If I understood Brynner, maybe I could reach him. He’d done so much for me, I had to. With a few taps, I switched into his e-mail, which was exactly the disaster I expected.
Dozens from his field commander. Most of them complaining about missed briefing, broken rules, or destroyed equipment. Scores of thank-you letters, pictures of people I assume Brynner rescued, dozens, maybe hundreds of those.
Way too many from women asking why he wouldn’t return their calls.
I brought up the archive access and entered “Lara Carson.” This time, hundreds of records came back, confirming what I suspected: The BSI never forgot. They might have hidden, but would never delete, records.
Field reports. Lab tests. Operation evaluations. Based on what lay before me, Lara Carson might well have been one of the original field operative directors. The field reports in her name changed to lab reports at a time I assume coincided with Brynner’s birth.
She’d written some of the original tests on co-org physiology modifications. Forget the old man, Brynner’s mother was responsible for the more interesting aspects of BSI investigation. I didn’t understand her methods. She tested variants of pine and freshness rather than studying the sap or chemical components.
Each tap brought up another document. There was a payment to Heinrich Carson from hazard insurance for Lara Carson, presumed dead. The amount on-screen left me shocked, though no amount of money would make up for losing a mother.
Next, came a work order, the complete disassembly of a BSI laboratory. Radiometry, materials analysis reports on the drywall and steel.
The accident report left me with more questions than answers. She’d been working in the lab and reported missing. A three-day search of four city blocks in Seattle and the entire BSI headquarters turned up nothing. Body unrecovered. Missing, reported dead.
“Final Disposition, Laura Carson,” read the next report heading. I pulled it up. The blank screen held nothing. I reloaded the file several times to check, but it refused to open.
The final entry read “Interview H. Carson, and minor, session six.” The video, grainy black and white, showed one of our debriefing rooms. A middle-aged woman sat with her back to the camera, shuffling through papers. She turned and looked at the camera. “Bring them in.” Maggie Bismuth. Now director of the BSI.
A door opened off-camera, the hinges whining, and a deep voice with a heavy German accent spoke. Moments later, a hulking man sat down at the table. If it weren’t for the date on the video, I’d have sworn I was looking at Brynner. Beside him sat a young boy, maybe ten, with wild black locks and his father’s chin. It had to be less than a week after the accident, based on the date.
“Let’s begin again, shall we?” Maggie pushed a can of soda across the table toward young Brynner. “Tell me what you noticed first.”
Brynner didn’t look up. Didn’t touch the offered soda, until his father prompted him in German.
Then Brynner raised watering eyes to the camera. “The wall was gone.”
The director leaned back in her chair, her eyes narrowed. “Gone, as in destroyed? Like your accident in the armory last year?”
He looked up at his dad, his eyes wild. “No. It was just gone, all of it.”
She nodded. “And your mother?”
He whispered so softly they’d put subtitles on the video. “She went into the cave.”
“Vault Zero?” Heinrich Carson’s voice sounded like a bear growling.
Brynner shook his head. “The cave where the wall used to be. With the statues in it.” He looked back to his father. “Can we go?”
Heinrich put a hand on his son’s shoulder, as if he could will Brynner to continue.
Director Bismuth bent over and brought out a box. “And where did she get these?”
She opened the lid, revealing a set of daggers. I’d seen them before, in Brynner’s hands.
“You said they disintegrated,” said Heinrich Carson, swiping the blades in a motion that made it clear he’d spent years honing his skill with knives. “You lied to me.”
Maggie sat back in the chair. “Those are BSI artifacts recovered from an incident site. Neither your property nor your business. Brynner, where did your mother get them?”
“From the body on the table.” Tears ran down Brynner’s cheeks, and he shrank toward his father.
Maggie leaned forward. “You’ve done so well. I just need you to stay with me a little longer. When your mother went back into the cave, where did she go?”
Brynner shook his head, his eyes wide with fear, his lips pursed together.