Running into the Darkness

by D. A. Bale

  No matter what, she could never let Joe die because of her.

  Chapter 49 – Catching Up

  This was ridiculous – insane – but Joe had to risk it. They’d probably never expect him to show up at work anyway. Hitchens might just have arrived already, since he practically lived there.

  The guards at the security checkpoint eyed him warily, checked then rechecked his credentials and badge. They let him through without too much questioning, but their eyes spoke a different story as he limped toward the elevators. He had to admit – he would be suspicious of him too if in their shoes. Ah, shoes.

  “Good God, man!” Hitchens exclaimed. “Why didn’t you call? I’ve been pacing the floor since three a.m.

  Joe collapsed into a chair. “News traveled fast then?”

  “Of course it did. You don’t get to my position without a proper network.” The SAC glanced down the hall before closing and locking his office door. He drew the blinds as he picked up the phone. “You’ve got one minute to get my hallway and staff office cleaned up.”

  After slamming down the phone and rummaging in his desk, Hitchens knelt beside Joe. “Let’s see those feet of yours.”

  The numbness left as the SAC touched a moistened cloth to first one foot, then the other. Throbbing replaced it. Joe sucked in his breath and clenched his teeth.

  “Had to…ditch the…car I took. Mine’s gone.”

  “I know. Lit up like the Fourth of July, or so I heard. You’ve got some nasty burns here.”

  Joe winced and groaned. “Third explosion in four days.”

  “And some glass.”

  The extracted pieces rattled around the candy dish on top of his desk. “Ditched the car about a mile back and hoofed it here.”

  “Better not stick around here too long.”

  Exhaustion threatened to draw Joe down like the undertow of the ocean. “I know, but I broke my cell when I dove out the window. Hell, the damned explosion may have knocked it out first – who knows. Anyway, I couldn’t call.”

  After bandaging the patient’s feet, Hitchens walked back through the office and glanced down the hallway. “Good – all cleaned up.”

  “What?” Gingerly Joe stood.

  “Your bloody footprints, that’s what.”

  Stark realization flashed through his head like a cold shower. “They probably know I’m here then.”

  “Most likely. Come with me.”

  The SAC pressed a button on his key ring and the back wall moved aside to reveal another room. Speculation had surrounded Hitchens since the day he’d arrived. Everyone in their entire division theorized how their leader came and went. Hitchens always seemed to be in his office, which left no opportunity for anyone to snoop. Most of the other guys would be jealous if they knew.

  Then why show it to him? Why now? He was just a probie agent, for crying out loud.

  The room darkened after the panel slid shut and a screen rose to reveal a large situation room. As his eyes adjusted, he noticed diffused light came from the mass of screens lining the far wall. Blue lights lit pathways around the room like an airport runway. Amber lamps flicked on and off as people moved from one area to another like researchers at a library. The room bustled with energy.

  “Did we just step into Mission Control at NASA?” Joe asked.

  “Ours is more sophisticated,” explained Hitchens. “Welcome to the Special Units Division of the FBI, Agent Roberts. Now follow me. We need to get you some fresh clothes and comfortable shoes.”

  As Joe waddled behind, the massive screens drew his attention. One was marked Paris, another Berlin, still another Brussels, and others with various locales around North and South America.

  “What is all this?”

  “Satellite imagery – part of a very long and involved investigation. Some of it may tie in with your recent work.”

  “Like what?”

  “You tell me.”

  Caution seemed appropriate. What did these people running around here know about what he’d found? If they already knew, then the SAC had basically sent him on a wild goose chase. What for? Was the man sadistic or did he truly not know of the information Joe had found? How would that play into this other investigation?

  “Brussels as in Belgium? Berlin as in Germany?”

  “The same.”

  They came to a large glassed-in office. Hitchens flicked on a dim light before he scrounged around in a closet and pulled out a blue shirt and tan corduroy slacks.

  “These should fit you alright. I thought I had a pair of tennis shoes in here too, but someone must have borrowed them. I’d give you mine, but you’d probably have a hard time squeezing into them.”

  “That’s alright, sir. I’m sure I can find something before I go.”

  “Speaking of which, give me a rough and dirty on what you’ve got from your end.”

  Joe gave him the rundown on Oleander Enterprises and the strange oleander plant recipes. When he started in on his crazed idea about Hitler and the Nazis, the possible cover-up by the Soviets of the burned bodies at the bunker near the end of World War Two, he cringed. It all sounded so ludicrous coming out of his mouth, but the SAC’s concentration never wavered. He soaked in every word as if it were gospel.

  “I was pretty distraught at the time, so I don’t know if any of this makes sense or not. Strangely enough, the pieces all started falling into place the further along I let my brain meander down this path,” Joe said.

  Hitchens nodded. “Good work, Roberts. This confirms pieces of several other investigators and brings the puzzle a little closer to completion in other areas. We’ve sat at a dead-end for some time.”

  So he wasn’t crazy. Joe couldn’t hold back a deep sigh of relief.

  Before the SAC could get out another word, the office door flew open. They stared into the astonished eyes of Agent Laturno.

  Chapter 50 – The Pieces Come Together

  “Rookie! You’re alive.”

  Agent Laturno gripped Joe in a bear hug and practically snatched him out of the chair as if he were a rag doll. Then he held him at arms length. His green eyes flashed.

  “Where the hell have you been, kid? You look like shit.”

  “Feel like it too.”

  “What kind of mess have you gotten yourself into?”

  Hitchens intervened and handed Joe a new phone. “He’s working a back alley for me, and he’s obviously on the right track.”

  Laturno asked, “Does it have anything to do with…”

  “Yes.”

  “Then you’re going to like what I’ve found.” Laturno slipped a picture from his jacket and slapped it on the desk. “Marcus Stinson, MIT graduate, medical degree from Stanford in ‘57 – top of his class. Brilliant man. Showed great promise in research. Supposedly killed with his wife and kid five years later in a fiery car crash. Sighting reported two years after the accident by his mother.”

  Joe butt in. “Couldn’t that have been a mere coincidence? Someone who just looked like him?”

  “If you ran straight into your son coming out of a gas station, don’t you think you would recognize him?” Laturno laid another more recent picture down on the desk beside the older one. “This one was taken within the last few months.”

  The recent shot was somewhat grainy, as if the image had been magnified several times. A bit of gray dotted the man’s temples, and the face appeared more chiseled and hard. But the eyes – comparison between the two pictures, giving allowance for slight aging, was truly remarkable. The blue eyes were so similar.

  The SAC stated, “A relative. That would account for the similarities, but there is no way this is the same man. The man in this recent picture appears too young to be Stinson.”

  A cold chill passed through Joe’s mind. “Not if he’d found a way to slow the aging process – slow it like maybe with an oleander recipe?”

  Hitchens eyes flew wide open. Joe could almost see the puzzle pieces falling together into place. He grabbed Laturno’s arm
.

  “What does this Stinson guy have to do with your investigation?”

  Laturno glanced at the SAC, who nodded consent. “I believe he may be the leader of an underground organization that is infiltrating every major player on the world stage, from Russia to England.

  “And I’m convinced they’ve infiltrated the United States.”

  ***

  Samantha fought to keep Alexandra at the forefront as Warner suckled her breasts. Images of Joe tramped through her mind like a movie in rewind, his penetrating brown eyes, ready smile, tender touch. How had things spiraled so out of control? How had she been brought to make such a horrible choice between two lives? As her grip on reality drifted, she knew no other choice remained.

  It was time.

  While Warner remained occupied, Samantha opened her mouth and lifted her tongue to extract the tiny needle. Marcus had warned her – one miscalculation and she’d die. He’d stated it with caution, not glee. However, if she died instead, could she save both men? If she died, would they send someone else to kill Warner? If she died, would they attempt to pull Joe into the group? If she survived, could she somehow turn the tables on Debrille and the Elite and save others from her fate? A resounding no echoed in her mind.

  No other choice remained. She wrapped her arms around his back and slipped the needle from the thin rubber sleeve, careful to avoid pricking her finger. As he raised himself to enter, Samantha thrust the needle into his neck.

  Warner’s eyes widened in stark horror. His mouth opened as if to yell for the Secret Service outside the door, but foam sputtered out instead. Eyes rolled into the back of his head. Convulsions rocked the bed as Samantha struggled to drag herself out from under him, but he gripped her hair and left her hanging halfway off the bed.

  With a sigh of why, the President of the United States expired.

  One by one, Samantha pulled back his stiffened fingers to release her hair. Tears streamed down her face as she leaned against the wall and stared at his naked form lying across the bed. She quickly clasped her hand over her mouth to avoid screaming.

  Oh God, what have I done?

  But God didn’t listen to her anymore. He hadn’t been around for years. She’d gone and made a real mess of her life. Gramm. What would Gramm say? She’d be mortified. Gramm wouldn’t even know her anymore. She didn’t know herself.

  She’d become a murderer.

  Trembling overwhelmed her. Stomach flip-flopped. She wanted to allow the eruption of the contents, but that would leave too much DNA evidence behind. Samantha fought the effort – and won.

  Samantha wiped her eyes. Had to focus on the job at hand and get out as quickly as possible. The sun would be up in a little more than an hour. She had to escape to the hell-hole, escape back into the darkness. It was where she belonged anyway.

  With effort she rolled Warner’s body onto one side of the bed and covered his form with the comforter. Maybe if they happened to look inside when she left, Warner would appear asleep and they’d not disturb him for a few more hours. That would give her opportunity to be long gone before anyone discovered his body.

  One more performance. You can do one more performance, girlie.

  Samantha avoided staring into her own eyes as she adjusted her make-up and hair in the mirror. The body condom appeared ominous in the moonlight as she slipped it from her bag. Nuclear power and nano-technology combined to make atomic hosiery. She’d never activated the thing. Maybe she wouldn’t have to, but she’d take no chances.

  After pulling it on, the fabric seemed to melt into her skin like lotion. She could hardly make out the weave. Quickly she threw the skirt and blouse over it and stood at the door, her hand poised above the knob. A shiver passed up her spine. She couldn’t think of what lay behind her. All she needed now was to escape.

  In more ways than one.

  When she opened the door, the agents didn’t even look at her.

  “Gentlemen,” Samantha said, her voice solid and firm like Alexandra’s.

  “Ma’am,” they spoke in unison.

  The long walk down the hall, she focused on keeping her legs from collapsing beneath her. They felt like overcooked spaghetti as she descended the stairs. As her shoes clacked on the tile floor below, Samantha felt eyes watching her. She glanced up to see the First Lady staring at her retreat. Their eyes locked briefly. Sweat dribbled down her back.

  Samantha fought to keep her gait paced. The clack of her shoes on the tile echoed throughout the hall. She breathed deeply the moment the wind hit her face then set out across the lawn toward the waiting car.

  ***

  Abbie Warner rushed down the hall toward the room the Alexandra woman had just exited. The idiot twins had the audacity to stop her.

  “He’s sleeping, Mrs. Warner.”

  “I seriously doubt that. Now get out of my way, fools.”

  She brushed past them and entered the dark bedroom. The table lamp glowed when she flicked it on and laid out the bottle and syringe. Had to act quickly before it wore off. Stupid girl stayed in here entirely too long.

  Foam flecked the edges of his lips, his eyes wide and bulging. The poor man watched every move she made as she slipped on the gloves, but he could do nothing to stop her from finishing the deed. After penetrating the bottle, she drew long on the syringe. Marcus had better be right about this new concoction, better to have too much than not enough.

  Abbie stood over him. “You were too good for me, Freddy. I’m sorry it has to end this way, but a woman will do anything for the man she loves.”

  With a stab, she emptied the syringe into his system. She looked at her watch as the minutes ticked by, felt for a pulse, then double tapped her ear.

  “It’s done. The United States is ours.”

  Then Abbie gathered up the syringe and bottle and deposited them into the trash can in the vanity. The rubber gloves disintegrated from her hands and melted away like candle wax.

  “Guards!”

  ***

  A shout drew Samantha’s attention back toward the White House before she could reach the car. They’d found him.

  Shots rang out. Samantha leapt out of her heels and raced across the grass while ripping off the blouse and skirt. Now or never. She jagged left then pressed her navel and felt a sharp stab.

  In a split second, the air rushed away from her and out of her lungs. Warmth surged like an electric jolt through her body. Images wavered like heat off hot pavement before the world slammed back into place. Then she immediately cut right, leaving ricocheting bullets in her wake.

  Curses and screams of horror faded behind her as she disappeared into the darkness.

  ***

  The phone on the desk jangled. Hitchens picked it up, listened for a moment, then slammed the phone down with a curse.

  “We’re too late.” The SAC ran out onto the main floor. “Get me a car around back now!”

  While chaos reigned around him, Joe was drawn back to the grainy picture. Who was the redhead with Stinson? Something about her made Joe’s mind race. Again he grabbed Laturno’s arm.

  “Do we have a name on this woman with Stinson?”

  “Alexandra Shuvinovsky, but that’s likely a code name. We haven’t been able to trace much on her except height, weight, you know – the standard stats.”

  “Is she 5’7” and about 125?”

  Laturno’s green eyes were filled with questions. “Or thereabouts. Can’t talk anymore, kid. I gotta go.”

  Joe grabbed his piece and shoved it into his waistband. “Then get me a pair of shoes. I’m going with you.”

  Chapter 51 – Reunion

  Samantha’s lungs burned like they were filled with hot coals, reminding her of the last night in Gramm’s house. Even though no one could see her, she still kept running. The stupid safe houses – she should’ve studied the entries and exits to the underground a little more closely. The Melrose Hotel entry was too close to the White House, plus it would look very strange for the front door
to open all by itself. The doorman would surely have a heart attack at such a sight so early in the morning. She might feel like a ghost, but she could never accomplish walking through walls even with this stupid suit on.

  An entrance in the old warehouse district lay just down the road, but no way she’d be able to choose the right one from all those brick buildings. They looked exactly alike.

  The sky deepened – the darkness before the dawn. The city would awaken soon and quickly turn into a nightmare trying to dodge people and cars. They’d never see her, but they could still bump into or run over her.

  Samantha slipped into an alley between two apartment buildings and tapped her ear. “I need a corridor in the warehouse district.”

  Marcus’ voice rang out in her head. “Four blocks east, building eight on the northwest corner, seventh floor, elevator bank two.”

  “So you’ve been demoted to COM duties now? What – couldn’t get it up anymore?”

  “Get moving,” Marcus hissed in her head. “They’ve called it in and are bringing in heat sensors on search helicopters.”

  Not good. Not good at all. Four blocks. Time to crank up the speed. The pavement pulsated beneath her feet each time they slapped the concrete. The hosiery protected her feet from the rough surface like a cushion of air.

  Sirens blared in the early morning darkness. The thup-thup of helicopters echoed around her. She wasn’t going to make it.

  ***

  “Shit – you mean she just up and disappeared right in front of you?” Laturno asked.

  The Secret Service agent nodded. “One moment she was there and the next she was gone like a vapor.”

  Joe interrupted, “What direction was she running?”

  “Headed east, then right before she disappeared she turned north.” The agent hesitated.

  Laturno asked, “Was there something else?”

  “The moment she disappeared, I glanced back toward where she’d been and that’s when the vertigo hit me.”

  Joe intercepted the thought. “East again?”

  “Yes.”