Returning to Darkness

ARTIE SPOKE AGAIN, “SMYTHE! PULL OVER. THIS ROAD IS TOO dangerous!”

“Fine, you drive! I need to think, anyway.”

God! I just need to breathe! Why can’t she understand that!

Incensed at Artie’s demand to pull over, Smythe scanned her surroundings. The road had become straight and allowed her to safely pull to the side. Thankfully it was quiet, without a car in sight. In fact, she had not driven the road at that time of the morning. Her eyes lit up at the sight of the lush green hills flanking either side of the road. Pine trees had released a smattering of their cones, and debris dotted the hillside.

Team 2 pulled in behind Smythe’s car while Team 1 idled their vehicle in front of her. Disgruntled at the length of time it took Smythe to pull over, Artie exited the car and peered up and down the road before trading places with Smythe. Artie wanted to speak, but decided now was not the time to chastise her client. Instead, she allowed an uncomfortable silence to sit between them.

Artie began to pull away from the curb, but suddenly sensed danger and stopped. Something was coming—she could hear it. She squinted her eyes as an SUV approaching from the opposite side of the road blended into the gray skies, its position only given away by the glimmer of its silver bumper. Unencumbered by traffic, it barreled down the remote road, picking up speed the closer they neared Smythe’s vehicle. Artie honed in on the driver’s side window. It was down, and the muzzle of a handgun was pointed in her direction.

“Gun! Smythe, get down!”

Artie hit the gas pedal and moved forward. In a perfectly orchestrated movement, Team 1 veered backward toward Smythe’s vehicle and swerved their car between Artie and the gunman. Dennis drew his weapon, squinted his brown eyes, and focused on the driver’s window, waiting until the last possible moment before squeezing the trigger. He fired past his driver into the window of the oncoming SUV. The SUV lost control, momentarily moving along the gravel curb, but regained control and sped past Smythe and Artie without firing a shot.

Smythe crouched her head low between her knees. As if in a dream state, she experienced a moment of déjà vu, reliving the morning she witnessed the murder in sickening detail. She felt the sound of the gun in the deepest parts of her soul—the noise jarring her chest. She began to tremble uncontrollably, squelching the need to scream.

Team 2 peeled away from the caravan and drove off in pursuit. Team 4, tasked to serve as a trailing backup vehicle, was one minute behind Smythe’s caravan. As the gunman passed them, Team 4 picked up the pursuit, allowing Team 2 to rejoin the convoy.

“Keep your head down, Smythe. Don’t look up.”

Smythe remained perfectly still, save the jostling of her vehicle, as Artie navigated the roads. Though the morning sun had only just begun to break through the clouds, Smythe was engulfed in complete darkness. Her only thoughts were the repeating images of the parking lot. Over and over again, Smythe’s memory emanated the sound and violence of the gunshot and the image of the dead man crumpling onto the pavement. Smythe squeezed her eyes shut, covering her ears in an attempt to force the sound and images from her mind. She began to feel sick as Artie made no niceties when navigating turns.

Artie continued to remind Smythe to keep her head down and used her com link to keep in contact with her teams. She drove for roughly 30 minutes in the opposite direction of Smythe’s apartment before taking an exit, turning into a gravel road lined by eucalyptus trees. She barked an order for Team 2 to remain hidden just off the road as she continued to follow the well-hidden path.

She found a pull-off along the abandoned roadside sitting across from a burgeoning marigold meadow and parked, quickly jumping out to check the underside of the SUV. When she did not find what she was looking for, she ordered her teams to check their vehicles with meticulous detail. She grabbed Smythe’s messenger bag and rifled through it, finally locating her cellphone. It was off. Meanwhile, Dennis checked all of his team’s electronic devices to ensure they too had been turned off and made a mental note to have each vehicle re-inspected.

“For now, she’s safe. Team 2, remain where you are,” Dennis commanded, using the com link.

He spoke with an irritated Artie to confirm safety protocols were in place while they waited for Team 4 to check in. Satisfied that the present danger had passed, Artie strode to Smythe’s SUV and opened the passenger side door to find Smythe still crumpled into a human ball.

“Hey, baby. It’s ok.”

Smythe had yet to lift her head from her knees, her body convulsing in uncontrollable spasms.

“Where-where are we?” she asked weakly.

“Safe. C’mon, let’s get you some fresh air.”

“I don’t seem to be able to. I’m having trouble sitting up, Artie. I’m—”

“You’re ok, baby. Give me your right hand,” Artie gently whispered.

Smythe, engulfed in darkness, hesitated to unfurl her arms. Yet, slowly, she pulled her right arm out from under her torso. She inched it toward Artie’s voice, searching for Artie’s presence. Artie lightly wrapped her hand around Smythe’s trembling, outstretched arm.

“Do you feel this? It’s me supporting you,” Artie whispered. Smythe nodded slightly, attempting to remain present, begging quietly for the panic to subside.

Artie tenderly held Smythe’s hand in the palm of her own. She allowed her thumb to softly trace the veins on the back of Smythe’s hand, offering just enough pressure to enable Smythe to concentrate on the human touch.

“I’ve been with you from the beginning, and I am here now. We’re ok. Can you sit up for me?”

“Yes.”

Commanding all of the courage she did not know she possessed, Smythe painstakingly sat up. With her eyes still closed, she gently lifted her head. She shivered as she felt the cold air sweep across her forehead.

Now seated upright, Artie noticed Smythe was sweating profusely, her forehead glistening under the breaking gray skies.

“Baby, slowly open your eyes. You don’t need to relive the murder. Just open your eyes.”

“I’m having trouble, Artie.”

“I know. Turn your head toward my voice.”

Smythe complied.

“Good, now slowly open your eyes. It will be me you see.”

From her darkness, Smythe gradually opened her eyes and beheld the tender expression of Artie’s gaze. She shifted her bottom to allow her legs to swing out the door. Drained of physical strength, she leaned into Artie’s arms, a tear trickling down her cheek.

Artie held her until she could feel Smythe’s shoulders begin to relax.

“What you’ve experienced was a flashback. You’re not alone in this. A lot of people who have witnessed violence like you have tend to have them. It’s perfectly normal, just breathe.”

Smythe nodded her head. “Ok, I understand. It-it really sucks, though.”

She took in a jagged breath, inhaling the lavender scent of her protector. After a few minutes, she began to look beyond Artie. She sat back from her embrace, disoriented, for she assumed she was in front of her apartment.

“Where-where are we? I-I don’t recognize this place.”

“It’s a place I visit to center myself. I have a few. I enjoy this one because it’s not as barren as some of my other spots, and it’s off the beaten path. You have to know where you’re going to find it. It’s a safe place for me, and now you.”

Smythe began to peek around, the chirping of birds filling her ears. Through an opening in a cluster of trees, she could see portions of the lower valley and its urban sprawl. Around Artie’s ankles, marigolds and other wildflowers danced in the light breeze. She could hear the whispers of Team 1 as they maintained a vigilant eye. Her body still, Artie’s eyes were soft as she reached in and held Smythe’s hands to steady her.

“How long are we going to stay here?” There is so much of this place I want to experience. This is Artie’s safe place? I would have never guessed.

“Until I hear back from Team 4. I have water in our team’s car if you’d like some.”

“I-I’m good. I still have the rest of my coffee.”

“Work on that slowly. You still haven’t gained your color back yet.” She tenderly brushed the back of her hand against Smythe’s cheek. “Now, I want to help you become more grounded. Take your hands and rub them together like this.” Artie demonstrated by rubbing her own hands together and watched as Smythe mimicked her, facing the palm of her hands together and slowly rubbing them against each other.

“Good. Now wiggle your toes.” Smythe blushed a bit, feeling a bit foolish, but did as Artie asked. After a few moments, Smythe stopped. She looked sheepishly into Artie’s eyes.

“Artie, my stubbornness did this. I’ll follow your instructions. I’m sorry. I could’ve gotten you—”

“Stop,” Artie began, her voice gentle and low. “What’s done is done, and we’re all alright. Trust me. You’re not the first client to buck my directions, and you won’t be the last. Just know this is the real deal, Smythe. Someone wants you dead, and it’s my job to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

“I know that now. I guess I just thought the last time was a fluke.”

“Well, I would’ve wished that were the case for you, but it’s not. Just rest a bit. There are some malasadas left in the box. I can snack on the other team’s.”

“How did they find us?”

“I don’t know. They came from an entirely different direction, but I’ll find out. Just rest for now.”

Artie took a step back and allowed Smythe to exit her car. Smythe opened the backseat car door to retrieve a malasada from the box. As she took a bite and savored the sweetness of the pastry, she thought about how amazing the malasadas at Leonard’s Bakery on the island of Oahu must be. She peered around the grove, taking it all in. The eucalyptus trees across the road reminded her of Hawaii, and her thoughts wandered to the island of Oahu.

She recalled her first visit was as a teenager, accompanied by her parents, siblings, and grandmother on a family vacation. At the time, she stomped around angrily and then pouted at the thought of going with them. She had hoped to tend to her highly introverted self by spending some alone time in the house. Her mother, however, was insistent she join them, reminding her daughter she was much too young to remain at home alone. Her only other option would have been to send Smythe to stay with her aunt and her two sons. That option was enough to encourage Smythe to make the trip.

On her arrival to the island, Smythe wondered why she was so resistant to coming. The air was humid, but a gentle breeze cooled the temperature down, and the air was infused with the smell of sweet pineapple and hibiscus. Set amongst sandy beaches and blue sky with a diverse culture in language, art, music, and dance, the island and its residents enchanted Smythe. The people were friendly, laughing often, and willing to share their culture with anyone interested in hearing the history of the island. Helpful and gentle in all ways, Smythe could not help but fall in love with the people and knew she wanted to call this island home one day.

Her second visit occurred several years later when she entered the island’s full marathon. Her one and only time entering a race of any length, she jumped at the opportunity to return to the island she had fallen in love with and scraped enough money together to buy a round-trip airline ticket and hotel accommodations. After the race, once she recovered from the stiffening ache of her endeavor, Smythe toured the island. Locating a couple of secluded beaches off the beaten tourist path, she met and befriended several locals who lived in the area.

Over the course of her remaining week, she held deep, soulful conversations with them. They “told story” about the island and the colonization of it, and Smythe was fascinated. She learned current Hawaiian people make up less than 20% of the population and, similar to the indigenous people of the United States mainland, Hawaiians suffered the horrors of first contact—massive depopulation, landlessness, Christianization, and economic as well as political marginalization.

“When da U.S. military invaded our land, they overthrew our Queen. Our fate was sealed then, and the Empire was built. They banned our language, and it was replaced by English. Our land and water rights are no more, given to da corporations,” her friend Kona had recounted. As a mixed-race woman, Smythe understood the deep pain and grief of marginalization in their own land and the desire to reclaim it. She also remembered leaving with a heavy heart, concerned for the future of her beloved friends and their land.

Her third trip had been with her partner at the time, who attended a business conference. While her partner spent days in meetings, Smythe found her way back to her secluded beaches to find many of the same locals still living there. For her, it was a heartfelt homecoming, a moment in time which she held as sacred. It offered her a connection to people very different from herself, yet wholly accepting of who she was.

She looked down at the malasada she held in her hand and glanced in Artie’s direction. She was genuinely grateful her protector had been to Oahu and that she loved malasadas. Her eyes scanned the grove again. It looked as if it could have been plucked from the island and set secretly into this valley. She began to feel connected to the grove and made a mental note to ask Artie for directions to this piece of paradise—after the trial had ended. She needed to feel safe enough to return alone.

Dennis approached Artie with news.

“Hey boss. Team 4 tracked the SUV to a warehouse on the edge of the city. The perps were no longer in the car, but there was a trail of blood leading away from it.”

“Where are they now?”

“Don’t know. Heavy foot traffic in the area. Our team is not going to find them. I called off the pursuit.”

Artie sighed at the news and looked over toward Smythe. On the one hand, she was grateful her client was not injured. But she also wondered what would have happened had Smythe not taken her annoying route. Would the occupants have tracked Smythe to her apartment? More importantly, how was it that the occupants in the SUV, coming from an entirely different direction, tracked Smythe? Artie immediately thought of Carole. She knew relaying the information to her would cause yet another conversation about moving Smythe to a safe house out of state. But, for the present moment, she needed information on the owner of the SUV.

“I need the license plate number, Dennis.”

After receiving the plate number, she reached out to Carole through a secured link and relayed the events. None too happy with the current threat, Carole said she would run the plate and send a team to the area and requested a meeting with Artie later in the day.

Artie approached Smythe. “Smythe. We can travel now. Bad guys are gone.”

Smythe meekly nodded. Artie leaned in toward Smythe and tilted her head. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing really. Just a bit of a bruised ego. I knew better than to take the route. How many times had you previously told me not to veer from the planned route. But I didn’t listen, did I? Seems like a recent pattern in my life—not listening and following instructions.”

“Stop beating yourself up. It doesn’t do you or me any good. Awareness is key Smythe and it looks like you just figured out an old behavioral pattern that isn’t serving you. If I can be so bold—look at the reason for the behavior. From where I’m standing you don’t yet trust me—which I don’t understand,” Artie said with a smile. “I’m really quite trustworthy.”

“Now, let me have your keys. One of my team members will drive your vehicle back to your apartment.”

*
*     *

Carole sat back in her chair after returning to her office from an impromptu department meeting. She could feel the heat rising in her cheeks as Artie provided the details of her latest encounter with the syndicate. Carole confided she was having difficulty moving the case forward, feeling some unexpected hesitancy from the District Attorney’s office, but would pressure them again.

“I’m beginning to wonder, Artie, if moving Smythe out of the valley is now a viable option. This makes at least two attempts.”

“They’ll find her, Carole, whether she’s here or in Witsec somewhere in the middle of nowhere. I ensured my team vehicles are clean as well as Smythe’s, and our devices have been swept, but something still doesn’t feel right. All I know is that moving Smythe will not stop them from locating her. Remember the Jennison case?” Artie said, defending her stance to keep Smythe where she was for the moment.

“Yep, I do. Your instincts were right then. All I can say is that I’m glad you were a sharpshooter; otherwise, he wouldn’t be alive today.”

“To your consternation as well. But eventually, you trusted me, right?

“I did.”

“Then trust my instincts now, Carole. Don’t force her out of the valley.”

Carole hesitated. She knew her friend had good intentions, and there was no doubt that Artie’s experience would go unmatched to anyone in the FBI. Yet, this case was much more complicated than even Carole could have imagined, and her director was beginning to pressure her. Carole stared out her office window to the empty conference room where she first met Smythe, recalling Smythe’s behavior. As far as she was concerned, Carole had only two options. Reluctantly place Smythe into federal custody, or leave her with Artie.

“For now, I’ll agree. But I may have to remove her at a later time, Artie. You’ve got to figure out how they have been able to track her.”

“I understand. Let me worry about that angle.”

“Listen, I’m going to change the subject just slightly on you, Artie. I’ve been doing some digging. Can we meet in an hour?”

“Yes, I’ll leave now. Normal place?”

“Yes. See you in a bit.”

An hour later, Carole and Artie sat at the back of Rodolfo’s restaurant. With only a smattering of patrons, the waitstaff paid little attention to the women as they prepared for an event later that evening.

“This syndicate came into the valley from Hawaii. Specifically, Kauai,” Carole said.

“What?”

“Yeah, my sources tell me the murder of the vic had nothing to do with the extortion of money. This was a planned hit. What I now know is that there are some missing and potentially incriminating documents from a global company located on the island of Kauai. Evidently, those documents point to the intentional spraying of toxic chemicals on agricultural land. Not only are they poisoning parts of the island, but there are potentially harmful effects on humans who consume this food—meaning us.”

“What kind of chemicals?”

“Chemicals that have been sanctioned by the FDA in limited use only, while some of the other chemicals have not been sanctioned at all. And here’s the thing—there is some evidence those chemicals that have been sanctioned are overutilized.”

“The vic was in possession of those documents?”

“He was, or at least he knew who had them. The documents were to be delivered to an environmental group here that has the legal muscle to halt the spraying. From what I’ve pieced together thus far, the island has an interesting history of global agriculture.”

Artie stopped picking at her salad. “How so?”

“Well, to begin with, the establishment of sugar plantations. Sugar plantations pulled the Hawaiian islands, specifically Kauai, into a capital agricultural production industry, leaving a legacy of issues related to consolidated land ownership and control over water rights. During the late 1980s, those large sugar plantations eventually shut down. With the Hawaiian economy dependent on tourism by then, conversations were started about making Kauai the center for biotechnology research to diversify and take over some of the agricultural economy. It seems these companies began creating test fields for genetically engineered crops, experimenting with seeds and pesticides on every food type within these fields.”

“What has any of this got to do with Smythe or the vic who was killed?” Artie asked.

“Hear me out, Artie. Because of the climate on Kauai, multiple formulations could be tested in the same fields all year long. Those bioengineered crops, i.e., genetically modified crops, have been created by chem companies.”

“Wait, you’re telling me that chem companies are the ones that created GMO crops?”

“Exactly. It took me some time to wrap my head around that, too. GMOs, which are a product of the deliberate engineering of an organism’s characteristics by the manipulation of its DNA, are the new food source in the United States.”

Artie sat dumbfounded and shook her head. She glanced down at her salad once more before pushing it to the side.

Carole took out a piece of paper and began to draw.

“Let me see if I can explain it differently. Let’s say you have a tomato. Tomatoes don’t do well in harsh climates, and are notorious for having issues with pests, right? If you were a chem company, you might figure out a way to make the tomato impervious to harsh climates and pests through the use of chemicals. So, you have your bioengineers figure it out. They take the genes of, say, a specific fish, and transfer it into the genes of a tomato. Now they have a tomato that can withstand a cold climate. They’ve boosted the yield, subsequently boosting the bottom line.

“The chem companies, from what my sources tell me, are experimenting with genetically modified seeds, exceeding the allowable limit of pesticides many times over—pesticides which, by the way, are banned in Europe because of the potential danger to both the environment and human health.”

“Wait, you just jumped from fish DNA to pesticides. Pesticides in what? The tomato?”

“That’s what we’re finding out, or at least it would seem so. If you create seed that repels insects, you have genetically altered the seed to create their own insecticide.”

“Insecticide in a tomato? So, your vic had evidence of this?”

“The evidence is out there already, Artie. As I said, this is no extortion case. This is about the potentially harmful effects of chemicals used in our food.”

“So chem companies create crops with their own insecticide within them, which then means you can’t wash the chemical compound out of the tomato because it is a part of the tomato,” Artie said aloud, attempting to digest the information. She sat staring at the diagram in front of her and then at her salad, jabbing a wedge of tomato with her fork to examine it. She twirled the fork around, looking at all sides of the fruit. She thought about the number of people she knew who now had cancer—healthy people who ate well and exercised. Where did it get them?

“But not all tomatoes are bad, right?”

“No. Not all tomatoes are bad. You eat organic, right?

Artie nodded. “Mostly.”

“Then stick with it.”

Carole reached her hand out and crumpled the diagram in front of Artie.

“So, then it’s not a local yokel group. They’re connected to something much larger on the island of Kauai, which means they are probably well funded.”

“Yes, and our own government may be turning a blind eye to it all. Artie, you have got to keep Smythe alive in order for her to testify. We’ve got to give a clear signal for the watchdog group to come forward with the information. I don’t know who has it, but when we searched the vic’s home, we found nothing. His home had been tossed.”

Artie nodded her head.

“When I know more, if I can share, I will.”

Instead of returning to check on her client, Artie headed to her office. She felt stunned by the information Carole shared with her, and she needed to time to digest it. She paced in circles, her mind bursting with theories surrounding who the chemical companies were in bed with. Government officials? If so, were they island or Washington officials, or both?

She began to research GMO seed and quickly found which chemical companies were currently on the island. While she did not have FBI clearance to begin looking into their financials, Carole did. She could only hope Carole was investigating that angle. She thought about past FBI cases with Carole. Artie had always been the better agent, meticulous in all of her investigations and possessing an uncanny sense to read her environment. Carole, on the other hand, could be careless in her investigations, missing the less obvious angles—and sometimes, the obvious ones.

The expansiveness of the case caused Artie to revisit her security plans, again wondering who was tracking her client and what resources were available to them. She felt an urgency to identify any weak spots in her security plans, knowing a well-funded crime ring would be difficult to stop.