Deep dive, p.15
Deep Dive, page 15
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“You claim to be Peter Banuk, correct?”
Claim to be?
“Yeah. So?”
She gives me an appraising glance. “I must say, the resemblance is remarkable. But then I guess it would be, wouldn’t it?”
Resemblance? Resemblance to who?
“Seriously,” I say, “do any of you not talk out of your asses?”
“I get that you’re not quite ready to cooperate.” Shepard shrugs, raps her knuckles on the truck. “Admittedly, some of that’s on me. But I need you to understand that the longer you stall, the more likely it becomes that I’ll be forced to talk to Alana. She seems like a very nice woman, and I’d really rather not drag her into this, but rest assured, if it comes to that, I will not hesitate to do so.”
My periphery goes red like I’m on my last hit-point. “Don’t you lay a fucking hand on her!”
“How sweet are you?” Shepard smiles, her cheeks dimpling. “Don’t worry, involving your wife is a last resort.”
I force my shoulders to relax, try to keep my voice level despite the panic spreading through my veins like poison. “Alana’s got nothing to do with this.”
“Oh, I highly doubt that. In fact,” Shepard taps her lips, “I’d hazard a guess that your wife is well aware that everything is not as it seems. What do you think she’ll do when she finds out the truth, hmm? I for one would love to be a fly on the wall for that conversation.”
Shepard’s whole enigmatic act is wearing thin. Problem is, I’m in no position to challenge her. For one, I’m half hog-tied. For another, she clearly knows more than I do. All of which puts me at a distinct disadvantage, seeing as I still have no fucking clue why she shot Doran or what she wants with me. What I do know is that the only way I’m going to survive long enough to uncover the truth – and, more importantly, keep Alana safe – is if I pull off the biggest bluff of my life by convincing Shepard that I’m still holding a viable hand.
“Leave her alone and I’ll cooperate,” I say.
Shepard spreads her arms wide. “See? That wasn’t so hard, now was it? I must say, Peter, I’m looking forward to hearing your side of this strange little story.”
If only I had a legitimate story to share instead of a headful of empty pages.
A phone rings, its trill disturbing the relative quiet of the woods. Shepard lifts a finger as she answers it. “Yes?” She listens without moving for a moment, then nods. “Understood.” She shoves the phone back in her pocket and turns to Finn’s partner. “The cleaning crew is on its way. When they’re finished with the cabin, I want you to follow them back to Boundless with Peter’s truck.” She pauses. “Actually, for now, see if you can move it farther back into the woods. No reason to risk some hapless local getting nosy.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Oh, and do something with this.” She removes Doran’s pistol from her waistband and passes it to him, then returns her attention to me. “So, are we ready?”
Not really, no. I nod.
“Wonderful. Our ride’s just up that way. Finn, if you wouldn’t mind chaperoning our guest?”
Finn shoves me forward. “March, asshole.”
I stumble, catch my balance, and glare at him. He grins, exposing a mouth of bleached white teeth, and gets up in my face. His breath smells like spearmint. This close I can see the pucker in a scar bisecting his forehead. “What, you got something to say?”
“Finn!” Shepard snaps. “I said chaperone, not bully.”
Finn’s partner snickers. Finn shoots him a nasty look, then taps the tip of my nose. “You and me, we’re gonna have some fun when this is all over and done with.” He snaps his jaws at me, leers, and tries to shove me again.
I’m ready for it, though. Side-stepping the blow, I stride down the road a few paces ahead of him, the set of my shoulders belying the fear souring my stomach. I make it about twenty feet before the sound of my truck stuttering to life causes me to glance guiltily over my shoulder.
From this distance it would be easy to assume Doran is simply sleeping off a bender while Finn’s partner prepares to drive him home.
But Doran is never going home, and if I’m not careful, neither am I.
I’ll make this right, I promise him. I don’t know how, but I will find your brother and make this right.
Shepard’s ride, a black SUV with heavily tinted windows, is parked about fifty yards up the road. Finn opens the rear passenger door and watches impassively as I duck my awkward way inside, then rounds the car and climbs in beside me. I scoot as far away as I can and try to get comfortable, but there’s no way I can sit properly with my hands bound behind me. I settle on pressing my butt into the seatback and hunching my shoulders slightly forward. It doesn’t diminish the discomfort, but it distributes it more equally.
Shepard slithers into the driver’s seat and angles the rearview mirror until she can see me in it. “Everyone ready?”
Finn raps the window with his knuckles. “Good to go.”
“Lovely.” Shepard puts the car in gear, pulls a U-turn, and heads back down the road.
My truck’s already gone, hidden deep in the woods where no one will see it. The only sign it and Doran were ever there is the dent in the tree we crashed into, its mangled bark a poor substitute for the gravestone he’ll never get.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Back in the city, life’s going on as normal as can be. Cars zip up and down the roads. Early-bird pedestrians stride along the sidewalks. Pigeons perch on rooftops. Clouds course through the warming, summer-blue sky. It’s a picture-perfect montage of ordinariness that further emphasizes just how fucked up my life’s become.
At one street corner, I look to the side and catch a glimpse of a park we sometimes take the girls to on the weekends when I’m actually home and the weather’s nice. No one’s there right now save for joggers and dog walkers, but it’s not hard to imagine sitting on one of the benches while Cassie and Evie run around the playground.
I’m exhausted, scared, and not entirely convinced this is going to end well for me, but as the light changes and we pull away from the park I utter a silent prayer that I earn the chance to watch my girls play there again.
Next to me, Finn fiddles with his gun, flicking the safety off and on, making a show of sighting down the barrel and popping the cartridge in and out. When he catches me watching he flashes a wolfish smirk, places the gun in his lap, and clasps his hands behind his head as if daring me to make a move.
Seeing as the zip-ties are preventing me from flipping him off, I do the next best thing and, channeling Evie at her snarkiest, stick my tongue out at him.
Finn reacts with a sort of twitchy, confused double-take, which gives me way more satisfaction than it should, all things considered.
“Fucking weirdo,” he mutters. “No wonder your simulation went belly up.”
Shepard clears her throat. “No shop talk in the car, boys.”
I want to goad Finn into divulging more – something tells me it wouldn’t take much to get him riled up – but that would clue them in to just how clueless I am. Plus I don’t want to get pistol-whipped. So I do my best to hold my tongue, the very picture of a compliant prisoner with information to trade.
“You look like hell, by the way,” Shepard says, regarding me in the rearview. “When’s the last time you slept?”
What the hell do you care? I shrug. “It’s been a while.”
“I bet. Well, I’m sure you’ll have some time to rest once we reach Boundless. After all, lack of proper sleep can impair cognitive functionality, and we certainly can’t have that.”
“I’ve heard a bullet to the head can have a similar effect,” I mutter, staring out the window at an abandoned parking lot choked with weeds and populated by rusting shipping crates.
“Yes, well.” Shepard purses her lips and goes back to minding the traffic.
Finn mimes playing a tiny violin. “Doran broke the rules. He’s lucky he went out like he did.”
“Oh, bite me. The thought didn’t occur to you to, I don’t know, fucking talk to him first?”
“Believe me,” Shepard says, “we tried. Unfortunately, the moment he went AWOL, Doran became a clear and present danger to the program. He had to be dealt with.”
“Don’t give me that Tom Clancy bullshit. You had a choice.”
“So what’s your excuse?” Shepard says.
“For what?”
“You made a choice to post on Reddit, Peter. Had you not done that, you might’ve been able to fly under the radar for a little while longer. Doran for sure would still be alive.”
“Don’t you dare lay that shit on me!”
“Sit back!” Finn barks, his gun abruptly inches from my temple. “Now!”
I blink rapidly, unaware I’d shot forward. Cheeks flushed, I unclench my jaw, relax my arms, and do my best to regain what little comfort the zip-ties afford me.
“For you,” Shepard continues, unruffled by the tension in the backseat, “that choice made complete sense at the time, as did mine. Honestly, you’re lucky it was only Doran. Our higher-ups don’t take kindly to seeing matters of national security posted online for all the world to see.”
“What the hell do false memories and a virtual reality headset have to do with national security?”
It seems that now we’ve started, Shepard is more than happy to chat. “Deep Dive is the most significant technological achievement in all of human history. It’s also the most dangerous. Your presence here is proof enough of that. In a way, I suppose we should thank you for opening our eyes to the truth. If you hadn’t shown up, it might’ve taken months, maybe years, before we realized its true power.”
If I hadn’t shown up? Based on everything Doran told me, Shepard and I are coworkers. The way she’s acting right now it’s like we’re meeting for the first time. And yet she also recognizes me and knows everything about my life.
None of this makes any sense. There’s definitely way more going on here than false memories and the disappearing act Doran claims his brother pulled, but I’ll be damned if I can figure out what could possibly merit murder.
Sadly, the signal has to remain lost in the noise for the time being, because half a minute later we reach our destination.
Boundless HQ.
The place where everything started.
The place where, unless something changes, everything’s about to come to a dismal end.
My stomach knots so much even Alexander the Great couldn’t slice his way through it.
Instead of going through the visitor’s gate, Shepard drives around behind the building to the private entrance. The guard who emerges from the shack next to the security arm is dressed in blue and gray camouflage and carries a massive, wicked-looking machine gun that makes Finn’s pistol seem like a child’s toy.
Shepard rolls down her window and hands the guard her ID card. I manage to catch a glimpse of the front before the guard takes it and disappears into his shack. On the left side of the card is Shepard’s face. In the middle is the word Security. And in the top right corner, a small oval containing the acronym DARPA.
Oh shit.
I’ve done my fair share of research, personal and professional, so I know exactly what DARPA stands for.
The Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency, an offshoot of the United States Department of Defense that studies, manages, and creates emergent technology for the military.
Like most scientific entities, DARPA isn’t good or bad. But as is the case with agencies that exist on the fringes of, or outright dabble in, futuristic technology, there’s a lot of room for abuse. Just look at how E = mc2 contributed to the atomic bomb. Based on what Shepard did to Doran and how dangerous she’s made Deep Dive out to be, something tells me that this particular division of DARPA has definitely gone the route of super villainy.
I am so screwed.
As discreetly as I can, I lean forward and squint at the side-view mirror, gauging the distance back to the road. In all likelihood, Finn would mow me down before I made it ten steps, but I’m beginning to wonder if that’s better than whatever’s waiting for me inside Boundless.
My leg twitches, and I start to twist my hips so that my back’s facing the door, giving my hands easy access to the handle.
“I double dog dare you,” Finn says.
I freeze, try to act nonchalant like I’m just stretching.
“Tell you what,” Finn continues, “I’ll give you a head start. Say a twenty-count? Don’t worry, I’ll probably just wing you. Sound good?”
“Finn,” Shephard snaps.
“Aw, I’m just having a little fun with my buddy here.”
The guard reemerges from his shack and returns the card to Shepard. “You’re all good, ma’am.”
Behind the security arm, red emergency lights flash above a heavy metal garage door. With a series of clunks, the door rises until it’s just high enough for the SUV’s roof to clear it.
“Have a nice day,” Shepard says to the guard, and then into the belly of the beast we go.
Wheels squeak as we spiral down several levels. I knew Boundless was big, knew there were rumors about clandestine services renting space, but I had no idea it extended this far underground.
When we reach the bottom, six floors down, Shepard pulls into a parking spot designated for head of security. I wait for Finn to let me out, then follow Shepard as we trudge across the parking garage toward a yellow- and black-striped door.
Right before we reach it, I glance to the right and do a double-take.
There, parked a few spaces over from a jet black Mercedes, is a white hatchback with tinted windows.
I wasn’t being paranoid after all. Yay.
Shepard holds her ID up to a card reader embedded in the wall. The screen pulses red once, twice, then goes green, displaying a grainy image of her face. The scanner emits a pleasant beep, and the lock on the yellow-jacket door clicks open.
On the other side of the door is a whitewashed concrete corridor that smells cloyingly of old socks and motor oil.
“Fun fact,” Shepard says as we trudge down the passageway. “Boundless was built on top of a Cold War-era bunker that was originally designed to act as a temporary seat of government should DC get turned into a mushroom cloud.”
How appropriate.
I can practically hear the claw clicks and guttural growls of mutated monsters stalking the last survivors of the human race. In another time and place, this would be the perfect location to set a post-apocalyptic first-person shooter. Now, it only serves to remind me how unlikely it is that I’ll ever see Alana again, let alone Cassie and Evie.
Shepard stops as we reach a set of double doors. “Now, this can go one of two ways. Cooperate, and I’ll do my best to see that you get home. Put up any sort of resistance and I’ll have Finn start breaking fingers. Understood?”
Finn starts to pop his knuckles one by one.
I swallow, nod.
“All right.” She twirls a finger. “Turn around.”
Half-convinced she’s been playing me this whole time, that Finn’s about to put a bullet in the back of my head, I slowly face the wall.
Finn jerks at my arms, causing waves of pain to radiate out from my shoulders. I wince, grit my teeth, and fight the urge to donkey kick him.
“Here’s how this is going to work,” Finn growls, his breath hot and humid on my ear, his rough, beefy hand tight around my forearm. “You’re going to keep your eyes down and your mouth shut. Someone says hi, you ignore them. Someone passes you a birthday card to sign, you sign it and move on. You do anything to make anyone think you’re here under duress, you even act like you’re about to rabbit, I will march you into the nearest supply closet and waterboard you with a mop bucket. Do I make myself clear?”
I nod again.
“Good. Then hold the fuck still.”
There’s a faint snick, and then the zip-tie falls away.
I hate how grateful I am, how amazing it feels to be able to do something simple like stretch my aching arms in front of me and rub circulation back into my raw, enflamed wrists. When I turn around and look at Finn, the self-satisfied smirk on his face tells me he’s well aware of my conflicted relief.
Shepard swipes her ID through another card reader, unlocking the doors. They open onto a spacious common area. Potted plants stand alongside desks and cubicles occupied by dozens of people, most of whom barely glance up as we pass by. Several vending machines stand against one wall. A kitchenette is stationed in a corner complete with a fridge, a stove, and the kind of hand-pulled espresso machine that would make a perfect I’m sorry I put you through this gift to Alana.
Those who do acknowledge our presence raise their hands in greeting. Like a queen promenading past her subjects, Shepard accords each of them the briefest of nods. Contrary to Finn’s threats, none of them pay any attention to me. I certainly don’t recognize anyone.
In truth, this is the opposite of what I expected. It’s so… normal. Nothing here indicates someone as sociopathic as Shepard or Finn could ever be an employee.
We exit the common room, head down one last corridor, and follow Shepard into a small office, where a young man sits doing paperwork behind a bland metal desk.
“Is he in?” Shepard says as the kid looks up.
He presses a button on the intercom next to his computer.
“What?” a gruff voice snaps.
“Mr O’Laughlin? It’s Edward. Shepard just–”
“She’s here?”
“Yes, sir. Should I–”
“Shepard,” O’Laughlin’s disembodied voice shouts, “get your ass in here!”
“I see he’s in a good mood,” she says to Edward.
“He’s on his third espresso of the morning if that tells you anything. Go ahead and–”
The door behind us opens.
“Edward,” says the vaguely familiar, very pregnant woman who walks into the room while reading something on the tablet in her hand, “is Mr O’Laughlin available? I need to run some numbers by him.” She looks up, sees our merry trio. “Oh. I’m sorry, I didn’t realize…”
