Exposure (36 page)

Helene nodded slowly.

“Thank you. But how did you find me?”

Hank frowned.

“It was lover-boy who found you. He’d been listening in to various phone lines including Warm Creek. He had a hunch about it: I guess he was right. One of the care assistants made a call to the SAMHSA offices about the treatment of a Jane Doe. We knew straightaway it must be you. At least one person in that place gave a damn.”

Helene shuddered at the vague memories that haunted her.

“They were going to send me the same way as that poor man they called Wally,” said Helene, her voice strained, trying to keep control. “We have to get him out somehow.”

Hank looked down.

“I’m sorry, honey, but that poor son of a bitch died the night you were moved. Died or was put down, more like. Anyhow, he ain’t suffering no more. And I think there’ll be some changes at Warm Creek from now on.”

Helene turned her head away and closed her eyes.

“They’ll just move on to somewhere else,” she said tiredly. “There’ll always be some place, some doctor willing to help the NSA or the FBI or whoever those bastards were.”

The truth hung between them, a ghost.

She raised her eyes to meet Hank’s.

“What… what did they do to me?” she mumbled.

Hank shifted uncomfortably in the chair.

“You sure you want to talk about this now, honey?”

Helene closed her eyes and nodded.

“I need to know,” she said at last.

Hank sighed.

“Well, when we picked you up, we had two independent doctors assess you. It was… well, evidence… you see.”

He sounded embarrassed.

“They were pretty shocked and wanted to admit you to a hospital, but we paid for them to keep quiet…” he sighed. “Anyway, they found that you’d been subjected to some sort of crude electric shock treatment and… er… that’s what caused the heart attack.”

He paused, checking her face for signs that he should stop.

“And,” he continued slowly, “they took blood to test for drugs so we’d know what you’d been given… and how to get you off safely…”

“What had they used? You have to tell me,” she said softly.

“Well,” he said heavily, “there were at least two different anti-psychotic drugs, opiates to keep you quiet and… traces of LSD… enough to trigger psychotic episodes. I’m sorry, honey. We’re dealing with some soulless bastards… anything goes. The doctors don’t think there’s been any permanent damage – except for your heart – but we’re to watch you for signs of PTSD: flashbacks, anxiety attacks…”

He glanced at her nervously: her eyes were squeezed shut.

“How did I end up here?” said Helene at last, changing the subject.

Hank smiled crookedly.

“Barbara wasn’t quite as ‘gone’ as we thought. She was following our progress, so to speak, and when we found out where you were, she contacted us to offer you a safe house: welcome to Shiloh, Ohio.”

“But why?” said Helene, sounding confused. “Why is she risking her new life by helping me? Helping us?”

Hank’s smile faded.

“There are still good people in the world, honey. Among all this grime and hatred, there are still people who care. Don’t forget that. And for all his pretty-boy looks, Charlie cares, too. I admit I had my doubts about him… I thought he was a pretty cool customer but he was like a man possessed till he found you. There’s love there, I think…”

Helene wasn’t so sure. Charlie had barely been near her since her release. He’d looked in once or twice as she’d been falling asleep, but he hadn’t risked a conversation with her. And now the silence was becoming awkward.

“But I don’t trust him either,” said Hank thoughtfully. “His motives… he’s never really been one of us. Not like you, honey.”

Perhaps that was true.

“What happens next?” said Helene, dully. “I can’t stay here forever: none of us can.”

Hank nodded and a trace of humour suggested itself beneath his beard.

“Yep, we’ve been working on that,” he said mysteriously. “That is, the Gene Genies haven’t been idle. You’ll be pretty impressed with what they’ve come up with. Righteousness never sleeps!”

Helene had to smile. Hank so wanted to be a superhero. In her mind, he already was.

The following evening Helene felt strong enough to get up and join the others in the kitchen. Her appetite was smaller than a sparrow’s but she was beginning to gain strength. It was a slow job.

Charlie was quiet, closed in; but Hank was positively brimming with pep. Barbara sat calmly smoking a cigarette, observing the proceedings.

“So,” said Helene. “Do we have a plan?”

“We sure do,” said Hank. “Actually it’s the same plan as before: the same three plans. We’re gonna penetrate the security of every Fed Reserve bank; we’re gonna find out the truth.”

Helene glanced at Charlie: his face was in shadow – it was impossible to tell what he was thinking.

Hank continued.

“Of course, the plan has got a little more developed, more sophisticated since we last spoke…” He paused: they were all thinking of the reason why their planning had been interrupted… why it had been a while since they’d last discussed it…

“Well,” he said awkwardly, “I’ve set up a security solutions company with a bunch of phony recommendations, so I’m starting in business. I’ve got Gene Genies running the franchises and within a couple of months, maybe less, we’ll have tested gold in each of the 13 locations – including Fort Knox.”

Helene gaped. “How?”

Hank shrugged, but she could tell that his nonchalance hid considerable pride.

“It’s not so difficult,” he said somewhat disingenuously, “I just had to fake some existing contracts, produce some vetting records, hire personnel and vehicles, set up the website, file tax returns going back a dozen years…” He grinned. “Yeah, it was a ton of work, but by God, it feels good! I’ll get those bastards back for what they did to you!”

He spoke the words with real feeling.

Helene looked down.

“Sorry, honey,” he mumbled. “I don’t mean to keep on reminding you…”

“It’s okay,” said Helene, softly. “Really. I can’t thank you enough for what you’ve done – all of you.”

She looked at Barbara and finally allowed her eyes to rest on Charlie. She thought she detected a slight smile, but it was hard to be sure.

“What happens to me?” said Helene. “How can I help?”

She was surprised that it was Charlie who answered.

“You do what you were always going to do: you tell the story.”

Helene shook her head, looking doubtfully at Hank.

“There’s no way anyone will dare to publish this story, even with the scant evidence I’ve got.”

“The evidence isn’t scant,” said Hank. “You’ll have A-grade evidence: facts, figures, photos, film footage. We’ve got it all… we’ll get it all. And to start with we’ve got those two medical reports about what was done to you… It’s what’s gonna keep you safe, honey. You give this to the Press and the NSA won’t dare touch you.”

“Besides,” said Barbara, speaking for the first time, “even if you’re right and it doesn’t get published the traditional way, the Gene Genies will leak bits and pieces of it. Someone will listen: someone always listens. It’ll be enough for them – the government – to keep their sticky fingers off you. We’ve just got to get you to New York so you can deliver the story in person.”

“What about you?” said Helene.

Barbara smiled. She was far from being the broken young woman that Helene had first met. In fact she radiated the calm assurance that comes from knowledge and power. Helene found her slightly unnerving.

“I’m going to be just fine,” said Barbara. “Don’t worry about me – I have ways of disappearing if I need to. But until then, I’m going to make the Gene Genies the most famous – or notorious – hackers in history. Dad would have liked that.”

She paused then took a deep breath.

“And I’ve thought about how we can track the gold. We can’t use anything radioactive because they’re bound to do full spectrum sweeps every time they move the gold. But they won’t be looking for something as simple as SmartWater.”

Helene blinked. She’d got the bit about radioactivity but she had no idea what SmartWater was. From the looks on the others’ faces, she was the only one living in the State of Ignorance.

“Er… is someone going to explain that to me?” she said.

“Sure, honey,” said Hank kindly. “SmartWater is an inert metal-based chemical compound; well, a colourless liquid that we can just dab onto the gold. It’s permanent and it’s been pretty much designed to withstand routine cleaning – not that anyone is likely to wash the gold – but ya never know.”

“I’ve never heard of it,” said Helene.

“It’s been around a while,” said Charlie, shrugging. “People have started to use it as an anti-theft device. You can use it to code all sorts of items such as jewellery, ornaments, even your car if you want. Each bottle contains a unique chemical code that’s registered to one person, or company. No-one will find it unless they’re looking for it. But it glows under ultraviolet light, so we’ll mark the gold on the underside. Only Hank’s people will know where to look for it.”

“Lover-boy’s right, honey,” said Hank, earning himself an irritated glance from Charlie. “Each bottle is registered to a user so we’ll just register it to my new security company. Easy as apple pie.”

Barbara smiled at Helene’s surprised expression.

“Every time Hank’s company makes an intervention, his people will spray this on the gold…”

She showed Helene a small aerosol that looked like a breath freshener.

“How does it work?” said Helene, amazed at the technical aspects of Barbara’s ingenuity.

“Well, it’s pretty simple really: it’s odourless and, like Hank said, colourless and it leaves no visual trace. Then we’ll track the gold as and when it’s moved and use the info to build up a database of every movement the government makes.”

Her dark eyes glinted and Helene felt uncomfortable. She was a tiny cog in a vast machine over which she no longer had any control – if she’d ever had any, which seemed increasingly unlikely.

The project Barbara had described could run for decades – indefinitely, even.

Helene turned to Charlie.

“What about you?” she said quietly.

His voice came from the shadows. “I’m going to get you to New York.”

“And then?” she whispered.

He leaned forward and his blue eyes startled her with their intensity.

“You’ll be safe,” he said. “Nobody will be able to touch you. You’ll be able to go home and – live your life.”

“But what about you?”

He leaned back, his face hidden again.

“Oh, I’ll be alright. Don’t worry about me.”

Helene bit her lip. It was the only answer he seemed prepared to give, at least for now. She hoped he’d be more communicative when they were alone. Although it was definitely more of a hope than a belief.

“Don’t worry, honey pie,” said Hank. “Me and lover-boy will get you to New York. You just gotta get yourself healthy first.”

But Barbara interrupted him.

“I can’t allow that, Hank,” she said, a note of new authority ringing in her voie. “It’s too risky for you: you’re needed here to finish setting up the security. If you don’t get this bit right, you’ll be risking Helene’s long term security.”

Anguish was plain on Hank’s face: the big man was torn wide open. Helene could see it.

They argued it backwards and forwards for a few more minutes but Barbara was firm and, even Helene, who felt desperate at the thought of saying goodbye to Hank, agreed it was in everyone’s best interests for him to stay behind. In the end he agreed to stay in Ohio. But he didn’t like it.

“It’s okay,” said Helene, trying to smile. “Charlie can get me to New York. I’ll be fine. You need to carry on with your… work… here, Hank.”

* * * *

For two weeks, Helene continued to rebuild her strength. She ate, exercised gently and rested.

Barbara put Charlie and Hank to work. Helene would find them poring over blueprints or eyes staring fixedly at reams of numbers flowing down banks of computer screens.

Barbara’s bolt hole was a duplex, the second half of the building lying empty. Helene didn’t know if that was lucky convenience or careful contrivance. Either way, there were no neighbours nearby.

The sparsely furnished building had at least benefitted from Hank’s homely touch. The white interiors had been transformed by bright pairs of curtains with matching pelmets that Hank had run up on an old Singer sewing machine, purchased at a thrift store in Dayton.

When he wasn’t umbilically attached to a computer, he sat on the porch with Helene doing his needle point, chatting about everything but what really mattered.

Every time he spoke to her it sounded like goodbye.

The weather was turning cooler and, outdoors, Helene wrapped a thick quilt around her. Barbara insisted that none of them go out in the garden without wearing a hat: too many opportunities for a spy in the sky or remote satellite to see them. Better to stay hidden, for now. But the porch was deemed an acceptable alternative.

Hank’s quiet company was soothing. Helene was still troubled by nightmares, flashbacks and vivid re-experiencing, that left her shaken and exhausted, but the episodes were becoming less frequent.

But for Helene the best therapy was writing. Hank had happily delivered the files from her laptop via a memory stick. Helene had had no idea that anyone had been backing up her work, so at first she was taken aback, but then delighted, that so many of her notes had been saved. Tentatively at first, then with increasing confidence, she worked on the story that she was going to deliver to Frank. With the agreement of Hank and Barbara, she left out the Gene Genies plans to track the gold. Instead her article posed the question: what if? She had a paper trail that showed the US government had traded an inexplicable quantity of gold over the last 20 years to a variety of international customers. Helene wrote up the findings in a way that would allow readers to draw their own conclusions.

Writing about her kidnapping and ordeal at Warm Creek was harder, not only because so much of it was still hazy, but because Helene would really rather not have thought about it. Instead she relied on the medical evidence – the facts – and wrote in a clinical style that used the third person. Only in the conclusion would she allow herself to become personal. That section she would write only when she got to New York and the story, or at least her part of the story, was finished.