Broken Angel (15 page)

THIRTY-TWO

D
r. Ross’s patient was set on a table, deep within the forest. He had found a clearing wide enough to support the table but small enough to keep himself and his supposedly dead patient hidden. He noted that Jordan’s wounds were clotting well, and it appeared that all the stitches were holding in the jagged lines where dogs’ jaws had ripped through skin.

“Sensation has returned to your fingers and toes?” Dr. Ross asked. He wore a surgeon’s mask to protect his identity. Better safe than sorry. Always.

Jordan slightly nodded. Dr. Ross laid a pillow beneath Jordan’s head. His face was extensively bruised; the black splotches would begin to turn yellow in a few days. While the doctor had removed the man’s gag, his wrists and ankles were still bound. The gagging and binding had to be done to keep Jordan from making noise in the coffin.

“It’s a side effect,” Dr. Ross said. “While you were in custody, I injected you with a slight paralyzing agent. To anyone but a medical doctor, you appeared dead. It was necessary to facilitate your escape.”

“I don’t remember the injection.” Jordan spoke as if his throat were constricted. Dr. Ross had given him water, but it would be days before the man’s body was fully hydrated.

“You were unconscious.”

“I remember the dogs. I remember being taken down the mountain. Mason Lee—”

“It’s no longer a concern,” Dr. Ross said. “To Appalachia, you’re dead and buried. The wagon carrying you continued to the graveyard once the casket was switched. You don’t have to worry about the hunters anymore.”

“Thank you, Doctor. But I don’t care about myself anymore. There’s a girl. I need to know that she’s safe. I made arrangements. She—”

“No more. I don’t want to hear anything about arrangements.”

Every six or eight months, it would happen. Dr. Ross would be riding down a trail to make a house call, and he’d be stopped by masked men. They’d tell him who he was required to sedate and pronounce dead. The payment was more than fair, but Ross didn’t do it for the money. He had his suspicions where the patients would go after the caskets were filled with sandbags and placed into the ground and buried. He never saw the undead again, but those suspicions were enough to give him satisfaction. Someday he’d do the same for his daughter and his son, spacing their deaths far enough apart to keep Bar Elohim from guessing. It broke his heart to think he’d never see them again; it broke his heart more to imagine them spending their lives in Appalachia.

On this occasion, however, he’d been required to make sure the patient was healthy enough to survive what was ahead. But the exam, of course, could not take place in a hospital. He had to make his best judgment here.

“Listen,” Dr. Ross said, “you have some broken ribs. A mild concussion. And stitches all over your body. You need to take these antibiotics—one pill three times a day until all the pills are gone. Understand? And make sure to have the bandages replaced frequently. As long as the pus remains clear, you will be all right.”

“Yes, but—”

“The yellow pills are painkillers. You’ll know when to take those.”

“The girl. Please. What happened?”

“I don’t have an answer.” Dr. Ross showed a syringe to his patient. “I need to sedate you. It’s for your protection. The journey might be rough, and you’re better off not feeling it. More importantly, you won’t know where you are and how you got there. That’s what will save your life. If they wanted you dead, they wouldn’t go to the effort of ensuring this.”

“They?”

Dr. Ross merely shook his head to the negative. “You’re getting a drug called flunitrazepam. It’s going to mess with your short-term memory. To protect them.”

He jabbed the syringe into the man’s shoulder and pressed the plunger. Moments later, Jordan’s eyes closed.

It would be a dreamless sleep. But at least it was sleep, Dr. Ross thought, not death. Or worse. Back in the hands of Mason Lee.

THIRTY-THREE

I
t was a standard transportation truck, parked at the side of the road, with its driver changing a flat tire at the front passenger side. The trailer was standard white, giving no indication of what it contained. To anyone riding by on a horse, it might have held crates of potatoes or stacks of milk cartons. To that same person on horseback, there was no way of seeing the roof of the trailer—smoked glass that allowed ample sunlight to the interior.

The inside of the trailer was partitioned. The front half was command central, filled with computers and electronics that allowed Bar Elohim the same access to Appalachia’s network as if he were in the center of his compound. The back half was a luxury compartment for the ease of his travel.

A limousine with escorts traveled Appalachia’s highways on a daily basis. While it gave the appearance that Bar Elohim was constantly moving among the people, he rarely rode in the limousine. It was literally a smoke-and-mirrors trick to fool Appalachians—smoke from the exhaust, mirrored windows that made it impossible for anyone to see inside and know Bar Elohim was not there.

This transportation truck worked much better for him. He could travel where he wanted, anonymously.

The flat tire was not an accident but a diversion to wait in a prearranged spot.

Mason Lee had an appointment with Bar Elohim.

Carney drove at a sedate pace along the curving road through the valley, a set of earbuds hooked into his vidpod.

“We’ve got one mystery solved.” Carney pulled the earbuds loose. “The second horse. Gentry’s. They used it to get away. Tells me the girl must be smart, because my deputy wouldn’t be able to think that way. I’ll beam you the interview.”

Pierce glanced at Carney. Traveling in the town’s official car, Pierce was acutely aware that the entire journey was audio and video recorded.

Pierce fiddled with the touch controls on his vidpod screen, taking longer than he wanted to put it into reception mode. A beep signaled his success.

Carney grunted acknowledgment and pushed the screen of his device. Another beep told Pierce the download was complete. Pierce focused on the transmission, allowing the bounty hunter’s voice to fill the silence of their ride.

“That deputy came out of the dark like a train,” the face on the screen said. The bounty hunter was squinting and slightly cross-eyed. Drunk, Pierce guessed. He’d been speaking into a vidpod, and the shot was wide angle. “I didn’t have a chance against the big one.”

“You had the girl in custody?” The off-screen voice belonged to the sheriff doing Carney’s work.

“The girl and some boy. Mason put us all around the edges of town and told us to watch for them. Then the deputy, that was him, right? A big guy? The deputy charged in and knocked me out, I’m guessing. For a few minutes, I wasn’t seeing or hearing anything. When I woke, I was on the girl’s horse, almost on top of the girl in the saddle. My feet and ankles were tied with my own laces. That deputy and the boy rode my horse. I guess to keep the hounds from tracking them.”

Pierce followed the rest of the story easily. It matched the evidence that he and Carney had found near the livery horse.

When the deputy and the girl had reached the next intersection, a few miles down from Cumberland Gap, the girl had transferred to the bounty hunter’s horse without touching the ground. The boy—the hunter described him as scrawny—had led the livery horse and the bounty hunter south, then off the road and down a trail. The boy walked away, leaving the bounty hunter on the livery horse, tied to a branch. Pierce presumed the boy had rejoined the girl and the deputy on the horse stolen from the bounty hunter.

“Smart,” Pierce agreed. “They knew it would be a few hours before we realized they’d switched horses. Still, if all horses have radio chips, it shouldn’t be too hard to find the second horse.”

“Wasn’t hard at all,” Carney said. “It’s already showed up in the next town. No saddle.”

“That reduces the search area. Somewhere between where we found the livery horse and that town where they let the horse loose and started traveling on foot.”

“Ten miles of road, with ten miles on each side of the road. That’s a ten-by-twenty-mile area. Two hundred square miles of rugged valley and hills. Won’t be easy.”

Carney had a point, but Pierce stared out the window of the car, distracted, thinking it wouldn’t do much good to discuss Mason Lee in a government car.

THIRTY-FOUR

M
ason felt claustrophobic in the rear half of the trailer. Almost helpless. The door had no handle on the inside, and when he’d entered, he’d heard the click of the lock, activated by remote control.

The drill was familiar. Enter the booth in the trailer when the rear compartment was empty; Bar Elohim was secure in the front half, protected by solid walls and a bulletproof door. It didn’t matter whether Mason was armed. Once the door shut and the lock was activated, he couldn’t harm Bar Elohim. The booth’s walls and doors were armament-and light-proof. Mason sat in total darkness. If Bar Elohim decided not to open the door, Mason was trapped until he died of thirst. Not a comforting thought. Mason hoped he wouldn’t have too long to wait, but soon enough, Bar Elohim’s voice came from speakers above him.

“This better be worth my while.”

The high-pitched voice was familiar to Mason, identifiable to everyone in Appalachia over the age of ten. His transmissions always showed Bar Elohim looking straight out of the vidpod, a head-and-shoulders shot of a middle-aged bland face, with a full head of middle-aged, graying hair. There was nothing threatening about his persona, only his position.

“What I have to tell you is not something I could trust anyone else to pass on to you,” Mason said.

“You meet with Elders from the inner circle. That’s how information reaches me.”

“I’ve discovered a way to help you trap the Clan. I figure I should only trust one person with that knowledge.”

Silence in the darkness. Mason knew that there’d been at least a half dozen full-scale attempts to wipe out the Clan and that they were all unsuccessful. The Clan had anticipated each attack.

“What do you have?”

This would be delicate. Mason needed to show enough to put himself in a good bargaining position, but not so much he’d no longer be necessary in the hunt.

“The girl’s father had an unregistered vidpod.” Mason explained how he matched the GPS location in the Valley of the Clan with the message the factory woman, Tasha, had read to him. But he held back information about the strange symbols. “If Jordan Brown had those instructions, so did his daughter. A time and place to meet the Clan. I can get there before her.”

“You captured him two nights ago. Why wait this long to pass it on?”

A chill laced that question. The truth was that he’d hoped to capture the girl and run with the canister, never having a meeting in this tiny booth. But the truth, like any other wrong kind of answer, would get him sent to a factory.

“I don’t trust anyone else but you with something so important. And yesterday, I was trying to catch the girl.”

“If what you’re saying is correct, you could have dropped the chase and gone straight to the point where she was going to meet the Clan.”

“Thought she was holed earlier, in Cumberland Gap. I wanted to play it safe. Fill the canister for you, get what we need, then send in another girl, like a decoy.”

Again, Bar Elohim was silent. In the hushed darkness, Mason felt unnerved. He hated lots of things and really hated the dark. He always made sure there was some kind of light burning when he slept inside or a small fire going through the night when he was outside. In the dark, he saw too many faces.

Mason started speaking again. Too fast and too soon, but with the dark squeezing on him, he was doing all he could not to bang on the walls.

“If only you and me know this, you can get enough men ready just outside the valley. Have them ready this afternoon at three. Send them in choppers.”

“The Clan will just hide in the mines.”

“Not this time. I’ll follow the girl underground. I’ll leave markings on the walls for soldiers to follow. Like stringing out a ball of twine. Wherever they take the girl, that’s where they are hiding out.”

Mason’s skin felt like worms were rippling beneath. He had to escape the darkness, but not until he got what he wanted.

“What are the GPS coordinates?”

“I’ll bring some flares in with me. I’ll light them just before going in after the girl. People inside the mountain won’t know soldiers are on the way.”

“What are the GPS coordinates? I want them now.”

“And I want the Outside agent dead,” Mason said. “It’s personal.”

“You’re negotiating with me?”

“He’s with the sheriff. They’ll hear I went to the factory, and they’ll go too, to find out why. They might learn what I did. Is that what you want? Better that I go into the valley alone, with nobody knowing but you and me.”

“The sheriff has already put a trace request on your vidpod movements,” Bar Elohim said. “If I block the request, that will raise questions too.”

“I already solved it.”

“How?”

“No,” Mason said. He knew now that he was in a position of strength and preferred to keep his secrets. He might need them again. “That’s my business.”

“There’s no business in Appalachia beyond my knowledge.”

“Do I get the Outside agent?”

Bar Elohim was silent for another moment. “The sheriff will get orders to arrest him. Deliver what I need.”

“One other thing,” Mason said, still fighting the sensation of rippling worms under his skin. “Think of it as a good trade for you.”

“You’ve already asked for too much.”

“No, not if I can deliver the Clan”—Mason paused, knowing he’d saved the biggest bait for last: the leader of the Clan—“and Brij.”

“What?” The man’s sharp intake of air caused the speakers to crackle.

“You want him locked in the factory? I can deliver him.”

“That’s not me offering a trade. That’s a directive.”

Mason had never failed to follow orders before. “It’s a trade or nothing.”

“Then you’ll be placed in a factory.”

“You won’t get Brij. How many years have you had a bounty on him?”

“What do you want?” Bar Elohim finally asked.

“Outside.” Mason allowed himself to breathe. “Send me Outside with enough money, and I’ll start hunting down every person that’s ever escaped your leadership and Appalachia.”

Carney stopped the car at the guarded gate of Factory 22. He shut off the ignition. “Outsiders aren’t allowed inside a factory. My source tells me that Mason spent time with a woman in there. I’ll vidpod my interview with her and let you review it when I get back.”

Pierce stared out the passenger window. “Sure.”

Carney’s vidpod vibrated. The pattern told him it was an incoming message from Bar Elohim, so he slipped his earbuds back in. He touched the screen of his vidpod and listened.

It was a short message.
Turn around now. Deliver the agent to me at the church grounds. Make an immediate arrest. No detours. No stops.

Carney got out. He stretched, then tied his shoe, stalling for a moment to think about the transmission.

Carney was driving a government car, wired with audio and video. Bar Elohim knew where they were. Was it a coincidence that the message had been delivered before he could get inside the factory and discover why Mason had visited?

One way to find out. Carney didn’t look back as he walked to the gate.

The guard gave him a nod of recognition. Factory 22 was Cumberland Gap’s factory, and all the guards knew Carney. Instead of a casual smile, however, the guard remained tight lipped. His eyes met Carney’s only for a second before looking down.

Carney didn’t have to ask. When Carney had called ahead to arrange the visit, there’d been no problem. Not any longer. The guard’s body language told Carney that the guard had received orders not to let him in. It answered Carney’s question. It wasn’t coincidence that the message from Bar Elohim had come in when it did.

“I don’t need access to the factory,” Carney said. “Just need to use the phone. Get Larry on the line.”

The guard’s relief was noticeable and his smile returned. It was all the confirmation that Carney needed. It also meant that putting the factory foreman on the line wasn’t breaking any orders from Bar Elohim.

Carney didn’t have a long time to speak and, as soon as the foreman was on the phone, launched into it. “Larry, it’s Carney. Do what it takes to find out what Mason Lee wanted from the woman you told me he interviewed. Mason probably made threats to shut her up. You make bigger threats to get her to talk. Record the interview and send it to my vidpod. Get it done in the next five minutes, and I’ll owe you.”

Carney ended the call. Except for a one-minute delay, he had not disobeyed any orders from Bar Elohim. It was time to get moving. Under direct monitoring all the way, Carney wouldn’t be allowed detours.

Whatever happened, Carney would no longer be part of the investigation. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to find a way to discuss it with the Outside agent.

He opened the front passenger door. Pierce’s raised eyebrows were enough of a question.

“I’ll need to put you in the backseat,” Carney told him. “You’re under arrest.”