by Ryan King
"I know, but thanks all the same."
"You're welcome. Now why don't you give me that grand tour?"
The two stood and walked outside into the sweltering heat and humidity. There were dark clouds growing in the distance from some tropical storm, but the sun still beat down on them mercilessly.
Urchart showed him the storage areas and the entrance to the testing facilities saying they would save that area for last. He then led him to the dog kennels where the subjects were kept. Two thin men sat in the outside shade of the fenced-in dog runs.
Devin eyes were drawn to a guard who was escorting a black man from one kennel entrance to another. He saw the man slide something white from his palm into a front pocket.
"Who is that?" Devin asked, nodding in the man's direction.
"Dr. Xavier Simone," Urchart answered. "Haitian doctor here as part of the relocation program. Fell off a boat on the way over here. Another one nobody is going to miss."
"I'd like to talk to him...quietly."
"Now?" Urchart asked.
"Yes."
Urchart yelled at the guard escorting the doctor. "Hey, Brennan. Grab the doc and have him follow us."
The Haitian's eyes looked up in alarm and met Devin's. There was surprise and then instant comprehension. The man pulled the note from his pocket and put it in his mouth.
"Hey! Stop him!" yelled Urchart.
Brennen forced the man to the ground, but the Haitian kept chewing, and when Urchart forced open his mouth, it was empty.
"Take him to the questioning room," Urchart ordered him.
Devin shook his head. "When I said quietly, I didn't mean he and I were going to have a quiet conversation. I meant, take him quietly so that we didn't alarm him."
"Oh, I see," said Urchart. "Sorry."
"It is both a comfort and a concern to know that you are the most competent person here," said Devin, following after the Haitian.
Chapter 46
There was a light knock on Deborah's apartment door. She looked worriedly at Moses, but he was still fast asleep on her couch.
Walking over, she looked through the peephole and then opened the door to see Justin, her partner, standing there.
"Did you bring it?" she asked him.
"Good to see you, too," he said. "How about a 'thanks for coming through for me'? Maybe a 'I'm sorry about asking you to stick your neck out for me'?"
"Yeah, all that and more," she said hurriedly. "Did you bring it?"
"Yes, I brought it." He indicated a shoulder bag and then brushed past her inside. "And, oh yes, I will come inside. So nice of you to ask."
"Aren't you touchy today?" she said, closing and locking the door.
Justin froze in the living room, staring at the sleeping form on the couch. "Is that who I think it is?"
"It is," Deborah said. "Meet my brother, Moses."
Justin turned to her and smiled. "You found him."
"Actually, it was a combination of luck and us finding each other, I think."
Her partner turned back to him. "He doesn't look too bad...physically, I know he's got…you know...issues in the head and stuff."
"You're one to talk."
"Still, the streets can be tough, I know."
Deborah didn't speak for a few seconds. "I don't think he was on the streets."
"What do you mean?"
"Let's move into the kitchen," she said. "He's dead asleep and needs his rest. Don't want to wake him."
Deborah led them into the next room and quietly closed the adjoining sliding doors. She then sat across from Justin at the table. "Can I see it?"
He shook his head and sighed before pulling out a thin binder and laying it on the table. "You know how much trouble I could get into for taking this out of the office?"
"Of course I do," she answered. "Done it myself several times."
"Yes, but the difference is this is you getting me in trouble."
She was flipping through the folder. "You worry too much."
"Are you at least going to tell me what this is about? Maybe start with how your missing brother is back."
Deborah pulled out a report and showed it her partner. "Would you believe the two are connected?"
Justin took the report that had combined six missing person's cases. Once they had uncovered that the six knew each other and were on a trip together when they disappeared, this had only made sense.
"Your brother kidnapped these people?"
Deborah looked at her partner and shook her head. "How in the hell did you ever make it this far?"
"Good looks, I guess."
"No, he didn't kidnap them," she said patently, "but he might be a clue to where they are."
"What has he said?"
"Not much really," she answered. "That's not the real clue, though. Wait here a second."
She departed into an adjacent room before returning with a small piece of stained paper. She slid it across the table to her partner.
Justin picked it up curiously and read out loud. "My name is Rena, and I live on Bog Island with my father. There are people on this island running a prison camp, and I'm pretty sure they are killing people. They took my friend Jack Winters after shooting him. Moses Mitchell escaped from their camp, and the story he tells is true. Please send help. Rena."
He turned from the note to the report and back again.
"Jack Winters? What is going on here?"
Deborah shook her head. "I don't know yet, but I will. Some very sick assholes had my brother, and I think those same freaks have our missing persons."
"Maybe he made the note up."
"No," answered Deborah, "it's not his handwriting, and how would he even know about Jack Winters?"
"Why all the cloak and dagger routine? We should take this to the chief."
"So he can turn it over to the state police? So they can take my brother and mentally tear his head off to get at the information inside? I won't let them do that to him." Her eyes started to tear up. "I can't."
"Why don't you start by telling me everything," Justin said.
"Can I trust you not to go to the chief?"
"It's a little late for that question," said her partner. "If you didn't trust me, you shouldn't have asked me to bring the case file. You have to trust me."
"Good point," she said and reached across the table to take his hand. "And I do trust you. You're my partner."
"Thanks for that."
"Now," she said, pulling away. "I'll break it down for you so you can understand. If I talk too fast or use big words you don't understand, stop me and I'll draw pictures."
Over the next hour, she told him everything about Moses’ return and what she had uncovered in examining his clothing. She also talked about the bizarre conversation she had with Moses.
"So what do you think is going on?" Justin asked her after she had finished.
"I don't know exactly, but I think it's something big. I also think nothing goes on this big and gets covered up without the government being involved."
"Here we go again," said Justin with a roll of his eyes. "You believe everything is a vast government conspiracy, right?"
"No, but some things are, and this one involves my brother." She tapped on the note from Rena. "It also involves six missing persons...at least in some manner."
"So you're just going to go off the reservation on this one?"
Deborah shook her head. "We just had cultural sensitivity training last week. You can't say stuff like that anymore."
"Stuff like what?" he asked. "Off the reservation? How is that offensive?"
"Native Americans? Being confined to reservations?"
"That phrase has nothing to do with Indians; it's about getting your name taken off a reservation at a restaurant or something."
Deborah closed her eyes and took several deep breaths. "Anyway, I'm going to look into this and see what I can find out."
"You do realize you'll—correction, we'll—be withholding evidence in
a missing persons' case? That's a felony offense for a civilian. As federal agents, we'll be cooked if this goes badly."
"Like you said, Moses could have made up that note himself. We don't know anything yet and therefore don't have any evidence to withhold."
"That's good," said Justin. "Keep rehearsing stuff like that for your union rep when we're hung up by the internal affairs folks at Justice."
"It'll be fine," said Deborah with a smile. "Play it cool. We're doing the right thing here. Besides, it's my brother we're talking about."
Justin looked towards the closed doors that separated them from Moses. "Okay," he finally said. "Under two conditions."
"Shoot," she said.
"First, you bring me in on everything. No more holding stuff back from me."
"I'd figure you'd want some deniability if things go south."
"Like I said earlier, it's too late for that. If I'm going to be in on the plane crash I might as well be in on the plane takeoff. This will also allow me to moderate your craziness."
"Fine," she said. "And I'll overlook that craziness comment. My brother does have a mental issue, you know."
"And second, we go to the chief the very second we get anything credible regarding the location of those missing persons or evidence of criminal activity."
"Sure. Anything else?"
"As a matter of fact, yes."
"Oh God, what?"
"Repeat after me."
"What?" she asked.
"Just do it. Repeat after me."
"Fine," she said, rolling her eyes and crossing her arms.
"Justin..."
"What?"
"Just say it, Justin..."
"Justin," she said with exaggerated slowness.
"You're the smartest, cutest, best FBI agent in this galaxy, and I'm humbled to be in your presence each and every moment of my miserable life."
"Go to hell."
Justin smiled. "Close enough."
Chapter 47
Damn that little Haitian straight to hell, Helga thought not for the first time that day.
The adjustment for Helga hadn't been easy. The nurse was much more suited to dealing with subjects than actual patients who had needs and wants and voiced their opinions. One of the reasons she had gotten into research in the first place.
It did help that the subjects she dealt with at least knew their place. Most were too frightened to speak to her without permission and compliant. That big black man frightened her, but fortunately, she hadn't had to deal with him yet.
This is supposed to be Xavier Simone's job, she thought, giving a waif of a woman an antibiotic to fight an infection. I didn't sign on for this.
Dr. Massengill hadn't been happy either, but recognized that if the subjects didn't come to him relatively healthy and free from outside influences, it could skew the test results. Besides, a new doctor should hopefully be on the way soon.
Speaking of which, what happened to Dr. Simone? she wondered. One day he was here, and the next he had decided to go back home to Haiti? No one decided to go back home to Haiti. Helga suspected Dr. Simone had never left the island, and would never go anywhere else again, but knew enough to keep her thoughts to herself.
There were likely rumors of course, but if you were smart, you didn't spread them at Site Iaso. There was just no way of telling if someone could be trusted or not.
"We got one more for you, Doc," said a guard. They kept calling her doctor no matter how many times she told them she was a nurse.
"Did you search him?" she asked. Urchart and the strange visitor had given instructions that each of the subjects was to be physically searched more often. When Helga had asked one of the guards what they were looking for, he answered “messages” and shrugged.
Messages? Messages from where and for whom? So much around this place doesn't make sense.
Remember the work, she told herself. Remember why we are here. There is no finer mission or more important goal.
Helga realized the guard was still looking at her expectantly. "Yes, show them in."
A not unattractive man with the hollow eyes and the thin skin of someone recently sick entered and sat without permission. His hands and feet were shackled.
"You can wait outside," she told the guard, who nodded and took up a post outside the door.
"Who are you and where is Dr. Simone?" the man asked.
"Don't speak to me unless I ask you a question," Helga told him. "I will be taking care of you now. What seems to be the problem?"
The man didn't say anything for a few seconds, but finally pointed with shackled hands across his chest to his opposite shoulder. "My wound is festering again."
"Well, let's have a look," said Helga, standing up. "Put your arms above your head and lay on your stomach."
The man complied, and Helga pulled down the edge of the man's jumpsuit. She was surprised at what she saw. "This looks like a gunshot wound. A fairly recent one."
"You're telling me."
"How did you get shot?" she asked, poking tenderly at the edges of redness around the wound.
"It happened when I was captured on the other end of the island," the man said. "I guess I should count myself lucky. Two of my friends were killed instantly by those sadistic thugs out there."
On the island? she thought. That seems unlikely. The subjects are brought from the mainland. Bums and dregs. The lowest of the low.
The man hissed as she began to excise the wound and apply a new bandage. How did you get here, Mister...?"
"Winters. Jack Winters," the man answered. "My friends and I were here on a fishing trip."
My friends and I, she thought. Most of the uneducated masses would have said, 'me and my friends' or 'my friends and me' or 'us bros.'
"What did you do for a living?" she asked with outward casualness. "Did you have a job before you came here?"
"I was...am...a lawyer," the man answered. "Specialize in trial defense like my father."
He's lying, she thought, but another part of her wasn't convinced.
"What happened to your friends that came with you?" she asked.
"Three of them are still here...at least I think they are. The other three are dead."
"Oh, my," said Helga with sympathy she didn't really feel. Years of habit died hard. She applied a topical cream to the wound and reset the bandage.
Jack looked at her hopefully. "Have you seen either of them? A big black man and a redheaded woman?"
Helga paused at the mention of the redhead before pushing the thought aside.
"Go ahead and sit up," she told him and then went over to the medicine cabinet and came back with a small pill and a cup of water. "Take this."
"What is it?" he asked.
"It's what I'm telling you to take."
When the man just stared at her, she finally huffed in exasperation. "It's an antibiotic. For your shoulder. Good grief, if I wanted to hurt you, this wouldn't be the way to do it."
"I know that's true," Jackson answered and took the medicine.
Helga opened the door and looked at the guard outside. "We're done here. I'll need to see him each day to complete the round of antibiotics."
"See you soon," said Jack, smiling at her. "And no offense, but you're no Dr. Simone."
The man left, and her thoughts were drawn to the small box of the woman's stuff she had taken. Heather Daniels was her name. She had worked at the New Orleans Port Authority.
Not a bum or a castoff. A person of substance...like Mr. Winters.
Someone that would be missed. Someone that they might all go to prison for if anything ever got out.
Helga felt a tightness in her chest as she locked up the medical office for the evening.
Chapter 48
Candice Stapleton felt like she was on the crest of a rising wave. One she hoped to ride all the way to the beautiful shores of fame, stardom, and wealth.
She admitted to herself that much of this success was not due to any particular abi
lities she had, although these were not insignificant. Rather it was due to the man sitting across from her, Governor Eric St Keel. The man who had chosen her show Our Nation as his primary outlet to speak to growing throngs of loyal supporters.
She had even been able to finally convince him and his chief-of-staff to do a live broadcast. Granted, she had agreed to provide her questions ahead of time and promised not to deviate, but it was still a major journalistic coup.
St Keel was on the way up, anyone could see it, especially after tonight's show.
"Your Take Back the Streets Program continues to be a big success," Candice said. "Crime and unemployment are down while tourism and voter confidence is up. Any encores?"
St Keel smiled at the compliment. "Thank you, Candice. We have been pleased with the progress we've made so far, but still have lots of work to do."
"Some have lauded your work in the medical field. Specifically your efforts in working with various pharmaceutical companies to produce low-cost effective medications and your support of the quest to find cures to major diseases, specifically cancer. Will this area be where you turn your efforts next?"
"I don't believe as the governor I have the luxury of really focusing my efforts on any one thing. This job requires extreme multitasking. With that said, you are correct about my passions. Our citizens deserve affordable medications, and we as a people need to finally get serious about curing cancer."
"How do we do that?" Candice asked, leaning forward.
"By investing our very best efforts, our very best minds, and our very best resources into this fight. I don't think it's unreasonable to look at something similar to the Manhattan Project. If we can produce a nuclear weapon in a few years, what could we do if a similar level of dedication was placed on curing cancer?"
Candice nodded. "Some have criticized your close connections to big pharmaceutical companies. Concerns have been expressed regarding campaign donations and big business involvement in your administration. How do you address these concerns?"
St Keel cut his eyes briefly to Lucas. He hadn't wanted this question, but Lucas said it was important to address the issue head on before anyone thought to use it to attack him.