“How do you know that name?”
“I was a student once, too,” Sloan notes.
The surprise is evident in his voice, “You were a student of Dr. Rosenstein’s?”
She nods.
Sean leans forward eagerly, “Do you know where he is?”
She smiles at his question, which only frustrates Sean.
“For Christ’s sake, tell me where he is, he knows things that-”
“I know things, Mr. O’Connell,” Sloan interrupts, with a touch of indignation in her voice. “And I’m trying to help you understand,” she adds.
Sean takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself down and keep his mind focused. It seems to be veering off in ten different directions, with a whole list of questions in each direction.
“Dr. Rosenstein sent me to find you,” she states.
She pauses a moment, then continues, “He diverted me from my previous mission and when the people who hired me find out, assuming they haven’t already, well . . .”
Sloan lets the words hang in the air, an unspoken premonition of dread judging by the tone of her voice, like a thundercloud threatening to douse the unfortunate people below it. Assuming she is not being melodramatic for its own sake, and Sean doubts that she is, he can presume Sloan has risked her life to find and help him, an act he will be eternally grateful for, if that is indeed the case. Despite Sloan having saved his life, however, Sean does not completely trust her, and before he would be willing to throw himself in front of a moving bus to repay her, he needs to gather more information.
“And what was your previous mission?” Sean asks, not expecting a straight answer.
Sloan surprises him, however, and responds matter-of-factly, “To kill your friend . . Jon Kaley.”
“What?” Sean exclaims. “But why?”
“Because he knows things,” Sloan cryptically replies.
“Like what things?” Sean presses.
“Like things that occurred on a beach in Michigan last night,” she states.
“Jon knows what happened there last night?”
“Pieces of it,” Sloan indicates.
“He’s involved in this?”
“Not intentionally,” Sloan answers.
“And what do you know?” Sean prods.
Once again, Sloan flashes that sly smile, but she does not say a word.
Quietly, Sean asks, “Do you know where my family is?”
Sloan’s smile instantly disappears and is replaced by a look of anxiety. She bites her lower lip and says softly, “Sometimes . . things don’t always go as planned, Professor.”
She looks like she is going to continue, to explain further, but she remains silent, a tense look blanketing her face. When she said this, Sean thought he detected a note of sadness in her voice, as if she were speaking of her own family. Questions begin to buzz inside his head, too many for him to focus on asking only one. Sloan possesses some knowledge of his family, and Sean uses all of his willpower to hold back from shaking her to death and demanding that she tell him everything she knows.
“Can you at least tell me,” Sean pleads, “are they alive?”
“Professor-”
“ARE THEY ALIVE?” Sean demands.
He feels like he is going to explode, emotionally exhausted from the thoughts racing through his head and from trying to find the elusive answers to the questions that plague him. Sean simply wants to know if they are alive, because if they are alive, then there is hope he can find them. And if there is hope, then he has at last been thrown a lifeline over the pit of despair and anguish hollowing out his insides. The despair grows each time he thinks he might never be able to find his family, let alone discover what has happened to them.
“I honestly don’t know, Professor,” Sloan says in a near whisper. “I wish I did, but I don’t,” she adds.
No lifeline here, Sean thinks.
A few moments pass, Sean attempting to control the anger and frustration welling up inside him while Sloan stares straight ahead at the road before them. She glances at him several times, waiting to see when she can continue.
Finally, Sean breaks the silence, “Are you an assassin, Ms. Sloan?”
“Yes,” she confirms, “among other things.”
“And who hired you to kill my friend?” he asks disdainfully.
Sloan responds with a question of her own, “What do you know about the Foundation?”
“We had way too much to drink one night,” Sean recalls, “and Dr. Rosenstein blurted out something about the Foundation, and how they involved his wife in something they shouldn’t have.”
She waits for him to continue, but he says nothing more. She asks, “That’s it?”
“Listen,” Sean explains, “we were completely tossed that night and I hardly remember a thing. He never mentioned the name again and I did not feel right pressing him on it, so I didn’t ask. I don’t even know if he remembers telling me.”
Sloan continues her story, which sounds almost like it has been rehearsed, “The Foundation, Mr. O’Connell, is a clandestine group of men and women that have been secretly manipulating this country’s political, economic, and foreign policies and agendas for the better part of a century. Their power seems to have no limits, and their influence no boundaries. They are everywhere, Professor, and absolutely nowhere. They will stop at nothing and no one is safe if they become an obstacle to the group’s plans.”
She pauses a moment before continuing, “They are unbelievably ruthless and cunning, Professor, and it is this group the extraterrestrials found themselves in the company of shortly after being captured.”
“And this group hired you to kill Kaley?” Sean asks.
“Not only that, Professor,” she notes, “but recover an item from him concerning the attack. Some type of . . evidence he has on him, a disc.”
“A disc? What’s on the disc?” Sean asks.
“They did not disclose that information, but I suspect it is something absolutely damning to the group. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have been called in.”
“You’re that good, Ms. Sloan?”
“I never miss,” she deadpans.
Sean’s question was asked more in jest, but he does not doubt the sincerity of Sloan’s response.
“I suspect that the man gunning for you at the gas station was also hired by the group,” she adds.
Sounding rather awkward, Sean stammers, “Thanks, by the way, for . . helping me out back there.”
My guardian angel at least deserves a thank you, Sean thinks.
Sloan nods, but does not say a word.
A few moments pass before Sean finally asks, “So how did these extraterrestrials end up with the Foundation if it was Navy intelligence who found them?”
“That’s how powerful the group is, Mr. O’Connell,” she explains. “Whatever strings they need to pull are pulled. A majority of the members occupy positions in the highest echelons of the military, intelligence, and political branches, and they collectively decide whether the group should take an active and participatory role