“You ruined it! It’s all gone!”
“Jessie? Jessie!” He grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her gently. “Jessie, are still with me? Jessie!”
39
The next time Tina woke up, she was in complete darkness. And yet, her mind was clear as a bell.
Seth hadn’t bothered to give her any more of the brain-fuck drug because he’d solved the problem—he’d stashed her somewhere she’d never be able to leave.
Or maybe those other people with him had done that.
The image. It flashed into her brain exactly as she’d tried to remember it. A man in an official uniform with a patch on his chest. Dark blue, she thought. Border enforcement? It could be. She didn’t recognize it as Army or Coast Guard or Navy or even the Marines. Not that she knew all the uniforms of every branch of the military. Maybe the man wasn’t American. He could be Canadian. Or South African, for that matter. Wasn’t there a South African billionaire involved in this?
Another possibility was that the uniform was fake. That would be the perfect cover for smuggling things across the border. Some neuroscientist—possibly Mark Peterson’s former doctor in Rutland—had developed this horrible drug and was now trying to smuggle it at scale. Were they bringing it into the U.S. or shipping it out to other countries?
She remembered her and Jack’s theory about smuggling hard-to-get psychiatric drugs for black market sales. That idea sounded almost quaint compared to this. A brand-new drug that could be used in countless ways to control and manipulate people, under the guise of…what had Seth said…erasing trauma?
A bolt of fiery longing gripped her as she remembered what the Night Light had felt like. The relief. The ease. The absence of all pressure, all desire, all…context. As if everything that had gone into making her who she was had vanished. It didn’t just erase trauma, it erased memories. Or no, not exactly…she’d remembered her parents, she’d remembered the corrupt cop of her nightmares. But he simply hadn’t meant anything to her anymore. Some connection between her memories and her response to them had been severed.
From her own research as a police officer, she knew quite a bit about trauma, and knew that it didn’t live in the mind, it lived in the body’s limbic system. That meant that a trauma response was a primitive one, automatic and not easily controlled by the logical brain. Night Light must work on that level, perhaps also involving the vagus nerve and the parasympathetic nervous system. She had to acknowledge that it felt great…if you didn’t mind losing your executive functioning. She wasn’t a trauma victim, not really...but she could imagine that its effect would be even greater on someone who was. You could probably make a traumatized person do anything by giving them Night Light.
No wonder the South African billionaire had wanted to take control of the smuggling operation. The power would be insane.
She moved her hand across the surface she was sitting on. Concrete, dank and cool. Same as the wall that she’d been curled up against. Someone’s basement? She didn’t think so. The place had an abandoned feel to it.
The bunker. This had to be that infamous World War II bunker that Jessie had tried to tip off Jack about. The smugglers must be using them for storage, or for transfer points.
What did she know about the bunkers?
The facts swam easily into her mind. Thank God, her brain was working again. The bunkers dated from World War II, when there had been fears of Russian submarines entering Lightkeeper Bay. They consisted of a watch tower that was now hidden by trees, and a network of low-slung structures, some of them in ruins, others somewhat intact. Weren’t there also tunnels involved? The site was technically off-limits, but kids had been known to explore them in the past. In recent years, security cameras had been installed to keep people out.
Had those cameras been disabled? Was there one here? Probably not, because this part of the bunker was pitch dark. She searched for her phone, remembered she didn’t have it anymore, and felt around the space until she felt a current of air. Following it, she crawled forward on her hands and knees. This must be some kind of old storage site, maybe for munitions. Certainly no one would want to sleep or operate in such complete darkness.
As she crept forward, she thought of Jack, like a light in the murk. Jack saw her in a way no one else did. He was kind, too, and he didn’t hide his emotions away. He had real feelings for her—he’d called them “huge.” And she’d dismissed it as a “crisis bond.” Why had she done that? Why had she let him drive off into danger without telling him what was really in her heart? What if she never got another chance?
Shocking as it was…she might even love him.
After a few feet of forward movement, her hand struck something hard and smooth—not concrete. Wood. Wooden slats. A packing crate. She felt around until she located a chuck of broken concrete, which she used to hammer the lid of the crate until it splintered. Inside was a tightly-closed, hard plastic tote. Finding the latch handle, she opened it and felt around inside. It was filled with thick plastic bags that held something soft and pliable.
This must be where they were storing the Night Light.
They being…the Clydes? The South African security dudes? Seth was coordinating with the Clydes, not Hendrik—hadn’t he said he didn’t want Hendrik taking over? Maybe Hendrik had offered the Clydes more money if they worked with him.
But then why had Benny Clyde been shot?
She heard voices echo up ahead, and quickly closed the tote. She scuttled herself against the wall, unsure of where might be the best place to hide. The sweep of a flashlight briefly illuminated the far end of this space. Maybe there had once been a door, but that was long gone. A gap in the concrete led to a corridor, which turned a corner about three yards down.
Making a quick decision that there was no point in hiding, since they had a light and could find her anywhere, she scurried to the wall next to the opening and plastered herself against it. She focused on the sound of footfalls closing in, and the careless crosstalk of the two men approaching. They obviously didn’t think she was a threat. Maybe they thought she was still affected by the Night Light. Maybe these particular guys didn’t know she was here.
“Boat’s already waiting. They’re getting antsy,” said one. She didn’t recognize the voice, so it wasn’t Seth.
“Told ya we should have pulled out earlier.”
“That’s what she said.”
Both men laughed. She made a face as she recognized Seth’s voice. He knew she was here, but he didn’t seem at all worried about getting ambushed. Maybe he was sure he’d cracked the code of the drug’s effect on her and assumed she was still out. I have a fast metabolism, she thought. So put that in your racist hat and smoke it.
She looked forward to getting her revenge.
