“Take your time, look it over. If you have any questions,” Elliot said, “don't hesitate to call. My cell number is listed on back.”
“Thank you. Thank you very much.” Brant thrust out his hand.
Elliot, after a firm handshake, said, “One last thing.” He removed a pen set from the briefcase before shutting it and slid the pen set to Brant. “This is a fountain pen you can use. The client requests you sign all contracts in blood.”
4
Of course, Brant Wilson signed the contract. He signed it the following day, in blood, after thoroughly reading it. He found it very straightforward, with a minimum of legalese. He also signed a non-disclosure agreement, also in blood, and drove to the law offices of Elliot, Marsden, and McGuire to deliver it in person. Elliot, satisfied for his client to have Brant retained for services, had a check cut for him on the spot.
Brant Wilson had been thinking long and hard about that. He then drove to his bank to see what he could negotiate regarding the eminent foreclosure on his McMansion. In the end, the bank manager allowed him to make a token payment, enough to allow for a refinance of the loan. That dropped the payment to a more manageable level. With proper budgeting Brant believed he had bought himself six months' time. Time would tell.
He got to work on the circuit board design using software on his PC. Once designed, a company such as Silicon Solutions could be hired to manufacture the board. The specifications seemed very basic. So basic in fact that Brant wondered why he'd been hired at all. The client basically wanted an expansion board that could be installed into a minicomputer, a UNIX-based system. Since setup would cost more than actual manufacturing there would be six units built. Three to be installed as part of a cluster, three units kept as spare parts.
Simple enough.
However, the thought of what he was doing unnerved Wilson. Obviously, the client had hired him based on his extensive experience but also due to the interview taken place via a Ouija board and resume “faxed” by blood and fire.
It seemed ludicrous, Brant knew, to over-think the origin of this opportunity but it was hard not to.
The expansion board, a communication board of some sort, differed from other boards of its kind in one critical way: cryptic symbols would be etched directly into its circuitry, tiny pentagrams of pure gold, presumably designed as part of a communication interface. Based on typical motherboard configuration, the pentagrams would be inverted once installed.
“The client will need software device drivers,” Brant told Elliot via telephone a few days later.
“No worries. The client will provide them.”
Once the circuit design had been finished, it was sent, via Elliot, for approval. The next step was a site evaluation in Kansas. Approval of the design, Brant assumed, would take a few days, maybe a week. He fully expected, despite the design's simplicity, for it to come back with a few requested tweaks. Even the simplest of designs were returned for tweaks. That bought him the first reprieve from stress he'd experienced in a year.
Doorbell chimes surprised Brant, who sat enjoying a bottle of beer and delivered pizza in front of the television.
He answered the door to find a platinum-blonde young woman with a shock of purple tucked behind an ear. Why would a pierced teen be at his door? Selling candy or magazines?
“May I help you,” he asked.
Her eyes cut shyly away and back again. “Maybe. Do you know who I am?”
“I'm sorry, I don't. Should I?”
Before she could answer, though, the following cycled through his brain:
Becky, a girl he'd gotten pregnant freshman year at University of Texas had dropped out of school at the end of first semester
Becky, a party girl, had decided to keep the baby
She'd moved back to Wichita Falls
Brant's parents had paid child support so he could finish school
He'd tried to play a part in his daughter's life but Becky was satisfied simply receiving monetary support; and by junior year Brant had all but given up trying
Evelyn had handled their finances and so it was easy to forget he'd fathered a child
She replied, “No. I guess not... Daddy.”
“Katie!” Brant smiled and opened his arms. “It's so good to see you.”
“Really?”
“Truly!”
She stepped into his arms and he hugged her tight.
“Please, come in. There's pizza and cream soda.” She wasn't legally old enough to drink beer.
“Diet?”
“No, sorry. Look at you, you look amazing. One cream soda won't hurt you.” In fact, Brant thought she could stand to gain a few pounds. She looked so thin and so young and so pretty in the pink dress she wore. He realized she must have put a lot of effort into selecting the outfit. She'd wanted to make a good initial impression. She followed him in, rolling a matching pink overnight bag behind her.
“How did you know I go by Katie? All my friends call me Katie.”
“Sorry. I know your mom named you Kaitlyn and she called you Kate – but to me you've always been Katie. Oh, and sorry for the digs,” Brant said, “my wife split from me and took a bunch of stuff. We can eat and get to know each other at the wet bar. Wow. I can't believe you're here. I... Well, I hope you don't think I'm a shit – excuse my French – for not being around while—”
“It's okay,” Katie said. “Mom can be a real bitch sometimes. Most times, actually. Sure, I missed not having a dad around when I was younger but I understand now that Mom wanted it that way. She had too many guys around for there to be another who wasn't interested in her. Listen to me ramble, I'm so embarrassed.”
Brant shrugged. “I was interested in her – no need to be embarrassed – I was focused on school while she was busy having fun. Not a good combination when spending thousands of dollars on an education. Do you attend school?”
“That's sorta why I'm here...” Katie shyly looked away.
“It's okay. You can tell me anything. I want to know everything.”
“Like mother like daughter, I suppose. I was going to school in Dallas. I got into drugs, got into trouble, and luckily got into rehab. I learned a lot about myself there. About who I am and what I want, you know?”
“No, I don't know. What do you want?”
“I want to get to know you.”
The statement didn't come as a surprise. Obviously, the girl wanted to get to know her biological father. And Brant, finding himself alone and without family for the first time in his life, realized that he liked the idea of getting to know Katie. They spent the evening talking about each other's life – mostly Katie's. During the course of the conversation, it became obvious that she had put much effort and spent nearly all her resources coming to see him. She had enough money for a cheap motel for the night and a bus ride back to Dallas, where she assured Brant she could find a friend to stay with until she found a job, something she'd lost during her battle with addiction.
“You're welcome to stay here if you like. Look, there's nearly 4000 square feet of space and just me. Evelyn and I had two guest rooms – one for each set of parents. She only took furniture from only one room when she moved out.”
“You don't mind?” Katie asked. “Just for a while?”
“I don't mind at all. In fact, this place is big enough you won't even notice I'm around.”
Katie crinkled her nose. “Why would I want that? After all, you're my Daddy.”
They smiled, hugged, and went on a tour of the home.
Brant found himself happy to have someone to share the space with, if only temporarily. While he'd stopped foreclosure proceedings purely as a means to protect his credit and buy time to sell the place, the thought of living there alone seemed a waste of his most precious resource: money. For even two people – as he had learned living there with Evelyn – it was more than enough space. However, he found himself looking forward to his time with his only daughter, Katie, a girl whose life he'd wanted to play
a role in long ago.
“I insist you make yourself at home,” Brant said. “Wow. My daughter. Here. I like that.”
“I do, too.”
“We'll make a run to the market tomorrow, buy a few things you like to eat. It's getting late, so feel free to turn in if you like. You probably had a long day traveling here by bus and then the cab.”
Katie shrugged. “I'm sort of a night owl.”
“Me too.”
“Maybe we could watch a movie together. I've always wanted to do that.”
“I don't have cable but there are some videos, DVD and BluRay, Evelyn didn't manage to sell. Let's see if we might find something worth watching.”
They spent the weekend watching videos and getting to know each other better. Katie had ended a serious relationship after high school. She attributed the breakup in part to her addiction to alcohol and, to a lesser degree, cocaine while in college. Brant gave her a brief overview of his time at Silicon Solutions and the struggles he'd faced since being downsized.
“You'll be fine, Daddy,” Katie said. “I know it.”
It felt good to hear her say it, even if he knew she simply wanted to show support.
“Thank you,” he said. “By the way, I have to go out of town next week, but you're welcome to stay. In fact, I'd really like for you to stay. Not only for personal reasons, but I believe it would be good for you.”
“If you say so.” She smiled.
Brant had been prepared to mention the benefit of avoiding past friends while struggling with addiction, as well as the challenges, such as a place to crash, upon returning to Wichita Falls, among other points he'd surely think of to convince her to stay. Except he hadn't needed to. He went one step further by suggesting, “You might consider finding a job here, full-time or part-time. Something to put a little money in your pocket and perhaps provide a financial cushion.”
He hoped she didn't take that as a suggestion for her to earn enough money for bus fare back to Dallas or Wichita Falls – he'd gladly offer the money should he believe she wanted it – but she didn't.
“Okay, Daddy. I noticed this cool used book place near the market. There was a Help Wanted sign in the window. Maybe I could apply there.”
“Sure, sweetie. I think that's a great idea. But why put all your eggs in one basket? Perhaps you could apply at a few places.”
“I'd like that,” Katie said.
I'd like it, too, Brant thought.
He drove her around job hunting the following day. Three days later he was on a plane bound for Kansas City.
5
The flight to Kansas City International airport, while short and direct, put Brant Wilson arriving at the nondescript facility he’d been hired to assess shortly after three o'clock that afternoon. He’d stopped for lunch after picking up a rental car and driven approximately 90 minutes to get there. The address had been provided by attorney Joshua Elliot, along with a few other things such as a key and the recommendation to stay at a hotel in Olathe, Kansas, a half hour north.
It's no wonder, Brant thought. There isn't much in this shitty little town.
A phone app using GPS directed him past a no-tell motel en route to a windowless brick building. The place, with its vacant parking lot spanning one side of the building, appeared dead. A string of power and telephone lines seemed the only thing tethering it to society.
Brant parked the rental car diagonally beside the building. Along with his notebook computer in a backpack, he walked around to the front of the building. There he discovered metal double doors in rusting frames. Brant tried the doorknob and found the doors to be locked.
Odd. But Elliot had provided him with a key.
As he used the key he mentally noted the first recommendation for his report:
Update / upgrade security
The door opened to a small room containing an old metal office desk. Amber light from a dumb terminal reflected off the coke-bottle lenses of a weaselly old man stationed there.
“You must be the consultant Mr. Elliot telephoned about.”
“Brant Wilson. Pleased to meet you.” Brant extended a hand across the desk.
The man, bones creaking, stood for the handshake.
“You can call me Frank. Not my real name.”
“Not your real name?” The sinking feeling Brant had sank deeper. At least he was being handsomely paid.
“How much do you know about this place?” Frank asked before waving off his own question. “No matter. You'll see soon enough. You did sign a non-disclosure agreement, didn't you?”
“In blood.”
“Your own, I assume.”
Your mother's, Brant mused. Let's get on with the tour before check-in time at the hotel. This day has been long enough already, considering I couldn't sleep last night.
Frank said, “Follow me.”
A door on the opposite side of the room opened into a corridor leading to a rusty water fountain mounted on the wall between a set of restroom doors. Across from the restrooms, through glass, Brant saw...
“This is the computer lab,” Frank said. “There's an empty desk you can use. I'll show you.”
Brant couldn't believe his eyes. He said, “The 80s called, they want their computer network back.”
Frank, giving Brant a dirty look, merely said, “This is your desk. Feel free to use the telephone.”
Ma Bell had left a heavy, outdated model on the desk. A shoulder rest was attached to its handset.
Brant, pulling out his cell phone and checking for reception bars, said, “Is there an Ethernet port I can use? I don't suppose this place offers free visitor Wi-Fi.”
“The lab is Token Ring and sneaker net.”
“That explains the lack of security to access the lab.”
In the distance a large impact printer clanged to life.
“Is this all there is?” Brant asked. His report would be simple: scrap everything and start over.
“No. There are four more levels.”
Four? The single-story building suddenly became interesting. What could warrant such a deep reaching structure in this one horse town? Thoughts flitted through Brant's mind:
Ouija board.
Contracts signed in blood.
A non-disclosure agreement.
Overpriced circuit boards etched with cryptic symbols...
Brant Wilson found himself worried what this outdated place might have buried below.
“The stairs are just past the restrooms,” Frank explained. “There's a service elevator but I don't have the key.”
“Of course you don't.” Brant supposed Elliot had kept that to himself. Brant left his backpack behind and followed his tour guide.
Weak, flickering light strobed a cobwebby stairwell.
Hire cleaning crew
Frank led the way to the next level. At first Brant assumed they'd entered a two-bedroom apartment, perhaps where “Frank” lived, but soon realized his mistake. Surveillance cameras mounted to walls, along with a couple of cameras set on tripods, made it a dead giveaway, as did lighting equipment set up in a very juvenile and feminine bedroom. This was no apartment. This, Brant thought aloud, “This is some sort of set.”
“Indeed,” Frank said.
“Huh. I'd never have thought...” Brant trailed off. “What do you shoot here?”
Frank's look answered Brant’s.
“The 'actors' are on the next level,” Frank said. “Would you care to see for yourself, or would you prefer to skip that floor?”
“I'm here to see everything.”
“Fair enough.”
Brant found it interesting that the section of stairwell leading from Level 2 to Level 3 saw much more traffic. Only one small cobweb spanned a corner.
“I'll wait here, if you don't mind,” Frank said.
Brant didn't care what the guy did. He pushed through the door to Level 3 alone and became immediately horrified by what he saw. Girls and boys alike, none older than seventeen but plenty tha
t were younger had been caged in cells containing basic plumbing and small cots. Each child stared at Brant with a hopeless expression on his or her face.
“Take me,” a teen-aged girl requested in a monotone voice. “Take me to the pretty room, piggy-man.”
“Take her,” a younger girl agreed. “Not me. It hurts.”
“Take me, too,” a boy said. “Take me and we'll share one.”
“I'm not taking anyone,” Brant said. “I'm here to evaluate the computer systems only, not film movies.”
“Who says we have to film anything?” the boy, now leering, asked.
Brant's mind spun with the implications of how he'd gotten this gig, what was going on here, and why the client needed him at all. The bastard must be insane, Brant deduced, keeping people imprisoned here. There'd be one hell of a report to write when he got back to Austin, if he hadn't already completed it before he left. Under other circumstances Brant wouldn't be taxed with the issue of informing the authorities of the goings-on here. However, considering everything he knew about this place – or rather didn't know but strongly suspected – he'd be ill-advised to do anything beyond performing the duty he'd been hired to do. Doing anything so stupid as phoning local law enforcement would surely buy him trouble, lose him this job, and ultimately, even if he did save a kid or two, do nothing to stop the client, who Brant didn't know by name anyway, other than the strange moniker Elliot had given. Brant decided to weigh the pros and cons later, after seeing everything.
So he joined Frank in the stairwell.
Frank asked, “Have you seen enough, or should I take you lower?”
Brant checked his smart phone again. He'd received two bars of signal at ground level but here he received none. “I want to see it all, I told you. Every last thing. The client will get his report and Elliot will get a piece of my mind once I've seen all the floors. They may need to get someone else to install the add-on card I designed, but hell, you could do it.”
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