“Incoming aircraft,” he stood and went to the window, just as it passed over the apartment and came into view. “This rarely happens,” he told her.
“Who is it? Do you know?” she stood and went to stand beside him.
“Military,” he told her. “CIA, I think. Bunch of old guys, usually. They don’t come around much, and no one knows why they come here. Only that they go to the Observers.”
“Observers?”
Brian looked to her, “Well, you, basically. Or your superiors, rather. Eventually, it’ll be you. They come to talk to them. About what, no one really knows. No one ever sees them, either. They’re in and out pretty quickly.”
“How do you know about them, then?”
“About six months after I got here, they showed up. I asked about them, just like you did me. Someone I’d considered a friend at the time. He didn’t know a whole lot, but it made me curious. They didn’t come again for a few years. By then, I’d had a plan set. Snuck over to where I discovered they landed the plane beforehand. I watched them through binoculars. They never knew I was there.”
“Oh my god, dude,” she cracked a smile. “Is that where you came up with that idea in book five?”
“Totally,” he smiled back.
“Well, you’re wrong about one thing,” she told him.
“Oh yeah? And what’s that?” he raised a brow.
“Someone knows what they come for. I intend to find out what that is. And you know I can get information out of people if I want to.”
“Oh yeah, I bet you did all kinds of interrogating in Dagsboro,” he laughed.
She punched his shoulder. “I’m talking about before I left the DEA, jerk.”
“Still packing a punch, I see,” he grimaced, rubbing his shoulder. Birdie smirked.
Then suddenly they felt the floor rumble beneath them, and outside the window where they’d not long ago seen the plane land, rose a giant rolling ball of flames and billowing smoke.
For a moment, they both stared unable to speak. It was Birdie that broke the short silence. “That’s… not supposed to happen, right?”
“No… No, it’s not…”
Chaos had become the only word to describe the upper east section of the island where the Proprietors resided. People had abandoned their posts and taken shelter underground. Brian had been explaining this to Birdie, as they made their way toward the runway. The air was thick with what smelled like plastic cooking in a cast iron pan.
“It’s probably the Defectors,” Brian shouted over the noise as he led her, holding tightly to her hand, toward the crash site. “They’re Proprietors like us, that deserted the island.”
“Why would they do that?”
“They don’t like rules, I guess,” he replied. “I don’t really know. But they’re always causing trouble and getting themselves caught because of it, too. They nearly get themselves and, in turn, the rest of us exposed.”
“Why don’t the Observers do anything about it?” she asked.
“They do. Well, they try to, anyway. Defectors are hard to find. Because they were given a new life, separated from their past, it’s hard to track them down very quickly. The ones the Observers have found and brought back are usually in need of debriefing again, and then rumor has it they’re locked up until they can be completely rehabilitated.”
“Does that even work? I mean… it sounds like trying to get someone off of drugs…” Brian inwardly flinched at that.
“Rarely,” he told her, not brushing off the comment, but accepting the right she had to use it. “Those people are brainwashed. There’s a leader amongst them all. That’s what I heard, anyway. They fill their heads with these ridiculous stories, and before you know it, someone you know is suddenly a whack job.”
“You’ve known one of them?” she surmised.
He glanced over at her for a moment, then back in front of him as they continued on. “That friend I mentioned earlier.”
“The one that told you about the planes?”
“Yep.”
“He became a Defector?”
“One day, we’re having coffee and conspiring about what I should put in my next book. The next day, he’s trying to convince me that the island is our enemy. Can you believe that? We’re all the same, here. This is a safe place for us, and he was trying to convince me that we were prisoners.”
“That must’ve been awkward.”
“It was. And it really sucked when they arrested him right out of the cafe. It was embarrassing as hell.”
“Is that why you kept to yourself, after that?” she asked. He looked back at her again, in question. “In the coffee shop, it was just like before you died; always keeping to yourself. I know that before, it was more because you were too busy for friends. But that doesn’t matter anymore, does it…”
“You saying I’m a recluse?”
“That’s not what I said!”
“Hold it right there!” a man in a white hazmat suit appeared before them.
“What’s going on?” Brian asked. “We saw the explosion.”
“There was some kind of bomb on the plane,” the man explained. “Some kind of toxic chemical was spilled over a hundred yard radius. No one should pass through here without the proper gear.”
“That would’ve hit the precinct,” Brian said.
“It did,” the man replied. “Everyone on duty is down.”
“The precinct?” Birdie asked. “As in the Observers?”
“Yes, ma’am,” the man replied. “We’ve got less than a dozen off-duty officers coming in to take over. Who are you?”
“This is Amber Farran,” Brian told him. “She’s technically an officer now, too. Just came top-side today.”
“They’re probably gonna need you, then,” the man told her, then turned to Brian. “Do you know where the old Observer station is?”
“Yeah,” Brian replied, nodding.
“They’re gathering there for supplies. You should take her there.”
“Are people in danger?” Birdie asked.
“The threat’s been contained,” the man replied. “But we’re vulnerable until we can get everyone rehabilitated. That could take a while. We can use everyone we can get…”
THREE
“Welcome to the force, Agent Farran,” a blond-haired woman as tall as Birdie, and around the same age, shook her hand. “I’m Agent Kale. I was actually the one assigned to train you, though I wasn’t expecting to have to start for a couple of days.”
The old Observer station was underground, just like the debriefing area. Only it wasn’t a submarine. If anything, it seemed more like a subway station, sans the tracks and ticket booths. And despite its description, the old station didn’t look unused at all. It seemed like there were walls of never-ending storage that had regularly been organized and kept up. There were several empty desks, void of people but still occupied with items that portrayed they had a purpose.
“Nice to meet you. And sorry…”
“No need to apologize. Aside from the obvious setback, I like a little unexpected. Gets a bit redundant around here, sometimes. Some action is always welcome, as far as I see it,” she gave a half grin. Birdie returned it. “I read your file,” Kale continued. “I think you’ll fit in real well here,” she turned to lead her up the hall, and Birdie turned to Brian, making sure he followed. He was, of course. But he was very studiously observing Kale’s very fitted black uniform. Or rather the curves it accentuated.
“Um… thanks,” she replied, looking back to Kale. “What are we looking at, here? I mean, do we know who did this?”
“More than likely, Defectors,” she told her. “I’ll need to read you in.”