Chapter 52: The Collins Box

“She is a lovely woman, and she is perfectly safe right now, I assure you,” the woman called Major Danielson told Logan as he ate soup and buzzed from a mix of painkillers and some sleep. He’d barely made it back to the security line with Erol before collapsing in weakness. Whatever they’d given him for pain had ensured his weariness won out quickly.

Feeling measurably more like himself, and thrilled to hear that his mother was alright, Logan asked, “What about Finch?”

“Fine, as well,” the woman told him with a smile, “as are your sister and father. They’re together, leaving you the missing piece, for now.”

“Can you take me to them?”

The woman shook her head, “Not yet. Orders. I promise we’ll get you reunited as soon as possible. For now, rest and recover.”

Logan saw her eyes cast an oddly familiar glance to Erol who stood nearby, and the Major excused herself, Erol doing the same and following the woman out of the small kitchen. Logan drained his soup and decided to follow along.

“Do you think we’re going to survive all this?” Lauren asked him as they sat together in what was mostly a square metal room with open doorways on all sides. There were a couple of couches and several chairs, and the siblings shared one of the low, cushioned seats together, not quite touching but close.

“I think so,” Finch said, not quite as sure of his words as he tried to sound. “That man Bridgewater seems to be in control of things.”

“Yeah,” Lauren replied, “but if they can’t figure out Mom’s secrets...”

“They’ll figure it out.”

“You don’t know that,” his sister countered.

“No ... I don’t.”

It felt quite miserable to be stuck in such confined spaces. Sure, it was with great fortune that they’d reunited with their mom and dad, but Finch was missing his brother a lot, worrying about him, and so far, he’d been given no news at all about whether Logan might have been found, alive or something else. Finch hoped Logan had escaped the hands of that madman rumored to be a torturer who had shadowed Victor in the warehouse.

“What do you think it will be like,” Lauren continued, pretending to ignore the more realistic outcomes, “once everything works out and we go back home ... Do you think we’ll just fuck together all the time?”

Finch spit out his soda and laughed. A good, deep laugh, too. One like he hadn’t had in a long time. Lauren laughed, too, and it took several fits of coughing before Finch could reply, “I sure hope so!”

“Who would you rather fuck, me or mom?”

“Hey, that’s not a fair question!”

“So?” Lauren said, keeping her voice rather low, “Which one?”

“You, I guess,” Finch replied, knowing better than to pick anyone other than Lauren right then, no matter what the truth might be, not that he’d ever considered the question before.

“You guess?”

“I mean ... uh...”

Lauren laughed again, “I’m just kidding, Finch. You don’t have to choose, so long as I get mine, it’s all good. I hope you and Mom fuck all the time. I’m going to ride Dad so hard ... Mmm ... I can’t wait...”

Finch was getting rather excited and considered prompting Lauren to return to the room for privacy.

Instead, Holly walked through the room and her pace slowed and stopped, her eyes narrowing. “Talking about fucking your parents?”

Finch’s jaw dropped and Lauren giggled. Finch looked at his sister with concern.

Lauren laughed again and said, “You know we are...” She turned to Finch and said in a hush, “Holly fucked her Dad, too...”

“Oh!” Finch said, looking over the cute blonde who wasn’t much older than him. “Really?”

Holly grinned. “Not lately, but yes ... Good times.” She moved on and was out of the room quickly.

The brief conversation only made Finch’s desire for Lauren stronger. “We should—”

Loud conversation broke into his words and two technicians came into the room, discussing some aspect of navigation, and settled into a seat. Finch was too afraid of being overheard to ask it fully, even in whisper.

Lauren seemed to understand and said very quietly, “Maybe later, Finch. Little sore right now...”

He nodded and, ignoring anyone seeing him, leaned against his sister. Her arm wrapped around him, holding him tight. Finch closed his eyes and tried to rest and stay in the happy place Lauren had helped create, one where his sister and his mother were always willing to bend over and take his cock inside.

The sounds from inside the closed room were light, but Logan had become an expert in listening. Major Danielson’s grunts and Erol’s as well were moving in a nice rhythm, and Logan really wished to see more. Already taking a chance listening in the hallway, he dared grab the door’s handle and slowly rotated it until the latch came free. Carefully, he leaned forward, holding the door, and looked in.

Major Danielson was riding Erol steadily, her broad hips rolling over his body. The young man’s expression was one of focus and pleasure. They both breathed quickly, and soon, the woman’s body trembled as she jerked her hips, clearly climaxing over him.

Erol followed soon after, and Major Danielson whispered encouragement for him cum inside her.

Logan was stroking himself in his pants, almost ready to release, when suddenly a siren wailed from somewhere nearby. The couple in the room jerked away from each other in chaotic motions, giving Logan a chance to close the door and dash down the hallway some distance before other people started rushing down towards him. He waited until Major Danielson and Erol emerged from the room, looking more or less professional. “Status!” the woman yelled to a man who’d stopped just outside the room’s door.

“Ten minutes out, no warnings. Outpost spotted. Infantry, a company. They may be mortars, and ... Major ... they have a tank.”

Logan’s pulse raced. A tank!?

“We’re getting nowhere,” Holly muttered in Gene’s ear as the heated conversation with Gabriel had, as yet, yielded nothing of much interest. Gabriel denied everything, revealing nothing.

For all Gene could tell, he might be telling the truth. Hell, they’d given Gabriel sodium pentathol, or something similar. If he wasn’t spilling the beans, it might be because he honestly knew nothing.

But Gabriel was no meek kitten, either, his visceral insults not helping anyone keep cool. He’d brought up Holly’s sexual relationship with Bridgewater, a fact that, as far as Gene knew, was not common knowledge. Neither directly denied the claims, choosing instead to continue hammering Gabriel for information.

“What’s it like, Aristotle? Fucking your own daughter. Must be a pretty sick fuck to do something like that.”

“You and Quick were fast, Gabriel. We know that,” Bridgewater said evenly, avoiding the man’s bait, “and we know you know something important. It’s just a matter of time before Lee Lee puts his finger on your pulse and spills your secrets. Or your blood. At this point, I really don’t fucking care.”

Gabriel cleared his throat and spat towards Bridgewater, missing badly but the point was clear. His eyes turned to Gene, “You’re the little piss who ruined my opportunity. I had you right fucking here, you shit. You shit! Stole my submersible and left me holding your bag. I swear to fucking god, give me one second with my hands free and I’ll—”

“Enough!” Bridgewater shouted, slamming his fist into Gabriel’s jaw. It sent the man’s head spinning, and for a moment, their captive was dazed. “I’m just getting started, Gabriel. Test me.”

It took a moment, but then Gabriel’s focus returned and his eyes fixed on Gene. “Did she ever tell you about how she cheated on you, Shay?”

Gene shivered, hating the use of that tarnished name.

“Did she?” Gabriel continued. “Fucked Charles so hard she squirted, so I hear. Said it was the best dick she ever had. Said he was bigger, too.”

Another punch, this time from Holly, rocked Gabriel the other way, but once more, he recovered and returned his anger to Gene. “Bet she never told you about Calais, did she? About how she found out you cheated with some bimbo ... Vanessa, or Valarie, or ... some fucked up name. Vangalia. That’s the one! You fucked some bimbo called Vangalia!”

Vangalia. Gene’s head swam and his knees gave way. It was only because Holly’s reflexes were so quick that he didn’t immediately crumble to the ground. “Gene!”

His mind opened and Gene felt something unlock in his brain.

Vangalia was not a woman. It was a codeword for a project he and Utah had worked on together outside of the rest of the group. It was deep in the weeds in a security protocol which offered a backdoor into other systems which were thought to be fully secured. It had taken weeks of planning, weeks more to figure out how to make it work, but in the end, and with Baron Quick’s help, it was implemented in a few test subjects. Vangalia was the process by which systems, and eventually, memories, could be locked away using neural mapping and enhanced wetware algorithms.

It was how the mnemonic had worked to lock aways Gene’s memories of his time at Whitehead, likely Tamara’s, as well. Vangalia alone didn’t tell one how to open the lock, but it made Gene’s head swim until the answer they all sought was clear in his thoughts.

“Tamara,” he moaned, pain shooting daggers behind his eyes, his ears pounding, “I need to see Tamara...”

“Fetch her,” he heard Bridgewater growl.

His wife was there quickly, “Gene?! Are you okay?”

“Tam ... Tam...” He took her hand weakly, fighting back tears from the pain. “There is no spoon.”

He felt her flinch. “What?” she asked uncertainly.

“There is no spoon...”

Holly broke in, “What ... like The Matrix?”

“There is no spoon...”

Tamara’s hand snatched away and he opened his eyes to see her watching him. He could see the wheels turning.

“Every time we’ve seen that movie,” Gene breathed, “something felt odd ... right about that scene...”

“There is no spoon,” Tamara repeated, “there is no spoon.”

He saw her stiffen, her eyes wide, “I’m the one who has to bend!” She raced to Bridgewater’s side. “I know it. I know how to work the box. I know what’s inside it. It’s been right there in my head the whole time.”

“Show me.” Bridgewater hissed.

The explosions outside the complex were light at first, but still frightening. Logan didn’t like sitting still. He’d been running for so long that the hour which passed since the alarm had been raised felt like an eternity. He’d gotten his pistol, a smooth steel piece with an extended clip. Two more clips were in his pockets. For the first time, he actually felt like a soldier.

But the waiting was tearing into his enthusiasm quickly. He lacked the training to keep himself steady, though, Logan thought, he was doing pretty good, especially when he saw the fear and uncertainty in those around him.

The explosions signaled the approach, someone shouted, and then the sputtering of automatic weapons started somewhere outside, at a distance.

The force holding the compound was not large, no more than thirty or so men and women. Not a ton of supplies. Cut off, from what Logan knew. Surrounded, maybe, if there were naval patrols in play. Certainly, on a small rock like Malta, there was nowhere to go. Their helicopters were considered early on, but when one of them had tried to run a visual check on the forces moving forward, it had quickly been shot down by a missile. They couldn’t chance that escape.

Logan was hustled further along one of the hallways with Erol and two others, the entire remaining force still in the building. All the others, including Major Danielson, were somewhere engaged outside. They’d been given specific orders of when and where to move once the fighting started, and Logan had no say in any of it. He never particularly liked that part, but he recognized that a soldier had to follow orders or it would be chaos.

They exited the building along a sheltered side and raced along the waterfront. The sounds of the fighting was to their left rear. The small party of the four of them was to take positions along one flank and try to distract any forces trying to encircle the defenders. It seemed like a suicide mission to Logan, but, he figured, a lot of heroes die heroically in just those sorts of situations.

“Down!” Erol hissed as they reached their assigned location. Already, Logan could see a dozen soldiers rushing down the low rise, doing just what Major Danielson had expected. Erol hissed again, “Ready to fire! Logan ... you hold off until they get close!”

He’d been told not to bother firing until the enemy was within range. The other three in the squad held automatic rifles, and they started sputtering loudly when Erol gave the command. Logan kept his head down and waited.

Daring a look, he saw that the dozen soldiers had stopped moving forwards and were hunkering down behind a few old shipping containers. It was decent cover, giving Erol and the others little to shoot at. They sent an occasional burst in that direction, and it did the job of keeping the enemy there occupied until they could be fought off by the main force. By the ferocity of noise coming from the main fight, that might be a long time.

They were beginning to reserve ammunition and the enemy force was starting to send more their way. “Logan, I need a big thing from you,” Erol told him, dirt splattered all over his face, blood from a scratch or a graze trickling down his left cheek. “See if you can creep just there, see? If you could pick off one, maybe two, I think we can hold here longer. We need them to think a sniper is at work.”