Singularity

by Steven James

  Part VII

  Secrets

  We arrive at the first security checkpoint at 5:21 p.m.

  Six minutes late.

  Fionna had warned us to make sure we were here by 5:15 and I’d assured her that we would be, but the drive along the dirt road had taken longer than either Xavier or I anticipated.

  Now, I wonder if our little venture into Area 51 is going to be cut short before it has a chance to really begin.

  We have the wrong-year vehicle.

  The truck has Charlene’s plates.

  And it’s brand-new.

  However, thankfully, after driving along the dust-covered road, the vehicle doesn’t look new at all but rather like it’s already seen better days.

  Parked beside the guard shack are two white pickups similar to the one I’m driving. The one closest to us has two men in the front seat, and when they see us drive up, they take off in the direction we just came from, obviously confident we’re their shift change replacements.

  Two more Cammo dudes are standing guard by the other truck. I wave to them as if I know them, hoping it’ll be enough to get us through, but it’s not.

  One of the guys steps in front of our truck and holds up a hand, palm facing us: Stop.

  The other man studies us coolly from the side of the road.

  I brake and let the engine idle.

  The guard has a semiautomatic machine gun slung across his shoulder. He approaches my door, and when I roll down my window he asks us for our paperwork.

  I hand him the papers Fionna printed out for us at my house.

  He stares at the top page, then at us. “Gonzalez and McIntyre?”

  “Sí.” Xavier goes for a Spanish accent but he sounds about as Hispanic as Arnold Schwarzenegger does.

  “And you’re McIntyre?” the guy asks me.

  “Yes.”

  “Hmm.” He studies my face, then eyes Xavier. “You two new?”

  “We’ve been working on the other side of the base,” Xavier explains with his distinctive accent. “First shift over here.”

  “So you guys know Redmond, then?”

  I try to read his expression, his inflection, try to tell if he’s testing us or not. He might just be making up the name to see if we’re legit or not.

  He waits.

  “Redmond.” Xavier shakes his head and says cryptically, “I shoulda known.”

  “So you do know her?”

  “We worked on the other side of the base.” Xavier manages to make it sound like a subtle rebuke. “What do you think?”

  It looks like the guy’s not quite sure how to take that. He glances at his watch. “You know how they can be when we don’t show up on time.”

  “Don’t we ever,” I agree.

  “Why didn’t you radio in?”

  I show him one of our walkie-talkies and then toss it to the floor. “Broken.”

  “That’s not even the right model.”

  “No kidding,” I grumble.

  Again he looks a little unsure how to respond. “Hang on a sec. Let me call in the plates.”

  “It’s a new truck,” I explain. “They told me to use my personal plates until they could issue the official ones.”

  Without giving any indication of what he thinks of that, he leaves for the guard shack.

  “Well,” Xavier says softly, “let’s see if Fionna’s friend came through for us.”

  “Do you think the guy was just testing us with the whole Redmond deal?”

  “Hard to say.”

  We wait.

  Maybe he isn’t calling in the plates. Maybe he’s calling in for backup.

  At last the Cammo dude stops tapping at the keyboard and approaches us again.

  Alright.

  Here we go.

  He walks up to my window without saying a word, then hands the papers back to me. “Have a good one out there. Watch out for UFO nuts.”

  “We will,” Xavier says.

  “There are a lot of weirdos out there.”

  “Yes, there are.” His accent is getting worse each time he speaks. Reminds me of Kevin Costner in his Robin Hood movie.

  Before the guy has a chance to change his mind, I pull forward. “And Fionna comes through again.”

  “She deserves a raise.”

  “Buy her something nice for Valentine’s Day and I’m sure she’ll call us even.”

  “I’ll do my best to come up with something memorable.”

  Derek was in the bathroom washing the blood off his hands when he suggested they go down and grab some dinner. Calista offered to get the food and bring it back up for them.

  “No. I’ll come with you.”

  She eyed the engineer. “Leave him here?”

  “He’s not going anywhere.”

  He confirmed that Turnisen was bound and securely gagged. As they exited the room he placed the “Shh. Do not disturb” sign on the door handle.

  The engineer still hadn’t shared anything helpful with them. For his sake, Calista wished he would just tell them what they were trying to find out.

  She couldn’t help it: she was beginning to wonder if maybe he didn’t know the information Derek was looking for.

  It was possible.

  If that was the case, she didn’t know how she was going to get what she wanted, what Derek had promised her—the secret to lasting youth.

  They took the elevator down to one of the Arête’s four-star restaurants.

  But how is this guy Turnisen connected to any of that anyway?

  She really didn’t know.

  They ordered.

  Something was on her mind. She’d spoken with Derek about it before but had never gotten a satisfactory answer.

  After their server was gone, Calista said, “I need you to be honest with me.”

  “Of course.”

  “Why did you choose the name Akinsanya—‘the hero avenges’? Are you the hero?”

  “I aspire to be.”

  “Who are you trying to avenge?”

  “The ultimate enemy. The enemy of us all.”

  She pondered that. “Death.”

  He looked impressed. “Exactly.”

  “That’s why you want to upload your consciousness onto a computer. To live forever.”

  “Yes.”

  No one lives forever.

  Especially not when they cross the avenging hero.

  It was one secret she knew.

  Yes, they were beholden to each other.

  Beholden.

  For a moment she thought about secrets, about all that they mean, about the power that they have.

  When she first met Derek, she had a secret and he had found it out—she’d killed her best friend.

  And he had taught her to kill again.

  I know something you don’t know.

  A secret I won’t share.

  All of that had brought them together in a way that was powerful and intriguing on so many levels.

  It reminded her again of that story by Poe, The Tell-Tale Heart. A guilty conscience will drive you mad.

  As her teacher had told her when they were studying the tale, “A secret held too close will try to climb to the surface, even if it has to scratch through your sanity to do it.”

  Now she said to Derek, “We all want someone to tell our secrets to, but we want one secret, always at least one secret, to keep to ourselves. Because when we are fully known—”

  “We are fully vulnerable.”

  “Yes. Which is why those who know us best can hurt us the most.”

  “That’s a keen observation.”

  She watched him sip his water. “Have you been keeping any secrets from me?”

  He set down the glass. “Why do you ask?”

  “Curiosity.”

  “And control?”

  “Maybe.”

  He evaluated that. “Well, yes, I have kept some things from you.”

  “Like?”

  He scratched at the side of his chin. “Wh
y are you asking me this now, Calista? As you said a few minutes ago, we all have the desire to keep at least one secret to ourselves, to be known but not fully known.”

  “I want to know you fully.”

  So that you can control him?

  Is that all this is to you?

  No.

  It suddenly struck her.

  Love, intimacy, was not just about the power that you hold over your lover, but about the power that you give up to be loved.

  Okay, are you saying you want him to love you?

  And then the answer came, blunt and clear and surprising: I want someone to.

  Like with Roger Yarborough, the guy she’d picked up the other night for the dry run with Derek. She’d left a message on his mirror for him to go back to his wife. Whether or not he did, she had no idea. But that he would do so, that he would stop lying to her, stop deceiving her—that would be the way for him to show her real love.

  No, Calista did not like it that Derek had just admitted that he’d kept things from her.

  “What about you?” he asked her. “Have you kept anything from me? Any secrets you haven’t been willing to share? Anything that would help me to know you fully?”

  She hesitated slightly. It was kind of weird getting into all this now, but things were coming to a head this week and she was going to get what she wanted—the ability to stay young, desirable, attractive.

  “Well?” he said.

  “I am more afraid of growing old than I am of dying.”

  He was quiet.

  “Your turn. Your secret. Is there another woman?”

  “No.”

  “A man?”

  “No.”

  “Then what have you been keeping from me?”

  He tilted his head slightly, stared at her as if she were a curiosity, a specimen rather than the woman he had been sleeping with for nearly four years.

  “I drug you sometimes.”

  “What?”

  “At night. Before you go to sleep, I drug your drinks so you won’t wake up in the mornings until I’m done with you.”

  A flush of uneasiness. “What do you mean, until you’re done with me?”

  “Doing as I please with you. While you sleep.”

  She stared at him for a long moment.

  “There. Now we have everything out in the open.” He reached across the table and offered her his hand. “No more secrets. We can enjoy our meal and no more—”

  She pushed her chair back from the table.

  “Oh, don’t be like that.” There was that condescension in his voice again, and she hated, hated when people talked to her like that.

  She walked around the table.

  And slapped him.

  He just directed his gaze back at her, the blood already seeping from his lip. He used a finger to dab some away and rubbed it between his fingers but didn’t say a word.

  Calista turned and strode away amid the gasps of the people sitting nearby.

  He betrayed you! He took advantage of you! He lied to you and he thought it was no big deal!

  Oh, she could tell he wasn’t sorry, he wasn’t sorry at all. He thought it was all some sort of game.

  All he cared about was himself—about getting these codes from this man up in their room.

  Now, that’s where she headed: to Jeremy, who waited helplessly for her, and the one who was avenging death, to return.

  The Green Door

  5:46 p.m.

  3 hours left

  There are two more security checkpoints.

  The first one goes smoothly.

  At the final guard station, a fifteen-foot-high metal fence rimmed with razor wire stretches out of sight in both directions. Jagged, tire-piercing spikes like rental car places use to keep you from stealing cars off their lots rise from a section of paved road in front of us.

  Apparently, no one has radioed in that we’re on our way because they’re not expecting us when we arrive.

  Unlike the other two checkpoints, which were staffed by Cammo dudes, this station is manned by Air Force Security Forces Specialists, and they’re taking their job very seriously. While one of them inspects the paperwork, two others bring out bomb-sniffing dogs and a mirror sweep to check under the pickup for explosives.

  No banter. No joking around. No conversation at all.

  Xavier and I wait anxiously for them to finish their inspection.

  Charlene’s thoughts were drifting toward what might be contained in Emilio’s notebooks, and she was about to suggest that they go and pick them up when Fionna said softly, “I might have something on Dr. Schatzing.”

  “What is it?”

  “So I was doing some checking on his phone records, right? And—”

  “Wait, Fionna. Is that even legal?”

  “It is when you have a contract with Verizon to see if you can break into their system. Landed it last month. You wouldn’t believe how often it’s already come in handy.”

  “I can only imagine.”

  “Anyway, our friend here makes a lot of calls to a certain escort agency. High-end girls.” She pulled up a file and highlighted the appropriate data on the screen. “It looks like he enjoys the company of a female companion two nights a week.”

  Charlene pointed to another recurring number, this time on his incoming calls. “What’s this?”

  “Let’s find out.”

  After a few seconds of typing, Fionna said, “Looks like that’s from the security guard station at the entrance to his gated community.”

  “They ring him when the girls arrive.”

  “Yup.”

  For a moment it seemed like neither one of them was sure where to take things from there. Finally, Fionna suggested, “I think we should call him and ask about Emilio, how he knew him, if he might know who could have been behind his death. Just be up-front about it. Why not? What do we have to lose?”

  Charlene stared at the phone.

  “Oh. Right.” Fionna picked it up. “I’ll do it.”

  She punched in a number and started with her name, but was quickly cut short. Fionna listened for a few seconds, and before she could get out a full explanation, whoever had answered hung up.

  Finally, she did as well. “I think I actually found someone who likes talking on the phone less than you do.”

  “No easy task.”

  “No it’s not. But if I repeated what he told me to do to myself for disturbing him, I think you’d agree with me.”

  “I’ll take your word for it.”

  Fionna screwed up her mouth. “So where does that leave us?”

  The incoming calls from the subdivision’s security entrance came like clockwork at eight o’clock nearly every Saturday and Sunday night.

  A plan was forming in Charlene’s mind.

  It was ludicrous.

  But maybe it wasn’t so ludicrous after all.

  “I’m not sure,” she replied, caught up in her thoughts.

  Fionna stretched, then cracked her neck. “I should probably spend some time with my kids. They’ll be wanting supper pretty soon, and I’m not sure what else to do on this front. If Schatzing won’t talk to us, we’ll just have to wait until Jevin and Xavier get back from Groom Lake and figure out a plan then.”

  But Charlene was already figuring one out.

  What are you even thinking? Go get the box of Emilio’s things, look through them. Decide then. You should still have time.

  “Tell you what, why don’t we take the kids out, get a bite to eat at Jenny’s Grille at the Arête. We can pick up Emilio’s things from Clive Fridell while we’re there. Who knows, maybe there’s something in them that can give us a clue as to how to move forward.”

  “Hmm . . . We are kind of in vacation mode. I suppose eating out one more time this week would be alright. I’ll round ’em up.”

  “I’ll make the arrangements with Fridell.”

  Officer Gordon Shepard cussed, then called Jesús Garcia. “It wasn’t them.”

/>   “What?”

  “Banks and Antioch. It wasn’t them. We were following lookalikes. They were gambling and signing autographs here, but then I heard one of the security guards mutter something to his buddy about ’em. I showed him my badge, asked him about it. Turns out he knows Banks and Antioch, works their shows. These two are their body doubles.”

  “Clever.” Garcia sounded more impressed than upset. “And so you have no idea where Antioch and Banks really are?”

  “No. Unless they’re still at the house.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Still at the Arête.”

  “Stay there until I contact you. I have a couple calls to make.”

  “We need to check in at the station, put on our blues, get the patrol car.”

  “When?”

  “Within the hour.”

  “I should be able to get back to you by then.”

  It takes nearly fifteen minutes, but at last the Air Force personnel clear us and return the clipboard to me. “Alright. You’re clear to Gate 11. You know the routine.”

  “Sure,” I tell him. “Thanks.”

  He presses a button and the spikes in the road retract, allowing us to drive forward. Then he steps aside and waves us through.

  I ease past the razor-wire fence, over the retracted spikes, and onto the military installation itself.

  “We did it.” My voice is soft. Almost reverent. “We’re here.”

  A nod. Xavier looks like he’s in a daze. He’s dreamed of coming here for years, and I can see it’s a little overwhelming to him to finally be on the installation.

  “Now we just need to find Building A-13,” I say.

  “Stay on this road for now. I’ll give you the directions.”

  “I wonder if it’s where they keep the Ark of the Covenant hidden. You know, like from the Indiana Jones movies?”

  Xavier is quiet.

  “I was kidding, Xav.”

  “I know. The Ark of the Covenant is really in Ethiopia. In Aksum. It’s guarded by virgin Coptic Christian monks who aren’t allowed to ever leave the chapel’s property, where it rests, after they’ve been anointed to be its protectors.”

  I can’t tell if he’s being serious or not. “Really?”

  “If you believe the stories.”

  “And do you?”

  He gives me an answer that’s not quite an answer. “You know me.”