D Carpenter - Infertile Grounds

“Okay. Enough small talk. I’m going to ask you direct questions and I expect direct answers. If you jerk me around, I’m going to kill you,” the man said. “Does the FBI know we’re here?”

Chris couldn’t focus. The gun and the pain in his arm weakened his ability to think of a way out, but it also seemed to strengthen his resolve. He couldn’t tell them anything, yet. He had to be strong, to pull it together. His life depended on it. “I’m not answering any questions until you tell me your name.”

The man’s angular face twisted into a scowl. His body tensed. His finger increased the pressure on the narrow, curled metal trigger. He wanted to kill Chris – it was obvious. For some reason it seemed personal.

“His name’s Seth. Now answer the question,” Sarah said.

Chris looked slowly from Sarah back to Seth.

“Fuck you,” he spat at Seth.

Seth jerked the trigger on his pistol and the gun roared.

“Goddamn it,” Arthur growled as he slammed down the phone. He turned to one of his men and said, “Go establish a secure link with DC. I need to talk to William Stevens and probably the president too.”

The man quickly left the conference room of the FBI office on State Street.

“What happened?” Carl asked.

“They won’t let us in.”

“What do you mean?” Carl asked.

“They locked the front doors and won’t let us in without a warrant. They’re a two-bit shit station that thinks they’re in the big leagues now because of this Wendy Johnston.” He flung his pencil across the room. Dr. Epstein’s wife hadn’t been able to keep her goddamned mouth shut and had talked to her ex-reporter sister who had shopped the story to WOTN. Now he had a third major crisis to deal with – this one courtesy of Carl’s decision to trust those doctors.

“We need to get them off the air,” Arthur said. “Get some people on it, Carl. Once I get the okay, we’re going to do it.”

“Are you serious?” Carl asked.

Arthur glared at him, wanting to tell him about Pell’s accusations against him – to throw everything on the table in plain view. This dancing around the truth stuff wore on his nerves. Two of his best men were trying to confirm what Pell had told him, and if it turned out to be true, he was going to personally make sure that Carl got his just deserts.

“Do I look serious to you?”

Carl turned to Irving and said, “You heard what he wants. Take whoever you need and go.”

The agent Arthur had sent to set up the comm link to DC popped his head into the room. “It’s up,” he said.

“Thanks,” Arthur replied as he marched toward the door.

The Director of the FBI, William Stevens, was typing on his computer as Arthur sat down in front of the video conference system and cleared his throat.

“So, Arthur, how’s Boston?”

“Not good, William. Not good at all.” He was a William, not a Bill or Will.

William took a sip of water. “I read the report. Do these people really exist?”

“I’m afraid it looks that way,” Arthur said before recounting the call from Cecil.

“Jesus, are they certain?”

Arthur nodded. “Yes, they are. I’ve got them putting together details I should have momentarily but right now I’ve been dealing with something else.”

“Besides this virus?”

“I’m afraid so.” He relayed the story of the day’s events, particularly Wendy Johnston’s attempts to go public with the story. He studied William who was a politician at heart and would analyze this from an accountability standpoint first. Who would be crucified if they failed? What were the odds of success? The classic D.C. mentality – number one, is my ass covered and a distant number two, can I look like a hero and an even more distant number three, is it the right thing to do.

When Arthur finished talking, his boss sat quietly for a long moment before saying, “Hold on for a few.”

The image of William Stevens froze on the screen as he was put on video-conferencing hold. After several minutes the screen flashed and appeared again. This time it was a split screen with William Stevens on the right and a very concerned looking president of the United States on the left.

As Seth squeezed the trigger, he either intentionally or unintentionally moved the pistol barrel so that the bullet grazed his head instead of blowing a hole through it. The blast rattled Chris’ brain, and it took him several seconds of lying on the bed to comprehend that he was not mortally wounded.

He sat up in a daze. His ears rang as he ran his fingers over the bloody trough the bullet had plowed in his scalp. Sarah walked over to him and plunged a needle into his arm. He looked at her stupidly. Oddly, she finally showed some emotion as a wicked smile twisted her lips.

She stepped back and looked at him. She pulled Seth away and said to him in a low whisper, “Give me a few minutes alone with him.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’ll be fine.”

“I’ll be right outside if you need me.”

“Thanks,” she said as she guided him gently out the door, and shut it behind him. She turned and shook her head slowly back and forth. “You’ve really messed up our plans.”

The pain in his head and arm was gone. He relaxed. “What was in that needle?” He slurred.

“A little of this, a little of that. What’s it matter – you feel better, don’t you?”

He nodded.

“Listen to me, we’re scientists, not murderers. But we’re like any subset of society that isn’t fully understood. If you push us, we’re going to push back. It’s pretty simple.”

“Tell that to David Rose.”

“Whether or not you believe it, David was our friend and co-worker. He just made a mistake. You can’t be in and then get out. Not with something like this. When you’re in, you’re in for life.”

“I’d hate to see what you do to an enemy.”

She walked to the window and tugged on the shade. It spun up and sunlight poured in. She looked out the window silently, her back to him. The bright light filtered through her long, straight brown hair making it glow like an aura. She finally turned around. “It doesn’t matter. We can’t change the past. What I’m interested in right now is the immediate future – the next month or so.”

“I’m not a fortune teller.”

“No, you’re not, but you can tell me how you got to be here, and who knows what about us.”

He chuckled. He could tell her all of those things, but she was living in fantasyland if she thought that he actually would. Almost as if she could see what he was thinking, she said, “Talk to me, Chris. You’ll feel better once you do.”

Telling her to take a flying leap was his first inclination, but he couldn’t. He felt compelled to talk to her. As if she were an old friend and they were reminiscing. Whatever was in that needle was making him feel like this. This realization helped briefly, but as she continued to prod him, he couldn’t resist. The words forced themselves out from between his lips, and before he could control himself, he told her, in detail, the complete story of the past week. It was liberating to let it all out.

As he talked, she sat down in a chair that she positioned directly in front of him. She stared, listened, occasionally tugged at her earlobe and that was it. Even when he broke down and cried uncontrollably as he talked about Karen, she was emotionless. The icy grey eyes, the closed lips – no ticks, no compulsions, she was simply collecting data.

His cheeks were wet with tears when he finished. After a minute or two, Sarah stood up to leave.