The Angel of the Abyss

by Hank Schwaeble

  The other men stayed behind. Hatcher looked back over his shoulder and saw them carrying crates into the hut as he walked along the path trailing the light. He stopped.

  “You're not the same group that was there when I went in.”

  “No. We took over around three hours ago. They told us you'd been down there already for six. You still would have had an hour or so.”

  “An hour or so before what?”

  “Before we were supposed to blow it shut.”

  Hatcher stared at the man, looking for signs of a joke. “Who told you that?”

  “Jonah. Word came down the line that if you weren't up by then, it meant you weren't coming out. Either way, we were supposed to blow it. That's what they're getting ready to do.”

  Hatcher chewed on that. He was going to have to have a word with Jonah, sooner rather than later. Maybe more than one. With a nonverbal message or two thrown in.

  They started walking again. Soon they approached the edge of the mock village, about to leave its perimeter. The man guiding him was showing no signs of stopping.

  “This is where Micah told you to bring me?”

  “No, Jonah. Adam told me it was his orders.”

  Hatcher stopped again. The man took a few more steps before realizing it, turned to face him. “What's the matter?”

  “What's your name?” Hatcher asked, leering.

  “Cory.”

  “Okay, Cory, let me spell a few things out for you. I don't know you, and I don't have anything against you. I've even started to get past the little stunt your people pulled in bringing me here. But I can tell you right now, you won't walk away from whatever it is you're leading me into. That's a promise.”

  The man didn't move for several seconds. He kept the flashlight pointed at the ground between them. Hatcher could make out just enough of his expression to get the sense he was genuinely confused.

  “You think this is a trap or something?”

  “Isn't it?”

  “I... I don't think so. I was just told to take you down to the east gate.”

  “Why?”

  “Adam didn't tell me. He just said to take you there.”

  Hatcher didn't reply. He monitored the man for any signs of deception, the lack of light making it difficult. But still, he wasn't getting a vibe. No tension, no hink. Just some awkward nervousness that Hatcher was willing to chalk up to genuine concern over being delivered a beating.

  There were really only two options: go or not go. Not going would involve turning around, trying to find Micah. But he couldn't deny his curiosity. If Jonah had wanted to hurt him, he could have come up with a better trap than this. Maybe.

  He started walking again. Cory hustled to get apace of him, the elongated cone of the flashlight's beam bouncing along the path ahead. The path curved down the hill, deliberately weaving, probably to keep the village itself as far from civilization as the space allowed, enhancing the psychological distance if nothing else. They walked for several minutes, the incline becoming apparent in the tightness of Hatcher's shins. The path curled around a gnarly tree and down to a fence with a chained-off gate. There was a car on the other side of it. A woman was leaning against it, pushing off it as she saw them approach. She stepped up to the gate and peered through the chain-link.

  “Amy?”

  The fencing rattled as she pulled against it. “Hatcher! Oh, thank Heaven I found you!” Hatcher looked at his escort, who responded with a shrug, then cast chary glances in various directions. Sensing nothing in the wings, he closed the remaining distance and placed a hand on Amy's fingers where they were hooked through the wire links.

  “How the hell did you find this place?”

  “It's a long story.” She let out a breath as if she'd been holding it, then ran her eyes along the fence, tugging at it. “In the meantime, can we please get out of here? Like, far?”

  “However you made it, I'm just glad you're here.” Over his shoulder, he said, “How do I open this gate?”

  “I don't know how to unlock it. But if you walk down about a hundred yards, there's a break. You just gotta push it at the bottom corner. Pretty easy to spot from this side.”

  Hatcher looked at Amy, his hand still touching hers. She popped her eyebrows, an expectant look to her face. Your call.

  “That's it?” Hatcher said, over his shoulder again. “Jonah told you to show me the door? Just like that?”

  “Well, not personally. Adam told me Jonah wanted you brought here. I assumed it meant you were leaving.”

  “And Micah?”

  “Nobody said anything about him. Jonah probably told him, don't you think?”

  Not likely, Hatcher thought. He turned to face Amy. He saw her countenance fall a bit. “You're going back,” she said, deflating.

  “Like you said, it's a long story. I just need to talk to someone first. Then we can go. You can—”

  “Don't you dare say just wait here. Don't even think it.”

  “I only meant this shouldn't take long.”

  Her hands found their way to her hips. “I can tell you don't even believe that. Anyway, look, there's no time to stand out here and discuss things.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, Bartlett's men are on their way. I have no idea how long before they get here. Don't ask me how I know any of this. I'll explain it all later.”

  “I take it you don't think their intent is to start a dialogue.”

  “No.” She looked over Hatcher's shoulder, lowered her voice. “And I also think they have a man on the inside.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “That name, Jonah? He's the one who called me and told me where to wait for you. He had to know I was coming.”

  “Are you sure?”

  She tossed her hands in the air. “I'm sure someone called me on your phone and said his name was Jonah. It's not like I know his voice or anything.”

  Hatcher nodded, thinking. “I don't suppose I can ask you to go find a motel and sit tight for a few hours.”

  She crossed her arms. “Not unless you want it to have two beds.”

  “All right. Let's find that break in the fence and get back up to the village.” To Cory, he said, “Do you know where Micah is?”

  “No.” He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Is something going on? I was just doing what I was told.”

  “Just wait here a sec, and let me have that flashlight. You're going to take us to all the possible places Micah might be.”

  “But Jonah said—”

  “Jonah's gone. If you want to be a good soldier for your cause, just stand by while I find that break in the fence. And be ready to take us to find Micah. It's important.”

  He pivoted and gestured to Amy, pointing himself down the fence line. The beam hatched a web of shadows through the chain link and he switched angles around to give her the best illumination, letting her walk slightly ahead. After a few feet, he raised the flashlight, illuminating the back of her, and stopped.

  She traveled a few more strides, then turned. “What?”

  “Sweet swaddling Jesus.” He rolled the light up until it wasn't directly in her face and stared. “Did you color your hair?”

  * * *

  They found Micah in one of the faux-clay structures down near the lowest portion of the hill. Cory received word from someone else and took them there. Micah was unconscious, lying on a metal frame bed atop a thin mattress. There were straps and restraints hanging loose, unattached to him. He was pale, almost cadaver-like.

  The young girl Micah had seemed so fond of that Hatcher had met earlier was standing nearby, squeezing her fingers into her palm and shuffling in place. He tried to remember her name. Felicia.

  “What happened?”

  She hesitated.

  Hatcher grabbed
her by the arms. “Look, dump the silence-as-penance routine. We both know it's phony. Just tell me what happened.”

  “I don't know! I strapped him down and things got really bad. There was so much blood coming from his mouth and he was tensing and shaking and straining. But he warned me something like that could happen, so I just stood here and watched and prayed.”

  Hatcher noticed a pile of rags near the wall beyond her next to the bed, stained in red.

  “But then he was smiling and talking and told me everything would be all right,” she continued. “I cleaned him up and went to sleep for a while, woke up. I thought everything was fine.”

  “Then what?”

  “He just, he started sweating. Told me he didn't feel well. Asked me to remove the restraints. He said this was different, something was wrong. I... I wasn't sure whether I should, he'd told me not to, even if he asked. But then he started to look really... bad. Sick. So I did. But he wouldn't wake up.”

  Amy moved past Hatcher and crouched next to the unconscious man. She felt his head, pressed fingers into his neck, working them. “Weak,” she said, looking up. “He needs a doctor.”

  Hatcher clawed his fingers down his face. He stared at Micah, thinking. He looked around the room. There wasn't much there. The bed. A table. A pitcher and two cups. A chair.

  “When he woke up, is that when he said he didn't feel well?”

  “Yes.”

  “Think hard. Was that the first thing he said when he woke up? That he didn't feel well?”

  She searched his eyes, then seemed to search the ground. “Well, yes. I mean, before that he asked for a drink of water.”

  Hatcher's eyes shot to the pitcher. “Did you give him one?”

  “Yes. I tipped his head forward and let him have a sip.”

  “Did you drink any?”

  “I... maybe. Yes. Oh no...” Her hand shot to her mouth. “You don't think... Are you saying someone...?”

  “Did you get sick? Are you okay?”

  “No, I'm fine.”

  One pitcher, Hatcher thought, eyeing the table. Two cups. Identical wooden ones, like the ones he'd drank from earlier. He shook his head. Didn't make sense.

  He studied Felicia, her scrunched brow, her digging hands. She was nervous, but that was understandable. And obviously Micah had trusted her. So much so, he made her act as if she'd taken a vow of silence. Probably as insurance against her letting slip some of what she knew.

  “Did Jonah bring you the water?”

  She blinked at him. “I... yes. He had it all prepared for me to take.”

  Hatcher's eyes roamed the room. Nothing. Two candles. A tray, a pitcher of water, two cups, that was it. “And both cups were there? Was there any reason you gave him a drink out of one, rather than the other? One Jonah would know about.”

  “No, no reason.”

  Hatcher nodded. He looked at Micah. Amy was forcing the man's mouth open, pulling his tongue down, peering inside. How do you poison one person and not the other when you don't know which cup they'll use?

  Unless, it wasn't poison. “Amy—”

  “I think he's having an allergic reaction!” she said, interrupting him. “His lips and tongue are blue. He's in shock.”

  “Will he make it to a hospital?”

  Amy looked up at him. “I don't know. Hatcher, if someone knew he was allergic...”

  “Then he did, too.” He turned to the young woman. “Felicia, does Micah keep any kind of first-aid kit somewhere?”

  “I don't know.”

  “Make sure. Anything in his quarters? Near where he sleeps?” She looked away, her hand went to her face, shielding it.

  “There's no time for games. I know you two are... together. So just think. Anything like a zip pouch or something.”

  Her gaze turned inward for a moment, then she raised her eyes. “It's small. In a drawer. It's got no markings, but it does have a zipper.”

  “Show me.” When she hesitated, he said. “Stop worrying about keeping your secret and take me there. Now.” Turning, he said, “Amy?”

  “I'll wait with him, just go.”

  * * *

  Micah's quarters were simple, but comfortable enough. A full-size bed, unfinished wood. Two nightstands. A dresser and mirror. Hatcher couldn't be sure about the other structures, but this one had plumbing, with a small bathroom attached. The pouch was in one of the nightstands. Hatcher unzipped it, saw the syringe pen and an extra box, and dashed back to where Micah was. Felicia followed, but lagged behind, making anxious noises.

  Without saying anything, Amy held her hand out as soon as Hatcher rushed into the room. Hatcher handed her the pouch. She checked the label on the pen, then popped off the cap. She rolled Micah onto his side, pulled down his pantaloons, and stabbed him on the side of the leg just below the glute. Hatcher heard a sharp, distinct click.

  “You've done this before,” Hatcher said, standing ready to lend a hand but seeing she wasn't likely to need one.

  Amy nodded. “My mother was allergic to shellfish.”

  “How long before it works?”

  “Hard to say. Could be a few minutes, could be a half hour.”

  He let out a breath. “Okay.”

  “But Hatcher, we can't wait around. Barlett's men.”

  “Yeah. You were saying.”

  “They're on their way. The only reason I got here first is they were driving. Probably a couple of Humvees. But they may have left long before me.”

  “And you think they'll, what? Storm in and start shooting?”

  “That's how it sounded. They plan to take him. Protective custody.”

  Hatcher looked at Micah. He was still out, but seemed more restful, less pasty. Color Hatcher hadn't realized was missing seemed to be returning to his cheeks.

  “Best guess on when they left?”

  She hitched a shoulder, shook her head. “Yesterday morning? I don't know the exact time, but I'm guessing early, like no-daylight-for-hours early. But it might have been the day before.”

  “What is that, two thousand miles? At least?”

  “I looked it up. Twenty-five hundred.”

  “We've got some time, then. Time enough for you to at least tell me how you found out about all this.”

  “I'm not so sure about that. Who knows how fast they're going. Shifts behind the wheel, averaging seventy or eighty. And I can't even be sure when they left, except well before me. Hell, she didn't even seem to be that sure of the day. It might have been the night before.”

  “She?”

  “Sahara. She warned me, helped me escape.”

  “Sahara Doyle. Warned you. And helped you escape. Is that what you're saying?”

  “Yes.”

  Hatcher sucked in another breath, gave a shake to his head like he was shrugging off a spider web. “Okay, this is a story I just got to hear.” He dipped his chin toward her. “And I really hope it starts with the hair.”

  Chapter 26

  “Let me get this straight. You pieced together that Bartlett and his men were holed up in an abandoned missile silo based on that vague map, so you flew to Tucson, went and had a makeover, tried to pass yourself off as a hooker to gather intel, then marched right up and into a fortress designed to withstand a nuclear attack, a fortress manned by heavily-armed paramilitants, and you did this using one of them as a hostage with nothing but a pistol and a jury-rigged bomb you'd slapped together taped to his head?”

  Amy's eyes wandered as she weighed his summary. They were right outside the hut where Micah was still passed out. Amy was on a concrete bench colored and scraped to look like stone. Hatcher stood next to her, one foot on it, leaning a forearm across his knee.

  “More or less,” she said. “Finding a way to get to the silo wasn't quite that easy, though. First, I had to find that hostage. I
got lucky.”

  “And you told them the bomb you cobbled together had a dead man's switch?”

  “Yup.” She smiled. “Total bluff. I had no idea how to make one for real. But I did think I could make Lonnie believe I did. I figured that would sell it.”

  “Lonnie being the guy you took hostage.”

  Amy nodded. “I made a big show of using the spring from a ballpoint pen I found in the motel room. He bought it.”

  “But you really did make a bomb, you said.”

  “Well, one. Yeah. Not the one attached to his head, though. I mean, it was real at first, but when I was faking that dead man's switch I disabled it. Remember, I was flying by the seat of my pants.”

  “Where in the hell did you learn to make an IED like that?”

  “I investigated a car bombing years ago. Turned out it was a kid mad at his step-dad. The bomb-techs pieced together enough of it to explain how it was made. I added a little twist to this one I learned one summer when my parents took me camping down south. Some kids were hollowing out shotgun shells, pouring the BBs out and taping marbles to the primer. They stuffed the shells with cotton and would throw them in the air and run. They would make this huge bang! and all the cotton would puff out in some big cloud.” She mushroomed her hands. “They did it with other stuff, too; confetti, glitter. I always remembered that. When you toss a shotgun shell with a marble taped to the bottom, it always lands marble-first. The impact fires it.”

  “And you blew one down there, in the silo?”

  “Uh, yeah.” She grinned, let out a chuckle. “I thought I needed to make sure he knew I wasn't bluffing.”

  “Which you were.”

  Her lips tugged down at the corners, but her eyes were still smiling. She held a shrug. “I didn't know it would make as big an explosion as it did. Sure got his attention, though!”

  Hatcher shook his head, chuckling. “Did I ever tell you how utterly, completely, incredibly amazing you are?”

  She beamed at him. “Hmm. I can't remember. Why don't you go ahead and give it a try? I'll see if it feels familiar.”