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He answered slowly and correctly.
"How old are you?"
Dan read brief confusion in the man's eyes. McKee struggled unsuccessfully to focus his gaze on Dan's face. "Forty-three, I turned forty-three in June. Gettin' so old..."
"What is it, Dan?" Francisco asked quietly.
Dan glanced from McKee to his surgeon. "Why would he lie about his age?"
Francisco's eyes widened slightly. "He wouldn't. Or shouldn't, anyway. That's not something important enough to cover up with any kind of conditioning. And I don't think he's resistant to what I gave him. Not many people would be." Francisco frowned slightly. "It's just a hunch, but based on his reactions earlier... I'd be almost willing to bet he's been under truth drugs before and knew he'd sing like a nightingale. I don't think I care for the implications, Dan. I take it he's not forty-three?"
"No." Dan tried another question. "What is your name?"
"Logan."
"Your full name, Logan. What's your full name?"
"McKee. Logan Pfeiffer. Captain. Serial number RA three four nine dash seven seven dash two eight one one."
Dan pursed his lips. He still thought of himself as military.
"Notice his response," Francisco commented. "He's cast us as the enemy, himself as the prisoner of war."
"Yes, I caught that." Dan wondered if his prisoner had ever been captured by enemy forces. It wasn't mentioned in his records, if he had been. Dan shrugged slightly and plugged into McKee's hallucination, with a twist. "Captain McKee, this is your commanding officer. You've been in the field on a mission. It's time for me to debrief you on that mission, Captain. Do you understand, Captain McKee?"
"Sir... yessir." It came out slurred. He tried to stiffen to attention. Citadel grad, Dan sighed inwardly. They made the best—or worst—officers in the service. According to his records, Logan McKee had been one of the former, not the latter. But he didn't look much like a Citadel man anymore. He didn't look like much of anything, any longer, except a rag-bag of wasted training and potential. And who are you to judge anyone, Dan Collins?
"At ease, Captain." Dan sighed.
McKee slumped again.
"Now, McKee, tell me about your mission."
"Mission... mission, sir?" McKee was visibly struggling with the concept.
Dan paused and wondered about that, then continued on the same tack. "You left Florida. You were posted in Florida. Do you remember Florida, Captain? Gainesville, Florida."
McKee's face glistened under a sheen of sweat. "Hospital..."
"That's right, Captain. You were in the hospital. Then you left. Tell me what happened when you left."
"Had me a Asher Special, over to Skeeters', eggs 'n cheese, peppers 'n onions over hashbrowns, grits on the side... Can't get a decent breakfast i
"Captain, tell me about what you did afterward, please." At this rate, they'd be here all year.
"Went over to the lake, watched the birds 'n the 'gators. Tried to finish my sweater. Stupid sweater... ugly." Dan waited patiently for him to continue. "Storm come up. Always storms in summer, 'bout that time. Damn near set your watch by it. I didn't leave, though. Nice, being in the rain again."
Abruptly McKee struggled against the manacles. "Tree! Ahhh—my leg—damn leg—can't get out of the damn way—"
Francisco jumped forward and caught his shoulder.
"Logan! Logan, it's all right. You're fine, Logan. There's no danger... . None at all... ." Francisco kept talking, almost whispering to the terrified man. McKee slowly relaxed.
Francisco took his pulse, then finally nodded toward Dan.
All right...
"Captain, tell me about the tree."
McKee drew a ragged breath. "Magnolia. Big. Real old. Get big like that, swamp trees. Real pretty, too. Used to fish on the Suwa
"The tree, Captain. Tell me what happened to the tree."
McKee stiffened again. "Lightning... God—it's everywhere—" He jerked once, hard. The chair bounced. He gave a keening groan, then slumped. McKee began to tremble violently. Francisco murmured softly again until the man relaxed in his grip.
When he finally straightened, Francisco said, "I think he actually was struck by lightning. He may well have experienced some memory loss."
"Is it safe to continue?"
Francisco thi
Dan nodded. "Captain," Dan said quietly, "can you hear me, Captain?"
"Sir... yessir."
"Where are you now, Captain?"
"Sir?" Complete confusion overtook McKee's face.
Dan tried a different approach. "After the tree fell, where did you go, Captain?"
McKee sighed. He appeared momentarily baffled. "Don't know, sir. Stars are fu
Francisco shook his head. "Revise that to significant memory loss. We seem to have skipped a substantial amount of time."
That word again.
Dan wondered if some other clue hidden in McKee's mind might end up linking him to—
Dan stood up. "Gentlemen, I'll conduct the rest of this interrogation alone. Frank"—Francisco had already begun to protest—"I need to ask him questions about classified material. You don't have the proper clearance to hear this. None of you do. I'll yell the second I think he's in trouble."
"Yes, sir." Francisco still didn't look happy, but he left. Kominsky and his MPs followed. Dan glared down the guard. When the man didn't offer to leave, Dan said tightly, "Either get out, or I'll have Kominsky toss you in the brig. I'll answer to your boss for it later."
The man narrowed his eyes slightly, then shrugged as if to say, "It's your funeral, buddy," and followed the others.
Dan locked the door behind them.
"Now, Captain McKee—" He barely recognized the voice as his own. Dan grasped McKee hard by the shoulders, until the man's eyelids fluttered open again. "I want to know how long you've worked for the mob. Which family do you represent? Or are you with the FBI? Or NSA?"
"Sir?" McKee tried to get his eyes focused.
"Who is your contact? What source of information led you to this base? What the hell do you know about Project Gallivant?"
Chapter Five
Bericus—oh, God—had come and gone.
Aelia huddled in near darkness, waiting for...
What?
The bill of sale to be finalized? The door to open again into horror? The sale was made. Gold for Xanthus, more gold and some sort of trade in goods for Caelerus. She'd heard them talking outside the room, afterward, through numb shock and pain. Bericus was already on his way home to some rustic country retreat, accompanied by Caelerus. Xanthus was supposed to deliver her there tomorrow.
Tomorrow...
She scrubbed tears fiercely, grateful they'd at least left her untied. She muttered words that would have shocked... whom?... into disbelief. Someone important to her, but Aelia couldn't place a name or even a face. All she had was a brief, intense feeling of kinship, followed by a profound sense of loss.
Who're my parents? Am I married? Just how old am I?
The bottomless pit inside her head hid its secrets well. All right... If she couldn't remember anything, she'd try to get at this logically. She knew the dominant language here. Languages, she felt certain, weren't learned overnight. Yet everything about this place seemed alien and the muttered, half-heard words Rufus had spoken in another language had set up a tremor of near recognition all through her.