“You haven’t heard a word I’ve said, have you?” she asks.
More internal alarms.
“Of course I have,” I answer, quickly plowing through my memory to see if I can remember anything she did say. No luck.
“Okay, what did I just say?”
“That you like toasted bagels,” I say, throwing out the shield of humor in an effort to block what I know is coming next.
“Yeah, Jack, that’s exactly what I said.”
“Look, I’m sorry. What did you say?” I ask.
“I asked you how the flight went.”
“Fine,” I respond.
Rolling her eyes and shaking her head, she rises and walks off. I hear her mutter something about “men”, “dense-headed”, and something else that sounds a lot like my skin being removed. I’m also pretty sure my heritage was called into question. It’s good to have her back. I sigh and return to my food, the thoughts once again crowding into my “apparently” limited head space.
I think about heading over to talk with our prisoner again, but the information Harold found can’t wait. At my request, the others gather to meet earlier than normal. It seems like there is a never-ending stream of things coming at us and I wonder how long we can last. It’s not that I feel like giving up, or in, or whatever, but it’s just exhausting at times when we are constantly confronted by danger. I also wonder just how long our sanity will prevail. It’s like swimming into a riptide. We must swim to keep our position, but we don’t ever seem to be gaining any ground. Yes, I know, swim to the side; but where is the side in this situation?
“I’ve brought Harold because he found some rather… um… interesting information on the hard drive we brought back from the CDC director’s office,” I say, starting the meeting. “I think I’ll leave it to him to explain.”
In a better sequence than how he told me, Harold explains what he found. Similar questions to the ones I had are asked and answered to the best of his, and my, ability. Harold finishes delivering the information to a very shocked group.
“Frank, just out of curiosity, do you know how many of us in the compound took the vaccine?” I ask.
Frank shakes his head slightly, coming out of whatever thoughts were cycling through his head.
“I’m sorry, Jack. What?”
I repeat the question.
“I remember us looking into this a while ago. I think eight, but that’s not including any of our newer arrivals,” Franks answers.
“Find out, would you. And I need to know who. I know this may sound harsh, but if they decide to trigger this technology, I don’t want others at risk if it’s done at the wrong moment,” I state.
“You mean, anyone on the teams or in a leadership capacity,” Lynn comments.
“Yes, that’s what I mean,” I say.
“Will do, Jack. I’ll see to it in the morning,” Frank replies.
“Jack, you asked me to look further into the files. I’m reasonably sure the other facilities weren’t manned, and therefore, aren’t operational. The only other thing I found is that this command and control facility seems to be run by something or someone named Nahmer,” Harold chimes in.
“Nahmer?! Are you sure about that?” I ask, startled.
“As reasonably sure as I can be,” Harold says.
I’m sure there was a resounding thud as my jaw hit the floor. I’m stunned into silence.
Lynn notices my reaction more than the others. They seem only partially here as they sift through the information.
“Does that mean something to you, Jack?” Lynn asks.
“I’ve heard that name before, and I’m not even sure it’s real person. As the story goes, she was one of Mossad’s most successful agents and led several assassination squads. That was all hearsay though and, as far as I know, never really verified. It was more of a boogeyman kind of thing,” I answer.
“That would explain the attempted hit,” Frank says.
“I don’t know. While we may have this info, there isn’t really anything to connect them with our being targeted. It could be something completely different,” I say.
“Oh, come on, Jack. If this information is true, it’s pretty easy to connect the dots. We are a strong enough threat to them taking control of resources, especially now that they may be limited,” Lynn states.
“While that may be true, the only thing that can actually connect the two is our prisoner,” I comment.
It’s then that I notice that Drescoll isn’t with us. Perhaps it’s because he usually chimes in about now with an opinion. I’m sure I would have noticed that he wasn’t here if so many other thoughts weren’t crowding my mind.
“Where’s Drescoll?” I ask.
The others turn toward where he normally sits, perplexed as I that he isn’t there.
“I don’t know. I haven’t seen him since this afternoon,” Bannerman says.
“Shit,” I say, rising. “Lynn, find his team and find out where he is.”
“Okay, Jack. Where are you going?”
“To check on something.”
With a quickened pace and a sinking feeling in my gut, I make my way downstairs. Heading to where the prisoner is shackled inside of the storage container, I see two guards posted.
“How is our guest doing?” I ask the one closest.
“I don’t know, sir. I haven’t looked in since Sergeant Drescoll left word that the prisoner wasn’t to be disturbed in any way,” the soldier answers.
“I see. And when was that?”
“Sometime this afternoon, sir. He went in and came out with orders from you that no one was to go in.”
“Fuck,” I mutter. “Open it up.”
The soldier opens the lock and, with a metallic screech of protest, one of the steel doors swings back. I look in fully expecting the sight that greets me. Inside, his arms still hanging by chains overhead, the prisoner is slumped, his chin on his chest. I don’t need the blood spattered on his shirt or in a large puddle on the ground below him to know he is no longer with us.
“Fuck me,” one of the soldiers mutters.
“Sir… I…” the other stutters, starting his apology.
“It’s not your fault,” I say, venturing to the body.
I lift the prisoner’s head to find one side of his face mostly gone. There’s a smaller hole in the upper back of his head. The skin around the entrance wound is singed and blackened.
“Sir, we didn’t hear a thing. If we’d known…”
“The weapon was silenced. Again, it’s not your fault. Take him down,” I say, dropping the man’s head back to his chest.
Returning to the group, I sense a certain confused tension. As if it weren’t there already.
“Jack, Drescoll’s team says they haven’t seen him since—” Lynn starts.
“Let me guess… since this afternoon,” I interrupt.
“Yes, one of his team remembers seeing him leave in a Humvee, saying he had to run deliver a quick message to one of the crews, and that he’d be back soon. They haven’t seen him since and assumed he was with one of us. Wait, how did you know?” Lynn asks.
“Our only tie to who sent the team against us is gone,” I state.
“What do you mean, gone?”
“Dead. Assassinated,” I reply.
“Ohhhh…shit,” Lynn says, the light dawning.
The others stare with mouths open, some eyes going to Drescoll’s empty chair. The look on their faces indicates they have put the pieces of what happened together as well.
“I should have seen that coming,” Lynn says. “Damn!”
“What do you mean, you should have seen this coming?” I ask.
“Allie’s death hit him pretty hard. Harder than I imagined,” she says and details the conversation she had with Drescoll.