by R. D. Brady
The girl’s cries stopped, and she held tightly to Noriko’s hand. Find me. The words drifted through Noriko’s mind, and the hair at the back of her neck stood straight up. Find all of us.
CHAPTER 14
BALTIMORE, MARYLAND
The image of the little girl stayed in the forefront of Noriko’s mind as her surroundings came back to her. The first thing she became aware of was the hand brushing the hair away from her face. She opened her eyes to see Lou above her; Noriko’s head was in her lap.
Lou smiled, some of the worry dropping from her face. “There you are.”
“Hey,” Noriko said softly, still a little lightheaded.
“You okay?” Danny asked from next to Lou.
“Where’d you come from?”
“We were coming to take you out to lunch.” Lou nodded across from her. Noriko turned her head to see Rolly, Zach, and Danny watching her, concern across their faces.
Rolly took her hand. “We heard Cleo roar, and even without your abilities we knew something was wrong. Tiger raced out from the trees and led us to you.”
Noriko nodded. Her head was beginning to clear, and the pounding receded.
Tiger walked up and put his face right in front of Noriko’s, staring into her eyes.
“I’m okay,” she assured him.
He stared into her eyes for another moment before nodding and stepping back. He disappeared into the trees.
“Well, if he think’s you’re okay, then I guess you are,” Rolly said.
She started to sit up, and Zach was immediately there, supporting her back while Rolly pulled her upright. Noriko looked at the concern on the faces surrounding her. In the short time she’d been here, these four had become her group, her tribe. No, not four. She looked beyond the humans in front of her to the large black cat who sat silently watching her. Five.
Cleo stepped forward, and Rolly scooted to one side. Cleo leaned her head into Noriko’s. Find the child.
I will.
With a nod, Cleo stepped back, then disappeared into the trees in the same direction as Tiger.
Noriko reeled again at this connection she had with Cleo. Somehow Cleo saw her visions. None of the other cats did, although they could all sense when she was about to have one. Danny thought it might be because Cleo was older than the other cats, and that one day the other cats would have the ability to see the visions as well. Noriko didn’t know whether that was true, but she liked the fact that someone else could see what she saw. Being able to share the burden, even if it was with a giant leopard, was a comfort.
“What did you see?” Lou asked.
Noriko was once again humbled by the easy acceptance her gifts had received among this group. One of the reasons Honu Keiki kept to themselves was because they had been taught since time immortal that their abilities would make them targets in the larger world—that they needed to keep themselves separated to allow themselves to not be corrupted and disbelieved. But Noriko had yet to experience any of that. She had found a group of people who never questioned what she could do. Perhaps it was because three of them had abilities of their own—strength, speed, and enhanced healing. And Danny… well, as a genius, he had his own type of ability that kept him separated from others. And somehow, together, their differing abilities were what made them all normal.
Noriko nodded. “It was a vision.”
“What was it this time?” Zach asked.
She’d only had a few visions over the last few months. None of them had been violent or with the overwhelming urgency of this one. “It was about a child.” She shook her head. “No, children. They were crying. One, a little girl, said I had to find them.”
Lou frowned. “How old?”
“Two, maybe three at the oldest.”
“Could you describe her?” Danny asked.
“I can draw her. She was very pale, with red hair and really blue eyes.”
Danny’s mouth dropped open. His surprised gaze flew to Lou.
Noriko looked between the two of them. “What?”
“It’s not possible, right?” Danny asked.
“I—I don’t know. I mean—” Lou shrugged, words obviously failing her.
“What are you two talking about?” Zach asked.
“Victoria,” Danny said. “If she was reborn right after she died, she’d be about two right now.”
“But she wouldn’t look the same, right?” Rolly asked.
“That’s the thing—she does look the same. Every lifetime, she looks exactly the same,” Danny said.
“So you think it’s Victoria who called to me?” Noriko shook her head. “But that can’t be. It wasn’t just one child. One spoke to me, but there were dozens of voices. And she asked me to find them, not just her.”
“Either way, we should figure out what’s going on. I’ll get started.” Danny stood up and strode away. Lou looked at the others, then quickly followed him.
Noriko looked at Rolly and Zach. “Is he okay?”
Zach shook his head. “Victoria—she was his grandmother, and he really liked her. He misses her. And now with Laney gone, his world’s in turmoil right now.”
“But, I mean, there’s no guarantee it’s her,” Noriko said.
Rolly looked to where Danny had disappeared. “Once you’ve spent a little more time with the Chandler Group, you’ll realize there’s no such thing as a coincidence. So my money’s on Victoria having something to do with this.”
CHAPTER 15
The exterior lights were all on, giving the main house of the Chandler Estate an almost festive atmosphere. Built in the late nineteenth century, the house had been modeled after Jefferson’s Monticello, although built on a much larger scale. A rounded roof supported by four tall columns dominated the front entry. Two large wings expanded out from either side.
Patrick could almost see the ancient carriages pulling up to the front door and letting out their guests. He and Laney had spent one evening in front of the building with a picnic basket, just talking about what it must have been like throughout time. The memory made him smile, but it also made his heart ache.
His burst of hope from last night’s broadcast had dissipated throughout the day as no other journalist or program picked up the thread. They reported on the SIA facility and the search for Laney, and some even speculated that she might have helped the priestess. Of course, those same anchors had labeled her a murderess months earlier, after the tape of the confrontation between Laney and the priestess had come to light. The anchors seemed oblivious to their own hypocrisy.
Patrick knew he was not handling any of this well. As time went on, he was growing more and more stressed. He and Cleo seemed to have that in common. Oh, he was pushing through his days, saying the right things. But inside, he was slowly dying.
Cain had helped, actually. He’d been one of the few distractions. And one who never seemed to tire of talking about Laney. And now Patrick got to worry about what was happening to him as well. He held no illusions about how they were going to treat the immortal. He would be a lab rat subjected to every test the US government could conceive of. The same US government that had tried to kill Laney.
Patrick didn’t like how dark his thoughts became when he thought of his government’s role in Delaney’s plight. Patrick was a patriot. He had been a Marine in Vietnam, and like they said, there was no such thing as a former Marine. But his allegiance was not blind. The government was taking steps that didn’t conform to Patrick’s picture of this country. The US did not torture, it did not declare its citizens guilty without trial—and yet, that’s what they had done to Cain and Laney.
Patrick knew there were good Americans in government. He knew there were people who believed in what America was. But the people running the show right now, they were not those people. They were looking for political expediency, and apparently constitutional protections meant little to them.
Patrick could not get behind that.
He walked slowly up the marble step
s. The door opened as he approached, and Angela Hartlett, Henry’s assistant, stepped out. “Father Patrick, how nice to see you.”
Patrick gave her a nod. “Ms. Hartlett, it’s nice to see you as well.”
She held open the door for him. “They’re in the dining room. Dinner smells great.”
She looked at him expectantly, and Patrick bit back a sigh, knowing she was angling for an invitation. But seeing as how they were going to be discussing their next steps, and Angela was FBI, he didn’t think inviting her along was in any of their interests. And the duplicitous nature of her job just made him more tired. How had it come to this—that the US government had inserted spies to check on the Chandler Group? After everything they had done, this was how they were being treated.
Patrick gave her a small smile. “I’m looking forward to it. Have a good night.” He slipped past her, not missing the look of annoyance that crossed her face.
He shook his head as he made his way down the hall. God never gives you more than you can handle. The phrase wafted through his mind. Earlier today he’d read Job, to remind himself that it could be worse. But he was getting a little angry at the Almighty. Laney had been through enough. They had all been through enough. A little break would not be out of order at this point.
And that was the other problem: his faith was wavering. It was hard to believe in an almighty and loving God when everything around him seemed to be targeting the good guys.
Patrick knew priests often had points where they questioned their faith and the choice they’d made to dedicate their life to the church. But Patrick had never questioned before, not in the decades he’d been with the church. But all of this… it was almost too much.
Patrick could hear voices in the dining room. He paused just outside to pull himself together. Everyone in that room had enough on their plates. They didn’t need to be worrying about him on top of everything else. So he pushed down all his fears, all his concerns, like he had been doing for months. Taking a breath, he schooled his features and stepped inside.
“Evening, everybody.”
CHAPTER 16
The Chandler staff had once again outdone themselves with dinner. A beef Wellington with five side dishes, salad, and handmade bread dominated the center of the dining room table. It looked and smelled amazing.
And yet, Henry knew very little of it would be consumed. No one had much of an appetite after the last thirty-six hours. He and Jake had been released late last night, although he knew the ETF was not happy about that. But Brett had explained exactly how much he would crucify the US government in the media if Henry and Jake were charged after saving ETF agents’ lives.
Jen sat to Henry’s right, Jake to his left. Matt and Mustafa sat next to Jen. All the critical people that were left in this little ragtag army. And all of them looked defeated. They were just waiting on Patrick.
As if summoned by Henry’s thoughts, Patrick appeared in the doorway. Henry’s first impression when he saw Patrick was one of worry. This was all taking such a toll on the priest. He looked so tired, so beaten down.
Henry stood. “Patrick. Good to see you.”
Patrick smiled, taking a seat. “Smells good.” He lifted the silver dome covering the plate in front of him. Mustafa and Matt exchanged greetings, and the three exchanged small talk for a few minutes.
Henry retook his seat, exchanging a glance with Jen. He could almost hear her voice in his head. He’ll be all right. Let’s just give him a focus. “Okay, if it’s all right with everybody, I thought we could speak while eating. A lot seems to be happening.”
Everyone nodded.
“Now, Matt, Mustafa, I’m hoping you’ve learned something about where they’ve taken the Fallen from the SIA facility.”
Matt blew out a breath. “Not yet. But I have my people working on it. I think the most likely place is a black site in the country. I have people combing through records, but by their very nature, it won’t be easy to find.”
“Is there any other source you can tap?” Henry asked.
Matt hesitated. “There’s one. You’ll be the first to know it if bears any fruit.”
“What about this Seward from the ETF? Have you learned anything about him?”
Mustafa grimaced. “Nothing good. Moses Seward was a cop in Chicago for ten years before shifting over to Homeland Security. His police record had a number of excessive force complaints which never went anywhere.”
“Well that’s not good,” Jen muttered.
“No. And his Homeland record isn’t much better. It shows he was reprimanded a few times, although no details are in his file.”
Jen raised an eyebrow. “He was reprimanded by Homeland? The group’s that’s okay with rendition and waterboarding?”
Matt grimaced. “I know. Right now he’s second in charge of the External Threats Task Force.”
Patrick frowned. “External Threats? Wasn’t that created after 9/11?”
Mustafa nodded. “Before 9/11 it would have been considered extralegal and would never have been allowed. But they’ve used the PATRIOT Act to extend their enforcement capabilities.”
Henry knew that the FBI were not the only ones who had seen an opportunity in the PATRIOT Act. The PATRIOT Act, designed to give law enforcement additional tools to protect Americans from terrorist activities, was actually rarely employed in terrorist investigations. In fact, the provisions of the PATRIOT Act were now used primarily in the war on drugs, not terrorism at all. A 2011 report detailed how terrorism was the focus in less than one percent of all requests. In particular, the sneak and peek searches—searches where the subjects were not informed that a search had been conducted—were extensively employed.
“So what exactly does the External Threat Task Force do?” Patrick asked.
“That’s the problem,” Matt said. “Their objectives are extremely vague. Officially, they’re charged with investigating any threats that infringe upon the well-being of the American people, as well as safeguarding national security.”
“That could mean anything,” Jen said.
“Yeah. And so far, that’s what it looks like. They’ve been involved in the drug war, militia groups, white nationalists, trafficking, even white-collar offenses.”
Henry frowned. “The PATRIOT Act removed many of the safeguards in place for normal citizens if they were implicated in terrorist activities. I’m guessing this task force is using all the same tools?”
“Yes,” Mustafa said. “Secret courts, secret warrants, secret searches, arrests without probable cause, indefinite holdings, and no notification of family about those holdings—the task force has used all of them. We know of at least thirty people who have disappeared and are believed to have been rounded up by the ETF.”
“What about enhanced interrogations?” Patrick asked.
Matt nodded. “They have taken advantage of every other facet of the PATRIOT Act. It’s hard to believe they wouldn’t take advantage of that as well.”
“How the hell is this legal?” Jake asked.
Matt shrugged. “It’s a post-9/11 world. After the attack, people wanted to feel safe. Congress and the Senate rushed the PATRIOT Act through to say they had done something. They didn’t think through the long-term effects. They didn’t think about how it could be applied beyond terrorism.”
“And the definition of terrorism within the act itself all but guaranteed the act would be used for other activities,” Henry said. According to the act, a person was considered a terrorist if they posed a danger to human life and if their actions were intended to influence or coerce a civilian population or government, or cause mass destruction, assassination, or kidnapping. But that was extremely vague.
Critics argued that rather than being an exceptional tool for fighting terrorism, the PATRIOT Act had now become a common tool for everyday law enforcement.
“Certain segments of the government were counting on that. Waiting for that,” Matt said.
Henry knew Matt was right. Some
segments of the government had never been happy with the restraints that had been placed upon them when it came to ensuring justice in the United States. Criminals were criminals and deserved to be treated as such—that was the rallying cry of the group. The problem was, in the United States defendants were innocent until proven guilty—a long, imperfect process.
But the PATRIOT Act stripped all that away, allowing the United States to lock people up without charges and keep them locked up for years. And that approach opened up its own can of worms. Thanks to the act, 779 individuals were in Guantanamo Bay, 674 or them were never charged, and of those charged, only eight were found guilty. And of those eight, three convictions were overturned and an additional three were partially invalidated. A total of 709 had been transferred, and nine had died. Only one was transferred to the US to be tried. And sixty remained. Sixty percent of detainees were found to have never been associated in any way with Al Qaeda or the Taliban.
But the problem was actually larger than that. While it was true that the vast majority of individuals locked up in Guantanamo Bay did not have terrorist leanings prior to their incarceration, research indicated that many did have those inclinations afterward. Research indicated that inmates incarcerated for terrorism charges were more likely to become radicalized as a result of their incarceration even if they were not supportive of terrorism. So the mass incarcerations, far from reducing the terrorist threat, actually increased it.
Henry had to wonder if incarceration would have the same effect on the Fallen population. Not that the individuals who had been incarcerated at the SIA facility had been innocent. But was it really that big a stretch to think there might be calls for locking the Fallen up, any Fallen, when their existence became known? Right now, that would be half the people at this table. And the other half could be locked up for conspiring.
“What about on Capitol Hill? Any talk there?” Patrick asked.
“Oh, lots of talk,” Matt said. “The people in the loop are adamant that the existence of the Fallen remains hidden. Others outside the loop are beginning to ask questions. There have been too many public incidents. Our existence is going to come out. We need to prepare for that.”