Mad Powers (Tapped In) (8 page)

She did as he asked. With her hands up to her face, she continued to weep. Harland noticed the small tattoos. He saw the little bird in flight, free at last.
How apropos,
he thought.

“
Now you will tell me everything. You will leave out no detail, no matter how insignificant.
”

Chapter 11

I was just about to disconnect when I detected Benny standing several feet behind me. Immediately, I was in his head—observing his thoughts. He wasn’t sure what I was doing there, but he was leaning toward my having some kind of mental instability issues.
Interesting
—my abilities were far more powerful
while
tapped in. Everything was sharper, more vivid.

My access to Benny’s mind was nothing short of profound. Not only was I seeing exactly what he was seeing, I was feeling and reading his thoughts to a much deeper degree than I thought possible.

Benny was now looking around.
Well, nothing seems to have been disturbed. But what the hell’s he doing? Looks like the same man I helped at the vending machines. Seems to be in some sort of a trance …

I looked into his mind and was surprised by its simplicity.
This guy is by no means an Einstein.
I interjected into his thoughts
: Benny, the man on the floor is perfectly harmless. It’s best if you don’t disturb him. In fact, you want to help him in any way possible. Do you understand that, Benny?

Confused, Benny was questioning his own internal dialogue.
Why would I want to help this guy?

I fought to stay patient and not lose the connection.
It’s not for you to question, Benny. This man needs your help. You want to help him.

Benny seemed to be bouncing this around in his head. He seemed to have come to some sort of conclusion
. I do want to help this man.

I felt relieved and continued communicating with Benny:
Very good. He’ll need full access to Motel 6. Do you know what that means, Benny?

Benny’s thoughts didn’t hesitate.
Yes, he should have a full set of master keys.

* * *

I didn’t return to the mission. Instead, I had taken advantage of Benny’s generosity and slept at Motel 6. With a set of keys, including a credit card type master key-card in hand, I found not only an empty guest room, but a nearly uninhabited upper floor, on the south wing of the motel. I took a quick shower. Standing with a towel wrapped around me, I turned on the TV and muted the volume. I opened the plastic bag of toiletries and the plastic razor I’d collected from the hotel’s supply closet. Someone was walking past the door in the hallway. I stopped moving and listened until the footfalls moved on down the corridor. I wasn’t sure how long the mental constraints I’d placed on Benny would last. One day? A week? Forever? But like any good experiment, I’d need to test it and verify the results. I also needed to come to terms with the moral and ethical issues of reading other people’s inner thoughts and manipulating their actions. The truth was, I hadn’t asked for this ability, but it was a part of me now. How I used it, and with whom, well, that needed to be held to some sort of measurable standard. I thought about that as I shaved and brushed my teeth. I assessed myself in the mirror. I looked almost human again. Then I noticed something on television reflected in the mirror. It was a news bulletin describing a local homicide. I sat on the edge of the bed and turned up the volume. The camera was pointed downward into a cement culvert that was strewn with trash and weeds. The camera angle then zoomed outward to focus on a bright blue tarp on the ground and several uniformed cops standing near. The feed changed to a solemn-looking reporter standing close by, holding a mic. A red banner at the bottom of the screen scrolled the words:
Young Nurse Dies In Brutal Homicide.

They showed stock footage of the Kingman Regional Medical Center, and then a small, outlined picture of Jill appeared on the screen. The reporter said the victim’s name was Jill Connolly—my heart stopped beating—time collapsed around me.
No…
Oh my God…
The correspondent continued, obviously emotionally affected by what he was reporting:

“… and was killed sometime between midnight and three this morning. Apparently, the young nurse was found partially clothed with multiple stab wounds to her upper and lower torso. Although actual cause of death is pending via the coroner’s report, an officer at the scene, who has asked not to be identified, told me that beyond doubt she’d died from significant blood loss—in his words, she’d completely bled out.”

Someone had brutally murdered Jill—her body indifferently tossed into a drainage ditch. I thought of Jill and her little tattoo: the bird free from its cage.
I’m so sorry, Jill.
The only person in my life I cared about, at least that I could remember, had been killed. I’d find out who was responsible and I’d end him—of that, I had no doubt.

I cleared out of my motel room, doing my best to leave it as undisturbed as possible. I needed to get to the hospital.

Chapter 12

The largest conference room in the building held sixteen occupied chairs at the mammoth-sized table, and another eight chairs along the glass wall. Pippa slipped in, trying to be quiet and not disrupt Assistant Director Hayes
’
presentation. She took the last remaining seat by the door. As she settled in
—
digging out a pen in her breast pocket and opening her notepad
—
Pippa realized the room had gone quiet. Looking up, she saw everyone staring at her.

Embarrassed, Pippa smiled and said,
“
Sorry, didn
’
t mean to disturb
—”
Then she saw Rob
’
s face looking back at her on the sixty-inch TV monitor behind Assistant Director Hayes
’
shoulder.

“As I was saying, Agent Rosette, after eighteen months we’ve had our first solid indication that Chandler is still alive.”

He is alive!
Pippa’s mind raced. Looking at Chandler’s image, her heart nearly leapt into her throat. She had to physically check herself from jumping to her feet.

Giles lifted a pen into the air.

“Agent Giles?”

“Yes, I was just wondering if he’s still in custody?”

“No, he was never in custody. Local Kingman PD ran his prints and DNA early this morning. Apparently, it was voluntarily given following an automobile accident—one that involved one or more fatalities. He was hospitalized, then released. That same day, he walked into the Kingman police department. They didn’t hold him.”

Pippa listened intently, ignoring the occasional glances in her direction. It was no secret she and Chandler were partners. For three years they worked together at the CIA as field agents assigned to the U.S. Embassy in Berlin. They also worked out of Lebanon and Ankara, Turkey. Eighteen months ago her partner, her friend, disappeared and was assumed to have gone rogue. Reports of possible sightings, usually unsubstantiated, cropped up from time to time, but no one, until now, knew for certain if he was actually alive or not.

Other hands went up, some just blurting out questions, but the assistant director was quick to take control of the meeting again.

“Listen, it’s too early to give any particulars. Agents will be dispatched within the hour. We’ll know more within the next twenty-four hours. Needless to say, none of this leaves the room.” Hayes changed the subject and continued on with the typical day-to-day information-gathering minutia she was in no mood to listen to. Pippa was impatient for the meeting to end. Forty-five minutes later, the room started to clear out. Hayes, collecting the remainder of his notes from the table, didn’t bother to look up as Pippa approached.

“As I said, it’s too early to know anything, Agent Rosette.”

“You and I both know that every international agency in the world is now aware Rob, Agent Chandler, is still alive. Some will wait and see what turns up; others, undoubtedly, have already dispatched teams. I’m sure you’re aware Chandler’s made his share of enemies over the years.”

Assistant Director Hayes looked up, irritated. “You work for the DHS now, Rosette, not the CIA—if you haven’t forgotten. The Agency has its own agents investigating.”

“The CIA thinks in terms of black and white. They’d just as soon terminate a possible threat as—”

“This, Agent Rosette, is not a conversation to have standing in an open conference room.” He’d raised his voice and continued to gaze down at the younger agent. He spoke again, but in a lower, hushed voice. “What is it you would have me do?”

“Let me go to Kingman. Let me join the team you’re sending. I can evaluate the situation. I know how he thinks. I’ll be able to anticipate his moves. I’ll find him.”

“You had plenty of time after he’d gone to ground. Why’s now any different?”

“Something’s obviously changed, unless he’s purposely trying to attract worldwide attention. No, something’s happened to him. And if I do find him, I’ll be able to evaluate him far better than agents who never knew him.” Pippa was aware desperation had crept into her voice.

“Listen, I knew you would request to be part of the Kingman team. But I need to know you haven’t lost your objectivity. If Chandler can be brought in, fine. If he’s been turned, which is the likely assumption, then you’ll be expected to act accordingly. Can you do that?”

* * *

Pippa wondered if Assistant Director Hayes had deliberately paired her up with Giles just to spite her.
Who wears aftershave like that, anymore?
She’d scrambled for the window seat, hoping he’d opt for the aisle seat and not take the cramped middle one. But he’d plopped himself next to her, releasing another waft of his sickeningly sweet cologne.
Why was he even here?

By the time Pippa and Giles had checked their bags, and then their weapons, Pippa felt she needed a shower after his fawning closeness. There was nothing about the way she was dressed—a plain navy suit, white shirt, and sensible flat-heeled shoes—that should evoke such attention. At five feet, nine inches, she was on the tall side. But it was her Scandinavian features—blue eyes, blonde hair and delicate bone structure—that inevitably got men’s attention. Not a positive in her line of business. Looking unremarkable, forgettable, would be an advantage. Subsequently, she’d had to work harder to prove herself.

“All right, let’s get down to business, Pippa. You up for a little business talk?”

Pippa just looked at him.
What other kind of talk would there be?
“I imagine we’ll head on over to the Kingman PD. Until we know any more details, what’s happened so far, it’s senseless to start planning too far ahead, don’t you think?” Pippa asked back, her eyebrows slightly raised, letting him know the obvious scenario.

“Oh, of course. I just meant our overall strategy: you know, the thirty thousand foot perspective,” Giles responded, back peddling. He turned back forward and retrieved a comb from his shirt pocket. He gave his thick black hair a quick couple of strokes and then, eyes closed, hunkered down for a nap.

Pippa had had little time to think about Chandler since the morning’s briefing. For several years she and Rob had often been paired together—playing well off each other’s strengths and compensating for each other’s weaknesses. Not that Chandler had many of those. She’d heard all the rumors about the two of them. How they’d been intimate for years, undercover lovers. It wasn’t true. They’d never gotten intimate. But that had been about to change that just days prior to Chandler’s disappearance. She had decided to leave the Agency and see if it was possible to start a new life. He was an idiot if he didn’t know her feelings. Then he was gone. After several months he was presumed dead, but Pippa didn’t buy it. She also didn’t buy into the whispered speculation he had turned. She noticed her palms were wet. She was nervous at the prospect of seeing him again … even more nervous of the possibility that she wouldn’t be able to bring him in. The assistant director had been perfectly clear: Chandler could not be allowed to disappear again.

Chapter 13

First feelings of loss, and now raging anger, filled my thoughts. My only concern: could I show enough restraint to hold back and question the bald-headed man, or would I just kill him on sight.

I crossed over to Sycamore Avenue and passed the Cornerstone Mission off to my right and Firefighter’s Park off to my left. It was still early, but the buses were running, making frequent stops, off in the distance. I felt their presence even before I looked up and saw them. A gang of bikers. The rumble of their Harleys filled the air. Black leather, long hair, an assortment of tattoos, and the distinctive emblem—a cigar-smoking bull dog riding a motorcycle—left little doubt that Russell’s gang had arrived on the scene.

And there was Russell himself—middle of the pack; he’d come to a stop ten feet in front of me. He had a cast on his wrist on which someone had scrawled something, though from this distance I couldn’t quite tell what. He and his friends, obviously, had been scouring the streets for me. All told, there were ten motorcycles holding eleven bikers. They’d encircled me, some coming at me from the park. I only noticed the woman after a silver-haired biker killed his engine and stepped away from his Hog. Without a doubt this guy was their leader. His woman, smiling, stayed seated and seemed to be enjoying herself. He was about sixty, easily six-five, and I estimated he weighed upward of two hundred and fifty pounds. Both he and the woman wore jeans, boots, and black leather chaps … their black leather vests hung open enough to display the sizeable chests on both bikers.

I’d been lost in thought with Jill on my mind. Their presence was juvenile and an unwelcome distraction from what I needed to do.

“Well, if it isn’t my friend from Denny’s,” Russell said, back to his cocky bravado.

“What do you want, Russell? Brought your pals to fight your battles for you?” I kept my eyes on the older guy, though, now standing several feet in front of me.