Domain (22 page)

Over the last few weeks, Foletta’s schedule had become inundated with other matters. He stopped checking in on Mick, trusting his care to the orderlies.

For the first time in his eleven years of captivity, the security surrounding Michael Gabriel had become lax.

NASA: Goddard Space Flight Center
Greenbelt, Maryland

NASA Director Brian Dodds stares in disbelief at the immense computer printout scrolled out across his desk. “Explain it to me again, Swicky.”

Dodds’s assistant, Gary Swickle, points a thick index finger to the checkerboard pattern, consisting of thirteen square boxes across, running continuously over thousands of sheets of paper. “The radio signal is made up of thirteen different harmonics, represented here by these thirteen columns. Each harmonic can be played out over any one of twenty distinct, consecutive frequencies. This allows for a possible combination of 260 different sound bytes, or commands.”

“But you say there’s no repeating pattern?”

“Only at the very beginning.” Swickle locates the first page of the printout. “When the signal first appears, the harmonics are kept very simple, several notes played out over just one frequency, yet repeated over and over again. Now look here. At the seventeen-minute mark, everything changes, all thirteen harmonics and twenty frequencies suddenly coming into play at once. From that point on, the signal never repeats itself. The remaining 185 minutes use all 260 combinations of sound bytes, indicating a highly structured communiqué.”

“You’re absolutely certain that no primer exists within the first seventeen minutes? No mathematical equations? Nothing that indicates translation instructions of any kind?”

“Nothing.”

“Damn.” Dodds rubs his blood shot eyes.

“What are you thinking, boss?”

“Do you remember back in the summer of ‘98 when we lost contact with SOHO? Before Arecibo relocated the satellite, we kept transmitting the same simple radio signal over and over again, attempting to reestablish contact with the satellite’s main computer. That’s what the first seventeen minutes of this signal reminds me of. No primer, no instructions or codex, just a deep-space carrier signal repeating itself like a ringing telephone, waiting for the other party to pick up so the information can be downloaded.”

“I agree, but it makes no sense. The extraterrestrials that transmitted this signal couldn’t possibly have expected our species to be able to translate all this information without a primer.”

Swickle notices that his director’s face looks pale. “What?”

“Just a crazy thought. Ignore me, I’m wiped out.”

“Come on, boss.”

“Well, I was thinking about SOHO. Our transmission obviously didn’t require a primer because SOHO’s computer was already programmed under our command. Maybe this signal contains no primer because it’s not necessary.”

“You mean, this radio signal wasn’t intended to be translated?”

“No, Swick.” Dodds shoots his assistant a worried look. “I mean, what if the signal wasn’t intended for us?”

November 5, 2012
Sanibel Island, Florida

The chant of “four more years—four more years” stirs Edith Axler awake. She sits up and checks the time, then switches off the television and heads downstairs to the lab.

Isadore is still hunched over at the SOSUS station, listening.

“Iz, for God’s sake, it’s eleven-thirty—”

“
Shhh
.” He removes his headphones and switches on the exterior speaker. “Listen.”

She hears a deep
humming
sound. “Sounds like a generator.”

“That’s nothing. Wait.”

Moments pass, and then a high-pitched whine of what sounds like a hydraulic drill whistles at them through the speakers, followed immediately by a metallic
clanking
that continues for several minutes.

Iz smiles at his wife. “Is that incredible?”

“It sounds as if something’s being pieced together. Probably an oil rig preparing to drill.”

“Either that, or another one of those geological expeditions investigating the crater. Whatever it is, the degree of activity has intensified over the last thirty hours. I sent an e-mail to the NOAA to check on both possibilities but haven’t heard a word. Who won the election?”

“President Mailer.”

“Good. Now that that’s over with, maybe someone at the State Department will get back to me.”

“And what if they don’t?”

Iz looks up at his wife and shrugs. “No big deal. Like you said, it’s probably just an oil rig. Carl and I are planning our annual fishing trip within the next two weeks. Maybe we’ll take a quick detour out to the area and take a closer look, just to be sure.”

Miami, Florida

Dominique watches in disgust as the big redhead shovels another forkful of eggplant into his mouth.
Maybe he’ll choke
.

“So, Sunshine, you proud of me or what?”

A spittle of tomato sauce strikes her cheek. “God, Ray, didn’t your mother teach you to swallow your food before talking?”

He smiles, revealing a piece of eggplant caught between his yellowed teeth. “Sorry. I’ve been dieting for six months. Feels good to eat again. So what do you think?”

“I told you, I think sixth place is terrific, especially for your first contest.”

“What can I say? You inspired me.”

“Now tell me about Foletta. What we first met, you said something about the board and medical staff being upset when he arrived from Massachusetts. What did you mean by that?”

“This stays between us, right?”

“Right.”

Raymond washes another mouthful of food down with a swig of beer. “I have a good friend whose father sits on the state board. In fact, he was the one who helped me get the job at the treatment center. Anyway, the word is that Dr. Reinike, Foletta’s predecessor, will be back sometime next month to run things again.”

“Really? But I thought she retired. Foletta told me her husband had terminal cancer.”

Ray shakes his head, inhaling another bite. “It was all bullshit. My buddy told me Reinike’s been on paid leave since September. Turns out there’s a brand-new asylum opening up in Tampa in three weeks, and Foletta’s been promised the directorship.”

“Wait, if Foletta’s leaving in three weeks, then he must have known he was getting the Tampa job before corning to Miami. Why push Dr. Reinike out, just to take the Miami job for three months?”

Ray points his fork at her. “Because of your former patient. The asylum in Massachusetts was closing, and Tampa wasn’t ready yet. Reinike’s a stickler for detail. Apparently, somebody with a lot of pull wanted Foletta in charge so there’d be no risk of your boy Gabriel getting reshuffled in the system.”

Or receiving a proper evaluation. God damn you, Foletta
.

“What’s the matter, Sunshine?”

“I made a deal with Foletta. He promised me that Mick would be placed in the care of one of our rehab teams no later than January.”

The yellowed teeth smile at her. “Guess you got lied to, girl. In three weeks, Michael Gabriel will be long gone.”

The sleek, cherry red Dodge Intrepid ESX2’s electric motor whines as it kicks in, assisting the 1.5-liter three-cylinder diesel engine as it accelerates up the steep southbound ramp to I-95.

Dominique stares out the passenger window as Raymond whips the car in and out of traffic. She grits her teeth, angry at Foletta for deceiving her.
I should have known better. I should have trusted my heart
.

She closes her eyes, recalling one of her first conversations with Mick. “Pierre Borgia manipulated the legal system. The DA made a deal with my state-appointed attorney and shipped me off to an asylum in Massachusetts. Foletta became my state-appointed keeper. Pierre Borgia rewards loyalty, but God help you if you make his shit list.”

She had been manipulated, and once more, Michael Gabriel was left to suffer the consequences.

“Ray, I’m really not up for dancing tonight. Would you mind taking me home?”

“Home? We’re halfway to South Beach.”

“Please.”

Raymond eyes the tan, sculpted legs protruding beneath the black skirt, imagining them wrapped around his thrusting, muscular torso. “Okay, Sunshine, home it is.”

The Intrepid pulls into the parking lot of her high-rise twenty minutes later.

Dominique smiles. “Thank you for dinner. I’m sorry to put a damper on the evening, but I really don’t feel well. Next time, I’ll treat, okay?”

He shuts off the engine. “I’ll walk you up.”

“That’s okay, I’ll be fine. I’ll see you at work.” She opens the door and heads for the elevator.

Ray scurries after her.

Dammit
. “Ray, I told you, it’s really not necessary.”

“Hey, it’s no trouble, besides; I’d love to see your place.” He waits for her to key-in to use the elevator.

“Ray, not tonight.”

“That wasn’t our deal.” He slips a thick arm around her waist, pulling her closer.

“Don’t—”

Before she can stop him, he has pushed her against the concrete wall, burying his tongue in her mouth, his right paw groping her breasts.

A wave of white-hot panic rushes over her as a dozen childhood memories race through her mind at once.

Fight back
! She gags at the taste in her mouth, then bites down on the intruding tongue, drawing blood.

“Oww. God dammit—” Raymond slaps her across the face, then pins her against the wall with one hand as he tears at her skirt with the other.

“Let her go!”

Dominique looks up to see Rabbi Steinberg and his wife approaching.

Raymond maintains a grip on her arm. “Beat it, this ain’t your concern.”

“Let her go, or we’ll alert the police.” Mindy Steinberg holds up the portable alarm.

Raymond takes a threatening step toward the couple, dragging Dominique with him.

“Don’t be foolish,” Steinberg says, pointing to the security cameras.

“Hey, Ray—”

Raymond turns.

The point of Dominique’s high heel slams hard on Raymond’s big toe. He yelps in agony, releasing his grip. In one motion, the blade of her wrist strikes the bodybuilder square on the Adam’s apple, silencing his scream.

Raymond clutches his windpipe, wheezing for air. As he drops to his knees, Dominique wheels around, preparing to drive the heel of her foot down upon the back of his exposed neck.

“Dominique, no—” Steinberg grabs her arm before she can execute the crescent kick. “Let the police handle it.”

Mindy keys open the elevator and the three duck inside.

Raymond struggles to his feet. He turns to face Dominique, his eyes crazed, his mouth gasping to form sounds. As the elevator doors begin to close, he mouths the word, “Gabriel,” and slides a finger across the base of his throat.

Chapter 11

NOVEMBER 18, 2012
MIAMI, FLORIDA

T
he group-therapy rooms at the South Florida Evaluation and Treatment Center are located on the third floor, situated opposite the gymnasium, between the movie hall and computer room.

Dominique is seated in the back of room 3-B, half-listening to Dr. Blackwell’s afternoon group-therapy session when she notices an orderly wheel a semiconscious Michael Gabriel into the movie hall. She waits until the orderly leaves, then slips out of the classroom.

The movie area is dark, the only light coming from the large-screen television. Eight residents, spread out over the three dozen folding chairs, are watching the latest
Star Trek
movie.

The wheelchair is in the last row. Dominique takes a seat, sliding her chair close to Mick. He is leaning to one side, slumped forward. A single belt strapped across his chest is all that prevents him from falling on his face. The dark eyes, once intense beacons, are now lifeless black pools reflecting the television screen. Mick’s long brown hair is pulled back. Dominique catches a whiff of scalp oil, then a vulgar scent coming from his rancid clothes. A heavy five o’clock shadow is thickening to a beard, covering all but the jagged scar along his jawline.

Damn you, Foletta
. She removes a Kleenex from her coat and dabs at the spittle drooling from his lower lip. “Mick, I don’t know if you can understand me, but I miss you, I really do. I hate what Foletta’s done to you. You were absolutely right about him, and I feel terrible for not believing you.” She places her hand over his. “I wish you could understand me.”

To her surprise, Mick’s left hand turns over, his fingers entwining in hers.

“Oh my God,” she whispers.

Mick winks.

She can barely contain her excitement. “Mick, there’s so much I have to tell you—”

“Shhh.” The eyes remain vacant.

She leans forward casually, feigning interest in the video. “Raymond, the guard who attacked you, tried to rape me. He’s been suspended, but I hear he may be back to work as early as next week. Be careful, he’s threatened to hurt you to get back at me.” She returns his squeeze. “You remember me telling you about SOSUS? I convinced Iz to use the system to check out the Gulf coordinates you gave me. Mick, you were right. It turns out something is definitely down there, buried about a mile beneath the seafloor. Iz promises he’ll investigate.”