21. Chapter 21
Riley
Parker and I sat on the lumpy couch watching the same news segment loop for the third time. The reporter’s voice had that measured gravity saved for serious news stories.
On screen, the bunker photos and videos we’d taken on our cellphones scrolled by. The crates with their Apollo Genetics logos. The mineral-encrusted geyser shaft. The maps.
“Several senators are calling for a full congressional investigation into both Apollo Genetics and Apex Mentis, although both entities are denying any involvement…”
Gunnar grunted from the reclining chair. His massive frame didn’t fit the furniture, but he refused to stay at home, or even in his bed, to recuperate.
“They’re gonna try and bury it,” he muttered. “Just watch. They’ll spin this story fifty ways, and by this time next week, the news cycle will be onto the next government scandal.”
Freda leaned against the kitchen counter, her dark eyebrows knit as she stared at the screen. “As long as the shifter registration legislation doesn’t pass, I’ll call it a win.”
None of the news stories mentioned the registration law already in place for Cogs like me, or Malcolm’s death.
The implant droned on, a steady, cold pulse that kept my anger and grief at bay.
The chip had already processed that it was statistically probable at least one of us was going to die. I hated it for its cold efficiency.
Gunnar’s phone rang, and he glanced down at his screen and shrugged. “It’s Fergus.” He didn’t answer, and a few seconds later, my phone started ringing.
I raised an eyebrow and stared at my partner as I took the call, putting it on speaker. “Blackthorne, I need that damn status report,” Fergus demanded. “The higher-ups are breathing down my neck since the news broke. Your names haven’t come up yet, but it’s only a matter of time.”
“We’re still working our case, sir. We’ve identified a few more leads on Viggo’s disappearance. But nothing concrete yet.”
“What kind of leads?”
“We spoke with some of his colleagues and a few people in Afton.” I narrowed my eyes at Gunnar. “We’re making progress.”
“Be specific, Blackthorne.”
Gunnar leaned toward the phone. “We found a potential lead on his location, but it led us to Mary Mountain, and you know what happened there. We’ve been distracted trying to stay alive since then.”
Fergus was quiet for a beat. I could picture him at his desk, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Are you supposed to be out of the hospital?”
Gunnar rolled his eyes. “That place is where people go to get an infection or be woken up five times a night. I’ll recover better here with Riley.”
“Fine, but keep me updated, damn it. And for the love of god, please don’t start another national incident.” The line went dead.
Parker smirked. “Little late for that.”
Freda stalked over and picked up the remote to turn up the volume. “You need to watch this.” A new segment had started, and the banner at the bottom of the screen read LIVE: GENERAL WILSON ADDRESSES ALLEGATIONS.
Dread crawled through me as General Michael Wilson stood before the microphones, his uniform pressed and his medals gleaming under the lights. He had a weathered square jaw, and his voice carried a measured authority.
“Good afternoon. I’m here to address the false allegations that have been levied against the Apex Mentis armed forces recently.
” He looked directly at the cameras, righteous anger radiating from him.
“Let me be clear, neither I nor anyone within any of the armed forces has knowledge of, or involvement in, any facility operating beneath Yellowstone National Park. Or any other facility, for that matter.”
“He’s lying through his fuckin’ teeth,” Parker muttered.
On screen, Wilson continued. “Apex Mentis has nothing to hide, and we welcome any legitimate investigation.”
The reporter cut in. “General, the shipping manifests and equipment serial numbers have been authenticated by three independent auditors. Apollo Genetics equipment was found in that bunker.”
Wilson didn’t flinch. “Apollo Genetics is an enormous global company with hundreds of federal contracts. Equipment is shipped to facilities across the country every day. The presence of their hardware proves nothing about Apex’s involvement.”
“What about the military personnel guarding the entrance? They were carrying Apex identification and were identified as Apex soldiers.”
“If, in fact, military personnel were present, they were there under separate orders, unrelated to Apex Mentis.” His smile was thin, patient.
“I understand the public’s concern. But these allegations are being weaponized by interests that want to see Apex Mentis defunded and dismantled.
What they’re really attacking is this nation’s security infrastructure. ”
Freda made a sound low in her throat, something between a growl and a sigh. “He’s accusing the Pack of doing exactly what the Feds do. The bastard is good, I’ll give him that.”
Rage surged through me, hot and vicious, as the implant struggled to contain it.
I flashed back to Roswell, and the waterboarding, electroshock, and branding.
To the operating table where they’d cut me open to install their specialized device, probably created by someone at ApGen. All while I was conscious.
Wilson stood there in his pressed uniform, his voice steady and reasonable, and lied through his pearly white dental implants about all of it.
“They’re going to get away with it,” I whispered.
The implant tried to reassert control, but out of desperation I began mentally negotiating with it.
I needed its analytical edge, but I also wanted to keep my anger.
“He’s creating enough doubt. By the time any investigation gains traction, the story will have moved on. We need to stop him.”
On screen, Wilson took questions, deflecting the substantive ones with practiced ease. He was photogenic and looked patriotic. Like a man you could trust. The general public might love him, but he was a corrupt, bigoted liar.
Wilson had been there in that bunker. I could feel it in my bones, the same way I’d felt Marlowe’s presence in Roswell. Men like them left traces.
Ideas began to form in my mind. Freda and Parker would try to stop me. Gunnar was in no shape to hike back out there, and I wasn’t risking anyone else.
I sat on the couch watching General Wilson lie, and I let the cold, clinical part of me calculate the odds as a plan crystallized. It was dangerous, maybe stupid, and it might get me killed. It would irrevocably change my life, but at that moment I didn’t care.
The segment ended, and I clicked off the TV. The room went quiet except for the soft hum of the refrigerator and Parker’s boot tapping against the floor. He’d been doing that since Malcolm died, a restless, rhythmic tapping that he probably wasn’t aware of.
I stood and stretched, my thigh injury pulling a little. “I need to go back to Mary Mountain.”
Three heads turned to stare at me, and Mangus raised his head. Parker’s boot stopped tapping, and Freda set her drink down.
“To the bunker?” she clarified.
I nodded. “I need to check whether I can pick up Viggo’s energy signature. I never got the chance last time.”
Parker’s eyes narrowed. He knew me too well. “Why now? It’s been days. The place is probably crawling with Feds by now.”
“Beau and the county sheriff still have it under control.” I crossed my arms. “The last time we were there, we lost Malcolm and I didn’t have a chance to search for Viggo’s energy. I need to go back.”
Freda’s expression was flat. “It’s an active military crime scene. I don’t like it.”
“I’m still an ISB investigator, and Viggo is still missing. It’s my job to find him. Fergus is breathing down our neck for updates, and right now I have nothing to give him.”
Gunnar shifted in the recliner, and flinched in pain. Guilt pulled at me, and I avoided eye contact with him.
Parker scrubbed a hand over his face. His three-day growth had become a five-day beard. “Beau and the county sheriff have it locked down tight. How are we gonna get in?”
“Beau will let me back in if I tell him why. And you’re going to call your friend, Decker.”
Freda made a sound low in her throat. “This is a terrible idea.”
I met her gaze. “You don’t have to come. But I’m going.”
Parker and Freda exchanged a look, and Parker sighed, long and heavy.
“Fine. But we’re in and out, and we take the hellhounds.”
I shook my head regretfully. “They’re too conspicuous. I need to be quiet about this.”
Parker’s jaw worked. “You tell me if you sense anything is off, not after the fact. And we’re out of there, no questions asked.”
“Deal.”
He pulled out his phone. “I’ll call Decker and see how soon he can get here.”
Freda walked outside with her phone as Parker talked to Decker. Gunnar was still sprawled in the recliner, watching me.
“You’re lying about something,” he muttered.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
His lumpy, trollish face creased in worry. “You’ve got that look. The one you get when you’re about to do something stupid.”
I opened my mouth to deny it, but closed it again. There was a reason Gunnar was an investigator.
“It’s not about Viggo, is it?”
Parker was finishing his call with Decker when I glanced toward the kitchen. “It is… in a way.”
He shifted again and winced. “Whatever you’re planning, just don’t get yourself killed. Or worse. Like I told you before, I’m too damn old to break in another partner.”
Frustration and concern colored his energy. Crossing to the recliner, I carefully squeezed his uninjured massive shoulder. In all the time we’d been partners, we’d never touched each other. His skin was warm and rough, like tree bark.
“I’ll be careful.”
He shook his head and patted my arm with his huge hand. “No, you won’t.”
Parker walked back into the living room. “Decker can have a chopper here by zero eight hundred. It’s a Bell 407—small, fast, and quiet. He’s givin’ us a discount since we’re not taking the hellhounds.”