Pulling The Dragon's Tail (36 page)

“Yeah, opposites like good and evil,” Nate
retorted. Then he stopped. It seemed he heard Campbell telling him
the way to handle a criminal mentality was to placate and stall. He
looked at Sheridan. “All I can say is you have a lot of convincing
to do.”

Sheridan jumped up and clapped his hands. “Let’s
eat and we’ll talk!”

Several soldiers, both transhuman and human,
surrounded him and escorted him down a hallway. He spied a doorway
in the dim light. It looked like … an elevator? Emergency lights,
barely adequate to see by, were everywhere. Down several flights of
stairs, they emerged into a great room. Large, round wooden columns
rose up into the murky darkness. At one end of the great room was a
fireplace. They sat on wooden chairs close to a dark and unlit
fireplace.

Nate sensed a heaviness everywhere about the
building. Several long and massive wooden beams had been placed
against the walls. What were they propping up? As he ate out of a
can of army rations, he pondered what this place was and where. A
ski lodge perhaps?

He was ravenous. And he ate that way. “Where’d
you get the MREs?”

“Traded for ‘em.”

“With what?”

The Eco terrrorist smiled slyly. He knew Nate
was digging. That surgically-enhanced smile, that broad, toothy
gentle grin, had made the former Damien Rylee the darling of the
ecological recovery movement.

But, Nate knew, that smile had veered sharply
away from ‘what can I do for you’ to ‘what is it that I can do
to
you?’ He prayed that Sheridan’s intent was not to
kill.

Even with the tense atmosphere and two guards
hovering over him, it still felt good to have a full stomach.
Nate’s dessert consisted, however, of an unappetizing thought:
Sheridan was as dangerous in real life as the media had made him
out to be.

“Think about what I said, Skip. You can do a lot
of good running my eco-friendly corporations.” Sheridan stood up
briskly. As soldiers whisked Nate away, Sheridan’s frightening
pronouncement echoed across the great room and slammed into his
eardrums. “Bring me the woman.”

Instead of a return to the cave, Nate was taken
to a room several floors up from the great room. He was locked into
what appeared to be a hotel room. For what felt like hours, he
stared into the darkness. Somehow he fell into a restless
sleep.

He awoke with a start, unsure of the time of day
or how long he had slept. He struggled mightily to forget the
horrible dream of being buried in a tomb.

Voices coming down the hallway, getting louder.
Am I dreaming?
Then they seemed to fade.
Am I going
mad?

Now they returned, growing steadily once more.
It was Sheridan.

Thatcher’s voice then became distinctive. “I
figured it out years ago.”

He heard a loud slap on a back. “Well, if your
story checks out, you are one lucky man, Mr. Thatcher Grady. So
how’s your mom?”

“Okay I guess. It has been, um, a few months.
You know, busy with work and all. My father-yearning has strained
our relationship for years, if you must know the truth. She never
wanted me to find, um, you.”

“Yeah, my son …son has a nice ring to it. Ya
know, women, with the possible exception of our mothers can be real
bitches,” complained Sheridan.

“I gotta agree with you on that.”

Their plodding footsteps seemed to stop right
outside his door. Nate placed his ear silently against the door.
Holding his breath, he scarcely believed what he was hearing,
hoping this was simply a nightmare. Stealthily he placed his hand
on the door knob, then slowly tried to turn the knob, but to no
avail.

“My genes, my chromosomes, my son. Let’s smoke a
cigar,” continued Sheridan. “I’ve got some I’ve been saving for the
right occasion. And this is it.” He again slapped Thatcher on the
back.

Thatcher added, “The power of fate, the power of
chance opportunities, the power of persistence. Let’s go smoke that
stogie.”

Sheridan wrapped his arm around Thatcher, and
they slowly began walking down the hallway.

“What were you doing with Skip?”

“Long story. The clues pointed to him as my dad,
until genetic testing proved otherwise.”

“What a laugh. Skip as your dad? I’m glad I
rescued you out of his clutches. What a stroke of luck, I get Skip
and my son in one fell swoop!”

“Yeah,” agreed Thatcher, “a stroke of luck
indeed.”

The voices faded away as Nate strained to hear.
He pounded on the door, venting his anger. Nate Kristopher wanted
to kill Sheridan North.

What are you trying to do, Thatcher? It’s a
game you’re sure to lose. If you try to be on his side, you’re
going to lose. You can’t outfox him either. The best hope is
escape. Did you just damn our chances?

Burying his head into his pillow, Nate tried to
pray. But this time his prayers seemed to fall on deaf ears.

Two more apparent days passed. More meetings
with Sheridan. Nate remained sequestered from both Thatcher and
Campbell. He had heard a woman scream one night. It had sent him
into a tortured frenzy. He pounded the walls. He dared anyone to
come and stop him. But nobody came. He was left alone with his
tortured imagination as to what Sheridan was doing to his
friend.

Meals were his only sense of keeping time. He
guessed the granola at his last meal was meant as breakfast. One
time he passed Thatcher on his way to a meal. The reporter avoided
all eye contact until the last instant, giving a furtive glance
toward Nate.
What was going on in his mind? What was he telling
Sheridan? I swear that Thatcher’s pleading for help
.

Slowly, he was being worn down. It was a game
that Sheridan knew well. His opponents, whether in boardroom
competition or psychological warfare, always fell by the wayside
when up against this man and his mission. And so it was with
Nate.

Sheridan was surely employing the same mental
torture to Thatcher, even though Thatcher was not yet aware of it.
With Campbell, Nate hoped, it was only mental torture. His thoughts
then turned to Es, hoping and praying she was okay. And Dugan; poor
Dugan.

Peering into the cavernous blackness , his eyes
searched back and forth for light. Nate sought desperately for the
light of inspiration; the light of hope.
Father Abraham, give me
strength.

Then, a moment later, he whispered in a
lamenting tone, “Campbell, I hope you’re okay.”

Almost instantly, he heard in his ear mike,
“Nate? Is that you?”

He was dumbfounded.
This is insanity
.
“Not funny! Auditory hallucinations are what I’m sure you were
looking for at the Ellis Clinic-auditory hallucinations.”

But the voice said insistently, “It’s not a
hallucination. If this isn’t Nate Kristopher talking to me, then
I’m the one hallucinating.”

“I
am
going mad.”

“I’ve been kidnapped by Sheridan North just like
you,” continued the voice, sounding more and more like Campbell.
“Thatcher did what I feared he would do. He introduced himself as
Sheridan’s son and was whisked away.”

“Stop!” said Nate. “This is impossible. How are
we communicating?”

Campbell hesitated. “I don’t know. For once in
my life I don’t care to know how, I just care that the how
exists.”

“Maybe it’s our brain chips?” he speculated.

“Does Dugan have anything to do with it?”
wondered Campbell.

“Impossible. He’s been dismembered.”

“Oh, that’s awful,” she said.

“There’s no way the brain wave frequencies could
have been coordinated.”

“Nate, forget about that for a minute. Assume
I’m not a delusion. Tell me where you’re at in this dungeon. I
think I’m about two floors up from the great room.”

“I think I’m close to you.” Reality hit him.
“How’s he treating you?” Nate’s voice broke.

“It’s … been … difficult,” she said haltingly,
her voice lowered an octave.

“Has Sheridan… hurt you?”

Campbell cleared her throat. “Yes,” she hissed
flatly.

Nate fought back tears, envisioning the abuse
that Sheridan or his men must have perpetrated on Campbell. “I’m so
sorry. I… wish I could make it all go away.”

For a moment all he heard from Campbell’s side
was silence. Then he swore he heard muffled sobs, a sniffing of her
nose, and a clearing or her throat.

Rage rose inside him. “I’m going to make
Sheridan pay for harming you,” he growled into her dataport.

Campbell pulled herself together. “Look! I want
you to protect me, not insanely come out of your pacifist shell; so
calm down. Somehow we’re communicating via our dataports. If I
believed in Father Abraham, I’d be on my knees thanking Him for
providing a small miracle.”

“Ya know you’re absolutely right.” He heard a
noise. “Shhh! Someone’s at the door. I feel like giving Sheridan a
piece of my mind.”

“Damn it—stay focused,” Campbell pleaded.
“Thatcher already gave into the emotions of his rescue fantasy.
Please don’t give in to yours.”

“Have you considered my offer?” asked Sheridan
North, once again seated at the dusty desk in his underground
hideout in the Rockies.

Nate sat on the same rickety wooden chair across
from Sheridan, and was immediately drawn to the sliver of daylight
above the desk. The light was a succor for him, having been
deprived of sunlight for untold days. Two menacing TH soldiers
stood at attention on either side of him, armed with machine
guns.

He refocused on the hirsute man in front of him.
“You mean to join Red Dawn, blow up buildings, and be the PR rep
for your multi-national operations that help fund the killing of
innocent civilians?” he spat back with a steely glare.

“Okay, I see you have been thinking about
it.”

“Yeah, I’ve been pondering how it would be to
live in luxury with your stolen treasures, while you nonchalantly
cause thousands to suffer,” said Nate, his voice rising in
intensity.

“So your answer is no!” Sheridan came from
around the massive desk, glowering above Nate. “You’ve signed your
death warrant. All empires throughout history have been cemented in
blood.”

“Empire?” shouted a defiant Nate. “You have no
empire, not one piece of real estate. You’re a terrorist cowering
in a dilapidated underground hideout!”

“Enough!” Sheridan spat back inches from Nate’s
face. “But they do spill blood, and yours is next. Take him and
Campbell to the basement. At least I won’t have to kill my former
friend myself.” He leaned back against the front of the desk.

“You’re more a coward than I thought!” Nate spat
back. “Cowards rape women. I know you raped Campbell, you son of a
bitch. If you ever had the courage to look one of your victims in
the eye, see their suffering and—”

Sheridan raised his eyebrows in shock that Nate
knew about Campbell, but then his face contorted into rage. Nate
rose from his chair and took a step toward Sheridan, but the two
soldiers restrained him.

“Besides, my friend,” countered Sheridan, “I
have my son to help me out in the organization.”

“That’s a lie! Thatcher Grady would never do
that!” Nate broke free and lunged at Sheridan, tackling him, and
sending them both to the floor. The soldiers again broke it up,
shoving Nate to the ground.

“You disappoint me, Skip. You even make a lousy
pacifist.”

He heard Campbell in his ear, “NO! Stop
fighting!”

Nate slowly got to his feet. “You want me to
resist, Sheridan. You can touch my body, but not my soul. I’m at
peace with that.”

“Sounds like you’re prepared to die.” Then he
punched Nate in the stomach.

“Take him away!” he ordered. “They’ll write
about me in the history books.”

“Yeah,” sputtered Nate, doubled over in pain,
“right next to Genghis Khan.”

“No, Skip. They’ll write about
me
as the
co-discoverer of the anti-aging formula that transforms
humanity.”

“What?” asked a dumbfounded Nate.

“I know all about the location of Dr. Hilliard’s
formula.”

“Impossible! You’re bluffing!”
Did he finally
break through Dugan’s firewalls? Or worse, torture it out of
Campbell?

“Oh, no. Possible. Done. Thanks for doing all
the groundwork. I told you we were a team. But you gave up too
soon. I’m just finishing the work you began. And after my current
project’s done, the formula will be in my hands. Imagine that.” He
smiled gleefully. Then he slammed the door on Nate’s face.

Nate trudged through the hall, defeated. Looking
over the railing, he saw the great room several floors below.
Mighty wooden columns rose up out of the dim light. He also noticed
the hotel rooms that ringed each floor as well as the high ceiling
of the great room stretching overhead.

One of the two soldiers went to get Campbell,
then rudely shoved her into Nate. “Where are you taking us?” she
inquired.

The soldier laughed. “Does it matter? You’ll
both soon have no more worries.”

Campbell leaned her head against Nate’s
shoulder. He put his arm around her. “You doing okay?” he
whispered.

They walked for several paces, side by side.
“I’m with my friend, and I’ll stay with him to the end.”

A voice suddenly spoke into both of their ear
mikes. “Hello, Nate. Hello, Campbell.”

Taken aback, Nate said aloud, “Dugan, is that
you?”

“What’d ya say, mister?” barked the surprised
guard.

Looking over at Campbell, he saw her quietly
mouth the words, “I heard him too.”

“Oh, nothing.” Under his breath, Nate whispered
in coded language, “
mest wik yilkis.
”

“Good. Please listen carefully,” responded the
CCR. “Es has only one chance of success.”

Again, they glanced at one another.
Es?