by Jen Blood
“Sure,” I said. I could see the surprise in Diggs’ eyes. “What the hell.”
Ten minutes later, Diggs and I headed off with the rest of the team. A dozen dogs—including Einstein, who whirled in excitement the second we hit the trail—led the charge, with Bear and Urenna not far behind. Jamie and Carl followed, while Monty entertained-slash-annoyed the women on the team. Diggs and I kept to the rear, more for a shot at privacy than because we didn’t think we could keep pace.
Diggs remained silent, distant, while we raced over lichen-covered granite and a carpet of rust-colored pine needles, the air crisp and clean and lightly salted from the ocean. I’d liked Australia, but it never felt quite like home. For one thing, it was hotter than the sun half the time; Maine-bred girls don’t deal well with that kind of crap. A little cold air first thing in the morning was damned appealing now.
As we covered more ground, I was surprised at how familiar some of the trails on the island were—haunted passages I’d traveled as a kid, back when my father was my world and I had no clue how screwed up that world would eventually become. About twenty minutes in, we reached a grove of spruce at the top of an incline, the ocean deep blue off the cliffs below. There was a giant rock at the top of the incline, split through the center and laid open with a sliver of a path between.
If you make it through the Crack, you live forever, Allie Tate whispered to me. She stood between the two rocks just as I’d seen her a few hours before—glasses broken, dress torn. Blood trailed down her forehead.
I tripped on a tree root and went sailing, then leapt to my feet before Diggs could get to me.
“Okay, you really need to stop doing that,” I said out loud. Because now I was talking to dead people. Excellent.
Forever, Allie whispered again.
The Crack. We’d come here as kids, I remembered suddenly. Vivid and immediate, I saw the lot of us trekking through the undergrowth of this very path. A lean, dark-haired boy was in the lead. Will Colby.
If you get stuck in the Crack, you die there, I remembered him saying. He was a hard kid. Cruel. A troublemaker. My father never liked him—never wanted me around him. Make it through the Crack and you’ll find all our secrets.
We live forever if we make it through, Allie said again.
“Sol,” Diggs said. His hand was on my arm, eyes uneasy. “Hey—you okay?”
I nodded. My palms were sweating, my heart racing. None of it had a thing to do with the morning run. “Yeah,” I said. “I’m fine. Come on—we’re losing them.”
I took off before he could question me further. I’d forgotten about those treks up here as a kid. I’d forgotten so much of my childhood, though, that it was getting hard to keep track.
It was seven-thirty and breakfast was up by the time we got back to the house. Considering everything that had happened, my appetite was slim to nil but I dug into the food with as much gusto as I could muster. Between mandatory morning runs, dead dads, and rampaging ghosts, I figured I could use the nourishment. To my relief, Diggs plowed through a full plate of food before he pushed it away and leaned back.
As had been the case before, the meal ended with only Diggs, me, Monty, Carl, and Jamie still at the table. I got the feeling that wasn’t an accident. I finished off the last of my coffee and set the cup down.
“Let me guess,” I said to Jamie. “This is the part where you kindly ask what the hell’s going on.”
“In so many words,” she said. She said it with a smile, but she was tough about it—not the kind of woman you messed with. “I’d like to know, first and foremost, if there’s a possibility that we could be in danger out here. I’m not worried about myself, but I have a son, a whole team, and a dozen dogs I’m responsible for. If something could happen…”
“I know,” I said. “You’re right. We didn’t come here with the intention of pulling you into anything—we still aren’t. Whatever happened last night with Diggs’ father… We never saw that coming. Neither of us is sure how it relates to what we’re doing here.”
“Which is what, exactly?” Monty said. “No offense, princess, but tight lips are only good for one thing, and this ain’t it. In case you’ve forgotten, Carl and I weren’t just with you last year because we’re so damn pretty. If you need a hand…”
“I think the better thing for us to do at this point,” Diggs said, “is to just move along. We could stay at my place on the mainland. Like Solomon said, we didn’t expect things to escalate—and we especially didn’t expect it to happen this fast. We’ll get out of here—”
“Hang on a minute,” Jamie said. “That’s not what I’m saying. But I’d at least like some idea of what we’re facing, before I make a decision one way or another.”
Diggs looked at me, his question clear. Did we tell them? I was still blindsided by what had happened to his father the night before; the state of Diggs’ house; Mike Reynolds and his shed full of ammunition. Juarez still seemed to be off the radar, and I wasn’t ready yet to call Cameron in on this—mostly because I wasn’t completely convinced yet that we could trust him.
So, what were we supposed to do?
“We already know some of this shit from last year,” Monty said.
“We were in that jungle with you when your father passed,” Carl said. Somehow, the quiet strength behind his words lent weight to the conversation. “We would like to help you. I would like to help you, if I can.”
I looked at Diggs again. He shook his head. “It’s your call,” he said.
Another five seconds passed, while I thought about it. All those bodies, piling up in my dreams with no end in sight. Diggs and I had come back here to try and stop J., but the truth of the matter was that we didn’t have a clue how to do that.
“Will you go get the file?” I finally asked.
He nodded grimly. I wasn’t sure, but I thought he looked relieved at my decision. We’d both been carrying this alone for way too long.
While Diggs went for the folder, I briefed them on what we knew about the organization to date, including the whole spiel about J-932, MK Ultra, Jim Jones, and my own father. Diggs returned from our room a minute later with a manila folder filled with loose-leaf pages, and tossed the folder in the center of the table without looking at me. When Jamie made no move, Monty reached for it. He opened the folder, took a few seconds to peruse the pages, and set it back down.
“Heavy,” he said. “What the hell does it mean?”
“It’s a code,” Diggs said.
We explained the breakdown: coordinates; social security number; month and year; and the initials of the J. team leader who had overseen each operation.
“Okay,” Monty said. “So…maybe I’m not seeing the whole picture here, but this seems pretty straightforward. You don’t have the exact location, you don’t have the exact date, and you don’t know whose initials are at the end of these entries a lot of the time, right?”
“That’s the gist,” I said.
“But you’ve got the social security number. Which means that’s where you go—you get the son of a bitch who’s about to go nuts, and you put him on ice. Call the cops. Call the Feds. Hell, I don’t know, call local action news. Just get the asshole off the street for that month.”
Diggs looked at me. I nodded. If we were telling them, we might as well tell them everything.
“You’re right,” he said. “That’s the one thing we do know for sure. There’s a problem, though. Over the past several months, the J. operatives on this list have been dropping dead left and right.”
“How’s that a problem?” Monty said. “You ask me, that’s the solution to your problem.”
It wasn’t incredibly PC, but Diggs and I had actually been arguing the same point for a while now. “That’s one way of looking at it,” I said. “The problem comes from the fact that something happens anyway—even if the operative is dead. There’s still some kind of incident within the coordinates during the time frame on the list. People still die.”
“So J. has…” Carl hesitated, searching for the word. “An alternate? A contingency plan? That is a problem.”
“It is,” I said. Diggs had gotten quiet again, staring at the list in front of him. “We did what we could to stop them from a distance, but this is the kind of thing people get put in padded cells for.”
“Besides which,” Diggs added, “every time we tried to warn anyone, J. managed to track us down.”
“This next J. extravaganza pulled us out of retirement, though. It’s all fun and games till a super-secret formerly government-sanctioned gang of mad scientists targets your hometown.”
Diggs didn’t even crack a smile. “You were the one who decided to come out of retirement, actually. If I’d had my way, we’d still be as far from here as we could get.”
“And it would have eaten at both of us until we couldn’t stand it or each other anymore,” I returned evenly. “You know there was no choice in this.”
“You do realize how all this sounds, don’t you?” Monty said.
“Like we should be wearing tinfoil hats?” I said. “Yeah, we’ve been over it. J.’s ever-growing body count makes it seem a little less nuts.”
Jamie had been quiet through most of this, but now she pulled a copy of the list toward her and looked it over. “Other than this, do you have any evidence at all to back up what you’re talking about? Other than Mitch Cameron and his daughter, you don’t have a single name of the people behind this. And you’re hoping Cameron and his daughter are on our side now…”
“Cameron is,” I said. “I mean—I think he is. He saved our asses. Saved my mother. Jenny—his daughter—is a wild card at this point. So…no. Right now, we don’t have any evidence, and we don’t have any names. That’s where we start. Up till this point, everyone we’ve met who was involved with the project—on either side—is dead.”
“Except Cameron and Jenny,” Diggs added.
“Right. Except for them.”
He paused. “Wait. What about Hank Gendreau? Do we know where he is now?”
About a year and a half ago, Hank Gendreau had been in prison for murdering his teenage daughter when he got in touch with me to tell me he wasn’t the killer. It was that investigation that had led me to my father’s past—ultimately exonerating Hank for the crime, while simultaneously putting Diggs and me on J.’s scent for the first time.
“The last I heard, he was out of prison and back in Black Falls,” I said. “We can try to get in touch, but I doubt he knows anything about this stuff.”
“The prison is just down the road, though,” Diggs argued. “We could maybe talk to a warden or two there—see if Hank ever mentioned anything to them.”
I weighed the idea, but it still seemed like a waste of time to me.
“You said someone is killing these operatives before they have an opportunity to complete their missions,” Carl said. “Correct?” I nodded. “Do you have any idea who might be doing that? It would seem you both have the same objective, wouldn’t it?”
This was something else Diggs and I had given a lot of thought to. “We only know a few people who have access to the list and want J. gone enough to kill,” I said. I thought of Juarez, still off the reservation while he tried to track down his childhood. Tried to track down the people who’d raped and murdered his wife. Juarez, trained former military, former Special Agent with the FBI…
“We don’t know who it is,” Diggs summarized. “But we’ve got some ideas. As far as I’m concerned, Cameron’s daughter is at the top of the list.”
“Agreed,” I said.
“But you don’t know how to get in touch with her?” Monty said.
“I don’t have her on speed dial, no.”
“So…” Monty scratched his head. “If you don’t mind my asking, what the hell was your plan when you came here? You were just gonna come in, ask some questions, maybe talk to this fella about to go off his rocker and see if you could get him to check in with a shrink before April?”
Diggs bristled at his tone. “We didn’t know what we were going to do, all right? We came back, figured we’d talk to Mike Reynolds—the guy J. is using right now—and try to get some information from him. And…somehow, we’d stop what’s supposed to happen in a few months.”
Carl looked at him, his gaze steady. “And then?” he asked.
Diggs took a breath. He looked at me. “And then, we’d get ready for J. when they came for Solomon and me.”
“And you’re certain that’s what they would do?” Carl said. “If they knew what you had done, they would come for you.”
“They’re sure,” Monty said with a nod. He studied Diggs frankly, quieter now. “You don’t mind me saying, that’s a crap plan. You’re in over your head, brother.” There was no malice in his tone.
Diggs laughed humorlessly. “You think?” He ran a hand through his short hair. I thought about how much lighter he’d seemed when we were living away from here. I lay my hand on his arm; it was like petting a caged tiger. And not a happy one.
“So what can we do?” Jamie asked.
“Now that Diggs’ father’s dead?” I said. “Nothing—especially not you. If Monty and Carl feel like signing up for this, that’s one thing. But you said it already: you’ve got a son and a team and an island of hounds who rely on you. I’m not bringing you into this. Diggs and I will clear out.”
“It’s your island,” she argued.
“Stop saying that. It’s not my damn island. I gave it to you.”
She smiled at that—actually smiled, with teeth and everything. Her eyes lit. “Erin, you can’t just write a bill of sale on a piece of paper, charge me a dollar, and say the island isn’t yours anymore.”
“Why not? People do that all the time on TV. I don’t want the goddamn place.”
“Well, right now the goddamn place is yours,” she returned. She didn’t seem at all impressed with my tough talk. “There’s a training coming up in Northern Maine—I’d originally declined the invitation, because we’ve been busy out here trying to get set up. I’ll call my brother and tell him we’re on board. We’ll be gone tomorrow morning.” She looked at Monty and Carl. “If you guys want to stay, you’re welcome to do so.”
“You can’t pack up a dozen dogs and a dozen people and just…leave,” I said.
“We can, actually,” Jamie said. She didn’t even seem fazed at the thought. “We do it pretty regularly, as a matter of fact. I’ll talk to Bear and Urenna, and they’ll get everything arranged.”
“What if things run long here?” I argued. “J. doesn’t even have anything planned until April. You’re saying you’ll just vacate indefinitely?”
“We won’t need to,” she said. The smile disappeared—no more white teeth, no more lit eyes. She studied me for a few seconds. “You’ve set this in motion now. From here, it won’t be long.”
Diggs glanced at me to see if I had any idea what she was talking about. I didn’t have a clue—all I knew was that Jamie and her creepy kid were starting to freak me out.
“So, we’ve got a plan, then,” Monty said. “Jamie and the rest of the ranch heads for the hills. Meanwhile, the four of us will figure out how to get a handle on this Mike Reynolds. Then, as I see it, we need to start figuring out who the next person in line might be—whoever J. would use if Mikey boy gets taken out of play.”
“And how, exactly, are we supposed to do that?” I asked. “It’s one thing if we have a social security number like we do with Mike. Without it, what are we supposed to do? Call a town meeting and ask for a show of hands for anyone who’s had unexplained homicidal urges lately?”
“These behaviors don’t come out of nowhere,” Diggs said. “You know that. J.’s operatives are people with a history of mental illness, violence, depression. We look for patterns of abuse, arrest records…whatever. No one’s completely surprised when someone J. chose snaps—the world’s usually been expecting it for a long time.”
“So we just need a list of all
the people who fit those criteria in Littlehope,” I said. “Great. In a town of hard-drinking fishermen whose favorite pastime is beating the piss out of each other, that should be a short list.”
“I’ll go to the town office this afternoon,” Monty volunteered. “The old guy who works there loves to talk—I’ll see what I can get from him.”
“Good idea,” Diggs said. “I’ll make a list myself, maybe check in with a couple of sources.”
“Aren’t we supposed to be working under the radar?” I said.
“I’ll do it quietly, dearest.” He gave me his most angelic smile.
“See that you do.”
“We should get started with the day,” Carl said. “There’s much to be done.” He eyed Diggs for a second before he spoke to me. “Is there anything else I can do for you, before we get things under way?”
“I don’t think so,” I said. Diggs had lightened marginally, but he was still understandably quiet and broody, and Monty was already preparing to saddle up while Jamie got the rest of the island mobilized. I was grateful, suddenly, to have a cool head like Carl on the team.
More than that, though, I was grateful to have a team at all.
Chapter Five
Given last night’s events in Littlehope, we decided it was definitely in Diggs’ and my best interest to steer clear of the mainland until the sun had set again. I was starting to understand how vampires felt. Diggs went out with Carl and Monty to get a feel for the island and figure out how best to keep things secure at the house if things ramped up with J. over the next few days, weeks, or months. He’d said very little after the meeting, but it was hard to miss his exhaustion. I was worried about him—and quickly realizing how good it might feel to not be worried all the time.
I was beyond ready for this thing to be over.
While Diggs and the guys cruised the island, I placed my standard ad for Cameron on Craigslist, under Missed Connections:
Red Riding Hood is thinking about you again. It’s been too long.
That’s it. The Red Riding Hood bit felt creepy to me, but it was Cameron’s idea. He’s not the kind of man you argue with, especially about spy stuff. From there, all I could do was wait for him to contact me. It usually only took a few hours, but that felt like an eternity today.