Hayden waved as he came down the stairs. The volume on the TV was down low, so he wouldn’t wake anyone else. When Jonathan looked at the screen to see what he had on, the film looked familiar, but wasn’t his roommate’s typical science-fiction-action-adventure nonsense.
“What’s this?” Jonathan whispered.
“The Shawshank Redemption,” Hayden said. “It’s one of my favorites. I watch it once or twice a year.”
Jonathan sat beside him on the couch; a moment later he remembered having seen the film at some point. It was the story of Andy Dufresne, sentenced to life in prison for a crime he didn’t commit. Hayden was near the climax, and Andy was already making his escape to freedom through a sewer pipe, or “a river of shit,” per the narration by Morgan Freeman. The symbolism was straight-forward enough that Hayden didn’t feel the need to pause and explain it as he usually did. To reach freedom, Andy was literally crawling through a sewer pipe, the action a fitting metaphor for what his mind had been forced to endure while imprisoned.
Jonathan watched quietly as Andy pulled himself out of the pipe and into the open, plunging into a stream where the sewage emptied. Then Andy got to his feet and began to run, tearing off the prison uniform he’d been forced to wear. Rain beat down on him, but as Andy pulled off the filthy clothes, he reached into the air and let the water cleanse him, near rapture with the feeling of freedom he’d won.
A question came to mind, the type Jonathan knew his roommate would appreciate. “Why is it always raining?” Jonathan asked.
Hayden paused the film and turned to him, a small smirk on his face. “Writers and directors use rain a lot in film,” Hayden said. “Mostly it heightens the drama of a scene.”
“Right, but….” Jonathan paused. “Why?”
“You can see water a lot of ways,” Hayden said. “It can be a cleansing, hence its use in sacraments like baptism. Sometimes, it’s indicative of life, as most living things require water to survive. It’s also a force, as the flow of water can break through about anything if given enough time. Rain itself is more specific. Some think rain drops are like tears, and they remind us of crying. But, I think it’s more basic than any of that.”
Jonathan turned to Hayden with a knowing grin. Now that he’d built up the drama with what he didn’t believe, his real answer was ready for Jonathan’s ears.
“Rain means change,” Hayden said. “Change just gets associated with sorrow most of the time, because it’s not human nature to embrace it.”
Jonathan nodded, and Hayden thoughtfully started elaborating.
“You can’t always predict what the change will be, but if the director of a film is going out of his way to capture a scene in the middle of a downfall, nine times out of ten, something big is about to change. In this case, Andy went from a prisoner to a free man. The change is a happy one.”
“Not usually the case?” Jonathan asked.
“Depends on how you feel about it,” Hayden said. “Take the finale of the Matrix trilogy, when Neo faces off with Agent Smith. Right about when Neo sees that he can never defeat Smith through violence, he realizes that the only way to save mankind is to do the one thing he thought would kill its last hope. So he sacrifices himself, lets Smith imprint onto him. You could say he must let his enemy become a part of him, because fighting evil as an external enemy is a battle that couldn’t be won. He only has the means to destroy Smith’s army by taking the darkness into himself.
“It’s happy, sorta’, in that Neo finds a solution. It’s sad because that solution means he must sacrifice himself to the point of being consumed by his enemy. Still, the rain comes down in heaps throughout the entire battle, and when it stops, everything has changed. Mankind has been freed, but hundreds have died, including Neo himself. How it all shakes out—good and evil, darkness and light—those are all subjective.” Hayden turned to Jonathan and smiled. “But change—that part is certain.”
CHAPTER THREE
THURSDAY | OCTOBER 6, 2005 | 2:00 AM | PORTLAND
IN THE EARLY morning, long before the sun would be an obstacle to The Cell’s activities, Olivia stood in a cemetery outside of Portland, Oregon. She was flanked on each side by men in suits, monitoring status updates from various locations around the perimeter. Extra precautions had been put in place to ensure that no civilians became aware of this evening’s undertakings.
“The vehicle has arrived, ma’am,” one of her men said.
Olivia nodded, and a moment later, a black sedan pulled up. A man dressed in a grey suit stepped out of the backseat. Agent Laurence Rivers studied his surroundings before walking across the lawn to where she was waiting for him. The dark skin of his face showed unperturbed professionalism, though Olivia imagined this was a mask hiding both jet lag and a curiosity that was spilling over at this point.
Agent Rivers had been pulled off his current assignment and flown here without explanation. He was about to interview for a position that he had never applied for, and if Olivia approved him, she had little doubt he’d accept.
“Good morning, ma’am,” Rivers said, coming to stop a few feet from her. “I was instructed to report to you immediately. I apologize, but I’ve not been told much about what this is regarding.”
“No apology required, Agent Rivers. I informed your superiors that I would brief you on arrival,” Olivia replied, glancing into the graveyard. There was a group of bushes and trees not far off. They were currently surrounding an outpouring of artificial light. “Please, take a short walk with me?”
“Yes,” Rivers said, then hesitated. “Pardon, but may I ask how I should address you, ma’am?”
“You may call me Olivia,” she said as she nodded to one of the men behind her. He handed her a folder and Rivers fell in beside her as she began to walk, though neither of the men followed. “For the sake of this assignment, you will report to me. I have no official title or rank. You’ll have realized by now that we are operating outside of standard channels.”
“Yes,” Rivers replied. “I’ve never been instructed to meet my commanding officer in a graveyard at two in the morning, for that matter.”
“Efficiency, Rivers. Meeting here helps to kill more than a few birds with one stone.” Olivia said. “Your CV shows an impeccable record for adherence to protocol and experience in conducting computer crime investigations. That, and an aptitude for lip reading. Your background shows no immediate family or other such attachments.”
“That’s all correct,” he replied.
A moment of silence followed as Rivers continued beside her, the light in the trees growing closer.
“Our Cell is charged with investigating the activities of a perceived threat to Global Security. This threat, unfortunately, is in possession of technology superior to any at our disposal. As such, our methods are highly specialized.
“What I am about to tell you could easily be discussed over a telephone or sent in an email. However, we have no means of ensuring the protection of electronic transmissions against this threat, so we avoid them whenever possible. Exceptions are made, but sparingly.”
She paused then for a moment, turning to look Rivers in the eye as he came to a stop beside her.
“When it comes to the methods developed to engage this threat, certain details are kept strictly off-book,” Olivia said. “In other words, pay close attention to what I tell you throughout this discussion, as it is not written down anywhere other than in the minds of myself and the individuals I choose to work with.”
Once Rivers nodded his understanding, she handed him the folder she’d been carrying. He accepted it politely before reaching into his pocket and retrieving a small flashlight he kept on a key chain. She studied him as he clicked on the light and became fully engrossed in the folder’s contents.
Inside, Rivers found several photos, incident accounts, and a police report. If he was as sharp as she’d been assured, he would quickly see evidence from crime scenes that appeared to be murder investigations. She was curious
to see how long it took him to notice that no homicides were mentioned in any of the reports. Once he’d realized this, he would notice that all but one of the sites listed appeared to be associated with military facilities. The last item he would find in the folder was a photo of a tall, blond man in a black hat and trench coat.
“What sticks out to you in the file, Agent Rivers?” she asked.
“This incident involving Jonathan Tibbs. He appears to be the only civilian victim, and he also appears to be the only individual whose whereabouts are currently known.”
“Very quick,” Olivia replied. “However, you have made one assumption.”
Rivers’ brow drew in as he went over his choice of words in his head. Olivia waited patiently until he shrugged.
“You referred to the individuals in the folder as victims,” Olivia said.
Rivers blinked, then nodded slowly, conceding that he hadn’t considered the angle. “If not as victims,” he said, “how are they classified?”
“That is one of the many questions we are attempting to answer,” Olivia said. “What else did you notice?”
“All male, in their early-to-mid-twenties. All reported seeing or being confronted by a tall, blond man before being….” Rivers trailed off, then flipped through the medical reports and frowned again. “In all these cases, no explanation is given for the condition they were found in,” he said. “Have these details been excluded on purpose?”
“The reports are complete.” Olivia replied. “No credible explanation was found for the blood loss or state of mind. Yet all evidence leading up to the events indicated that each man had no contact with any of the others, and that there were no grounds to believe they were being dishonest about their experiences.”
“So, then,” Rivers said. “Have any theories been proposed as to what’s going on here?”
“Nothing solid,” Olivia said. “Certainly nothing we can test.”
“This file, does it contain all incidents on record?” Rivers asked.
Olivia looked at him but made a point of not answering the question. He took the hint and followed beside her as she continued toward the light in the bushes. Soon, the sound of heavy equipment began to reach them.
Rivers pulled out the picture of the blond man from the folder. “The man in the fedora,” Rivers said. “He have a name?”
“We refer to him as ‘The Mark’,” Olivia replied.
“May I ask, in all due politeness…” Rivers said. “If you’ve been able to get close enough to photograph him, why hasn’t he been brought into custody for interrogation?”
Olivia stopped, turning to face him once more. “We haven’t been able to manage it.”
Rivers frowned. “Why is that?”
“The Mark has been followed by a team of trained specialists into a boxed alley, only to disappear. Documents have been removed from buildings with the highest level of security, only to find that surveillance footage showed no sign of anyone entering or exiting the building, that any camera hooked up to a network during one of these incidents has been compromised, the footage irretrievable or untrustworthy.”
“So what are we dealing with here, then?” Rivers asked. “A magician and a team of hackers?”
Olivia allowed a moment’s pause before she spoke. “What would you say, Agent Rivers, if I told you I have seen this man disappear with my own eyes?” Olivia asked. “Blink away as though he’d ceased to exist?”
“I’d say you were talking science fiction,” Rivers replied.
Olivia raised an eye brow. “You would be mistaken.”
As they reached the stand of bushes, she led Rivers through an opening to where the activity was taking place. Two large sets of flood lights illuminated a burial site. A civilian contractor shut down a bulldozer as the rest of his team pulled a casket out of the hole that had been dug. Olivia watched Rivers’ eyes fall on a pile of rolled grass the workers had stacked beside the site. His attention then moved to a new coffin sitting beside it. The moment that the original casket had been retrieved, the team set to work replacing it with the new one.
“You’re exhuming this body and covering it up—replacing the ground cover with fresh grass and a decoy casket,” he observed.
“Does this bother you, Agent Rivers?” Olivia asked.
He hesitated only briefly before shaking his head. “No, ma’am. This situation clearly requires the utmost discretion,” he replied. “I am curious, though—what is it you hope to learn from the body?”
“If experience sets the precedent, then what we find in that casket will lead to more questions than it will answer,” Olivia said as she stared at the muddy box being loaded into one of the Cell’s vehicles. “You will find it necessary to be comfortable reacting to situations where you seldom know what it is you’re dealing with, Rivers. That is, if you’re brought on board.”
“Understood,” Rivers replied.
Olivia studied him a moment, but saw no doubt cross his features. “Good,” she replied.
They watched the operation continue without speaking, making sure the team executed as instructed. Finally, Olivia nodded to one of her nearby agents and he began to give commands over his ear piece to remove any trace that The Cell had been present and prepare to clear out.
Olivia indicated for Rivers to follow her, and they walked back the way they had entered. She resumed their conversation once they were out of earshot.
“Originally, when a subject such as Mr. Tibbs was identified, a standard protocol was initiated. A surveillance team was dispatched to follow and observe. Police and medical records concerning the event, if they could not be removed entirely, were replaced with documents that disguised any suspicions. Local law enforcement was instructed that the event was outside their jurisdiction, any evidence retrieved turned over, and all investigations ceased immediately. Any media coverage was suppressed.
“Despite these efforts, my predecessors found that standard procedures were ineffective. Any surveillance information that was not gathered by a team using anything but their own eyes and ears was untrustworthy. Audio bugging of a domicile was useless. Monitoring the subject’s email and online activity also proved to be fraught with misinformation.
“However, what repeatedly frustrated my predecessors’ efforts was that, no matter what degree of diligence was made to keep the identities of our team from the subject’s knowledge, these men repeatedly became aware of their tails and the deep cover agents installed in their lives. The effort became useless—one subject was so bold as to step onto his front porch and wave to everyone who’d been assigned to watch him.”
“You’ve discovered how they were identifying their tails?”
“Not precisely,” she said. “A method of observation was developed based on the theory of a civilian consultant. We refer to this as the secondary protocol. So far, it has remained effective. The subject, Jonathan Tibbs in this case, can be aware that he is under surveillance, but remains unable to identify members of our team or their locations.”
“What was the theory?” Agent Rivers asked.
“It was proposed that these men were showing a form of precognition as a side effect of what The Mark had done to them. The secondary protocol required our team never engage The Mark under any circumstances. So far, it has been the stressing of ‘any circumstances’ that has made the difference. As long as our people can be trusted to do absolutely nothing outside of observe from a safe distance, they retain their anonymity.”
“You’ll have to forgive me—I mean no disrespect by asking this, but a superior has never, ever asked me to consider psychic abilities as a factor.”
“What is your question, Rivers?” Olivia asked.
“Why would a no-engagement protocol limit a psychic precognition of our team members?”
Olivia nodded. “As far as why this has proven effective, the theory is that the subject’s precognition is related to the intentions of others. If no intention of intervention is present in their
instructions, no agents’ identities become compromised.”
Agent Rivers paced, puzzling over the explanation. “So, by removing any contingency in which the team could foreseeably interact with the subject in a manner that would reveal their true identities, they remained unknown to him.”
Olivia nodded slowly, studying him for one last moment before coming to a decision. “I want to offer you a position, Agent Rivers,” she said. “Return to the vehicle that brought you here. You will be taken to the airport, where you will be brought up to speed on the team’s current efforts regarding Jonathan Tibbs. I will join you shortly, after tests on the body have concluded.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Agent Rivers nodded.
Leaving as he’d been instructed, he paused after a few steps and turned back to her.
“I probably shouldn’t ask, but I’d like to be sure I’m clear on what is expected of me,” Rivers said.
“Yes, Rivers?” Olivia asked.
“The decoy casket,” Rivers said. “Does it also contain a corpse?”
“No,” Olivia said.
“So, earlier, when you said you were killing a few birds with one stone…” Rivers said. “Am I to understand that if I, theoretically, had been less agreeable to your team exhuming Tibbs’ father in this manner, that I’d have been wise to keep it to myself?”
She wanted to smile, but she didn’t. “Rest assured, Agent River, that you would not be here if I had any doubts that you would not be compatible with our operation.”
CHAPTER FOUR
THURSDAY | OCTOBER 6, 2005 | 9:00 PM | SEATTLE
JONATHAN HEARD PAIGE’S door shut on the floor above.
“That seemed….” He trailed off.
“Cold?” Collin asked. “Yeah, what’s colder is that you’re only now noticing. She’s been pissed off at you for a few days now.”
The Never Paradox (Chronicles Of Jonathan Tibbs Book 2) Page 3