The room lit up in the large white circle of my light, revealing a large old metal desk covered in stacks of papers. There were rows of filing cabinets behind the desk and banker’s boxes scattered all over the floor. I went for the desk first, picking through the papers, shuffling around pages to find nothing but the usual church propaganda for recruiting the newest fools. I did the same in the desk drawers, only finding more recruitment material.
I looked around the room, nothing was standing out to me, drawing me to dig further in the desk. The office was just a hub for propaganda and nothing more. To my right was a small hallway with old painted arrows directing me to the rec center and then down to the basement facilities access. The flashlight stayed low as I walked towards the rec center first, remembering what Father Ken said about the room near the back where he had his audience with Alistair.
The entrance to the rec center was on an elevated walk path that looked down into the massive expanse of the room below. The pool and family fun center had been turned into a large worship hall. A stage was built over the back half of the large rectangle pool with a podium in the middle and the rest of the pool had been boarded over and ramshackle pews were placed in two rows and lead all the way back to under the walk path I was standing on.
Statues of Jesus and angels dotted around the stage as large banners cascaded down behind the podium, banners with a huge black cross in front of a bright yellow sun hung from the ceiling, almost grazing the stage floor. The room was doing its best to replicate the atmosphere of any other church, but had an eerie feeling that gave me goosebumps as the flashlight revealed more and more of the room.
I couldn't find any doorway or hallway leading to the back like Father Ken described, only a freshly plastered wall to the left of the podium. I sighed, I would have to find something else before I decided to do some minor demolition work.
I backed out and back into the office, heading to the basement stairs. For whatever reason, my gut was telling me to go down there. I clutched my gun tighter, taking the first few steps down, swiping my flashlight side to side. I was starting to get frustrated this small investigation was going to take more time then I felt comfortable with. I had to be back on the road in a few hours to make it back to Claire by morning. I let out another nervous breath, hoping I would find something to prove to Claire that sneaking down here was the right thing.
My flashlight reflected off of old rusty pipes and white ceramic hot water tanks. I groaned, this was nothing more than a maintenance room for the pool. I turned to head back upstairs when my light grazed across a door that caught my eye.
A bright orange sun was painted on the door with the phrase, "Enlightenment begins here." painted in old medieval script underneath. What really peaked my interest was the bold vintage, black and white PRIVATE sign stuck above the sun.
I walked over to the door, pointing my gun up higher as I tested the door knob with the hand that held the flashlight. The knob turned freely, the door creaking softly as I pushed it open wider. I flicked my light up to the center of the room to blind anyone that might be standing in the middle, waiting to pounce.
The room was empty of any human or the animal life, light only bouncing off the edge of another old metal desk with a matching chair. I crept into the room, swinging my light around like I had in the boiler room. Illuminating large bulletin boards covered in photographs, maps, random papers and newspaper clippings. I couldn't see much of the room with just the small flashlight, I searched until I found a light switch near the door. I swatted it up, filling the room in old, ticking fluorescent light.
After a few seconds of ticking, the room was revealed to me in bright light. What I saw made my stomach tighten into knots.
The walls were covered in photographs of Claire over the years. Photographs of her at her graduation ceremony in Oxford, her on the campaign trail for city council then her Senate run. I moved to the walls to get a closer look. Photographs of her and Rebecca lined one bulletin board. Photographs of them both in Paris and in Malibu at fund raising events and lastly in Connecticut at what I could only assume was Claire's family estate.
I swallowed hard, walking along the walls, my eyes moving from one thing to another, my stomach tightening further with my heart at what I saw. The photographs continued filling every inch of the bulletin boards, highlighted with newspaper clippings of Claire's press releases, articles and tabloid pieces. I spun around the room, spotting Davey in a couple of the photographs with arrows drawn connecting his face with a press release about his contract firm opening up three years ago. I ran my fingers over the curled edges of the papers, pictures. Trying to control the anger that was rising fast.
Near the back wall of the room, there was a partly filled bulletin board, only a handful of photographs and clippings, but what was on the board made my jaw tighten.
A picture of Claire and I at the symphony sat in the middle of the board. A large red question mark drawn over my face. I ripped the picture down, crumpling it my hands and throwing it across the room, whispering out a, "Fuck."
I rushed to the desk, shuffling through the stacks of paper sitting on the top. It was more pictures and clippings, recent pictures and articles all centered on Claire. Her face scribbled out or circled in a maniacal hand. I ripped open desk drawers and found more of the same, until I tried the last drawer on the bottom. One that was locked.
The bottom drawer came apart easily with a few anger driven kicks. I flopped down into the metal chair, grabbing the drawer and slamming it onto the desk in front of me. Rummaging through the contents, I threw more pictures and papers to the floor angrily. I went to throw the drawer across the room when something slid and hit the front of it. I glanced in the drawer and froze when my eyes scrolled across the familiar red letters. I reached down, wrapping my hand around the thick stack of files, pulling them out and setting them on my lap.
The CIA logo blazed back at me, classified in red letters canted across the front. I had seen a few of these files in the Secret Service whenever a CIA agent was attached to a detail. In my lap were CIA personnel files, internal personnel files. I flipped open the first file. Big red X's were scrawled over the file photograph, sacrificed was scribbled in the same handwriting that covered the walls, under the photograph.
I went through half of the stack of files, finding the same in most of them. I yanked my phone from my jacket pocket, starting to take pictures of what I had in front of me. There was no way I could sneak these files out, there were too many to stuff in my jacket. I also knew I could send the images the second I had a phone signal to Davey and he could work on who they were while I drove back to D.C.
There were thirty files, each one had red markings scribbled throughout the file. I didn't waste time reading who these people were, only glancing over their clean cut, first day on the job identification photograph. I would look harder later when I had more time and was in a place I could take the time and not worry about being caught down in the creepy basement of a religious maniac.
I kept digging after photographing the files and setting them back on the desk. I had to find something, anything on who Alistair was. What he looked like or even an idea of who knew what he looked like. I looked in the bottom of the drawer one more time, finding one thicker file wrapped in multiple rubber bands.
My heart pounded when I recognized the file. It was the Beekeeper file. The one I had only seen in my emails and thought to be lost in the deep dungeon like basements of the CIA. I picked it up, snapping the rubber bands free. I again, didn't bother reading the file. I focused on photographing every single page in the file.
The file had to be the original one by the handwritten notes along the edges. The sections of formulas and charts where coffee stained and ink blotted where pens had leaked mid -sentence.
I moved quickly, snapping and flipping. Then my hands paused as I lifted a small one page dossier on a seventeen year old Claire Avondale. THIEF written in bright red letters under her high schoo
l graduation picture.
My jaw clenched as I read the recruiters notes about a teenage Claire with the words LIAR, THIEF, FAKE written around the glowing recommendation.
I sat the dossier down and forced myself to take a picture of it. My anger was at a point I wanted to scream. This Alistair was stepping past lines that would get him killed. Killed by my own hand the first chance I got.
I had to push past the anger, focus on documenting as much as I could and get the hell out the motel. I knew the CIA would be back in the morning and all of this would be lost in a figurative cloud of smoke, buried away to be forgotten or used for their benefit in their own pursuit of her.
I peered into the drawer one last time, hoisting the stack of files to throw back in the drawer when the edge of a small notebook poked out. Grabbing it, it was thick, leather-bound and wrapped closed in leather string that struggled to hold all the papers crammed in the folds in. Brushing the dust off the cover, the words "Honeycomb experiments 99-10/ Dr. E.B." printed over the cover on a white mailing label.
My fingers tugged at the end of the leather string when I heard quiet footsteps moving in the office above me.
"Fuck." I moved quickly, dumping the files back in the drawer and setting it on the floor near its origin. I went to throw the notebook on top when my gut told me no, take it. I shoved the notebook in my back waistband before moving to shut the light off and leave the room, when the lights flickered and darkened.
My world blurred as it felt like lightning struck me in the side of my head. Lifting me from my feet to fall back and collide with the metal chair and edge of the desk. Both doing nothing to prevent me from crashing to the concrete floor on my back. I scrambled to get up, point my gun in the direction of the attack. A heavy boot interrupting me as it connected fully with my side, picking me up from the floor and pushing all the air from my body with a grunt.
I crashed into the floor again, curling into a ball from the pain, to try to roll away from my attacker. Gasping for air, I tried to regain my senses and stop the bursts of light flooding my eyes. I clutched at my side, feeling with my other hand to grab the edge of the desk. I could feel blood begin to roll down the side of my head.
I moved my hand from my stomach, trying to wrap a shaky palm around my gun as I pushed up to stand. I was slow to stand, gasping and whimpering from the pain overload hitting my body all at once.
"It's rude to go through others private things."
The voice was gravelly, muffled, making it difficult for me to determine if it was male or female. I couldn't see anything, the minimal light from the door was blurring with my hazy vision. All I saw was a shadow that was shaped like a person.
I found my feet, "I'm not the CIA or the FBI." I coughed the words out, shuffling to my feet. Trying to get myself into a stance to run or fight as I heard the person move around me.
"Oh, I know perfectly well who you are. You work for her. An evil worse than the other two combined. An evil liar, thief and a piss poor example of a scientist." The shadow's voice moved, now closer to me. The light and my vision finally synced up enough for me to pick out the shadow was tall and had a slight frame. "You know she will die. No amount of protection or money spent will keep her safe." The shadow now moved to stand in front of me, "And you will die with her. One cannot play the almighty and not suffer a similar fate of all who came before her."
I swallowed thickly, tasting blood in my mouth as I coughed again, my lung had collapsed and I feared one of my ribs had punctured something, they were well beyond broken from the kick I took. I sucked in a hard breath, "Why are you doing this Alistair? Who are you?"
The shadow's hand clamped around my throat, cutting off my air as I was shoved against the edge of the desk. I felt hot breath on my face as a voice whispered, "I am everyone and no one."
I was ripped from my feet by a hard hit across my face, then picked up by my hair the second I hit the floor, "I had hoped to send you back to her with a message, alive. I don't think I want that now." The hand released my hair, dropping my body to the floor.
The shadow walked away from me. I heard a metal can drag across the floor, a screw top being turned as Alistair spoke, "I think I want to kill you, burn the place down like I intended. Have the CIA idiots try to work their way out of this one and deliver you to her." The slosh of liquid leaving the can was followed by the strong odor of gasoline. I knew then it was Alistair in the room with me.
I fought through the pain, struggling to get back to my feet as Alistair continued, "Then they will have to answer to why they were here, where they found you. How it came to be that the dead bodyguard of the lovely Senator was found under all their burned secrets." The shadow laughed, "It's perfect, really. Even more so that they are under the microscope for their poor attempts on her life." The metal can was dropped to the floor, the clang of empty metal rang hard through the room. "They are so timid sometimes. That's why they never get what they want, always afraid of bad press."
I was almost to my feet when the hand returned to my hair, yanking me up and twisting. I could feel the stare of Alistair inches away from my face, but couldn’t see anything that resembled eyes. "It's a shame. I felt bad for you Caitriona when I read your file. A girl in love, clouded by the romance. I found it to be poetic that he died at the hand of the one woman who truly loved him." Alistair sighed dramatically.
I gritted my teeth, "Who are you?”
Alistair leaned closer, "Someone who understands the betrayal brought on by another. Loss of a life brought on by another." Alistair sucked in a breath, "Goodbye Caitriona, I'm sorry love seems to have failed you again."
I went to hiss back, but the sudden pain in my side took my words.
I cried out as the knife blade dug slow and deep into my skin. Alistair pushed the knife up as he went deeper as I looked down, feeling around with anxious hands. My hands finally covering his gripping on the knife. I tried desperately to pull it out. He let go of my hair, using his other hand to pull away mine fumbling around his, the hilt of the knife going deeper into my stomach.
I acted on pure adrenaline and survival instinct, throwing my knee up. Connecting with Alistair hard in the ribs, I pushed him back, forcing him to take the knife with him. I let out a breath as I felt the warmth pour out and soak into my shirt. I pushed through the pain, following the knee with a sweeping kick, knocking Alistair's legs out from under him, bringing him to his knees. I went to kick him in the face, but he rolled to the side at the last second, leaving me to lurch awkwardly as I scrambled for my gun, forcing it out of the holster to begin to fire blindly at the floor where he laid.
The shots lit up the room, flashing images of Alistair dressed in black with the bottom half of his face covered by a red and white mask that looked like a grinning demon. I fired six times, hearing one grunt as Alistair ran towards the stairs and fell up them. I tried to run after him, firing four more times as he raced up the stairs, but I was distracted when I heard the whoosh of flames greedily feeding on the oxygen in the room behind me.
I turned to face a wall of flames sucking up the gasoline trails Alistair had thrown in the room. I stumbled back, muttering a fuck as I tried to stop the bleeding in my stomach and run towards the stairs.
I struggled up the stairs, cursing at myself for firing a gun in a room soaked in gasoline, knowing a hot casing would be enough of a spark to ignite the old papers covered in accelerant. I climbed up the stairs on my hands and knees as fast as I could, my hands slick with blood and my vision not as clear as I desperately needed it to be. Slipping and stumbling every other step.
I grasped at the steps and the walls, pulling myself up to my feet, calling on all the little energy and remaining adrenaline I had to get my feet and jog out of the building as flames swallowed the room.
I ran out of the motel, falling out the front door, falling to lie on the dirt driveway for a second to catch my breath. I had to keep moving, if I didn't I would die in this dirt driveway. I sucked in deep breath
s, crawling to my feet and trying to run back to my car as I heard distant sirens move closer. I wouldn't die here, not like this.
I stumbled a few more times before I made it to the Lincoln. I fell into the driver's seat as the flood of blue and red lights infiltrated the motel now consumed by thick angry flames. I threw my gun in the console, tore my jacket off and looked down at stomach. My shirt was soaked in a deep red color, covering my entire side and most of my jeans. I didn't dare look at what was underneath, if I did I knew the panic that was threatening to overcome me, would win.
I balled the jacket up, pressing against my stomach. I then used my belt to secure the jacket as tight as possible against the wound. I dug in my back waistband, my blood soaked fingers slipping on the edge pf the notebook I tucked back there. When I finally had a strong hold on the notebook, I threw it onto the passenger seat.
Leaning my forehead against the steering wheel, I fought the tears. I had to fight, fight to stay alert and at least get out of this small town. Towards a hospital or some cell signal so I could call for help. I swallowed down a dry throat, starting the car with a trembling hand, I sped out of the convenience store parking lot.
My only thoughts were I had to survive this, I had to get back to Claire to keep her safe. I had to survive this to see her again, my heart racing at the thought that I might not make it to see her. See her blue green eyes and the smile that told me I was loved no matter what.
I clenched the steering wheel, smearing blood all over the beige leather. I had to stay alive long enough to see her, I kept repeating that as I sped through the thin roads, passing more police cars racing in the opposite direction.
I drove like a maniac until the in car display boasted full signal bars, I choked out a sob of relief and hit the number one contact.
I barely heard Davey when he answered, irritation and disappointment thick in his voice, "Kit, I am about twenty minutes away from you. Your GPS finally clicked in. You do know that some parts of this country are not covered in cell towers?" He took a deep breath, "This was a dick move to sneak out on Claire like this, dangerous dick move." He huffed like he did when he was trying to hold back his temper, "Just be glad I told Claire to stay back at the airport, that way I can rip you a new one and not embarrass either of you."
Redemptio Animae Page 52