In the Grey (11 page)

“
Vince’s accident,” Raz
said. “MJ’s IED.”

“
You’re a team of
survivors,” Ben nodded. “Almost everyone has been through
something.”

“
That’s what occurred to
me,” Raz said. “If it’s a lot of problems and the same problems
solvers, what if we’re a part of the problem, each of
us.”

“
Why?”

“
Because we know Alex?”
Raz shrugged.

“
Or something about her,”
Sergeant Mead said. “That makes good sense. Each of you might know
a tiny piece that fits the larger puzzle which
means . . .”

“
Who knows?” Ben
shrugged.

“
What if the guys, you
know, the Fey Special Forces Team, what if they were killed because
they knew something – all of them knew the same thing,” Raz said.
“They’d have to be killed.”

Ben shook his head. Raz
shrugged.

“
I guess we’ll find out,”
Matthew said. “I’ll send in Leena, Zack, and Joseph.”

“
Thank you,” Ben
said.

Matthew nodded and left
the room.

“
You really don’t have any
idea what this is about?” Sergeant Mead asked.

“
No,” Ben said.

“
None that you’d like to
share?” Sergeant Mead asked.

“
Actually, I have no
idea,” Ben said. “This could be a waste of time
or . . . Do you happen to know what Patrick was up
to in his last service years?”

“
Of course,” Sergeant Mead
said.

“
We’re going to need more
paper,” Ben said.

Raz looked at the men and
went back to work.

F

Saturday
afternoon

November 6 – 2:34 p.m.
MDT

Denver,
Colorado

“
Max?” Wyatt sat up in
bed.

“
No, love,” an accented
woman’s voice said from the other side of the room.

“
Who are you?” Wyatt
asked.

“
I’m Niamh Kelly
Mac Kinney,” the woman said. Her face came into focus. She was
older than Cian, but not by much. She had darker eyes and dark
hair. She was knitting what looked like a homespun wool sweater.
Wyatt realized what she’d said.

“
Wait, what?” Wyatt shook
his head to clear it. “How can you be a Kelly and
Mac Kinney?”

“
Can you think of a way?”
the woman smiled.

Wyatt shook his
head.

“
I married a
Mac Kinney,” the woman said. “Cian met Eoin through me and my
Jack. ‘Course they were the same age, same school, same
temperament.”

“
Um . . .
Mrs. Kelly-Mac Kinney . . .”

“
You may call me Neev,”
she said. “Cian calls me Neevie; Eoin does, as well. Johnny, well,
he’s right proper with his London accent and all; he calls me
Niamh.”

“
Sounds like Neev,” Wyatt
said.

“
It would to your American
ears, now wouldn’t it?” She smiled.

“
Nice to meet you,” Wyatt
said. “But . . . I’m naked and woozy from the drugs.
Why are you here?”

She smiled at him. Setting
down her knitting, she got up and opened the closet where his
clothing was hanging. She gestured to his undergarments on the
bed.

“
You may get dressed,” she
said. “I’ll wait outside.”

“
Wait,” Wyatt said. “I
know you wouldn’t be here if you weren’t here to help. It’s hard to
get into our house and you weren’t here at Christmas
so . . .”

“
Who am I to you?” Neev
smiled. “I’m the one who is going to help you become free of what
was placed in your head.”

“
I thought Alex did that
last night,” Wyatt said.

“
Yes, she’s talented at
debriefing,” Neev said. “Close your eyes for a moment. Are you one
hundred percent?”

Wyatt closed his eyes for
a moment. He shook his head.

“
Exactly,” Neev opened the
door.

“
But . . .
and I mean no disrespect, but how can you help?” Wyatt
asked.

“
I do more than knit, my
dear,” Neev said.

“
It looks like you’re
unknitting,” Wyatt said.

“
Yes, unknitting is, in
fact, what I’m best at,” Neev smiled. “Both on the yarn and with
people.”

“
With people?”

“
Deprogramming,” Neev
said. “Learned how to do it when I was a lass. I’ve got the same
fancy degrees you have, as well. Plus, I’m pretty good at it; do it
all over the world; and you’re family.”

“
What about Mr.
Mac Kinney?” Wyatt smiled.

“
Where do you think I
learned it?” Neev returned his smile. “Get dressed. We’ll go for a
walk.”

Wyatt nodded to her, and
she left the room. When she returned, she gave Wyatt a travel
mug.

“
What’s this?” Wyatt
asked.

“
Coffee,” she said. “You
looked like you could use it. Tea for myself. Oh
and . . .”

She held up a bag full of
Cian’s lemon drop cookies.

“
What about the drugs? I
need to be sedated and . . .”

“
That was just to keep you
quiet until I could get here,” Neev said. “Sorry, we couldn’t think
of any other way.”

Wyatt nodded.

“
Do you mind that I’m
gay?” Wyatt asked. “I assume you’re Catholic
and . . .”

“
Aren’t you Catholic?”
Neev asked.

Wyatt nodded.

“
No, I have a brother
who’s gay; always has been, always will be,” Neev said. “He’s God’s
perfect creature.”

“
Cian’s gay?” Wyatt was
too muddled to say anything else.

“
You haven’t met his
girlfriend? He’s quite serious about her,” Neev said. “Lovely girl.
Kind of short, but then again, he’s not much bigger. We’ve only
talked through the computer. I hope to meet her while I’m here. No,
I have lots of brothers, as I understand you do.”

“
I do,” Wyatt smiled and
pulled on his heavy jacket. “Your gay brother, is he a
priest?”

“
That he was,” Neev said.
Wyatt held her jacket for her. She smiled and let him help. “Moved
to the Republic just after we immigrated. They even have a few
babes. Adopted out of care. They live in Donegal, across the island
from Belfast.”

Wyatt nodded. She stepped
into the hallway. He stopped at the door.

“
How does it feel to be
out of that room?” Neev asked.

“
Weird,” Wyatt said. “I
feel . . . exposed.”

“
Johnny told me there’s a
lovely park nearby,” Neev said. “Would you care to show an old gal
her way around your park?”

“
Love to.” For reasons he
couldn’t imagine, Wyatt held his elbow out to her, and she took
it.

“
I was a nun,” Neev said
conspiratorially as they walked toward the stairs. “The love of my
life was in prison. I wanted nothing else than to hide among the
sisters.”

“
What happened?” Wyatt
asked.

“
He showed up one day
right after vespers,” Neev said. “Since you know Cian and Johnny,
I’ll tell you the truth. We Kellys aren’t great at those sacred
vows. The chastity thing gets us every time.”

Wyatt laughed and opened
the door. They went out into the late fall sunshine.

FFFFFF
Saturday afternoon

November 6 – 4:23 p.m.
PDT

Pelican Bay Prison,
Crescent City, California

Lined up against the wall,
Trece stared straight ahead while the warden gave his “Welcome to
Hell” speech. There were two scrawny guys on his left and a fat guy
on his right. His entire being screamed at the injustice of his
situation. He longed to let loose. He mentally walked through the
moves to kill almost all of them before the guards shot
him.

But he’d promised Alex he
wouldn’t kill anyone.

He almost never broke a
promise to Alex.

The closer he got to the
eventual clang of the prison cell door, the louder the whisper of
his childhood predator became in his head.
“You belong right here. Servicing your masters. Don’t bother
trying to escape. You’ll always return right
here.
” The words sent chills up Trece’s
spine. He swallowed hard. He’d be lucky to survive this.

The warden stood right in
front of him.

Trece had no idea what the
man was saying. He looked around the man. As if to emphasize a
point, the warden gestured with his right index finger. That man’s
finger was getting awfully close to his chest. Trece used his
decades of military discipline to not twist off the warden’s
finger. Trece sneered and looked directly at the finger.

The warden had a black
Vivaldi “F” tattooed on his right wrist.

Trece locked eyes with the
man. This man had been rescued by the Fey Special Forces Team. The
man gave an almost imperceptible nod.

Alex had talked to the
warden.

Trece was not
alone.

For the first time since
the SWAT team had arrived, Trece took a full breath. The warden
finished his speech and stalked off. The guards started moving them
into the general population. Pelican Bay had two separate divisions
– a solitary confinement called the Secure Housing Unit or SHU and
a general population of violent offenders. Trece figured his best
bet was to make trouble in the general population and get into the
SHU right away. He could deal with twenty-three hours on his own.
Frankly, with a two-year-old and an infant, he could use the
rest.

“
Usted va con un
violador.
” They are putting you in with a
rapist.

Trece’s eyes flicked to a
Hispanic man with a large thirteen tattoo on his forehead. The man
bumped into him and slipped a handmade shiv into his
hand.

“
Conseguir que antes de
que usted consigue.
”

Get him before he gets
you.

Trece growled at the
little man with the tattoo. The little man raised his hands and
backed away. A guard pushed the prisoner father away from Trece.
They continued moving into the prison.

“
Trece!” a voice yelled
the name of the gang, the V 13s, and Andrew Ramirez’s
nickname. Another voice from a cell near the top of the prison
joined in, “Trece!”

Shouting “Trece,” the
prisoners began to stamp their feet in the cells. Trece had
forgotten what it was like to be connected with the brotherhood.
He’d grown up in the V 13 in Venice, California. Trece was ten
years old when his cousin had killed a cop. Trece had taken the rap
to keep his cousin from killing his mother.

He despised the V 13
and everything they stood for. But right now, in this prison, they
stood between him and almost certain death. He tried to strut like
he deserved the attention.

“
Quiet down,” the guards
yelled. “Knock it off.”

The Aryan Brotherhood
responded by banging on their metal bars and screaming threats. The
Black Guerilla Family began to yell and stomp on the floor. Not to
be out done, the Nuestra Familia joined the “Trece” call. The sound
of the prisoners was deafening. Out of the corner of his eye, he
saw guards on every level move along the cells.

A guard grabbed him by the
collar of his blue shirt and tossed him into a cell.

Clang. The cell door
closed.

That horrible sound that
meant he was truly trapped, alone, and at the mercy of the
predator.

Click. The cell door
locked.

And he was
stuck.

Trece smelled the man more
than saw him. He spun in place.

“
Wheet whoo,” the man
whistled as he circled Trece. “You are one fine piece of
ass.”

Trece grabbed the man by
the collar. With one quick jerk, Trece had cut off the man’s air
supply with the front of his shirt. He pulled the prisoner close to
his face and sneered. His other hand pressed the shiv just under
the man’s rib cage.

The man’s eyes laughed at
him. Trece was about to choke him out when the man nodded to his
right shoulder. The eyes of the man’s long, olive-green snake
tattoo were tiny black Vivaldi
F’s
. He gave Trece a “go-ahead” nod
and Trece choked him unconscious. Trece tossed the man onto the top
bunk.

Too wound up for sleep,
Trece went through his cellmate’s possessions. Behind a
Hustler
centerfold, he
found a note written in Arabic on lined paper. The jagged edge
indicated the paper and note were torn from one of the memo books
resting on the top shelf. This note was for him. He sat down on the
bottom bunk and read.

“
Best guess is your cousin
was picked up by the cartels in Juarez. Until we find his body,
you’re stuck. This is Emanuel Vega. He’s DHS, Weapons of Mass
Destruction. Rumor is the MS-13 are making bioweapons in the
toilets of Pelican Bay and moving them via their relatives. Your
cousin brokered a deal between the V 13, the MS-13, and
Nuestra Familia in Pelican Bay. They will be around to vet you.
Emanuel is a viper. He can call it anytime, and you’ll go into SHU.
It’s up to you. We’re working to get you home. A”