by K Alexander
Her sister sounds like she's on the verge of a breakdown herself, and with a wry grin Claire tries to calm her down. "Whoa, Andrea. Nothing's wrong. I'm just tired of running away."
"If there's something to run away from you'd damn well better be running, sis." Decisively. "If you're not going to come here then I'll come to you."
"No. No, Andy, it's not necessary. Really. Everything's fine. I've just had a bad day."
"You sure?" Her sister's voice, so similar to hers, is faintly suspicious. Imagining the wary look which goes with it Claire grins again, a little more cheerful this time.
"Yeah, I'm sure. Don't send the coast guard. Okay?"
There's a small silence on the other end before Andy speaks. "Okay. Claire? Phone me tonight."
"I will." With a smile Claire rings off. Her mood is always improved by talking to Andy, who's so like her, inside as well as out, that she rarely needs to explain herself.
------ The blonde is determinedly on her way to the car when a stranger approaches her from behind.
"Excuse me? Doctor Walsch?"
Turning around she glances at him, her gaze darkening when she spots the white military uniform. In the shadows of the setting sun, all that she can see is that he is a swarthy, heavily built but smallish man, and that he seems to be smiling agreeably.
"Can I help you?"
She is already beyond irritated and it's more of a verbal assault than a question, but beyond blinking mildly he doesn't actually respond to the belligerence.
"I'm from General George Turner's office."
His voice is a striking low deep rumble. The polite smile grates her for no reason. "Can I see some identification?"
He pulls out the necessary credentials and passes them over, watching with curiously serene hooded eyes as she checks them thoroughly.
Officer Seth Eric Mahoney.
Everything seems to be in order, and she passes back his identification with a pained sigh. "Hasn't the Army hassled us enough?"
"I wouldn't know, ma'am." He cocks his head. "General Turner's asked me to show you some photographs for possible identification."
He's already approaching her, fast, with something in his hand, and she begins to speak, "I don't think that's… " before his calloused hand shoots out and clamps something firmly over her face. Even as she struggles - and fails - to push his solid body away, she's terrifyingly aware of the fog of chloroform strangling her and dragging her into the darkness.
13.
When next she comes to her senses she wishes that she hadn't woken up at all. Her head is throbbing. The blindfold around her eyes is not improving the feeling of dizziness at all, and the gag is doing the same for the vague nausea rising in her throat. As far as she can tell she's sitting on some type of hard chair, her arms tied behind her and her feet either lame or somehow fixed to the legs. Trying not to alert anyone who might be watching to her conscious state, she shifts her hands ever so slightly, testing the bonds. A tentative and negligible shift of her legs brings her to the same conclusion - she is completely incapacitated. Breathing as slowly as her rapidly panicking state will allow her to, she rushes through the options in her mind, trying to think of a course of action that will release her from her current situation. If there is anything she is not thinking of it now - panic is scattering her thoughts. The bonds around her wrists are uncomfortably tight. When she shifts again to ease the numb sensation, whoever is in the room with her takes notice.
"Back with us?"
She does not respond. There is a gritty chuckle. "I don't understand how you could doubt that we'd find out it was you who dropped the transmitter into that car, Claire. Did you really think we wouldn't know?"
She tries to ease the disorientation by turning her head in his direction. When next he speaks he's moved, as if he considers it a game.
"If you took the bug you obviously knew what was going on. You weren't forced by Ryan to do what you did. Am I right?"
She turns her head again, in his direction. This time he stands still.
"Of course I'm right. She's a mighty persuasive woman, though I don't personally comprehend why. I don't get that. I also don't understand why you thought you'd walk away after that. You're so smart, Claire, to make such a stupid mistake. I'm a General. I have ears everywhere. I hear everything."
Suddenly his voice is much closer… much too close, and much too intimate. "Unlike you. You apparently don't hear anything. Everybody's told you to stay away, and still you can't. I don't know whether it's stubbornness or determination. Either way, you fucked up nicely, and you're about to pay the price."
His breath is warm on her cheek.
"How much do you really know, Claire?"
A short barked laugh.
"I suppose I should remove the gag. There was one who vomited from the chloroform and choked." His finger probes the material and then pauses. "You'd better be quiet. Do you hear me? No funny stuff."
The blonde shakes her head rapidly and he pulls down the gag. Taking a quick sharp breath she immediately lets out a piercing scream, muffled almost instantly by his large hand clamping down over her mouth tightly. He waits until she is straining against his hand for breath before he pulls back his hand and hits her, hard. The blow rocks her back in the chair and the shock drives the air from her lungs in a painful contraction. For a moment she lets her head hang to one side, wincing against the unfamiliar jagged spreading ache in her skull. When she looks up again she can already feel her eye swelling, and the warmth of blood on her upper and lower lip.
George Turner watches with mild satisfaction as a crimson line snakes from the blonde woman's nostril, joining the one welling up from the split on her lower lip. The set of her head is amusing him somewhat - that arrogant stance that makes it clear she may be down, but she's not beaten. He doesn't actually appreciate that attitude much, and he waits until she's cocked her head directly in his direction before he hits her again. This time her head snaps back and it takes significantly longer before she lifts it to look in his direction again.
"Bastard."
It's a little muffled through the blood, but he hears it nonetheless. With a gruff laugh he steps back.
"I wouldn't insult me, doctor. I have a very short temper."
"What do you want?" Her voice is thick.
"From you? Nothing. You just sit here and look good until Ryan turns up, and after that I'm afraid the future gets bleak."
"You're trying to lure her in with me? She's smarter than that. Won't work."
"I wouldn't be so sure." There is a palpable smugness in his voice. "I don't know the details - and I'm not much interested to, either - but I hear she had a nice visit." At the blank look on her face he snorts. "Hey, you fuck who you want to. I don't really care. I hope it was good, though, because it'll probably be your last." He pauses. "Though not hers, I'd have to assume, judging by those photos you saw."
Though her face doesn't move he imagines that he can see the swift flinch traveling over the attractive features. It makes him chuckle.
"Such a fickle woman, captain Ryan. I think you're quite pretty, myself."
She licks her lip then, tentatively against the sudden burn of the open wound, and clears her throat before she speaks.
"What happened with DEX?"
"Hm." He grunts. "Is this the part where I tell you everything and then you're rescued by your hero to repeat the sordid tale? It's not one of those movies, doctor, so don't get your hopes up."
"What happened with DEX?" She repeats herself. "What went wrong?"
"You think there needs to be something wrong for Leah Ryan to go off her head? Hah." He barks out a laugh. "Maybe you know something I don't." It's silent for a moment before he speaks again. "She was the biggest mistake I ever made. It was in Somalia, '92, when she got captured. We still don't know who the soldiers were - they weren't indigenous, that much we know. They tortured her for two weeks; stuff she wouldn't even tell us when we got her out… but one of the thing
s she did talk about was being subjected to high voltage shock regularly. We checked the implant when we brought her back, but with all of the physical damage and her brittle state of mind it was impossible to be sure." The last four words are spat out as if he's trying to convince himself, too. "She seemed fine when she asked to be sent back into the field. We did extensive psychological tests, ran the transmitter, and couldn't find any problems. We even checked again, after she started to disintegrate. The only thing we can assume now is that whoever caught her patched into her implant somehow, and started to mess with our commands and transmit their own after laying low for a while. Nobody in Somalia has that kind of technology, so the 'who' part's still a mystery, and will probably remain that way. "
"Couldn't you track the commands?"
"We tried. Whoever was on the other side was well hidden. We were circumvented more than once. Makes you wonder which side the shit was coming from." He strides away, still amused by the way her blindfolded head follows him, as if she can somehow escape with the knowledge of his presence. "Anyway, it's over now. We couldn't reverse the threat so we're removing it."
"Why was Ryan your biggest mistake?"
He looks at her calculatingly. "If we hadn't checked you ourselves I would be wondering whether you were wearing a wire right now."
"I'm not. I just want to know."
"I know you're not. I was thorough." He enjoys the slight twitch of her lips at that before he continues. "She was a mistake. We wanted Banks, who was effective, focused … and pliable. When he suggested Leah Ryan I thought that her fortitude would be a positive asset. It wasn't. At first she went along with everything, but then she began to resist, fighting for control. You can make the suggestions subliminally, but there's nothing that can force her to follow them, and that's where we went wrong. She was willful. When she decided to go into Fairwater we tried to talk her out of it, but she had a mind of her own. So to speak."
"Why exactly would you want to keep her out of the institution if she was beginning to show signs of mental instability?" Even drained and in pain she manages to sound as if she's got a critical eyebrow lifted.
"So she bombed a couple of civilians, felt like she wanted to do things she shouldn't have… as long as my team kept quiet and the Navy didn't suspect, that sounded like a whole bunch of the soldiers, doctor. She would have been invaluable to the project if she hadn't been quite so hardheaded."
"Did you help her escape?"
He turns his back on her impatiently. "We're finished talking."
"Did you help her escape?"
She hears the stomp of the footsteps as they approach swiftly, but can do nothing to avoid the hand that connects with her face yet again. Agony blooms behind her eyes and it is all that she can do not to just let her head drop forward onto her chest, helpless in the onslaught of pain. Another warm gush of liquid over her lips, and this time she wonders whether her nose might not be broken, judging by the hot pain radiating from it. She keeps her mouth shut as the footsteps recede, only letting a small muffled groan escape once he sounds far enough away. Her head is pounding, and the copper taste in her mouth is making her gag. He moves about at the edges of her fuzzy periphery, and she is only vaguely aware of his position until a phone rings somewhere to his left.
George Turner picks up the mobile phone. "Hello?"
"I've got something you want. I'll trade you." It's a man's voice, light and even-toned. Turner frowns darkly.
"How did you get this number?"
"That's not important."
"I'll have you traced. You know that."
"By the time you find me I'll be gone. Just give me what I want, General. It's not much. And the recompense for you will be worth it."
Turner sniffs disdainfully. "What do you have that I want?"
"It's not what, but rather who." The man gives a smug chuckle. "Let me give you my terms. The Army has treated me abysmally. What I want is reinstatement and clearance of my record. Easy enough, right? You can do that."
"I can do that, yes, but why in the world would I want to?"
"Because I have the one person who'll help you hook Captain Leah Ryan."
Unseen to the blonde woman General Turner rolls his eyes at what he considers to be ridiculous theatrics. "Oh for fuck's sake, don't make a soap opera out of it; just get it off your fucking chest!"
"Tut. Impatience." The man sighs. "Okay." When next he speaks the handset is slightly away from his mouth. "Say something, honey." There's a small moment of silence before he speaks again. "Come on, now. Don't be like that." A muffled and unidentifiable sound before he speaks again. "Fine, then. A little encouragement never hurt anybody." There are sounds of a struggle, the sharp curse of a man, a woman's exhalation of pain... and then, finally, she shouts.
"Stop it! Don't touch me!"
Startled, George Turner yanks the phone away from his ear and stares at it, his face stunned.
The voice on the other side belongs to Claire Walsch.
14.
In the ensuing silence from George Turner's side the man speaks again. "I trust that you understand the importance of this deal to you now?" He sounds smug.
George Turner stares at the blindfolded blonde woman tied to the chair for a speechless moment. His jaw muscles clench before he lifts up the phone, his eyes not leaving her. "You're trying to trick me, and I'm not falling for it."
Now the silence is on the other side. Perhaps the man expected the confrontation to be unambiguous and quickly concluded, but when he speaks again his voice seems just a little less self-satisfied and a little more uncertain.
"She's right here. How can it be a trick?"
"The problem with your story," Turner has to remind himself to be calm, "is that I have Doctor Claire Walsch sitting right here in front of me."
"Come on!" The man's voice has risen another few decibels. "You can't bluff when I'm holding all the cards, Turner! Stop fucking with me!"
As hard as he tries, George Turner can't ignore the stark truthfulness flickering in the man's voice. If he isn't an exceptional conman then he must think he's telling the truth. Lowering the handset with a hand that's suddenly developed a minor tremble Turner strides up to the blonde and rips off the blindfold roughly. She blinks against the sudden light, her one eye already swollen almost shut. It is a second before she focuses on him. There is a measure of defiance in her eyes. With a growl Turner lifts his hand to strike, and then thinks better of it. If he hits her now she'll be out, no good to him.
"What the fuck is going on! Who are you?!"
She licks the split side of her mouth carefully before she grins slightly. "You know me. I'm Claire Walsh."
"Fuck!" Things feel like they are rapidly spinning out of control, and it's a sensation he entirely abhors. He hits her, then, and watches in fury as her head drops limply to her chest before he lifts the phone to his ear again.
"Did you hear that?"
"Are you fucking with me?" The man's voice is strident now, but the doubt in it is also clear. George Turner barks out a rough laugh.
"Whatever's going on, we've just both been fucked. So take your deal and shove it, asshole." With a snarl he disconnects and then howls towards the door.
"Mahoney!"
Sierra appears almost immediately, his eyes flickering nearly imperceptibly to the limp figure of the woman in the chair before he inclines his head at Turner. The General's face is red and he's grinding his teeth involuntarily.
"Sir?"
"Go to Walsch's apartment. Now. Check if there's anybody there. If so, take the man out of the picture and bring the woman to me. If there's nobody, check the place for clues."
"There a problem?"
"I've just had a call from some guy claiming he's got Doctor Claire Walsch, and wanting a trade. I have a notion that it's Christopher Melville." He notices Sierra's eyes flickering to the woman again. "I know. It doesn't make sense. But I heard her, Mahoney. Something's fucked, and I want to know what it is. Immediat
ely."
Sierra's face doesn't shift from its impassive mask. "Done. I'll have to take Alpha with me, sir."
"Do it." George is rudely curt with impatience. "I don't care. Right now it helps fuck-all to have this woman here - if I don't know who she is then I don't know where Ryan's going to turn up. Be on your guard."
"Sir." Sierra turns and leaves as swiftly as he entered.
With a grunt Turner approaches the prone woman and wraps his fingers in her hair, lifting the bloody face to peer at it wrathfully. Impossible! This is Claire Walsch! He waits for her to open her eyes, itching to do more damage out of pure frustration, but her face remains slack, the blood now running freely over the right side of her face from the widened split over her eyebrow. With a curse he releases her head and turns, kicking out at the table. Completely overbalanced, he staggers forward and catches his hand painfully against the desk.