Plot Line (5 page)

How does one clean a
mind?
How do I remove stench from my
thoughts?

Stench was the perfect term. They reeked in
so many stomach-churning ways. Even Colin’s lab coat emanated an
odious, putrid, moldering wet-wool smell. The bile rose in his
throat again.

This was the last time, he promised himself.
Never again would he walk down this corridor that made him feel as
if some Leviathan had swallowed him whole. They would insist he
come back. They would demand it in very certain terms, but Colin
was determined never to return. This was his last day on the job.
His employers were unaware of that fact, and that was just the way
Colin wanted it. He was never coming back. He would choose death
first.

If only he could get them out of his
head.

The phone on Devlin’s desk
rang.
He snatched up the receiver and
listened for a moment, then said, “I understand.” With no further
comment, he hung up and punched the intercom button on the
phone.

“Yes? Get Quinn and tell him to be ready to
leave in thirty minutes.”

“Trouble?” Betty asked.

“Yes.

“Where are we going?”

“New Mexico.”

“What’s in New Mexico?”

Devlin paused before answering. “Something
you’ll wish you had never seen.”

The general was a big man,
broad across the shoulders and, despite sixty-one
years of life, still narrow at the waist. His head was covered with
a hairless white scalp that turned red when he was angry. It was
red now. His brow furrowed deeply, and his brown eyes could sparkle
with laughter or blaze with rage. He was a fair man, but an
uncompromising one. He demanded exceptional work, unfaltering
loyalty, and unquestioning obedience. No Army general was more
respected or feared.

“Tell me what happened,” General Ben McLain
barked.

“Sir, I’ve told you all I know.”

McLain turned and cast a blizzard cold
glance at the uniformed man who stood three steps away. Captain
Russell Taylor, General McLain’s head of security, withered before
it. “I want to hear it again.”

“Yes, sir.” Taylor shifted his weight as he
stood behind one of the two leather visitor chairs stationed in
front of McLain’s wide oak desk. The general was not seated;
therefore, Taylor would have to stand with him. The two were in the
general’s office two floors above the research area, but still
eighty feet below the surface. The room was bathed in the pale glow
of fluorescent lights. Other than the fact that the office had no
windows, it looked like every other Army office Taylor had seen.
The desk that dominated the center of the space was made of metal
painted gray. No pictures hung on the wood paneled walls. The
designers had made an effort to make the base commander’s office
look like and be as comfortable as a cozy den in a nice home. They
had failed.

“At 0320 this morning, Dr. Colin Rehnquist
exited Lab 15. Security records show he entered one hour and
twenty-two minutes prior to his leaving. As the general knows,
access to the lab requires both a smart card and pass code. The
security computer notes every time the door is opened.”

“Does Rehnquist normally work that early in
the morning?”

“It’s not his custom, but it’s not unusual.
The log of his activities shows he has a history of working odd
hours.” The scientists and technicians that worked at the
underground base often kept unusual hours. Most served several
months at a time, never going to the surface. Without the rising
and setting sun to reinforce their biological clocks, they, like
everyone who worked underground, lost track of time. Day and night
melded into one amorphous stream of existence.

“He went in alone?”

“Yes, sir. No one else was in the lab.”

“Any idea what he was doing there?”

Taylor shrugged. “No, sir. I assume he was
doing what he always does.” The thought of Rehnquist’s work made
fire blaze in his stomach. He felt ill but kept that knowledge to
himself.

“So Rehnquist leaves but he doesn’t show up
at his quarters.”

“Yes, sir. The computer monitors every door
below ground level. If Dr. Rehnquist had returned to his room,
there would be a record of it. We made a visual check, just to be
certain.” Taylor waited for his superior to respond. When he
didn’t, Taylor continued. “We found his badge in the men’s
restroom. It was floating in the one of the toilet bowls.”

“A social comment,” General McLain said
sourly. “We’ve seen these things before.”

Taylor nodded. There was great stress in
what they did. Workers labored underground on projects so secret
they were forbidden from talking to anyone about what they did.
Such secrecy compounded by constant scrutiny proved too much mental
strain for some. Psychological collapse was rare, but not unheard
of. Only the bathrooms were devoid of cameras, and many workers had
doubts that even those areas were free of surveillance. As head of
security, Taylor knew they were right to have their doubts.
Workers, from maintenance staff to senior scientists, all wore
badges that not only identified them by name and had a
identification picture, but also were integrated with a magnetic
chip that could be located anywhere in the facility.

“Do you think he’s outside the
compound?”

“I doubt it, sir.”

“Were any elevators used after 0320?”

Taylor hesitated a moment, then said, “Yes,
sir. Supplies were being shuttled down from the surface. The
elevators were used a number of times, but he couldn’t have made
egress through the them.”

“Are you certain?” McLain turned and stared
hard, his dark eyes looked like obsidian.

“Of course, sir. Our security record is
impeccable. Dr. Rehnquist could not have been on the elevator. We
have analyzed the video recordings made from 0300 on. If Rehnquist
got on one of the elevators, he did so wearing someone else’s face.
Besides, the security system would have been alerted had an
individual without a magnetic ID card got on the elevator. No one
gets in or out without a badge.”

“It would be a mistake to underestimate
Rehnquist,” McLain finally took a seat in his desk chair. “He is a
brilliant man and brilliant men are both crafty and unstable.
Considering what he’s been working on, he has a right to be a
little unhinged.”

“Yes, sir,” Taylor agreed.

“Very well, Captain,” McLain said rubbing
his eyes. “I’ve wasted enough of your time. Bring me Rehnquist and
bring him to me soon. In the meantime, I’m going to assume the
worst. If he’s made it outside and starts talking, the sky could
start falling, and if it does, it’s going to fall on us. Do you
understand?”

“I do, sir.”

“The Pentagon is sending help our way,”
McLain said. “They should be here in the next couple of hours.
Please let your people know that three outsiders will be arriving.”
Taylor pushed a file folder across his desk and Taylor took it.
“Their identification is in there. See they get what they need and
that their first stop is here in my office. I want you at the
meeting.”

“Sir, I’m sure we can handle this without
outside help.”

“They’re not here to help you find
Rehnquist. They’re here to deal with the fallout.”

“Again, sir. I don’t think we need any
help—”

McLain cut Taylor off with a raised hand. “I
didn’t ask for the help, Captain. I was told I would be getting it.
Even generals have to take orders. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Bring me, Rehnquist.”

Colin Rehnquist sat in dismal
darkness
, yet the blackness of the
telephone switching room seemed as bright as noon compared to the
gloom that occupied his mind. He rocked back and forth quickly,
pausing for a moment, only to resume the rhythmic undulation a
second later. The long narrow room was filled with rainbow colored
wires attached to circuit boards. Although he could see nothing
now, he had reconnoitered the room several times before. It was all
part of his plan. The gentle electronic hum from the scores of tiny
fans used to cool the high tech circuitry echoed in the scientist’s
mind with cacophonous intensity.

He crouched at the far end
of the narrow space. To his right and left, from floor to ceiling,
the electronic panels that linked the base’s communications with
above ground satellite dishes, interoffice terminals and laboratory
electronics, sat in endless, unmonitored work. Colin preferred the
lifeless company the technology provided. He wanted to see no one.
He wanted no conversation, no human contact, and certainly no
contact with Them.
Them
.
THEM
.

He uttered the words just under his breath.
Had anyone been with him, they would have heard nothing.

Them
.

Them. Them.

He closed his eyes against the darkness that
felt thick, viscous, and suffocating. Suffocation would be fine,
desirable, as long as death came to him alone.

The wet wool smell returned. Colin rocked
faster, squeezing his eyes shut with such intensity rivulets of
tears ran down his face.

“No,” Colin whispered. “No, no, no.”

Raising his hands to his head he squeezed. A
scorching pierced his temples. A new pain appeared, small, sharp
piercing pain in his scalp. Colin pressed the nails of his fingers
deeper into his skin. The agony would make them go away, he was
sure of it.

He was wrong.

His ears popped and with each tiny
detonation, colors exploded in his brain like fireworks. They
wanted him. They were angry. So angry.

Hide
.

Run
.
Flee
.

Colin wept silently. Blood ran from the
wounds gouged into his scalp tracing lines of wet red on his
flesh.

“Leave me alone,” he shouted in his mind.
“I’ll kill myself. I’ll do it. I really will.”

Deep in his blazing brain, Colin thought he
heard someone laugh.

Five

“More potatoes?”
Nora held a large white bowl. “There’s plenty of gravy
too.”

“Thank you, but no,” Dale Shackleton said.
Patting his stomach, he added, “I’ve eaten more than I should. It
was wonderful, Mrs. Beeman. I haven’t had pork chops and mashed
potatoes in a very long time.”

“Please call me Nora. Most days of the week
we eat lighter and healthier, but we indulge ourselves every
Wednesday night. It’s sort of a family tradition. Maybe you’d like
another roll—”

“Leave the man alone,” Ray said with humor.
“You’re going to kill him with kindness.”

“Well, it’s not everyday we have one of the
pastor’s of Amy’s church over for dinner.”

“I want to thank you for inviting me,”
Shackleton said.

“I just wish your wife could have joined
you.” Nora set the bowl in the center of the table. Ray took it. “I
would like to have met her.”

“She would have enjoyed this. Unfortunately
she has class tonight. She’s just a year away from getting her
degree in music. She plans to teach.”

“It must be hard having a wife in school.”
Ray lumped more potatoes on his plate.

“It is at times, but she worked while I was
in college and seminary so it’s only fair she get to go now.”

“What do you do at the church?” Ray
asked.

“I told you that, Dad,” Skeeter said with
playful anger. “I talk, no one listens.”

“That’s
my
line,” Ray said.

“That’s where I got it.” Skeeter winked.

“I work with the youth and oversee the
Sunday school. Our youth department keeps growing. It keeps me
busy.”

“What’s your next step?” Ray asked. “Do you
get promoted to regular pastor or something?”

Shackleton gave a warm smile. “It doesn’t
work that way. I enjoy working with young people. That’s where my
skills are. I hope to work with the youth as long as I can.”

“So you lead them in games and the like?”
Ray asked.

“It’s more than games, Dad,” Skeeter said.
“We study the Bible.”

“I’m sorry Skeeter, I didn’t mean—” Ray
started.

“Dad!” Skeeter protested, narrowing her eyes
and casting a cold glare his way.

“I mean, Amy.” To Shackleton he said, “She
doesn’t like it when I call her Skeeter in front of guests. It’s a
hard habit to break. Anyway, I didn’t mean to imply that church was
just a place to play games. I’ve only been to church a handful of
times, so I don’t really know what goes on.”

“You’re always welcome to worship with us,”
Shackleton said. There was an easy manner about him Ray liked.

“Thanks, but I’ve never seen much use for
worship. I mean, it’s fine for some people, and it certainly hasn’t
hurt Skee—Amy.”

“You should try it, Dad,” Skeeter
interjected. “It’s made a big difference in my life.”

Ray glanced at his wife. Her eyes were cast
down to the table, avoiding the conversation. Amy had started
attending the church at the invitation of friends. Ray assumed she
continued to go because it was a place to hang out with other young
people. Neither he, nor Nora had objected. There were many places
much worse that a young girl could hang out.

“Maybe someday, honey.”

“You have no church background, Mr.
Beeman?”

“Call me Ray. No, none at all. My parents
never went to church. Too busy trying to make a living, I
guess.”

“You know, many people equate church with
God,” Shackleton said. “When they say church, they include their
view of God. Do you believe in God, Ray?”

Here it
comes
. The dinner had been Skeeter’s idea
and Ray knew she wanted a spiritual conversation. “I’m not sure. I
guess I’m an agnostic.”