Castle in the Desert Page 2

  The ride down to the level above the dock took longer than it would have taken if Léa had chosen the stairs. But hearing the sound of the lift creaking and groaning was comforting to Léa. It was the sound of home.

  A few minutes later, Léa stepped off the lift and walked over to the bulge in the walkway that hugged the wall of The Castle’s atrium. A bench was bolted to one side of the small balcony. Peering over the side, Léa looked down at the old German U-Boat. The other side of the dock was where one of The Castle’s modern, nuclear submarines would tie up. But the other boats were at sea leaving a large hole of empty water right below the balcony.

  Without looking around, Léa sat down on the small bench and untied her running shoes. They were new shoes, right out of the box. Standing up, Léa pushed down the new running shorts she was wearing. As Léa bent over to slip the shorts over her heels and off her feet, she noticed angry red rings of skin around her ankles. Standing up, she saw the same discolored red rings around her wrists. Closing her eyes, Léa snapped her head slightly from side to side.

  When Léa opened her eyes, the angry red rings around her wrists and ankles had magically disappeared.

  Nodding once in satisfaction, Léa pulled the green T-shirt over her head and dropped it on her shoes and shorts. Looking from side to side, her half playful, half wicked smile reappeared as Léa wondered what would happen if everyone who lived and worked at The Castle suddenly appeared. The atrium remained deserted as Léa climbed up and over the heavy duty I-beam. Standing on the edge of the balcony, Léa leapt into open space.

  The water she plunged into was very cold. The Castle’s underwater lake was fed by the stormy north Atlantic. Most of the water around the island north of Scotland was ice cold and The Castle’s underwater lake was not heated. But Léa hardly noticed the chilly water as she swam to the lake’s far wall, then back to the dock. She held on to the ladder for a few minutes, looking around.

  Off to her right, the old U-Boat remained in place tied to the dock. Hanging slightly off to the side of the ladder, Léa looked along the old sub’s waterline. Not a speck of rust appeared anywhere on the hull.

  Bending her knees, Léa sank back down into the cold water. She arched her back as far as she could, dunking her long, brown hair into the water. Léa only hung off the ladder for a few moments to shake her hair behind her back before bursting out of the cold water. As Léa’s momentum carried her straight up, she let go of one side of the swim ladder and gave her left foot an extra push. Dripping wet, Léa’s pivot left her sitting on the side of the dock. With her legs dangling over the side, Léa leaned back on her elbows. The far wall of The Castle’s lake was dark grey stone. A few steel platforms had been bolted to the rock, but that was about all there was to see. Lying on her back, Léa looked straight up to the top of the atrium.

  The eight levels remained completely deserted. The only sound was the old Paternoster lift’s creaks and groans. That was the way things had been going for Léa. Sometimes people were there, sometimes they were gone. Most days, she went for her skinny-dip in The Castle’s underground lake. Some days, she skipped the swim and went to The Castle’s main auditorium to see if a movie was playing. The only places she avoided were the cafeteria and Deep in the Cliffs Pub.

  “Fuck,” yelled Léa loudly.

  The one thing she would not allow herself to do was think about food. Yet every day, some how, some way, food would creep into her thoughts. She closed here eyes as she slightly snapped her head from side to side. Léa tried to clear any thoughts of food from her head. But it was too late. She heard her stomach begin to gurgle with the sounds of hunger. She felt the now familiar pain of her perpetually empty stomach.

  Sitting up, Léa looked down at her legs. Large bruises and cuts began to appear on her skin. She looked at her wrists as the angry, red circles re-appeared. Some of the skin had been rubbed off, leaving open, bleeding wounds. Putting her hands to her sides, Léa saw her flat stomach recede toward her spine, her pelvic bones jutted to each side.

  A silent sob from deep in her heart traveled up through her throat and out her nose. After the sob, Léa took a few deep breaths. There was only one way to beat this. She had to allow her sorrow to turn to anger. It was only through rage that she could remain in control.

  Tilting her head down and slightly to one side, Léa pressed her lips tightly together. She never liked anger and hardly ever allowed herself to get mad. It was a waste of time and energy. But since her life had changed, since the beginning of what Léa called The Nightmare, she found she could use anger to her advantage.

  Her breath quickened. She felt blood begin pounding through her body. Anger replaced the sorrow and the thoughts of food. But that wasn’t enough. Léa allowed the rage to build inside of her until it exploded. She threw her head back as a growl of angry anguish erupted from deep in her lungs. After a few breaths, she looked back down at the stone wall at the far end of the lake.

  “I am not fucking ready to go back yet,” Léa shouted angrily.

  She stared at the wall for a few minutes, allowing the rage to course through her mind and body. After those few minutes, she forced her breathing to return to normal. After a few more minutes, she looked back down at her ankles, wrists and stomach. They had all returned to normal.

  “This is my time,” she said firmly.

  Léa slowly stood up and walked to the old lift at the end of the dock. Turning around in the slowly rising passenger car, Léa took one more look at the grey, stone wall.

  “My fucking time,” she said quietly.

  As the lift continued its journey up, Léa took another deep breath and shook the anger from her body. The rule was, she had to leave all of her anger on the boat dock. Once the lift climbed to the next level, Léa exhaled several deep breaths. Anger was an effective tool, but it had its place and Léa vowed to never let it move into any other corner of her life.

  Passing the next level, Léa looked over to the balcony where she left her clothes before taking her high dive into The Castle’s frigid lake. Her half playful, half wicked smile appeared on her face. Since today was an alone day, The Castle was now Léa’s clothing optional zone.

  After passing a few more levels, the old Paternoster lift deposited Léa on the first dormitory level of The Castle. There were three wings on each dorm level. Just before heading down the hallway to her room, Léa paused once more by the I-beam and looked up and down. She had only been at The Castle a few months, but that was all it took for her to call the headquarters of the international spy agency home.

  Looking up and down once more, she took a deep breath and started walking down to her room. As she reached her room’s door, she punched in her code. The door slid open. But before she walked in, Léa looked down toward the end of the hall. The doorway at the end of the hall was Tara’s room.

  Since Léa’s nightmare began, Léa had encountered many people at The Castle. They were all very nice. A few gave her some tips she might use to help her endure her nightmare. She had several nice conversations with David McNally who told her about the violent altercation he had with Léa’s best friend that left his knee shattered. Alan Dennis, The Castle’s commander was almost always on hand, unless it was an alone day.

  But the one person Léa needed to see, was her best friend Tara. Yet all during the nightmare, Tara never showed up. Léa finally asked Alan Dennis where her best friend was.

  “She’s in her computer lab looking for you,” smiled Alan.

  Léa never forgot what Alan said, but she always looked for her friend. Even on alone days. But Tara never appeared.

  Léa took one more look down the hall, then disappeared into her dorm room. Whether it was a people day or an alone day, Léa always ended up in her room and in the amazing, cut-stone shower. She would spend up to an hour standing in the middle of the shower as the powerful jets pounded the pain, the anger and the sorrow out of her body.

  After enjoying the shower, Léa dried off, walked over to her b
ed and crawled under the covers. She closed her eyes and took in every sensation. The warmth of the comforter. The soft texture of the Egyptian cotton sheets. And the unimaginable comfort of the mattress.

  After dozing for a while, Léa felt her mouth beginning to dry out. Then she heard the gurgling of her empty stomach again. Léa squeezed her eyes closed. She didn’t want to get up. Didn’t want to face the real world. But it was time. The pleasant dream had ended and Léa’s harsh reality returned.

  She opened her eyes to the dull light of a stone prison cell. Looking straight ahead, she saw the gray, stone wall. It looked strangely like the gray stone wall at the other side of the lake back at The Castle.

  Léa sniffed once and looked to her left. The cold, grey, steel door to her prison cell remained closed and locked. It hadn’t opened once since she heard the lock snap into place her first day. She looked up at the window high in the door. No face had ever appeared in the window.

  But Léa knew they were keeping a close eye on her. Off to her left and just above the narrow window on the wall opposite the door was a small camera. It was a popular camera most people used to record the fun things they did in their lives. But this little silver camera was there to watch something more sinister.

  Looking back at the grey, stone wall, Léa saw the room was getting lighter. It was almost time for her to experience the one pleasure the real world gave her. She needed to hurry, too.

  Léa sat up against the wall opposite the stainless steel prison style toilet and sink. They had given her a thin, dirty mattress thrown on the floor. Other than the toilet, the prison cell was bare. The lights were hidden high in the ceiling and were always on.

  With her back to the wall, Léa sat with her bare knees pulled up to her chest. Her arms tightly hugged her legs. Except for the green hiking T-shirt Léa picked up in Chicago, her guards stripped the rest of her clothes away just before locking her wrists and ankles in a set of rough, old cuffs and shackles. Three links of a heavy chain hung between the extra-heavy hand cuffs. Nine links of heavy chain between her ankles allowed Léa to take only small steps.

  Not that she had far to go. She could take less than ten steps between the door to her cell and the window. It was just three short steps from her bed to the toilet.

  The room was getting brighter. Léa had to get up. She looked down at her dirty knees as she stretched her legs straight out in front of her. They were sore and cramped from days of sitting. Rolling to one side, she awkwardly got to her feet. Just standing left Léa out of breath and feeling slightly dizzy.

  She took the three steps to the prison toilet. The water that came from the sink on the side was always warm and left a bitter after taste. Léa looked at the toilet as a single, pathetic laugh passed through her nose. She hadn’t needed to go in days.

  The room was getting lighter, and Léa shuffled over to the window. Looking out, all she saw was the white sand of an empty desert. She thought she saw a road far off in the distance, but only once saw a truck drive by. A range of mountains was far beyond the road.

  As the light in her cell continued to brighten, an angry red glow began to emerge on the horizon. With her hands on the window’s bars, Léa rested her head on the side of the window and watched her fifth sunrise since the nightmare began. Or maybe it was her sixth. Léa had lost count.

  Most every sunrise in the desert is almost always spectacular. The cool breeze from the desert blew into her cell window and Léa breathed deeply. She never took her eyes off the sunrise. As the red glow began to turn yellow, heat from the sun began to warm Léa’s face. Nights in the desert are cold and the warmth was a welcome relief.

  As the sun moved higher in the sky, Léa turned and let the sun warm her back. She looked toward the prison cell’s door, hoping a face might appear. But no one ever showed up. After about half an hour standing at the window and staring at the door, Léa felt the rumble of hunger in her stomach.

  It had become a familiar feeling. She had been in that bare prison cell for five, maybe six days. Before hearing the door slam behind her, Léa estimated it had taken at least a day to travel from the icy lake in Montana’s Glacier National Park to where ever she was now.

  Five days in her prison cell, maybe six. A day, maybe two on the road. And at no time did anyone ever offer a bite of a cracker. It wasn’t difficult math to do. Léa hadn’t had any food for five, six or possibly seven days.

  She took a deep breath, then began shuffling back over to thin mattress on the floor. The heavy chain dragged as she slowly walked to the wall, turned and sat down. With her badly bruised legs in front of her, Léa lifted the T-shirt that covered her stomach. It was sinking deeper and deeper allowing her pelvic bones to emerge. Léa was now able to count at least three ribs just above where her near perfect six-pack of ab muscles once rippled.

  She quickly let the T-shirt fall and pulled her legs up against her chest. Wrapping her arms around her legs, Léa looked slightly to her left and saw her reflection in the side of the stainless steel prison toilet. The face that stared back at her was badly bruised. Deep black circles ringed her sagging eyes.

  Looking back up at the door to her cell, Léa decided today would be just like every other day. No one would appear at her door. No one would offer her even a morsel of food. As she turned her eyes toward the grey, stone wall, her nose twitched once. It was a smell she was getting used to.

  It was the smell of death.

  2 PROBLEM PATIENT

  The Castle - Exam Room, Medical Level

  “You’ve got to give yourself time to heal,” said Dr. Frank Landon.

  For the past week, Tara finished up her day alone in her dorm room working her shattered right leg muscles and joints. The two bullets fired into her back at that cold lake in Montana’s Glacier National Park left her with two shattered bones, torn leg muscles and in a lot of pain. But she was determined to heal as fast as she could. As soon as Tara found the location of Léa’s prison cell, she planned to be on the mission to rescue her best friend.

  The doctor sat across the examination room from Tara looking at a large computer screen. He punched a few buttons, looking at several views of Tara’s shattered leg. After a few minutes of tapping on screens, he pulled a small black notebook out of his white lab coat and jotted down a few notes. After a few moments of writing, he looked over at his patient.

  “Come on over here,” he said. “There’s something you need to see and understand.”

  He pointed to a stool next to the wall, but made no attempt to help his patient off the exam table or move the stool. The doctor knew his patient well enough to know that Tara would shake off any attempts to help her get around. Instead, he pulled the top off his paper cup full of coffee, took a sip and waited for Tara.

  “First, I want you to know that I get it,” he said as Tara sat next to him.

  “Get what?”

  “You’re young. You’re indestructible. And you’re living life at a hundred miles an hour as a field agent,” said Dr. Frank.

  Tara looked at the doctor, but didn’t say a word. The doctor looked away from his screen and directly into Tara’s eyes. The stare-down was intense. Tara’s eyes blazed, but the doctor’s eyes were just too friendly. After a few more moments, Tara realized she would lose this one. A few more moments and she looked at the screen. The doctor reached into the cabinet under the computer monitors and pulled out another paper cup full of coffee. It was jet black, just the way Tara liked it.

  “I also know that your best friend is in serious trouble,” began the doctor. “You want to heal fast so you can go rescue her. I’d feel the same way. But you were severely injured and your body needs quality healing time.”

  The doctor pointed to a computer screen with the pen he used to jot down notes in his little black book. The computer showed Tara’s leg in full, high definition detail. She could clearly see the two fractures. She could see what appeared to be muscles and blood veins. The doctor pointed to two areas around the bullet
holes that were shaded in red.

  “This is where the bullets entered your leg. They didn’t just shatter your bones. The bullets tore up muscles and nicked a few very important blood veins,” he said.

  Tara leaned closer to the monitor as the doctor zoomed into one of the still fresh wounds. She could see with alarming clarity the damaged muscle tissue. Using his pen, the doctor pointed to some red lines above and below the wound.

  “See those lines spreading out from the hole? Those are tears. It’s extra stress you’re putting on your muscles since you were shot. That’s new damage,” he said.

  Tara looked at the monitor closer. After a few moments, she sat up and looked down at her leg. The black carbon-fiber-splints remained tightly wrapped with velcro above and below her knee. Two tan bandages, sharply contrasting with Tara’s pale white skin, were just above and below the velcro wraps. She looked back at the monitor.

  “You’d be surprised how many of you field agents think you can heal this kind of damage with a good night’s sleep and a workout the next morning,” said the doctor. “But this was severe trauma and you need to stop trying to do your own physical therapy.”

  Tara looked down at her leg. In a flash, she was transported back to her computer lab, her first cup of coffee and the new movie file of her best friend who remained so far away from any attempt at a rescue. She remembered the look on Léa’s face as she turned to the camera near the end of the day’s movie file. The look of defeated desperation was burned into Tara’s memory and made her even more determined to rescue her best friend. The doctor’s kind voice snapped Tara back to the present.

  “I also know what’s going on with Léa,” he began.

  Hearing her best friend’s name forced a lump of emotional pain up from her heart, through her neck and into her eyes. For the first time, Tara understood why Janet Austin always seemed close to tears whenever someone mentioned her best friend Helena. With tears welling up in her own eyes, Tara looked at the doctor.