Ransom X

by a b

  The pain was a messenger from just this side of the impossibility of his circumstances. Wilkes could understand being confounded by a foreign agency – but believing that a motorcycle gang of sexual predators could keep him in the dark was beyond operating specifications. A meltdown was only days away, and it would coincide with what he knew to be the final punctuation to the case; the death of the director’s daughter on his watch, in front of an audience of millions gone mad.

  It was ten after four now, but the clock in Wilkes office was wrong. There was no time, no time at all.

  *****

  Wagner closed the folder, both disturbed and fascinated by its contents. She was in her rental car now, as the coffee shop had closed hours ago. The street lamps were buzzing with an electric hum as the light poured out into the last wave of early morning darkness.

  She pulled out a cigarette and put it to her perfectly drawn ripe persimmon lips. Wagner inhaled, and let the familiar drug creep into her body. She had grown up on a nicotine and caffeine cocktail, and her body called for the mixture like a security blanket. She carried two emergency cigarettes in a tin that used to contain mints. Why two? A logical question, but Wagner knew herself well enough to know that if she needed one of something, then in reality she needed at least two.

  Wagner wasn’t going to sort it all out before ember met filter, so it made no sense to go over and over in her mind. That didn’t stop her, however.

  It was impossible to tell if the bureau had studied Legacy in an effort to produce more agents like him, or to isolate him and keep the disease from spreading. It was certain that his particular specialty had great value in a world of secrets. He found ways to unlock the human mind that mirrored a chess master taking apart a computer opponent with his creativity. The rules are fixed, the board is set, and it made no sense that he could do things with the pieces that nobody else could, This, however, was the case with Legacy.

  His cognitive function was described as similar to the way regular people process auditory information. His brain was always on, processing ideas the way that most people process incoming sounds. Information coming in on random vectors, at different volumes and pitches flooded his senses. It was a system that needed almost no actual input to perpetuate.

  In the section on his methods, the writer of the report had included a brief background on behavioral science as it crosses into human psychology. Most people process ideas more like the sense of sight. We look at something, decide what it is, what it represents, and move on to the next “image.” Thoughts are most often contained somewhat like a field of vision.

  The doctor went on to explain that Legacy could concentrate on a single thread of logic, but like a person in a crowded bar, there were background streams of information are incoming all the time, his conscious mind was constantly sifting other information. It made him seem hyper perceptive at times, and distracted at others. His mind was tuned to the human voice like no other instrument the doctor had ever encountered – mentioning that Legacy was probably controlling the report he was preparing by giving out only the side of himself that the bureau wanted to see.

  The report ended with a cautionary addendum. “He has convinced me in no uncertain terms that his release of the young spy Anna was nothing but a rookie mistake. Which begs the question, why would I be so certain of only one fact in a report that raises more questions than answers. I have made an excellent career of trusting my judgment” the next part was highlighted, making it the only part of the report that everyone had read, “therefore it is with great pains that I break from it and follow a hunch. Legacy is hiding something about Anna, and I believe he would hide nothing short of traitorous conduct. If Legacy ever developed an agenda counter to our goals, I don’t believe I nor anyone with “planar” two-dimensional thinking would ever be able to detect Legacy’s three-dimensional intersection with our world. This makes him a unique danger to our objectives, at least in the abstract. He should be moved to a place that limits his access to information and never drawn back into the mainstream.”

  The accusation, and the fear of the unknown must have resonated with the people who read the report, because it was dated a week before Legacy was reassigned to the cold case division in Alexandria.

  Wagner could see her breath in the crisp pre-morning air. A list of names followed – the people who had read the report former director Mitchell, Director Doorner, Deputy Bailey, Special Forces Commander Evans and one name that she didn’t recognize, Therisa Kale.

  Legacy had been branded a traitor, and because of his special acuity at manipulating the truth, they would never be sure. Now, they were pulling him back into the mainstream because the potential reward outweighed the risk.

  The sun was beginning to float into the atmosphere of the eastern sky, just free of the illusion of being supported by the land, when Wagner slid the report under Bailey’s door. She went straight to the office and waited. Wagner knew that Legacy would arrive at nine, and even though he was potentially the most dangerous man in the whole universe, she expected that he had totally forgotten the fact that Wagner was supposed to meet him almost ten hours earlier at his house. He entered and nodded distractedly. It had undoubtedly slipped his mind.

  Who the hell was he?

  *****

  Laura hung from the ceiling, arms cuffed to a bare pipe. She wore a blindfold and her body moved like it was caught in a gentle breeze. The colors of a pinwheel swirled around her. Her mind was slipping away from the darkness that pressed itself on her. Her buttons had all been pushed, and there wasn’t much left of her conscious mind for Blue to play with.

  She heard the door open, and the group began to shuffle out. She felt blood trickle down from the skin on her wrist rubbed raw. They always stopped when there was blood. What were they stopping for?

  She raised a husky voice from the bowels of her consciousness. “Where are you going? You sad, pathetic, useless men. I’ll tell you when this is over. You’ll see it in my eyes.”

  The screen went blank and the video ejected. Legacy stood in front of the TV and waited for Wagner’s reaction. He jumped in.

  “What does this tell you?” He asked.

  Wagner put her hand to her neck and pushed into the muscle below the gentle curve into the back of her ear. She needed circulation to think, at least that was the message that her neck was trying to sell to her hands. The moment of pleasure was suddenly cut short by a gasp of surprise. Legacy had both of his hands on her shoulders and in his strong grip it felt like her whole body was about to melt through the mesh designer chair and form a puddle on the floor. Wagner sighed and released all of her tension. She had absolutely nothing to say, but she knew that Legacy was waiting for an answer.

  “She had to say something, we keep missing it.” Legacy’s hands released their grip and clapped the air.

  “Exactly. She’s past her personal breaking point- “

  Wagner didn’t even miss the backrub, “and she calling out for help. How is this supposed to help?”

  Before he could answer, Brent stepped through the door.

  Legacy welcomed him, “You’re becoming a regular visitor.” Brent stopped for a moment noting the proximity of Wagner and Legacy. He seemed the smallest bit annoyed as he gathered his message.

  “They’ve found your first girl.” His eyes addressed Wagner directly, “In Maine.”

  Chapter 31 The Girl

  It was a hazy sunny day, where the lower atmosphere churned the yellow rays into a dull blonde illumination before it hit the ground and ran along blue green coastal moss and swept up the shore to meet a gathering in a small rural town.

  Legacy walked the old, cracked railroad tie path up to the assembly. The press was everywhere – black tubes of moving glass fused to their eye sockets, mouths stuffed full of potential controversy. Flannel-clad residents milled about. Matching earth tone garments from chain stores were the norm in the patiently eager gathering. And there was Legacy, standing a full head above the
average height in his perfectly fitting navy suit – eyes set on the podium like a sniper waiting for a target.

  There was chatter everywhere, but no one talked to him, as was normal for Legacy. He thought about walking up and announcing that Kennedy would be arriving shortly riding a unicorn (he’d leave the question of which Kennedy up to personal choice and generational bias).

  He was considering this plan when low and behold what stepped up to the podium stacked with microphones from all over the country was a platinum and pink swirl of hair that looked like a candy cane connected to a teen scalp.

  Her name was Sofia Darren and for the next ten seconds she would be the most photographed person in the world. Legacy studied her, pushing up to the front. The fresh paint on her face, glitter pressed in formation around rosy cheeks spoke to the fact that she’d carefully prepared for this moment. The camera’s flashed and she smoothed out her “wild child” spandex tee shirt so that nobody would confuse the wrinkles in the fabric with any kind of body imperfection. She certainly didn’t want anyone to get the wrong impression of her. Though she couldn’t hide the fact that she loved the attention.

  “I am the girl that everyone has been looking for.” She cocked a sly half smile at the crowd then let a somber look wash over her face. “A gang of masked motor bikers kidnapped me almost six months ago, and the shame of what was done to me – really and totally kinky stuff that I cannot repeat in front of my mom and dad, who are in attendance.” she nodded toward the man standing next to Legacy. A man in a tight sports jacket, knuckles white on the shoulder of what must be her grieving mother. “And the worst thing is that they went on to do it to others – and distribute it around under their own video label called Abducted XX.”

  She went on to describe her abductors, known to her as The Choirboys. The aging town sheriff would later get to the podium and confirm that he did remember that a group of riders had come through town on the exact day that the girl was reported missing by her parents six months previous. Legacy found nothing about this public display convincing.

  Sofia took childish delight in choosing different microphones in which to pour out the details of her time riding the roads. She leaned in choosing a fuzzy capped NBC microphone to let out how at first she had fought against any kind of sexual advances. “But look at me.” she stepped back and went to profile – she was a tiny thing. “I didn’t have a chance.”

  Then the questions began.

  A reporter asked, “How many were in the group?”

  “Six.” She answered, a shiver went through her body, and she blurted out inappropriately “I could handle more.” A woman in the crowd gasping in shock put Sofia on the defensive. “Ask your husband, he’s seen it.” Sofia stiffened, people always had judged her harshly in this town, and they still were doing it. Legacy watched as the girl struggled with how to react, and self-control did not win out. She decided to really shock these hicks into a coma. “I guess I should tell all of it, no sense in holding back –”

  Legacy raised his voice, “I’ve seen enough.”

  He stood in an FBI conference room. Legacy could have hidden his anger if he’d wanted to – but it wasn’t worth his time.

  Wilkes pushed pause on the remote, catching her with her most wounded, backed-into-a corner pose. “The time line fits, and it’s what you said we’d find. We can have her here in two hours.”

  “I’ve been there.” Legacy huffed. Wilkes shot a questioning look to Wagner. Legacy didn’t give him time to question, “don’t waste much time on this.” He said standing and walking to the door.

  Agent Bailey squirmed, shifting polyester against the plastic base of his seat reminding people of his presence. It could have been a physical embodiment of a charged withdrawal from nicotine, and or the presence of a superior being upbraided by a subordinate that had broken through his persistent slack southern disinterest and conducted directly into his pants.

  Wagner called out, “Legacy, wait.”

  He teetered at the door, his palm clasped around the warm brass handle. Legacy knew that turning back meant explaining himself to everyone – but leaving meant explaining himself later to Wagner. This was the price of having a partner.

  “She has calluses on the crux of her thumbs-” Legacy announced as if everything would fall into place after hearing it.

  Bailey looked at his own nicotine stained fingers and laughed. “That clears everything up, agent.”

  Wilkes said, “Jesus, Martin, if I wanted a fortune cookie I’d order out. What the hell are you talking about?”

  Wagner was the first to catch on “Her thumbs.” She walked around behind Legacy and reached around him hugging him tight. “Hooked around the rider’s belt loops, it would take weeks, and it would mean –”

  Legacy finished her sentence “She was hanging on,” Legacy’s hand slid over Wagner’s, a little pressure on the tendon in between Wagner’s thumb and forefinger and her grip popped open like an automatic lock. “She wants attention.”

  Wilkes cut in “Bikers, sex tapes and testimony that proposes an exact timeline fit before the ransom demands of the first girl and this is supposed to be a coincidence?”

  “It’s supposed to fit. It’s marketing, promotion in front of the press to the people from her hometown. This is a convenient distraction.”

  “I’m pursuing the biggest abduction case since the Lindbergh baby and the entire country didn’t have minute by minute updates on that one. Tell me why I don’t run down every lead that comes my way?” His fist pressed into the soft wood of the conference table.

  “You’ll get tired.”

  “If we weren’t old friends –

  “It’ll be easier to break this case than it will be to end that sentence.” Legacy was glad that he’d stayed; he’d forgotten how much he liked Wilkes’ misguided full body commitment to finishing a job. Legacy knew the history of Wilkes and the Doorner family. Wilkes had known Laura in diapers, and he’d sooner fling himself into a fire than watch her suffer. Legacy could see that his old friend stood in front of him ready to direct the full resources of the bureau at any shadow that crossed the radar. He even detected the scent of a stronger emotion that crossed the line of a paternal, professional relationship with Laura.

  Legacy’s thought process always took him into the realm of none of his damn business, but he couldn’t help it. Soon he’d know more about Wilkes’ vulnerabilities and limitations than he wanted. Legacy invaded the privacy of everyone he spoke with. Another reason he hated talking to friends. Thank goodness he didn’t have many.

  He turned to the television screen where Sofia had been caught in mid-sentence, wounded and ready to wound. They’d made her feel like an exaggeration of a person without ever taking the time to find out if it was true. They should know that the shock they felt was the smallest tip of the iceberg of the true vulgarity that hemmed in the real world like grotesque gothic bookends.

  Wagner’s voice cut into Legacy’s thought process. “Legacy, we could bring her in and you could get inside her head and show us –”

  “I’ve been there. She’s about to say something that will shock the crowd, mainly directed at her mother. She’ll wish she hadn’t said it right after it comes out.” Legacy pressed play.

  Sofia lashed back at the crowd, “You think that was bad? They used to superglue my lips together then go for triple penetration, think about it!” Gasps from the crowd, a smug look on Sofia’s face turned crimson as she realized that the prevailing reaction in the crowd wasn’t shock, it was an almost dehumanizing form of pity. They were not like her, they could not understand her. Anger set into her features, they would never understand.

  Legacy paused the tape again. He tried not to pity everyone in the charade. “Don’t waste much time on her.”

  In the hallway a minute later, Wagner caught up to him. Wagner walked several paces with him before saying, “There’s something else.”

  Legacy was surprised, was she beginning to read him, �
��They wouldn’t understand.”

  Wagner watched the glare off of the wall panels in an effort not to meet his eyes, “Try me.”

  Legacy stopped, it took him a moment to find the words, “She wasn’t afraid, every one of the girls who crossed paths with our guys were afraid – she wasn’t.”

  He let that sink in for a moment. He saw something cross her face, something like pure concern. Not that she needed any particular emotion to make her face shine, even in the dim hallway light, but Legacy saw a strobe effect of emotional understanding. At the mention of fear, the yellow flecks of her inner eye danced a jittery ballet of speculation and memory combined. Someone had once immersed her in a kind of fear that wasn’t contained at the time of the event, but instead continues to spill forward into every facet of their life, filling them like a tower of champagne glasses without the assurance that the bottle would ever empty.