Pipe Dreams (24 page)

When Isaac left the synagogue, he retired to Edenton. For a few years before his death, your father paid him regular visits. It
’s likely your father persuaded Isaac to share some information with the CIA. Your father’s visits began almost immediately after your grandfather’s death and continued until his own.

Your grandfather
’s research was in bio-weapons and his lab was funded by unknown sources. We’re still working on trying to track them down. On top of all that, you ended up as an assistant in the NSO. Vanessa, you know what the people behind the NSO are capable of and what they’re planning. Your family was part of this. I need to how and I need to know why.” 

McGrath was loud, insistent, and convincing. Vanessa remembered the days after her parent
’s death. She had been numb and couldn’t cry. She had only wanted to hide, to get away from the clucking and fussing of the people in her house. The funeral, on a sunny morning in June, had done nothing to convince her of their deaths. Though she knew it wasn’t true, Vanessa had pretended they were away on another trip. She kept telling herself they would be home soon. Even after the funeral, she couldn’t accept it.

It hadn
’t become real until the day the house was broken into and her grandmother sent her to stay with Isaac. She had said it would give Vanessa a chance to get to know the city before she started college in the fall. Though painful, the circumstances had deepened her relationship with the rabbi.

“You
’re lying!” Vanessa said.

Lieutenant Marino put a hand on her arm, but Vanessa pushed it away. The colonel
’s words had opened an old wound. She had never understood why she had been sent to live with Isaac. She had wanted to stay in her home, surrounded by everything familiar. It wasn’t fair she had been uprooted. Still, the women in her family had been taught to do as they were told and Vanessa’s protests had gone unheard. Her grandmother had kept repeating it wasn’t safe for her to be at home and her reasoning prevailed. In the years after the rebellion, Vanessa had buried that memory.

Isaac had been wonderful and her first year of college was all consuming. When her grandmother had joined her in the city, her apartment had become Vanessa
’s refuge from classes and friends. Over time, the pain had diminished and together Isaac, her grandmother, and she had created a new life. The old one had faded. Now, McGrath had seeded doubt in her mind.

“After Isaac became your guardian, your grandmother sold your family
’s house and all their possessions for you. The estate was put in a trust in your name. From what they were able to find, the only things that weren’t sold were your personal possessions. Why do you think she did that, Vanessa?” McGrath asked.

“She only saved what was important. She said it was better that way. Something about custom. I don
’t really know.”

“What did she save?”

“Photographs mostly. Hundreds of them. They’re all over her apartment.”

“Did she save anything else?”

“Only the knife.”

“What knife?
’ McGrath asked.

“The Kovalic knife. It was my grandfather
’s. His father gave it to him when he left to study in America. It was the only thing that survived his family after the Holocaust. My grandfather cherished it. He gave it to my father just before he died. My grandmother gave it to me. She said it was my legacy, that I must keep it to pass on to my own first born.”

“Vanessa, where is the knife now?”

CHAPTER 42

It took CoCo a minute
to react. Then he lunged forward and lifted Ashley off the bed. She flailed, screaming and kicking, but he held her in a tight clutch. For someone her size, she possessed a surprising strength. When she calmed, he gingerly released his grasp, expecting her to charge. Though trembling with rage, she didn’t move. Instead, she stared at the man on the bed with a savage intensity. 

Blood and mucus pooled in the hollow above his lip and spilled into his open mouth. Ashley had broken his nose.
CoCo sucked in his breath as Ashley’s nostrils flared and her blue eyes flashed like one of the green broke colts on his family’s ranch in Montana, 

“You alright now?” he asked. When Ashley nodded, quivering, he continued. “Okay, then. Maybe you and I can step away and you can tell me who he is. That all right with you?”

She spun on her heel and marched out. In the kitchen, she pulled a glass from a cabinet, filled it with water, and drained it in one long gulp. Then she set the glass on the counter and fiddled with her bloodied hands. She still did not speak, so CoCo broke the silence.

“I
’d wash them if I were you. No telling where that guy’s been,” he offered. Ashley complied, scrubbing her hands under the faucet. When clean, she wiped them on a dish towel and turned to face him.

“He
’s one of the one’s who took me,” she said, her voice shaking. “He’s one of the bone people. They kept me in a cage!  They shaved my head and touched my body!  I thought they were going to eat me!” 

As
CoCo listened, large tears fell from her eyes. Soon, she was sobbing. In an instant, Ashley had transformed from a feisty young woman with incredible courage into a terrified little girl. It broke the commander’s heart. He took two steps, pulled her into his arms, and stroked her head while she cried.

After awhile, her sobs faded to hiccups and she pushed him away. She wiped her nose on the back of her arm, took a deep breath, and pulled up a stool. Sitting heavily, she rested her elbows on the counter and cupped her chin with her hands.

“I would have killed him if you didn’t stop me.”

“I bet. I
’d kill him too,” CoCo agreed. “Do you want to finish telling me what happened?”

Ashley nodded and picked up where she had left off.
CoCo chuckled in appreciation at her description of Lewis on the bedroom floor. How many females of any age would have performed so admirably in a similar situation? 

“He got what he deserved,” he said.

“No. He deserves much worse,” she replied. Her small mouth curved downward in a frown and her eyes gazed inward.

“Yeah. I imagine he does.”

Ashley continued to describe her journey through the drainage pipes and into the spillway. She told him about arriving back at the basement, just as the trucks pulled into the neighborhood, and warning Jeremy of the impending purge. As CoCo listened to her tale, an idea began to formulate, but he needed more information.

“Ashley, this is important. What else did Lewis say?”

“He didn’t make any sense. He said something about a shot and Isaac not needing it anymore. He said he would give it to me so I can stay like this. Then he asked if I wanted to watch him burn somebody.”

CoCo
frowned. Ashley had provided invaluable intelligence that might mean the mission’s success. If Lewis had access to the vaccine, he could lead them to its location, but how would he find Lewis?  The girl in front of him was tough and smart, but did she have the wherewithal to remember the important details?  He touched her hand.

“Ashley, can you remember where Lewis lives?” 

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

“If I showed you a map, could you try to remember?”

“Yes. I can try,” she replied, sitting up straight.

He smiled and led her back to the library. Pulling a map from a waterproof pouch on his belt, he spread it on a large, oak table. Then he aimed a bright reading lamp on the paper. He marked their current location with a small dot. “Here
’s where we are right now. Here’s the spillway. Can you remember where you might have come out of the pipe?” 

Ashley studied the map, trying to compare the small lines and grids with her memory. She hadn
’t paid attention to street signs and her zigzagged journey had blurred the details. The drainage pipe was near an industrial area, but the map only showed streets and parks. She knew the names of streets in her neighborhood like she knew the graffiti on the buildings and the lines in her hand, yet she didn’t know the rest of the city at all. The effort was hopeless.

CoCo
winced at her frustration. He couldn’t imagine what it must have been like to grow up in an environment like this. By the time he was her age he had explored every nook and cranny of his small hometown and could find his way anywhere. Only the hours in the day or the amount of gas in the tank had limited his freedom.

Forty-five minutes later, they were no further along. Ashley
’s eyes had narrowed to shadowed slits. She was exhausted and pushing wouldn’t help.

“
Okay. Let’s call it for now. You need to get some sleep,” CoCo said.

“Okay, but I want to check on Jeremy first,” Ashley
said, yawning.

In the infirmary, Derek and Bill slept on chairs next to Jeremy
’s cot. Derek’s pointy chin drooped and Bill snored, his arms across his burly chest. A shrill whistle escaped his lips with every exhale. Jeremy lay on his back, his dark skin glistening with sweat. Sharp cheek bones were made even more prominent by lockjaw. Beneath the clean, white sheet, his narrow chest rose and fell lightly.

As they approached, the SEALs woke. Derek sprang to his feet and intercepted
CoCo before he could get close to the bed. “A word, Commander?” he asked. CoCo nodded and the two men retreated to the far side of the room.

“What
’s up, Derek?” 

“A couple of things. First off, the guy in the other bed is a junkie. He
’s in withdrawal, but I’m guessing he’s coming out of it. I gave him a sedative to shut him up. He’s not in good shape, seriously dehydrated, but I didn’t put him on a drip. I don’t have enough with me to take care of both of them and I can’t take care of one of them for long.”

“
Okay. What’s the prognosis on the other one?”

“Not good. I
’ve got him on morphine, muscle relaxants, and antibiotics. He hasn’t had a spasm in awhile. Looks like it’s Tetanus. I found a deep puncture wound on his foot and debrided it, but the spores are in his blood stream. If we can get him to a hospital, he’ll probably make it…”

“But?”
CoCo asked.

“But his breathing is a problem. I
’ve got to keep him sedated or his spasms could get so severe they’ll break his bones. He should be on a respirator. His lungs could fail,” the medic answered.

“Will he regain consciousness any time soon?”

Derek caught CoCo’s meaning. They had no business tending to civilians who weren’t mission relevant. If Jeremy couldn’t provide any additional information, they were obligated to abandon him.

“Not likely. I take him off the meds, he does real damage to himself. The lockjaw alone would prevent him from talking. On top of that, until the infection is diminished and the poison is gone, it
’s too risky to take him off the morphine. The muscle spasms could kill him. They’ll definitely make him uncooperative. He needs a hospital, Commander. He needs it soon.”

CoCo
nodded. “Thanks, Derek. Take care of him. We’ll reevaluate when we reconvene with the rest of the team.”

CHAPTER 43

R
amirez had pleaded with Bowen
in the elevator, but the chief had not budged. Instead, he had handed Ramirez over to the mercenaries. They had been cold and impassive, locking him in a small office near the reception area. He had waited hours before a man came with a plate of food. Ramirez had been allowed to relieve himself and then he had been left alone.

Except for the occasional bathroom break, he had spent that night and the next day in the room, memorizing every drab detail. His bed was an old couch, colored in blue and white stripes. The windowless walls were bare. A desk and chair were the only other furnishings. When the door opened and a mercenary
signaled for him to follow, Ramirez jumped to his feet.

“Where are we going?”

“Seems like you’ve got a job. Let’s go,” the mercenary said.

“Doing what?” 

“Does it matter?”

“No. Anything
’s better than this.”

Ramirez followed the mercenary across the lobby. In a long corridor, fluorescent lights were spaced at regular intervals in the dingy, white drop-ceiling. The mercenary paid no heed to his companion
’s shorter legs and Ramirez had difficulty keeping up. At the end of the hall, a heavy steel door was guarded by yet another mercenary. They passed through and entered a different hallway, shorter and brighter than the first. Everything gleamed white. Their footsteps echoed as they approached a small chamber. It had an airlock door, thick glass windows, and three compartments. Inside, blue plastic suits hung neatly on one of the walls. A small bench and a row of lockers occupied the other.

“Take your clothes off. Put one of these on.” The mercenary pointed to the suits. Ramirez complied. When he was dressed, the mercenary handed him a set of latex gloves, an expensive respirator, and goggles. Finally, the mercenary had him don plastic booties over his shoes. “Go through to the far side. Mac will take you into the plant,” he said.

Ramirez nodded, swallowing hard. Anything that covered his face made him claustrophobic, but respirators and helmets were especially bad. The tiny clasps were often difficult to remove. He forced himself to breath deeply as he tightened the respirator around his face.

The next room was for decontamination. High pressure shower heads were mounted on each of the four walls. A bin for dirty suits hugged the far one. Designed to remove loose particles before they clogged the shower drain, the final room was a vacuum chamber. A large pipe descended from the ceiling. The floor was a metal grate.

A large man, dressed in gear similar to his own, opened the door for him. Except for the goggles and respirator, the man looked like a giant, blue Smurf and Ramirez stifled a nervous giggle. When the man stuck out his hand, Ramirez marveled at the gesture. Had the courtesy been extended because he was out of his uniform and not identifiable as a cop? Regardless, it was the first sign of civility he had encountered and he gratefully shook the man’s hand.

“I
’m Mac. I run the processing division. You’ll be working for me. There are some rules you have to follow. No ifs, ands, or buts. You don’t follow them, you’ll end up like them,” he said, pointing. Ramirez looked down. He was standing on a mezzanine, high above a warehouse floor. The mezzanine narrowed to form a catwalk that ran along each of the walls, making a complete circumference around the gigantic room. On the floor below, several rows of tables were surrounded by people wearing latex gloves and surgical masks. In front of them were measuring scales, stacks of plastic baggies, and piles of white powder. Scooping quantities from the piles, the workers placed them on the scales, adjusted the measurements by adding or removing some of the powder, and poured the contents into the baggies. Once full, they placed the baggies on conveyor belts that traveled the length of the room.

Suddenly, an image of Blondie flashed in front of Ramirez
’s eyes. When he had taken the savage prisoner, he had been astounded to discover track marks on his arms. Looking at the floor, Ramirez understood. In addition to whatever else happened at the Farm, Lewis was manufacturing drugs.

Mac urged him to move. Their bootie covered shoes were noiseless on the metal grating of the catwalk. As they rounded each corner, the guards on duty shifted to make room for them to pass. The automatic weapons that leaned against the metal railing next to each of them made their function crystal clear.

On the far side of the catwalk, a staircase descended to the main floor. They clambered down, turned right, and passed through a set of swinging double doors. Two men guarded each side of the entry. Unlike those on the catwalk, they stood at full attention and cradled their rifles in their arms. The movement of their heads was barely perceptible in response to Mac’s one syllable greeting.

Beyond the doors lay a lab in full operation. Technicians, dressed in green, were busy at various mixing stations. Unlike their counterparts in the warehouse, they had thicker gloves and wore respirators. Enormous exhaust fans turned at full speed in the exterior wall, evacuating rank chemical fumes from the room. Ramirez shuddered. He had pulled bodies out of an exploded meth lab early in his career and didn
’t relish the memory.

Mac led him across the processing floor. On the other side, where the conveyors pierced the wall, was another door. Mac opened it, revealing artworks of every size and media crammed into corners and stacked on tables. Boxes, crates, and other packing materials covered every available surface. A foam machine, used for shipping fragile objects, was on a table to the side.

Ramirez stared, mouth agape. Chuckling at his astonishment, Mac explained. “Yeah. The boss is pretty smart. Nobody questions art deliveries. The rich would have a fit if all their pricy baubles were open to random inspection.” 

Ignoring them, a mercenary fit a neat bundle of baggies into the hollow of a small bronze sculpture. When the cavity was full, he reattached the sculpture to its granite base, wrapped it in cellophane, and placed it into pre-molded foam inside a double walled, cardboard box. The box was then sealed and stacked in a neat pile near a rollup door at the back of the room.

Leaving the packing area, Mac led him through a series of rooms that housed chemical ingredients. Ramirez recognized some of the names from his police training – denatured alcohol, hydrochloric acid, and sodium hydroxide were all used in meth labs – but he didn’t know the others.

Finally, the tour complete, Ramirez followed Mac back up the stairs, across the catwalk, and into the decontamination chamber. They waited while the giant vacuum cleaned the loose particles off their clothes and then stepped into the shower where they stripped off the plastic suits, booties, and other protective gear. Mac pushed a button on the wall, treating them to a high pressure spray of hot water from all four directions.

After a few minutes, the shower stopped automatically. The men collected their shoes and entered the first compartment of the chamber. Using towels from inside one of the lockers, they dried themselves and donned their clothes.

Ramirez
’s mind churned. How did the drugs leave the island? They would have to travel through known methods, utilizing airports or shipping docks in the United States. Since they did, the mainland couldn’t be under siege or suffering the ravages of the Blue Flu and that meant the NSO had been spreading a giant lie.

He felt sick. Not only had he agreed to enforce
NSO mandates, his actions had enabled the administrators to manufacture and distribute massive quantities of illegal narcotics to the population at large – a population alive and well beyond the confines of the island’s natural borders. As he contemplated the scope of the fallacy, fury and hope conflicted with impotence. The irony was maddening. He had finally discovered the truth, but that discovery had imprisoned him. When he had been free to act, he had followed blindly. Now that he could see, he was powerless.

“I don
’t believe it. How could I have been so stupid?” he murmured.

“Ah, sorry. Thought you knew,” Mac said.

“Knew what?” 

Mac watched him, shaking his head. “They named this city right, don
’t you think?” When his question went unanswered, Mac continued. “They say knowledge is the root of all evil and you, my friend, just took a gigantic bite from the apple. So much for paradise, huh? Hell, I’m hungry. You coming?” Ramirez scowled, but didn’t reply.