THIRTEEN

•   •   •

Jed moved across the pier to position himself with his back against the wall. It would give him a better view of the crowd so he could watch for any movements that appeared trained, practiced, or out of place for such a gathering. Assemblies like this had certain characteristics about them, a certain rhythm about the way they moved. Psychologists and anthropologists had studied group dynamics for decades. Typically, groups had predictable behaviors and patterns of movements. Individuals among a group operated within certain norms that had been studied and established over years of research. Anything outside the norm, anything beyond the predicted behavior, was cause for closer inspection and attention.

Jed’s mind went to Karen and Lilly again. He wondered if someday they might be able to enjoy a tourist attraction like this as a normal family. Just the three of them without the threat of assassins and secret government operatives.

A memory came to him, making its way slowly out of the past, out of the far reaches of his mind.

The three of them are at a carnival. Evening. The sky is dark as ink, but the area around the carnival glows with the lights of the rides and games and food stalls. Children laugh and scream. Adults chat happily. Carnies taunt men as they pass the booths, challenging them to “win one for the lady.” The smell of popcorn and candied apples drifts in the air. Three-year-old Lilly clasps Jed’s hand and earnestly looks into his face, all wide eyes and smiles and giggles.

“Horsey ride!” she titters, pointing to the carousel in the center of the midway. “I want the white horsey!”

Jed laughs and gives her hand a squeeze. How can he say no to that?

The ferry arrived, pulling Jed from the past and back into the present. Of course, he didn’t know if the memory was even real. It felt like it was, but so had the others, the ones Nichols and his scientists had “imprinted” on Jed’s mind. His past was full of false memories, and working through them, weeding out the fabricated ones, had become an everyday chore for Jed. Multiple times a day he’d describe a memory to Karen and ask her if it was real or not.

Karen. He wondered where she was, how far she’d gotten. He reached out to God and prayed for her safety, that she’d arrive at her destination without incident and remain safe there until Jed could find their daughter and join her again. He thought then of Lilly and prayed for her too. He wondered if they’d taken her to Alcatraz and if that was part of why he was being led there. Jed would have liked to formulate a plan for when he arrived, but he couldn’t. Murphy kept him in the dark each step of this journey. There was no way to know what was waiting around each corner. He might arrive at Alcatraz and follow the map he’d been given only to be led to yet another destination. But something told him this was it, the end of the line. This island, the Alcatraz prison, was where he’d get answers and find his daughter.

As the tourists boarded the ferry, a bi-level boat with a large observation deck, Jed remained in the rear of the group. He was content to linger on the fringe and observe. But he wasn’t interested in the boat or the surrounding pier or the beauty of the bay; he was more concerned with the behavior of those around him. So far, nothing had raised alarm, though a few idiosyncrasies drew his attention. There was one couple —both appeared to be in their late twenties or early thirties —whom he watched carefully. Neither wore a wedding band. On the pier the woman had glanced at Jed several times and smiled. She was fit and thin with an athletic build. A yellow ball cap held back shoulder-length brown hair. The man with her also had a thin, muscular build and short-cropped black hair. He wore sunglasses but seemed uninterested in most of what was happening around him. On the pier his attention had been solely focused on the woman. Now, he stayed close to her as they found a place to sit on the far side of the ferry. Still, he seemed to not care one bit about his surroundings. Either he was a very devoted lover whose entire world revolved around this one lucky girl or he was trying too hard to ignore the people around him. The woman didn’t seem to be bothered by his attention but didn’t seem to be flattered by it either. She appeared more interested in sights around her, the pier, the boat, the bay, the people.

Jed took a spot at the rear of the ferry and stood with his back to the railing, arms crossed, feet set wide to maintain his balance once the boat started negotiating the choppy bay.

The bay air was chilly and damp and salty, and the ferry bounced around on the whitecaps like a toy boat in a bathtub. The trip took no more than fifteen minutes, but Jed was happy when they finally arrived at the island’s dock. He preferred solid land over the undulations of a boat any day.

Alcatraz Island sat one and a half miles off the coast of San Francisco. The compound had been designed so the main cell house sat atop the island, 130 feet above the dock. The aged concrete-and-block buildings that dotted the island were surrounded by apple and fig trees, blackberry and honeysuckle bushes, and an assortment of grasses. A quarter-mile paved path wound around the rocky terrain, connecting the dock to the main cell house.

Jed followed the crowd off the boat, lingering toward the rear. Brown graywacke rock rose before him, jutting upward as if it had been heaved out of the sea by some great unseen force millennia ago. The paved path wove along the face of the rocks, climbing the hill in a switchback manner.

The couple Jed had been observing remained on the dock, watching the waves beat against the southeastern rock wall. The woman held the railing with both hands as the man stood close behind her, his arms wrapped around her waist.

Jed moved on. He made a mental note to watch the two, but now he had to keep walking. He needed to get to the main cell house and find his way to wherever the map would lead him.

Arriving at the cell house, Jed entered with a small group of French-speaking tourists. As he walked through the main doors, a man in the group, short but thick, stepped back and bumped into Jed, nearly knocking him off-balance.

“Désolé,” the man said. “Excuse-moi.”

“Ça va,” Jed responded. “Pas de problème.”

The man blocked Jed’s way and stared at him as if he either recognized Jed or was just surprised that Jed had spoken French.

Jed smiled. “Excuse-moi.”

“Oh.” The man looked around nervously as if embarrassed. “Désolé, monsieur.” He glanced over Jed’s shoulder, then met Jed’s eyes and smiled, nodded, and stepped out of the way.

Jed turned to see what the man had glanced at. In the courtyard of the cell house stood the couple, hand in hand. The man had removed his sunglasses and looked directly at Jed before turning toward the lighthouse.

Jed, heat now rising in his cheeks, looked at the Frenchman. The Frenchman averted his eyes, turned, and rejoined his group. In the courtyard, the dark-haired man headed toward the cell house. Jed’s internal alarms blared like a fire siren. He’d stumbled into a trap. Quickly he removed the map from his pocket and studied it for a few brief seconds. The man outside neared the main doors; the woman was no longer with him.

Jed crossed the lobby with rapid steps. He passed through the main gate and into B Block, where he turned right and headed for the next gate. Most of the tourists lingered outside the cell house or at the entrance, so the interior of the prison was not overly crowded, just wandering pairs or family groups. Passing the corridor between B Block and A Block known as Michigan Avenue, Jed picked up his pace, weaving around scattered tourists. The cells in Alcatraz were small, just nine feet by five feet, and each contained a sink, latrine, and small wooden desk. Three walls were concrete with the corridor-facing wall made of iron bars. Cages where society’s animals were once kept.

Jed fought off an image that knocked on his mind’s door.

A home in Afghanistan where the Taliban keeps prisoners. One room is barred off. Behind the bars are starving children, women, and men who have been beaten and maimed so severely they barely appear to be human. The stench of death and feces and body odor stings his nostrils.

But those bars . . . Jed forced the images back into the dark places where they hid.

Coming to the end of the hallway, Jed turned left onto what was known as Sunrise Alley. As he rounded the corner, he glanced behind him. The man was not in sight. Either he had given up pursuit through the prison or he had never been in pursuit, and the perceived threat was nothing more than Jed’s overcautious imagination.

Jed followed the corridor lined with cells on one side and concrete walls with barred windows on the other side to a set of doors installed in the floor itself. The map he held indicated that the doors covered a staircase that led to the dungeon tunnels under the prison. On the far end of the corridor an older couple held hands and walked away from Jed. He waited for them to turn the corner before he reached down and tugged on the doors. They were locked. On the wall was a keypad. Jed remembered the five-digit number scrawled on the map in red ink. After checking the corridor and finding it clear of visitors, he wasted no time punching in the number. The lock disengaged with a quick, solid clunk.

Without hesitation, Jed lifted the doors and stepped onto the concrete staircase. When his head had cleared the floor, he closed the doors behind him, entombing himself in the darkness of the dungeons beneath the cell house.

Down the steps he walked, carefully feeling his way along a cool, damp concrete wall. The bottom steps were lit by dim, dusty light filtering through the stale air from a wall-mounted enclosed yellow bulb. Similar sconces were mounted every thirty feet or so, casting the entire area in a murky yellowish glow. The air was cool and the smell of mildew and mold hung heavy.

Jed walked forward, senses alert. To his right were the remnants of solitary confinement cells. Smaller than the enclosures in the main blocks of the cell house, these rooms were more like tombs. A place where men either went mad or stayed mad. There was nothing rehabilitative about the dungeon. It was cold, wet, and dark. Men were deprived of light and sensation, chilled to the bone, and entombed for days, even weeks, with barely enough food to keep them alive. It was no wonder officials eventually deemed the hole as inhumane and cruel punishment.

•   •   •

Dr. Dragov returned to the room after a few hours. He was still alone, but this time he pushed a metal cart with a box on it. The box had dials on the front and a couple different digital readings. There were wires attached to the box too, black and red. Lilly knew the box; she’d experienced what it could do before. Her stomach twisted into a knot.

Dr. Dragov parked the cart along the wall and sat in the chair. He crossed his legs and folded his hands carefully in his lap, then stared at Lilly with that creepy smile of his.

Finally after several minutes Dr. Dragov said, “Have you remembered anything?”

“No,” Lilly said.

“So you have never seen Daddy use a thumb drive. Do you know if he has one? A special one? Did he ever show it to you or Mommy? Did he ever talk about it?”

Lilly didn’t have to hesitate. “No.”

Dr. Dragov turned his smile into an exaggerated frown. “Hmm. This is not good, you know? I need information and you seem to have none.” He turned his palms upward and shrugged. “So what are we to do?”

Lilly did not respond. Partly because she truly had no suggestions for the doctor and partly because the man just made her uncomfortable. He was unusual and unpredictable, and they were not good ingredients to combine.

Dr. Dragov stood and paced the room as if lost in deep thought. He held a finger to his mouth and moved his lips silently while at once shaking his head, then nodding it. Finally he stopped, closed his eyes for a few seconds, took a deep dramatic breath, then went to the metal cart.

Lilly held her breath.

“Of course,” Dr. Dragov said, “there are ways of . . .” He snapped his fingers as if searching for the correct word. “. . . jogging the memory, yes? We will see how this does.”

The doctor rolled the cart over to the bed and plugged it into an outlet on the wall. “You remember this, I think, yes?”

It was just like the box they used on her in the bunker in Centralia. They put electrodes on her body and sent currents of electricity through them. They couldn’t understand why it didn’t hurt her. Only it did hurt, like nothing she’d ever experienced before. What they really didn’t understand was the power of God to calm her. He was with her every moment during those sessions, his arms wrapped around her, protecting her, encouraging her, strengthening her. The pain was very real, but his presence was even more real.

Dr. Dragov opened a drawer on the cart and removed a foil package of electrodes. He looked at Lilly while he tore open the package. “You remember these?”

Lilly nodded. She’d been right about Mr. Murphy; he was no different from Mr. Nichols.

“I have watched the videos of you in Pennsylvania and was very impressed. What you did was quite remarkable.” He plugged the electrodes into the lead wires. “So will you share with me your secret? How you endure the pain? Or maybe you feel no pain?”

Lilly remained quiet. She now fully realized that even though she and her mom and dad had thought they were free, it was only a matter of time before they fell into the hands of Centralia again. Or someone just as evil.

When he had completed the preparation process, he stared at her again as if inspecting her as one would a strange and rare insect. “You don’t want to tell me? I am a scientist, no? I am curious. Inquisitive. What you do could help America’s soldiers. Imagine an army of soldiers who can fight through pain, through fatigue, through fear. Would they not be invincible?”

Lilly straightened her back. She decided to give it a try. “It’s not like that.”

Dr. Dragov seemed surprised that she’d answered him. “Like what, child?”

“It’s not something you can just pass on to someone else or train them how to do it. It’s not a trick.”

The doctor leaned close and lowered his voice. He lifted his eyebrows. “So what is it, then?”

“It’s God,” Lilly said very matter-of-factly.

The doctor pulled back and twisted his face into a scowl. “God?” He chuffed and shook his head in disapproval. “Of course, you are a child and God is for children. But we are here to talk about the thumb drive, no? Not God.” He held up the electrodes. “Now, we can do this easy and you allow me to place these on you, or we can do it difficult and I get help to hold you down.”

Lilly lay on the bed and closed her eyes. Dr. Dragov then proceeded to place the electrodes on her face and neck. He gently rolled her to her side and placed them on her back, then on her arms and legs. She counted ten total. They were cold at first but warmed quickly. She kept her eyes closed, pushing herself into a different place, a holy place. God met her there. His presence surrounded her.

“Now,” Dr. Dragov said, “I know you have this ability to block pain and it’s good, but there are always ways around the brain, yes? There are pain channels that cannot be ignored. And we will find yours.”

Suddenly loud music filled the room. Drums pounded; guitars screamed. Noise filled every cavity of her mind. She could not focus on God, on his presence, on his arms surrounding her.

But she didn’t need to. He was there. His voice overcame the noise. I AM HERE, LITTLE ONE. I WILL NEVER LEAVE YOU. I WILL ENDURE THIS FOR YOU. YOU ARE MINE.

Lilly felt a distant buzz race through her body, along her nerves, touching every muscle, every organ, every cell. But this time there was not the accompanying pain she had felt in Centralia. She lay calm, enjoying the presence of her protector. The buzz intensified but still brought no pain. Lilly kept her eyes closed. She didn’t want to see Dr. Dragov or his reaction to her lack of reaction.

I HAVE YOU. YOU ARE MINE. YOU ARE MINE, LITTLE ONE.

Finally the music shut off and the room fell silent. The buzzing had ceased as well. Lilly lay still with her eyes closed for a long time, listening. The room was silent. She opened her eyes and looked around. She was still attached to the machine and it was still plugged into the wall, but there was no Dr. Dragov. He’d exited the room and left her connected to the electrodes.