Fugitive Spy

by Jordyn Redwood

  Horace shook his head. “For your father to ask me for help means he’s in desperate straits.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Because you’re his daughter and the last thing he’d do would be to send you something that would put your life in danger.”

  Ashley’s nerves tingled. She felt light-headed. Was this the very thing that had caused Noah to get shot? Was this specifically what Fleming was looking for?

  Horace eyed her and smoothed his tongue on the inside of his cheek. “He likely sent this to you because he doesn’t know who he can trust within the organization he’s currently employed by.”

  “Which is?”

  He laughed, gently, as if her question was one of the most amusing things he’d heard in a while. “What I can say is that your father has a plan. Just follow the clues.”

  Ashley blinked twice...her mind stalled on the comment.

  This is what her mother said often, only she didn’t mean her missing father—she meant the God she believed in. God was involved on a personal level—as much as He’d be allowed to be. Ashley tossed the thought aside. This wasn’t a path she wanted to go down. A philosophical discussion about God’s plan for her life.

  “There were pictures in some of them. I should get them so you can see—”

  “Ashley,” Horace said, his voice raised. “I’m happy to help get you and Casper what you need and help with other types of information. I’m an open book about anything that you see here, but your father is the keeper of many secrets...terrible secrets. Things about the current state of our civilization that you’d pray would never come true, but in fact have been experienced by millions of people the world over.”

  “Like that mother and the daughter,” Ashley said, a coldness spreading through her.

  “Exactly. I had to leave that darkness behind. To dwell on it became too much for me. It wasn’t healthy. It wasn’t a battle that I wanted to fight. Your father...I know he’s saved lives, but the secrets he carries—if they’re exposed—people are not going to be happy about it.”

  Ashley’s throat tightened. She found it difficult to take a deep breath. Exactly what had she gotten involved with by taking Casper from the hospital? Or was it the other way around? Had she put Casper in more danger with her actions? She dismissed the thought. Each of them seemingly had pieces of this puzzle that if reconstructed would likely reveal what had happened to her father. Horace didn’t seem to give any indication that he was no longer alive.

  Only problem was, one of them couldn’t remember where his puzzle pieces were, and so joining together these random packages she’d received over the last six months and the clues they held was like trying to construct a puzzle without the picture on the box.

  Which felt impossible.

  FIVE

  Casper felt a light hand on his shoulder shaking him gently. Was there an inch left of his body that didn’t ache? Silently, he hoped that if he ignored the sensation long enough, the person would just go away. His mind begged him to stay asleep.

  “Casper. Wake up.”

  Her voice. Ashley’s voice. It was warm, gentle and soothing. The only sound tempting enough to draw his eyes open despite the pain he felt. He opened one eye first. The light in the room intensified his headache. Ashley, realizing he was having trouble with the brightness of the room, quickly clicked off the small bedside lamp that sat on a nightstand between the two beds.

  “What time is it?” Casper asked.

  “It’s just after midnight. You’ve been sleeping for about three hours.”

  Casper tried to get up, but winced in pain. Ashley was sitting next to his bed in a rickety metal folding chair. She reached behind her and Horace handed her a glass of water and some pills.

  “I want you to take these,” Ashley stated.

  “What are they? I don’t like to take medicine.” He said it with such assurance he wondered if that was a little of his true nature coming through.

  “It’s just an over-the-counter pain reliever. You must have a splitting headache.”

  He did in fact. Casper eased up onto his elbows, but was immediately overtaken by dizziness. He leaned his head against the wall until the sensation passed. When he opened his eyes, the room wasn’t spinning like a gyroscope anymore. He scooted up until he could rest his upper body against the wall. Ashley held out her hand. Her fingers brushing against his was unexpectedly comforting. He palmed the pills into his mouth and washed them down with half a glass of water.

  Horace pulled up another chair and presented two plates of food—a simple offering of fruit, cheese and crackers.

  “How do you feel otherwise?” Ashley asked.

  Casper took stock of his body. His chest had some mild areas of soreness. With timid, gentle fingers he pressed the bones of his face. Definitely sore. Sometimes, his brain felt off-kilter inside his skull, as if it would intermittently break free of its moorings and induce the feeling he used to enjoy in his youth after a merry-go-round ride.

  Except this wasn’t nearly as enjoyable.

  How can I remember something so easily from my childhood, but not remember much of my adult life? What is the last thing I remember? How do I feel? Physically spent. Mind gone. If I’m supposed to be keeping Ashley safe, I’m failing miserably in every aspect.

  Her voice splintered his thoughts. “Don’t try too hard to remember.” She placed the plate of food on his lap. “I want you to eat something. Let’s see how your stomach can handle it.”

  Casper took two apple wedges and a slice of cheddar cheese, making an apple-cheddar sandwich, and he quickly took a bite before his queasy stomach revolted. Soon he’d find out if the unsettled feeling in his gut was hunger or not.

  As he started to make another sandwich, he noticed Ashley’s eyes opened widely. “Something wrong?” Casper asked.

  “It’s just that...my father used to do the same thing. I’ve just never seen anyone else eat apples and cheese together like that—using apples like crackers.”

  Casper shrugged. Was it all that unusual? Maybe.

  Horace pulled a group of pictures from a worn manila envelope. “You two might be interested in looking at these photos. I thought I’d met Casper before, if only briefly. Maybe they could spark a memory or two.”

  Casper watched as Ashley leafed through them. “They look like they were taken in a jungle. Doesn’t look like anywhere in the US.”

  “No, definitely not in the US,” Horace agreed.

  Ashley flipped the photo in Casper’s direction. “It’s you...and my father.”

  Casper set his plate of food next to him and took the photo from Ashley’s fingers. She was right. It did seem to be in the jungle. Heavy vines. A few monkeys in the foreground. Where could this have been?

  “What’s your father’s name?” Casper asked.

  “Russell Drager,” Ashley said.

  There was some familiarity with the name. Russell had his arm around Casper’s shoulders like a father would pose with a son. He closed his eyes and tried to remember something of his own family. Yes, he had parents. A sibling? That seemed fuzzier...vacant.

  Focus on what’s in front of you.

  Clearly he was chummy with Ashley’s old man.

  He handed the photo back to Horace. “Do the other photos help give any indication of where these might have been taken?”

  Ashley shook her head. “Nothing that I can see. My father didn’t share much with me about his travels. I’m not even sure my mother knows the extent of them.”

  Something seemed amiss to Casper. He directed his gaze to Horace. “Why do you have these?”

  Horace pressed his lips together. “I took these pictures.”

  Ashley’s eyes widened. “Where were they taken?”

  “In Liberia.”

  “Explains the jungle feel of the
photos,” Casper said. “When were they taken?”

  “During the 2014 Ebola outbreak,” Horace verified.

  “What were we doing there?” Casper asked.

  “What Russell does best—hunting down secret biological weapons.”

  “In Liberia?” Casper asked. “I’ve never heard that there was a concern about such a program in that part of the world.”

  “Just because a country doesn’t have its own weapons program doesn’t mean they can’t provide...let’s say...specimens for the cause. Sometimes they don’t even know foreign entities are on their land trying to find them.”

  Casper motioned to look at the photo again. “Did you know me at the time? Do you know why I was there?” Casper asked Horace.

  “He merely called you his assistant. I wasn’t there but maybe two days.”

  “Why were you there, Horace? Seems a little far afield from the work you do here,” Ashley said.

  “I aided in the transportation of specimens back to the US for testing.” He pointed to Casper. “You and Russell were trying to find someone who was known to hunt mutated viruses and sell them to those practicing outside the law. When the Soviet Union collapsed, there were many scientists who were barely eking out an existence in their own country. They were paid a pittance for highly specialized work. After that event, many found that they could make a lot more money selling their knowledge to foreign entities. Sometimes, you can track a man by the things he creates. Their weapons will have a particular DNA signature. The two of you were working to catalog information on that Ebola strain, if needed, for future reference.”

  “But you won’t tell us exactly who Russell and I were working for?” Casper asked.

  “That’s not for me to say.”

  Ashley handed the group of photos back to Horace. “It was worth a try. I’m just sad they didn’t jog his memory.”

  Casper’s heart caved a little. He hated being this ineffective. Why couldn’t he remember what he was doing with Ashley’s father in Liberia? Had it simply been a bug-hunting mission? Or had they been looking for a person? And if he and Russell had worked together, then who had they worked for?

  “What I can tell you is this,” Horace said. “These men who are after you mean business. If they catch you, I don’t think you’d come out of it alive. Not on your own.”

  Casper swallowed hard. Were the two of them together merely walking to their own deaths?

  If they were, was there anything Casper could do to stop it?

  * * *

  After sleeping a few hours, Ashley and Casper were on the road again. Horace had provided them an old clunker of a car. He said the older the better; it had to be before 2010 because then the car wouldn’t be equipped with GPS tracking. He said for the time being, it was best to put Ashley’s car on a semi headed the opposite direction. If she wanted, she could contact him at some point in the future to get it back.

  They were phoneless, which also meant she couldn’t rely on GPS programs to help her find the address in Casper’s pocket. Horace had printed out several maps and a computer-generated list of directions.

  In some respects, this area seemed familiar to her, as if she’d traveled these roads at one time or another in her life. It felt free in a sense, not to be tied to technology. She couldn’t imagine who was trying to find her right now. Her thoughts drifted back to Noah. Was the hospital trying to find her to make sure she was okay? Or were the police trying to find her to question her about taking a patient from the hospital? Sure, security footage revealed she was the driving force behind Casper’s elopement. Did law enforcement want to ask her about Casper? About Noah?

  Was her mother okay? Her brother?

  If anything bothered her more than these questions it was worrying about her mother. Ashley knew if her mother couldn’t get ahold of her she’d be convinced she’d suffered a mishap like her father had.

  The sun was up. It was late morning. She’d been driving since dawn. She glanced to her right, where Casper slept in the passenger’s seat. They were hours away from this address. They were headed deep into the mountains. Why not let him slumber? Ashley’s medical training had prepared her for long hours with little rest. At some point that gave diminishing returns, but she was okay for now—for the day. After that, she’d need to sleep.

  Horace had traded Casper’s Christmas sweatshirt for a pair of ill-fitting jeans, a flannel shirt, socks and boots. He looked comfortable. She didn’t know how it was possible to look so peaceful with his injured head bouncing against the window with every bubble she hit in the road. She continued to worry that taking him from the hospital before completing a CT scan had been a bad idea.

  Ashley struck the thought from her mind. If he’d had a serious brain injury—something that required surgery—he wouldn’t have been able to sleep so soundly. He’d have a worsening headache. He’d said the simple pain reliever had helped and the fact that he was several hours past his injury without any neurological signs proved there wasn’t a major bleed in his head.

  Then why the amnesia? Was it more than just trauma related? Some patients developed amnesia from psychological stress. Was this the driving force in Casper’s case? If so, how could she help him?

  They neared the house. The sun had set. They’d been driving on an old jeep trail for about an hour. The washboard ruts culled Casper from sleep. In the dim moonlight, he did look better to her. More alert. A quiet attentiveness.

  The house was hidden in a grove of trees. Casper instructed her to drive into them, to hide the car from the view of the road—if you could call it that.

  “Don’t park close to the house. Let’s get farther back into the trees.”

  Ashley did as instructed and parked the car. They sat there staring at the structure for the longest time, neither of them saying a word. It was an average-sized log cabin. It felt familiar to Ashley, though she couldn’t remember any particular visit. The moon gave the forest a faint yellowish glow and the only things that stirred were quick black flecks as mice scurried over the snow scavenging for food.

  “I feel like I’ve been here before,” Casper said, his voice soft...almost haunted.

  “Me, too. Are we waiting for something?” Ashley asked, eyes still locked on the structure. When had she been here? Had her mother been with her? Seemingly she hadn’t been old enough for a solid memory to have formed.

  “Movement of something more than mice.”

  The house was dark. Even at this distance, it exuded a silence that made Ashley feel like no one had been here in a while. The snow was undisturbed. Leaves were heaped in piles near one side of the doorway. In the front yard, tipped over and broken, was an old birdbath.

  “I need to show you something,” Ashley said, turning and grabbing the manila envelope that sat on the back seat. Returning forward, she pressed the button for the dome light, and then thumbed through the photos she’d gotten at various times in different packages. Thankfully, she’d been keeping these together at work.

  There it was, proof in black-and-white, the house at a time when it appeared much more glorious than it did now.

  She held the photo up to the light so Casper could see it, as well. “It’s the same cabin.”

  “If your father sent these then I’m hopeful it’s confirmation that we’re in the right place. I can’t help but think there must be more to the photos than that. More clues than what is obvious.”

  Ashley tapped her fingers against the top of the pile. “This photo of the cabin was the first one I got.” She flipped it over. “It has a number on the back.” Ashley reordered the stack of photos. “The next three photos also had numbers on the back.”

  “Each was sent at a different time?”

  “Yes. The four numbers together are 8519.”

  “Do they mean anything to you?” Casper asked.

  “Not to me. You?”<
br />
  Casper tapped his index finger against his temple. “Still pretty foggy up here.”

  “We’ll freeze out here if we sit too long,” Ashley said as she reached for the door handle. Casper eased his hand over hers, enveloping hers in a warm, comforting hold. Her heart jumped slightly at his unexpected touch. He didn’t say anything, and in the low light, shadows cast over his face, she couldn’t discern any meaning from the touch, but to her it conveyed camaraderie...safety.

  A commitment that they were in this thing—whatever this thing was—together.

  As she watched him, her heart fluttering lightly at the base of her throat, he nodded his head as if to affirm something in his mind, and he relinquished her hand. He opened his car door and she did the same.

  They walked parallel to the front of the house, the snow crystals splitting under their feet one of the few sounds in the night. Casper approached the door first and tested the knob. It didn’t make sense to Ashley, but seemed subconscious in a way. He also held his right hand near his hip, like a law enforcement officer would, keeping his palm on the hilt of a sidearm. Muscle memory she guessed. If she was right, what type of law enforcement did he do?

  Casper felt along the edges of the door. To Ashley, it appeared to be a normal locked door. He waved at her to follow and they began searching around the house. She didn’t quite know what he was looking for so she simply looked for something obviously out of place.

  The house just seemed old and unused.

  On the back of the property, there was a large screened-in porch. Casper opened the door onto the portico with ease, but stood there for endless seconds as if waiting for something. Ashley held her breath. Every minute sound of the forest caused her skin to prickle. Casper waved her onto the stoop and they neared the back door. It, too, was locked. Casper began scanning the back wall when he found something out of the ordinary.

  Looking closely, at eye level, there seemed to be a small window cut into the side of the house. Casper turned a simple closure and opened a door that was no more than six by six inches. On the inside of the door there was a punch code lock.