Chapter 6: Project Phoenix
Mateo stared at the page until the words blurred.
SUBJECT 7
RECOVERY SUCCESSFUL
His hands trembled.
"This isn't my daughter's medical record."
Dalia took the document back and examined it carefully.
"No," she whispered. "It's an internal report."
"What kind of hospital calls a baby a subject?"
"The kind that stopped thinking of them as patients."
A heavy silence settled inside the pickup.
Outside, the afternoon sun dipped lower over Cancún, casting long shadows across the abandoned gas station.
The twins slept peacefully in the back seat, unaware that every answer uncovered seemed to create two new questions.
Mateo flipped through the rest of the folder.
There were dozens of pages.
Most were routine medical reports.
But every few pages, another document appeared bearing the same black phoenix emblem.
Some pages were heavily redacted.
Others had entire paragraphs blacked out.
One page, however, remained untouched.
Its heading read:
PROJECT PHOENIX — CONFIDENTIAL SUMMARY
Mateo began reading aloud.
"Project Phoenix was established to study unexplained neonatal recovery following confirmed clinical death."
He stopped.
His heart pounded.
Dalia slowly shook her head.
"So it wasn't just your daughters."
Mateo continued.
"Previous recovery attempts produced no sustainable results."
"No sustainable results?" he repeated.
"They tried this before?" Dalia asked.
He kept reading.
"Following Event 17, two successful recoveries were documented during the Santa María blackout."
Two.
Only two.
Mateo slowly turned toward the sleeping twins.
"Sofía and Camila."
Dalia's face had gone pale.
"They weren't investigating a miracle."
"They were waiting for one."
Mateo continued reading.
Another sentence caught his eye.
"Subjects displayed complete neurological restoration despite prolonged cardiac arrest."
His breathing grew shallow.
"They expected brain damage..."
"But there wasn't any," Dalia finished.
He nodded.
"Nothing."
He remembered every specialist who had examined the girls over the past year.
Every one of them had called the twins remarkably healthy.
One pediatric neurologist had even joked that they were developing faster than average.
At the time, Mateo had taken it as a blessing.
Now it felt like evidence.
He reached the final paragraph.
His eyes widened.
"No..."
"What is it?" Dalia asked.
He silently handed her the page.
She read one sentence.
Then another.
Suddenly she covered her mouth.
"They've been monitoring them."
Mateo took the paper back.
The report stated:
Ongoing observation recommended until subjects reach developmental milestone age five.
Below it was another handwritten note.
Family remains unaware. Continue passive surveillance.
Mateo looked up sharply.
"They've been watching us."
Dalia nodded.
"The whole time."
Every memory from the past year suddenly felt different.
The repairman who had asked unusual questions.
The delivery driver who lingered outside.
The unfamiliar cars parked across the street.
Even the pediatric appointments.
"How many people know about this?" Mateo asked.
"I don't know."
"But it's bigger than the hospital."
Before Dalia could answer, Mateo noticed something tucked inside the back cover of the folder.
A small folded photograph.
He carefully unfolded it.
The image had faded with age.
It showed eleven newborn bassinets lined up inside the NICU.
Someone had written numbers above each crib.
One through eleven.
Eight bassinets had black X marks drawn across them.
Three had circles.
Subjects 5.
And 9.
Mateo's eyes scanned the photograph.
Subject 7 was clearly labeled:
Female — Solís
He searched for Subject 9.
The bassinet beside Sofía's.
Another female infant.
No family name.
Only one handwritten word.
Removed
"What does that mean?" Mateo whispered.
Dalia looked over his shoulder.
"I've never seen that photo before."
Mateo turned it over.
There was writing on the back.
Not typed.
Handwritten.
The ink had begun fading.
It read:
Don't believe the death certificates. One child was taken alive before sunrise.
Neither of them spoke.
A cool breeze drifted through the broken windows of the abandoned station.
Then Mateo noticed something else inside the envelope.
A business card.
Plain white.
No logo.
No address.
Only a name.
Gabriel Ortega
And beneath it:
Investigative Journalist
On the back was another handwritten message.
If anything happens to me... find Gabriel.
Mateo slipped the card into his wallet.
"We need to find him."
Dalia nodded.
"If he's still alive."
Before Mateo could answer, a faint buzzing sound filled the truck.
His phone vibrated.
No caller ID.
He almost ignored it.
Then he noticed something strange.
The phone wasn't ringing.
Neither was Dalia's.
The sound was coming from somewhere inside the folder.
They exchanged confused looks.
Mateo searched through the papers.
Hidden beneath the last document was a tiny electronic device no larger than a coin.
A blinking red light flashed every two seconds.
Dalia's eyes widened.
"Oh, no..."
Mateo stared at the device.
"What is it?"
Her voice dropped to a whisper.
"A GPS tracker."
The blinking suddenly stopped.
The light turned solid green.
At that exact moment, both of them heard the distant sound of engines.
Not one vehicle.
Several.
Growing louder.
Mateo slowly looked toward the highway.
Four black SUVs had just turned into the abandoned gas station.
And this time...
May you like
They weren't trying to follow him.
They already knew exactly where he was.
