by Fiona Quinn
“I can feel it. Thank you. I know this should boggle my mind. But I’m oddly okay. Well, okay in a horrified kind of way. It all lines up, his notes and our experiences. My feelings. Knowing that there is a cause and effect is helpful. Doc, have you ever heard of anything like Indigo’s experiments before?”
“It’s all brand spanking new to me.”
“Here’s the more important question, is there anything you can do as a psychic physician to help me?”
Chapter Thirty-Two
I shut the door behind Nutsbe. He had a dog bed under each arm as Beetle and Bella flanked him, walking down the hall to the elevator. My bag was on the chair. Sophia had lent me a niqab, the veil that covers a woman’s whole face except for her eyes.
She also handed me an indigo-colored burka. I found that to be ironic given the prevalence of Indigo in my thoughts. Sophia said this would be the safest way to hide my pale skin and blue eyes. It was like throwing a huge sheet over my head and looking out through a mesh window. I’d need to practice with this if I were to wear it. It was disorienting to me, and there was no peripheral vision.
I was rinsing my breakfast bowl in the sink when my phone rotated on the counter as it buzzed.
I was surprised to find it was Prescott. He sounded exhausted. “We have the boy,” he exhaled.
“What?” I couldn’t believe it. “That’s amazing. The machine found a match?”
“I used the analyzer for Zoe’s research. But I didn’t need it. This kid’s the spitting image of Kaylie as a kid. Blond hair, blue eyes, sunburned fair skin.”
“What about the people he’s staying with. Did they tell you the circumstances of the child not being with Kaylie? Are they mad that you’re taking him away?”
“The village was abandoned ahead of a band of Taliban. The old guy and his wife had decided to stay where they were. The rest had headed toward the mountains. That was back in the spring. The couple found the boy outside of his house abandoned by the family. The guy and his wife took him in.”
“How horrible. I wonder why they’d do such a thing.”
“I told the couple I’d take the boy back to his mother’s family. And that was fine with them.”
“Nothing about Kaylie?”
“Nothing good. Kaylie was with the group of ISIS fighters who had come to the village to take food and supplies. Kaylie gave birth while she was here, and her milk didn’t come in. A neighbor who had just had her own baby offered to feed the boy. They call Kaylie’s son Ameer just like on the intake forms. The second two names were the names of the neighbor’s husband. They didn’t know Kaylie’s name. The man said Kaylie abandoned her child, so the infant could be fed. She left with the fighters.”
“Wow.”
“The man didn’t know anything beyond that.”
“What happens next?”
“We’re sending Ameer back to the States on a medical flight. This military post is nowhere for a three-year-old kid to be. He’s in the infirmary now getting checked out. He’ll stay with the nurses so my team can head back out to the field. Right now, though, I’m going to have a shower and get some sleep. Our next focus will be on the oldest daughter.”
“That’s incredible. I’m thrilled. How long do you think that nap’s going to be? I’m heading your way, and I’d like to compare notes.”
“Here? To Iraq?”
“I’m a strap on a flight out of Norfolk with a SEAL team. I’m heading down the stairs now to throw my duffel into my car.” I checked my watch then went through the apartment turning off lights.
“You and who else?”
“I’m not enough?” I tried to sound offended.
“Iniquus is a team sport.”
“Strike Force will beat me in. They’re already in the air. I’m bringing their equipment in with me.”
“Iniquus wouldn’t have a team here unless you have actionable intelligence.” His voice had the edge of excitement.
“Actionable enough to put us in place. There are some contacts that need a face to face.” I took a moment to explain the slave auction and what would happen if we didn’t get there in time.
“Are you leaving this up to Sophia to find the auction site?”
“Iniquus is searching for it, too. If they find something, they’ll run it by Sophia.” I hefted my duffel strap over my shoulder.
“Even if we identify that woman from the NSA photo as being on the slave market site, the FBI CIRG isn’t going in unless we can prove she’s Kaylie. It’s going to end up being on Strike Force’s shoulders. I don’t think a single mission force is going to be enough for this kind of an operation.”
I grabbed my keys from the bowl and pulled the door shut behind me. “As of now, this is the way Iniquus is going to handle the situation.” I headed toward the elevator. “We’re not contracted with the FBI. We’re merely supporting each other’s efforts. Our focus is on fulfilling our contract with the insurance group.”
“Understood.” He was recalibrating. This time he and I were working side by side but not hand in hand. We each had our own agendas. Now, his words were carefully measured. “I appreciate the strategies, information, and resources that Iniquus has shared. The FBI values the ongoing partnership on this case as well as the many other cases we have in common. I hope you feel open to continuing forward in the same vein.”
That was quite the change in tone. It was interesting that I’d set Prescott back on his heels momentarily. But that’s not where I wanted him. I had wanted to set boundaries so he didn’t feel like he had command of me or my mission. I needed to warm the air between us a bit. “To be successful with the Kaylie Street mission, I think we’re going to need all the friends we can get.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
I had never flown on a military plane before. That wasn’t true. I had never flown on a military plane while I was conscious. I had a pill in my pocket so that would be true this time too.
It was a thirteen-hour flight and the men in the area were talking about their travelling latrines and pointing to plastic bottles on their pack. I had a plastic food container with me that I guessed I could use if life became unbearable. I’d limit my liquids intake and make sure the last thing I did before stepping on that plane was to find a restroom.
That sounded darned uncomfortable. Not that I was complaining. I was just glad to be able to get wheels up so quickly.
I wouldn’t think that slave auctions would be held open for bids for too long.
We couldn’t miss this opportunity.
Mushkila was waiting for me at the border. And my team would have already landed and found bunks in the contractor tents. I wondered what they’d think of my being in on a mission. Sure, I’d done domestic things with my team. I’ve dressed up like an escort, planted bugs, spied, lied, and coerced. I’ve killed in action before, shooting at bank robbers when we got caught up in a wrong place/wrong time scenario. Well, from the perspective of the people we saved, right place/right time. But I’ve never gone overseas on a mission. Or to a conflict zone.
Would they be pissed?
I sat on the ground in a corner trying to stay out of people’s way. All these people in their uniforms and short cropped hair were trained for combat. I was a stealth walker, a martial arts girl, I had skills. But not these peoples’ skills.
There was a very intense Malinois who made his way over to sniff me, scrunching down and dragging his handler at the other end of the leather lead. I seemed to pass the test when he smelled Beetle and Bella on my legs and knew I was a dog person.
His handler looked at me with curiosity but didn’t start a conversation. It might be my lack of uniform. Or my lack of confidence.
I wasn’t trained to play team sports. Spyder had trained me to act on my own. A one-man band. Well, a one-woman band.
Civilians went into hot zones, I reminded myself. Linguists, journalists…
I did have Arabic language skills. I’d learned from my kitchen Grandmother Jadda. Whil
e she was from Turkey, she married a man from Morocco, and they spoke Arabic in the house. My accent might be a problem. And most of my vocabulary had to do with cooking. But who didn’t like to talk about food?
I pulled out the booklet Iniquus had for their contractors heading to Iraq.
These rules didn’t seem too hard to remember. Stand when someone older than you walked into a room. Avoid sitting so the soles of your shoes are pointing at anyone. It was an insult. So was crossing your legs when facing someone.
I looked down at my crossed legs and wondered what I was supposed to do with them. I pulled them around and tucked my feet under me. That was uncomfortable. Maybe in the Burka my legs wouldn’t be an issue.
If someone offers me something or made a gesture of kindness, I was supposed to protest. I shouldn’t accept the offer until they insisted. Huh. I wondered about Kaylie and her newborn. When the woman offered to nurse Kaylie’s son; surely, Kaylie wouldn’t have said, “Thank you but that’s too kind. I wouldn’t put you out.” Surely, Kaylie just took her crying baby and pressed him into the stranger’s arms, knowing that, in all probability, she’d have to leave that baby behind if the person who owned Kaylie told her they were leaving. A life and death decision when baby bottles and formula, or even water, might be scarce to non-existent.
Horror. I simply couldn’t imagine the horror and the inevitability of that non-decision.
I swallowed hard. This wasn’t the place to tear up.
I tried to focus back on basic Iraqi etiquette and the separation of hand duties, the left being used for washing and cleaning and not to be used for pointing or touching people. I read that three times. I was still visualizing Kaylie and the infant. Kaylie walking away.
Startling when my phone rang, I checked the screen. Doc. “Hey there.”
“There’s a lot of noise. Where are you?”
“I’m waiting for them to load the plane. I’m heading to Iraq in just a few minutes.”
“I was working on your case this morning. I got a message for you with clairaudience. It said you’re on a journey to find one person, but your path will take you to another,” Doc said. “It makes sense that I found you in the airport.”
I stuck my finger in my ear to block some of the ambient noise. “I’m not following.”
“Hold onto that message, clarity will come.” She chuckled. “In hindsight, it’s usually crystal clear.”
“That I understand. It happens to me all the time. I have a knowing about going to St. Ives that I’m still chewing on. Any insight there? ‘As I was going to St. Ives, I met a man with seven wives’.”
“Nope. You’re on your own with that one. It’s good that you understand that sometimes things need to unfold in a certain way.”
“My mentor, Spyder McGraw—well, you know him. You’ve mentioned him before. Spyder likes to remind me that I should sit aloof when things happen. I find that I have not yet mastered aloofness.” I pulled my earbuds from my pocket and stuck them in my ears, then attached the cord to my phone.
I picked up on Doc’s response with, “…few do. Though understanding the concept means at least it weighs into your processing to some degree. Are you meeting up with your team?”
“If their plane was on time, they just landed in Iraq. It means they’ll leave me with an upper bunk since I’m later coming in. I may actually know what your message was about. I’m hooking up with a resistance fighter who might have information or contacts to move us forward in our search for a missing woman. Did you pick up anything about her on your woo-woo channel? I’m guessing that’s what you meant when you said, ‘you’re on a journey to seek one person, but to find another.’ Anything about the outcome of this little adventure?”
“I haven’t seen hide nor hair of a missing woman in your clairvoyant images.”
“That’s a shame.” I spun around so I could guard my words better from any listening ears. “Speaking of teams. Were you able to get your friends together? I’m feeling anxious to know what Indigo was up to.”
“That’s what I’m calling about. I’ve been researching your case in the Records. In particular, I was looking at the people you’re working with in this lifetime. I think it’s best to have them on a team with me for our next step. I picked out, Miriam Laugherty and Jean Marie Rochambeau.”
“We call Jean Marie ‘Gator.’ Or ‘Gator Aid.’”
“Ah, that explains that picture.” She chuckled. “Let’s cut to the chase, it looks like we need to do some work with you on the etheric level.”
I stalled, not sure what that encompassed.
“My plan right now is to set up a secure Internet connection. Miriam can be at her home.”
One hand on the wall, the other gripping at the phone, I reminded myself, it’s just another step forward, I reached for the aloofness we’d just been talking about.
“I see that Gator is damned protective of you in the ether. I’d like him to be physically with you. Or, I’m afraid he’d intervene when he shouldn’t.”
“Okay. In Iraq? Or should we wait until everyone’s back stateside?”
“My sense is that this has become urgent. I would even call it a crisis. Don’t ask. I don’t know why.”
“You said you were doing research. Can you give me any information about that?”
“Some cool stuff,” Doc said. “You’d better make sure you’re sitting down for this.”
I pulled my knees up and rested my forehead against them.
“Angel and you are, of course, from the same spiritual group—the ones that are supposed to learn lessons together. The two of you would have had a natural affinity for each other.”
“Yes. That’s one of the notes from Indigo that Herman translated for me—Indigo had looked at my soul group to find someone who was a male and the right age to marry me. This was taking arranged marriage to a ridiculous level. Indigo called soul groups “pods.” In his notes he speculated that he needed to choose someone from there, so I had a ‘natural affinity.”
“When Herman read that over, he remembered that he had done some remote viewing for Indigo. It had nothing to do with you, but it was written up in a notebook. And Herman found the notebook and transcribed this new information.”
“Oh boy.”
“Yep it’s a doozy. It turns out that Indigo, in his early remote viewing tasks on the subject of his grand experiment, had been shown pictures about blood types. From there, Indigo extrapolated that if he tried to connect two people, the souls would reject the connection, like a poorly matched organ donation or incorrect blood type.”
“Blood types?”
“It’s a metaphor. I’ll explain. Indigo noted that Tabitha wasn’t in Striker’s pod and this raised concerns about rejection and what that might look like if he tried to surgically conjoin their spirits.”
“Surgical… Sew them together? Holy moly,” I whispered.
“Let me read this part to you. He said, ‘I might take up the experiment on someone else, conjoining two random people just to see what would happen next.’ He’s talking there about choosing two arbitrary people from different learning groups who therefore didn’t belong together to see what would happen if they were attached, in the hopes that he’d be able to form an attachment between Striker and Tabitha who are not from the same soul group.”
“I’m following.”
“Then Indigo wrote, ‘Lexi is too precious of a commodity. If this surgery kills her, I won’t have my weapon to torture Spyder and drag him home.’” There was a pause. “Gator,” Doc said with irritation. “Move over.”
There was another pause, and I tried to imagine what was going on.
“Gator’s here in the ether, listening to us, and he’s crowding me. Gator and you are in that same group. But I can see that you’ve already determined that. I bet when you got word that Angel died, everyone on your team took that death hard. Especially Striker.”
“They did, which I thought was touching but odd since they’d n
ever met Angel. I assumed it was compassion for me. Why especially Striker?”
“In their past lifetimes, their relationships have been very close. Not brothers, but brothers in arms. You’re all in the same warrior clan.”
“I can see that being true.” This was such a weird conversation to be having sitting on an airport floor. Well, to be having anywhere, really.
“I saw in your contracts that you and Striker had agreed to marry in this lifetime. And I know you’re wearing his engagement ring. Despite what Indigo has done, you seem to be on your right path.”
I reached my thumb to spin Striker’s engagement ring. Then I remembered I’d left my rings at the apartment for safe keeping. “I’m sorry,” I said. “My mind is back on Indigo’s dog. When Indigo had his dog spayed, was that an ah-ha moment when he figured out how to stitch Angel and me together? I didn’t have a twin, did I? What General Coleridge saw was how I was conjoined with Angel?”
“I have to say, you’re mighty calm with that thought.”
“It’s the first time I’ve thought it, but it seems like I already knew. I’m not shocked. Maybe I am shocked, and I’m just not processing the freak out right now. Right now, I feel like I’m handling things okay. I’m assuming the procedure you want to do in the ether is some kind of psychic surgery to separate us back out?”
“Exactly. It’s a decision that you need to make. Probably with your loved ones putting in their two cents. I’ve never come across a case like this before. And anything I do will be experimental. I have no idea of the consequences. I’d set up a meeting as soon as you get to your team. I’d like Striker, Gator, and Miriam on the line. The more questions asked in the beginning the better, I think.”
“This connection to Angel is making my life difficult. That’s too mild a word. I don’t have the right vocabulary. I’m not the only one suffering. Angel has been telling me he’s in Hell and he wants me to save him. I’m sure you wouldn’t have contacted me if you didn’t have a plan. I don’t need that plan right now. That can wait until everyone is talking together. But do you have a projection for what would happen on the other side of your psychic surgery?”