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“No, there’s not,” the professor replied. “But Jason is human. I assure you, the scientists at DARPA are wrong in their assessment of his physical origins.”

“How can you know that?” Stegmeyer demanded.

“Because science is founded on the principle that you don’t jump to conclusions. Honestly, what’s more likely? That Jason’s an alien? Or that Jason has exceptional physical characteristics for some entirely valid reason we’ve yet to discover?”

“And that’s enough for you?” Stegmeyer asked. Jason noticed she didn’t answer Lachlan’s question.

“It is,” Lachlan replied. Jason’s admiration for the professor grew in that instant. Lachlan wasn’t going to abandon him. Jason might only just now be grasping at the threads of all that was happening, but he was confident he was in the right place, with the right people, with Lachlan and Lily by his side.

Chapter 11: Midnight

Lee peered through the bars of his sunken cage.

After hearing that these narrow, low confines were used to house animals during winter, he couldn’t think of his confinement as a jail. They’d imprisoned him in a stock holding pen, a stall.

The moon fought to break through the low clouds. The bars covering the window of his cage were level with the ground, allowing him to see out across the courtyard. In the darkness, he could make out the main gate roughly two hundred yards away. A dim light hung from a high pole, illuminating the barrier by the guardhouse. There must have been fences stretching to either side, but in the dark of night he couldn’t see them.

Somewhere to his right, a yellow light bulb flickered slowly above a door, stuttering as it struggled to produce light from the irregular surges of electricity. Every now and then, the clouds would part and allow the full moon to shine through, highlighting the feeble effort of the artificial lights.

Lee cradled his wounded hand, trying not to feel sorry for himself. With spasms of pain shooting up his arm from time to time, he struggled not to let the weight of hopelessness bear down upon him.

“I’m going to make it,” he muttered to himself, reminding himself of the note, trying to convince himself this wasn’t the end.

Lee felt useless. It was an irrational feeling, he knew that, but knowing didn’t help. An impending sense of dread swept over him.

“Don’t feel sorry for yourself,” he whispered, trying to buoy his spirits. “Don’t go there, you dumb son of a bitch! You’re alive, that’s all that matters. Now, get yourself the hell out of here!”

Lee steeled himself, trying to remain grounded in the present.

A series of huts lined three sides of the yard outside his low cage, with the road to the main gate passing where the fourth side of the square should have been. What he’d thought of as a courtyard was little more than a muddy parade ground surrounded by a gravel road that ran past each of the old wooden buildings. A truck was parked to one side, but in the dark he couldn’t make out what kind of truck it was, only that it looked old, like something from the Korean War in the 1950s. Surely, they couldn’t have nursed their aging technology that long, he thought. Perhaps it was just that they had no need for new models and considered the old style trucks perfectly adequate.

There was a car on the far side of the truck, but all Lee could make out was the hood and the front wheel guard. Small flags were proudly displayed on either side of the curved hood. He hadn’t noticed the car before, but then he hadn’t noticed much of anything before now. Only now was his mind starting to think tactically, trying to glean any information that might help with his bid for freedom.

Who was helping him?

Had one of the Navy SEALs somehow escaped?

Or perhaps the SEALs had evaded capture in the first place?

Why would they come for him?

How did they know where he’d been taken?

Why would they risk exposing themselves by sneaking into a military base to free him?

He didn’t know the answers to these questions, but he was glad they had.

Lee could see the hut where he had been tortured directly opposite his sunken cage, on the far side of the yard. It didn’t look that different from any of the other old wooden huts, with their warped weatherboards and peeling paint. Lee could pick out that building only by remembering what direction he’d been dragged in as he staggered across the gravel road.

Even back then, through the haze of pain, he’d fought to retain at least a vague notion of distance and direction. His mind was all he had left. Physically, they had taken away his freedom. He had to fight to ensure they didn’t win the mental battle.

His hand still throbbed but the tablets had taken the edge off the pain.

Trying to think objectively about where he was distracted him from the physical torment of his injuries. Focusing his mind brought relief, restoring his confidence.