The phone rang in her office the moment Dawn stepped into it.
“Dawn Ingram.”
“I’m sorry to disturb you, Ms Ingram, but we have a bit of a situation here…”
“And you are?”
“Sorry, it’s Robert Jarvis from the Midnorth centre. One of our agents was transporting two detainees and…well…we’ve got a guy calling in who claims to be Lavrentios Alexopoulos and says he has the agent hostage and wants to speak to you. He’s calling back in one half hour.”
“Who is the agent?”
“Gordon Busey, our head of security.”
“Can you explain what exactly happened?” She stretched the phone cord to walk around the desk, sliding out the seat and dropping down.
“We’re not too sure. Our video record shows two men entering the building at three forty-five. They apparently had an appointment with Arthur Gunther, most likely on a pretence. Busey detained them upon entry, loaded them into a transport, and then we lost track of them. Until now. We checked the video, he does meet the description of Alexopoulos but…what would you like us to do with him?”
In twenty-six years, Alexopoulos had never attempted direct contact with them. Her first meeting with him, posing as an artist at a summer carnival, had led both to the picture of her surrounded by children, and to a forced encounter which resulted in her carrying Avery and Ashton. A thread of fear wound through her fingers as she looked at the paper below her pen. Doodling while talking, she had drawn the symbol ∞. Infinity. She scribbled the image out. She did not want to always be repeating her life.
In twenty-six years, Alexopoulos had never attempted direct contact with them. Her first meeting with him, posing as an artist at a summer carnival, had led both to the picture of her surrounded by children, and to a forced encounter which resulted in her carrying Avery and Ashton. A thread of fear wound through her fingers as she looked at the paper below her pen. Doodling while talking, she had drawn the symbol ∞. Infinity. She scribbled the image out. She did not want to always be repeating her life.
“What about the other man? Do you know anything about him?”
“Some kid, Nicholas Weaver. Kid’s parents died in a car accident a few weeks ago, kid only just emerged from a coma at Brighton General then ran away.”
“What did you say?”
“I...the boy with Alexopoulos was in a coma a few weeks ago. At least, that’s what I understand.”
“I want to speak with him. Them both. What are the details of the call back?”
“He’s calling in at four-thirty local time, and we can patch him through to you.”
She looked at her watch. Twenty-six minutes. “Do it. Come through the main switchboard. I’ll let them know my location if not in this office. Thank you, Robert.” Placing the handset on the cradle, Dawn rushed into the hallway and asked her assistant Mary to watch Hope. Her mind churned with the implications of the call and the people involved. If this boy had connected himself with Anvolussion and Alexopoulos only weeks after emerging from a coma, perhaps he was a regressee as well. None had been located since Dawn joined the team twenty-six years earlier. They assumed her arrival heralded the final stage of the master plan orchestrated by some unknown entity. The commonly held belief was an alien influence was responsible because of Dawn’s interaction with the plasmid in her cells. Although both her own genetic anomaly and the plasmids in the children had been dormant for more than two decades, the actions of that organism−changing Dawn’s physical appearance right down to her fingerprints, modifying the genetic makeup of the twins, and the visions she had experienced when it was active−prompted them to attribute the plasmid to extraterrestrial origins. Perhaps the boy, and Alexopoulos himself, could shed more light on the regressions. Or the disaster. Their timing strongly indicated they knew more than the average person about the mission of Three Eleven.
She hurried into Peter’s office, he quickly ending his phone conversation with a curt, “We’ll talk later.” His anxious expression prompted her to ask, “Do you already know?”
A flash of surprise crossed his face. “Know what?”
“About Alexopoulos?”
“Pardon?” Confusion furrowed his brow.
“Lavrentios Alexopoulos. Just called asking to speak with me. I’m waiting on his return call. Did you know about that?”
“No, why would I?”
“Just your expression. It’s nothing. This is a change of operations for him, contacting us directly. Perhaps to take responsibility for the HUV bombing.”
“I don’t think he meant to do as much damage. At least the space program wasn’t significantly delayed by the incident. His targets almost always involve in the space initiatives. This time, it was the HUVs with components for the new base. Last time, the shuttle computers. Before, the fuel cell components. He’s got to have a reason.”
“Perhaps I’ll ask him when he calls.”
He grimaced. “Might be a bit blunt.”
She smiled, shaking her head. “There’s a security man whom he apparently has hostage. Guy from the MidNorth centre. Gordon Busey. Know him?”
After a moment’s though, Peter replied with concern, “Actually, he’s the guy who was investigating the bomb scene. But…there was something he said, Dawn, which bothered me. He congratulated us. How many people actually know about Hope?”
Surprised, she sank into one of the office chairs. “Off the island, we’ve tried to keep it private. Obviously people who saw her at the centre knew about Hope when I stopped in, but…they wouldn’t know she was yours. How did it come up?”
“He was explaining his thoughts, that Alexopoulos happened to do more damage because a truck full of compressed gases was on the road beside him. Like he was trying to downplay the role of Anvolussion. Then he wished us well. Information he would not normally know. Do you think we have a mole?”
“We’ll see what the phone call unveils, but perhaps we should look into Busey as well.” She picked up the phone, dialling the number of the Midnorth Centre and ordering a thorough investigation into the movements and activities of Gordon Busey. And his relationship with Lavrentios Alexopoulos. The leader of Anvolussion eluded capture with an efficiency bordering on psychic. Here at the Island where she spent most of her time, secreted in her bottom-most desk drawer in a hidden compartment, was the sketch he had drawn of her before she knew her true purpose in this lifetime, one that illustrated his own knowledge of her role as Eve. And secreted within their children was the nature of the man who impeded the progress of the Three Eleven initiatives at every turn. Their children had left Three Eleven, and later Anvolussion, because of the cognitive dissonance created from the memcall of two parents who worked against each other at all costs. Neither boy had shared with their mother or her company the memories inherited from their father−a bone of contention with her.
Peter strode out of the office, but Dawn took a moment to collect her racing thoughts. When overwhelmed, she found extra calm could be found in the plasmid. It controlled her serotonin and dopamine levels, and she often pulled on its mechanism to steady her mind and heart in crisis situations. She closed her eyes, and willed the warmth of tranquility to flow through her body, forged by the plasmid in each cell.
* * *
Alex’s heart pounded as he watched the clock tick the minutes to the arranged time. As desperate as the kid was, making this call put them both at risk and had his nerves on sharp edges. Dawn Ingram was an unknown quantity; he was unsure if she would pick up on the clues he and Nicholas had agreed upon. And she was part of the organization which created such surges of frustration and blind rage in him that he twice had to resort to breathing exercises to get his mind back on track.
They had slipped into a small motel just off of the 401 highway, paying cash for their room after making sure telephone service was available. Lies slipped off his tongue with practiced ease. And he had no qualms about using the location of the agent as incentive for the leader of the company to speak directly with him. Hopefully the man would not work his way free before the call was made.
“It’s time to call her. Here, Alex.” Nicholas handed him the green phone and he dialled the number given to him by the representative he had spoken with earlier. Anxious, he worried that he had no way of knowing if he truly spoke to Dawn Ingram. But she had no reason to play games with him, and every reason to cooperate. If he really had done the things accused of him, she would not doubt the risk to her man.
A soft female voice answered, “Dawn Ingram.”
“This is Lavrentios Alexopoulos.”
“Yes. I understand you have one of my staff members. I presume he is safe? What do you want us to do, to secure his return?”
“He’s fine. As a show of good faith, I’ll tell you right now he is in the workshop at Nicholas Weaver’s house, where he took us hoping to make a career for himself.”
* * *
Dawn motioned to Troy, sitting nearby in the meeting room where the entire executive listened intently to the telephone conversation. He summoned someone from outside the room to pass on the whereabouts of Gordon Busey. Struggling to control her voice and maintain a civil tongue, she drew on plasmid-enhanced composure to answer the man. “Thank you, we’ll verify his safety. I have to admit, I’m a bit surprised we’re having this conversation, Mister Alexopoulos.” The plasmid could only do so much emotional suppression. She could feel antagonism seeping through the barrier.
A short bark of laughter sounded at the other end. “Would you believe me if I said I am as well?”
“Then please explain what it is that’s driving this newfound eloquence.”
“That I prefer to do in person. With you. Alone.”
“You’re asking for a lot.” The people around her were waving arms in negative motions but Dawn persisted with the conversation. “Why should I trust you?”
“You’ll find your man unhurt except his pride. I have some information that is pertinent to our survival in the coming months. And, I have someone here who needs to meet with you.”
“Nicholas Weaver. I know. Could I please speak to him?” She waited as he gave the phone over to the other man.
“Weaver here.”
“Hello, Nicholas. My sympathies on your recent loss.”
A pregnant pause on the end of the line. “Thank you.”
“You were injured in the accident.”
“In a coma.”
“Nicholas. What sort of experience did you bring out of your coma?”
“We want to meet to talk. Both Alex and I.”
“Alex?”
“Lavrentios Alexopoulos.”
“Oh. Yes. Look, Nicholas, I’m sure you can understand the fear about my safety if I were to meet with the two of you. I was hoping you could answer some questions first?”
“Sorry, only in person.”
“It has to be somewhere we agree to. What did you have in mind?”
“Just a minute. I’ll let Alex arrange that.”
The phone changed hands. “I’m limited in my travel options at the moment. You have to come to me.”
“And you are where…?”
“Ontario, Canada. Bainsville rest stop on the four oh one westbound.”
“I know the place.” She paused, eyes misting. “The Highway of Heroes.” Her uncle had made the journey down that stretch of road because of the war in Afghanistan.
“No, the Bainsville stop is further east than Trenton. Tomorrow at noon?”
“I’ll be there.”
“I expect only you. Any signs of Three Eleven, we’re gone.”
“It will be just me.”
“Good. Until tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow it is.” She depressed the disconnect button and a wave of arguments erupted from around her. Allowing the roar to wash over her, Dawn retreated with a deeply indrawn breath, slowly exhaling as the members of the executive finished presenting their cases for why she should not go alone. She centred and rebuilt the wall of serenity channelled through the plasmid. Being able to manipulate her biochemistry was frequently useful.
Rising from her seat, she waited until the arguments died down before speaking. “This needs to happen. There is no argument. I’ll meet with Alexopoulos but I’ll take a transponder with me. Someone can wait a kilometre or two away, with a chopper, listening in.” She waved away further efforts at reasoning with a motion of her hand. “We’ve been waiting for this moment for...” She scanned the table, meeting Mordecai Bloomberg’s gaze, the oldest of the regressees. “…decades, some more than forty years. It makes sense that the culmination of our efforts coincides with a new approach by Anvolussion. If we don’t move to understand Alexopoulos’ motivations now, if we let this opportunity pass, he and his followers might up their efforts to our detriment.” Averting her eyes, she continued, “You know as well as I do he has a vested interest in our actions but we’ve never understood why. Even the twins would not reveal what they saw in his mind, which speaks to the power he takes from his sense of purpose. I cannot refuse. It would be too dangerous, a risk to everything we’ve worked so hard to accomplish. And…he knew the Highway of Heroes.”
Peter shrugged. “What’s that?”
“The bodies of soldiers killed abroad were returned to the Trenton Canadian Forces Base then transported to the Coroner’s office in Toronto via that highway. It was officially designated the Highway of Heroes.”
“So?”
“So, without war in this lifetime, the Highway of Heroes doesn’t exist. He knew what I meant. Which means he lived the last lifetime with us.” With a final long look around the room, meeting each pair of eyes in turn, she closed her arguments. “He was supposed to join us.”
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