With one exception, the witnesses I have interviewed are all part of something they refer to as a cell. Vanessa Kovalic is the exception. A ranking member of the NSO, she provided much of the detailed information about the workings of the order.
It is important to recognize that at least four additional cells – consisting of members of the People’s Protest who went underground after the violence on the island subsided – are living independently outside the Zone. These individuals may prove to be valuable sources of information, as well as potential allies inside the city, if they can be identified in a timely manner. I am requesting immediate intelligence on all witnesses, as well as any information currently available on the administrators. A list identifying the witnesses and administrators by name, date of birth, and social security number (if available) was forwarded this morning. It is additionally attached to this report. Also attached are the full transcripts of the interviews to date.
Respectfully,
Colonel Sean F. McGrath
McGrath finished reading and rubbed his eyes. In spite of the grueling hours, he had gleaned nothing that could help the SEAL team on their mission. According to Vanessa, the administrators did not stay in any place for long. McGrath suspected they were wise to the satellites that monitored the island. Their movements would explain why the intelligence was so sparse.
The coffee in his cup had grown cold. He rose to get another, but was intercepted by his assistant. “Sir, I thought you would want to see this right away,” the young man said, thrusting a piece of paper in McGrath’s face.
“What is it, Coyle?”
“It’s from the Pentagon. They found some information on one of the refugees. I think it’s important, Sir.”
McGrath snatched the paper out of the boy’s hands and read it. According to Army Intelligence, Vanessa Kovalic wasn’t just some random person. She was the daughter of a high ranking CIA operative and her association with Isaac Cohen was suspect.
Abandoning the coffee, McGrath returned to his office and read the dispatch thoroughly. Ms. Kovalic’s father had been an agent for more than twenty years. A skilled field operative, he had been stationed in Israel for much of his early career. An accident eventually rendered him incapable of field work. Then he was assigned to the State Department where he played a key role in mid-east diplomacy. He and his wife were killed in a car accident when Vanessa was seventeen. For a few months, until she reached legal age, she had become the ward of Isaac Cohen. The recently deceased rabbi had been the CIA’s mole inside the city, not that he had amounted to much.
McGrath considered Vanessa. Bright, forthcoming, and cooperative, she had impressed him. During the interview, she had been self-possessed and in control, even as she described the vicious treatment she had endured as an unmarried, mature woman in the NSO. McGrath had flinched while she recounted the repeated rapes and violent beatings, but to her credit, Vanessa’s voice did not waver as she told her tale. Now, in light of the dispatch, he wondered about her stoicism. Her relationship with Isaac needed further exploration, as did her presence in the midst of the refugees. Like a square peg in a round hole, Vanessa didn’t fit.
Scribbling notes, he thought of another square peg. He searched through his interview transcripts. Almost all the witnesses had referenced something they called the Farm. None had been there, but it terrified them. From what they shared, it was a hospital of sorts, except no one brought there ever returned. Suddenly, it struck him. The Farm might be the testing facility. Was it where they manufactured the Priscilla virus and its vaccine? He buzzed his assistant and ordered him to pull all recent satellite imagery on the island and gather his intelligence team. He would question Vanessa Kovalic later.
CHAPTER 40
CoCo was momentarily baffled. The girl had vanished into a solid wall. As he approached, he discovered a large crack in the building’s façade. A gap, created by several rows of missing bricks, was badly patched with rough cement. Ashley’s small face appeared around the edge of the remaining brick and she beckoned for them to follow. The patch was an optical illusion.
His men were right behind him as he wedged himself into the narrow opening. Their gear scraped loudly against the wall as they shuffled sideways for a few paces before the space opened up and the floor sloped. CoCo reached for his flashlight and flicked it on, but Ashley whispered “No!” Her sharp voice was urgent. He killed the beam, plunging the concrete tunnel into unnerving darkness.
“Jeremy says no lights in here, ever. I know my way by feel. We all do. It keeps us safe,” Ashley explained. CoCo let his palm trail on the wall as they descended. Its smooth surface was interrupted regularly by cold, metal doors. He counted them as he walked, committing the information to memory.
At the seventeenth door, Ashley stopped and pushed it open. Cool, white light spilled into the tunnel. CoCo followed her into a vast room filled with raised planting beds and illuminated by large grow lights suspended from the ceiling.
“What the hell?” Bill exclaimed. Ashley didn’t pause to explain.
“He’s back here! Hurry!” she cried, bolting into a run. When CoCo caught up to her, she was kneeling next to a tall, gangly black man who lay on the floor. His eyes rolled back in his pasty face and fresh spittle foamed around his thin mouth. The fetid odor of defecation hung in the air. CoCo glanced at the man’s wet crotch.
“Jesus!” Derek said as he approached. “Clear this shit and give me some room.” CoCo, Don, and Bill shoved aside the crude table and dragged away the heavy plastic bins and bags of soil that cluttered the area. As they worked, the man arched his back and screamed with pain.
“What’s happening?” Ashley wailed.
“He’s having a muscle spasm. What’s his name?” Derek replied, already checking the man’s vitals.
“Jeremy. His name is Jeremy,” Ashley said, her face twisted in horror.
“CoCo, Bill, I need your help. Hold him down so I can get some morphine into him. We’ve got to get the spasms to stop.”
The men responded quickly, lying sideways across Jeremy’s thin body and forcing him to be still. Finding a vein with precision, Derek injected a needle into Jeremy’s forearm. Instantly, the man relaxed. Ashley let out a small cry and stroked Jeremy’s head.
“When did this start?” Derek asked, catching her eye.
“I don’t know. I was gone when he got sick.”
“Okay. When was the last time you remember him being well?”
“I’m not sure. It’s hard to tell,” she replied, furrowing her forehead in concentration. Derek lost patience.
“Well was it two days ago? A week ago? A month ago?”
“No. Not that long. But I don’t really know how many days I was gone. If you’ll let me think, I can count.”
“Count days?” Derek asked, sneaking a look at CoCo and crossing his eyes.
“No! Not days! Meals!” Tears welled in her wide, blue eyes. One trickled down her grimy cheek.
“Ashley, maybe we better slow down. Why don’t you tell us where you were?” CoCo said.
“They took me. I tried to fight them off, but I couldn’t. They put me in a cage with two other people I don’t know. They did this!” she said, pointing at her shaved head.
“Who did that?” CoCo asked. “Who took you?”
“The bone people,” she hissed. “Fucking savages grabbed me off the street when I was standing guard. I didn’t run fast enough.”
“Ashley, how long ago was this?” Derek inquired, focused on his patient.
“I don’t know exactly! The first day, they kept me in a closet. It was morning when they took me and night when we left. I don’t think it was more than a day, because I would have been hungrier. The cage was in a basement somewhere. There were no windows and they kept the lights on all the time, so it was hard to tell if it was day or night. But they fed us regularly, so I’m trying to count meals. I think it must have been ten or eleven. I just don’t know for sure!”
“T
en or eleven days or meals?” Derek pushed.
“Meals. I think we had meals twice a day, so that would be five days. But if you count the day they took me and the day it took to get home, it would be seven or maybe eight.”
“Okay. Seven days. And he wasn’t sick at all before you got taken?” Derek looked at her and she shook her head.
“Did he cut himself or hurt himself before that?”
“No. He was fine. But he was sick when I came back. That’s why I didn’t go with everyone else. They shouldn’t have left him by himself!”
“Okay. That helps, Ashley. That helps a lot,” Derek said. “He’s pretty sick. I think I can help him, but we’ve got to get him out of here and into a bed. This damp air isn’t doing him any good.”
“We can take him to the infirmary. That’s where I was trying to get him, but I couldn’t carry him,” Ashley said.
“The infirmary?” Derek and CoCo repeated simultaneously.
“In the basement. Come on. I’ll show you,” Ashley replied. The two SEALs exchanged a glance and Derek shrugged. CoCo didn’t hesitate.
“Bill, Don, grab that plank. We’ll use it as a stretcher,” he commanded. The SEALs were efficient and it only took a minute for them to get Jeremy situated on the board. Ashley took the lead and the others followed her into the tunnel.
“No lights,” she reminded them. “It’s not far.”
The smell of smoke was still strong, but the basement was intact. The fire had not penetrated what CoCo assumed was the girl’s home. In a well appointed infirmary, shelving containing bandages, ointments, and other medical supplies lined one wall. Several curved curtain rods were suspended from the ceiling in a neat row. Some of the curtains were drawn. Others were open, revealing narrow cots.
Derek gestured to the closest bed and helped CoCo slide Jeremy off the plank and onto the bare mattress. When his patient was resting comfortably, Derek explored the room.
“This place is incredible,” he said, wheeling a rolling IV stand over to Jeremy.
“Yeah. Mariah’s proud of it. The only things she says she’s missing are the drugs,” Ashley replied.
“Well, drugs I have. Let’s see what we can do for your friend.”
Derek pulled a small table close to the cot and spread his large kit open. He perused the contents and selected a plastic bag filled with a clear fluid from a padded pouch.
“Liquid antibiotics,” he explained inserting a needle into Jeremy’s wrist. “I think your man’s got Tetanus. It’s the only thing that would explain these symptoms appearing in this period of time.”
“They’ll work, right? You can you make him better?” Ashley asked.
“I’ll do my best. I don’t see any punctures on his face and that’s a good thing. I’ll need to find the wound though, just to be sure. And I’ll need to keep him sedated. We’ll have to watch his breathing pretty carefully.” Derek was speaking mostly to himself, intent on his patient. He took a pair of scissors from his bag and cut away Jeremy’s shirt.
Observing quietly, CoCo and the other men had kept their distance. Now, CoCo stepped forward. Grasping Ashley’s elbow, he pulled her away from the bed.
“Derek needs to concentrate. Is there somewhere we can talk?” he asked.
“Let’s go to the library,” she replied.
CoCo was astounded by the sheer numbers of books filling the crudely made shelves. Ashley sunk into an oversized, worn leather chair that dwarfed her tiny body. She curled her legs underneath her and pulled off her borrowed hat. In the warm light from a table lamp, she was frightening. Blue veins sprawled across her recently shaved head like rivers on a map. Purple and yellow bruises competed with filth and grime to color her pale face. Her nose was swollen around an ugly gash. In sharp contrast to the rest of her features, her blue eyes were clear and beautiful.
CoCo studied her. Given her obvious youth, and the treatment she had endured, CoCo had expected her to be nervous and self-conscious. Instead, she met his eyes with confidence
“Thanks for helping Jeremy. Now, I owe you. What do you want to know?” she asked.
“Everything you can tell us, but let’s start with what happened to your face,” CoCo replied.
Ashley recounted her abduction, filling the commander in on the search for Vanessa Kovalic, Michael’s disappearance, and how she was taken from the street. She was describing the men who had cornered her when Bill came running toward them. “Commander, you’d better come see this!” he yelled.
In an instant, both Ashley and CoCo were on their feet. They sprinted toward the infirmary, following the large man in front of them. When they arrived, he motioned them to one of the privacy curtains that screened the individual cots. It had been closed when they brought Jeremy into the room. Now it was open and a blond-haired man thrashed against the restraints that bound him. A fresh puddle of diarrhea coated the insides of his thighs and filled the air with a foul scent. As he struggled, he uttered a string of vile epithets – cursing them utterly and vowing revenge.
Ashley was frozen for a moment. Then she charged at him, screaming with equal ferocity. She leapt on top of him, balled her hand, and smashed her fist into his face. Blood poured from his nose as he gnashed his teeth and rolled his eyes. Before CoCo could get to her, she hit him again.
CHAPTER 41
Vanessa’s journal was filled with chicken scratch. She did that on purpose, for her grandfather. He used to say, “You can’t trust anyone, Tanta Shana. Even in the tribe, you don’t know who’s who and what’s what. You want a good life, you trust only yourself. Leave behind only what you’re willing to let people to find.”
Vanessa had loved everything about her grandfather – the extra skin that jiggled around his ear lobes when he laughed and the gray whiskers that sprouted from his nose. Big, bushy eyebrows gathered above deep, brown eyes. His slack mouth hadn’t always swallowed food neatly, but the words that came out of it had been beautiful to her. His accent, even after so many years, had been pronounced. It was like his sentences were laced with mystery, magic, and time.
“What about Grandma, Papa? Do you trust her?” Vanessa would ask. His eyes would twinkle as he replied, “Oh! Of course I trust your grandma. I trust her to tell me what to wear and what to eat, where to sit and when to move. I trust her to tell me all the things I do wrong so I can learn to do them right!” They would both giggle at his usual response. Then she would ask, “And me, Papa? What about me?” He would pull her close, tickling her with his scruffy face, and kiss her. “You, my tanta shana, my blood and my heart, I trust you like I trust the sun will rise tomorrow and the birds will sing. You are Kovalic, Vanessa. You are our future. You would never betray us. Never forget that, little girl. We are counting on you.”
“No, Papa. I won’t forget,” she had always answered, and she never did. That was why her journal was filled with chicken scratch. Nobody could read it, but her. Vanessa had invented the tiny code. The writing was so small, one book held the entries of years.
Vanessa held the small book in her hands, flipping pages as she sat next to Michael in the last rays of the setting sun. It had been a long day. The colonel had questioned each of them at length, going over and over minutia – inconsequential details about the NSO and their roles in it. She had been glad to tell him what she knew. The burden of her knowledge had been a weight. Even sharing it with Ramirez and the cell hadn’t lessened it. Inside the city, her knowledge had little power. Now, the thing for which she had hoped, the sustenance that had enabled her to persevere, was real, but her session had been exhausting.
The wind picked up, rippling the grasses. On the lake, waves reflected the oranges and reds of waning light. Getting cold, she closed the book and slid closer to Michael, leaning her head on his shoulder. He had been writing as well. There had been little talk between them as they savored the silence the open space provided.
When the lake turned charcoal and green and the sky, previously painted in brilliant hues, was a lumin
escent gray, he took her hand, brought it to his lips, and kissed it. “Let’s find the others,” he said. Vanessa slipped her journal into the pocket of her fleece and stood. Then she helped Michael to his feet and handed him his crutches.
They meandered toward the cafeteria. The bright lights shining through its large windows were a beacon, signaling food, warmth, and conversation. Vanessa was in no hurry to get there. To be in the night, trusting the quiet, and walk with this man was to be alive, whole, and happy.
Michael’s awkward hop was jarring. The crutches he used had lost their rubber feet, leaving the aluminum unprotected. They went click, thump, click, thump on the polished floor inside the administration building. The noise intruded on the softness of her mood. Vanessa steeled herself for the onslaught of chatter that awaited them at the dinner table.
As they crossed the lobby, other sounds assaulted her. The ringing of a telephone in an office to their left was startling. How long had it been since she heard those shrill notes? She paused to glance through the open door. Inside, a number of men argued over a large table littered with papers and photographs. Their voices were high pitched and urgent. Suddenly, Colonel McGrath bellowed, “That’s it! No more discussion. Charlie, get those coordinates to the team. I want them moving now!”
The men scrambled away from the table. Then McGrath was in the doorway, staring at Michael and Vanessa. Instinctively, Vanessa looked down at the floor. Like when she had been an assistant, she had overheard something she shouldn’t have. There would be a punishment. She was certain of this. Face hard and shoulders rigid, McGrath took a step forward, then another. Vanessa stepped back. Nothing dulled terror. Even her long familiarity with it, and the knowledge of her own consistent survival, did little to assuage the ice cold tentacles of its grip.
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