Rachel Running on Empty Pt. 05

Rachel Running on Empty Part 5

by G. Lawrence

A treacherous crime changes everything

This is not an erotic story, though it does have romance. It features family drama along with adventure, elements of fantasy, and some science fiction (generally understated, for this is not a science fiction book). And, as her family has discovered, Rachel can be frustrating, willing to go to any lengths once she sets her heart on a course. Life for our hero is never easy. This is part 5 of 8.

Recap: After discovering Danny is his son, John has sued for custody in a contentious court battle. None of the characters realize that all the rules are about to change.

* * * * * *

Chapter Nine

Court of Last Resort

The limousine pulled slowly through the gate at Canby Place. Everyone was quiet. Rachel was silent.

"Okay, today didn't go well, but we'll get 'em tomorrow," Rory hopefully assured. "You heard what Aunt Hattie said. Everyone is behind you."

"Maybe John is right," Rachel wondered.

"Right about what?" Rory asked.

"Maybe I'm unfit to be Danny's mother."

"No, they aren't right," Rory insisted. "Danny is your baby. You love him. You take good care of him. No one has a right to take him away from you. Nobody."

Pamela offered no remarks. As a lawyer, she knew the case could go in a bad direction.

McLane stopped the car in the parking circle as the ladies went into the house. Ashley met them at the door. Rory gave her a kiss.

"Thank you for helping Jackie with the baby," Rory said.

"Happy to. How did it go?" Ashley asked.

"They have vicious lawyers," Rory replied with a frown.

"Danny's sleeping. He had a big lunch," Ashley reported as Rachel entered.

"Thank you," Rachel absently replied.

She walked through the house, out the back door, and stood at the end of the pool. Then she stripped off everything but her panties and bra before diving in, swimming to the far side and back. Over and over. Tom sat at poolside, watching.

"She's slipping into a haze. A bad one," Rory said. "We've got to shake her out of it."

"This is all my fault," Pamela said. "I convinced her to come home. I told her everything would be okay. And now a judge is going to take away her baby. How can she ever forgive me?"

"Rachel loves you more than anyone in the whole world," Rory replied.

"That won't provide much solace when her baby is whisked off to Boston. It wouldn't for me," Pamela said.

"Rach needs to know she has family to lean on. And if John won in court today, it doesn't mean he'll win tomorrow."

By the time Rachel finished her swim, Martha was preparing dinner. Rachel took a shower and returned wearing gray sweats. She looked tired. The family was waiting for her in the living room when she sat on a blanket near the hearth. Her favorite spot.

"The moment they wrap up their case, we go on offense," Rory said.

"What do you mean?" Rachel asked.

"Johnny was no angel in college," Rory said. "When he was an undergraduate at Stanford, a waitress accused him of rape. Dad paid her off."

"We've found her," Oliver said. "Danny had her sign a non-disclosure agreement, but we can break that."

"Was he guilty?" Tom asked.

"If he wasn't, he can explain that himself," Rory said. "In open court. If he's going to smear Rach like this, he better not expect to walk away clean."

"There's other dirt, too," Pamela mentioned. "Allie's father has been committing insider trading. We've got solid evidence. We can show the court that her family is no shining example of honesty."

"I thought all rich people did insider trading," Samantha questioned.

"That's beside the point," Oliver replied. "The crime is getting caught."

"Let's not forget John raped Rachel," Rory said.

"He did not rape me," Rachel objected.

"We have surveillance video from the hotel," Rory replied. "John left you on a couch in the lobby while he checked in. You look cold, and wet, and distracted. In the hall, he pushed his way into your room. We'll prove--"

"No. No, it wasn't like that," Rachel protested.

"We know John got you drunk. Took you to the hotel. Then had sex with you, probably while you were in a haze," Ashley said. "Don't forget, I'm a doctor. I know what condition you were in. And John knew all about your mental issues, too. He can't claim any sort of ignorance."

"I'm a grown woman. I don't make excuses," Rachel said.

"It's not about excuses, honey. It's about fighting fire with fire," Pamela advised.

"We can't do this. Not like this," Rachel said. "It's not right."

"Rach--" Rory started.

Rachel got up from the blankets to sit next to Rory on the sofa. "Ro, I love you so much. I'm grateful that you want to fight for me. But this isn't the way. John is Daniel's father. Nothing good comes from destroying his reputation. Or Alicia's. I can't do that."

"What if I say I'm Danny's father?" William suggested.

"What?" Rachel answered.

"Our DNA is almost the same, and Ollie says he can get the stolen DNA thrown out," William said. "They'd have nothing to dispute us."

"I can't let you do that," Rachel said, looking at Samantha.

"It would give us more time," Oliver admitted. "Throw John's case into chaos."

"No," Rachel rejected. "No, that can't happen. Exodus 20:16. Thou shall not commit false witness. I won't bare false witness, and I won't let anyone bare false witness for me."

"Rachel, I would do anything for you," William insisted. Rachel shifted closer to take his hand. She looked into those deep hazel eyes, sensing his need to help her at such a difficult time.

"You are my brother, and I love you," she said. "All I want from you is to be happy."

"We've got to do something!" Rory demanded.

"This is my problem. It always has been," Rachel said. "Thank you. All of you."

Rachel stood up. She looked exhausted. At the end of her energy. She wandered up to the foyer and headed to her bedroom.

"I'll make sure she gets some rest," Tom said, following.

"This is bad, isn't it? Rach isn't going to fight back," Rory realized.

"Not hardball like we need to," Oliver agreed.

"What are we going to do?" William asked.

"Rachel has lots of friends. More than she knows," Pamela said. "There are people who know her condition isn't incapacitating. I'll call Sheila to the stand. Dr. Belcher. Dr. Keller, if we have to. We'll get scientists. Professors from Harvard. We'll get witnesses to show Rachel was only defending herself against her father and that army guy. If Rachel will only fight back with the truth, there's a lot of truth to tell."

* * * * * *

It was the middle of the night. Alicia rolled over to wake John up, but he was already awake.

"I feel so bad. Did you see Rachel's face?" Alicia said.

"How could I miss it? I was so mad when I heard about the baby. I just wanted to get back at her for not telling me. Now I'm not so sure."

"She ran away to protect us. To protect me."

"I know, I know. That's what Mom was trying to tell me, I just wasn't listening."

"Maybe the lawyers can go easy on her tomorrow? Not tear into her like hungry wolves."

"I'll sit down with Shelford. Tell him to back off. After the dust settles, I still want us to be civil to each other. That's what's best for little Danny. And for his brother and sister."

"Three children so close in age will be a handful," Alica warned.

"I'm not worried about that. He's a great little tyke. Very bright and energetic. I'm sorry about what happened between Rachel and I. I don't know what I was thinking."

"No, I get it. You were getting cold feet. And Rachel is so beautiful. And sweet. Most of the time. Did you know she came to me? That next afternoon?"

"She was vague about that."

"Rachel took me to lunch and said you were having a difficult time putting your pride aside. And that we belonged together. She arranged for us to meet at the Oyster House that night, and we ended up at Martha's Vineyard for the weekend."

"And twelve days later we were married."

"We owe her."

"I can't give up my son. Regardless of how this happened, nothing changes that."

"Do you think Rachel might be willing to move to Boston? I'm sure Harvard would love to have her. She could get her doctorate. Or teach. Or solve some terrible world problem. We can find her a place near us. Sort of share Danny on an amicable basis."

"It wouldn't hurt to make the offer," John agreed. "And it would show we're trying."

"I'm sure Rachel would be relieved to know she has options. She looked so sad today. Like an abandoned puppy."

"You're not making me feel better."

"I should be the aggrieved party here," Alicia said. "You asked for a time-out, and then slept with another woman twenty-four hours later."

"Three weeks later."

"That's not making me feel better."

"This is all my fault, isn't it? Just like Sheba's been saying. It was our relationship that was in trouble. You and me. I felt ignored, and I put Rachel in the middle of it. And this whole time, I've been blaming her."

"It takes two to tango. But yes, it really is your fault," Alicia agreed.

"Allie, I'll do whatever it takes to make this up to you."

"I'm not an innocent, either. We stopped putting energy into our relationship and I felt taken for granted. When I saw trouble brewing, I did nothing to stop it."

"If we make another baby tonight, whose fault would that be?" he said, pulling her close.

"You're the guy."

"Why do women always say that? I don't even know what that means."

Alicia pushed him back to get on top.

"It means guys need to control themselves, even if hot sexy women do things to drive them crazy."

She leaned down for a kiss. The phone rang.

"Should I answer it?" John asked.

"No one calls you at three in the morning for no reason."

John reached for his phone on the nightstand.

"Yes, this is John Benson. What? What are you saying? Who is this?"

John sat up and turned on the light, looking at his wife with distress.

"Okay, give me the rest. Who? Okay."

John took the phone into the bathroom, making calls for ten minutes before returning to the bedroom.

"What's wrong?" Alicia asked, wrapped in the bedsheet.

"Brace yourself, sweetheart. It's bad," John said, taking her hand. "Someone broke into your folk's house. Your parents aren't hurt, but Gabe and Lisa are gone. They've been kidnapped."

* * * * * *

John and Alicia scheduled a private jet to take them back to Boston. News of the kidnapping hadn't reached the media yet, but soon would. It was going to be painful, and chaotic, like the kidnapping of the Lindberg baby a hundred years before. There was a knock on their hotel room door.

"We need to talk," a grim man in a dark blue suit said. With him was a middle-aged woman wearing an army uniform.

"Who are you?" John asked.

"Special Agent Alec Gardner, FBI. This is Colonel Rebecca O'Mara of the National Security Agency. May we come in?"

"Our jet is wheels up in an hour," John informed. The visitors saw suitcases stacked near the entry.

"About that," Gardner said. "Colonel O'Mara has information for you. You should sit down."

O'Mara seemed typical of a professional soldier. Sharply dressed. Circumspect. Determined. She put a folder on the coffee table but didn't open it. The label read Level 13.

"We think there's a way to find your children," O'Mara said. "There's a national security program capable of deep net searches. It's highly classified. Only a handful of top personnel know about it."

"Can we get them? I'll pay anything," John urged.

"This is very advanced technology, Mr. Benson. To be honest, we've already tried with our own people," O'Mara advised. "They weren't able to endure the stress. We only know one person who might be able to manage the apparatus."

"Give us his name. We'll give him whatever he wants," Alicia begged

"It's not a him," Gardner said. "Her name is Rachel Montgomery. And we need to be clear. It's dangerous. One of the programmers suffered severe brain damage. Even Montgomery might not be able to control this mainframe. It uses technology that was never properly integrated."

John and Alicia caught their breath. Alicia took his hand.

"Are you sure about this?" John asked.

"The kidnappers are professionals. They knew exactly how to cover their trail," Gardner replied. "None of our traditional methods are proving effective."

"We've got to ask her, John. Even if she says no," Alicia pleaded.

"How can we ask that of her? After what I've done?"

"We still have to ask," Alicia pressed.

"If you want, we can approach her for you," Gardner suggested.

"No, that wouldn't be right," John declined.

"We have a car waiting," O'Mara said. "But if Montgomery agrees, we'll be accessing a top-secret installation. It can't leak to the press."

"I understand. What do you want us to do?" John asked.

* * * * * *

An hour later, their black limo reached the gate at Canby Place. The sunrise had been shrouded in fog.

"What do you want?" a deep voice asked through the intercom.

"We need to see Rachel," John said from the back window.

"Why would she want to see you?" the voice said. John realized it was Bob McLane.

"Please, Mr. McLane. This is important," Alicia urged, leaning over to speak to the monitor.

There was silence for two minutes, and then the heavy gate slowly rolled opened. They drove up the hill to the parking circle, stopping near the front door. Rory rushed out.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Rory shouted.

"We need to see Rachel," John said, helping Alicia from the car.

"No, no way," Rory denied.

"Get Mom. She'll understand," John insisted.

"Mom isn't here. She's getting ready for court," Rory replied.

"There won't be a court session today. Or any time soon," John told her.

"Why is that?" Rory asked.

"Ro, the twins have been kidnapped," Alicia answered.

"Kidnapped?" Rory responded, taking a step back.

"The FBI can't find them," Alicia explained.

"Come inside," Rory relented.

They passed through the sunlit atrium into the main house. The huge living room felt empty. Jackie and Martha were in the dining area feeding Danny. They said nothing. Bob McLane watched from the foyer, equally silent, and then disappeared out the front door.

"What's wrong?" John asked, feeling the tension.

"Rachel isn't doing well," Ashley explained. "Dr. Belcher was here all night. Dr. Keller is trying to find a drug that might help her."

"You wanted to break her? Well congratulations, it worked," Rory said.

"That's not what I wanted. I only wanted my son," John countered.

"Her son," Rory insisted. "Look, I'm sorry about your babies. But you hurt a lot of people, not just Rachel. Why don't you use your goddamn money and buy the kidnappers off?"

"This doesn't appear to be a kidnapping for ransom," Special Agent Gardner replied. "We suspect a political motive."

"Political?" Rory said.

"There have been two other cases, one in Connecticut, and one in New York. Children taken to punish their parents for their wealth," Gardner explained. "The chances of the children being found alive are marginal."

Alicia cried out. John took her into the living room, getting her to sit. Martha arrived with coffee, sitting next to her.

"Wait a minute, I know you," Rory said, seeing a military officer follow Gardner into the room. "O'Mara. You took Rachel to--"

"A secret location," O'Mara interrupted with a furrowed brow. "We appreciated Miss Montgomery's assistance."

"And now you're back for more?" Rory said.

"Benson Conglomerates is a leading defense contractor," O'Mara replied. "Kidnapping the Benson children sets an unacceptable precedent. If this terrorism goes unchallenged, future attacks would eventually undermine our national security."

"There's no other way?" Rory asked.

"Miss Montgomery interacted with Level 13 three years ago," O'Mara said. "No one else has managed as much stabilization."

"That goddamn machine almost scrambled her brain," Rory said.

"And it still might," O'Mara confessed.

"This isn't fair. It's not close to fair," Rory protested.

"We know. But we need Rachel's help," John said. "Lisa and Gabe are Danny's half sister and brother. That makes them Rachel's family, too."

"Now Rachel is family?" Rory said, starting forward with her fists clenched. Jackie grabbed Rory's shoulders, pulling her back.

"Don't say something you shouldn't. That's not what Rachel wants," Jackie said. "Nothing is more important to her than family. You know that."

"I'll talk to her. Everyone else wait here," Rory said.

Rory went down the hall to the master bedroom at the far end of the house. Rachel was curled up in the giant bed, awake but barely moving. Rory sat down next to her.

"John and Allie are here. Something bad has happened."

"What is it now?" Rachel whispered.

"Their children. The twins. They've been kidnapped."

"What? When? How?" Rachel said, sitting up.

"I don't know the details. They say they need your help."

"What can I do?"

"They want you to access that government machine again," Rory explained.

"Oh, no. I can't. Ro, I just can't," Rachel said, pulling the blanket over her head.

"Rach? Rachel?"

Rory didn't get a response. She went back to the living room.

"I'm sorry. Rachel's in a bad way. I don't think she can even get out of bed," Rory reported.

"We know we're asking a lot," John said.

"Let me talk to her," Alicia requested.

Rory needed to think about it. Alicia's eyes were begging.

"Give it a try, but go easy. Mr. McLane is calling Mom and Oliver. They need to know about this."

Martha got coffee for John and the government agents. Rory escorted Alicia to the master bedroom. She didn't tap on the door. She knew Rachel wouldn't respond.

"Honey, Allie is here. She wants to talk to you."

Rachel didn't move.

"Thanks, Ro. We'll be all right," Alicia said, entering the room and closing the door.

Alicia moved forward slowly, climbed on the bed, and lay next to Rachel. She put her arm around her waist, and her head against her shoulder.

"I'm sorry," Alicia said. "I don't know how this ever got so out of control. It's not what I wanted. It's not what John wanted."

"It's my fault," Rachel whispered. "I knew the math was bad."

"None of this is anyone's fault. John and I were having problems, and you had a moment together. It happens. D. J. is a lovely little boy. We'll work this out. But now my children are missing. If you help, we'll--"

"Don't make promises," Rachel interrupted.

"My babies--"

"Please ask Ro to come in."

Alicia opened the door, waving to Rory. Then ran down the hall to John in tears.

"Can you help me?" Rachel asked.

"Help you do what?"

"Get dressed."

Rachel rolled out of bed, unsteady at first and found a plain gray gym suit with blue sneakers. "I should put on makeup. They shouldn't see me like this."

"You look fine," Rory said.

"I don't, and you know it."

They didn't spend much time at the vanity table, just a touch of blush and lipstick. It didn't make much difference.

John and Alicia were surprised when Rachel entered the living room. She looked awful. The eyes were red from crying. She hadn't been eating. O'Mara and Gardner observed from the kitchen where Martha was serving donuts.

"Rachel, thank God," John said, rising from the couch.

"Hello, John," Rachel said, standing back.

"I'm sorry you're not well," John said.

"I'm a sick, mentally incompetent woman. Isn't that what your lawyer says?"

"We're sorry about that," Alicia apologized.

"Allie's telling the truth," John insisted. "Even before this happened, we were going to tell the lawyers to back off."

"That's not important now," Rachel said.

Rory drew Rachel to the sofa, making her sit. She laid a blanket across Rachel's lap to keep her warm.

"You've always been my best friend, Ro," Rachel said, squeezing her hand.

"I always will be," Rory said, a little confused. There was a faraway look in Rachel's eyes. Not quite a haze, but something.

The agents came down from the kitchen. O'Mara put the Level 13 folder on the coffee table. Rachel didn't look surprised.

"When were the children taken?" Rachel asked.

"Last night. Around midnight," Gardner said.

"You need to be more specific," Rachel admonished.

"We'll get that for you," O'Mara promised.

"Boston? From their grandparents' home on Beacon Hill?" Rachel said, drawing curiosity from the agents.

"Yes," Gardner confirmed.

"There's no ransom demand, so a monetary motive is not suspected?" Rachel continued.

"How would you guess that?" O'Mara said.

"If they could be ransomed, John wouldn't need me," Rachel replied. "Is your matrix so flawed that operators are getting hurt?"

Everyone looked at O'Mara, who appeared chagrined.

"Yes, we've had trouble," O'Mara confessed.

Rachel picked up the folder, reading each page in a matter of seconds. She lingered a little longer on the diagrams. Then she laid it back on the table.

"Can you stabilize the matrix?" O'Mara asked.

"Temporarily. Perhaps," Rachel said.

"We need to know if the matrix can be stabilized," O'Mara insisted.

"The interfacing and layering work at odds, creating flaws in the subroutine that erodes assimilation," Rachel explained. "But if ... if ...?"

Rachel paused, her eyes glazed, and suddenly she toppled over into Rory's arms.

"Rach? Rach?" Rory called out.

Rachel found herself lying on the floor, covered by a blanket. Rory, Jackie and Alicia were kneeling next to her. John, O'Mara, and the FBI agent were watching from the dining table forty feet away. Martha had fetched a cold pack from the kitchen.

"How long was I gone?" Rachel asked.

"Almost ten minutes. It was a bad attack," Rory said.

"It wasn't an attack. It was a gift," Rachel corrected, trying to sit up.

"You shouldn't move," Jackie cautioned. "We called Dr. Belcher."

"I can find the babies," Rachel said, looking up toward the government agents. "Are you accessing the mainframe at the U. S. Air Force Base in El Segundo?"

The government agents had given up wondering how Rachel knew every secret they had.

"We have a car waiting," Gardner offered.

"I'll need a few minutes to get ready," Rachel said, letting Rory help her up. "Alicia, come with me."

Everyone noticed something different about her. It was cold. Distant. In no mood for questions.

Alicia followed Rachel into the office once used by Daniel Benson. It still had his Yale football trophies on the shelves. A photo of Daniel and Rachel was on the desk. Rachel sat down, rapidly writing notes on a yellow pad, then ripping the pages out one by one and stuffing them in an envelope. The envelope was addressed to Pamela.

"Give me your phone," Rachel ordered, setting it down next to her computer. She quickly accessed a transfer protocol.

"This will give you all of Danny's medical files," Rachel said, pressing the send key. "There are projections for the care he'll need. John should change his last name to Benson. Daniel Jefferson Benson II. To honor his grandfather."

"Nothing bad will happen," Alicia said.

"Don't be naïve. You've been naïve long enough."

"Rachel, I'm sorry. Is something wrong? You--"

"There's no time for that now. Just take care of Danny."

* * * * * *

The drive to Los Angeles Air Force Base didn't take long. Bob McLane drove Rory and Rachel. John and Alicia rode with the agents.

"I've called Mom. She and Oliver were meeting with the lawyers, but they're on their way," Rory said. "We should call Billy and Tommy."

"I can't think about that now. I need to focus," Rachel replied.

"They should know what we're doing."

"We don't know what we're doing. Not yet."

"That army colonel says the machine is dangerous."

"Thomas was right to call it a clusterfuck," Rachel agreed.

Rory didn't like Rachel's detachment. She wasn't in a haze. Not like back at the house. Her mind was turning inward on the problem, shutting everything else out.

As the cars approached the main gate, two military escort vehicles appeared, leading them to a hangar at the edge of the landing strip. A squad of soldiers led them past a row of army helicopters into an elevator. It was hard to know how deep it went.

"There are only two of these complexes in the entire country," O'Mara explained. "National security oaths are required."

The elevator opened into a spacious underground chamber. There were control stations and huge monitors everywhere. At least forty men and women watched them enter, a mixture of programmers, FBI agents and NSA officials. All eyes were focused on Rachel.

"Welcome, Miss Montgomery. I am Dr. Leon Halstead, chief administrator of Project Discovery," a tall older man said. He wore a white coat and carried a tablet. He reached out to shake hands.

"I need the status reports," Rachel said, not returning the gesture.

"This way," Halstead agreed, taking her to a conference room and closing the door.

"This looks like a Star Wars movie," Rory said, watching the technicians running back and forth. Some wore lab coats, others military uniforms. A few wore business suits.

"Probably cost a lot more than a movie," McLane said.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we have a booth over here where you can watch the procedure," a young woman said. "My name is Dr. Kelli Lum. Systems Coordinator. I understand your mother and lawyer are in transit."

"They should be here soon," Rory said.

"General Taylor is meeting them at the gate. They'll be sent right through," Lum assured them. "Can we get anyone water? Coffee?"

"What is all this?" John asked.

"Those stations access communications webs," Lum said, pointing to a bank of controls. "Other stations coordinate media links, data libraries, and deep-net search engines. They all tie back to a central mainframe."

"Like what WHD does?" Alicia asked.

"The same principle," Lum confirmed. "But these systems aren't directed toward healthcare. They monitor security threats."

"They spy on people," McLane realized.

"The information we gather is only used against our country's enemies," Lum defended. "And now it will be used against criminals."

"What do you need Rachel for?" Alicia asked.

"We need her to make it work," O'Mara replied.

They waited half an hour, noticing the staff appeared nervous. And excited. The was a lot of activity. One particularly giant monitor was coordinating information drawn from different stations. The coffee was good. Pamela and Oliver arrived.

"Rory, thank God. Where's Rachel?" Pamela asked.

"In there," Rory said, pointing to the conference room.

"We need to shut this down. Who's in charge?" Oliver said.

His statement caused John to wince, and Alicia to gasp. The bright lights and fancy gadgets had been raising their hopes.

"Mom, Lisa and Gabe--" Alicia started.

"I'm sorry, dear. I spoke with Sheila on the way," Pamela said. "The government has been trying to reconfigure Level 13 for years. It doesn't work. Even the WHD techs haven't been able to turn it around."

"They didn't have Rachel Montgomery," General Taylor said, a lean man in his early 60s with a bushy gray mustache.

"Rachel isn't a god. She's not a miracle worker," Pamela protested. "She's a delicate young woman with serious health problems."

"The FBI says Rachel can find Lisa and Gabriel," John answered.

"That's unlikely," Oliver replied. "They're probably using the kidnapping as a pretext to see what Rachel can do with their screwed-up matrix."

"But isn't there a chance?" Alicia persisted.

"Sweetheart, a very slim chance," Pamela said, going to hold her. "Please understand, these people don't care about your children. Or Rachel. They're afraid a failure to deploy Level 13 will compromise their corporate relationships. It would embarrass them in the press. And it will compromise the NSA's justification for spying on private citizens."

"It should be Rachel's decision," John insisted.

"Johnny, it should be obvious to you by now that Rachel, despite her amazing intelligence, is capable of making very bad decisions," Pamela replied.

"That was a mistake for both of us," John admitted.

"And who's been paying for that mistake?" Rory questioned.

"Kids, let's not do this here," Oliver intervened.

Rachel and Halstead emerged from the conference room, followed by a score of technicians. They spread out, taking seats at the control stations and bringing the systems online. Rachel avoided the visitors, walking toward a steel pod on the far side of the room.

"Rachel," Pamela said, running to catch her.

"Thank you for coming, Mother. I don't have much time," Rachel said.

"Let's talk about this," Pamela urged.

"I've been given a briefing."

"Did they tell you the damn machine doesn't work?"

"It can do what's needed," Rachel responded.

"You need to be careful."

"Is William here? Has anyone called Thomas?"

"They're on their way."

Rachel glanced toward the visitor's booth. Rory was standing next to Oliver. John and Alicia huddled together. Bob McLane was watching over them, like he watched over her.

"I love you so much, Mother. Don't ever forget," Rachel said. "Alicia, I need you here."

Alicia looked surprised, still hanging on John's arm. Rachel frowned.

"Alicia, come here now," Rachel summoned. Alicia gave John a kiss and rushed to follow.

The control pod was a small coordination center with thick blue walls and a few tiny windows looking back into the underground chamber. Two operators were seated before a wide screen prepping the procedure. Rachel took the remaining empty chair.

"Ready to initiate?" she asked, picking up a headset.

"Yes, Miss Montgomery," Dr. Lum answered. "Can we say what an honor this is?"

"We'll see what you think later," Rachel replied, shoving the first series of switches over. Power began to hum throughout the cavern. Rachel entered a set of codes.

"I need a seat for Mrs. Benson," Rachel instructed. "One of you assume station two at the CompStat feed."

"Yes, ma'am," a tech said, leaving the pod.

"Dr. Lum, I'll need you coordinating the NSA web," Rachel continued.

"That would leave you alone in here. That's not advised," Lum responded.

"Mrs. Benson is here."

"She's not a technician," Lum protested.

"She's the mother of the missing children."

"Miss Montgomery? We have protocols that dictate--" Lum began.

"Shut up and do what you're told," Rachel demanded with a dark glare.

Lum was shocked. The quiet woman she'd met half an hour before was gone, replaced by a startling presence. She got up, took a last look at the boards, and reluctantly left, not knowing what else to do. Alicia took her chair. The pod's heavy hatch closed with a thud that scared her.

"What was that?" Alicia asked.

"When Level 13 reaches full engagement, the program can't afford any interference. That door protects the project's integrity."

"It feels like we're trapped in here," Alicia worried.

"We are trapped in here," Rachel confirmed.

Alicia heard the bolts lock. The door looked so thick, she thought only explosives could open it without the key. Gradually, the screen filled with flowing numbers. Formulas. Equations. Puzzles. It was the famous layering that so many had speculated about, but few had ever seen. It was dizzying.

"Don't look at the board for more than a few moments," Rachel warned.

"What are you seeing?" Alicia asked.

"Everything a digital society can produce."

"All I see is gibberish."

"No one claims it's easy," Rachel confirmed. She donned a headset, adjusted a microphone, and pressed pads against her temples to feel the rhythm of the machine. Her fingers danced over a complex keyboard with amazing speed, her focus growing intense.

It wasn't a quick process. One hour stretched into two, then four. Alicia found an ice chest on the floor with bottled water. From time to time, she'd see scientists watching them through the glass windows, but there was no outside audio. Rachel occasionally mumbled, mostly to the computer, ignoring everything else.

"I don't want to interrupt," Alicia finally dared to say.

"Make it quick," Rachel replied.

"What's going on? Why am I here?"

"You're here to secure the safety of your children."

"But--"

"Don't waste my time again," Rachel insisted.

Another hour passed, and then an audio channel opened. Alicia heard noise from the control center. She looked out the windows, seeing many had gathered beneath the giant monitor screen. A score of technicians were making notes on their tablets. John was standing next to his mother. William and Tom had arrived, standing with Rory.

"Alicia," Rachel said.

"Yes, Rachel."

"Use the intercom. Push the blue button."

There were three buttons below the window, blue, yellow and red. The moment she pushed the blue one, a crowd came running.

"How is Miss Montgomery?" Lum was first to ask.

"How did you get stabilization? Is it going to collapse?" Halstead said, pushing Lum out of the way.

"Tell Montgomery to stay the hell out of those national security protocols!" General Taylor cursed. "She's got no goddamn business there!"

Bob McLane pushed them all out of the way, making room for Pamela.

"Alicia, where is Rachel?" Pamela asked, looking desperate.

"She's at the controls. Not saying much," Alicia replied.

"Her bio-readings are spiking all over the place. She needs to standdown," Pamela pleaded.

"Rachel, your mother says--" Alicia started.

"There's no time for that. Get Gardner," Rachel said.

There was commotion and disagreement on the outside. Special Agent Gardner was pushed forward.

"I'm here," Gardner reported.

"Rachel needs to talk to you," Alicia said, increasingly frightened.

"Tell Gardner to have the recorders ready," Rachel said without looking up from her screen. "The FBI needs to be standing by in multiple locations. SWAT teams are advised."

"What have you found?" Gardner asked.

"A lot. Here goes the first part," Rachel announced.

"Oh!" a dozen voices shouted.

The big monitor in the main room suddenly lit up with maps, diagrams, and criminal profiles. Faces began to appear. Children. Young women. Young men.

"Get this! Get this!" Gardner yelled.

"What is it?" John asked.

"Active cases. Cold cases. A dozen of them," Gardner explained.

"This is amazing," Halstead said. "How is she doing it?"

"She's one with the machine," Lum realized, reading the medical feed. "It's as if she's juicing it with her own psyche."

"That's not possible," Halstead said.

"It's beyond the accepted parameters," Lum replied.

"Keep her in there as long as you can," O'Mara directed. "This is vital information."

"No, make her stop. Rachel could be hurt," Rory disagreed.

Pamela backed away from the monitor, sitting on a bench. Her children joined her.

"Mom, I think we should stop this," John said.

"Don't you see? This is why Rachel locked the door," Pamela said. "Only she can end it. And she's not going to. She's searching for your children, John. And so many others. She doesn't care about herself."

"That was our job, wasn't it?" William said.

"It was," Pamela answered.

"Don't blame yourselves," McLane said, standing close by. "When Rachel sets her heart on a course, no one is going to stop her."

Pamela took out her phone, but there was no signal. Not in a top-secret installation.

"General Taylor," Pamela summoned.

"Yes, Mrs. Benson," he said, straight and tall in his khaki jacket filled with military decorations.

"I need to send messages to Rachel's doctors, and to Dr. Keller at the Swiss Institute. They need to be ready," Pamela requested.

"I'll see to it immediately," Taylor agreed. "But let me say how thankful we are. And proud. What you daughter is doing will save many lives, and bring closure to many families."

"I'm sure that's what she wanted," Pamela acknowledged.

John went to the window, seeing Alicia trying to give Rachel water.

"Allie?" he said.

"John? Anything on Lisa and Gabe yet?"

"Nothing definite. The FBI has a SWAT team ready in South Boston. How is Rachel?"

"I don't know. Not good, I don't think. She was talking before. Now she sounds incoherent."

"Can you stop her?"

"I don't know how."

Alicia went to the console and knelt next to Rachel, grabbing her arm.

"Rachel? Rachel? Maybe you should try some more later?"

"This will only work once. The matrix is collapsing."

"They're worried out there. Worried about you."

"Do you want your children back?"

"Yes."

"Then leave me alone."

Alicia backed off, but didn't have the courage to speak with John again. She stood against the wall, watching the swirling patterns. They had been mysterious before. Now she thought them monstrous. The tracking stations kept getting cases for another hour.

"There they are!" someone shouted.

The Benson party ran to the big screen. Photos of John's children appeared next to an address in South Boston. A diagram of the building's floorplan showed probable access. Satellite heat sensors identified movements within the rooms.

"Go, go, go!" Gardner ordered his teams in the field.

The action could be seen on the monitors. Drones already had the site in view, relaying tactical data to the SWAT teams. A door was kicked in. Smoke, maybe a gas grenade. Muzzle flashes and body cams. Darkness. Everyone held their breaths.

"No one's talking. What happened? What happened?" Rory fretted.

"Stay calm, Ro. We'll know in a minute," Tom said, arms wrapped around her.

Three minutes later, the field alerts turned green.

"We've got them!" Gardner announced. "The kids are safe."

They watched as two EMT's emerged from the smoky building carrying the children. One of the medics gave a thumps up to the hovering drone.

"Thank God," Pamela said, giving Oliver a hug.

"What about the kidnappers?" William asked.

"The terrorists are dead," Gardner declared.

John hugged Rory and William. He stopped, looking at his mother. Pamela reached out her arms.

"Is that it? Is Rachel done?" Tom asked.

They ran to the window looking into the pod. Alicia was hovering above Rachel, who lay slumped on the console. The machine had shut down. Alicia looked up, then jumped to the hatch.

"How do I open the door?" she asked.

"Did Montgomery release the locks?" Dr. Lum replied.

"I don't know," Alicia answered.

"Try pushing the yellow button three times," Lum suggested.

The bolts slid back, opening the hatch.

"We need a doctor!" Alicia shouted.

Lum and Halstead crowded in, finding Rachel unconscious. They checked her vital signs and waved for a gurney.

"She just went down. All of a sudden," Alicia said. "I didn't even see it. She didn't say anything."

"Relax, you did all you could," John said, holding her close.

"No, I didn't. I was the only one who could have stopped her," Alicia said.

"That's why she took you into the pod," McLane told her. "She knew you'd put your children first. It's what she counted on."

"She did the math," Rory said through tears.

Rachel was moved to a lounge where medics worked on her. Her eyes had rolled back. There were traces of foam on her lips. An oxygen mask was placed over her face.

"Let's get her to a hospital," Lum said.

* * * * * *

In a waiting room several hours later, Dr. Halstead came out to make a report.

"I'm afraid it's not good," Halstead said. "She's in a coma. On life-support. Her vital signs may eventually improve, but her EEG readings are all over the map. Dr. Hossam suspects brain damage. We'll know more over the next few days."

"What can we do for her?" John asked.

"She needs time. The longer she hangs on, the better her chances are," Halstead replied.

"I am so sorry. We shouldn't have allowed this," Alicia said, coming to Pamela and Rory.

"Allie, your babies are safe," Rory said.

"But Rachel isn't. I heard Dr. Lum telling her to stop over the intercom, but she wouldn't stop."

Pamela drew Alicia to a couch, holding her hands.

"We're very worried. I won't lie about that. But Rachel saw a chance to save your children. A chance to save dozens of children. And the FBI is still tracking the data. They may find more. Rachel wasn't going to stop. That's not who she is."

"Mom's right," Rory agreed. "I'm scared to death for her, but nothing is more important to Rachel than family. There's no way she was going to backoff just because some bureaucrat thought it was dangerous."

"It was dangerous," Alicia said.

"Danger is nothing new to Rachel," Pamela said. "She's lived her whole life on the edge. She'll pull out of this. One way or another, she's going to be all right."

* * * * * *

Chapter Ten

Running on Empty

Rachel woke in a strange room. A hospital room. Attached to machines. She felt weak, and disorientated. Her memory was foggy. The headache was bad.

What is this place?

Her plastic wristband read R. Marbury. Marbury? Why had someone given her a fake name?

Rachel detached the tubes. She didn't recognize all of the gadgets, but it looked like monitoring equipment. An EEG machine. Other machines. Heart, breathing, blood pressure. A feeding tube? She looked in a mirror on the wall, seeing a woman that was horribly old. Traces of her hair had changed from brunette to dirty blonde. At least it had been recently washed. Her skin was unnaturally pale.

She struggled to remember, but details were vague. She no longer lived with her parents. Not after her father tried to assault her. She wasn't living with a foster family anymore. Their son had attacked her. There was an institution. A building made of cement. Locked doors. Doctors. Drugs. They had strapped her to a table.

I need to get out of here! she decided.

The hospital was quiet. Just after 3 a. m. She climbed out of bed wearing only a white gown. The back was damp where she'd laid on absorbent pads. Finding her balance was difficult. Her legs were weak.

How long had they kept her drugged? she wondered. Days? Weeks? It couldn't matter. What her body couldn't do, her mind would accomplish.

The corridor was quiet. There were voices whispering at the far end of the hall, but none of them were close by. One was a nurse. The other looked like a security guard.

Not far from an elevator, she saw a nurse's station. And a locker room. The combination locks were no challenge, opening with ease as she felt the tumblers click into place. There was a light gray jacket. Black tennis shoes. A conservative burgundy dress with a long skirt, matching blouse, and an olive-green vest. The outfit was too big for her but worked with some tucking and tightening. She didn't want to steal anyone's money but wouldn't get far without it. She took a leather handbag and a few dollars, leaving the credit cards behind.

Elevators have cameras, she remembered. I'll use the stairs. Cover my face. It was only a few flights. Out on the street, she found herself in a strange city. A big city, not Palmdale. It looked like Los Angeles. She had been there once for a swim meet. Swim meet? When did I become a swimmer?

There was a subway station. Rachel didn't know why the routes looked so familiar, but she jumped on a train for Union Station. The car was nearly deserted. Keeping her head down allowed her hair to hang across her face. Cameras, she thought. Watch out for cameras. It will be harder for them to find you. Them? Who are them? She didn't know.

Union Station. Tall arching ceilings. Marble floors. Ornate architecture. An old building full of echoes. It was summer. Late June? She saw cops and maintenance workers. No one was paying attention. Where should she go? A machine issued tickets.

Not a train. People watch trains. The bus. I like the bus. No, I don't like the bus, but I know them. A Greyhound was about to leave for Las Vegas. She had never been out of California before. No one would know her there.

The big silver bus left the station a few minutes later. She sat in the back, watching for a while, and then felt sleepy. It would take six hours, and she slept most of them.

The Las Vegas morning was already hot. The bus station was busy. What should I do? she wondered. I'm hungry. A sign warned that the premises were under 24-hour surveillance. She bought a black baseball cap, tugging the brim down.

The sidewalk was crowded. Tourists in shorts and T-shirts were scurrying everywhere. Taking pictures with their phones. Men turned to look at her, smiling. Not always the most pleasant smiles. Men like pretty girls, she remembered.

I can't stay, she decided. Too many people.

Her stomach felt tight, like she hadn't had much food lately. She bought hot noodle soup from a street vendor and walked into one of the smaller casinos, taking a seat in the corner. There was a big electronic board on the wall. Lights flashed in red, white, yellow and blue. Numbers on the board changed every few minutes. From time to time, cheers or moans rose from the audience watching the displays. Rachel realized people were betting on the numbers. The electronic boards were displaying odds, and clocks showed how much time was left to place wagers. She watched for an hour looking for patterns.

I shouldn't gamble, Rachel thought. Isn't gambling sinful? But I need money, and this isn't really gambling. Not really.

She had $13 left in her stolen purse. She put $3 in her vest pocket and went to a window, getting a card to put in a machine. She sat in the grimy lobby between two old men. They looked drunk, and creepy. She put the card in a slot and entered the numbers she wanted.

"Good guess there, little girl," one of the men said.

The machine said her $10 wager had won, returning an extra $5. She picked another set of numbers, and won $5 more. It wasn't hard. Some of the odds were steeper, but if she chose those, she might lose. Rachel didn't want to lose. After a time, she doubled her bets, and then doubled them again. A woman in a gold cocktail dress offered her a drink. Rachel had orange juice. She won $20, and $20 more. A group of bettors started watching.

"That's nineteen of the last twenty," one of the creepy old men said.

"She has a system," the other guessed.

"Have you figured it out?" his friend asked.

"No, they look random to me," the first one replied.

"They aren't random," Rachel said. Other than ordering the soup, it was the first time she'd spoken since waking up in the hospital. It was more of a growl than a sentence.

"How does it work?" someone else asked.

Rachel was uncomfortable with the questions. And the attention. After a few more rounds, she took the card out of the machine and went back to the window. They gave her $320. Rachel returned to the bus station, paid for a ticket to Idaho, and bought a bag of chocolate chip cookies from the vending machine. Ten minutes later, she was leaving Las Vegas behind her.

* * * * * *

The sun set. Despite the warm day, the evening turned cold. Everything outside was dark. A woman came to sit in the back of the bus next to her. She was medium height with long black hair and dark eyes. Her brown cotton dress was modest.

"Hi. I'm Joanna Silverhawk. On my way home. Where are you going?"

That was a good question.

"North," Rachel whispered, turning toward the window. She felt cold even though the bus was heated.

"Visiting family?" Joanna inquired.

"No."

"I'm looking forward to seeing my husband again. And my baby. She's not even a year old yet. Her name is Little Bear among the tribe. Around whites, we call her Grace. Isn't she a darling?"

Joanna showed a picture on her phone of a handsome middle-aged man and an infant.

"Ray is a member of the Te-Moak Tribe, but the elders aren't happy with him at the moment, so we're living on our ranch off the reservation. I shouldn't say we, I'm not an Indian. My family is Italian. That's part of the trouble."

Rachel wished the woman would be quiet. She didn't even like babies and would certainly never have one.

"What's your name?" Joanna asked.

"Katie."

She couldn't admit her real name, or the fake name in the hospital. Why had they given her a fake name? It was so confusing. Everything was confusing. She curled up in the seat and tried to get some sleep.

The bus pulled over in the middle of nowhere. Thin woods and badlands. Probably high desert. It was the middle of the night. There was no traffic.

"We only need a few gallons to get back on the road," the bus driver said, stopping at a diesel pump. "Use the restroom if you need to."

"I'm going," Joanna said, getting up. The half-dozen other passengers stayed in their seats, most asleep.

Rachel saw a ramshackle bus station twenty yards away. Only a few dim lights illuminated the parking lot. No fresh food, she thought, but maybe a vending machine. She felt hungry.

The lobby was empty. It was too late for staff, if the small station even had a full-time employee. She put a dollar in a vending machine, getting a bag of potato chips. Her stomach growled. She bought a package of powder donuts.

There was a noise. A shout of surprise. Rachel stepped out on the platform. The bus was still stopped at the pump, the driver barely visible under weak yellow lights. She looked the other direction, seeing Joanna with a large man in a trench coat and a cowboy hat. He was pulling her off the platform toward a maintenance yard.

"Leave her alone," Rachel said, rushing to catch up.

"Stay out of this," the gruff brute ordered.

Joanna looked scared, struggling to break free of the man's grip. Rachel grabbed the ruffian's arm, trying to make him release her.

"Mind your own business," the attacker grunted.

"You let her go," Rachel insisted.

The angry man shook Rachel off, and then knocked Joanna to the ground. Joanna looked stunned, having trouble getting up. Rachel reached to help her.

"Told you to mind your own goddamn business," the ruffian said.

He grabbed Rachel by the hair and smacked her in the face. When she fell, he kicked her ribs, doubling her over. He turned back to Joanna, dragging her toward a van parked under scraggily trees. Joanna was trying to get free, but was no match for him.

Lying in the dirt dripping blood, Rachel felt the memories. Her father's drunken beatings. Her mother's occasional blows, and cold indifference. Lucius Wilkins dragging her to the tool shed while his parents turned a blind eye. Being strapped to a table and fed drugs. No, no more of that, she decided.

She looked around, seeing a dust-covered pile of discarded construction debris. There was a length of rebar, about three feet long. Reasonable weight. She picked it up.

No words were spoken. The big man didn't realize Rachel was behind him until the last second, just as the steel bar crashed into his skull. Rachel had gotten up on her toes, and though her injured ribs screamed in pain, it didn't stop her from using all her strength. The attacker let Joanna go, stumbled, and put an arm up in self-defense. Rachel stepped aside to swing the rebar again, striking hard. He dropped his arm, slowly sinking to his knees. Rachel swung a third time like she was holding a baseball bat, hearing bone crack. He toppled on his side, laying on the ground. Rachel prepared to hit him again.

"Good God, girl, that's enough. Let's get out of here," Joanna said, pulling Rachel away.

Joanna took the rebar from Rachel's hands, wiped off the fingerprints, and threw it back on the trash pile as they hurried to the bus. The driver was just getting back in, ready to close the doors. No one seemed to have noticed the altercation.

They went to the rear seat as the bus pulled out. Joanna didn't see anything through the windows. No people. No movement.

"Was he robbing you?" Rachel asked.

"It's better you don't know, but thank you. Thank you very much. How are you?"

"Sore."

Joanna took out her phone, using the light to see Rachel's face. Blood was dripping from her nose and lip. Her cheek was swelling.

"He hit you?"

"I hope the eye doesn't turn black. I hate it when that happens."

"Do you get beat up a lot?"

"Almost every Saturday night."

"Did I see him kick you?"

"Yes."

Joanna probed Rachel's ribs, feeling her wince.

"I don't think they're broken, but I can't be sure. How's your breathing?"

Rachel took a deep breath. It was more of a wheeze.

"I have an ace bandage," Joanna said, reaching into her travel bag. She had Rachel lift up her shirt and wrapped it around several times, making it snug.

"I'd say to see a doctor, but--"

"I'm okay. I don't want the police involved either," Rachel said.

Joanna seemed relieved. She gave Rachel aspirin and leaned back, watching as the dark landscape moved past.

* * * * * * *

Without money or her memory, Rachel is running off into the unknown, but she's a survivor. No one should count her out.