Integrity, p.30
Integrity, page 30
“Did you stop to think, Dr. Martin, that someone demanding the intelligence in the middle of the night was a sign you shouldn’t pursue it?” The way he accentuated Doctor as if to mock me was really getting under my skin.
“Briefly, yes. But I had no idea who wanted it. Government or private or even another country. I wanted to do my job because clearly this was important and I considered it my duty to keep the intel safe and figure it out while I figured out what and who was behind it.” Try to accuse me of being unpatriotic now, you fucking asshole. “So maybe I overreacted, but tell me honestly—if what happened to me happened to you, would you not…I don’t know, freak out a little bit? Be afraid someone was trying to kill you and steal something you’d classified as priority and shouldn’t be seen by those without clearance?”
“No,” he said dryly. “Because I’m not an idiot.”
He was clearly trying to goad me into losing control of my self-control. Classic technique, but I had nothing to lose, so I answered the best way I knew how. With a sneering, “Fuck you.” I unclenched my fists, spread my fingers wide. “I don’t know what else to say. I did nothing wrong. I leaked nothing. I shared no intelligence with anyone outside of my immediate work chain, I didn’t use an unsecured computer or server. As far as I can tell, the only crime”—I air-quoted that word—“I’ve committed was knowing something that people didn’t want anyone to know. And given who is involved, I have to think the reason I’m in this position now is because this has the potential to be a political nightmare.” I raised an eyebrow.
No answer.
“I mean, the White House covering up an illegal usage of a chemical weapon is bad enough. Doing it because they’re embarrassed at who did it, and don’t want a political scandal isn’t concerning…at…all.” I gave an exaggerated eye roll. The fact I’d been hounded, harassed and now incarcerated because of this put a sour taste in my mouth, and I wanted to spit it out. “Just to be clear, it’s not the politics that’s pissing me off. I care about national security and human rights.”
“I think we’re done.” Smith closed his leather-bound notebook and tucked the pen in the seam. “You’ll be moved to a new facility soon, one better suited to…long-term housing while you await trial. Perhaps you’ll feel more cooperative and less snide there.”
“Unlikely,” I called at his departing back.
Chapter Twenty-three
I really should have paid more attention to action movies
Left to stew in my own juices—metaphorically, because I was allowed to shower every day—I turned my two sessions with Smith over and over in my mind. There was no logic to the conversations because I’d laid out the truth repeatedly, and if they were investigating as they should then they’d know that my truth was actually truthful. And if he’d spoken to Sophia… I took a deep breath to calm the bone-melting fury I felt at that thought. If he’d spoken to Sophia then he’d know that she was truly unaware of what was going on.
So the only conclusion I could come up with for this charade was that someone was trying to intimidate me into dropping the whole thing and never ever speaking of it again. Given I was probably spending years in a secure facility, dropping it and not speaking of it again were guaranteed.
Some young guy, apparently my lawyer and definitely not shit-hot, had been to visit and nervously explained the charges. I didn’t listen, just nodded, and said whatever, okay, yep, mhmm, sure, a dozen times. There was no point in absorbing it. I couldn’t defend myself properly because doing so would mean pointing my finger at Halcyon. Opening statement: “I was just trying to do my job, Mr. President, sorry it upset your fragile ego, you disgusting monster.”
I picked my nose, smiling up at the camera in the corner of the room.
A few hours after I finished my dinner of a microwave-meal-size teriyaki tofu and rice, a juicy sweet orange, and a banana pudding cup, the door swung open. Jones, in the door-visit uniform of cargos and polo. I smiled at him from my position on the bed. “Come to play cards with me, Jones?” A joke didn’t ease my sudden surge of nervousness. He was here because it was time for me to be transferred. Halcyon wasn’t going to intervene. Derek hadn’t been able to do anything. They could be taking me anywhere and nobody on the outside would know about it. Sophia’s upset rang through my head. The day of our third date, in her apartment, before we’d first made love when she’d seen my scars, what had she said? Think.
“So you might have been killed and I might never have met you?”
Something like that. Sorry, Sophia. Hopefully someone will let you know. Not dead, but not around anymore. I’m glad I met you and I really wish we’d had more time. A lot more. I tried not to think about how much I missed her. How comfortable and safe I felt with her. Comfort and safety…how sexy. But isn’t feeling safe and comfortable the foundation for sexiness? I’d opened myself up to her and been completely vulnerable with her during intimacy. If that wasn’t the ultimate trust, then I didn’t know what was. I’d been worried about her developing Stockholm Syndrome by staying with me, but I realized then that maybe it was me who’d been inadvertently Stockholm Syndromed by Sophia.
Jones cleared his throat, interrupting my reverie. “Dr. Martin?” No longer in his cheap suit and clumsily knotted tie, Jones actually looked rather capable. His posture was confident and if I didn’t know better I’d think he was military. I studied him closer. Maybe I didn’t know better. He held up the handcuffs. “Stand against the wall, legs spread apart and put your hands flat against the wall.”
All the fight left me. All my snark, my sense of humor, my bravado, my whatever you want to call it. Just gone. I let it go and didn’t bother fretting over it. I didn’t need it right now, but I would need it in the future to deal with everything they threw at me. If my coping ability needed a break to recharge then so be it. I swung my feet to the floor and moved to the wall farthest from the door. Good, cooperative prisoner. Detainee. Whatever. This time I was cuffed by both wrists and ankles, all attached to the chain around my waist.
Even though I knew it was pointless, that being transferred meant I was done, I still had to ask, “Where am I right now?”
Nothing.
“Where am I being transferred to? I’d like to call someone when I get there.” When he still didn’t answer, I offered a weak smile. “You’re allowed to talk now. We’re not playing the same game as we did in Tampa. Permission to speak granted, aaanndddd, go!”
He didn’t even look at me. It was the perfect opportunity to make some snide remarks or rub in just how much the tables had turned or something. But he didn’t say a word. If I were him, I’d have been blathering about it nonstop. Psychological warfare is very effective. But Jones was just…silent, self-contained. I’d made so many wrong assessments and apparently my impression of Jones as an easy mark for information, or someone soft, was way off. And it gave me the uneasy sensation that maybe I’d been totally off the mark about a lot of things recently. Halcyon wasn’t going to help me.
I shuffle-walked as Jones led me through the winding corridors, down a flight of stairs, until we were in the underground garage where I’d been unloaded…some days ago. A nondescript gray van was parked right by the door, the kind without rear windows that always made me think it was a total creep-wagon. Definitely no candy in this van. The rear doors were already open, showing a stripped-out interior with two simple solid benches along each side and what I recognized as shackle anchor points on the floor and walls.
I wiggled my fingers. “Is this really necessary? It’s not like I can pick the lock and escape out the back of this very clichéd van.” More than that, the feeling of being shackled by both hands and feet was bringing familiar panic to the surface. On its own where I could move my legs, I’d been coping. But thinking about being stuck in one place this way, and in the dark, was terrifying. They’d know my history, know what cuffing me in this way would do, and they’d done it anyway. Fucking assholes and their psychological warfare.
“Protocol,” was all Jones said.
I exhaled a long breath, trying not to sound shaky. “I see. Can you at least put my seat belt on, please?”
“Why?”
“In case the driver isn’t good at slowing down around corners. I’d rather stay on this bench.” I moved my hands as far as I could, which was about an inch from my waist and with about two inches of give side to side. “My balance isn’t at its prime right now.”
“There are no seat belts. In case you hadn’t noticed, this isn’t exactly a limousine.”
“Perfect. You all really know how to make a girl feel special.”
He attached the chain of my ankle shackles to a bolt on the floor, giving me about a foot of leeway with my legs. Jones gave everything a few tugs to test it was secure then closed the rear doors on me. No handles on the inside of the doors. Well, there goes my grand plan of MacGyver-ing the chains and escaping out the back. Two loud bangs on the side, a short pause, some conversation, and we were moving.
Apparently my request for a seat belt had given them ideas on how to be assholes and before every corner, they gunned the engine and whipped around the curve like they were pretending this was a rally car. After the third time of sliding around the back of the van like they’d greased the seat, I slid from my perch and shuffled awkwardly around the floor until my back was wedged against the opposite bench with my legs outstretched to accommodate being anchored to the bolt with my feet.
At least this way I could brace myself. Kind of. I let my head fall forward, and closed my eyes. Nothing to do but nap. Away from the looming threat of interrogation I was able to think more clearly. I should be able to wrangle some privilege for myself at the new facility. The first thing I’d ask for was communication of some sort, if only through my baby-faced lawyer.
Dear Sophia,
I’m fine and they are treating me well. I hope your dad is okay after they kidnapped him because of me. I miss the way you taste and how you fuck me until I forget about everything except you.
Wouldn’t that be a fun letter for my counsel to dictate.
At least I could pass the time with memories. Our short time together had given me enough to think about to make personal time enjoyable, but also some nice, not-sexy memories. Just everyday thoughts of my enjoyment at being with someone, like in a relationship. I forced the melancholy aside. They wouldn’t keep me locked away forever and maybe she’d want to meet up again when I was out. If she could get past all this, and me maybe having some sort of criminal record. And if she hadn’t married someone and had kids or something.
I didn’t deserve her, not after what I’d done. And you know what? She really deserved better than me, deserved more than my constant secrecy. She should find someone who could give her what she needed. That was what was best for her. Despite my pep talk, I didn’t feel better. I felt like shit. Sure, we hadn’t known each other long, but spending eight days in close and near-constant proximity while you’re running at peak pace is bonding. I bent my head as close to my hands as I could and despite them being chained in place, managed to rub my face. Flexibility for the win.
Sophia – PS: You’re super flexible.
Oh, and PPS: I hope you still have my tea stuff, and my dress. Please keep it safe in case I ever get out of custody. I’ll wear it one night when I take you out for drinks on an island resort somewhere. The dress, not the tea.
Maybe Derek would visit me. Maybe Lennon would—exciting, I’d finally get to see what he looked like. Or maybe I was going to spend twenty years alone. God I hoped this was really worth it. After a way to communicate with people, I’d ask for a television so I could watch Vice President Berenson being arrested for being a Russian lackey. There’s your traitor, Smith.
The driver braked hard and I was jolted to my right. “Oh, fuck you!” I yelled at the metal wall separating me from the van cab, trying to raise my elbow to bang on it. Before I could shuffle back into a position that wasn’t straining the ankle cuffs to their max, there was a loud thud and bang from behind me. A squeal of tires. A metallic crunch. Another softer crunch. And then everything flipped. Repeatedly.
Metal shrieked and groaned as I was flung around the interior like a ragdoll, stuck to the floor with my feet as the anchor point. Pain everywhere as my body made contact with the walls, the floor, the roof of the van. The shackles on my ankles bit and cut in as my body whipped around. I couldn’t even bring my hands up to try to protect my head and I cracked it against something that really fucking hurt.
I finally settled on my back, painfully jammed against the bench as the van settled on its side. The sound of metal grating along asphalt was deafening and as we skidded, I bent my knees to brace my feet on the floor. The movement sent an electric shock of pain from my right ankle all the way up my leg into my hip, but the alternative of being flung around even more felt worse.
Then everything was so still. The creak of settling metal, steam hissing, an engine pinging and ticking. My ragged breathing. The panicked rapid thudding of my heart in my ears. That wasn’t them being assholes. That was a fucking traffic accident. Excuse me, helpful bystander? Hi, just wondering if you know how to pick locks? Oh, these shackles? Don’t worry about them.
I took stock of myself. Alive but injured about summed it up. My entire body hurt, a mix of dull and sharp aches and raw stings. My limbs seemed to work but judging by the angle of the digits on my hands, I’d broken my right pinky and ring finger, and maybe my ankle. My head felt like someone had hit me with a baseball bat and cracked my forehead open, and all my ribs felt like they’d snapped. I tried to call out, to remind them I was in there but all I managed was a choking squeak. If they were unconscious and fuel ignited, well…things were going to get unpleasant very quickly. Oh fuck. I did not want to die burning in the back of a van. Oh fuck, please not that. I banged as best I could against the interior, but the sound just echoed around the space.
I heard the muffled sound of car doors opening, then two loud gunshots before the rear van doors flung open, the top one held so it couldn’t bang back down. Five people. Combat clothing. Black balaclavas. Assault rifles. Sidearms. Serious business. The adrenaline that’d focused my brain went south and I had to draw on every ounce of my pelvic floor strength. I really did not think they’d end it this way. Seems being patriotic is its own kind of punishment. I closed my eyes.
“Martin!” Familiar, caring. Derek?
The tension around my ankles released and I was dragged out of the van and to my feet. Hot liquid ran into my shoes, onto my hands, down my cheek. Blood, not pee. Probably. One of the figures let the van door fall and it slammed back against the frame, the sharp sound startling me so much I almost peed for real.
The masked Derek-sounding figure held on to me around the waist. “Can you stand on your own? Walk?”
I tested both theories and nodded. I could stand, albeit somewhat shakily and ohmyfuckinggoddd, my right leg. The pain was out of this world, but I could put weight on my foot, just. Okay, probably not a broken ankle then, just very unhappy. I leaned against the closed van door, keeping weight on my left side as the cuffs at my wrists were released, the chain dropped from my waist. As soon as the pressure eased, heat flooded into my limbs, making them heavy and useless.
He fished something from his pocket and held it to my forehead. “Put your hand on this, you’re dripping.” Once I’d pressed my left hand to the fabric, he asked, “Can you drive?”
I had no idea, but I nodded anyway.
Maybe-Derek pointed down the street. “There’s a gray Lexus over there, key’s in the ignition. Everything you need to get to the safehouse is in the car. The address is already in the satnav ready to go.”
“Why?” I choked out, wincing as my tongue moved. I spat a mouthful of blood onto the ground. It joined other spatters of my blood dripping onto the asphalt.
“Lennon sends his regards. He’s sorry it took so long.” Maybe-Derek grinned.
A fresh rush of heat filled me and I didn’t know if I was shocked, surprised, angry, or incredulous. Probably all of those and a few other emotions I couldn’t quite reach. “You…you…you are fucking shitting me.”
“Not at all.”
“Could he not have just…collected me from the facility instead of doing this? Much less painful. Fuck. I have questions. Like, a lot of them.”
“I’m sure you do.” He turned away to take a manila envelope from a camo-clad figure who’d just come running up to us from the front of the van, and shoved it into my hand. “Go, now, before we have a bunch of eyes. I’ll contact you.” He pressed me forward and I tripped on wobbling legs and hit the deck, instinctively trying to keep my injured hand from being injured more and only succeeding in making my left hand hurt as well. Under my palms I felt asphalt, gravel, grass. He hauled me up again, repositioned the cloth on my forehead and put my hand back on it, patted my shoulder and pushed me gently forward again.
I stumbled away from the van, glancing back at it as I tripped and fumbled and dragged and limped my way along the deserted street in the dark, toward the fog lights of what I could only assume to be my gray Lexus. My entire body felt like one great big bruised wound and it took all my focus and willpower to keep moving. No time to process right now. Only time to get away.
The driver’s side door was already open and I threw the envelope onto the passenger’s seat, eased into the driver’s seat, and belted myself in. Wear a seat belt, kids. It’ll save you a lot of pain. Trust me. I slipped the car into drive and gunned the accelerator. Or tried to. The moment I moved my leg, pain bit my ankle and shot straight up into my hip. I admit it—I screamed and fell forward onto the steering wheel. A few deep breaths helped settle the pain enough that I could try again, albeit this time with less enthusiasm. I crept up to forty and quickly passed the wreckage of the van and a second vehicle I hadn’t noticed.
