by James Hunt
Cooper snapped the phone shut and tossed it onto the desk. Even in the middle of nowhere, hundreds of feet underground, Perry was still pulling the strings. She cracked her neck and rubbed her eyes. She got up and reached for the pot of coffee warming on the burner and poured herself a cup. It was going to be a long night.
***
Moringer drained the last few drops of coffee in his mug then slid it onto the table, where it collided with the messy pile of papers in front of him. The other directors shared the same frustrated stares as he did, and while the coffee was helping keep him awake, it was shattering what was left of his patience. “We can’t launch a nuclear strike against our own bases.”
“I’m not saying that we do it, I’m simply offering it as a suggestion.” The CIA director articulated each syllable with a nasty sting in his tone. “Obviously another strategy would be preferable.”
“What about another attack on the facility?” the FBI director suggested. “We get enough guys in there, and we overwhelm them.”
“Perry has control of over four hundred nuclear warheads right now. The moment we do anything he doesn’t like, he’ll set them off. This guy is smart, he’s dangerous, and he doesn’t care who he kills to get what he wants. We can’t risk it.”
“Well, we’ve gone over the schematics for the control bunker at Minot, and the only way in and out is through one elevator, which Perry has control over,” the FBI director replied.
“What about the air vents?” Moringer asked, talking more to himself than to the rest of the room. “They run along the elevator shafts, but we might be able to sneak in some gas, smoke them out without them even noticing it.”
“The vents have built in filters,” the CIA director answered. “I don’t know of anything that could get past the security features in order for it to be effective, and even if we did find something, if the filters couldn’t stop the gas, the alerts would still be triggered. It’s a built-in failsafe to make sure the bunker is always protected.” The CIA director tossed the pencil in his hand and rubbed his cheeks, nose, chin, and forehead red. “The bastard is in a safe house, and he knows it. Has your agent found anything worthwhile that we could use?”
“Not yet,” Moringer answered. And the truth was, he wasn’t sure if Cooper would be able to or not. This wasn’t some thug or mafia boss; this was a man who’d climbed the ranks of the most powerful intelligence agency in the world and, in the process, gained the trust of several top ranking government officials while gaining access to confidential and top-secret information that even the president didn’t see. “Perry’s thought of everything.”
“Moringer,” the CIA director said, “we need to start thinking about evacuation. We’ve got less than an hour before Perry’s first deadline, and I don’t think he’s the type of guy that’s going to bluff.”
Moringer nodded and picked up the schematics of the bunker. He’d looked over that picture hundreds of times over the past forty-five minutes. The lines and edges were permanently imprinted in his brain. Whatever Perry wanted to do, he could. He just hoped they’d be able to get a jump on him before it was too late for the rest of the country.
***
Perry ordered the bodies stacked and placed in a room, where they were locked and sealed shut. For as long as he was down here, he didn’t want to have to smell the corpses. The idea of putting the engineer in there with them briefly crossed his mind, but the man had reached the breaking point. One more shove, and he wouldn’t be able to crack the last base.
“Where are we at?” Perry asked as the last dead U.S. soldier was dragged past, leaving a trail of blood.
The scientist watched the stain on the floor out of his peripherals but continued his work on the computer screens. “I’m working through the last firewall now.” His eyes, much like his voice, were now hollow, void of emotion. He was working from a place in the human brain that was reserved for the dying, and he was awfully close to his grave.
“Make it snappy,” Perry replied. “I don’t want to miss my first chance at showing those bastards what I mean to do to them.” Perry knew what type of countermeasures would be left once he controlled all three nuclear sites. They’d have to start evacuations and decimate their billion-dollar bases with their own nukes, and when they did, Perry would still be able to launch before the missiles arrived. It was the classic Mexican standoff, and he was going to come out on top no matter what happened.
“Sir.” Ozier snuck up behind him. “We located quite a few survivors on top. We still have close to one hundred men on the base grounds. And you were right about the military setting up a perimeter.”
“It’s simply intimidation,” Perry said. “They wouldn’t dare trying to risk another altercation with us now that we have the nukes. But tell our men to set up a perimeter as well, and I want your best men down here with us. Anyone that can be spared or doesn’t know anything about our operations below stays on top. They’re expendable.”
Ozier didn’t skip a beat. “And what about our future guest?”
“By the time that happens, the U.S. government will be so distraught that they’ll give us anything we want. They’ll be broken, and we’ll be the only one on the planet with the Band-Aid. It won’t be a problem.” Perry let Ozier relay his commands and then found one of the private bedrooms reserved for the commanding officer.
The bunker had everything a team of twenty men could need for three months. Food, water, air, medical supplies, showers—it was a hotel a thousand feet beneath the earth. Perry took a seat on the edge of the bed and ran his fingers along the cool, soft sheets. He stretched his arm until the cuff of his sleeve pulled up and exposed his disfigured flesh.
The moment Perry saw it, he froze. He ran his fingertips over the raised and bumpy flesh. The contrast between the sheets and his own skin was drastic. He knew at one point his skin used to be that soft, even softer, but those days had long since passed.
Perry ripped the sheets from the bed, clumping them together in a fit of rage, and tossed them onto the floor. He pulled off the pillowcases and flipped the mattress. The bottled pressure of his youth came exploding back and erupted in screams and curses. The veins along his neck pulsed, and his pale flesh morphed into crimson.
With the room in a mess, and once Perry’s rage subsided, he took a moment to compose himself. He was close now. Close to the end of it, and when he arrived, there would be nothing but the sweet vindication of retribution.
Chapter 6
With warrant in hand, Cooper forced the bank president to give up the direct-deposit data on Perry’s account and discovered the funds were going to a small retirement home in Ohio, just outside Cleveland. The retiree it paid for was a Doreen Smalls. Cooper ran the name against the database and didn’t find any match or relation in regard to Perry, so she caught a flight to Cleveland to speak with the woman.
The city of Cleveland hadn’t been immune to the attacks with which Perry had wreaked havoc, but the outer suburbs seemed to be in better condition than what she had seen in Boston. And with the lull in the attacks around the country, order was slowly being restored. However, she understood that no one knew the real danger they were all in now with Perry at the helm of nuclear weapons.
Cooper had managed to call ahead to make sure that Ms. Smalls was still there and alive. The home had been evacuated and sent to a safer location per its protocol. The place was high end. The clientele were mostly the parents of the very wealthy, who wanted the peace of mind of knowing that their parents were well taken care of without the burden of actually having to do it themselves.
Most of the inhabitants were so old that they couldn’t walk, move, or go to the bathroom without someone helping them. Cooper had never liked being in hospitals or hospices; it reminded her too much of her own mortality. In her line of work, she needed to keep one foot in the realm of immortality. It helped keep the edge. But here, in this place, there was no edge. There wasn’t even a dull tip.
“Agent C
ooper?” The director of the home extended his hand, and Cooper nodded. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Daniel Fines. We spoke on the phone.”
“I appreciate you taking the time,” Cooper answered. “Is Ms. Smalls ready to speak with me?”
Daniel nodded fervently. “She doesn’t get visitors ever, really. No children, never married. She came to us about five years ago via the Department of Children and Family Services. She’d developed such bad arthritis that she hadn’t been able to get up from her chair for more than two days. When the officers found her, she was in pretty bad shape.”
They passed a few private rooms and the dining hall, where snowcapped heads bobbled over their trays of food and liver-spotted hands shakily delivered spoonfuls of mush to their mouths. The entire place had the distinct clinging odor of the old and the decaying. “Have you ever had the opportunity to meet with Ms. Smalls’s benefactor?”
“No, we received an anonymous tip about her condition, and then we received a typed letter from a P.O. box along with the deposit and the first month’s fees,” Daniel answered. “And whoever it was spared no expense. Ms. Smalls has everything she needs here, and her living conditions have greatly improved. Ah, here we are.” Daniel opened the door, and when Cooper stepped inside, she saw what looked like a skeleton with nothing more than a paper-thin layer of flesh hanging loosely from its bones. “I’ll give you two some time. If you need anything, I’ll just be down the hall.”
“Thank you,” Cooper said.
At first, Ms. Smalls seemed oblivious to Cooper’s presence. She sat in a chair by the window, where the blinds had been drawn open to bathe her in sunlight. The view from Ms. Smalls’s seat revealed a garden full of blooming flowers, trees, and green grass. A few marble statues spouted water, and in the center was a pond, with fish sending ripples across the surface.
It wasn’t until Cooper was nearly touching Ms. Smalls that the old woman finally looked up. Her face had wrinkled and cracked like a worn asphalt street, and the skin hung loosely from her neck. Her cheeks and eyes drooped as well. “Can I help you?” Her voice quivered and shook along in rhythm with her head.
“Ms. Smalls, my name is Agent Cooper. I’m with the DEA, and I was hoping to speak with you for a moment if that’s okay with you?”
“Of course.” Ms. Smalls gestured to the chair next to her, and Cooper felt an odd twinge run through her body at the sight of the crooked and curved fingers, bent and mangled from the arthritis. “What can I help you with?”
“I was wondering if you knew who helped get you here, who’s been paying for your stay at this place.” Cooper leaned over, watching her eyes carefully. She wasn’t sure if Ms. Smalls even knew who Perry was, let alone whether she was in on what he was doing.
Ms. Smalls glanced back out at the garden and smiled. “I like sitting here, watching the flowers, birds, and butterflies. It’s beautiful, isn’t it? Life? Green and vibrant. This is how it’s supposed to be.”
Cooper watched a cardinal land on the bird feeder that dangled from a tree branch and nodded. “It’s very nice, Ms. Smalls, but I need to know if you—”
“What’s this about, Agent Cooper?” The old woman’s voice dropped an octave, and the smile had vanished from her face. “There are dozens of other people living in this tomb that would love to have someone visit them, speak to them. I watch my fellow residents shuffle through the halls, a fruitless endeavor that leads them only in circles. Purposeless. But at least here I can still appreciate beauty when I see it, while I still can.” Her words dripped with longing, and she turned back to look at Cooper. “Can you still see it?”
Cooper looked back out to the garden but then pulled an envelope from the inside of her jacket. “Ms. Smalls, I’m investigating a man named Richard Perry. He’s the man who has been paying for your stay here. Do you know him?”
The corner of the old woman’s mouth twitched upward in the suggestion of a smile, and her eyes glistened wet and red. “I always thought it might be him, but I could never be sure.”
“How do you know him?” Cooper asked.
“He’s my nephew.” Ms. Smalls tilted her head to the side, correcting herself. “Step-nephew I guess is more appropriate.”
Cooper quickly pulled out her notepad, her hands twitching for the pen at the news. “Melvin Perry wasn’t Richard’s biological father?”
Ms. Smalls shook her head. “Richard never knew his real father, but his mother married Melvin when he was very young. Melvin was the only father figure Richard had.”
Cooper jotted the notes down, then turned her questioning back on Ms. Smalls. “There wasn’t any record of Melvin Perry having a sister.”
“We were half siblings. Same mother, different fathers. We barely shared a roof together, but never the same last name. My brother took off at a very young age, went his own way. My mother never truly recognized him as her own.”
“Have you had any contact with Richard recently? Has he come to see you? Reached out in any way?”
“Not since Melvin went to jail. That was the last time I saw him.” The old woman shook her head. “He was a vile man, my brother. All hate and no remorse. Of course, that’s the way our daddy was, but even so, there was an enjoyment that my brother got out of hurting people. He was a troubled man.”
“Richard’s stepfather was abusive?”
Ms. Smalls nodded. “Beat that boy at least three times a week and twice on Sundays. I tried getting his mother to leave, but that only made things worse. It was a different time back then. What happened in the home stayed in the home, and it wasn’t anyone else’s business what happened within those walls.”
“Did you try to tell anyone about the abuse?”
“I tried, but neither the boy or his mother would ever admit to anything. She was too stupid, and he was too young and scared.” A butterfly landed on a flower just outside the window, and Ms. Smalls smiled. “He was such a sweet boy, too, always listened to his mother, did everything he could to make her happy. I think he just wanted to find some type of joy and laughter in that house. Especially when Alex was over. It was so few and far between. Those two loved each other.”
“Alex?”
“My brother’s first born, Richard’s stepbrother.”
The lack of birth records seemed to run in the family, or Perry could have had them destroyed. “Did Alex live with Richard and his mother?”
“No, he was much older than Richard, by at least ten years. I think he even tried to help get Richard and his mother out of there.” Ms. Smalls shook her head and let out a heavy sigh. “But he was just a kid himself. Could barely support his own weight, let alone that of a seven-year-old and a grown woman.”
“Is Alex still alive?”
“No, died a long time ago, I think around the same time as my brother’s arrest now that I think about it.”
“Can you tell me anything about your brother’s incarceration?”
“The night my brother was arrested, he set fire to the house, locking both Richard and his mother inside while it burned. When the firefighters showed up, he was standing outside, watching the flames and listening to the screams inside, finishing off a bottle of whiskey.” She waved her hand. “After that, there wasn’t any way for the police to ignore the suspicions and allegations of Melvin’s abuse, so that was when they locked him up and threw away the key. The bastard should have got worse. Whatever they did to him in prison wouldn’t have bee half as bad as what he did to that boy n.” Ms. Smalls gently played with the edge of her shirt. A tear rolled down her cheek, and she wiped it away with a crooked hand. “I always thought that Richard might have blamed me for what happened, but when I came here, I—I…”
Cooper laid a hand on Ms. Smalls’s arm. “People will do what they want, no matter what someone tries to do to help them. You can’t change nature.” Cooper had found that to be true in her six years working undercover. You couldn’t reason with someone who didn’t understand the concept. Once instincts took over, it a
ll became about survival. “Is there anything else you can tell me, Ms. Smalls? About Richard’s childhood, about his mother, his stepfather, and his stepbrother?”
Ms. Smalls shook her head. “I’m sorry I can’t be of more help. What’s left of my memory is nothing more than blurred images. I was never around them very much. A few holidays here and there, but I mostly focused my time at my church here in Ohio. Never had the desire to leave there. It was my home.”
Cooper knew the woman was fading, but she’d come all this way, and Perry had wanted her hidden for a reason. “Really anything at all would help. Former jobs, trips, hobbies that any of them had?”
Ms. Smalls squinted her eyes, racking the dusted files in her mind. “From what I can remember of my brother he did enjoy fishing, even tried taking Richard on a few trips.”
Cooper nearly dropped the pen in her hand, as she inched closer to the old woman. “Can you remember any fishing trips that your brother may have taken Richard on before his arrest?”
Ms. Smalls could barely keep her head up anymore, struggling to access the information. “Yes.” She nodded, slightly giddy at the fact she remembered. “Richard’s mother called me, told me that something had happened and my brother hadn’t had anything to drink for a week, and he took Richard on a trip to celebrate.”
“Where did they go?”
“To the east coast. Somewhere around Boston, I think.”
***
Dylan finished buttoning the shirt they’d given him and slid the belt around his jeans. It was nice to be out of the orange jumpsuit and irons around his ankles and wrists. He rubbed the beard that had formed over his face and the dark circles under his eyes. When he watched his fingers touch his skin, it felt foreign. He didn’t recognize the man staring back at him.
The man in the mirror had aged well beyond the years of Dylan’s birth. He turned away and left the reflection to its own devices. Dylan ran his fingers along the soft, padded cloth of the bedspread. It was cold from the constant blow of the A/C vents in the walls. His door opened, and one of the security guards poked his head in from the hallway. “Moringer needs to see you.”