Your Truth is Out There (Find Your Truth Book 1) (14 page)

Natalie smiled again.

“Have your list of requirements to me by 0800 tomorrow morning and my staff will get started on it before lunch. But, and this is important, Teddy, I expect results and I expect them sooner, rather than later.”

Alcorn shifted in his seat.

Madame Secretary is definitely a politician.

“Yes, well, I guess that’s what we should discuss next, isn’t it, ma’am? Expectations?”

“Indeed,” said Natalie. “The Security Council meets in four weeks. What can you have for me in three?”

Three weeks!
Alcorn stood up and paced as he thought.
What can I do for you in three weeks? Almost nothing, that’s what!

“I tell you what, Natalie,” he said, turning back toward the Secretary of Defense. “I’ll make that list of requirements and you have your team start preparing, but let’s wait until after your meeting before we attempt any implementation. To do so would disrupt things too much, virtually guaranteeing failure.”

“Agreed,” said Natalie.

“Good. For the Security Council meeting, I will have a brand new full-scale contingency plan, based on our recent encounter and any new intelligence we extract from the eyewitness. I will also deliver a detailed report from the eyewitness of his role and any details from, and of, his encounter.”

“Really?” said Natalie, with mock surprise. “We’re talking about the eyewitness named Henry Backus, correct?”

Alcorn nodded. “Yes, that’s right. Why?”

“It’s been my understanding that he’s been, well, let’s just say, less than cooperative so far.”

“That will change, Madame Secretary, I promise you,” said Alcorn with a grimace. “That will change.”

“On your feet, maggot!” said a voice over the loudspeaker as the door to Henry’s cell flew open and two armed guards, pistols drawn, stepped inside and took up positions by the door. Two more guards ran in immediately behind them, grabbed Henry from his bunk, and threw him up against the wall. If Henry hadn’t been so shocked by this surprisingly uncharacteristic action, he might have noticed that the guards were actually being quite careful to ensure his chest took the full force of the impact with the wall, while also making sure his face remained unscathed. As it was, Henry was doing all he could just to try and catch his breath.

“The man said UP, maggot!” said the guard on Henry’s right arm, the smell of barbeque sauce and jalapeños on his breath making Henry gag on what little air he was able to pull in. The guard snickered as Henry coughed and sputtered, but only briefly. The other guard swept Henry’s legs out from underneath him and he dropped to the floor like a marionette whose strings had just been cut.

The guards wasted no time rolling Henry onto his back, as two more guards came in with shackles and chains, and bound his legs and arms so tight that he could hardly move. When they were satisfied with their work, the guards lifted Henry to his feet and pointed him toward the door.

“March!” Came the harsh command from jalapeño-breath.

Henry had mostly recovered his breath by now and did his best to move, but his best was nothing more than a slight shuffle.

“There’s no time for this,” came the voice over the loudspeaker. “Pick him up.”

Without a word, four sets of hands grabbed, lifted, and carried him from his cell and down the hall. As his captors carried him to God-only-knew-where, Henry recovered enough of his wits to realize two things: first, this clearly wasn’t normal protocol. For the past however many days or weeks he’d been a guest of the United States Army, it hadn’t been particularly pleasant, but it had at least been relatively civilized. When not being actively questioned, he’d been in his cell, under constant observation, of course, with no visitors and only sparse amounts of food and water. When it was time for his interrogations, he’d been led out of his cell peacefully. Nothing at all like what was happening now. Something had definitely changed, something seriously detrimental to Henry’s well-being. The second thing he noticed was, that even though the guards jumped at the sound of the voice on the loudspeaker, just like they did whenever they heard his dear old friend, General Alcorn, the voice clearly wasn’t the General’s. In fact, it was a voice he had come to recognize and loath. A voice that confirmed just how deep of a predicament he was really in.

“Sergeant Hickam,” said Henry, deciding it best to take the initiative, as his armed escort stood him upright in the middle of what was normally a prisoner day room. “I should’ve figured you’d be behind something like this. This is rather bold, even for you. Does the General know what you’re up to?”

Sergeant Hickam nodded to the guard on Henry’s left, the one with barbecue and jalapeño breath. Before he knew it, Henry was doubled over, moaning in pain, as the butt of an M-4 was rammed into his mid-section.

“You were saying?” said Sergeant Hickam.

Henry coughed and sputtered as he tried, for the second time in the last ten minutes, to catch his breath. Something inside told him it wouldn’t be the last time he would be practicing that exercise this night.

“That’s what I thought,” said Sergeant Hickam. “Now, let’s get down to business, shall we?”

He nodded again to the guards, who forced Henry back against the wall, where they chained him in place.

“Prisoner Two-One-Seven-Three-Three-Nine-Seven-Six-Three, you are hereby charged with …”

“My name is Henry Backus,” said Henry, interrupting the Sergeant as loudly as he could. “You should try getting it right at least once.” This time, the guard with the bad breath didn’t wait for any signals from Hickam before using the butt of his rifle to silence the prisoner.

“You no longer have a name,” said Hickam as Henry once again gasped for air. “You gave it up, along with everything else, when you aligned yourself with the non-terrestrial and against your countrymen. You are a number and nothing more.”

Henry had been ready for the blow this time, and recovered more quickly.

“Apparently, a bit more than a number,” he said. “A number with something you want. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be this interested in me.”

“Perhaps,” said Hickam. “Or perhaps I’m just bored and looking for a little fun. Now, you can either shut your trap, or we’ll shut it for you.”

At that, he held up a roll of silver duct tape and smiled. Henry grimaced, but said nothing.

“Good,” said Hickam. “It appears we understand one another. Now, as I was saying, Prisoner Two-One-Seven-Three-Three-Nine-Seven-Six-Three, you are hereby charged with aiding and abetting a non-terrestrial being escape custody of the United States Army, interfering in the lawful maneuvers of a United States Army unit, assault of an officer of the United States Army, and finally treason against the United States of America. What do you have to say for yourself?”

Henry would have been shocked by these charges, especially the last, if he hadn’t already heard them several times before during previous interrogations. This was all part of the game, as was his response.

“What I have to say, is that not only are all of the charges against me completely false, it is the U.S. Army who has acted, and is continuing to act, illegally by holding an American citizen against their will without legal representation or due process of law.”

Jalapeño-Breath pulled back his rifle and aimed it at Henry’s midsection again, but was halted when Hickam cleared his throat.

“When asked,” said Hickam, “the prisoner is allowed to state his opinion, even if it’s incorrect.”

Henry knew he was being baited and held his tongue.

“What? No response?” said Hickam. “Well then, allow me to elaborate on all of the ways you are incorrect, prisoner Seven-Six-Three.”

“By all means,” said Henry. As long as they were talking, they weren’t beating on him, although he felt pretty certain they couldn’t talk forever.

“First, prisoner Seven-Six-Three, your actions constituted a clear and specific terrorist threat to the United State of America, at which point, your so-called right to legal representation became forfeit. Second …”

Henry had heard this all before, and it infuriated him each and every time. Except now. As he listened to Hickam dispel each of his arguments, and explain how the Army was not only legally obligated to take the action they did, but morally obligated as well, Henry sensed somehow that this wasn’t Hickam speaking. It was his body and his voice, but it was someone else’s words. Someone else had put him up to this.

That makes sense,
thought Henry. Hickam never came across as someone who was capable of much on his own, certainly nothing as elaborate as this. But who was behind this? Alcorn? Perhaps, but that seemed unlikely. Henry didn’t like Alcorn much. He was on the wrong side of the table, and he was kind of like a bull in a china shop, but he was an honest bull. At least that’s the feeling Henry got from him. Another rifle butt to the gut snapped Henry back to the immediacy of his situation.

“Prisoner!” said Hickam at the top of his lungs. “Are you going to answer me or are you going to just stand there and stare into space like the freaking moron you are?”

Henry caught his breath, but instead of replying, he simply smiled at the Sergeant in quiet defiance.

“Fine,” said Hickam regaining his self-control. “I was just trying to help you out. But since you insist on being uncooperative, have it your way.”

He nodded to the guards on both sides of Henry, who began pelting him with blows—Jalapeño-Breath with the butt of his rifle, the other with his bare fists. They hit him on his sides, in his stomach, and on his arms and legs.

“Anywhere that doesn’t show,” said Hickam in a voice barely discernible over the commotion.

Another guard came in to join the fray and they continued working Henry over until he was on the verge of unconsciousness. Whether Hickam stopped them, or they pulled back on their own, Henry didn’t know. He only knew it had finally stopped. He felt, rather than saw them, detach him from the wall and lay him on the ground, the lights from the ceiling shining bright into his eyes.

“You’re headed back to your cell now, Prisoner Two-One-Seven-Three-Three-Nine-Seven-Six-Three, and I have one final thought before you go. What happens here, stays here. Any talk of this outside of these walls, and you will beg for the sweet release of death before I’m through with you.”

Henry barely heard the Sergeant and his meaningless threat. His only thought was how the lights reminded him of the light he saw when he was laying in his backyard the morning after Lucy’s fraternity thugs had beat him senseless. He thought then that maybe it was the light everyone talked about seeing after you died, that maybe he was finally dead and was headed into the light. He remembered how disappointed he’d been when he opened his eyes to find that it was merely the morning sunlight shining on his bruised and battered body. How, even as he had forced his physical self into motion that morning, his emotional self slipped into a state of unreachable despair. Now, as he lay here on the hard concrete floor, drifting away toward unconsciousness, he felt himself slipping back into that same level of despair.

Nothing had really changed, had it? Just the form of his prison.

His eyes closed involuntarily and the light gave way to darkness. Just before Henry fell into complete unconsciousness, a song began to play in his mind, just barely audible over the tedious barking of the overgrown man-child.

Night is day and day is night

Don’t say I won’t ‘cause you know I might.

You are wrong and I am right

Don’t cross my path ‘less ya wanna fight.

The song brought memories of Zef, and how this being from another world had reacted when he first viewed Henry’s paintings. Even as he lost total consciousness, the darkness lifted, replaced by the light of hope.

Henry would have been pleased to know just how angry the smile on the face of Prisoner Two-One-Seven-Three-Three-Nine-Seven-Six-Three’s face made Sergeant Hickam as the guards carried the unconscious prisoner back to his cell.

“Yes sir, Et Xtlar, I understand sir,” said Gsefx into the vidcon. “I realize we’re a little behind …”

“You are more than seven rotations behind schedule,” said the angry Fweurlian on the other side of the vidcon, his skin beginning to turn purple. “If I agreed that you were just a little behind, it would make me a big behind.”

“… ah … yes, well, you see, it’s just that we’ve run into some areas within the client’s account that require deeper analysis than we originally thought …”

“Et Gsefx, please don’t make a bigger fool of yourself by lying to me.” Xtlar paused to take a deep breath. “Gsefx, I like you. You wouldn’t still be here if I didn’t. More than just liking you, I want to see you succeed. You have the rare gift of not only being an excellent accountant but a true leader, as well. Someone who could one day rise into the ranks of upper management, if your foolish impulses don’t derail you first. Believe me when I tell you, Gsefx, I can’t abide liars and if I ever catch you in a lie, you will see just how quickly your career can and will evaporate before your very eyes.”

Gsefx tried to speak but was shut down before he could make a sound.

“Don’t say anything, not a word.” Through the vidcon screen, Gsefx could see his boss’ boss lean back in his chair, his skin turning back into its normal light green. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you lately, since your last run-in with Qilzar, but you’re not acting or performing like you were before, and frankly, I’m more than a bit concerned. Come to think of it, Qilzar hasn’t been his miserable little self either. What happened between you two? No … wait … don’t tell me. I just realized, I don’t care.”

Xtlar leaned forward again.

“Pigawitts is one of our oldest, wealthiest, and most influential clients, and his company is facing a GTCA audit in less than three multi-rotations. You and your team have barely scratched the surface of his accounts, which makes me wonder if I was wrong to have assigned this project to you. Was I wrong in doing so, Gsefx?”