“She died when Cassie was one and Emily was three. Car accident.”
“I’m sorry to hear that; this was in Montana?”
“We lived abroad back then.”
“Abroad?”
“For my work, low-level government job. Pencil pusher, mostly. Met their mother while I was working in Moscow.”
This seemed to surprise Plant, and she looked down at her paperwork. “I didn’t know that—the girls don’t have dual citizenship, do they?”
“No,” Gale said, shaking his head. “American citizenship. Both girls were flown back to the States to be born. I like to keep that part of our lives behind us.”
“I understand,” Plant said, curiosity still burning in her eyes. “I want to play you a recording I was able to obtain from the Globalstar satellite phone service. Cassie’s last-known proof of life on June twenty-second.”
“I know the one,” Gale said, remembering the data call log Trask had pulled up at the ranch. “She was calling Derrick’s number.”
“I need you to confirm that it’s Cassie’s voice on the line, do you consent to that?”
“I do.”
Plant turned her laptop around so that the screen faced him, then she opened a zip file. “Are you ready, Mr. Gale?”
Gale nodded.
She pressed play.
Chapter 18
CASSIE CAME TO and was met with a light so blinding she immediately clamped her eyes shut.
“It will take a moment for your eyes to adjust,” a deep, accented woman’s voice uttered.
Cassie kept her eyes closed, noticing the chemical taste was back in her throat.
“Water,” she croaked, “I need water.”
She heard the sound of water being poured, and a glass being placed in front of her. Cassie squinted and saw the glass on a wooden table; reaching for it, she heard a chain rattle and she realized that she was cuffed to a metal chair. Her ankles and her wrists were secured, but the chain allowed her at least a foot of movement. She grabbed the water and gulped it down.
Her eyes adjusted and she took in the room. It was white walled. One wall had a two-way mirror on it. It reminded Cassie of police interrogation rooms she’d seen on TV shows. A camera with a green blinking light was mounted on the corner of the ceiling.
Cassie put the glass back on the table and finally focused on the woman sitting at the other end. She was heavyset, with a strong jaw and bushy brown eyebrows. Her hair was pulled back in a tight bun and she wore a doctor’s white uniform. There was a red binder on the table in front of her.
“How are you feeling?”
“Where am I?”
“At my facility.”
Facility? Cassie thought. Her mind went back to the men who had attacked her in the forest, then to the canister and the foul-smelling gas. She was so confused. She shook her head and tears began to fill in her eyes.
“You are disoriented. The drug in your system is a strong sedative derivative. Give it some time.”
“My dog. Have you seen my dog? His name is Maverick. I… I don’t know where he is.”
The woman said nothing, her beefy hand caressing a key hanging from around her neck.
Cassie looked back down at her wrists. “Why am I shackled?”
“For your safety.”
“I need a phone. I need to call my family.”
“I’m afraid that’s not possible.”
Cassie’s head was spinning so badly she shut her eyes again. She couldn’t keep her thoughts straight. Bile began to rise in her throat. She leaned over and retched. When Cassie collected herself, she regarded the woman again. “Are you a doctor?”
“A psychologist.”
Cassie’s eyes went to her stitched arm. “Did you stitch me up?”
“Our resident doctor did. You had a pretty bad gash.”
“Those men who attacked me, they’re here, too?”
“Not here, no. They are at another facility close by. You are safe here, for the time being.”
“Your accent, you’re—”
“Russian,” the woman said. “My name is Captain Akulina Yermakova. I understand this is confusing, but given your history I thought you’d be responding better.” She opened the red binder, began to read out loud. “Cassandra Ann Gale from Lincoln, Montana. Thirty-three years of age. Widowed. United States Army veteran. Communications Specialist. And…” Yermakova stopped reading and smiled at Cassie. “A bit of a celebrity.”
Celebrity?
“I have to say, we do get our fair share of military trained men at my facility. Special forces types. But never a woman of your pedigree. Third woman to ever graduate from Ranger School, no?”
How does she—
“I’ve spent the morning reading those press briefings about you. Quite the little scandal you created a couple of years back—advocating for women to be allowed in active combat roles…”
Cassie glanced at the pages. She saw lines of data, graphs, readings, and pictures. Pictures of Cassie’s wallet, credit cards. Her military ID. Passport. And the pocket-size picture of her Ranger School graduation that she kept in her wallet. Captain Yermakova flipped through the pages and then stopped at a page depicting a brain scan.
“Your fMRI results are very interesting. Our neurologist said your prefrontal cortex and your amygdala responded well to the stress of combat. You usually don’t see that, even in combat veterans.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I think I need to lie down.” Cassie suddenly felt incredibly tired and overwhelmed.
Captain Yermakova took a tablet from under the table and slid it to Cassie. The screen showed an aerial view of a forest. The screen flashed and changed and Cassie nearly gasped as she saw a video of herself drinking from the spring before she was attacked. She watched herself rise, spin around. Watched as she was rushed by the first tattooed man, then the second. She watched herself as she subdued them one by one. Watched as the canister flew from the sky, landing at her feet.
Then the screen went black.
Cassie stared at the woman in disbelief, struggling for words. Her vision narrowed, a wave of nausea rocked her, and she lost her grip on the chair.
Yermakova scowled. “Artur needs to knock down your doses. Too much soporifics for someone your size.” She looked at the two-way mirror and placed a finger to her ear. “Guards, Artur, get in here!”
Cassie vomited again. The door to the room opened and a string bean of a man entered. He had a square, almost cartoonish face behind black horn-rimmed glasses and wore white scrubs. Behind him, two figures in black combat fatigues entered the room. They wore black helmets and mirrored visors that covered the entirety of their faces.
Yermakova said, “Artur, give the subject another sodium pentothal injection. I have more questions for her. While you’re at it, give her an amphetamine cocktail.”
A penlight appeared before Cassie’s eyes, and the square-faced man checked her pupils; then he shook his head after saying something in Russian.
“What about the scopolamine?” asked Yermakova.
Artur replied in English, “She is too weak, she needs rest. An injection could do her brain irreparable harm. Let the intervening drug do its work.”
Yermakova scoffed. “Put her in C-Block and monitor her.”
“C-Block, is that necessary?”
“Excuse me?”
Artur bowed his head in defeat and motioned to the black-clad guards who moved to Cassie; unclasping her restraints, they took her under the shoulders and hoisted her to her feet.
“Oh and, Artur, tell Lieutenant Klimentiev in intelligentsia to put her profile and her indoc trial online. This princess will cause quite a stir, especially after what she did to those men.”
“Da, Captain.”
Cassie’s head drooped and she felt herself being led out of the room.
Chapter 19
CASSIE WOKE ON a dank concrete floor in total blackness.
She p
erched herself up on an elbow and took a series of deep breaths, trying to remember where she was. The drugs in her system were wreaking havoc on her memory and motor functions as well as her concept of time. How long had it been since she and Maverick were attacked at her campsite? How long had it been since the two tattooed men attacked her in the forest? And that woman, Captain Yermakova, how long had it been since she’d sat across from her in that white room? It could have been hours, it could have been days, weeks.
As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she noticed a blinking green light above her, too high to reach. On all fours, Cassie surveyed her surroundings, crawling, hands stretched out, until she ran into a wall. She didn’t have far to go. She was in a small room made of concrete nearly six feet by eight feet.
A loud grating noise clanged in front of her and a door was thrown open. Light poured into the room and Cassie shielded her eyes. Two of the helmeted guards stood beside the door and the tall doctor who Yermakova called Artur ducked into the room. Cassie inched her way to the far wall. Artur looked up at the blinking green light—which Cassie now saw was a camera. He snapped his fingers and the small room erupted in light.
Artur snapped his fingers again and the guards moved around him and grabbed Cassie. She struggled but they hoisted her by the arms, lifting her to her feet; then they held her arms high behind her, causing her torso to bend. The pain was excruciating. They marched her out of the room in this stress position and into a bleak hallway and for the first time, Cassie realized she was wearing a vivid red jumpsuit.
Artur barked something in Russian and the guards stopped and let Cassie stand upright. Artur stood before her, and his cartoonish face seemed almost kind, a caring doctor overseeing his patient. He took the penlight and shined it in her eyes again.
“Pupil dilation normal. How are you feeling? More like yourself, no?”
“More like myself?”
“Clear thoughts? Your body feels healthy?”
Cassie wasn’t so sure how to respond. How could she feel normal in this situation?
Artur pointed the penlight on her stitched arm. “Infection looks under control. Antibiotics seem to have worked. Enough time has passed. I’d say Subject 8831 is ready to go down to Red Block.”
He nodded to the guards.
Cassie began to protest, but her arms were wrenched back into the air and a blackout bag was thrust over her head. Cassie cried out, thrashing and kicking against the guards. But she was in such a compromising position it was futile. Her shoulders were screaming in agony. The guards led her right, left, right again. She heard the sound of a cage door being thrown open and she was escorted forward then made to stop. Gears rattled and she felt herself descend. They were in an elevator, going down.
When the lift eventually stopped, she was marched forward.
Twenty steps.
Thirty.
A grinding noise sounded in front of her, a heavy door squealing open. Cold air hit Cassie’s body as she was escorted into a chilled room. The guards’ footsteps echoed. She could hear gurgling water.
Keys jingled and corroded steel moaned against rusted hinges.
Cassie was thrown forward, landing in a heap on a floor of cold concrete, the clang of the door closing behind her, the rattling of keys in a lock.
Cassie ripped the blackout bag from her head and got to her feet.
She was in a cell: iron bars spaced four inches apart surrounded her on all four sides. She determined the cell was at least ten feet by ten feet. An elevated concrete slab sat in its far side. A thin blanket was folded over it. A makeshift bed. To the left of the bed was a small stainless-steel toilet.
She looked around. Counted six cells including her own. They were arranged in a hexagonal pattern around a fountain of spurting water. The fountain’s water flowed down into a concrete runnel that spiraled outward and ran through each of the six cells.
The only light source was a single bulb that hung down from an unseen ceiling above the fountain. Cassie couldn’t see the ceiling, couldn’t see the walls of the great room that she seemed to be in the middle of. It must be big, though, because the noise of the spurting water echoed far and wide.
Movement caught her attention in the cells directly to her left and right. Two figures stood from their own concrete beds, then moved to the bars of their cells—their faces obscured in shadow. Cassie could see they were wearing red jumpsuits, just like her.
The one to her right spoke in an American accent.
“You speak English?”
“Yes.”
“American?”
“Yes.”
“Where did they grab you?”
“What do you mean?”
“Where were you captured?”
“Just outside of Eagle.”
“Eagle?”
“Alaska.”
“No shit.”
The man stuck his head out of the shadows and Cassie caught sight of the ruggedly handsome face of a man in his forties. His right eye was swollen shut, and he sported a fresh bandage over his left ear.
“What… what is going on. Where are we?”
The other man, the man to Cassie’s left, laughed out loud, said something in a language Cassie couldn’t understand, and moved into the light. This man had long black greasy hair and a ragged beard.
“What’s your name?” the first man asked.
“Cassie Gale.”
“I’m Paul Brady.” He tilted his head toward the wild-haired man. “That’s Marko, his English isn’t so good.”
Brady caught Cassie eyeing the wild-haired man, then her focus went down to the runnel at her feet.
Brady said: “It’s safe to drink—you’re probably thirsty from the knockout gas.”
Cassie knelt down, cupped her hands, and drank from the runnel. When she was done, she stood. “I… I don’t want to sound like a broken record, but I’m really confused—”
“You don’t get to ask the questions, we go first,” Marko snapped as he interrupted her.
“Tell us what you know,” Brady said.
“What I know?”
“After you were captured, where did you wake up? What happened?”
Cassie shook her head, confused.
“Oh, please,” spat Marko. “You must still have some Devil’s Breath in your system—answer our questions!”
“Devil’s Breath?”
“Scopolamine and sodium pentothal, a cocktail they use on us. Makes us docile, takes away our free will, and acts as a truth serum. A temporary zombification,” Brady said, gesturing to Marko. “Those scientists upstairs use it too much on my friend here.”
“Enough games, tell us how you got here, tell us what happened,” Marko growled.
Cassie sat on the foot of her concrete bed. She recounted how she woke up in the forest, how she was attacked by the tattooed men. How she fought them off, then how a canister had landed at her feet. Sprayed her with that chemical mist.
“The drones,” Brady said. “They shoot that stuff from the sky. Knockout gas, God knows what’s in it.”
Cassie blinked and remembered the buzzing white object that she saw before she was attacked.
“What happened when you woke up at the facility?” Brady asked.
“I… I was in a white room. I met that lady—she showed me a video of me fighting those men.”
“Captain Yermakova,” Marko spat.
“Your indoctrination trial,” Brady said. “A test. What did Yermakova say to you?”
Cassie described her brief time in the white room with Yermakova and how she had been too sick to partake in her tests. “I was too tired, then another doctor came in, Arthur or—”
“Artur. The neurologist,” Brady said. “Your body must have had a bad reaction to the Devil’s Breath.”
Cassie described how, minutes ago, she’d woken in a dark room and was then escorted here.
“You’re military trained?” Brady asked.
“How did you know that?�
�
“Most of us are.” He flicked his head at Marko. “Marko’s Ukrainian army, helicopter pilot. I was in the SEAL Teams. You air force? Navy?”
“Army.”
“What did you do in the army?”
“I was a communications specialist, then… then I went to Ranger School.”
Marko laughed. “A woman Ranger!”
“I’m not a Ranger, I just got my tab.” Cassie was used to this type of reaction; she glared at the wild-haired Ukrainian.
“Are you serious?” Brady asked.
“I was the third woman to graduate from Ranger School.”
Brady peered forward, squinting in the dull light at Cassie. “Wait a minute—I think I remember reading about you. You were the one who made that fuss with your senator about letting women into active combat.”
Marko laughed again. “Real-life GI Jane!”
Cassie glared at him again. She was used to the nickname. Many of the papers and military blogs dubbed her “GI Jane” after Demi Moore’s character in the nineties movie of the same title.
“Well, it looks like you are in luck, GI Jane!” Marko said. “You’ve got your wish.”
“What do you mean?”
“You aren’t in Kansas anymore, GI Jane!”
“Knock it off, Marko,” Brady said.
“No, seriously, what does he mean?”
Brady looked uneasy.
“Will someone tell me what’s going on?”
Brady said, “I was picked up in Alaska, too. Just outside of Chicken, about four hundred miles south of Eagle. Maybe a month or two ago. I don’t know. But… but you might have noticed we aren’t in Alaska anymore. You might have noticed everyone in this place is—”
“Russian.”
“Yeah,” Brady said. “That’s the theory. We think we’re somewhere in Russia. In some underground facility Yermakova calls Post 866.”
Russia. Underground. Cassie took a moment to try to rationalize this. “How is that possible, how can we be in Russia?”
“Because that’s where the sharashkas are, GI Jane.”
“The what?”
“The places of dark rumors, places that don’t exist.” Marko raised his hands to the sky. “Places like this.”
Sleeping Bear Page 11