With a gasp, he sat up, flailing his arms, trying to knock away what he thought were Prendick’s entrails that had reached out again to grab him. It took him a disoriented, frantic moment before he remembered where he was
the hospital in Pikeville
and that the tubes he’d mistaken for Prendick’s snake-like intestines were instead the IV lines delivering clear fluid and blood into twin ports in his hands. The soldier above him wasn’t Prendick, but a tall, lean black man, his hair shaved high and tight, his expression stern-faced and stoic beneath the rim of his hat.
“Mister Braddock?” he said. “I’m Captain Darnell Peterson with the Office of the Special Assistant Commanding General, U.S. Army Armor Center, Fort Knox.”
I’ll call my C. O. in New York, Dani had said when they’d arrived at the hospital. He’ll know what to do. There’s a base in Fort Knox. They can send someone to take care of things.
With a groan, Andrew glanced around, taking in his surroundings. A jumble of broken bits of memory flooded his mind all at once, from being wheeled into the emergency room to a series of radiography suites after that. He seemed to have fuzzy recollection of being asked for his signature on papers and forms, consent for surgery, a smiling nurse had told him. They needed to operate on his ankle.
“Where’s Dani?” he asked, his voice hoarse, little more than a croak. “Specialist Santoro. Is she alright?”
Peterson nodded. “She’s going to be just fine.”
“I want to see her.” Andrew grimaced, trying to sit up more in bed. His foot had been immobilized in some kind of soft, inflatable cast. It looked like a astronaut’s boot.
The Captain smiled at him, a practiced, polished and patently insincere sort. “I’m afraid that’s not possible, Mister Braddock,” he said.
Andrew frowned. “Why not?”
“She’s been transferred to the Keller Army Community Hospital in West Point, New York.”
“She’s gone?” Andrew asked, startled, and when Peterson nodded, he stammered, “But I…I didn’t say…” I didn’t get to say good-bye, he thought, stricken. I never told her that I love her.
“She was transported yesterday, shortly after Alice Moore left.”
“What do you mean?” Andrew asked. “Where did she—”
Peterson cut him off, cool and smooth. “She’s been remanded to the charge of the state of Massachusetts, a ward of the court.”
What?
“It’s my understanding that Edward Moore had sole parental custody of her, that her mother had signed away her rights in the last year. With no surviving family to take charge of her, until such time as Dr. Moore’s estate has been settled, guardianship reverts to the state.”
“But they’ll lock her up.” Andrew tried to swing his legs around, to get up and out of bed, but that damn inflatable boot was apparently hooked up to some kind of machine through a network of tubes, keeping it inflated, and thus hampered his efforts. “They’ll put her back in Gallatin, goddamn it! How could you let them take her?”
Peterson looked mildly insulted at this. “I didn’t let them do anything. I’m afraid the girl is well beyond the Army’s realm of responsibility, Mister Braddock.”
“What the hell is your realm of responsibility, then?” Andrew snapped. “What are you doing here? Get out of my room.”
“I’ve been authorized to debrief you on the events that occurred at the Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency Appalachian Research Facility,” Peterson said.
“I don’t need debriefing. I was there. I know what happened.”
Despite the fact that Andrew was getting more pissed off by the moment, Peterson remained cool and collected. “You were injured in a motor vehicle collision. You were brought to the research facility for medical attention. While you were there, an incident occurred in which some National Guardsmen attempted to carry out an isolated act of domestic terrorism.”
“What?” Andrew shook his head. “That’s not how it happened.”
Just let me handle it, Dani had said. Was this what she’d meant?
Peterson continued, ignoring Andrew’s interruption. “Through the heroic efforts of others stationed at the compound, including base commander Major Mitchell Prendick, the attempt was thwarted. Unfortunately, several people, including Specialist Santoro, were injured and others lost their lives during the incident, including Major Prendick and Dr. Edward Moore, a civilian contractor working at the facility.”
‘There’s a base in Fort Knox. They can send someone to take care of things. ’ That’s what she told me. That’s what this is, what this guy, Peterson, is telling me. They’re taking care of things—by sweeping it all under the rug.
He managed a humorless laugh. “You son of a bitch,” he said to Captain Peterson.
“That is all you are authorized to disclose about this incident, Mister Braddock,” Peterson said. “Any deviation from this account will result in your immediate arrest and prosecution for trespass on federal property.”
“Yeah, I know. Title Eighteen, Chapter Sixty-seven, Subsection Thirteen-eighty-something, am I right? Punishable by up to six months in jail and a fine of five grand. I’ve already had that run down.”
“Good.” Peterson nodded once, that smarmy smile at last withering from his face. His mouth drew in a thin line and his brows narrowed slightly. “Then you understand how this works.”
Andrew locked gazes with him. “Perfectly.”
Peterson turned on his heel and walked briskly to the door.
“Captain,” Andrew said, making him pause and glance back over his shoulder, one brow arched. “What’s going to happen to the facility?”
“I don’t see how that’s any of your concern.”
“I mean, are you going to send more troops there?” To claim the bodies, he wanted to add, but couldn’t muster the words, not with visions of Dani’s squad mates, Maggitti, Reigler and Spaulding, all dead in the corridor of the house of pain, or Suzette’s body mangled and sprawled in the corner of a vacant office.
And then something Peterson had mentioned earlier came to mind: With no surviving family to take charge of her, until such time as Dr. Moore’s estate has been settled, guardianship reverts to the state.
How could he be sure Moore was dead?
He licked his lips because his mouth suddenly felt tacky and dry. “You’ve already sent troops there, haven’t you?” he asked with a sudden, sinking feeling.
The corner of Peterson’s mouth hooked wryly, as if he found Andrew’s visible apprehension amusing, pathetic or both. “It’s a fifty-one million dollar research facility, Mister Braddock. Fifty-one million. A containment crew was dispatched from the moment we learned of Specialist Santoro’s survival. Once they’ve secured the facility and assessed the situation, I’ll forward their report along to the appropriate agency personnel for further consideration and action. It’s fairly standard protocol.”
“Did they open the garage?”
Peterson looked puzzled. “Their orders are to sweep and secure all of the compound buildings and—”
“Did they open the garage?” Andrew shouted, balling his hands into fists, making the little LED monitor near his bedside that had been monitoring his heart rate suddenly begin firing off a rapid series of beep-beep-BEEPs.
At this, Peterson’s lips puckered, as if he’d tasted something sour, and his brows narrowed. “I would assume so, yes.”
Then they’re already dead, Andrew thought, leaning back against the pillows. “You son of a bitch.” Again, he laughed, a hoarse, dismayed sound. It was either that or burst into tears. “You’ve killed them all.”