Castle in the Desert Page 3

  “Alan Dennis is copying all the reports on Léa to me. I know you all are trying to find her and I also know that the search is not going well,” said the doctor.

  A single, audible sob erupted from Tara as several tears fell on her pale cheeks. The doctor reached for a tissue. As Tara raised her hand to take it from the doctor, he gently wiped the tears from her eyes and cheeks. He smiled and handed her a dry tissue.

  “I also understand the emotional bond you two have and how desperate you must be right about now,” said the doctor.

  “I’m really scared,” Tara quietly confessed.

  “You’re scared and you’re angry about what happened. But you can’t keep taking it out on your body with this home brew therapy. It’s only going to prolong your recovery. And it may even do permanent damage,” said the doctor.

  Tara looked back at the computer monitor, then down at her leg. Her white, pale skin contrasted sharply with her black running shorts and the tan and brown bandages. She gently ran her finger over the largest bandage, then up and down the black carbon-fiber-splints. She nodded once, then looked up at the doctor.

  “Okay. I get it,” she said quietly.

  The doctor turned to his computer and began typing. Tara looked around the small examination room. Since her first visit, she noticed it was lined with portraits of doctors. But there was something familiar about the pictures. She had seen all of those doctors before. A few were wearing military uniforms. The rest were wearing business suits or lab coats. Except for one.

  The face in the picture stared down at Tara. He had kind eyes and a kind smile. He was holding a shiny medical instrument that Tara didn’t recognize. While all the other doctors were wearing uniforms, lab coats and suits, this doctor was wearing an electric blue shirt with a gold and silver insignia stitched into the shiny fabric. She’d seen that insignia before.

  The doctor kept typing on his computer as Tara looked over at the doctor’s photos again. As he typed, the doctor noticed Tara checking out the collection of photos. He paused his typing to take a sip of his coffee. After looking at Tara, then briefly up at the photos, he began typing again.

  “I’m a child of the sixties, so I’m part of the first T.V. generation,” began the doctor. “None of those guys are real doctors, but they played some genuinely awesome people which inspired me to become a doctor.”

  Once the doctor said the word TV, it clicked in Tara's head. The insignia stitched to the shiny blue shirt was the Starfleet logo from Star Trek. The doctor was smiling as he typed. After a few moments, he punched one more button on the keyboard and turned to Tara.

  “So, back to the real world,” began the doctor. “From here on out, you have to promise me you won’t put any more stress on that leg until I tell you it’s okay. You can take the splint off for a shower. You can work out every other part of your body but that leg. And after your workout, I want you to spend some time every day in the hot tub. If the bullet holes start opening up, you come see me.”

  The doctor pointed to the screen. He began reading the notes he was entering into Tara’s official medical records. After what had just been said, she was genuinely surprised at what he was saying. Tara was recovering at a remarkable rate and the doctor felt she would be ready to begin physical therapy sooner than expected. Her overall prognosis for a complete recovery was excellent. Not a word about the damaged muscles was mentioned.

  The doctor turned to Tara and smiled.

  “We’ve also got to keep up your image as total bad-ass field agent,” said the doctor. “So the official report that everyone reads will remain glowing as long as you give yourself time to heal.”

  The doctor tapped his small, black notebook.

  “Now, this is my little book of black-mail,” smiled the doctor. “It’s where I keep everyone’s private medical secrets. You be a good super secret agent, and this book stays closed. If you don't take care of yourself, I’ll send it to the BBC.”

  A flash of fear washed over Tara’s face. But it only lasted a moment. The doctor was smiling as he tapped on his little black book. Looking down at the book, then up at the pictures of the people who played doctors on TV, Tara understood what was going on. Looking up, she gave the doctor a smile. It wasn’t her half face, smirky smile. It was what Léa and Janet called her devastatingly beautiful, genuine smile.

  “I get it. Thank you doctor,” she said.

  “Outstanding. Now get outta here and be good,” he smiled.

  Tara reached for one of the crutches as she carefully stood up. With her free hand, she picked up her coffee and in two gulps drained the cup. Still smiling at the doctor, she turned to her left and sent the empty cup sailing through the air, landing it neatly into the trash can.

  “Two points,” said the doctor.

  As Tara reached the door to the exam room, she looked over her shoulder. This time, her half face, smirky smile appeared on one side of her face.

  “Three,” she said.

  After Tara left the room, the doctor picked up his little black notebook. Opening it, he flipped through the pages until he came to the one he had just written on. Looking at his entry, he smiled and placed the notebook back in his lab coat pocket. Like so many before her, Tara’s entry was just like a lot of the others.

  Tara Wells: Thinks she’s indestructible. Will probably save the world.

  The doctor smiled up at the pictures of the TV doctors hanging on the wall. The last one was of a doctor in a green military uniform. Like the doctor from the future, this doctor had kind eyes. He was standing in front of a green tent holding a martini glass.

  Picking up his paper cup of coffee, the doctor drained it in two gulps. Just like Tara’s cup, the doctor’s cup landed neatly in the trash can.

  “Nothing but net,” said the doctor to the empty room.

  He got up and went to one of the white cupboards that lined the wall of the small examination room. Pulling out a set of keys, he unlocked one cabinet door revealing a small bar with a large assortment of mini-bottles. A small refrigerator under the counter supplied the ice as the doctor poured a small drink.

  Being the doctor of a secret intelligence agency meant you sometimes had to bend a few rules. It also meant the best cure sometimes didn’t require drugs or scalpels. Sometimes, the best medicine was a little black notebook. The Castle’s doctor looked up at the pictures on the wall.

  “Hawkeye. Bones,” said the doctor as he toasted the pictures of the TV doctors that lined the wall.

  Finishing his drink, Dr. Frank sat back at the computer and opened the file for his next patient.

  3 IT JUST NEVER STOPS

  The Castle - Alan Dennis’ Office

  “Enough,” said Alan Dennis as he threw his pen down on the desk and leaned back in his leather chair.

  The 93 year old head of The Castle looked over his neat desk, then up at the portrait of Sir Richard Phillips. The kind face smiled down at Alan.

  Everything on his desk was stacked in neat piles. It was a far cry from the desk he had back at his previous job. His desk as a newspaper reporter was a mass of chaos. Along with copies of the paper dating back several years and notes from long forgotten stories, Alan was sure there were probably a few fifths of scotch still hidden in that old desk.

  His best friend and second in command of The Castle, Janet Austin would often remind Alan that a clean desk was the sign of a sick mind. He would then remind her of the endless piles of paperwork that came across his desk daily. If he didn’t keep it in some kind of order, she would one day open the door to his office and have to call out search and rescue.

  Suddenly, one of the book shelves that lined Alan’s office silently slid sideways.

  “Speak of the devil,” said Alan quietly to himself.

  Janet Austin, The Castle’s second in command and Alan’s best friend came in unannounced. She sat down in the chair opposite Alan and put her feet up on the corner of his desk.

  Aside from the head of The Castle’s
medical department and David McNally, Janet was the only other person permitted to enter Alan’s office without permission and unannounced. Once the door closed behind her, Janet was the only person at The Castle who could veto one of Alan’s decisions.

  As the head of an international intelligence agency with no government oversight, Alan wanted at least one person who could tell him to sit down and shut up. That job originally belonged to David McNally. But as old age and injuries began taking its toll, the role of Alan’s conscience slowly shifted to Janet. It was only natural since Alan knew from the moment he met her that Janet would one day take over as head of The Castle.

  Once her feet were up on Alan’s desk, Janet leaned back in her chair. With her face toward the ceiling, she closed her eyes, shook her long grey-black hair over the back of the chair and took several deep breaths before looking directly at Alan.

  “Times like these, I wish I smoked,” sighed Janet.

  Alan laughed out loud as Janet opened her eyes at looked over at Sir Richard’s photo.

  “Why is that?” asked the old man.

  “It’s just,” began Janet.

  She couldn’t find the words to finish the sentence. Janet looked back at the ceiling and shook her head again.

  “In times like these, good health just seems to be in very bad taste,” she finally said.

  Alan reached into his desk and pulled out a battered cigarette case and lighter. They dated back to Alan’s days as a newspaper reporter. He tossed them over to Janet.

  “Be my guest,” smiled Alan.

  Janet picked up the case and opened it. There were nine cigarettes and they looked very old. She flicked the lighter. It took five flicks to ignite the flame. Alan looked up at the picture of Sir Richard, remembering the day he quit smoking.

  “You haven’t opened that case since the day Sir Richard took it away from you,” said Janet.

  “Opened it lots of times,” said Alan. “Never took one.”

  Janet smiled as she closed the case and gently placed it back on Alan’s desk near the lighter. She shuffled her feet on the corner of Alan’s desk as she slouched deeper into the chair. With her head resting on the chair and her long hair hanging down the back, she took another deep breath. Looking over her knees, she smiled at Alan.

  “Enough about me. How are you holding up?” she asked.

  Alan leaned back in his leather chair and propped his own feet up on the desk too. He closed his eyes.

  “I think we’re fine,” began Alan.

  He ran through the repairs to The Castle’s power, heating and computer systems. Then he recited the progress on re-establishing contact with the rest of the world after Perry Drilling’s cyber attack. It had been just over a week since the attack. All systems were up and running within minutes of the attack. But Alan let the world think they were helpless for most of that week. He finished up with a quick rundown of the status of The Castle’s safe houses scattered around the globe.

  “Nice,” said Janet. “But how are you holding up?”

  “If I’d known there would be this much paperwork, I would have stayed in the newspaper business,” sighed Alan.

  Janet got up and went to one of the book cases. Reaching around to one side, she gently pressed a hidden button. The latch she released allowed several books on one shelf to disappear. Several bottles, a mini fridge and sink emerged from the darkness. Janet poured two very small glasses of Sherry. She handed one glass to Alan before returning to her chair on the other side of the desk.

  “Cheers,” she said as her feet returned to their spot on the corner of Alan’s desk.

  “Anything new on the search for Léa?” he asked tiredly.

  “Afraid not,” said Janet.

  After a few moments of silence, she nodded toward the door to Alan’s office.

  “And we have another problem,” began Janet. “It’s getting really depressed out there. Only five people showed up for movie night. After the show, Tommy, the McNallys and your’s truly were the only ones at Deep in the Cliffs.”

  “It’s because everyone is too close to this one. Everyone loves Léa and they are genuinely afraid,” said Alan.

  “No one seems to be coming up with any flashes of brilliance either,” said Janet.

  “This is a hard one,” sighed Alan. “They could have taken her any where in the world.”

  “Someone needs to pull a rabbit out of a hat,” said Janet.

  “We could sure use a lucky break,” agreed Alan.

  Janet nodded as a depressing silence took over the room. Alan took a small sip of his sherry. After looking around his office, Alan’s eyes returned to the neatly piled stacks of paper on his desk. Taking another sip of his drink, he pushed his feet off the edge of the desk and scooted his chair closer. Looking over his glasses at Janet, he smiled sadly.

  “And there’s something new,” he said.

  Janet took a sip of her sherry and looked from Alan, to the paper on his desk, then to the tops of her knees. She had just finished up her evening workout and was still wearing her black workout clothes and sneakers. A long scar ran along the side of one knee. Several round scars appeared just at the edge of her tight, black triathlon shorts. Despite the danger and the injuries, it was days like today that made Janet wish she were still out in the field.

  “What’s up?” she asked as she pushed her sneakers off the side of the desk.

  Janet sat up, set the last few drops of sherry by the lamp and gently placed her elbows on the desk. Cupping her chin in her hands, she was clearly giving whatever was new her undivided attention. Alan pointed to two stacks of paper in the center of his desk.

  “In a nutshell, Patty and David’s old friends appear to be back,” said Alan.

  Pattie and David McNally were the first two agents recruited into The Castle. They had started their career as children orphaned by the London Blitz. Learning adult survival skills at such an early age gave them the unique ability to move around and collect intelligence in Berlin during the last years of World War II.

  Janet sat straight up. Her chin sunk toward her neck as her head turned slightly to one side. One of Janet’s jet black eyebrows raised slightly.

  “Nazis? Really?” she said.

  “Some of them are going by that name. All together, we’re calling them the alt-right,” said Alan.

  “Well. There have been Neo-Nazis around for decades,” said Janet.

  “True. But lately, they’re a lot better organized and they seem to have a lot more money, too,” said Alan.

  He pointed to the two stacks of paper on his desk. Picking up his pen, he rested the tip on the stack of paper to his left.

  “This is the stack of requests from governments wanting us do some off-the-books snooping around,” said Alan.

  He then flipped the pen to the other stack of paper.

  “This is the stack of demands from governments who want us to know there’s nothing to this resurgence of Neo-Nazis and even if there were, any Castle agent found in their country would be immediately shot as a spy,” said Alan.

  Looking from one stack of paper to the other, Janet saw they were about the same size. She leaned back in her chair.

  “Really? The fucking Nazis?” she thought to herself.

  What made this latest crisis seem even less important was the genuine crisis facing The Castle. A valued and popular field agent was being held prisoner. Making the crisis even more severe was the daily arrival of the movie file showing the agent’s dwindling mental and physical health.

  “Any chance this is just a distraction? Something to further tax us while we recover from the attack and try to find Léa?” asked Janet.

  “It’s been building for about a year now,” said Alan.

  Janet nodded to the first stack of paper.

  “What do they want us to do?” she asked.

  “Typical spook stuff. Try to infiltrate where ever we can and build dossiers on their top leaders,” said Alan.

  “No
body is going to want a piece of this until we get Léa back,” said Janet.

  “I know,” said Alan. “So let’s put it on a few people’s radar, but make sure they know it can stay on the back burner until we find Léa.”

  Janet smiled and nodded. Alan smiled back, then nodded to his office door.

  “So what’s all this about movie night and an empty pub?” he asked.

  “People are just really upset about Léa,” said Janet.

  “Tell your old man to come up with a fun move for Thursday. I’ll get David to cook up something special in the pub,” said Alan.

  “I can do that,” said Janet.

  As Janet stood, turned and started walking to the hidden door to her office, Alan’s computer beeped. Looking at the monitor, he read the message flagged urgent. After reading it a few times, he looked up at Janet.

  “Well, this is interesting,” he said.

  “What’s that?” asked Janet.

  “It appears that Dick Boxx has disappeared.”

  “Are they sure he’s not just passed out in some pub?”

  Alan looked back at his computer screen.

  “He’s been gone for two days. Last time anyone saw him, he was on a train heading to London. We had an agent in London to meet his train and he never got off,” said Alan.

  Standing at the hidden door to her office, Janet tossed her long hair over one shoulder.

  “I don't think either one of us is surprised,” she said.

  “I know,” said Alan. “I just wish we had been wrong about him.”

  Janet disappeared through the hidden door. A few moments later, the bookcase hiding the corridor to Janet’s office silently slid into place.

  4 BREAKTHROUGH

  The Castle - Tara’s Computer Lab

  ~ ~ ~

  PLAYLIST:

  “Digital World” - Massive Addictive - Amaranthe

  ~ ~ ~

  Toby Barnes slowly walked down the hallway toward an office known around The Castle as The Furnace. It was Tara Wells’ computer lab. Normally, he didn’t mind visiting The Furnace. After all, Tara Wells was considered the most brilliant computer expert at The Castle. After her first year, she also had the reputation of being one of the most kick-ass agents in the field. It was great just being in the room with her.