The Iron Quill (3 page)

The following morning I called the sergeant major. He picked up on the first ring.

“Hello?”

“Sergeant Major, Dr. Carter here.”

“Yes. What can I do for you this morning, Doctor?”

“Well actually, Sir, I was hoping you could fill me in on Mr. Wilson’s visit. I was called to meet him last night, but frankly it was a waste of my time. I’m not exactly sure what I’m supposed to do with him today.”

He nearly laughed. “Doctor, you’ll get the information you need.”

The way he said “get” made me wonder exactly what my role was. As far as I knew, my job was to find, discover, learn, hypothesize, solve, create . . . Those were familiar words. “Get” was new to me, but I wasn’t about to argue with the sergeant major.

“Alright, Sir, but in order for me to get the information we need, can you tell me exactly why Mr. Wilson is here?” I prodded.

“He’s here to give you whatever you need to advance your research, so do your job and get it. The lives of many loyal men depend on it.”

With that he hung up, leaving a sour taste in my mouth.

As I arrived at the hospital, another helicopter was touching down. I sighed, remembering the day ahead. The intel I’d received on Friday was that more patients would be arriving this week. How could I tend to them and meet with Mr. Wilson at the same time?

The idea was giving me a migraine and I strongly hoped that my assistant, Larry, would have coffee ready, and to my satisfaction, he did. The calming aroma met me as soon as I approached the office door.

“Dr. Carter?” Larry greeted me hesitantly outside the entrance.

“Yes?”

“Sergeant Pierce, Sir.”

“In my office?”

He nodded.
Unbelievable.

I walked in, greeted again by the three men who had flanked Mr. Wilson last night. Feeling encroached upon, I really wanted to speak about it but decided to look around for Mr. Wilson first. After coming up empty on a complete scan of my office, my gaze settled on John.

“What can I do for you, gentlemen?”

He stepped forward, squaring himself to me, still wearing his stealth fatigues. All of them were, and it made me wonder what sort of special ops mission they were on. Certainly standing, unwelcome in my office, didn’t qualify.

“Dr. Carter, I’m going to get straight to the point, since we don’t have much time. The kid was brought here upon our request. Not his. He would prefer not to be here, but our superiors have convinced him otherwise.”

“Convinced him otherwise how?”

“Let’s just say the government has decided not to fund this ‘research’ grant much longer. They want answers and are convinced Mr. Wilson’s lab has them.”

My stomach twisted, understanding the attire, the confusion last night, the way I handled the situation.

“You mean to tell me he is here against his will?”

“That’s not your area of concern. Your task is to find the remedy. And you have two days to get it from him. Tops. Understood?”

“What happens after two days?”

“We can’t keep him longer than that. He has agreed to talk to you so use the time you have wisely. Don’t blow it.”

Don’t blow it? What is wrong with these people?
“What makes you think he is going to share anything with us now?”

“Just get what you need, Doctor.”

They all filed toward the door.

“Well, where is he?” I called after.

“He’s in the debriefing room.”

I
was lying on Wes’ couch with my eyes closed when my phone rang, causing me to jump and nearly drop it.

“Hello?” I answered eagerly.

“Hello Ms. Slone. This is Dr. Lyon.”

My one and only ally. The doctor who worked at Wes’ medical lab. The one who, according to Wes, Dr. Thomas had entrusted with caring for things after his death. I had no idea if
I
could trust this man, but something he had said made me believe he knew Wes’ real identity and also wanted him home nearly as much as I did.

I sat up and cleared my throat. “Yes?”

“I don’t have much yet, but wanted to let you know that I did make contact.”

“You
did
? With who?”

“With Tim Walters.”

Agh. I winced at hearing the name. The guy who was my attempted murderer’s grandson. The one who’d used Danny and Chase to get to me. The one who surely hates me.

“And?” I shot back a little too quickly.

“He’s not giving up much.”

“Well, what does that mean?”

“It means he’s not cooperating, but we were able to determine that he’s hiding something and that means we’re very confident that the secret ops group, Unit 86, has Wes, but we don’t have a location. We’ve made a call to someone we believe is connected to them.”

“And.”

He was quiet for a moment. “And they’re denying it.”

“Dr. Lyon. I think I should call the police.”

Nearly cutting me off, “I wouldn’t do that. Not yet.”

I was getting impatient and confused as to whether to listen to Wes or Dr. Lyon. Forty-eight hours had passed and, as Wes had told me, I could call the police.

“Please, Dr. Lyon, you don’t know anything for sure, and if Tim is not telling you anything, how can you be—”

“Ms. Slone. Please. Give it one more day.”

“Why?” I half pleaded, half demanded.

“Because the gentleman I spoke with from Unit 86 assured me that he’d call with any information if he came across it.”

“So?”

“So, he wouldn’t offer any help if they didn’t have him. They’re stalling and that’s their way of buying time before they turn him over.”

“I don’t believe it.”

“One more day, Ms. Slone. If we make a media headline out of it now, any deal they’re planning to make will disappear. They’re now aware that we know where he is and they’re accountable. Give them time to come up with a solution.”

I wasn’t sure of anything when it came to secret operation recovery missions. I was clueless, alone, and afraid.

“What am I supposed to do in the meantime?”

“Just wait.”

That was the last thing I wanted. “And what about you? What are you going to do?”

“We’re going to talk to Tim again and let him know we made contact with Unit 86 and see if he starts talking. Then we’ll call the Unit again to follow up. At that time, if they don’t give Wes back, safe and unharmed, we’ll threaten to expose their whole operation.”

“This is killing me. Wes said forty-eight hours.”

“Give us one more day. We’re close. I know it doesn’t seem like it, but we are. They won’t harm him.”

The rest of the call was a blur. My mind was twirling and my heart was hurting. I just wanted it to end.

Without an ounce of energy to think or move, I let myself fall back on the couch and pulled a throw pillow to my chest. Like a baby, I curled up and cried,
again.

After lying around for the afternoon, I decided that I’d had enough tearful episodes for one lifetime. Then it hit me, this
is
my lifetime, and I don’t know how long it’s going to last. Six months ago, I had no worries. At least not any real ones.

Before, I’d considered moving too many times as an actual hardship. Now, I knew what it felt like to have something perfect, only to fear losing it every minute of every day.

The more I thought about what I had gained by knowing Wes, the more angry I got at Andy and Tim for their selfish, misguided plans to bring someone down for their own gain.

How dare they?

I sat up and wiped my face and began to think about what needed to be done. Chase knew something, but was too much of a coward to say anything. What had happened to his mojo? He had no problem intimidating me and beating that guy at the fight club to a pulp. Even if he was on some sort of cold-blood drug concoction, his instincts were still there. He was fearless and had no problem picking fights before. So why couldn’t he channel that energy at the real bad guys? Ugh, I wished so badly that he would wise up and help me.

Even though I hoped for that, I didn’t count on it. That meant I needed to come up with my own plan. This Tim person wasn’t talking to Dr. Lyon, but that didn’t mean
I
couldn’t get him to talk.

Surely, he hated my guts and no doubt blamed me for his grandfather Andy’s death, but like Andy, he needed me. He wanted to be like Wes, and if I could convince him that I’d give him that, then maybe, just maybe he’d help
me
and not those military people.

A feeling of purpose started to build within me. It’s not that I didn’t feel worth before, it’s just that when you watch a helicopter come down and scoop up your loved one, you feel pretty useless. But now, I felt like I could actually play a role in getting him back.

Who else could get close enough to Tim and actually ruffle his feathers? Sure, the whole idea was dangerous and even insane, and Wes would probably FREAK if he thought for a second that I would go and confront Andy’s grandson, but I saw no choice.

The longer I thought about it, the more courage I built up. I could do it. Find out where he is, talk to him, promise him what he wants in return for making sure Wes comes home. What could he do to me? I doubted he would kill me on the spot.

It was decided. I perked up a little and began making my plans. As I forced my brain into overdrive, a headache began to brew. Then, my stomach growled and for the first time since Wes was taken, I wanted to eat.

I went into the kitchen and everything reminded me of him. Yes, it was his house, but the kitchen conjured up the strongest memories. So many times I’d watched him walk around this room making something as simple as a sandwich, with chopped veggies on the side. I used to roll my eyes at his health kicks, but now, I only wished to hug him from behind while he chopped away. I’d even eat the broccoli.

I stood there, looking at the cherry cabinets and black countertops. It was so clean and uncluttered. It almost didn’t look lived in, and staring at it in its emptiness made it feel so cold. I was so used to Wes, always dressed warmly, and always giving me that perfect half smile. His presence alone heated up the space.

Trying to keep it together, I fixed myself a sandwich and lemonade, eating it by myself in the dining room. The same room where Wes had first told me his secret.

I was alone, but felt whole somehow. As if everything we’d gone through boiled down to this moment. This place and time, where I decided not to let fate win. The first time I had been in this room was on the tour of the house. I had noticed that huge painting hanging on the wall. Vibrant, in every color imaginable, depicting the image of a couple with outstretched arms. When I first saw it, I tried to decide whether the arms were reaching for each other or being pulled apart.

The second time I saw it, I decided they were being pulled apart and thinking that way brought me sadness. This time, eating alone, I studied the image and decided they were being brought back together.

The tension the image gave off was, in my mind, symbolic of trying times, but that didn’t mean it had to end in separation. Not this picture. This picture was the snapshot of the two hands making their way back to each other. Just like Wes and me.
That
was what I saw, and
that
is what I believed as I drank the last of my lemonade.

Leaving Wes’, my mind constantly turned over ideas. Choosing not to call the police, wanting instead to give Dr. Lyon a chance to work his leads, didn’t mean I was going to stand idle.

After fifteen minutes of brainstorming, I reached my house. My mother was inside and already cooking dinner. That was odd.

I peeked my head into the kitchen. “Hey Mom, what’s up?”

Her back was to me and she didn’t reply.

“Mom?” Her hips were moving slightly. I noticed her head bobbing back and forth and realized she was listening to music. The sight was so strange, I laughed for the first time since Wes was taken.

“Mom!” I shouted, moving further into the kitchen.

She turned and jumped back, snatching the buds from her ears. “Oh, hi honey.”

She looked embarrassed. “Mom . . . what is that?” I moved to inspect the source of the wires. “Did you get an iPod?”

“Um, yes,” she said straightening up. “Why, does that surprise you?”

I was smiling, shaking my head. “No, not at all. Well, maybe a little. Since when do you know how to work an iPod?”

“Well, Tom bought it for me and set it up this weekend.”

She was holding back a guilty smile. I got the feeling she and Tom had been playing house while I was away. I assessed the joy beaming from her eyes and couldn’t help but smile too.

“Can I see it?”

“Sure.”

After a few minutes of unraveling herself from the wires, she handed it over. I scrolled through her songs and immediately felt like I was in the eighties. Duran Duran, U2, Bruce Springsteen. I smiled and handed it back.

She stuck it in her pocket while I diverted my gaze over to the chopped onion and tomatoes on the counter. It looked like she was gearing up for something. “So what are you cooking?”

“Oh, well, I missed you, and with Wes gone, you seem a bit gloomy.” Little did she know that knives stabbed at my insides when she said that word
gone
but I held it together. “So I thought I’d make one of your favorites. Grandma’s homemade chili and cornbread.”

Yum, the thought of it did melt away some of the stinging knives, and my face must’ve shown my brewing comfort.

“See, I knew it would make you feel better.” She turned back toward her preparations. “And Tom’s coming over, too. He wants to help cheer you up.”

“Really?” I liked Tom. He seemed cool, but the idea of him caring about cheering me up took me by surprise.

“Yeah, he does.” She turned, looking over her shoulder, and offered a gentle nod with a smile.

I made my way over to the fridge in search of a bottled water to take upstairs. She chopped and kept talking.

“He really does like you, you know?”

I pulled the water out and shut the door. “Uh, okay.”

She turned completely around to face me, waving her knife in the air. “He does. And that’s important to me. You know, he’s been widowed for ten years, and ever since he lost his only son, he’s been alone. I think you bring him comfort, almost like the daughter he never had.”