Murray Hill || A Superhuman Tale - 1

Chapter Sixty-Six

"Strategic division of labor," Tommy said. "The idiots at SSA and Valhalla might seem like, well ... idiots, but they aren't complete idiots. Divide up the labor and make sure the right hand doesn't know what the left is doing."

"But somebody has to know the big picture," Camille interjected. "Look at that fuckhead Kissinger. He was at both facilities. There have to be others like him."

"Someone has to know the big picture," Tommy concurred. "We just need to find that someone. Likely, anyone there who might've had information about The Farm has been relocated."

Tommy's trip to the facility adjacent to The Range had been a complete bust. Once past perimeter security, he'd moved around the place freely, and had spent several hours the previous night snooping about and chatting-up the cadre, hoping to elicit information. But he'd been unable to discern anyone who knew about The Farm. In fact, few with whom he'd spoken even had a clear idea what was done at The Range, a facility located mere miles away.

"My vote is for your new friend, Meeker," said Sam as he sat down at the table.

It was good to see Sam up and moving more easily, but Tommy could tell the Chicagoan faulted himself for not getting his mitts on Kissinger before fleeing The Range. The rough old cob always demanded too much of himself—he and the girls barely had escaped with their lives. It was the same way that Sam blamed himself for Amy. Her abduction had been like a millstone around his neck.

Still, things had begun to change. Tommy looked over to where Sam sat next to Camille. The two had bonded during the past week, and Sam's connection with the girls already was so thick you could scoop it with a spoon. Around Camille and the girls, he was every inch his old buoyant self, but without the swearing.

"I agree," replied Tommy, setting aside his sentimental thoughts. "Or Ms. Chaney."

"That opens a whole new door into the terrible," said Sam. "I know we can't turn to law enforcement for help, but do you think choking out a few politicians is going to get us anything other than our names and pictures on the 10 Most Wanted list?"

The small group had discussed from every conceivable angle the possibility of seeking a legal or political solution to the problem. The conclusion to which they had come, time and again, was that the conspiracy was too big. It obviously involved many hundreds of people in the military, government, and business, if not many thousands. It was very unlikely anyone in high elected office didn't know what was being done to the Gifted, even if those people didn't actively participate.

And as amused as Sam had been by Tommy's ultimatum to the director of the SSA, both he and Camille had pointed out that Tommy's action might well have been their act of crossing the Rubicon.

Sam was angry, but he was also practical.

"Let's get Amy back,' the old vet continued. "Then we can make political statements." It was Sam's final word on the subject. Looking into the living room, where the girls were eating fruity cereal and watching something age inappropriate on the television, Sam began to call out.

Celia appeared before he could speak, uttering her customary, "Yup."

Earlier questioning had revealed the girls knew nothing of Amy—the Farm was large, and apparently highly compartmentalized—nor did the children have any idea where The Farm was located, except to say it was, "In the middle of motherfucking nowhere."

Sam's new enquiries, asking whether the kids had recalled anything new, where met with a simple, "nope," from Celia, who glanced suspiciously at Tommy before edging closer to Sam.

The girls looked to Sam as if he were a father-figure and minded his every word. In just the last day, Camille and the children had connected, and the two young ones seemed to coo over the way the tall woman doted on them.