by F Stone
As she closed the door, she asked, “Are there more rules, sir?”
“You’ll be required to be up and dressed for breakfast by oh-seven-hundred hours. You’ll be notified via the intercom in this security unit one hour in advance of mealtime. You’ll be escorted to my office to pick up your food tray. The same will occur for lunch at noon and dinner at six o’clock. You’ll be interrogated after at least one of those meal times every day. You’ll be allowed exercise on the ship’s main deck for half an hour twice each day — at ten o’clock and at four o’clock. That schedule may vary depending upon what work is being carried out on the ship. Any questions?”
She stepped forward toward Sam, almost shyly, worried about the whimsical nature of her need. “One question. Can I have a candle?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
He smiled. “You said you had ‘one’ question. That’s two.”
“Touché,” she said, not showing the least bit of disappointment. He’s infuriating. Arrogant! Playing his one-sided games at his whim, she thought.
“You’ll find some supplies in the box on the shelf in the locker.” He paused just as he grabbed the door’s handle and glanced back. “My turn to ask a question. What was it you remembered about your shoes?”
Sidney shrugged. “Being in a cold space.”
As he pushed the door open, he again stopped and turned around. “That’s all?”
Gotcha, she thought. “That’s more than ‘a’ question.”
Sam nodded as if to say, “Ah, yes,” stepped out of the room, and shut the door.
Once he’d left, Sidney breathed a sigh of relief. Alone at last. No one to spy on her and probably no unexpected interruptions to her meditation sessions. The bleak room suddenly felt almost like a luxury. She looked forward to the chance to tune in again to the Guardian sacred truths — she’d been slowly slipping away from their harmony and power.
As she made her bed, she thought about Frank Butchart. Time away from the Guardian’s protective shield had left him vulnerable to Dark influences. Exposure to corruption, fear, and greed was like being sucked into a spiral of mental anguish. Solitary confinement was actually a blessing. It would give her the time and space to reconnect with her people and the sacred truths and avoid the same fate as Frank.
Filling the sink with warm water, she washed her body and hair, savoring every precious minute alone. She put on fresh pajamas and used a towel to dry her hair. With her evening chores finished, she took the extra blanket from the locker, set it on the floor, shut off the light, and sat on the blanket in her lotus position. She took time to just be — free in her space and her thoughts. Holding her index fingers to her thumbs, she closed her eyes, breathed, and drifted into a world Captain Samaru Waterhouse couldn’t control.
12. Hanging on to Secrets and the Sacred
July 8, En Route To Peru: Monday morning, Sidney awoke in her cell’s black tomb. She immediately assumed her lotus position and breathed deeply, confident her internal alarm clock had stirred her to life to give her this time to prepare for the day’s task of survival. After meditating, she made her bed, paying meticulous attention to detail — not something she was in the habit of doing with her own bed at her island home. She considered it worth the effort, just in case Mr. By-the-Book Waterhouse was capable of softening enough to reward her with a candle.
It felt great to slip on her jeans, even as frayed as they were. The jean jacket was too warm in the tropical heat, but it would have to do. With nothing else to wear underneath, she had to keep it zipped up.
A familiar voice came over the intercom. “Miss, you have one hour to report for breakfast. Acknowledge!”
“Yes, Captain. I’ll be ready.
She busied herself washing, brushing her teeth, and combing her hair. The mirror reflected back the image of a woman who’d matured much since the previous week. A woman not about to spend her last days groveling for a candle. Well, maybe it wouldn’t hurt to ask once more. Regardless of whatever he was about to throw at her, she was prepared to stand her ground. She had resources far beyond his understanding. It was a fact she had to keep reminding herself of more often than usual, which caused her concern.
Ever so slightly, day by day, she felt more and more removed from her Guardian nature and the sacred truths. Her commitment to the truths had been challenged before. Especially during the several months she and Danik had spent away from Hawk’s Island. Her work as a Guardian Lantern during that time had proved she was capable of avoiding the pitfalls of fear and the ego’s demand for power, but now she was surrounded by people whose energy lusted after power, demanded complete obedience to a rule book, and refused to listen to the heartbeat of their higher selves. It was nearly suffocating to be constantly under the weight of their oppressive way of thinking.
Sidney managed to push her anxieties under a camouflage of compulsive behavior, making doubly sure her room was tidy, herself clean and presentable. Still her heart sent shards of doubt and foreboding to her consciousness. Execution! There it was again, that word! She swallowed and paced. The captain did say there was hope, she reassured herself. I doubt he’s the sort to lie blatantly about something like that.
She considered Sam’s ability to sense her thoughts and read between the lines, even during her momentary silences. It was irritating. He was always in control. In some ways, he reminded her of Greystone. The Elders had rules too. She and her mentor had disagreed on many occasions when it came to adhering to the community routine — what she considered overly protective restriction on her spontaneous and natural instinct to test her physical limits.
“Wild Child,” Greystone would call to her as she arrived late for class. “I see you again wish to volunteer to clean the classroom after today’s lessons.”
After Sam’s verbal command, Seaman Moore opened her door and ordered her to stand in front of him. She did so quickly. Without another word, he pulled out handcuffs and placed them on her wrists behind her back.
“All right. Let’s go,” he ordered. “Follow Lieutenant Bridges outside. No funny stuff, you hear me!”
“Yes, sir.” Sidney thought it wise to say as little as possible. Yesterday, her mouth had gotten her into more trouble than she could handle.
Her two escorts appeared smart in their dark blue uniforms, neat and polished from head to toe. They weren’t the drones of the ship who wore uniforms more suited to tasks of physical exertion and toil. The officers’ movements were exact and in unison, as if responding to one brain. Seaman Moore was behind her. His breath on her neck sent tingling sensations up and down her spine as they progressed down a hallway, up a stairway, through a doorway, down more halls, upstairs, and through doorways. With each step, Sidney found herself subconsciously making an effort to step to the same beat as the men.
Interesting, she thought when she realized she was copying their movement. She felt a sense of power and unity, of belonging and security. It would be so easy to let go of one’s own personal drummer and step to the beat of another’s.
Again Sidney thought of Captain Butchart. He’d been a powerful Guardian, or so she’d heard. He and his brother wouldn’t have been sent on a mission if their loyalty was in question. Still, Butchart did abandon his drummer. Will I? she wondered. The passing thought frightened her more than the threat of execution.
Sidney’s thoughts preoccupied her to the point that she didn’t notice where she was going or who was around her. She was still analyzing Butchart’s fall from grace when Bridges stopped abruptly at a large, oak door. Engraved in a brass plate on the door was Captain Samaru Waterhouse. Bridges opened the door and held it for Sidney and Moore to pass into the reception room.
“The prisoner is here, Captain,” Bridges said through a desk comlink.
Sam’s voice came through the comlink’s speaker. “Bring her in.”
Bridges maintained his hold on Sidney’s arm as they stepped into Sam’s office. His grip was beginning to be uncomfor
table, but she made no complaint and willingly moved as he pushed and pulled her.
Inside Sam’s office, both men stood on either side of Sidney, slightly behind her. Bridges released her arm as both seamen stood at attention.
“Lieutenant Bridges and Seaman Moore reporting with the prisoner as ordered, sir.”
Sam sat up stiffly in his chair. Without saying a word, he got up and stood in front of Sidney.
Turning to Bridges, Sam asked, “Was she giving you trouble?”
“No, sir.”
“Moore, remove the handcuffs.”
“Yes, sir.”
The handcuffs were removed, and Sidney massaged her wrists and arms.
“Miss, sit down in this chair.” Sam pointed to the chair in front of his desk.
“Yes, Captain.” She walked past Sam and sat down in the designated chair. She sensed trouble. Her heart felt as if it was beating in her throat.
“Miss, I’ll be back in a minute. Do not move from that chair. Is that understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
Sam motioned to the door on Sidney’s right. “Bridges and Moore, step into the conference room.” As the three men stepped into the conference room, Sam called out, “Doors lock.” Instantly, the conference room door slammed shut and Sidney heard a click in all the office’s doors. She was locked in again.
Sidney surveyed Sam’s office. As always, order and simplicity ruled. Sam’s desk was immediately in front of her, and a credenza stood against the far left wall. In the right corner behind her was a small kitchenette. All the chairs in the room were royal blue leather. There were three doors — one behind her led to the reception room, one to her right adjoined the conference room, and the other, beside the credenza, Sidney presumed connected to Sam’s private quarters. A large window behind his desk revealed a bright morning sky that promised a warm, sunny day. The room had taken on Sam’s scent. Sidney ignored it.
Sam’s desk was a massive, oak, L-shaped piece. It was stained a rich cherry red with its edging carved to resemble rope. The desk’s unblemished satin finish was free of any clutter except for the computer keyboard, built-in digital sensors, and the comlink system.
On his credenza was a picture of his family. Forgetting Sam’s orders, Sidney got up to take a closer look at the photo. Sam had his arm around a beautiful woman with long, blond hair. Two young, dark haired boys stood in front. The boys resembled Sam, having inherited his Japanese features. The younger boy, however, had his mother’s vivacious smile. The other held himself in check, like his dad. In the scene behind the family was the bow of a sailing ship. She could barely see its name, painted across the bow: Tears of Joy.
Just moments before Sam returned, Sidney noticed the crystal at the far end of the desk. It had been partially obscured by the comlink unit, but there it was, set upon a short, ornately carved, wooden pedestal. The root of her difficulties. The sun crystal — the ultimate source of power for whomever chose to unleash its energy. There it sat, asleep. She wasn’t surprised to see it. Many sleeping Guardians had one, but not knowing its true purpose, used it merely as a pretty ornament.
When the door to the conference room opened, she rushed back to her chair. Sam frowned and stepped to the front of his desk.
“You don’t follow orders very well, miss.”
“Sorry, sir.”
“Step into the boardroom. Your breakfast is ready.”
Sidney took a deep breath and moved to the entrance of the conference room, with Sam following close behind. Inside the room she saw a long, walnut table in the wood’s natural, warm shade. Windows lined the wall to the left. A dozen royal blue leather chairs were neatly positioned around the conference table. A number of technical gadgets sat in the center of the table. Against a wall at the far end of the room was another, smaller table. Above it was a video screen pulled down from the ceiling.
On the conference table was a tray of food. Forgetting her apprehension, Sidney stepped over to it. “All of this is for me?”
“You’ll have twenty minutes. I’ll then conduct an interrogation. This first meeting will be a review of all recorded investigations. You’ll listen to audio recordings and view all video recordings.” Sam was about to step back into his office and close the door behind him. “Oh, the seamen are just outside that door.” He motioned to a door that led directly back into the reception room.
After Sam left, Sidney breathed a sigh of relief. Well, that wasn’t too bad so far, she thought. As she sat down and looked over the breakfast, she considered how it was going to feel listening to the recordings. She couldn’t remember much before waking up on the ship. Her memories from the navy base were still distorted. Flashes of anger and fear surfaced and blended into dreams of isolation and darkness.
The breakfast was good. It gave her renewed strength to face the task ahead. According to the clock on the wall, she had a five more minutes. She cupped the mug of hot tea in her hands, sat back, and closed her eyes. Gathering up the universal energy that had always sustained her, she again felt the presence of Seamus. She was ready.
After giving her precisely twenty minutes, Sam reentered the room. Sidney put down the cup and stood up before him.
“I enjoyed my breakfast. Thank you, Captain.”
“You’re welcome. Have a seat. Dr. Duncan will be joining us in a few minutes. Once he’s here, we’ll begin reviewing the records.”
“Why does Dr. Duncan need to be here?” Sidney asked as she returned to her chair.
Sam sat down at the table directly across from her. “Just a precautionary measure. These images and recordings may trigger your memories to return. Those memories may not be pleasant. I may need his help if you develop any problems, physically or emotionally.”
“I see. I appreciate your concern, but I’ll be fine.”
“It’s my rules, miss.”
Sidney shook her head. “Oh, yes. I forgot about them.” Sidney moved her breakfast tray aside and sat back in her chair. She remained calm and sat perfectly still as she resisted shifting in her chair or fidgeting. The captain seemed to be watching her every move, reading her thoughts. She focused on the equipment sitting on the table, occupying her thoughts with the possibilities of their function. Soon, there was a knock on the door.
“Come in, Doctor,” said Sam.
“Good morning, Captain.”
Dr. Duncan sat down at the head of the table.
“The following is a partial recording of the first interrogation between you and Captain Butchart. This occurred on Wednesday morning. Do you recall that session, Sidney?” Sam asked.
“Yes, I recall it occurred, but the details are unclear.”
“Okay, we’ll begin. Computer, begin playback of interrogation session number one.”
Sidney listened to the recording. When the thirty-minute recording was finished, Sam asked, “Was there any pertinent information missing from that recording?” He’d accurately determined what was useless data.
Sidney shook her head. “No, nothing important.”
“All right. We’ll play an audio recording of the interrogation session that took place that same day after your escape attempt. Computer, begin playback interrogation session number two.”
Sidney listened intently to the recording. Most of the memories of that session returned to her. She tried to remain calm while remembering the injection of drugs into her arm and the hostility of the officers. Her rapid breathing exposed her anxiety.
Sam stopped the recording. “Do you need to take a break?”
“No. Let’s get this over with now.”
“Okay. Let’s move on to the video recording. Computer, begin playback of video recording number one.”
The blinds on the window automatically lowered, and the lights dimmed. The first security gate showed on the screen at the end of the room. It was a recording of when she and Danik arrived at the base. Glancing at Sam, she found he was still intently watching her reactions. Finally, the show was over.
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br /> As the blinds opened and the lights came back on, Sam chatted briefly with Dr. Duncan. Her clouded memory was now razor sharp, and the reality of her situation clearer than ever. She was in a situation that was miles beyond her training. She was no match for the military machine. Garland, Butchart, and now Waterhouse were at the controls. The bottom line, she thought, was to not lose sight of the Guardian sacred truths. They wouldn’t save her life, but they’d keep her connected to a reality known only to a Guardian.
“Dr. Duncan, you can return to the infirmary,” Sam said, and the doctor nodded and left.
Sidney glanced at Sam. He sat in his chair, confident he’d win, eventually. It was just a matter of time.
“Would you like some tea?” he asked.
“No thank you.” It was impossible to sit still. She pushed her chair back from the table, stood up, and walked over to the windows. Gazing out to the ocean’s horizon, she asked, “What is it you want to know, Captain?”
“Why were you on the base?”
“To defuse the missiles.”
“Is that all?”
Sidney focused on the ocean’s rhythmic dance with an audience of large white clouds. She decided she wasn’t ready to tell the whole truth.
“It’s all I remember doing with any clarity,” she responded.
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
Sidney turned toward Sam. “I know. I have to be sure before I say anything more.”
“Sure about what?”
“That no one gets hurt if I reveal more.”
Sam busied himself with his computer’s electronic files. “For now, I’ll accept your statement as a partial truth.”
He got up and triggered the video monitor to ascend up. As it disappeared into the ceiling, a painting was revealed on the wall above the side table. It drew Sidney to inspect it more closely.
The closer she got, the more the painting felt familiar. It was of an old porch. Droplets of rain merged into puddles on the weathered boards. She got close enough to see the artist’s signature on the canvas and gasped, bringing her hands to her chest.