Chapter Ten
I let the dogs lead and followed them. They chose a path that was easier than I would’ve expected – a game trail that skirted a ridge above the river. Occasionally, I could see traces of it through a break in the trees.
The trees here in this high valley were huge – mostly hemlocks and pines. Lodgepole pines, every bit of a hundred feet tall and some so wide that four of me couldn’t put our skinny arms around their trunks. The dogs caught rabbits in the brush of the pine needles under them. I let them have two, the third I butchered for myself and a later meal.
I was tired, even after resting and eating, my energy reserves so low that moving was an effort and my feet dragged. Several times I stumbled, catching myself on tree trunks and Zag's back. He whined softly and licked my hand.
“I’m tired, Zag,” I whispered. “I don’t know where I am.” I caught back a sob. “And I miss Grandpop.”
Zig barked in front of me and I froze. His frantic yapping indicated there was someone or something up ahead that he did not know or trust. I looked around, my back trail was negligible, I was thin and slight, my sneakers were worn and leaving little more than faint scuff marks. Out of habit, I had walked in places so as to leave no impressions and the dogs had done the same following me. With a soft whistle, I called both dogs to me and we melted back into the brush.
Slowly, carefully, not putting a foot down until I was certain what was under it would not snap, crackle or rustle, I hid deep in a thicket of briars and gooseberries not caring that the thorns made scratches on every exposed piece of skin or that they stung and trickled with blood.
How, I wondered in a panic as I spied men in hunting apparel armed with military-style weapons and gear, how were they tracking me? I knew I wasn’t leaving enough spoor for any white man to see yet here they were. Then, to top off the horror, I heard a man’s voice call my name. A man’s voice I knew and loathed. Aiken from Dr. Cameron’s.
“Laky, come out, come out. We know you’re here,” he sang.
I swallowed a squeak, covered my mouth with both hands and both dogs leaned into me without a sound. I could feel them trembling against my body.
“Come out, Lakan or I’ll shoot the dogs,” he called but his voice was moving and came from a different direction. The ground trembled slightly under me, the vibration of a big man’s feet. So at least, I knew what direction from which he was coming. The only way out of the thicket of thorns was to burst through in a dash; a slow careful crawl would only snare me further. I told the dogs to stay and my first stride was in the direction heading straight for him, a move he would not be expecting.
The moment I stood up, all that was visible was the top of my head and the spiky branches clung to me with blood-hungry thorns. I couldn’t run, I could barely move – I underestimated the tenacious grip of the briars and my own meager strength. I was pinned like Andromeda before the Kraken.
“There you are,” he said in satisfaction and now, I saw a ring of faces around the briar patch. What I did not see was Dr. Cameron. “Come out, Lakan,” the guard ordered.
“I can’t,” I mumbled.
“Why not?”
“I’m stuck on the thorns.” He reached in and grabbed me by the shoulders, pulling me free with a wrench that literally tore the clothes off my body. The sight of my bloodied, scratched flesh brought a wince from nearly every one of the six men present. I did not see Cameron or Aiken’s sidekick, the one I’d heard called Ferron.
Too tired to struggle, I hung in his grip and as he sat me down, I collapsed onto my knees in a small clearing not far from the river’s banks. One of his men squatted near me and opened his pack taking out medical supplies. He treated the worst of the scrapes removing some nasty thorns and painted me with something blue that stung. It brought tears to my eyes but I didn’t cry.
“Can you walk?” Aiken asked and wearily, I struggled to my feet. “Where are the dogs?” He asked.
“I sent them away so you wouldn’t shoot them.” I stumbled and nearly fell, praying that both would stay until hunger drove them off.
“If they attack us, I’ll kill them,” he threatened. I stared at him with hate in my eyes. Spoke in Sioux and told both dogs to go home. They bolted for the woods and were out of sight before the men could fire on them. “You’re quite the little liar, Laky,” he taunted. “You’ve been fooling the doctor and his machines for years.”
I ran. Ran as fast and as hard as I could. Didn’t resist the urge to look back and was shocked when all of them just stood there with no signs of following me. I ran into someone. Tall, hard as a brick wall and the impact stunned me but elicited no more than a grunt out of him. Knocked the air out of my starved lungs. When I caught my breath, I looked up into the face of a hippie, not an agent, ex-military or guard.
He was over a foot taller than me, with long hair tied back in a ponytail, ice blue eyes and scarred skin. Wrinkles but I couldn’t tell if they were from age or sun damage; his skin had the consistency of old leather. He held his arms around me and lifted me off my feet, waiting for the rest to catch up.
“Aiken,” he said and his voice was bland and generic. It could’ve been some TV announcers. Aiken pulled out zip-ties and before I could do anything, had me bound wrist and ankles, proceeded to throw me over his shoulder and all of us traipsed back through the woods to their camp.
If I hadn’t been on the run and hiding, I would’ve chosen the same spot. It was perfect, sheltered with good water, grass, trees and plenty of dry, downed timber. From the string of trout hanging near the fire, it had a good fishing hole also. My stomach growled and Aiken heard it. He threw me onto a sleeping bag next to a trio of foldout chairs and a table. On the table were maps and GPS tracking device along with a laptop. I rolled onto my side, it was less painful on my scratches.
“Who are you?” My voice came out as a thin squeak, not the angry roar I had envisioned.
“Lakan Strong, I presume?” The ponytailed hippie asked.
“Who are you?”
“You can call me Chase. I work for the lady the pays Dr. Cameron.”
I was silent. “You’re a Washington spook? With hair like that? I thought all you dudes wore sidewalls?” I would’ve pointed to the buzz cuts but my hands were tied.
“Some important people want to…test you, Lakan,” he said studying me.
“Yeah, well, been there and done that.” I wriggled my hands and feet but the thick plastic had no give and I had no strength.
“Time to call for an extraction, Sergeant. See to the boy while I make the arrangements.” He retreated to the big tent and the Sergeant went for a plastic box that I recognized as one used for holding first-aid supplies used by EMTs.
When I saw him remove a syringe and a vial, I struggled in earnest. Screamed and carried on like a baby but it made no difference. He held my bound arms with one huge hand, found a vein and deftly slid the ginormous needle in. It felt like a scorpion had stung me, burned and instantly warmed me until I felt as if I were drowning in hot molasses.
Sounds intensified until all I heard was a loud drone that filled my head and my ears, I felt the wind on my skin as if I were in the heart of a wildfire. Movement around me and the thumping beat of a giant heart. Lights in my eyes and then nothing but the taste of brass in my mouth.
*****
Chase sat next to the child in the helicopter, studying the small boy that had led his men on a merry pursuit. He was small, even for a twelve-year-old, his hair a curious shade of red so deep it looked brown. It was matted to the boy’s skull, dirty with leaves, pine needles and bark. He was thin, the delicate ankle and wrist bones as small as a girl. His collarbones jutted out like a bird’s, his skin a pale fawn and blued with bruises. There were enormous blue shadows under his eyes and his face had the sunken-in look of an unhealthy addict.
The shot Aiken had injected into him had knocked him out and would keep him under long enough to reach the airport, land, unload and board the Lear jet for Washington. In fact, the compound would keep the child in a coma-like condition until the antidote was administered.
The Lear jet landed at Langley where a blacked out Navigator met them on the runway. Chase carried the boy over his shoulder, a blanket covering him so that he looked no more than a rolled-up rug. The IV the boy was attached to hung inside Chase’s long jacket.
Carefully, he slid the bundle into the back seat, belted him in and sat next to the child, eschewing the front passenger spot.
The Navigator zoomed off ignoring the posted speed limit. It did not detour for the CIA building or compound. Instead, it exited Quantico and slipped unobtrusively onto the Beltway for the inner city and a nearby safe house.
In the least desirable neighborhoods, there were plenty of abandoned and derelict buildings. It was to one of these that the black beast of an automobile pulled up and drove into the parking garage. Parked in a freight loading area and a red laser scanned the vehicle and occupants. With a near silent whine, the concrete under the Lincoln broke into a circle and descended. In less than five seconds, it had disappeared leaving behind a steel hatch covering the hole of the elevator shaft.
With a barely perceptible jar, the lift reached the bottom, the driver flicked on his head beams to illuminate a vast subterranean complex of tunnels and roadways.
Traffic was busy with electric cars and carts whizzing by, following the traditional red and green traffic signs. They gave way to the Lincoln which rolled majestically through the well-lit corridors like a Queen ant through her hive. Reaching a brightly lit avenue, it was guarded by uniformed and armed soldiers, armed with fully automatic rifles and full clips. They saluted as Chase stepped out of the parked Navigator and one offered to carry the agent’s bags not realizing it was a child.
“Sorry, Colonel,” the grunt stepped back. “I need to see your ID.”
Chase offered his badge - a credit card shaped piece of plastic with a RFID chip in it.
“Get me a stretcher and a cart, ready a cot in the infirmary,” he ordered and removed the blanket from Lakan’s face.
His eyes were tightly shut, his mouth slightly open and drooling. He looked nothing like the genius Chase had been told he was. The soldiers stared trying to do so without being obvious but it was obvious that they were startled at the sight of the unconscious child. Both guards double-timed back to the gate and radioed for help and transportation. Within mere minutes, Chase, the boy, and his entourage were racing for the medical bay.