Jeremy looked down again at his mom. She still sat frozen, staring into the distance. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. There was nothing left worth saying.
Instead he turned to Kate. “I’m sorry about this. For all of it, really.”
Kate brushed a strand of hair out of her face. “Don’t be sorry. You saved my life today. A lot of lives, actually.”
“Yeah, well, you saved me first.”
“So call it even.” Kate hesitated for a moment before she blurted out, “I love you, Jeremy. I wish I had known it sooner, but—”
“I love you too.” Jeremy reached out, brushing the same strand of hair out of Kate’s face and wrapping it behind her ear. “I was hurt before, so I—I’ve always loved you, Kate.”
It was a lie, but it was the lie she needed to hear. Maybe they both did. Jeremy leaned in and kissed her on the forehead. Then he walked out of the room.
*****
Emily Cross sat straight up in her bed, her heart racing. The room around her was dark. She looked over at the blue-glowing numbers from the clock on the nightstand: 2:13 in the morning.
She leaned back against her pillows and took a slow breath. It had been a difficult day. First the fear of losing her son to violence, and then actually losing her son for real, this time by his own choice. It made for a restless night’s sleep.
Emily looked around the room. She could see the silhouette of the cherry-wood dresser on the far wall, but then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw something else—a burning orange ember.
Emily’s breath caught in her throat. She couldn’t see more than the small circle of light, one second blazing brighter than before and the next second fading again: the lit end of a cigarette. Emily forced herself to stay still—forced herself not to turn and look—then, like a cat pouncing on its prey, she lunged across the bed, diving for her cellphone on the nightstand.
“It’s not there, Emily. I have it here, with me.” The man’s voice was thin and carried a hint of Irish accent.
Emily turned back around quickly on the bed, looking at the man fully for the first time. He was sitting in a chair in the corner of the room, leaning forward, his elbows touching the tops of his knees. In one hand he held up Emily’s cellphone. She could see the time and date and a picture of flowers on the screen. In his other hand he held his cigarette.
The man placed the phone face-down on the dresser and lifted his cigarette to his mouth. He took another long drag, and the flare from the burning ember lit up his face with an orange glow. He looked middle-aged, with light-colored hair and close-set eyes. He pulled the cigarette away from his mouth, and once again his face slipped into the shadows. Emily lunged back across the bed, reaching for the cordless phone on the other nightstand.
The man laughed softly. “That one’s been disconnected.”
Emily drew herself back up on the bed, sitting high against the headboard, and she pulled the sheets up to her neck, as if they could protect her. The man in the corner rose and walked to the side of the bed. He sat down on the edge of the mattress. Emily could see him clearly now. He had long, stringy blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail, and a week’s worth of stubble grew across his neck and jawline. He smiled, and she could see one tooth sticking out and away from the rest.
“What do you want?” Emily’s voice was a whisper.
The man dragged on his cigarette. “I’m here about your son.”
“He—he’s not here.” Emily’s stomach turned over, and she could taste bile at the back of her throat. “They took him. I don’t know where.”
The man’s lip curled over his stray tooth. “I know that, Emily.”
Emily’s voice was rising now, louder, shriller. “Then what do you want?”
The man dragged again on his cigarette. He reached up slowly and took hold of the sheets by Emily’s neck. He pulled them down, away from her body, and his eyes followed, drifting from her face down to her breasts.
He blew his smoke out in a thin stream, and it filled the space between them. “You want a cigarette? I think they help calm the nerves.”
Emily shook her head.
“Suit yourself,” the man said. “Tell me this, Emily, have you ever heard of ventricular fibrillation? Do you know what that is? It’s when your heart literally skips a beat. Sounds romantic, I know, but when your heart stops beating in proper rhythm, you know what happens? Your blood stops circulating. After that, well, most people are dead within a couple of minutes.”
Emily shrank back, pressing her body against the headboard. She was crying now, shaking her head rhythmically back and forth.
“It’s okay, Emily. I don’t think it hurts.”
He reached out his hand, and Emily still silently shook her head. Then he touched her chest, just above her nightgown, and his fingers felt like ice. He pushed his hand down against her, a slow, steady pressure, and then his fingertips seemed to fade into nothing. They slipped under her skin, just like a ghost passing through a wall. Then Emily could feel the man’s cold fingers inside her. He kept pushing, and his whole hand passed under her skin. It was so cold. Then there was a sudden tightness in her chest. Emily gasped for air. She blinked. She blinked again. Then her eyes rolled back and closed one last time, and Emily Cross was gone.
Chapter 6
Major Ellison stood at parade rest, his back facing the hangar and his eyes trained in the distance. He was forcing himself to wait patiently. Ellison always felt uneasy when the colonel was off base, like he wasn’t quite himself. Was it the added pressure of command? The self-doubt? Was it fear?
Ellison shook his head. If he was afraid, then afraid of what? Nothing had changed. Nothing on the base was different. Ellison’s life was exactly the same whether the colonel was there or not. It was the same routine—the same responsibility—the same unspoken mandate to get things exactly right, no matter what. The only real difference now was that Ellison had the final word instead of the colonel, but that didn’t matter either. The men already knew that Ellison spoke for the colonel whether the old man was there or not, and Ellison could always count on McCann’s support—at least in front of the men.
Was it doubt then? Ellison almost laughed. He couldn’t remember a time when he doubted himself or his abilities. No, Ellison knew he was born to lead. He was always the first one to understand a situation, to know the reasons behind it and see the consequences moving forward. He could make the tough call and never flinch—never second-guess himself.
As for the pressure, if truth be told, Ellison enjoyed it. That feeling of urgency and importance, just enough to keep him from complacency. Just enough friction to hone his razor’s edge. Lesser men may have wilted from the pressure and the stress of leadership, but not Ellison. He was always at his best.
Ellison knew he would make colonel someday. He didn’t doubt that. He would lead a regiment of men, maybe a whole battalion, and every day Colonel McCann was gone was another day of practice. Maybe that was the problem.
These weren’t his men. Not yet. Not really. They belonged, heart and soul, to Colonel McCann, and Ellison knew it. They would follow his orders while the colonel was away, at least any order within reason, but what if he had to ask them for more? What if his orders required sacrifice? What would they do then?
He turned and paced back toward the hangar. Certainly there were a handful of officers he could trust even with the colonel away. Sergeant Mandel was a good soldier, and someone who would follow orders. Captain Reyes from the command center had proven himself reliable. But it all took so much effort. For the colonel it was easy. Loyalty came naturally with the rank.
“Um, Major—Major Ellison…sir?”
Ellison looked to the man standing beside him, and tried not to scowl. Everything about the man appeared grossly out of place. In the cold night air he wore only a white lab coat, a green flannel shirt, and neatly pressed khaki pants. Surrounded by soldiers, like tonight, he looked even more squat, soft, and balding than when he st
ood in his lab by himself. In short, everything about the man screamed civilian.
“Do you know how much longer we’re going to be out here? I mean, do you think we still have time to get our coats?” Ellison ignored the question.
“Sir? Major?”
Ellison turned away without answering. There was, he thought, at least one reason to be grateful he wasn’t the colonel. The man in the lab coat was Dr. John Langer, and he was just the tip of the iceberg. As the colonel’s EX-O, Ellison was responsible for the battalion. That was all. Everyone else at Fort Blaney, all the civilians, answered directly to McCann.
Dr. Langer was one of 217 civilian personnel currently residing on base. They were mostly doctors and researchers, scientists and lab techs. They had all arrived two weeks after the 5th Battalion redeployed to Fort Blaney, and each one of them was classified as essential to the mission objectives.
Ellison had no patience for any of them. They were all so needy. Not like soldiers—his men could accept their circumstances as part of their job. Soldiers had trained themselves to exist, even excel, with less. But civilians were different. They always came with expectations. They thought of Fort Blaney more like a Hyatt than what it truly was, and that made Colonel McCann their concierge. It was a headache the major could live without.
*****
Ellison knocked at the doorframe, but the door was already open. Colonel McCann was standing behind his desk, still unpacking after their arrival, taking books from a box and placing them on a shelf.
The colonel turned and looked when he heard the knock. “Stuart. Come in.”
Ellison stepped into the room.
“Shut the door, will you?”
Ellison closed the door behind him, walked to the middle of the room, and saluted. McCann answered in kind, and then he sat down behind his desk.
“Please, Major, have a seat.”
Ellison sat down in one of the chairs facing the desk.
McCann folded his hands and touched his thumbs to his chin. “This is difficult for me to say, Stuart, because I need to ask for your forgiveness. Agent Hayden was out of line this morning, dismissing you like that to take care of the men. I want you to know that I spoke with him on the matter. It will not happen again.”
“Yes, sir,” Ellison answered.
“You’re my executive officer, Stuart. That means you’re my eyes and ears here on the base. Sometimes you’re even going to be my arms and legs. I need you to know everything I know.”
Ellison shifted in his chair. “Yes, sir.”
McCann lowered his hands flat on his desk. “So, now that’s settled, what’s on your mind, Major? You can speak freely.”
For a second Ellison looked away, but then the day’s frustration broke out of him. “Why is the CIA even here, sir? What’s our mission exactly? For that matter, what the hell is Fort Blaney even supposed to be?”
McCann stood up, “Good questions, Stuart, all of them. To begin with, officially, Fort Blaney does not exist. If you saw it from above with satellite imaging, it’s nothing more than a rock quarry in West Virginia. As far as government expense reports are concerned, we’re a decommissioned ICBM silo. Now, as for what Fort Blaney truly is, to put it simply, we’re a research facility.”
Ellison leaned forward in his chair. “Research for what?”
“The US government has partnered with a private contractor, some company called Reah Labs. If you ever heard of ‘em, that makes you smarter than me. As for our mission, we are to protect, support, and facilitate their research. Period.”
Ellison’s face twisted. “So why is the CIA involved?”
“Hell Stuart, CIA set this whole thing up, and until two weeks ago they could meet their mission objectives by themselves. Then everything changed, and they called in someone who could finish the job.”
Ellison looked down at the floor. “Colonel McCann, you said that as your EX-O I would need to know everything you know. I’m asking you, sir, what’s our real job here?”
McCann pulled back his desk drawer, reached for a file, and tossed it on top of his desk. “Tell me this, Stuart. You ever heard of something called an anomaly?”
*****
A pair of headlights swept their beams across Ellison.
He barked an order, “They’re here. Get ready.”
Four SUVs pulled up in a line in front of the hangar, and the passenger door of the second vehicle popped open. Colonel McCann climbed out.
Ellison snapped his heels together and raised his hand in salute. “Welcome home, sir.”
“Thank you, Major. Everything in order here?”
“Yes, sir. No problems to report.”
“Good to hear, Major.” McCann looked back at the SUV; someone else was climbing out. “I’d like you to meet Jeremy Cross, Major. Jeremy’s going to be staying with us for a while.”
“Yes, sir.” As Ellison watched, a young man with dark hair stepped forward to stand next to the colonel. Ellison recognized him from the video.
“Jeremy, this is Major Ellison. He’s my second-in-command here. You’re going to be seeing a lot of him.”
Jeremy held out his hand. “Major, it’s nice to meet you.”
In turn Ellison shook the boy’s hand, making sure not to let go. “Welcome to Fort Blaney. Allow me to introduce Doctor—”
Ellison glanced over his shoulder, still shaking Jeremy’s hand, but when the boy turned his head to look at Dr. Langer, Ellison reached up and jabbed a syringe into Jeremy’s neck.
“Wha—” Jeremy turned back to Ellison, a look of fear etched on his face. Then his eyes rolled back and his whole body went limp. Ellison grabbed him under the arms and eased him down to the ground.
Langer shuffled over. He rolled Jeremy onto to his side and stabbed a large, metallic needle into the back of the boy’s neck.
Then he pushed the plunger on the syringe and looked up at Ellison. “It’s in.” Langer stood up and pulled a small tablet from his coat pocket; he tapped the screen. “And we have a good signal. Vitals, GPS, counter-measures—everything’s coming back green. We have him on a leash, Colonel.”
“Good. Let’s move him inside. Major Ellison, I want you to walk with me,” McCann said.
The colonel walked into the hangar, and Ellison fell into step alongside him, but McCann didn’t speak again until they were both inside the elevator. “Have you picked up anything new from the Red Moon?”
“Nothing. Not since yesterday. There was some chatter from the Ryoko, that East Asian group, but nothing actionable. We’re keeping an eye on it, sir.”
McCann nodded. “Anything else then?”
Ellison knew there was, but it was nothing to share with McCann, at least not yet. Agent Hayden was AWOL from the base again. Sergeant Mandel had brought him the report within an hour of the colonel leaving for Philadelphia. But Ellison also remembered the night when he ordered Mandel to watch Hayden—the same night Hayden held a gun to the back of Lieutenant Brown’s neck. Ellison and Hayden were only sparring that first night, like two boxers in the opening round of a prize fight, throwing jabs to feel the other man out. One of Hayden’s punches had connected, but Ellison learned from the experience. The next time they fought it would be for keeps. There would be a winner and a loser, and Ellison wasn’t in the habit of losing.
Sun Tzu wrote in The Art of War that an army shouldn’t fight until the victory is assured. Hayden wandering off the base without permission wasn’t enough to assure Ellison of anything. It would only annoy the colonel and tip off Hayden to watch his back. No, Ellison could wait. He would wait until he had something big enough to end Hayden once and for all—a knockout punch. Then the problem would be solved for good.
“Major, is there anything else I need to know?”
“No, sir.”
The elevator doors opened, and the colonel stepped out into the hall. “I’m going to shower, change my clothes, and try to close my eyes for a couple of minutes, but I want you to notify me the second t
he Cross boy wakes up. Am I understood, Stuart?”
“Yes, sir.” Ellison snapped to attention and raised a salute.
McCann saluted back. Then the elevator doors slid shut, and Ellison stood alone.
Chapter 7
An hour later, Major Ellison stood in a very different room. It was narrow, dimly lit, and purely functional. On one of the walls there was a bank of computer screens and monitors. Dr. Langer and two other researchers with lab coats sat in front of these computers, typing and clicking, all in silence.
On one of the video screens, Ellison could see a live feed from another room. This second room was bright and sterile. It had stainless-steel walls, each one uniform except in one of the walls where Ellison could see the seam of sliding doors. In the middle of this steel room there stood a long table, and lying on top of the table was Jeremy Cross. He was on his back, unconscious.
Ellison looked down at his wristwatch. He had been waiting for over an hour and his patience was wearing thin. He paced slowly toward the far wall and a soldier standing sentry next to a metal door. The man’s M-4 was slung over his shoulder, his back was straight, and his eyes were sharp. Ellison looked the guard over with a sense of approval. Then he turned on his heels and started back toward the opposite wall and another door with another sentry. This one looked much like the first, only the man was too dull—somehow too bored. Too complacent.
Ellison turned away before he snapped at the man, and instead he walked back toward the middle of the room. There, waiting in a chair behind the researchers, sat Lara Miller, another one of the civilian contractors. She had been sitting in the room when he first arrived, and over the last hour she had barely moved, her long legs crossed at the ankles. She was looking down at a tablet resting in her lap. Ellison glanced down at the screen.
Lara spoke without looking up. “It’s Wuthering Heights, Major, not a report, but I’ll let you borrow it when I’m done, if you’d like.”
ANOM: Awakening (The ANOM Series Book 1) Page 8