Intercepts: a horror novel Page 17

  “Ignore it. Ignore it all.”

  Riley sighed. “I did. Even when the house caught fire.”

  “The house caught fire?”

  “Yeah. Something shorted out in the bedroom. Everything filled with smoke and soon there were flames all over the place. You tried to get me to jump out the window. You said it would be fine. When I didn’t move, you came to pick me up. The cuff of your pants caught fire. It spread up to the rest of your clothes. You couldn’t put it out. You screamed for help. I watched you burn alive. I didn’t get up. I closed my eyes and when I opened them again, everything was fine.”

  “Why didn’t you wake me?”

  Riley stared off. “What could you have done?”

  Joe put his large arm around her. “You can feel me here, right?”

  She nodded.

  “I’m real. I’m your father. You can trust me,” he said. “I’m going to put an end to this. I’m going to set her free.”

  “How?”

  “You let me worry about that,” he said. His hairs tingled and his head briefly throbbed in pain. He knew she was in there. Watching. “I’ll help her. I’ll give her what she wants.”

  Despite his attempts to make eye contact with his daughter, her head merely drooped and looked down at the floor. There was no strength left in her. His little girl had no faith that her father could fix the situation.

  He wanted to comfort her. He wanted to tell her his plan. He wanted to bring her along so she could see the demon in the flesh and realize that this creature who had been tormenting her was a frail human after all.

  But he couldn’t.

  Because she was surely watching and listening to this conversation.

  “Don’t move from this couch,” he said. “For anything. I’ll go talk to her. We’ll work it out and I’ll come right back.”

  With that, he wrapped his daughter in a firm embrace. She limply bent toward him as if she were a doll. Pliable and empty. Part of himself fell away the moment he released her, as if whatever tactile connection the hug gave them was her only remaining safety line.

  Every urge in his body told him to pick up his daughter, carry her to his truck, and drive like hell. Together.

  But he knew they couldn’t.

  If the Company didn’t find him, then she would. She could find them anywhere. From the mountains of Pakistan to the bunkers of Moscow to the safe houses in Medellin, she could find anyone. Just as Joe trained her to do.

  And so, Joe stood from the couch and took one more longing look at his little girl. He hoped she’d look up and meet his gaze, and then she’d see and feel his love for her and his shame for all that he’d put her through. He felt the look on his face must be conveying the tortured churning of his heart, and she would see that pain. She would know that his eyes were begging her for forgiveness.

  But her gaze stayed rooted to the floor. A self-imposed tunnel-vision, blocking out whatever other terrifying visions might be wandering in and out of the living room at this very moment.

  “I love you, Riley” he finally said.

  She didn’t respond.

  “Be safe,” he said. Then he turned and walked to the door.

  He was going to work.

  He was going to see Bishop.

  CHAPTER 23

  Joe parked his truck at the Facility.

  He passed through the lobby’s multi-step security screening without a hitch, waving to the boys on duty with a pleasant, “Happy Hump Day.” When he approached Tyler’s booth, Joe slowed and plastered a friendly smile on his face. He rapped the glass with his knuckles. Tyler looked up.

  “Morning, Joe,” Tyler said. “Everything alright at home?”

  “Oh, yeah-yeah-yeah. Riley’s having a rough go at it, of course, but she’s a real trooper. Tough kid. She’ll be fine.”

  “I’m sure she will. She has a good support system.”

  Joe nodded. He glanced around, making sure none of the other guards were too close, and then he leaned toward the glass. “So, uh, what time did the big man leave last night?”

  “About nineteen-hundred. Kevin let him into House X.”

  House X. It was a spacious cottage not too far from Joe’s house. It was where they put all their V.I.P.s who would come in from Washington for important tuning sessions. Those were always big events that Joe hated — a bunch of over-paid suits peering over his shoulder and either asking stupid questions or giving stupid notes. House X was well-stocked so that the V.I.P.s could binge on free high-end booze all night (no matter how rich or important someone was, they all lacked inhibition around free booze), and then they’d be hung-over and docile at the next tuning session. Senators, generals, cabinet secretaries, titans of industry. Worked on everyone.

  Except men like Aguirre.

  If a man like Aguirre stayed at House X, it meant that he planned to come in again, bright and early and well-rested. Otherwise, he would have driven straight home.

  Joe nodded. “Look, Tyler, with that attack and then Bishop scratching herself, we’re not looking too good right now,” he said. “I want you to bring all your men up here and station them in the lobby. I want this place to look really secure, like we have our shit together, when Aguirre arrives.”

  Tyler opened his mouth to protest.

  “Look, man, I know Aguirre,” Joe said. “I know how guys like him think. If he sees a strong security presence, it’ll put his mind at ease. It’s psychological. Just keep all your boys up here in the lobby.”

  Tyler bit his lip. Then he nodded. “You got it, Joe.”

  Joe gave the glass a little fist-bump and walked to the elevator.

  He rode it down to Level One.

  Ding! The doors opened and Joe walked past the large poster — Do your job. Keep them safe. He reached the first door in the hallway and stepped into the staff’s lunch room.

  It was a standard congregation place for meals, birthday parties, and the occasional all-hands meeting. Just some tables, a water cooler, and a small kitchenette. It used to tickle Joe that someone had hung an OSHA poster on the wall, laying out in print all of the state and federal labor laws. In theory, “whistleblowing” was protected. Joe and everyone else knew that, in reality, it was not. Laws didn’t apply to the employees of the Facility.

  Some of the orderlies and techs stood around the various tables, drinking morning coffee and chatting about TV shows or sports until their shift began. For whatever reason, the groups tended to separate out by department. Everyone acted friendly but rarely would Medical hang out with Security. And no one hung out with Janitorial.

  For this reason, despite the fact that Joe was sure they probably didn’t like each other, he often found his Control Operators — Chuck and Tariq — killing time together.

  They stood by the microwave as Chuck heated up what appeared to be a bowl of spaghetti for breakfast, using these few minutes to educate his younger colleague on the ins-and-outs of government conspiracies.

  “All I’m saying,” Chuck said, raising his voice to cut over his colleague’s interjections, “is you watch the video, and buildings don’t just pancake down like that, man. You ever play Jenga? When was the last time your Jenga tower imploded from within? Never. It always topples over.”

  “You’re using the fucking Jenga defense, dude?” Tariq said. “You do realize that hundred floor towers aren’t constructed with alternating wood blocks.”

  “What about Operation Northwoods?”

  “What about it?”

  “The government is on record as drawing up an attack on American civilians as a false-flag pretext for bombing the fuck out of Castro. Gulf of Tonkin. Lusitania. All fake. All started wars. This shit works, bro.”

  “First, don’t call me bro. Second, the only conspiracy theory from that day that I used to buy was that we shot down that plane in Pennsylvania.”

  “No shit we did.”

  “—until I listened to the NORAD and FAA air traffic control recordings.”

  “
Faked.”

  “And the sad, scary truth is that despite us being under attack for hours that morning, the government was too disjointed, too unorganized, too unarmed, and too non-communicative to shoot down that plane.”

  Chuck let out a loud scoff.

  “When we scrambled the fighters, some of them took off over the Atlantic without ammo.”

  Chuck bobbed his head from side to side as his hand made a motion like flapping lips.

  “Look, the left hand of this government can’t get the right hand to fix the running urinal in the bathroom across the hall,” Tariq said, motioning in the direction of the restroom. “How’re they gonna pull off something that complex?”

  “You think too small, kid. Everything is part of a larger plan.”

  “Well, that larger plan needs a subsection on how to fix urinals. That thing’s wasting thousands of gallons—”

  “—of fluoridated water. You’ll thank ‘em for that once you get your mind back.”

  Tariq opened his mouth to protest.

  “Gentlemen,” Joe said, interrupting them. “We’re gonna do a full-system reset today.”

  Whatever points and counter-points they had on standby in their conversation immediately vanished. They turned and stared at Joe.

  “Full system?” Chuck said.

  “Yep. Two accidents in two days ain’t acceptable. Something buggy is in the system. Let’s shut it all down and reboot from scratch. And let’s do it now so that we’re fully up and running by the time Aguirre gets here.”

  “But, um, well,” Chuck started saying as he pulled his bowl of spaghetti from the microwave and began shoveling it into his mouth with a fork. “It’ll turn off all the transmitters and shut down all the monitoring equipment.”

  “I’m aware.”

  “But we’re still getting intercepts from Bishop’s session yesterday. I was looking over the transcript from the night shift and her brainwaves are all over the place. She’s mumbling all sorts of stuff.”

  “This ain’t a request.”

  Without waiting for any more protests or excuses, Joe turned and walked to the door. As he neared it, the door swung open. Hannah stepped into the room. They looked at each other. The bags under her eyes and the stray, untamed locks of hair betrayed her own sleepless night. She stepped over to him.

  “Well?” she said, keeping her voice low.

  Joe smiled in response. “Morning, Hannah. Happy Hump Day.”

  And then, without another glance at her, he opened the door and walked out into the hall.

  Joe went directly to his office.

  He closed the door behind him, took a few deep calming breaths, then sat at his desk, and waited.

  The room was quiet.

  From out in the hallway, he heard the occasional conversation of passing staff members accented by the sharp clacking of doors opening and closing. These were just brief spikes of noise in an otherwise silent office. Joe figured that one of those door clacks and mumbled conversations belonged to Chuck and Tariq as they moved from the break room to the control room.

  It would be any moment now.

  He wondered if Bishop was watching this all through his eyes.

  She must know that something was happening.

  But did she know what?

  Keeping his breath steady, Joe trained his eyes on the large digital clock on his wall. God, Chuck better hurry the fuck up. Joe wanted this all done and over with before Aguirre walked in the front door. He considered calling Chuck and pestering him but decided that it would seem out of place. For ten years, Joe had proven himself to be a supervisor who only needed to give orders once and his team would perform them. No need to break the cycle.

  The clock silently clicked over to a new minute. 7:31.

  As much as he tried to keep his breathing calm, the sound of it filled his ears. It was the only thing he could hear. At least if Bishop was in there, it was the only thing she was hearing too.

  Another minute clicked away. 7:32.

  RIIIIIIING!

  The phone, rattling to life on Joe’s desk, jolted him. His hand scrambled to pick it up.

  “This is Gerhard,” he said, attempting to keep his voice steady.

  Tyler’s voice came over the other end, “Hey, Joe. I just received word from Control that we’re undergoing a full system reset.”

  “That’s correct.”

  “Well, per protocol, during a system shutdown, I’m to have a team stationed on Level Two, monitoring the Antennas.”

  “Go ahead and ignore that protocol, Tyler,” Joe said.

  “But—”

  “Those procedures don’t even make sense. What the hell are your boys supposed to do if the Antennas start acting up? They’re not doctors. This is just the stupid kind of checklist bullshit that HQ generates that has no practical purpose. They don’t even know these procedures exist. Fuck ‘em. Keep your team in the lobby as a show of strength for Aguirre. That’s all he cares about.”

  “I still think—”

  “It’s an order, Tyler. Anyone gives you shit ‘bout it, you go ahead and blame me.”

  There was a long pause. Then, “You got it, boss. I’ll keep my boys in the lobby.”

  “Good. I’m telling you, Tyler, this fucking job is ninety percent politics.”

  “You got that right. Talk soon, Joe.”

  They both hung up.

  Joe sat at his desk for another quiet moment.

  The intercom beeped and Chuck’s voice sounded out to the entire Facility. “All staff, this is Control. We are initiating a full reset on all diagnostic systems, surveillance systems, and intercept monitoring systems. All equipment that is integrated into any of the above systems will be temporarily off-line.”

  It was an aspect of the Facility that only a few people were aware of, Joe being one of them. As the original construction was going over-schedule and over-budget, some designer somewhere came up with an idiotic idea. The process of monitoring the Antennas and recording their intercepts required cameras to be wired throughout the Facility. As did the security system.

  Ordinarily, the two would exist on completely separate, isolated systems. But that one stupid contractor figured it would save time and money to piggy-back the internal security system off the complex Antenna apparatus. Although there was plenty of oversight on the project, nobody stopped and asked if this was a good idea. The only thing that anyone cared about was that the designer was right — the dual-use system was cheap, fast, and worked fine.

  Except…

  It meant that a full-system reset had the unfortunate consequence of shutting down all the security cameras and recording equipment. Only a handful of people knew that.

  Tyler knew it. Chuck knew.

  And Joe knew it.

  “For the duration of the reset, all staff are to report to secure, communal locations,” Chuck continued through the intercom. “Elevator transit is hereby suspended. There will be no surface access. Repeat: The Facility is going on lockdown. Shutdown will commence in five minutes.”

  Joe listened to the hum of activity out in the hall as his staff dutifully wrapped-up their business. He rose and went to his file cabinet. His job prohibited most paper files (the e-files at least had auto-delete dates) and so the cabinet primarily stored extra office supplies, like power strips and USB cables.

  And a spare oxygen tank and mask.

  It was the type of apparatus that firemen used when they entered a smoke-filled building. It had been issued to Joe in case of a Facility-wide emergency gas leak. In all his years on the job, he never used it. He wondered if it still worked.

  The hum of movement outside his office went quiet. Everyone had seemingly arrived at where they needed to go.

  Chuck’s voice came over the intercom again. “System shutdown in ten… nine… eight… seven… six…”

  Joe strapped the oxygen tank over his shoulders, walked across his office, and rested his hand on the door.

  “… five… four
… three… two… one… System shutdown.”

  A final beep sounded over the intercom.

  Otherwise, nothing indicated that anything had changed. All the lights stayed on. The forced air from the ventilation system continued humming. If all had gone according to plan, only the cameras would be off.

  At least Joe hoped they would be.

  He took a deep breath, turned the knob, and stepped out into the hall.

  CHAPTER 24

  Joe glance up at the ceiling-mounted camera that stared down at him in the hallway. If it were still on, then anyone could see him standing there — gas tank strapped to his back and mask in his hand — and wonder what the fuck he was up to. Hell, if anyone chose this moment to step out of the break room, they’d have the same thought.

  He turned and jogged down the hall. Not toward the elevators. He went the opposite direction.

  Toward the stairs.

  As he jogged, he tried to pick up his feet to keep them from squeaking or clacking too loudly on the linoleum. The buckles on his oxygen tank clanged into seemingly any metal object they could find, and Joe had to reach behind his back to keep his gear steady. His noise bounced all around. Someone was sure to poke their head out at any moment.

  At the end of the hall, he opened the door and jogged down the stairwell. If he thought that the empty hallway amplified sound, it was nothing compared to the metal-and-concrete shaft of a stairwell. His feet banged into the stairs, sending sound waves reverberating up and down. It was so loud that he stopped even trying to muffle his steps, opting instead to pick up the pace and race down the flights as quickly as he could.

  At the bottom, he pushed open the door and peered into Level Two.

  The main corridor was empty.

  He stepped out and marched down the hall, strapping the oxygen mask over his face as he went. Bishop’s chamber was near the stairwell and for once he didn’t have to pass all the other chambers to reach her.