Chapter 3: The Cage Door Shuts

Fifteen months earlier ~ Cleveland

Just as the note had said it would, the gray van arrived at the hotel entry precisely at ten. The van door opened by itself. No one was inside. The front area was sealed off from the passenger area and the side window had been heavily tinted so I could not make out the driver. I considered walking around to the front of the van to get a look but quickly dismissed that idea. If they had wanted me to see the driver, he or she would have exited the vehicle.

I got in. The automatic door closed behind me. I saw a note taped to the partition in the front of me. I also noticed a small camera watching me directly above. The note said to show my driver’s license to the camera. What was with all this sneaky stuff? Today was even worse than yesterday. I did as the note instructed and a few seconds later, the van started moving. There was an envelope with my name on it below the note. I opened and extracted a second note. It read:

The journey will take less than an hour. There is a hood on the seat next to you. Put it on and do not remove it until verbally told to do so.

I looked over and sure enough, there was the hood. I looked around the van’s empty passenger area for a moment before sighing and putting on the hood. Once it was fully on I felt the van slow and enter a large parking lot. For the next few minutes, we turned right and left multiple times. We did so at such a slow speed that at times I was unsure of if we were turning or going straight. I was completely disoriented and had no clue of the directions we were heading. Soon, the van returned to the streets and sped up in an unknown direction.

To further mess me up, loud music began playing so I could not track the traffic noises. After half an hour of ‘cruising’ the music cut off and the van slowed. We came to a stop and the van’s engine was turned off. I thought I could hear an overhead door closing outside the van. I waited, still wearing the hood. After a few minutes the van’s side door opened.

“Mr. Clark. You may remove your hood,” A deep voiced man said.

I did so, blinking away the glare of the bright lights. The man who had spoken was a large and powerfully built black man. He was wearing plain clothing and had no visible weapons, but I got the sense that this guy could take care of himself. His posture and movements screamed that he had had some sort of security training.

Since he had not introduced himself, I named him Security Guy. We were parked in a windowless commercial garage of some sort. The space had room for many cars but was empty except for the van I had arrived in. The walls were unpainted cinderblock and the ceiling was exposed bar joists. I got out of the van.

“Do you have to use the toilet?” The deep voiced man asked.

I said that I was fine and he indicated I was to lead the way down a nearby corridor. When I neared a side door, he told me to open the door and enter.

“Wait here please. It will only be a minute,” Security Guy politely said and locked me in the room.

The room was bare and small. The only furniture was a large heavy looking steel table with a chair on each side. In the middle of the table was a heavy steel ring welded to the surface. It reminded me of the tables in police interrogation rooms where they secure the suspect in place with handcuffs. I sat with my back to the wall facing the door and waited. I did not see any visible cameras but did not doubt that there were probably a few hidden ones watching me.

After a few minutes the door opened and an older, well dressed woman entered. She was clearly at least a decade older than me but looked confident and fit. She moved with the quickness and precision of someone dangerous. She had a large purse from which she withdrew a pair of heavy steel handcuffs. She then tossed the handcuffs loudly onto the table, keeping her distance from me.

“Please fasten your right wrist to the table.”

I looked at the cuffs and then back at her hesitating. She remained perfectly still, returning my stare. What the hell? Fear and panic began to grow. Did I really want to go through with this? Still, she waited, remaining silent, apparently just letting me figure out how this was going to go down. Did I have a choice? No, I didn’t. Finally, I sighed and did as she asked, fastening my right wrist in one half of the cuffs and the other to the table’s heavy steel ring.

When I had finished, she removed a second pair of handcuffs from her purse and carefully approached the table. Her eyes never left mine as she quickly fastened the new cuffs to the table and waited, other cuff open, for me to present my left wrist.

I did so with less of a wait then before. The cuff closed with a loud click. She quickly moved to ensure that all the cuffs were snug around both my wrists and locked securely to the table.

“Thank you Mr. Clark. I am about to reveal information which will upset you greatly. Note that if you attempt to break the cuffs I will stun you.” She pulled out a wand Taser from her large purse and set it on her side of the table. “If you continue to resist, I will then shoot you in the head.” She then pulled out a large handgun from her purse and set it beside the Taser. “Do you understand?” she asked clearly and slowly.

I waited until I could speak and said, “Yes, I understand.”

“Good,” She replied. “My name is Ms. Draper. Let’s get started.”

She dug into her purse again and came out with a manila envelope. Inside were a series of enlarged black and white photographs. She carefully set them in a row on my side of the table where I could easily see them. The photographs showed a cute girl ... probably an early teenager, if I had to guess. She looked familiar.

“This is Emily Perkins. Her step father is Alan Perkins, and her mother is Helen Perkins.” The lady stated.

She then laid another photograph next to the previous pair.

“This is Helen Perkins. Her previous married name was Helen Clark.”

My heart thudded in my chest as I recognized my ex-wife. She looked pretty much the same as she had when we separated ... maybe a bit older looking. The woman resumed her narration.

“Emily is twelve years old. She was born eight months after your ex-wife left you. This was three years before Helen met her current husband Alan. Alan and Helen were married nine years ago. They also have a son, Emily’s half-brother, who is now seven years old.”

A fourth photo was laid next to the others. It showed Emily playing at a park with a younger boy. Another item was laid on top of the photos. This was a detailed lab report of some sort.

“Finally, this is a DNA analysis of Emily. Note that it shows a match to traits of both your ex-wife and you. This proves that Emily is your child. Congratulation Mr. Clark, you are a father.”

Ms. Draper stopped talking and let me absorb the information in front of me. My eyes darted back and forth between the photographs and the DNA report. Finally, she sensed that I had accepted the information in front of me.

“We will discuss the three possible paths which exist before you.” She paused to see if I was focused on her. I was.

“Your first path is this. You choose to work for us and do as we instruct. You agree to work hard and to the best of your abilities. You choose to learn new skills as we require; we will provide adequate instruction. Most importantly, you choose to not betray us or attempt any form of deception.

If you follow this first path you will be rewarded. This includes generous pay and ample time off. We will also actively work to keep your employment on such terms that will allow for your eventual safe release and retirement. By safe, I mean safe towards our organization. If those conditions are met, then after fourteen years of service you will be allowed to retire from our employ.

“Your wages will then fully become available to you and the amounts will let you live comfortably for the rest of your life. Note, to obtain this outcome you will have to follow our procedures exactly. This will protect you from learning anything which would prevent your possible future retirement. This also means that the work you do for us will be relatively safe and benign, and likely morally agreeable to you. If you agree and follow the terms and requirements fully, then at some point in the future we will part ways on good terms.

“In addition, in five years your daughter Emily will receive a trust which will provide for her complete post-high school education. She is already aware that Alan Perkins is not her real father and the funds will arrive in the form of an untraceable annuity from the estate of her real father, who she will understand is now deceased. Do you understand what this implies?”

She paused until I nodded. Before she could speak again I risked a question.

“How can I trust you?”

“We are an honorable organization. There is no way to prove this to you now, but I hope that you have the ability to trust our word on this matter. You will find that we will allow you relative freedom during your vacation and off duty times. If you are trustworthy, then we will also be trustworthy. We find that an employee who is agreeable and somewhat happy is more productive than a slave.”

Ms. Draper paused a bit to ensure that what she had said sank in.

She then continued, “The second possible path for you Mr. Clark is this. You agree to work for us but fail to remain loyal. Or you choose to betray us in some manner. This path results in your death. It will also result in the deaths of Emily and that of her younger half-brother.”

She paused for nearly ten seconds before continuing, “Mr. Clark. Do you have any doubts that we would carry through with this threat?”

She waited for my answer, meeting my shocked stare with her cold one. I had no doubt that this woman would follow through with her threat. No doubt at all.

“No.” I finally managed to get out, “I have no doubt that you would do that.”

Oh my fucking God! What had I gotten myself into? I was screwed. I had also likely killed my daughter.

“Mr. Clark, do you fully understand this second path?” she asked again.

I nodded. Tears formed in my eyes.

“Speak up! I must hear you say the words.”

“Yes, I understand this second path,” I replied woodenly.

“The third path ahead of you is this. You know yourself and your past. If you doubt that you can remain loyal and discreet ... in other words, if you can’t keep your word, there is still a safe way out for your daughter ... if you have the courage, then chose this third path. This will mean that I shoot you in the head right now. Your business with us is then over. Your daughter and her half-brother will remain alive as they are now. I will say this once again Mr. Draper. If you care about your daughter’s life and do have doubts about your loyalty and discretion, choose the third path.”

She stood up. “I will give you ten minutes to decide.”

With that said, she placed the Taser and pistol back in her purse and left the room. She had left the pictures spread out where I could see them. I began to sob.

Near Present day – October 15^th

Montana compound (assumed) - Second tour.

My phone alarm chirped signaling that it was near the end of my lunch break. I sat up and unruffled my jacket. I delayed putting it on as I considered if it was now warm enough to go about outdoors without it. It probably was so I went into the maintenance building and hung it up on a hook behind the door.

I checked the day’s remaining scheduled tasks on my phone. A new item had been added. One of the range targets was malfunctioning. This was not the first time a target motor had failed so I looked up the part most likely needed in the compound’s inventory database.

The list showed we had three spare motor assemblies. It also showed what aisle, shelf, and space the parts were currently stored in. I headed down to the inventory basement level to get the spare part. Instead of descending down to the full basement bunker level, this time the lift only went down half way, or about a dozen feet. This was an interstitial basement level just below the shop floor but still a dozen feet above the main bunker’s ceiling further below.

The interstitial basement level was a warren of grid-like concrete cells all linked by narrow corridors. I reasoned that it was constructed that way to absorb explosions from above sort of like spaced armor on a tank. Whatever the reason, it made for a great warehouse for items smaller then say, a refrigerator in size. There was no room for the forklift with the low ceilings and the narrow corridors, but there was room enough for a manual pallet jack. I quickly found the correct aisle, shelf and finally, the divided space numbered forty-one. Sure enough, there were three range target gearbox and motor assemblies sitting there. I scanned the Q code on one of the boxes with my phone and pulled the part off the shelf.

It was about the size of a large toaster but was heavy at over twenty pounds. Back up in the main maintenance shop I grabbed a small tool tote and made sure it had the tools I would need to exchange the part. Then, I hiked the path around and behind the compound’s buildings and down into the back gully where the shooting range was located. The layout of the range was a long narrow rectangle placed along the back main perimeter fence. It sported the typical standard firing positions and the shooting lanes had popup targets spaced from ten yards all the way out to two hundred yards.

The pop-up target at fifty yards was the problem today so I hung the range-closed safety chain across the four shooting positions and headed out towards the target. The safety measure was probably silly as there were likely only two or three other living beings here at the compound currently and one of those was likely watching me through numerous cameras but it was still prudent and proper procedure.

Sure enough, the target’s gearbox had stripped its gears. The motor and gearbox was a joined module so the swap was easy ... just six bolts and a wire connection. I made note to see if I could repair the stripped gear in the removed part later. When the replacement assembly was installed, I took a few pictures of the work and sent them to the compound’s server for filing. The record keeping helped in estimating when failures would occur and how many spares to keep in the compound’s spare parts inventory.

The pictures would also go in the instruction manual for future caretakers. Back when I was new, and this had been my first deployment location, I had used the pictures and records extensively to help figure out how to do many of the jobs at this compound. There were notes to go along with the photos for most of the common tasks and I was quickly up to speed despite not having anyone with experience show me the ropes. The downside was that this made me easily replaceable. I guess that was how the organization wanted it.