinner this evening and I’ll tell you the story of how your husband saved my life and you can ask me all the questions you want about my keynote. I believe we made a deal when I agreed to be the keynote speaker, and now we will be even. Should I pick you up at seven?”
“No, that won’t be necessary, I will be working late tonight, so let’s just meet here at the school. Would you like me to make reservations somewhere?”