The Hunted

77

Lauren was transported by Agent Haviland to Hangar 119 in a small motorized vehicle. After being admitted through the Entry Control Point by a young, efficient guard, they drove along the flight line as fast as the small cart could carry them. Twelve-foot-high fences topped off with barbed wire were visible in the diffused lighting, while elsewhere red ropes hung at waist height clearly delineating restricted areas. A vaporous after-rain haze hung lazily around the security lights that sat like centurions atop tall metal posts, giving the base a desolate, lonely feel.

As they rode, Lauren tried hard to contain her swirling storm of thoughts. Finally, realizing this might be her last chance to extract a morsel of information that could provide some insight into the events surrounding Michael’s demise, she decided she had nothing to lose.

Unfortunately, Haviland stubbornly professed ignorance. “I can’t tell you any more than Director Knox has, ma’am. Off the record, though, I enjoyed working with Harper. Your husband was very good at what he did. You have my condolences.”

Lauren acknowledged his comments but told him she was in no mood for eulogies. “Just take me to see my husband, Agent Haviland. That’s all I want.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And it’s doctor. Enough of this ma’am crap.” Lauren was still angry, but she was proud of herself, too. None of the fears or overwhelming urges that had crippled her for so many years had stopped her. She had defeated them. She had turned the corner.

Lauren looked up and saw that Haviland had driven them into what appeared to be a maintenance hangar of some sort, judging by all the tools and dissected engine parts lining the west wall. Above the assorted machined fittings and painted pieces was fire-fighting equipment: extinguishers, hoses, axes, alarm bells. Across the way, an eye washbasin sat beside an unmanned Maintenance Control Booth. In fact, no one was around, something that struck her as odd.

Haviland turned along the painted lines and stopped in a yellow zone, behind a parked military ambulance. He nodded at the back of the vehicle. “Someone will take you to your husband’s body. Good luck, Dr. Chambers.”

Lauren climbed out of the small electric cart and walked over to the rear of the ambulance. Haviland made a U-turn and drove off into the distance, heading for the exit. Lauren turned back to the vehicle, took a deep breath, and pulled the door open.