by A. K. Smith
“What time will you get out of here tonight? We need to talk.” Kendall folded her arms.
Steve’s big smile collapsed. “Well, I was going to go grab some dinner, would you like to join me?”
Kendall stood tall and replied, “Okay, I’ll go with you. Across the street?”
About to say something more Steve closed his mouth. He walked around the bar and told Skip he would be back in an hour, then motioned for her to go out the back way.
They crossed the street in silence. Steve’s hand grazed her shoulder. “Hey, what’s going on with you? Is it about the other night?”
She kept walking several steps ahead. Steve caught up to her, gently pulling her back. “Kendall, I think we both were over-served the other night. Are you angry with me? What’s going on?”
She snapped, her eyes blazing. “What’s going on? What’s going on?” Her voice cracked and went up an octave as she repeated the question. “That’s exactly what I would like to know—what is going on?” A flood of emotions stuck in her throat, almost strangling her.
She huffed past the café and headed toward The Park, a memorial honoring Civil War dead. Steve kept her pace, silent. She didn’t stop until she reached an empty clearing, then walked over and stood by a colossal oak. Her shoulders tense, her body posture rigid. She looked at Steve, took a deep breath and squeaked out, “I know about The Collective. I know you and Tim were part of The Collective. I hate you for keeping this from me, and anything you tell me right now I don’t know if I’ll believe. I don’t trust you and I’m not sure if I can ever trust you again. So, do not lie to me. I’m sick of all the secrets. Sick of all the lies.”
Steve’s eyes darted to the tree line. He grabbed his chin, then ran his fingers through his hair. Silence except for the beat of their breath. He crossed his arms. “Kendall, I never meant to lie to you. It’s not something I’m at liberty to discuss with you or anyone. The fact you are even asking me about this organization, scares the hell out of me.” He grabbed her shoulders and looked into her eyes. “Where did you hear this?”
A tear slid down her face dripping off her chin. “It’s true, isn’t it! All these lies, secrets…Did you break into my house?”
Steve’s face was still, expressionless. Silence.
Her chest pounded, she wanted him to deny everything, provide her with a rational explanation. “I need to know, Steve. I need to understand what is going on.” Their eyes met, in his she recognized concern, a glimpse, a flash of Tim’s best friend, the old Steve, the college roommates that would give their life for each other.
“Come with me, Kendall.” He walked toward the street. “Let’s take a ride.” He stopped at her car, opened the door, took his cell phone out of his pocket and threw it on the seat. He didn’t speak, simply motioned to her to do the same. She placed her iPhone on the seat. Steve closed her car door and walked toward his, saying, “You might want to lock your car.”
****
The Gettysburg National Memorial Park driving tour was approximately two and a half hours long and open until ten p.m. in spring and summer. Driving toward the park, Kendall and Steve traveled in stony silence for the first twenty minutes until they reached the entrance. Steve’s face took on a serious, hardened look. “What I am about to tell you can never be discussed with anyone and you can never mention my name or that we had this conversation.” The words spewed out of his mouth. He confirmed he and Tim were part of a government organization nicknamed “The Collective.” A classified organization that used ex-military, typically black ops soldiers. They were civilians to the outside world, but crucial to the military, possessing skills the government needed for confidential research projects. Steve emphasized the term research. Researching ways to better our country, ways to save dying resources, to discover hidden assets other countries had. All for the betterment of our nation, betterment of mankind. He stopped the car after speaking for thirty minutes straight. The moon disappeared behind the clouds, the night sky pitch black. No other cars were on the road. The perimeter of swaying trees closed in on her like soldiers, she wanted to run. Run from everything she was hearing.
“Did Tim tell you any of this?” Steve asked. “I need you to tell me the truth.”
Her heart thumped inside her chest, finally she swallowed wondering if she could speak. “No, Tim did not tell me any of this.” She grimaced, as if someone punched her in the stomach, swallowing the nausea. “I understand why it’s classified, I know Tim loved his country, but to hide it from me for all these years, it makes me feel like I didn’t even know him.”
Steve’s grim expression softened as he faced Kendall. He hesitated before speaking. “You knew him, Kendall. You knew him better than anybody did. The way he was with you…He loved you more than anything. It was like he absorbed you and you absorbed him. Being part of The Collective was not who Tim was, it was just something he did.” Kendall listened to the sound of crickets from the field, focusing on controlling her breath. I can’t believe I never suspected anything. Steve continued, “And he was incredible at his job, classified Intel, logistics, knowing the organization inside and out. Almost like a spectator watching over it…he got that from his Uncle Dan. He also worked on the DNA Project.”
Stunned, she forced the words out. “His Uncle Dan was part of the organization as well?”
Steve shrugged and let out a breath of air. “Yes, good ol’ Uncle Dan, was involved his entire life although we didn’t know it either, until the end.”
He grasped Kendall’s hand in a fierce squeeze. “I’m concerned for you, Kendall. I’m worried about your safety. I believe before Tim died, he discovered something important. Some piece of the puzzle he didn’t share with the organization. I think it involved a project we were working on, The DNA Project. Tim stumbled onto critical information, and even if I’m wrong, ‘they’ think he did, and others who want this information will stop at nothing to get it.” He continued. “Was there anything in the briefcase that might be of importance to someone else, maybe something that doesn’t make sense to you, anything?”
She turned to the window. The crickets tone now at a higher pitch. Even in the dim light the wide-open green fields became clearer. Right here, over 150 years ago, men fought each other, head on, charging one on one in civil war, battling for what they each believed in.
I don’t know what I believe or who to trust. Nothing makes sense. She clasped and unclasped her fingers and squeezed her knuckles. “No, like I said before, it was just his old divorce papers, a few things, legal papers.” The lie floated in the air like a neon sign.
Steve forcibly squeezed her hands. “Kendall, this is really serious. Please tell me if you find anything. Anything at all. The Collective is a classified organization for a reason. They’ve been around for over two hundred years…two hundred years without a word in the press, or a reference in a book. You can’t speak about this with anyone; I mean erase it from your mind forever, do you understand?”
Steve Crawford, always so cool and level, looked anxious and agitated. His hair a mess; his age unfolded on his face as if she were looking at him through a magnifying mirror.
“I understand, Steve, but I need to know one thing, what is the objective?” She pulled her hands free, grabbed his shoulders. “I mean what is it they are looking for?”
He removed Kendall’s hands from his shoulders and clasped them tightly, his eyes closed. The cicadas joined the crickets at a new octave, several minutes passed. Finally he said, “They’re looking for what man has always been searching for. I’m sure there are many groups since the beginning of time all with the same purpose, the same quest. Searching, seeking, chasing…” Steve paused.
Kendall interrupted, “Searching for what?”
“A miracle, searching for the Holy Grail of nature, searching for that magical bacterium, that unimaginable plant that cures cancer and makes you live longer than humanly possible, an ultimate wonder drug.”
She was shaking her head i
nvoluntarily. “Seriously? They actually think this cure exists?”
He let go of her hands and tightly gripped the steering wheel. “Well, maybe it’s not actually a miracle, but yes, there is something out there that expands the life expectancy of humans and cures illnesses.”
“They have proof of this?” she demanded. “They know something like this is real?”
He was looking in the rearview mirror and out the window as a sudden paranoia seemed to overtake him. “Kendall, I can’t tell you anything else, this is all classified information and I could be putting both our lives in jeopardy. Tim would never forgive me. He knew he could not share anything with you, as much as he never wanted to keep anything from you, but he did it to keep you safe, and here I am talking about details Tim would never tell you. The thing he most wanted to share but would not, and I can’t say any more. I owe him that.”
“But it’s too late, Steve, I’m involved, I have questions, things I need to know.”
His voice took on a gritty edge. “No, Kendall, there is nothing you need to know, you are not involved. Tim obviously understood this and now you know more than you should know. We’re done discussing this. Promise me, we never had this conversation.
“Promise me, Kendall, for Tim.”
“I promise.”
He started driving again, following the Gettysburg trail of monuments, his mouth set in a straight line.
“I just have one last question to ask you.” She had to know as a tear slid down her cheek. “Did his diving accident have anything to do with this…The Collective?”
He slowed the car down, and put his hand on her arm. “No, Kendall, absolutely not. He was diving the Blue Hole with non-classified guys. He wanted to take Ryder, remember? It had nothing to do with an assignment. It was just a terrible, terrible freak accident.”
Chapter 47
Kendall ended the call. As far as she could see, the manicured green velvet golf course of WMC painted a picture of contentment and relaxation. Deep purple pansies and red and orange petunias vibrant next to the fresh cut grass. The opposite of all Kendall was. Ryder may be more like Tim than I ever gave him credit for. Today for an instant he was just like his father. Ryder listened, not saying much during the twenty-minute call where she did all of the talking. He asked a few sensible questions, straightforward and necessary, but allowed her to speak. He handled the news well. He didn’t argue, he didn’t sound uninterested and he didn’t make quick responses or accusations about Kendall losing her mind or being paranoid.
He listened to the plan she devised, but at the end of the conversation, he made no solid commitment to join her on the journey to Puerto Morelos. He promised not to discuss it with anyone, and agreed if he was going to come he would follow her lead.
Before the call ended, he asked her, “What about Steve, do you think you could confide in him and maybe he could help?” She had not told Ryder about The Collective, yet. But his parting words interrupted her thoughts. “He was Dad’s best friend and I know Dad trusted him.”
Trust. She exhaled a loud sigh as she looked up to the heavens, am I doing the right thing, Tim?
Walking across the quad, random thoughts bounced back and forth as she questioned her plan. A group of men in tightly-buttoned-at-the-neck shirts and suits emerged from the administrative building. Her pulse quickened and she forced her lips to curve up as Conrad Nathaniel emerged from the pack. His eyes lit up as his mouth widened into a grin. No need for a second opinion; he was a strikingly handsome man.
“Kendall, I was hoping I would run into you.” He turned toward the group. “I’ll catch up with you.” He leaned over to kiss her on the cheek.
She stood still, her hands gripping her portfolio, studying Conrad’s face. She rehearsed this moment in her mind. “I’m sorry about the other night, I didn’t know what to say or what to think.” She paused. “I’d like to talk. If the offer still stands, I’d like you to show me what you mentioned the other night, what I need to see.”
He tilted his head to the side, analyzing her sudden change. “What time are you finished at work today?”
****
She didn’t call anyone, didn’t even text Dr. A. Who can I trust? She slid into the soft leather seats of the Tesla without anybody’s knowledge or any witness seeing her go.
Dusk was falling but the air was still warm. The fireflies were out; lightning-bugs as she called them growing up in Pennsylvania, sparkling in the woods as they sped by. Conrad had classical music playing, and the melody by Chopin added to the mystery of where he was taking her.
He broke the silence. “You changed your mind. Something happened.” It was a statement, not a question.
She carefully chose her words. “I want to know what you know,” she said. “I want to know the secrets my husband has been hiding from me.”
Total blackness hugged the curvy country roads, streetlights and passing cars nonexistent. Conrad made a left turn and pulled up to a private gate. Nathaniel Cemetery was etched in iron across the masculine heavy barrier. He pulled out a card and held it up in front of the camera and the large mass of iron gate electronically activated, slowly opened.
Darkness cloaked the setting creating an eerie world; cemeteries conjured unsettling thoughts. Only the lights of the Tesla illuminated the hard-packed dirt road in front of them. Conrad opened the window and turned the music off; night sounds consumed the air. The locusts making their modern music were joined by chirping crickets and a few soft birdcalls. The tires of the Tesla the only noise coming from the electric vehicle. Kendall shivered, a silent creeping car added to the strangeness of the evening. Conrad parked in front of a large mausoleum. The falcon wings opened up to the night sky and she stepped out. The scene surreal: a futuristic car next to the centuries-old stone of the mausoleum.
Conrad approached her side of the car, closed the doors and offered his hand. “Ready?”
Butterflies who acted more like aggressive bees flew around in the pit of her stomach. “I’m going to leave here alive?” Her mouth curved into a shaky smile, she could feel the corner of her left lip quivering. “Right?”
Conrad’s warm fingers circled around her hand. “Alive and enlightened.”
Using the same key card against the age-old lock, the old mausoleum door clicked a modern sound. The lock and the handle never moved. It opened from the side hinge, resembling the door in the basement of the Lewis Science Center—an ancient façade hiding modern technology.
Inside the mausoleum three large drawers covered the wall, a gold name plaque on each one. Conrad walked over to the middle one and pushed the center. Another loud clicking sound, and behind the plaque a button appeared. He pushed it and walked over to the marble wall. When he pushed on the right side, the wall opened up.
“Seriously? What is this place?”
He motioned with his eyes to follow and led the way down the small tunnel ending at an enormous steel door. He flipped up a square plate on the wall, and looked directly into it. A retina scanner; in two seconds, the door opened.
“This place has been in my family for centuries. A place of respite for some, a place of enlightenment for others.”
The downward steps led to a short tunnel. Through two more doors and a set of steps, the air temperature dropped. She rubbed her arms facing a corridor hallway with a dozen doors. The tunnel undeniably similar to the passageway she and the Professor had explored under the Lewis Hall of Science.
“Where are you taking me?” She watched Conrad use the key and open the middle door.
“Let me show you.”
He led the way into a laboratory, hitting slider switches to cast lights in various areas and workstations. It was full of new technology, computers and high-tech microscopic equipment. The absence of dust unsettled her. Her eyes started in one corner of the room and moved in a circle, turning until her gaze stopped on a large photo on the wall. It was a bulletin board one would see on a police procedural TV show, with the detectives
trying to figure out the suspect and all parties involved. One photo in particular caught her eyes, and then as her eyes traveled toward the bottom of the pyramid, her stomach tightened, a picture of Tim and below it a picture of Steve Crawford. She walked over to the wall, drawn to a picture she had seen before, a picture of President Obama, Hillary Clinton, and the man from the jungle.
Conrad moved behind her. He cleared his throat. “So, what do you know about The Collective?”
She continued looking at Tim’s face, at his beautiful eyes, she put her fingers up to his face on the picture, and her voice was soft. “Is that why you have his picture on this board? Because he and Steve were part of something you call The Collective?”
Conrad inched closer, his body heat leaving little space between them. “What did Tim tell you about The Collective?”
“He told me nothing.” She turned blinking back the tears. “Absolutely nothing.”
Their bodies close; she could smell a hint of cologne mixed with an unfamiliar masculine scent. He touched her cheek to wipe the tear away. He leaned down, his hot breath on her ear. “I want to help you, no more secrets. You and I, Kendall, let’s make a deal—no more secrets.”
He stayed in her space, as if they were almost embracing. She held her breath. She wanted nothing more than to see sincerity in his eyes, to find the truth. He embraced her and she gently pulled away.
“Okay.” Her shoulders back, her head lifted a little higher. “No more secrets? Tell me what you know about The Collective…Tell me how my husband was involved and why you’re so interested? Explain to me why he would keep this from me.”
Conrad silent a few seconds longer nodded. He moved away and flipped the bulletin board and pointed. “Your husband and Steve work for a centuries-old classified government organization. This organization’s mission is to collect things, to research and experiment on things that may affect the American people, well, basically all of mankind…” He pointed to a world map on the bulletin board. It resembled electronic string art, lines in every direction around Central America and Mexico; and pin points marking coastlines and ports.