End of Innocence
Chapter 27
Cabin, Cimarron, Colorado, December 2013
Birds chirping…
He'd been hearing them for a while now, like in the background in his head. Now, louder and clearer. Chatters and clicks, short double-whistles and long, slow coos pierced the winter air.
Morning had come, drawing him out of a busy end to a drugged sleep. No use trying to go back. Sleep wouldn't have him now.
Birds sounded again outside.
One stood out from the rest, he noticed – the long, musical call of a mourning dove. Reese knew that one. Sounded like he was perched high on the wires down by the main road. His low, sad call hung in the air between them, slow and breathy: oo-ahh, hoo hoo hoo.
Silent after... like he was waiting and listening for a response… and when nothing came, repeated again, slowly, like the sound of an ache released to the air. It echoed through the trees between them. Reese found himself waiting and listening, too, for any response.
Only silence followed.
Nothing from another and this dove had been calling from his perch since sunrise. Down the drive, Reese heard the telltale whistle of dove wings fluttering; maybe flying off somewhere else to try again.
No wonder the name, he thought, when the calls started again. That sound: mourning dove.
Reese shook himself out of it and stopped listening.
He stuck an arm forward, cautiously. Nothing grabbed or strained on it this time. Right. No tether anymore to catch on things. All that tubing was gone now, and his arms were free. He breathed a silent thanks out to the air.
Birds chirped and chattered again in the pines outside. Sun was up but it must be early, still – the way the light slanted across the floor and up the walls.
When he ran the back of his hand over his lips, they felt sandpapery on his skin. A drink'd be good right about now. Reese lifted the swatch of blanket off him and started to toss it back.
That hurt – his shoulder, his chest and back – all the way down to his hipbones. What was this, now?
A grimace formed on his face while he was pushing himself up to sitting. Stopped there, swaying a bit. Felt like he'd rolled down a steep, rocky hill: aches and pains in every muscle.
Can't stay like this, he thought. Get up!
He pushed himself forward and tipped off the couch. Legs didn't wanna hold him at first. He needed to grab for the back of the couch to steady himself. Every ache flared and his brain felt slow and thick, like mud.
Reese pushed himself again to take a step. Then another. Ah, that's right. He'd gone for that walk to the end of the driveway yesterday. Crap! A mile's walk could do this to him? A curse slipped from his lips.
Reese limped to the end of the couch, holding on. Then to one of the lamp tables. Then through the open space to the dining table. He leaned on the edge, limping along 'til the next gap. Twice as wide, this one.
Nothing to lean on now between the end of the table and the arch of wall next to the hutch. He stood there for a minute at the table. Maybe if he warmed up a little before he tried.
Reese lifted his right foot off the floor and bicycled the leg in the air. All kinds of muscles fired off in protest. Don't stop, he told himself and kept the leg going until his foot refused to clear the floor anymore.
The other side now. Reese lifted the left foot, his body shaking when all the weight shifted to the right. Had to lean more of his weight onto the top of the table to manage. The more he worked, the faster and deeper he breathed – and the sorer his chest and back. All those little muscles between his ribs screeched at him to stop. This was getting him nowhere.
He dropped his foot and waited, bent over the end of the table. The breathing settled down after a long minute and he could push himself up, back onto his feet again.
Reese turned toward the kitchen.
He tested himself with a first step-slide forward, his hand still on the edge of the table. Last thing he wanted was a leg to give out and to end up on the floor.
After the slide he gathered himself for the next. He let his palm come off the edge, balancing with just the tips of his fingers. Steady… Reese let himself go and made another step-slide, then a shuffle over to the wall. Hit it harder than he'd wanted and took a corner into his shoulder. Another curse slipped out.
At least he could steady himself better here. He'd wait 'til he could take some slower, shallower breaths, and leaned on the archway next to the kitchen.
Even in the chill of the morning air, he was sweating.
Reese sighted along the top of the hutch while he waited: the box of bandaging supplies, Shaw's notebook, her pen, the thermometer unit – all neatly sitting in their places. Up higher, though, on the shelf between two glass-fronted cabinets he found what he was searching for: the pill bottles.
Reese let his hand come off the wall and onto the flat surface of the hutch. He guided himself along to the center and reached up to the shelf. There were four of them up there, and he swept them all into the grip of his left hand.
In the morning light, he could just make out the printing. The first two were the antibiotics and he dropped those down onto the hutch. The other two were the pain pills – one that Shaw'd brought with her from New York and the other one that she'd picked up at the local pharmacy for him.
He stared at the one from New York for a long time before he slid it back on the shelf. Didn't like how much he was wanting that one. The stronger one. No good for him right now, as much as he wanted to be free of the pain.
He left the brown bottle up on the shelf and checked out the other one, instead. Didn't recognize the name. He twisted the cap off and dropped one of the pills into his palm.
Water. His mouth was too dry to pass the pill without it.
Reese pushed and limped his way along the hutch and then over to the sink. Ran some water into a mug and chugged it down, then popped the pill in and swallowed it.
When he went for a refill on the water, a flash at the edge of his vision caught his attention. He turned and found Shaw standing there at the end of the hallway, watching. He turned away and ran the water to fill the mug.
"How long you been standin' there?" he said in a gravelly whisper-voice.
She didn't answer right away. Then, "long enough."
He gave a nod and tipped his mug to drain it again. One more fill and he turned toward Shaw. She was already walking his way.
She stopped at the hutch and grabbed the thermometer unit in her hand, loading one of the plastic covers over the metal shaft. Hmm. She must be worried, he thought. And why not? He moved like he'd actually rolled down that steep, rocky hill. Something wasn't right here.
When she got to him, she flipped the back of her hand against his forehead for a long moment, then down on a cheek, and down onto his neck.
"You're sweating," she said, those cool, dark eyes unmoved, best as he could tell.
"Not my best day, so far," he rasped, and she stuck the end of the thermometer into his mouth.
A little while later the unit beeped and she glanced at the number, then turned it around.
"No fever." Her eyes searched him.
"So wha'dya think is going on?" He almost didn't wanna ask.
"I can make a case for overdoing it, yesterday," she said. He wasn't convinced that she was convinced.
"Let's get some food into you and let that pill work. We'll see after that," she said. Shaw pointed to a chair next to the dining table and threw his arm around her shoulders. Reese shook his head but let her lead him to the chair and wait while he lowered himself to the seat.
Once he was down, she went back to the kitchen and started a pot of coffee going. Inside the fridge his meal from the night before was still there on the shelf in front of her. That'll do, she thought. The same pan she'd used the night before to heat it had spent the night in the dish drainer. A minute later, the whole thing was back on the stove, heating through again.
Reese watched her from his seat.
Plans and backup plans rolled out in his mind. He wasn't about to let her stay any longer. She had to get back, and he'd work it out, no matter what this was.
Mandarin Blossom Hotel, Hong Kong Island
Kara sipped coffee on the small terrace overlooking the Harbor. Crumbs from a few small buttery buns littered a white napkin next to her cup, and she used a fingertip to gather and lift the tasty morsels.
She'd be meeting Greer down in the lobby in half an hour for the ride across the Causeway heading for the Airport. They were done here for now and there were certain things to attend to back in the States before her next trip overseas. Washington first, then on to New York.
When she'd finished her coffee and the last of the crumbs, Kara stood up to take a last look through the glass of her terrace. Their hotel lay at the edge of the Harbor Road, with the water on the other side and the Causeway stretching over to the City. Early light reflected off the tallest of the towers dotting the Cityscape.
A good day to fly, she thought, scanning the skies. Better get down there. Early'd be better than on time.
Down in the lobby, Kara found him sitting alone, back against a wall, sipping something hot. Normally, they would have come down from their rooms together. As head of his personal security detail, he'd expect her to insist on it. He'd blown her off, though, with a three-word text: lobby at 7. He was already gone when she'd knocked on his door at six.
She saw him a moment before he saw her. Gone was the fire in his eyes during the meetings with Tan and his group of investors. He looked – different – today. Older, tired maybe.
But, as soon as his eyes met hers, different again. He straightened his spine. A light came on in his eyes, piercing blue even this far across the lobby.
She rolled her bag along behind her and stopped in front of him. He was downing the last of his beverage.
"All set?" he asked. Without waiting for an answer, he stood and straightened his clothes, then grabbed for the handle of his bag.
She let her eyes scan him. Nothing there that she could read. Whatever had been there before was gone or carefully tucked away. He had on his blank face now.
Greer started to move off, but Kara reached out and held his arm to stop him. He turned back to look at her. She gave him a subtle shake of her head.
Then she had him watch her roll forward ahead of him and stop, scanning the path around them, side to side, above, and behind. When she was satisfied, she nodded to him, and the two proceeded forward, together.
Library Office, Manhattan, a few hours later
The Machine had swept the COMs for any more transmissions among the parties. Traffic between Washington DC and the Embassies in Turkey had slowed to a trickle during the night but had swelled again during the workday. It seemed like some major planning was underway.
Nothing new from the garment factory in Hong Kong, though, and nothing from the parties in Syria, either.
She turned her attention to the video streams next. All the CCTV camera footage over the last few hours had spooled for her full attention, after processing through the first two layers of analysis. A small handful of "anomalies" had fallen into a file, like a bucket, to check first. Compliments of those first two layers of analysis.
These were usually minor errors or suspicious partial-grabs of video that needed further processing to rule out a known Relevant or accomplice showing up on-camera somewhere.
She opened the file and scanned the locations first: a few from cameras around the Embassy in Ankara, one in Adana, and then something else caught her attention. Nearly last in the file, they had some CCTV shot from the front of Hong Kong International Airport.
She opened that one first.
A brief video stream pulled from the full, longer one flashed by her processing cameras. There were a few stills stored in the file, too, and she'd view those next.
A black limo had pulled up to the Departures entrance, and three people had emerged from the car: a woman first, her hair covered by a pale kerchief, wearing sunglasses against the glare. It wasn't so much that she seemed to hesitate at the door like that, but the Machine noted more about her that demanded her interest.
She stood a certain way next to the car, and her head swiveled through an arc, like she was looking for something, or someone. Back and forth, up and down, then swinging around behind them. Her stance and her motions suggested that she was scanning, like someone on a security detail. The Machine observed, probabilities changing as she watched.
The woman bent down and bobbed her head to someone inside the car. A man emerged from the other side: tall, slender, wearing a hat and dark glasses. He seemed to walk with a hitch in his stride, she noticed. Once he'd come around the back of the car, the two of them had stepped away, heads down, under the canopy.
That was the end of the video clip included in the file. She played it again a few times and then turned to the still shots made from the clip.
Some initial enhancement had already been done, the figures isolated and enlarged for the stills. Millions of times faster than the human eye, and with high probability, the Machine confirmed their identities.
One task split off to run her decision trees with this new information, re-calculating probabilities and updating a series of files on the monitor cluster for Admin. He'd need to know the full breadth and depth of the surveillance package she'd been running thus far.
It had all been processing in the background on her system, until this moment.
Finding John Greer, holder of the only copy of Samaritan's code, in Hong Kong – this was the piece she'd been missing.