by Dan Alatorre
“You said she couldn’t resist,” Kitt said. “How can she bypass the system, then?”
“By thinking of no thought. By disengaging certain cerebral functions from their ability to be transmitted. It is a process referred to as standalone. But it will not be successful, as you will soon see, Doctor Kittaleye.” Hauser raised his hands, tapping his fingers together. “Keeper 27, you were admitted to the Pitié-Salpêtrière Hospital.”
Helena stared straight ahead. The view of the front wall remained on the screen.
“Keeper 27,” Hauser said. “You viewed a car crash. A woman died.”
Helena didn’t move. The screen stayed filled with the front wall.
“Keeper 27, I wish you to think of Constantine. Where is she?”
The screen flickered, going gray, then filling with a clear blue sky and a tall, stone chateau. It lasted only for half a second, then the stone wall of the old warehouse reappeared.
Hauser smiled. “You see, Dr. Kittaleye? The proper path leads to the correct destination.” His gaze returned to Helena. “Keeper 27, do you love Constantine?”
The young face of a girl with long hair and blue eyes appeared on the screen. Behind her, a pale blue sky.
The image faded; the stone wall of the barn returned.
“Keeper 27, how did Constantine cut her knee? She bled quite profusely. Were you negligent in your care of her?”
Helena quivered.
“She was three years old at the time. How did it happen?”
A spiral staircase appeared on the screen. It was made of stone, and an orange traffic cone stood at the base. A janitor’s mop and bucket rested nearby, the steps glistening with water. Children’s voices filled the air, the words “Hide and seek” echoing through a dark corridor.
Helena trembled, her eyes remaining fixed on the wall in front of her. On the screen, the same wall came back into view again.
“Aye, old woman.” Hollings leaned forward, whispering. “It’s working.”
“Too inefficient,” Hauser said. “The sedative has lowered her resistance, but not enough. Perhaps a more . . . cortex-driven approach is required, appealing directly to the deepest emotions.” He looked at Helena. “Keeper 27, how did Constantine learn of John-Thomas’ death?”
Helena groaned as if she had been punched in the gut. The vision appeared on the screen. A green field, with brown patches. Children running along a tall stone wall. A table of science experiments laid out along the far side of the grounds.
“Specials, my lovelies.” Keeper 27 clapped her hands, looking out over the compound. “Come now, dears.”
The children rushed to her, lining up to enter the building.
They took their seats, one by one, waiting for the instructor to begin.
Helena closed the door, gazing at the clear blue sky.
Behind her, a shot rang out—the clear, unmistakable sound of a gun being discharged. As she turned, Mr. Parker lowered his handgun at the far side of the compound, just in front of the Rituals building. He shoved the gun into his belt and waved for a tansuit to bring a cart.
Shaking, Keeper 27 looked on. She clasped her hands in front of her smock.
The tansuit pushed a collector’s bin to the Rituals building, disappearing around the side. A moment later, he returned, wheeling the bin toward the row of other carts filled with the trash to be disposed of for the day.
Keeper 27 kneaded her hands, walking to the bins.
Each cart was designated with its materials. Glass. Paper. Plastic. Metal. Others carried scrap wood from the construction area, or burned items from experiments.
The last cart in the row was marked “general.”
Clutching her stomach, Keeper 27 approached the last cart and peered inside.
The five-year-old body of John-Thomas lay on the bottom of the cart, a hole in the side of his head.
The child was still and quiet, with his eyes wide open and flies crawling over his stained red cheek. The old woman spoke to him, unable to control herself, wishing he would answer. He did not smile when she called him, and he did not move when she touched him. Tears welled in Keeper 27’s eyes. “Get up, John-Thomas, get up!”
But he didn’t get up. He just laid there, all still, until they wheeled the bin away like the boy was a bit of trash.
On her chair in the abandoned building, a tear rolled down Helena’s face. Kitt reached out to take Helena’s hand.
“But Keeper 27,” Dr. Hauser said. “The answer you’ve given is Constantine’s recollection of the events. She was nowhere near the bins that day.”
Helena broke her frozen gaze, staring at Hauser on the screen.
“Constantine was in Rituals. It was you who saw the boy’s body, not her. How did she learn of his death? Did you tell her?”
Helena trembled, the words barely passing over her lips. “No.”
“No.” Hauser nodded. “She saw it for herself, didn’t she?”
Kneading her hands in her lap, the old woman shook her head. “No.”
“She witnessed it—through your eyes, Keeper 27.”
“No!”
“She saw what you saw—a child in the collector’s bin, with a hole in the side of his head and blood running down his cheek.”
Tears welled in Helena’s eyes. “No.”
Kitt yelled at the screen. “Stop it. Stop this—this torture!”
“And when you called him,” Hauser’s gaze was unwavering. “Whose voice did you hear? Whose words were being spoken?”
She shook her head.
“Tell me.”
“It can’t be!” Helena squeezed her eyes shut, tears streaming down her cheeks. “It can’t be!”
“Who spoke the words? Who begged John-Thomas to get up?”
She put her hands to the side of her head, grimacing. “I can’t.”
“You can,” Hauser said. “You will. Who spoke the words? Who stood there crying and begging the boy to get up?”
Helena doubled over, howling in pain.
“Who called out to him?”
“Constantine!” She threw her head back, her mouth hanging open. Tears streaked her cheeks. “My Constantine.”
“She said it.”
“Yes,” Helena sobbed.
“But how?” Hauser raised his hands, tapping the fingers together. “She wasn’t there.”
“She saw through my eyes,” Helena whispered, defeated. She could hold back no longer. “She witnessed it all. She saw everything.”
Hauser nodded. “And when you do standalone, you see what she sees, don’t you?”
“At times, yes.”
“Yes, you do.” Hauser’s gravelly voice filled the warehouse. “Sometimes at night, sometimes during the day, but what you wish to know from that child—my property—you can access at any time. That’s right, isn’t it, Keeper 27?”
Helena kept her head down, sobbing.
“Dr. Kittaleye, do you now see how powerful these instruments are?”
Kitt wiped a tear from her own eye. “I’m not sure I understand. If your goal is to hurt an old woman, you succeeded. Otherwise—”
“Constantine witnessed the actions that Keeper 27 acted out,” Hauser said, “as if Constantine was there herself.”
“The girl on the screen?” Kitt said. “In the vision—she used the device you’re using now?”
“That technology wasn’t operational yet. Constantine pulled the information from the air, all by herself, as her Keeper witnessed it.” He narrowed his eyes. “And we will use that same ability, in reverse, to find her and bring her back to me.”
The screen went dark.
“What!” Hollings jumped up, leaning on his cane. “What’s happened?”
Freeman studied his computer. “It’s the power again!”
“Right.” Hollings pointed his cane at Washington and Jefferson. “You lot, get on them cords and see that our electric flows undisturbed. Climb the power pole outside if you have to, but keep that current flo
wing.”
“The old woman is trying to block us,” Freeman said.
“Ruddy old bird.” Hollings clenched his cane, glaring at Keeper 27.
Miss Franklin stepped between them. “I might have a solution, Mr. Hollings. What is—”
“Hold, lass.” Hollings took Franklin’s arm, glaring at Helena. “Let’s . . . come over here, out of earshot of that one. She can listen in from fifty feet away.” As they walked past the ambulance, he called over his shoulder. “You two—Washington and Jefferson! Check every outlet, every connection, inside this building!”
Hollings and Miss Franklin disappeared behind the ambulance.
Kitt rubbed Helena’s hand. “Are you okay?’
The old woman remained rigid, staring at the wall.
The two thugs walked to the far wall of the building, crouching near an electrical box. Dr. Freeman sat back, frowning, then turned and went to the large processing units on the floor.
Kitt patted Helena’s arm. “Ma’am? Are you . . . can you hear me?”
Helena smiled. “Quite clearly, dear,” she whispered.
* * * * *
Mr. Hollings stopped walking when he reached the far wall, his back to the others. Miss Franklin stood next to him.
“She can get people’s thoughts if they’re too close,” he said. “But she can’t read everybody. She can’t read me, and she don’t seem to read you. And so much the better, but still—best to be cautious.”
Franklin nodded. “I was going to suggest another act of gunpoint persuasion, but I’m thinking you have something else in mind.”
“She’ll open up. That old Keeper loves the little girl more than anything in the world. Do anything for her, she would. We use that.” He leaned on his cane. “Ask the right questions until she gives up the location, then we move quick.”
“So you . . . you’ll meet with Armen Twa?”
“Oh, I certainly will, miss. He’s too smart to have Constantine with him when we first meet, though. He’ll set a rendezvous place for the exchange to happen. Somewhere safe, in his territory. But if that Asian arse thinks he’s going to steal Dr. Hauser’s property and then try to sell it back to us, he’d better think again. Not on my watch.”
“He’s arrogant.” Franklin smiled. “I like that. Arrogance blinds a man.”
“Aye, it does, miss.” Hollings rubbed his chin stubble. “So, I’ll play along with the arrogant Mr. Twa for now, but we can’t let him know anything until we have the girl. We play dumb and let them set a meeting, but by then we’ve already gotten the location out of Keeper 27. Constantine will know where she’s being kept, how many men are guarding her, the lot—so Keeper 27 will know it, too. Which means we’ll know it. Then we can hide a squad of your people at the meeting spot ahead of time. When you and I arrive to meet Twa, your team jumps out with guns blazing and kills them all. Armen Twa and his whole Pacific Rim gang of thieves, gone in one fell swoop.”
“They’ll never see it coming.”
“Nope,” Hollings said. “They’ll be as you done said before—blind with arrogance. Suits me fine, as long as they’re blind.”
* * * * *
Kitt sat in her chair, scared and frustrated, her head in her hands.
What does any of this have to do with me?
Helena whispered, “Jaden Trinn is an agent for the United States government. You must contact her boss with the words ‘Mao Oui.’”
Kitt looked up. “Helena, I don’t understand. What’s going on?”
“I never said I couldn’t read Mr. Hollings. He only assumed it. Now, when I tell you to, you must go. And remember—contact Jaden Trinn’s boss and tell him what you know.”
“But I don’t know anything!”
“I understand, dear. Get ready.”
“What?” Kitt gasped. “Where? For what?”
Helena nodded. “Look with me.”
Washington and Franklin had their backs to the hostages, working on a power line. Dr. Freeman was facing the other way, taking apart his processor. Miss Franklin and Mr. Hollings were on the other side of the ambulance.
No one was watching the hostages.
“It’s your chance,” Helena whispered. “Get up and walk quietly to the back. As soon as you get through that door, run. The trees on the other side of the fields will hide you, but to reach them in time, you’ll need to run as fast as you can.”
Kitt put her hand to her mouth. “I—I can’t. They have guns.”
“You have a weapon more powerful than any gun, dear. Your brain. But right now, it’s your legs we need. Go.”
She lifted herself up a few inches, then sat back down. “I’m afraid.”
“Of course you are, dear. It wouldn’t take courage otherwise.”
Kitt’s gaze went to Dr. Freeman, then to Washington and Jefferson, then to the ambulance.
“Go now,” Helena said in a whisper.
Holding her breath, Kitt got up from the chair. She turned to the exit, her heart pounding. Each step was an eternity, each gust of wind outside caused the old roof to creak, sending a shudder down her spine. As the cool air of the parking lot brushed past her cheek, Kitt stepped onto the gravel—then burst into a sprint.
Helena saw it on the screen inside. The gravel lot gave way to the road, and then to the dirt field.
Freeman dislodged a hard drive from the processor, standing up. The vision of Kitt running across the field displayed on his monitor. “Hey!” Freeman wheeled around, glaring at the empty chair next to Helena. “Hey!” His eyes went to the back door. “Hey, she’s getting away!”
The others rushed forward. Kitt was on every screen, bounding over the tilled dirt.
“After her!” Hollings glared at Washington and Jefferson. “Get that scrawny doctor and bring her back! Now! Get!”
Miss Franklin went to the ambulance and took out two guns, tossing them to her henchmen. “If you can’t catch her, at least make sure she doesn’t get away.”
Weapons in hand, the two thugs raced out the door.
Helena continued viewing the screen. The men scrambled across the field, chasing Doctor Kittaleye as she disappeared into the brush on the horizon.
Chapter 16
Moray’s diving boat bounced through the darkness, its engine roaring at top speed. Gripping the wheel, he checked his radar and GPS. The screens bathed him in green light. “This is near where we found your fishing charter,” he shouted.
DeShear gazed into the black night. A crescent moon hung low on the horizon, casting a white reflection onto the water beneath it. Above it was only stars.
I have to disrupt this guy’s plan and get back to looking for Constantine. There has to be a way, but how?
Let him talk. Get to know him. Let him get to know you. Then ask for his help. He’s got a boat. Maybe he’d look for Constantine if the price is right—but it can’t look like a bribe.
If he thinks I’m telling the truth, there’s a chance. Start by having a conversation and let him warm up to you. It could work.
“This area looks different at night,” DeShear said. “How can you tell it’s where my charter went down?”
“GPS, radar. . . At night, we take these extra eyeballs, but I know this water. Your wreck is—”
A tiny fluorescent line rocketed across the bow, almost hitting them. It was like a miniature sparkler from the Fourth of July, but traveling in a straight line—and very fast. A second one followed.
“Tracer rounds!” Moray ducked, cutting the throttle and heaving the wheel to the right. “Somebody’s shooting at us!”
The turn threw DeShear away from the wall. He crashed into Moray, his cuffed hands still lashed to the railing.
“Back, idiot!” The lieutenant shoved him away. “Hold fast. They’re shooting at us!”
A spotlight flooded the diving boat in blinding illumination. DeShear squinted, peering over the stern as a boat closed in on their tail. “You can’t outrun them! They’re gaining too fast!”
&
nbsp; “We’re gonna try.” Wild-eyed, Moray swerved his boat back and forth in the water, gunning the throttle. “No pirates are gonna take my boat. They’ll take everything and put you and me in the water for sure, mister!”
Another tracer round soared past the side of the boat. The spotlight came and went as Moray steered the boat zigzag over the waves.
DeShear looked down at his cuffed hands and fear shot through him. He couldn’t duck the bullets, and if the ship went under, he’d be dragged down with it. He grabbed the railing, trying to stay on his feet. “If you don’t stop, they’ll just shoot us and take the boat anyway.”
Moray glanced over his shoulder. Their pursuer would be on them in seconds. “Fast boat. Gotta be pirates.” He reached under the console and withdrew a handgun, placing it on the dashboard, then reached under again and pulled out a rifle. “These boys are in for a surprise.”
“Don’t!” DeShear shouted, staring at the oncoming lights. “We don’t know how many there are, or what kind of firepower they’re carrying.”
“I’m not giving up my boat! My brother and I worked too hard. We’ll lose them in the shallows.”
“You’ll bottom out and scuttle this thing.” DeShear winced, peering into the floodlight. The brightness blinded him.
Another tracer round soared across the bow.
“We have another option.” DeShear leaned toward the Lieutenant, yelling. “Slow down and act like a private charter. This is a scuba diving boat. Act like it.”
“No. They’ll board us.”
“Which means they’ll have to slow down. Then we can see what we’re dealing with. Give me a gun. We’ll fight them together.”
Moray’s eyes were wide. “Not a chance. You’ll shoot me quick-quick, mister.”
“If you try to take them on yourself, you’re just going to get killed—and me right after. I used to be a police officer. I can handle a weapon. With me on your side you stand a chance. Otherwise, you lose everything.”