by Lund, S.
"Why?"
"From his letter, your brother seems to think you're in danger, but I don't see why. You're a student, right?"
"I'm doing my PhD in neuroscience. MA in neuroscience and abnormal psych. My advisor is a former CIA agent who worked in counterterrorism. We're doing research on the neuroscience of suicide bombers—what the criteria are, who volunteers, and why, and linking that up to neuroimaging studies. Brain differences."
"Based on your CV, you'd be in danger of being recruited to the CIA for their work in counterintelligence. Which is what I suppose you're actually interested in anyway."
"Exactly," she said with a smile. "I've already indicated an intention to apply to work for the CIA as a research analyst. Although I'm not supposed to let my friends and family know."
Brandon nodded in understanding. "Yeah, the CIA doesn't really want people to know who works for them and what they do, even if they're not doing classified work. They don't want their employees being the target of espionage missions. The thing is, if we are being watched, if I'm a target, I don't want you getting caught up in whatever mess I'm in. I want you to act like you're my captive. That way, you're the innocent party in all this."
"How do I do that? Act like your hostage?"
"I'll restrain your hands," he said and held up a couple of zip ties he’d found in her father's supply room. "If someone captures us, you can tell them I forced you to come with me against your will."
She smiled weakly and turned to pull on her parka. When she was all bundled up and wrapped in a warm scarf and knit cap from the closet, Brandon fastened her hands together at the wrists. He could tell she was unhappy being restrained and he didn't blame her—it would make walking in the deep snow more difficult. But if whoever was after him found them, at least she'd appear to be a hostage and not an accomplice. Whatever they did to Brandon, he didn't want to happen to her. There was no guarantee that his ploy would work but it was the only way he could think to protect her, other than leaving her in the cabin and hoping for the best.
When he was satisfied that she was secure, Brandon grabbed his rifle and sidearm. They locked the door and set off into the woods behind the house.
The sun had fully set by the time we entered the pine forest and skirted the lake. He checked the compass and made sure they were going in a northwesterly direction, expecting to meet up with Route 192 about a mile from the cabin. Anna stayed beside him; he had to adjust his pace, so he didn’t tire her out too quickly. She was smaller than him by about fifty pounds and wasn't as used to hiking through rough terrain. It would slow them down, but there was nothing to do about it. Either he was going to help her, or he wasn't.
Obviously, he’d made his choice.
They made slow progress through the woods, sheltered somewhat from the wind, which was one blessing. It was still cold, and the snow still fell heavily but at least the canopy, sparse as it was, provided some cover. The snow was thick on the ground, however—close to knee-deep in places—and Anna struggled in the drifts. Several times, she tripped over brush buried beneath thick snow and he had to grab her to keep her from falling face-first into it. While he could see quite well with the night-vision glasses, she was in darkness, made worse by the decreased visibility. The only saving grace was the shelter provided by the forest around them.
Within a couple of hours, she was exhausted. It was the kind of physical activity Brandon was used to from his missions, but for someone like Anna, a civilian whose hardest activity might be on an elliptical machine in a gym, it was a lot.
They stopped and rested, taking a drink of water from the bottles while he waited for her to catch her breath.
"I should have stayed in the cabin," she said between sips of water. "This is harder than I realized.”
"Are your eyes adjusting to the darkness?"
She nodded, and he watched her glance around at the forest, her eyes wide and fearful.
It was then he heard the crack of a rifle and a bullet whizzed by, inches from his head.
Without speaking, he pushed her down and lay on top of her, while he tried to angle around and pull out his handgun.
Suddenly, lights shone all around us, and vehicles drove by on what he assumed was the road he was trying to find. He had to pull off the night-vision lenses because of the brightness. He could see nothing, even without the glasses, but then caught movement to his nine o'clock position. Above them, about a hundred feet, through the storm, he saw the intermittent flash of a drone. They’d been watched. Probably ever since they’d left the cabin.
Figures dressed in winter camo ran through the trees around them, taking up positions.
"Stand down, O'Neil," came a voice over a speaker. "It's Parker. You're surrounded. Let the girl go. She's not part of this."
Parker?
He was a member of the Montana Militia Brandon belonged to. The second-in-command, a former Ranger, he was a trusted member of the group. A real patriot.
"What are you doing here?" Brandon called out, unsure of what to believe, considering he’d been shot.
"We're here to take you home," Parker said. "We know you were shot and that you shot a CIA operative sent to take you out."
"Why didn’t you just approach the house and let me know you're here?"
"We lost you,” Parker said. "It wasn't until you left the cabin that we found your signal again.”
“What do you mean you lost me?”
"You left without informing anyone why or where you were going, and we didn’t know until we got word of the murder of an operative up here.”
"How did you find me?" he asked, not sure who to trust.
"We had Grant track you by your chip, man. I've been flying all fucking day and had to take a snowplow to get here because of the storm. Put your gun down and come on out."
Brandon had to make a decision. If they were surrounded, there was nothing he could do to escape, and he didn't want to risk Anna's life. But Parker's story meant nothing to him.
"Can you trust him?" Anna asked in a small voice, her eyes wide in the darkness.
"He's second-in-command at my militia unit. I've known him for three years.”
"But they shot at us!"
"They may think I've gone rogue. If they wanted to kill me, they could have," he said softly, trying to calm her. "That was probably just a shot across the bow to get me to stop and pay attention."
He wasn't sure of that, but he needed Anna to keep calm. Parker and Grant were clearly intending to either kill him outright or take him in. They must be assuming he had gone rogue or was now a danger.
Did he want to stand and fight, possibly die there? Or did he want to live another day and find out what the hell was going on?
"I'm going to let you go," he said to Anna, squeezing her arm to reassure her. "They want me. I'll let you go and see what they intend with me. Hopefully, I can figure out why I was here in the first place."
"Don't fight," she said and grabbed his arm. "Don't try to escape. They'll kill you. They already tried."
"No. Like I said, if they wanted to, they would have," he said quietly. "I don't know why they're suspicious, but they are. I have to figure this out."
"Stay alive, Brandon. Theo wanted me to trust you." She sounded close to tears, her voice breaking. "You're the only person I have left who I can trust."
He shook his head. "I have to go. There's no way I can escape, and I happen to like life too much to run."
At that moment, a warmth for her filled Brandon and he leaned down and kissed her, feeling at that moment that he didn't want to say goodbye but knowing that he couldn't put her in any more danger than she was already in.
She kissed him back, one single almost-desperate kiss. Brandon pulled away finally and placed his rifle and handgun on the ground in front of him.
"I'm sending her out now, but her brother asked me to protect her, and get her a new identity. He said she’s in danger. I swear to God if you hurt a single hair on her head, I'll s
kin you alive and roast your guts in your lap. She's Theo McLean's sister."
"We know who she is," Parker said. "She's not involved in this, but we’ll talk about her when you come in and cooperate. Send her back towards my position. We won't hurt her."
Brandon hesitated, worried now that everything he said was a lie, but he was a trusted member of Brandon’s unit. His mind said he should trust Parker more than anyone because of their long association, but every fiber of his being was torn, and he was filled with a deep reluctance to trust what he was saying.
"I'm sorry I got you into all this," Brandon said to Anna, stroking her cheek, their eyes meeting. "I don't know what they're going to do with you, but you're a civilian. You haven't done anything wrong. I’ll talk to them about you needing a new identity, but I don’t know if they’ll listen.”
"Okay," she said, her eyes brimming. "Call me and let me know you're okay. Theo thought you were in danger."
"I guess I was," he said with a soft chuckle. "I mean, I was shot. Now, my brothers-in-arms are here to take me back."
"They could have just called out."
"They maybe think I've gone over to the other side."
"What side is that?"
He smiled, because he hadn't gotten into it all with her. "The government."
"Oh, God, Brandon… You're part of that?"
He sighed, not wanting to argue with her about it. She was totally on the side of the government. Wanted to work for the CIA. She wouldn't understand his position and why he had to be part of the militia movement.
"Just go. I’ll talk to Parker and see if we can protect you.”
"Okay."
They stood and she grabbed hold of his arm. "Be safe."
Then she leaned up and kissed him quickly. She turned and left, walking in the darkness towards a flashlight about twenty yards from our position, her hands held out in front of her because visibility was so low.
When she got about fifteen feet out, something slammed into Brandon’s shoulder. He fell back and hit the ground.
He grabbed his shoulder—he’d been shot. A dart. Tranquilizer.
"Bastards." He felt darkness closing in and realized that they'd used a drug-filled dart to take him down, like some kind of animal.
His last thought was to hope beyond hope that Parker would hold true to his promise to protect Anna.
Chapter Fourteen
Anna walked towards the flashlight, her zip-tied hands reaching out to stop from falling or being tripped by brush. She got about fifteen feet from Brandon and heard something whiz by, then Brandon grunted, and she heard a sound like he'd fallen, dry brush cracking beneath him.
When she turned, she could see nothing. She had no idea if he was okay. Had he been shot?
"Bastards," Brandon said under his breath.
"Are you okay?" she called out, but he didn’t answer.
Anna didn't know what to do. They'd shot him. She wanted to rush back and help him but before she could, the voice called out.
"Anna, come towards me," Parker said. "You're safe now. He's tranquilized."
"You tranquilized him?" she asked, her heart racing.
"Yes. He's too good at escaping custody to take him while he's conscious. Now, come towards me, your hands up."
"I don't have a gun. Besides, my hands are tied."
"Hands up and keep them up. Just come towards me."
Anna did as he commanded, walking towards the man who held the flashlight. He was tall, wearing a knit cap and parka with fur around the hood.
"Who are you?" she asked when she got to his side.
"I'm Christopher Parker with the CIA. We're here to take O'Neil into custody and get you to safety."
"The CIA?" She frowned, wondering what was going on. "Brandon said you were a member of the militia he belonged to."
"Why can't I be both?" Parker said, a touch of humor in his voice. "Brandon O'Neil is wanted on charges of conspiring with enemies of the United States government. We've been watching him for a while. When he took you hostage, we moved in."
Parker cut the zip ties binding her wrists and she rubbed them, happy to be free of them.
"Thank you," she said, realizing she had no idea what or whom to believe any longer. She decided to just go along with what Brandon said and act like she had been taken hostage.
As Anna watched, several men dressed in light grey camo went to where Brandon lay and carried him towards the road where their vehicles were located.
"You've been following us this whole time?" She went to one of the vehicles and Parker opened the rear passenger door. "Why didn't you come into the cabin and take him then?"
"We only found you when Brandon left the cabin and we realized he was in this area. When he took you and left the cabin, we picked up his signal again. We observed him to see if he was meeting anyone, but our reconnaissance showed there was no one within twenty miles of the cabin. We moved in at that point."
"What was he going to do with me?" she asked, wanting to know what their story would be.
"We think he was sent to pick you up for the organization he works for."
"What organization? Why would they want me?"
"You tell me," Parker said and got in the front seat. "That's what we're trying to figure out. You work for Dr. Singer at John Jay. We think it might have something to do with him, but we're not sure. We're taking you to Washington for a debrief. He'll meet us there."
"Dr. Singer is coming to meet me?"
Parker nodded and drove off behind one of the other vehicles. "We called him and asked him to consult on the case. You can talk to him when we get to DC. Until then, that's all I'm able to tell you. No more questions. Now, we're headed to a small airfield that's out of the worst of the storm. We're taking you to DC for a debrief. Once that process is complete, you'll be free to return to your home. Here," he said and tossed Anna a bottle of water. "Have this."
"Thanks." She opened the bottle and took a sip, glad for the water because her nerves had made her mouth dry.
For the rest of the trip, she sat in silence, wondering what the hell was going on.
They arrived at a small airport to the north, which had escaped the worst of the storm's fury. While they waited, snowplows cleared the landing strip and the pilot refueled the small turboprop airplane. Once the runway was clear and they were in the plane—Brandon unconscious and restrained, a hood over his head, his hands and feet bound—the plane taxied to the end of the runway and waited for clearance to take off.
The plane moved forward, and soon, they were in the air and on the way south to DC. The other men were quiet while Parker sat working at something on a laptop. For her part, Anna was at a loss, unable to use the computer or cell she had tucked into her backpack when they left the cabin. She had nothing to do but watch out the window and wait until they landed to find out what was going to happen to her.
Several hours later, they landed in a small airport outside of DC. After they disembarked and were put in another set of vehicles, Anna was taken to a large warehouse surrounded by a huge parking lot somewhere in the suburbs of DC.
"What is this place?" she asked as Parker led her to a door in the side of the warehouse.
"That's classified," he said and opened the door. "Please come inside. There's someone waiting for you who will take you to be debriefed."
Anna nodded and followed him inside. The door opened to a long narrow hallway. Walking toward them was a young man dressed in civilian clothes with an ID card on a lanyard around his neck. He wore glasses, and had a slightly nerdy look to him.
"Miss McLean? I'm Greg Nash, chief of staff to Assistant Director Connors. Please come with me."
Anna followed him down the hallway to an elevator, which took them up to the third level. The door opened into a large office space with a bank of cubicles and several offices with walls and windows. Nash led Anna to the corner office.
She entered to find a balding, bespectacled man with a paunch and a partia
lly unfastened tie. He was on the phone and motioned to Anna to sit at the chair across from his desk.
"Yes, that's right. She's here now. We're expecting him. Send him up as soon as he gets here."
He hung up and seemed to take in a deep breath before giving Anna a perfunctory smile.
"Anna McLean," he said and stood up, coming over to where she sat. "I'm Pete Connors. Your father Frank was one of my colleagues. Let me offer my condolences on your father's death. I wasn't able to make the memorial service, unfortunately, but please know your father is very sincerely missed."
"Thank you," she said. "Can you tell me why I'm here and what's going on?"
"We will, in time. But first, I have to ask you a number of questions. Primarily, I need you to tell me everything that happened since you met Brandon O'Neil. Now, I hope you don't mind if I tape this, but we need this on record."
Anna shrugged, not really feeling like she had a choice. She sat in the chair and watched while Connors went to a video camera and turned it on. A small red light indicated the camera was recording, but she suspected that was just for show. There was no way she believed that this room wasn't itself being recorded at all times. Perhaps they wanted her to think that there would be moments when she wouldn’t be recorded.
Anna spent the next hour recounting everything from the time she met Brandon at Mike's to the moment she had been taken into custody in the forest. She was as truthful as she could be, even divulging what her brother wrote in his letter, because she figured they'd most likely find that out if and when they opened her laptop and cracked the password. She didn't want to appear to be deceptive. They probably already knew everything, and were just confirming whether she was a liar or could be trusted.
In truth, Anna had no idea if that letter from her brother was real or a fake. She had to trust the agency her father worked with for the past thirty-three years.
When she was done, Nash made a show of turning off the video camera.
Then he leaned against Connor’s desk a few feet away from Anna, his knee bent in a casual pose like this was all just business as usual.