CHAPTER
93
WHEN THE WOMAN OPENED THE DOOR, Michelle saw that Viggie Turing had indeed taken after her mother.
She’d been expecting them, the woman said, and ushered the pair inside.
“You’re Viggie’s mother?” Michelle said.
“No, I’m her aunt. My poor sister died years ago. But people have always said that we looked a lot alike.” She led them into the living room. As soon as Viggie saw Michelle she started playing the piano. Michelle sat down next to Viggie and hugged her.
Viggie’s aunt, whose name was Helen, said, “I didn’t even know they were in Virginia. And I certainly didn’t know anything had happened to Monk. And then Viggie just appeared one day. I nearly fainted.”
“So Monk had custody of her?”
Helen lowered her voice so Viggie couldn’t hear. “My sister had a very troubled life. Drugs, mental illness; we believe that she even physically abused Viggie. Monk finally got her away but maybe I should have tried to intervene more. But I have a way to make it up to her. I’m going to adopt Viggie.”
“That’s great, Helen,” Michelle said out of Viggie’s earshot. “She’s a very special girl.”
“I know that she needs counseling and other treatment. At first I was worried because the help it seems she needs is very expensive. But then very recently I’ve come to understand that Monk died a rich man. Viggie will have more than enough money for anything.”
Sean said, “If you need a good psychologist, I have a name for you. And he’s already seen Viggie.”
Viggie pulled Michelle to the window and pointed outside at a nearby lake. “Can we go on the water again?”
“You think you’re up to it? Remember last time.”
“That’s because I went alone. If I go with you everything will be okay, right?”
“Right.”
As they were walking back to the limo later Michelle said, “It really was generous you giving the treasure away, considering you found it.”
“Heinrich Fuchs really figured it out. But finding the treasure cleared up something else that had been bugging me.”
“What?” Michelle asked.
“Remember Monk had those red stains on his hands?”
“Right, rust stains from climbing the chain link fence.”
“No. That chain link was brand-new, it had no rust stains. I saw that when I was cutting through the fence. Monk got the stains from scraping at the bricks to get to the treasure, just like I did.” Sean shook his head. “Codes and blood. I was wrong. It had nothing to do with Alan Turning and bloodlines. Monk was being literal. His hands looked bloody because of digging through the brick for the treasure.”
“How many times do you think Monk infiltrated Camp Peary?” she asked.
“At least once too many. He obviously witnessed what we saw too. Only he didn’t get away. The fact that he left a coded message in those musical notes about what he’d seen makes me believe he started out a treasure hunter and ended up trying to bust what he saw as illegal activity at Camp Peary.”
“But how was he going to get the treasure out? Gold isn’t easy to move.”
“Maybe Monk just did it for the challenge of finding the treasure. But the guy was a genius. Maybe he was just planning to take the jewels. They’d be relatively easy to carry.”
“And when Monk said to Len Rivest that it was ironic—” Michelle began.
“Right, it was ironic that the greatest secret-keeping organization in the world was clueless about a secret treasure right under its nose.”
When they got back in the limo, Whitfield said, “We need to finish the deal.”
“The copies of the video?” Sean said and Whitfield nodded.
Sean told the limo driver where to go. Sean had gotten the copies from Horatio and hidden them in various safe places. After they collected the copies, he handed them to Whitfield. The man looked at them and handed one back to Sean.
Sean said, “Ian, they’re expecting five. If you only deliver four you could be having an accident in China too, not to mention what’ll happen to us.”
“I’ll make another copy from one of these four. You didn’t hear it from me but when dealing with the CIA it’s always best to keep an ace up the sleeve. I’ll emphasize that we have no way of knowing if you made other copies. That should keep you both safe.”
The limo took them back to their apartment and they got out of the car. Sean turned back. “Look, I know we probably won’t be seeing you again, but if you ever need help, you’ve got a couple of friends in Virginia.”
Whitfield shook both their hands. “If I’ve learned anything in this business it’s that real friends are damn hard to come by.”
CHAPTER
94
IT WAS A CHILLY DAY in early November when Sean drove Michelle to Horatio’s office.
“I don’t want to do this, Sean. I really don’t.”
“Hey, you came back from Camp Peary alive. And if I know one thing about you, you never go back on a deal.”
“Thanks for your support,” Michelle said bitterly.
Horatio was waiting for them.
Sean started to leave but Michelle gripped his hand. “Please stay with me.”
Sean looked at Horatio. “That’s not a good idea,” the psychologist said.
“But I want him to.”
“You’re just going to have to trust me on that, Michelle. Sean can’t stay.”
After Sean left the room it didn’t take long to perform the hypnosis.
Horatio spent a few minutes getting Michelle back to the age of six. And he took another few minutes placing her in that night in Tennessee when her life had changed forever.
Michelle’s eyes were open, even though her conscious mind was no longer in charge. Horatio watched with great professional interest and also with growing pain as she recounted what had happened. Sometimes she talked as a child and other times with the reflection and vocabulary of an adult whose subconscious mind had grappled with that night and tried mightily to make sense of it.
The man in uniform had come that night. Michelle didn’t remember seeing him before. She must have always been asleep when he came. But that night her mom was very nervous and kept Michelle with her. Her mother told the man she didn’t want to see him; that he had to leave. He thought she was joking at first, and when it was apparent that she wasn’t he turned angry. He started taking off his clothes. When he reached for Michelle’s mother, she told Michelle to run. The man started pulling her mom’s clothes off. Her mom was trying to stop him but he was too strong. He was forcing her down on the floor.
It had taken Michelle only a second to reach it. She had sometimes held her father’s gun, when it was unloaded of course. She pulled the soldier’s gun from the holster he had thrown on the sofa with his other clothes. She had pointed it at his back and fired one time. A big red mark appeared on the man’s back, dead center. He had died quietly, slumping over on top of Michelle’s mother. The woman was so shocked she’d fainted.
“I killed him. I killed a man.” Tears came down Michelle’s face as she spoke about this long-buried event in her life.
She had been standing there with the pistol in her hand when the door had opened and her father came in. Michelle didn’t know why he had come home early but he had. He saw what had happened, took the gun from Michelle and pulled the man’s body off his wife. He tried to revive her, but she was still unconscious. He carried her up to bed, ran back down and took Michelle by the hand, whispering gently to her.
“He took my hand,” Michelle said in a small voice. “He said he had to go away for a while, but he would be back. I started screaming, screaming for him to not leave me. I grabbed his leg, I wouldn’t let go. I wouldn’t. Then he said he was going to take me with him. That we were going for a ride. He put me in the front seat of his car. Then he went back inside and carried the man out and put him on the floor in the back.”
“Why not the trunk?” Ho
ratio said.
“It was full of junk,” Michelle immediately answered. “So, Daddy put the man in the back. I saw his face. His eyes were still open. He was dead. I knew he was dead because I shot him. I know what happens when you get shot. You die. You always die.”
“What did your daddy do next?” Horatio asked quietly.
“He put newspaper over the man. And an old coat and some boxes, whatever he could find. But I could still see the man’s eyes looking at me. I started crying and told Daddy. Daddy, I can still see the man’s eyes, he’s looking at me. Make him stop looking at me.”
“And what did your daddy do?”
“He put more stuff on him. More stuff until I couldn’t see him anymore. No more eyes staring at me.”
“And your daddy drove somewhere?”
“Up in the mountains. He parked the car and went away for a bit. But he promised me he’d be back. And he did. He came back.”
“Without the man?”
Michelle’s breath caught in her throat and then she sobbed, “He took the man away. But I couldn’t look down at the floor. Because he might be there. He might be there looking at me.” She bent over in her anguish.
“Take a rest, Michelle,” Horatio instructed. “Rest for a few moments, it’s all right. None of this can hurt you. The man is not coming back. You can’t see him anymore.”
She straightened up and finally the cries stopped.
Horatio said, “Are you ready to continue?”
Composed, she nodded and said, “And then we drove home to Mom. My daddy drove me home.”
“Was she awake then?”
Michelle nodded. “She was crying. She and Daddy talked. Daddy was mad. Madder than ever. They didn’t think that I could hear, but I could. Then Daddy came and talked to me. He said he and Mom loved me. He said everything that had happened was a bad dream. A nightmare, he said. He told me to forget it. Never to talk about it.” She started crying again. “And I never did. I promise, Daddy, I never did tell anybody. I swear.” She sobbed heavily. “I killed him. I killed that man.”
“Take another rest, Michelle,” Horatio said quickly and she sat back in her chair with the tears dampening her face.
Horatio knew that what was destroying Michelle was keeping this all inside. It was like a wound that had never been cleaned; the infection just built until it became lethal. She’d carried the knowledge of her mother’s adultery and her father’s covering up a death with her all this time. And yet Horatio knew that paled in comparison with the guilt she must feel for killing another human being.
He recalled something she had blurted out when he had been at Babbage Town; that maybe her problem stemmed from her brutally murdering someone when she was six. Horatio had thought she was being a smart-ass, but her subconscious had been talking to him. He’d just been too slow to see it.
Horatio didn’t believe that Michelle saw the face staring at her from the floor of her truck or bedroom. He didn’t believe she saw anything. It was more likely that she sensed something terrible, but didn’t know what. Her reaction had been to cover it up, physically doing what she was also psychologically attempting.
Horatio waited a few more seconds and then said, “Okay, Michelle, can you tell me about the rose hedge?”
“Daddy cut it down one night. I saw him from my window.”
Horatio sat back and recalled that Frank Maxwell had planted that hedge as an anniversary present for his wife. Apparently, the Maxwells had gotten through this nightmare by simply burying it. And yet somewhere out there a family had been wondering for nearly thirty years what had happened to the dead man. And all these years his bones had been lying somewhere up in the Tennessee hills. One day, the Maxwells would have to face what they’d done, at least in the complicated chambers of their own minds if not a court of law. He looked back at Michelle. “You just rest now. Just rest.”
He left the room and spoke with Sean, but didn’t tell him anything of what Michelle had revealed. “And I can’t tell her either,” he informed Sean.
“So what good has it done?”
“By her subconscious revealing what it has, it may relieve pressure on her conscious being. And I can tailor treatment that will more likely help her than not. In fact with another hypnosis session I can plant certain suggestions in her subconscious that may take care of the problem entirely.”
“Why not do it now?”
“Doing it now could put a strain on her subconscious that might prove harmful.”
“What can I do?”
“You can be more understanding of her little quirks. That would be a start.”
Horatio returned to his office and slowly brought Michelle out of the trance.
“Well, what did I say?” she said anxiously.
Horatio said, “You know, I think we’ve made real progress today.”
Michelle snapped, “You’re not going to tell me, are you, you little shit!”
“Now there’s the Michelle I’ve come to love and fear.”
After leaving Horatio, Michelle said to Sean, “Are you or are you not going to tell me?”
“I can’t because he didn’t tell me either.”
“Come on, do you really expect me to believe that?”
“It’s the truth.”
“Can’t you tell me anything?”
“Yes. I will never kid you about being a slob again.”
“That’s it? I pour my soul out for that.”
“It’s the best I can do.”
“I can’t believe this.”
He put his arm around her. “All right, I can tell you something else. But I need to give you something first.” He reached in his pocket and pulled out the emerald he’d taken from Lord Dunmore’s house. He’d had it mounted on a necklace for her.
When Michelle’s eyes widened at the sight of it he said awkwardly, “Uh, it didn’t seem right that you walked away with nothing from the treasure.” He helped her put it on.
“Sean, it’s beautiful. But what did you want to tell me?”
“It’s a request actually,” he said nervously.
“What is it?” she asked cautiously, her gaze locked on his face.
He paused, took her by the hand and said, “Don’t ever leave me, Michelle.”
AUTHOR’S NOTE
WARNING:
DO NOT READ THIS
BEFORE YOU READ THE NOVEL.
Dear Readers,
Babbage Town is completely fictitious but was inspired in part by Bletchley Park outside London where German military codes were broken by the Allies during the Second Word War. I have fudged certain geographic details and other facts where Babbage Town is set, created places out of thin air, totally fabricated a history for that area of Virginia, complete with abandoned mansions, and generally run amuck in a literary sense. However, readers knowledgeable about Virginia history will recognize in the story the influences of some of the “real” Tidewater estates along the James River (as opposed to the York River) of historical significance, such as Westover, Carter’s Grove, and Shirley Plantation. Fortunately, this triumvirate of Virginia estates has not fallen into ruin.
That said, “making it up” and distorting the facts are legitimate tools of the novelist, so please disincline from writing to me to point out various factual and historical gaffes. I am not only aware of them, I tend to revel in them.
Now, the material concerning quantum computers is all true, or at least as true as a layperson such as yours truly can understand these baffling concepts and then communicate them to the reader in a narrative form that will not put one to sleep. There really are colleges, companies and countries in a race to get there first. And if someone does the world
Simple Genius Page 42