Lady in White: Legacy

Chapter Twenty-One

Progression

Thursday, March 28, 2019

0130

"Wow. Ryder was right. Everything does look the same."

Anna swallowed as she beheld the interior of the military base. She, Kristoff, and Isaacson were standing at the intersection of two long corridors, the hallways virtually indistinguishable from one another no matter which way one looked. "How are we going to find Dr. Andersen and Elsa in all this?"

"Relax," Kristoff said, putting his hand on her shoulder. "We can do this. But you have to remain calm or—"

"May I remind you, Captain," Isaacson muttered, his eyes shooting daggers at Kristoff. "It is most irregular for a commissioned officer to make physical contact with a female subordinate."

Kristoff stared at him, not comprehending.

"In other words," Isaacson sighed. "Get your bloody hand off the 'lieutenant's' shoulder. Now!"

Kristoff glanced upward, instantly aware that four separate security cameras were staring back at him, one from each corner of the intersection. "Oh. Right."

"That's more like it," Isaacson said, rubbing his eyes as Kristoff dropped his hand from Anna's shoulder. "Thank Christ it's the middle of the night and we don't have full staffing wandering the corridors."

"Right," Kristoff acknowledged, clearing his throat. "Stephenson, what do you see? Where do we go to get Pops?"

"I'm on it now, bro," Stephenson responded in Kristoff's ear, the sound of fingers clicking against a keyboard echoing in the background. "Okay. Like, you're gonna go up past three intersections, and then make a left."

"Got it," Kristoff acknowledged. He glanced at Anna. "If you would be so kind, Lieutenant?"

Anna sighed in exasperation as she picked up the heavy briefcase from the floor. "Why do I have to carry this?" she whispered.

"Because I outrank you," Kristoff whispered back. "And besides, it builds character."

"Ha, ha," Anna muttered, forcing herself to refrain from sticking her tongue out at her "superior officer." "I can't believe they let us in here without checking this first."

"Like I demonstrated at the entrance," Isaacson said, the trio's feet resounding off the hard floor as they made their way through the deathly quiet hallway. "If a general acts irritable enough, a number of routines are simply glossed over in the name of expedience." He laughed as a thought occurred to him. "I remember my first day in Her Majesty's—"

"Save it for another time, sir," Kristoff hissed as they turned left as Stephenson had directed. "We have company now."

The corridor before them was filled with doors leading to interrogation rooms, as Ryder's schematic had indicated. Each door was manned by a soldier carrying a large rifle, all of the men standing at the ready.

"Stephenson!" Kristoff whispered. "Did you get enough video to loop the camera like I asked?"

"You got it, bro," Stephenson responded. "I'm overriding the master feed now. Judging by how, like, lazy the night shift seems to be, I guess you got, like, ten minutes or so before they realize they've been looking at the same image of an empty hallway without you in it—"

"Good," Anna said. She shuddered as they approached the armed guards. "Let's get this over with! I don't want to be here when they figure out—"

"General, sir!"

Isaacson nodded in acknowledgement as the trio stopped before holding room 13-1122. He saluted back halfheartedly at the guard. "At ease, son," he said, making certain to affect the most American accent and cadence in his voice he could. "Let us in."

The soldier glanced at Isaacson, uncertainly. "I . . . I would love to, sir. But I'm afraid the Director was very specific. She made it clear that—"

"Oh, really?" Isaacson stepped forward, an annoyed expression on his face. "Is the Director here now?"

Anna looked at Kristoff worriedly. Her eyes were enough to communicate the message to her companion: Who's the 'Director'?

Kristoff glared back at her. Hell if I know.

The guard thought for a moment, Isaacson's increasingly irritated stare beginning to unnerve him. "Well, I . . . I suppose she's probably sleeping—"

"Precisely." Isaacson snapped his fingers. "Captain?"

Kristoff stepped forward, taking the briefcase from Anna's grasp. Opening it, he withdrew a stack of papers containing page after page of very, very fine print. "Here, General Wilmington."

Isaacson took the papers from Kristoff, extending them to the private before him. "These contain the orders I have received directly from Washington. From the attorney general, in point of fact."

The guard looked at the papers, uncertain of what to do. "The . . . The attorney general, sir? Why would he—"

"Private."

Isaacson's voice was low, each syllable enunciated clearly. "Perhaps you have forgotten how this works. If those in command above you think you need to know just why something needs to be done, they will ask you for your opinion. Unless and until they do, however, your job is to do what you're told. Understood?"

The private nodded enthusiastically.

"Good," Isaacson said. "Now, has the Director informed you that the man in the room you're guarding has dual citizenship in both the 'Delle and the U.S.?"

"N– . . . No—"

"Of course not. Why would she?" Isaacson's eyes narrowed. "All you need to know, son, is that the attorney general has taken a personal interest in this case because he needs to know if this is something worth bringing to the president's attention. I'm sure you can see the problems that would arise if it were to be discovered we've been holding an American civilian without counsel in violation of his constitutional rights, now, don't you? That is why Captain McIlroy—" He gestured toward Kristoff and Anna. "And Lieutenant Daniels here have accompanied me here so late at night. The good captain here is the finest attorney stationed in this part of Europe. He's here to meet with his client so I can report back to Washington that we have at least done our due diligence in handling this matter." He raised an eyebrow, glancing at his watch. "Now, I have a conference call scheduled with the attorney general to brief him on this matter before he retires for the night. So, unless you want to keep him waiting . . ."

The guard hastily stepped away from the door. "He's all yours, sir. Take as long as you need, sir."

Isaacson returned the private's hasty salute before opening the door before him, Kristoff and Anna following close behind him.

"Wow," Anna whispered as they closed the door behind them. "Nice improvising there." She frowned. "Although, I don't think Dr. Andersen has dual citizenship. And I don't think the attorney general has any actual authority over—"

"Oh, bollocks," Isaacson grumbled, gesturing his head toward the door. "Do you think he knows that?" He glared at Kristoff as they made their way their way through the narrow corridor leading to a second doorway. "Well, that's about the extent of my acting skills for one night, Mr. Bjorgman. From here on, I suggest you—"

As they opened the interrogation room door, a familiar voice rang out. "I already told you, I don't have anything else to tell you, goddammit! I am not about to change what I have to say no matter how much you try to intimidate me! You all can go . . ."

Andersen's voice trailed off as he beheld the sight before him. He blinked, rubbing his eyes, not certain his eyes were functioning correctly. "Miss . . . Miss Reinhart?"

Before she could stop herself, Anna was hugging the professor, her arms wrapped tightly around her mentor. He looked utterly exhausted, the young woman noted, his tie nowhere to be found, his vest unbuttoned and rumpled. "I'm sorry," she apologized, fumbling over her words. "We . . . We, um, came as quickly as we could, but—"

"You shouldn't be here," Andersen responded, breaking from Anna's grasp, his eyes filled with worry. "Do you have any idea how dangerous this is for you, young lady?"

Anna's eyes narrowed. "Um, in less than a week, I've been chased and nearly eaten by wolves, survived a high-speed chase with you driving, and tried Kristoff's liquor. So, yeah, I think I can handle breaking you and Elsa out of a little old military base, thank you very much."

An exhausted laugh emanated from Andersen's throat. "Touché." He glanced at Kristoff. "I assume you have a plan of some sort, Mr. Bjorgman."

"Of some sort," Kristoff said, setting the briefcase on the table.

Andersen's expression turned murderous as he suddenly caught sight of Isaacson still standing by the doorway. "You son of a bitch!" he hissed, lunging forward. "What the hell are you doing here—"

"Hey, hey, Pops!" Kristoff grabbed hold of Andersen, pulling the older man backward to keep him from breaking Isaacson's nose—or worse. "It's all right. He's with us, okay? Calm down."

"Bastard!" Andersen spat, his face still red with fury. "If it weren't for you, none of this would have—"

"Nice to see you too, Jan," Isaacson said, sighing heavily.

"It's fine, Pops," Kristoff said. "He's helping get you and Elsa out of here. Let's all just calm down and follow the plan."

"Speaking of," Anna said. She pressed her fingers to her ear. "Stephenson, please tell us you've been jamming the camera in this room."

"Like, way ahead of you, Anna Reinhart," Stephenson's voice responded. "Like, as far as anyone else here knows, the professor's been just sitting at the table by himself the whole time."

Ryder's voice crackled across the channel. "Not to try to hurry along this lovely reunion and all, but I feel obliged to remind you all we're on a very tight schedule. And that the longer you take, the sooner whoever's watching the cameras tonight will realize they've been watching looped video instead of—"

"Got it." Kristoff opened the briefcase, hastily removing layer after layer of paperwork. He frowned. "Where is it again, Ry? I'm not seeing it."

"Top left corner, there's a small tear in the lining."

Kristoff blinked. "Um . . . I'm not seeing—"

"You're other left!" Anna hissed. "Oh, just let me do it!"

Anna snatched the briefcase from Kristoff impatiently. "See?" she crowed triumphantly as she pulled down the fabric in the corner to reveal a small, digital display. "Now what, Ryder?"

"Okay." Ryder's voice sounded in Anna and Kristoff's ears once more. "Beneath the display, you should see a small button, like I showed you back at the cabin. See it?"

"Uh-huh," Anna acknowledged, her fingers hovering over the display.

"Good. Now, press it."

Anna held down the button. The display suddenly came to life. A digital timer reading "5:00" appeared.

"So far so good," Anna said. "Now, what—"

Her voice cut off midsentence as the timer display suddenly began to blink, scrambling, the numbers turning into random combinations of light. "Uh . . . Is it supposed to do that?"

"Do what?!"

Ryder's voice now sounded very, very concerned. Anna felt her heart rate begin to increase. "Well, um, the five-minute counter's gone, and it's, like, blinking at me now—"

"Oh, hell!" Ryder now sounded quite worried. "Tell me you didn't hold the button down! I said, 'Press it,' remember, not 'Hold it down for as long as you want'!"

"Ry?" Kristoff's voice was tinged with barely concealed panic. "Ry, talk to me here."

"Dammit, Anna! I was very specific when I went over this back at Bjorgman's house! Weren't you paying attention?!"

"I don't remember you saying that!" Anna shot back.

"Ry!" Kristoff practically shouted. "What does this mean?"

Ryder sighed loudly through the earpiece. "If you hold down the activation button for more than five seconds, it overrides the presets and defaults to the emergency setting."

"Which is what?" Kristoff snapped.

The display stopped flashing, suddenly reading "0:30."

Ryder's voice was very, very quiet. "About thirty seconds."

Anna's face turned an odd shade of pale green. "Um . . ."

Kristoff snatched the briefcase back from Anna's grasp. "Get out of the way!" He opened the interrogation room door and raced down the small corridor. Opening the door, he hurled the briefcase into the hallway, slamming the doorway behind him over the guard's startled objections.

"Sir?" The guard's voice echoed through the small corridor. "Sir, is everything—"

Through the door, Kristoff could hear a small beeping sound, followed by the unmistakable hiss that accompanies the release of a gas from its confines. Kristoff removed his uniform jacket, covering his nose and mouth with it as, outside the door, he suddenly heard a barrage of coughing from the guards on patrol. After several moments, a series of loud thuds resonated down the corridor, followed by silence.

Sighing, Kristoff walked back into the interrogation room, putting his jacket back on. "Well, that was exciting." He glared at Anna. "Can we not do that again, please?"

Anna mumbled something sheepishly. "I'm sorry, what was that?" Kristoff asked.

"I said, 'Sorry!'" Anna said. "But at least that part worked—"

"Barely!" Kristoff folded his arms angrily. "We were supposed to put Pops here in cuffs, tell the guard we were taking him to a different part of the base for additional questioning, and leave the briefcase behind so that when the gas went off, we'd be way out of this part of the base and they'd wake up with no memory we were ever even here."

"That part still should work," Ryder offered over the earpiece. "That gas messes with short-term memory when it knocks you out. When they come to, they won't remember what hit them."

"Yeah, but we've just lost ourselves five minutes we could have spent making our way to medical before it went off thanks to that little . . . mishap."

"I said I was sorry," Anna muttered. "I just . . ." She stopped herself. "I won't do it again. I promise."

Andersen glanced at Kristoff. "Not to criticize my rescuers, but this 'plan' of yours seems to consist of you simply making things up as you—"

"You wanna stay here, Pops, be my guest!" Kristoff snapped. "Sorry, but breaking into a military base isn't exactly something any of us have experience with to fall back on."

"I didn't say that," Andersen conceded, scratching his beard. "I just—"

Kristoff brought his fingers to his ear. "Stephenson! I assume it worked and all the guards in this corridor are unconscious."

"Yeah, bro," Stephenson responded. "All sleeping like little babies, every single one of them."

"You have about one more minute," Ryder interjected, "before they start to come out of it. I told you: It's a very short-term gas designed to make them forget they ever saw you, not knock them out for hours at a time. We don't want other soldiers catching them unconscious, after all, 'cause that's not suspicious at all, right?"

"Copy that," Kristoff muttered. He gestured to Isaacson. "Go ahead and cuff Pops, Chancellor."

"Absolutely not!" Andersen objected. "I will not be—"

"Look," Kristoff said, throwing up his hands. "I don't like it either, but at least this way, we have a plausible explanation for why a civilian who's supposed to be in custody is walking around with us."

Andersen opened his mouth to protest, then closed it again, thinking. Finally, he turned to Anna. "All right. I'll wear them. But only if Miss Reinhart puts them on, thank you very much."

Isaacson cleared his throat. "Jan, if I may—"

The expression of absolute contempt on Andersen's face silenced the chancellor. "Jesus, just get this over with," Isaacson hissed as he withdrew a pair of handcuffs from his pocket, handing them to Anna.

Anna took the cuffs from Isaacson, placing them around Andersen's wrists. "Trust us, sir," she offered quietly. "We'll get you out of here. I promise."

Andersen smiled at her slightly. "It's not me I'm worried about, Miss Reinhart. It's Elsa . . . and you."

"Thirty seconds," Ryder hissed through the earpiece. "Bjorgman, you and your crew need to move. Now!"

"Stephenson?" Kristoff asked.

"All clear in all directions," Stephenson said. "Like, do what Ryder dude said and, like, get going, bro."

Quietly, the quartet exited the small corridor leading back to the main hallway. Peering out the door, Kristoff saw that the guards were all lying on the floor, unmoving. As he watched, one of them began to stir, slowly coming to.

"Go!" he hissed over his shoulder. Anna and Isaacson fell in line with Kristoff, Andersen in between them, cuffed hands held before him, head bowed down in an expression of abject defeat.

"Talk to me, Stephenson," Kristoff muttered as they rounded the corner. "Have you found where Elsa is yet?"

"Bro, like, have I let you down yet? It's just . . ."

Anna lost track of Stephenson's words as she suddenly came to a halt. The corridor around her seemed to blur and fade away, replaced with a large room filled with people dressed in strange attire . . .

"So . . . This is what a party looks like."

"It's warmer than I imagined."

Her fingers curled as she felt her hand reach out toward the woman of the evening, the newly crowned queen of the 'Delle.

"I wish it could be like this forever. It can be, can't it, Elsa? We can . . . We can start over tonight. Please?"

Her fingertips were almost touching the gloved hands of the queen, her breath caught in her throat, her spirit desperate for her answer. Please, Elsa, she thought to herself. I've missed you so much. I just want to be your sister again. Please—

". . . Anna! Anna!"

The young woman blinked as she snapped back to reality, Kristoff looking at her, concerned. "What was that?" he hissed, glancing about, breathing a sigh of relief that no one had spotted them. "You know we have to keep moving—"

"Sorry!" she said, cheeks now beet red with embarrassment. "I . . . I've just been having these . . . these flashes lately, and they're . . . they're getting . . ."

She shook her head. "Never mind. I'm fine." She began walking forward once more. "Let's . . . Let's just get Elsa and get out of here."

As they walked beside Isaacson and Andersen, Anna heard Kristoff whispering to her. "You'd better be. Fine, that is. Because if you're going to keep doing this—"

"Just let it go!" Anna snapped back, heels clicking against the cold, reflective floor. "I've got this!"

As they continued forward, following Stephenson's guidance, Anna could not help but wonder to herself just who she was trying to convince: Kristoff, or herself . . .

AN: More to come!