The infirmary was bright, airy and if you didn’t know you were two hundred feet below the surface of Washington D.C.’s streets, you would not have known you weren’t in some fancy health clinic. Capable of handling up to twenty beds at a time, it boasted state-of-the-art medical equipment, MRI, cat scan and three full-time surgical suites.
The doctors were world class in that this complex was part of the covert nuclear disaster system assigned to protect the Senate and Congress as the Presidential Bunker was even more secret and hi-tech.
A high-speed rail system connected the White House, Senate and Congress to the Complex. Called simply Redoubt B, it was a closely guarded secret between the CIA and the NSA. In fact, most of the agents involved in its day to day running thought it was just part of the D.C. subway system.
The boy had a private room and a Marine stood guard outside his door. He took up only a small space on the hospital cot with the rails up. His skin and hair were the only color in the white bed although the room was painted in a soft rose. The nurses had decorated it with posters a child might like---Batman, scenes from Frozen and Transformers.
Cameron was there and watched the boy sleep, he was dressed in boy’s pajamas, not a hospital johnny. He was hooked up to an IV of fluids and liquid nutrition, a low dose of antibiotics to treat the beginnings of bronchitis and intestinal grippe. Probably contracted from drinking out of the streams. As of yet, he had not administered the antidote to bring Lakan Strong back from his forced sleep. For that, he was waiting for orders from Chase, Dir. Hamilton and the Medical doctor.
Chase entered the room dressed in a neat three-piece power suit of blue pinstripe with a tie sporting tiny snaffle bits and elegant race horses. Cameron sneered, knowing it was a Hermes and probably cost half a cheap car.
“Doctor,” he greeted and stood over the child’s bed. Cameron’s lip curled at the ponytail tied back with an equally fancy gold clip. He looked and sure enough, Chase wore a diamond stud in one ear. “We’re waiting for Dir. Hamilton. I believe you met her once?”
“Short, dumpy old lady? Bad temper?” Cameron asked. “Yeah. I thought she was somebody’s grandma or secretary.”
Chase smiled. “She wants people to underestimate her. Word of warning---don’t. She’s as sharp a shark as any Washington backstabber and she has the power to back it up. So, what does this wunderkind do?”
Before Cameron could answer, the door flew open and the director of the CIA barged in. She looked harried and even her expensive designer suit made her look dowdy. Her skirt was wrinkled, her collar wilted and the color all wrong for her complexion. It clashed with her gray hair. Worse yet, she had her nails painted in two different colors---a ghastly goblin green and a dark blue that sparkled. Both were supposed to match her outfit and failed miserably. She carried no briefcase or purse, only a huge shoulder bag that was reminiscent of a beach tote.
She looked at the doctor, Chase, and the hospital bed. “Well, why isn’t he awake yet?” she demanded staring at Cameron.
“We were waiting for you, Director,” Chase said mildly. “And Dr. Chavez.” He named the Colonel in charge of the Infirmary.
“Well, get him in here. I have a busy schedule today.” She looked at the child who had turned on his side and placed his fingers in his mouth sucking on them like a much younger baby. “My son used to do that,” she replied and her face softened for a second. “He has red hair.”
“Yes, Dir. Hamilton. Agent Strong was his mother.”
“She was Indian?” She sounded surprised and her face whitened as the boy turned to face them. “Get him up. Now,” she demanded, her voice harsh and shaking.
The doctor came in before Chase could react and he took one look at Hamilton’s face, made her sit down while he took her pulse and BP. She pushed both men aside and reiterated the demand to wake up the boy.
The doctor called Chavez was Army and a Colonel but he deferred to both Chase and Hamilton. Picking up the boy’s IV, he injected the antidote into the port and watched it flow through the lines. The results were not immediate but almost.
Lakan’s eyes fluttered, flew open, his hands wrenched from his mouth and he bolted upright screaming in terror which brought the Marine into the room with gun drawn.
“Stand down,” Chase barked and the Marine holstered his weapon.
“Director?”
The doctor attempted to calm the boy and only succeeded in agitating him further. Finally, he sedated the child and even that took two of them to hold Lakan down for the needle. Once he was quiet, Chase gave his attention to the obviously distraught Hamilton.
“Sarah?” he asked gently.
“Everyone out,” she snapped and all of them obeyed, even Chavez although he gave the boy a last glance before closing the door.
“Chase,” she said standing shakily and approaching the bedside. Her hand came out to rearrange the disordered covers and stroked the boy’s sweat-matted hair. Chase gaped at the show of tenderness from the hard-bitten woman.
“Did I ever tell you about my son?” she asked.
“Michael?” Chase named the agent who had lost his life on one of his Treasury Agency’s missions. From all things, a hit and run crossing the street after leaving his divorce lawyer’s office. The Director’s only child.
“Yes, Michael. Did you know that he and an FBI agent were having an affair?” At his stunned look, she continued. “I knew he was fucking someone but I never suspected he would jeopardize his career, marriage and leave his wife for her. When I heard the bitch was pregnant, I threatened him, sent an anonymous e-mail from his computer telling her to get an abortion. Instead, she ran. He was killed a week later.”
“And you think this is his son?”
“My grandson, Chase. He looks just like Michael did at that age. Except for the red hair.”
“Should I pull a DNA test on him?”
Hamilton opened the tote and pulled out an envelope printed with CLASSIFIED stickers. It had not yet been opened. She handed it to Chase and said, “I don’t even need to read it, I know what it’ll say.”
He however, did and swiftly tore the seal, extracted the report and read the findings.
SUBJECT: DNA markers match 99.99% indicating a paternal genetic relationship between Former FBI Agent Rachael Strong and Michael D. Hamilton.
If it were possible for Hamilton’s face to get any redder, he was afraid she was going to stroke out. “Did you say, Michael?”
Chase stared at the sheet and realized the implications. “Son of a bitch,” he whispered.
Hamilton shrieked. “Goddamned fucker! I told him to stay away from that bitch!”
“What are you going to do, Sarah?” Chase asked and she stared at him with grim determination.
“I’m going to take my grandson home, Chase and raise him myself.”
“He’ll hate you,” he offered.
“Not after we treat his mental state. I have scientists who can make a person believe anything, become anyone. I’ll just have him reprogrammed.”
“And do what? What about your project with Cameron? You think he’s going to just sit back and let you steal the boy?”
“I am the Director of the CIA, Chase. I can make him disappear. I can make you disappear. Don’t push me. See if the good Dr. Cameron can apply some of his fancy schoolings and make the boy…pliable.”
With that, she left the room.
*****
I woke up in a strange place but that didn’t frighten me as much as who I did not see when I woke. Dr. Cameron and the man with the ponytail were gone. I was in a bed inside what was clearly a cell; the furnishings were bolted to the wall, covered with a thin mattress and equally thin sheets. A stainless steel toilet shared the corner with a sink of the same make and functionality.
I felt ill; weak and shaky as I sat up, threw the covers back and stared at my pajama-clad knees dangling over the side of the mattress. I wore expensive blue piped pajamas which were in direct contrast to the cell-like surroundings.
Standing up required concentration, my balance was off and I could still feel the dregs of sedative in my system. For a while, I wasn’t sure who I was---I just knew something bad had happened behind the blank spots in my memory.
“My name is Lakan,” I murmured raising my hands to my face. There was no mirror to see what I looked like and I could barely remember my self-image. All I kept seeing was the picture of a coyote slipping through the brush but this coyote had dark red hair and light blue eyes more like a wolf.
I leaned over the sink, turned on the water and drank from my cupped hands. The liquid had a strange flavor; one my taste buds had not tasted before. I knew I was more used to mineral based well water. This one was treated and chlorinated.
“Hello?” I called and drifted over to the door. It was steel with one of those glass windows in it impregnated with wire. An electronic keypad was the lock that accessed both in and out.
I scanned the room and saw no sign of camera or microphones but they could be so small I wouldn’t spot them. I knew I was under surveillance; I could feel eyes on me.
“I’m hungry,” I complained and rolled my sleeves up. There, in the crook of my elbow were several black and blues where needles had injected me.
The door buzzed and slid open into the wall. A man stood there, I remembered his name was Dr. Cameron and the man in the sharp three-piece suit was called Chase.
“How are you feeling, Lakan?” the doctor asked.
“Where am I?”
“My clinic,” he answered. “You said you’re hungry.”
I nodded. Chase left the room and the door hissed shut behind him. Cameron went around me and sat on the bed.
“You know why you’re here, Lakan?”
“Where is here? I don’t remember anything just coyotes and the forest.”
“Your grandfather---where is he, Lakan?”
I paused and rubbed my forehead in confusion. “I think he died,” I said slowly. “I remember the spirit guides coming for him, burying him on a platform in the old way.”
“That was very respectful, Lakan. He would be proud of you,” the doctor agreed and handed me a robe as the door opened. I set it on the bed as Chase wheeled in a cart loaded with food. My mouth instantly watered and I reached out for the plate, held it as Dr. Cameron scooped fluffy scrambled eggs, bacon, toast and fresh fruit in neat little piles. I scarfed it down and had it half gone before I realized they were not eating.
“Don’t you want any?” I asked and both shook their heads. I shrugged. “More for me.”
“Orange juice, milk or do you drink coffee?” the doctor asked and I must have made a rude noise. Orange juice and fresh milk were not two commodities commonly found out on the reservation. Canned milk, coffee, and water were the drinks of choice if alcohol wasn’t number one.
The coffee was good, rich and creamy; I drank it without sugar like my grandfather. He already seemed a dream from long ago and I could barely recall my mom's face. Something warned me in the back of my mind that this was all wrong but it was a distant feeble warning and I ignored it.
The coffee tasted funny---sweet and with a bitter aftertaste. Slowly, I set the cup down. The walls moved around me, sinking in towards me as the floor fell out from under my feet. Cameron reached for me and his arms were ten feet long, his hands at the end now shaped like dolphin flippers. His eyes were ruby red glowing in a coyote’s face and he spoke to me with yips and growls. I sat there until the walls fell in on me and buried me under wet plaster that filled my lungs making it hard to breathe.