––––––––
Most of the ride in the van was a blur to me. When my senses finally began to return I was on a lumpy bed, staring at a dirty popcorn ceiling that used to be white. My head throbbed, matching the rhythm of my heartbeat. Whatever they gave me was powerful as hell, and now I was paying the price.
Pulling myself up, I tried to get my eyes to focus.
The rest of the room made the ceiling look like the Sistine Chapel. Two twin beds – I sat on the one closest to the door – were arranged in the middle of the room with ancient comforters covered in flowers atop them. I tried not to imagine what invisible stains they contained. In front of me sat an old tube TV, probably black and white, on a banged up dresser that needed to be put out of its misery. On my right, sitting at a small bistro table, were Smith and Chuck. Neither said a word, staring at me with a passive demeanor.
Beside them, in a chair by the head of my bed, sat a small black child. She concentrated on a laptop that looked cartoonish on her tiny legs. Her long straight hair was pulled up in pigtails that hung all the way down to her shoulders. She wore a t-shirt with the Powerpuff Girls on it; a pin stuck to the front said 'I heart Pirates'.
"You've graduated to kidnapping children now. Congratulations." My voice cracked as I spoke.
"Hey, fuck you buddy," the little girl said. "I'm 28."
Now I understood how Alice felt as she fell down the rabbit hole. Being abducted and drugged was surreal enough, but having a woman child cursing at me seemed ludicrous for some reason.
"Asher Benson, this is Nami Williams – she's a tech expert who will be assisting us temporarily," Smith said. "She's currently on loan from another department."
"Your name is Ash? ZOMG! Have you seen Army of Darkness?"
Nerds have been asking me that question since my childhood.
The door to the bathroom opened behind me and Sammy stepped out. When she saw me sitting up she rushed over, concern in her eyes.
"Ash, you're awake! Are you alright?"
"I feel like hammered shit. Things are still hazy, but I think I can function again," I said. "Please tell me that my apartment being blown apart was just a hallucination."
"It was not, Mr. Benson. As I said, you were in imminent danger." Smith spoke as if this were an everyday occurrence.
"Why the hell would someone shoot a rocket at my building? At me? I'm nobody, practically a hermit."
"You promised you would explain what was going on when he woke up, so let's hear it," Sammy said as she sat beside me on the bed. Her frazzled hair and dark eyes made her look strung out and exhausted.
Chuck sat like a statue, watching us.
"What I'm about to tell you is highly classified. Utter a word of this and you'll be tried for treason. Nothing leaves this room." Smith glared at us, letting his words sink in. "Have you heard about the murder of Senator McArthur?"
"Murder? I thought he killed himself at a press conference? And of course we've heard of it; CNN has been covering it nonstop for two days," I said.
"What hasn't been reported yet is that prior to Senator McArthur's suicide, he killed his wife and two children at their home in Silver Spring, MD."
"Whoa."
"The press is being told they are grieving in seclusion."
"Why cover that up? Someone will find out eventually."
"These murders are a matter of national security. Until this issue is resolved, their deaths will not be made public. McArthur was a member of the Senate Select Committee on Intelligence. He was the only politician, outside of President Thomas, who knew about the creation and operation of my anti-terrorism organization. His death was not a suicide."
This was heading in a direction I didn't like. Anytime anti-terrorism is involved, our elected officials like to write blank checks that often come back and bite us in the ass.
Sammy looked perplexed. "But he shot himself in the video that's been all over the internet."
Smith glanced over at Nami. "Queue up the DC3 footage, Ms. Williams." Focusing on us he said, "Are you aware of the eight federal employees who jumped from the top of the DoD Cyber Crimes Center?" We both shook our heads. "Yesterday afternoon eight people leaped to their deaths from the roof of the DC3 building. News stations are speculating that it was some kind of death pact. All eight of those people worked exclusively on digital forensics investigations and discovery with my organization."
Sammy sucked in a breath and held it, her hand covering her mouth.
That many people committing suicide in such dramatic fashion, all from the same organization, can't be a coincidence. How do you get someone to not only kill themselves but murder their loved ones?
I waited.
"Two days ago there were thirty people under my command. Now there are two. Three if you count Ms. Williams. The rest have disappeared or been murdered. The press have not picked up the story yet. They are too busy focusing on Senator McArthur and what they're calling the 'DC8.'"
Nami's head snapped away from her computer and looked at Smith. "Wait a second, no one told me this! Everyone who works for you gets killed? They said this was a routine operation and that you needed some tech assistance, not that I was going to be forced to hang myself in the shitter tomorrow!"
Smith barely acknowledged her. "In your line of work you don't get to pick your assignments, Ms. Williams. You do as you’re ordered."
Nami didn't like that answer, and seemed to be contemplating pushing the issue more, but decided to glower at her laptop screen instead.
Thirty people murdered in two days. How could that even happen?
"Who's hitting you? Terrorists? The Chinese?"
Sammy was getting anxious. "I don't understand what this has to do with us. Why did someone try to kill us with a bazooka?"
"The attempt was on Mr. Benson's life, not yours. You would have been collateral damage. Your involvement is coincidental."
For the first time in years I was actually talking to, let alone making progress with, a woman – when we were kidnapped and nearly killed. Now I was being told that she almost died because she was in the same room as me? Crap.
Smith shifted his gaze to me. "You were to be terminated because of an internal investigation my agency performed on you. Your name, address, and all other personal information had been collected and stored in our database. Those files were subsequently read and destroyed by our assailants. All other suspects we investigated have been murdered – you are the only remaining survivor."
Sammy gasped and reached for my hand. The warmth and tenderness of her touch comforted me, even in this insanity.
This made less sense by the second. When I joined the military after college, 9/11 had inspired me to help fight terrorists. Why would a covert anti-terrorism organization be investigating me? The only thing I’d worked on since being discharged was jaundice.
"Whoever you had doing your research must have been a typical overpaid government tool bag, because the only time I've ever even seen a terrorist was when I sighted them down my rifle. I have a purple heart for being wounded in Iraq! How could you suspect me of terrorism?" The accusations infuriated me.
"You misunderstand, Mr. Benson. You weren't suspected of being a terrorist. In fact, we are well beyond suspicion. We know, without question, that you are a telepath."