Page 103 of Talk to Me
I focused on the task at hand. Make her coffee, and keep things even so she could heal. That meant not fighting in front of her. These two could always beat the shit out of each other later…
I’d just finished her coffee when Patch said, “Holy shit…I found them.”
“Found—”
I didn’t get to finish because Remington was at her side, one hand on her chair as he stared at the computer.
“Section Five,” he said and I swore the floor fell out from under me.
“Section Five is a myth,” I argued. “A boogeyman to scare terrorists.” That was the rumor. They’d gotten very powerful in the years after 9-11. Homeland Security was supposed to facilitate communication between all the alphabet agencies, but Section Five had been composed of those who just didn’t play nicely with others.
A government-sanctioned operation that was utterly unscrupulous and buried so deeply, no one held them accountable.
“They aren’t a myth,” McQuade said as he rejoined us, still tucking his clean shirt into his fresh jeans. “They are the boogeymen, but they are no myth.”
“Let me guess,” I said. “You worked for them.”
“No,” he answered. “My father was one of the people who pushed for it to form in the first place.”
Fuck.
Chapter
Thirty-Three
PATCH
The discovery of Section Five was like manifesting all of the worst possible outcomes into one horror story. The department I’d worked for was Section Five. A division that seemed to exist only in the tabloids and debunked online rumors and legends. Every once in a while, a meme got started, sharing some bullshit story that was quickly discredited.
Or even if it wasn’t discredited fully, it was dismissed by the general populace leaving only the most paranoid of conspiracy theorists. Hell, at one point, I’d even thought it would make fun material for a book or Netflix movie. Conspiracies were all the rage, but this…
If the department had actually been a part of Section Five, it made so many of the things I’d done while working for them worse. Government funding coupled with no oversight for an operation that shouldn’t exist made this worse.
And McQuade’s father was involved with it? I wasn’t even sure what to do with that. After the initial shock wore off, I spent the next few days truly digging down on all of it. I need confirmation.
Just turning up Section Five in a deep dive could have been a distraction. Something to stir up the conspiracy nuts so they would cloud the issue for the next several weeks to months.
Internet chatter was a great way to farm information. It was an even better way to spread disinformation. Recent studies indicated that more than fifty percent of the populace got their news from social media. More than half of all social media users out there sharing the latest breaking news or posts about politics did so without verifying the facts.
They said they did. Everyone claimed to be an informed source who had done their research. I wasn’t really sure if the lies they were telling were to themselves or to the people that followed them. The numbers of people who believed broadcast news, no matter what actual bias it might have, was scarier still.
Just because the name Section Five came up, and my heart fell all the way to my toes, didn’t make the information accurate or actionable. The fact that all three men knew exactly who I was talking about didn’t make me feel better. Far from it.
We need confirmation. Confirmation had to come from at least two unrelated sources without awareness of what I was looking for. Otherwise—what? I just triggered a trap they set into play for all the conspiracy theorists out there.
Worse, I sent us chasing after the wrong people. The biggest question was how did we verify a super secret organization? It started with a trip to the dark web, and arranging a meeting in Detroit.
Locke was against me going at all, particularly because it involved leaving the house. McQuade, surprisingly, seemed to be on my side and stressed that I would never be alone.
Remington was Switzerland.
“The person you’re meeting has no idea what you look like, right?” Locke confirmed. We’d formed a circle around the island in the kitchen where I’d briefed them. It was—a strange way to do a briefing. Usually I used files and had a headset on.
“She already told us they don’t have physical confirmation. That’s why they are using objects to identify themselves.” McQuade leaned against the other counter, his arms folded and his expression neutral. Despite saying he backed my plan, he didn’t give off the strongest vibe of support.
Locke had his hands flat against the counter, his expression far more grim. “Then it doesn’t have to be you,” he said, pinning me with a look. “I can play your part. They don’t know you at all. You could be male, female, non-binary, it doesn’t matter?—”
Technically correct, however, I shook my head. “It has to be me, because the conversation is not something I can just talk you through. If they ask specific questions that I need to answer then I have to be the one there—and before you keep arguing…”