The General: The Luke Titan Chronicles (4/6)

by David Beers

  “Sir, we have to send agents to her now. This show is filmed in L.A., right?”

  “I don’t know, Christian. I don’t normally go onto a lot of talk shows.”

  “It is,” Tommy said. Christian could hear the same fear in his voice, the knowledge that she was dead if they did nothing.

  Perhaps as soon as she walked out of the building. Christian had no idea how far Luke’s hand could reach, nor how quickly.

  He turned to Waverly, pushing the beautiful face on the television away for a moment. “We have to get someone to her. I’m formally requesting that someone be dispatched from our L.A. offices to monitor her.”

  Waverly turned from the television to Christian. It took a second, but the anger left him.

  “Okay. Listen, I’ve got to deal with the aftermath of this. I’ll have Teresa send someone now. You two go do whatever you need to do and figure out how to catch this son-of-a-bitch. We’ll meet again at five.”

  Chapter 10

  Night had fallen, and as always, Luke felt at home with it. He preferred to move during the night, though it wasn’t required. He could operate as easily in the daylight, but darkness reflected his true superiority. In the light, people thought they could see, some even thinking they could keep up. At night, though, those notions disappeared. He wore the cloak of invisibility; how could anyone think they could possibly stop what they didn’t see?

  Finding Christian’s hotel room had been easy enough. He and Tommy were traveling without protection, which was shocking … yet not. They both knew the danger Luke proposed, but somehow were still operating under the presumption that Luke feared capture. Perhaps that stemmed from the way Luke had maneuvered through their past few cases, always behind the scenes and avoiding being noticed—or, perhaps, it stemmed from their own psychology, unable to shake the fact that they wouldn’t want to be caught.

  Either way, the thought that Luke would simply show up after what happened yesterday never crossed their minds.

  Thus following them had been easy.

  Wearing a hat and sunglasses, Luke stayed back 200 yards at all times. He dressed in plain clothes, jeans and a t-shirt, looking more like a tourist than anything else.

  They left the FBI office at 11:00 that night. Luke didn’t move at all as he watched them exit the building. They went to the parking lot and both entered one of the handicap vans the FBI provided Tommy. Luke’s face remained still as he watched the vehicle pull out onto the street. The lights disappeared into the darkness and Luke finally stood. He stretched his legs and arms, reaching up into the air.

  Luke walked down the street and stepped into his own car.

  The two of them were even staying at the same hotel. Their guards were down, in part because neither had slept in a long time. They weren’t thinking clearly, and Luke was counting on that.

  He waited two hours, passing the time in his car, looking out at the street and watching cars pass to and fro in front of him. Finally, at just after one in the morning, Luke entered the hotel lobby.

  The bar was closed and two people stood behind the check-in desk. Luke wore his hat, but his sunglasses were off, not wanting to worry anyone unnecessarily. After all, people weren’t keen on people wearing sunglasses in the dead of night.

  “Hello, sir. How can I help you?” The young black man looked up, a smile on his face. Nice hotels hired nice employees.

  Luke pulled his pistol from the back of his pants and fired a single shot into the young man’s face. He turned his shoulders slightly and fired again, this shot catching the female co-worker just above the bridge of her nose. In addition to muffling the sound, the pistol’s silencer kept both heads from exploding, as well as the bullets from exiting the back of their skulls. The only blood was that which trickled down from the two entry holes.

  Both fell to the floor behind the counter.

  Luke walked around to the other side, then bent over the man’s body. His keys were attached to his belt, and Luke pulled them off, not caring in the slightest about fingerprints. The world knew he was back, and his visit with Christian certainly wouldn’t be anonymous.

  A hotel master key was on the ring, a plastic card that would allow entry into any of the guest rooms.

  Luke dragged the two bodies inside a back room, shutting the door as he left. He went through the computer, finding Christian and Tommy’s rooms with ease, then rode the elevator to their floor.

  Luke went to Tommy’s room first. He placed the key against the scanner and saw the green light flash. He entered the room but didn’t bother closing the door softly. It shut with a smooth clang.

  Tommy’s scent was heavy in the room and Luke breathed it in, memories from years of work coming back to him immediately—similar to how a meal might remind someone of their mother.

  “Christian? Anne?”

  The voice was soft, like a person whispering to their lover. It came from the bedroom and Luke followed it.

  “No, Tommy. Not Christian. It’s me. Who is Anne, your nurse?”

  He found the bedroom; the blinds were closed and the lights off, but he could still see Tommy.

  The wheelchair was next to the bed where Tommy lay on his back, propped up to ensure that he could breathe properly throughout the night.

  “I take it Anne is the woman I saw traveling with you. Did she put you in bed?”

  Tommy said nothing.

  “You wish you could move right now, don’t you? To that gun sitting on the nightstand, which is as useless … well, as an FBI field agent without control of his limbs.” Luke moved to the bed, slightly pushing the wheelchair out of the way. He stood over Tommy. “Would you like me to turn the light on?”

  No response, but Luke turned the knob on the wall. Tommy’s eyes squinted at first, but Luke saw them focus directly on his.

  “Hey, partner,” Luke said. He reached forward and touched Tommy’s forehead with the back of his hand, like a mother checking a child’s temperature. “How are you doing?”

  “I’m going to kill you. I promise.”

  “I’m sorry about your fiancée, Alice. It had to be done, though.”

  Tears were in Tommy’s eyes. Watery pools of rage.

  “There are bigger things at play here, Tommy. Bigger than you and me, bigger than her. It’s a war that must be fought, and there will be casualties. They can’t be avoided.”

  “Luke.” Tommy paused, his chest hitching up and down, his voice full of desperation. “I’m going to kill you. I will watch you when you take your last breath.”

  “Maybe. But not tonight. Do you think of her often, Tommy? Do you think of making love to her? Do you think of holding her while you watched movies? I bet you do.”

  Tommy said nothing.

  “Ah, well, I just wanted to say hello. I’m not done with you yet; the war is just beginning.”

  The two former partners stared at each other for a few seconds and then Luke turned the light off. He exited the hotel room in silence.

  Moving briskly down the hallway, he found Christian’s room. He would need to move more quickly here, as Christian still had control over his body. He flashed the key against the sensor, saw green, and opened the door. Stepping inside, he moved to shut the door silently behind him, but felt the wind of someone moving close by. He raised both arms immediately, putting his closed fists together and forming an ‘L’ shape in front of his face like a boxer.

  The gun’s metal slammed into him, pain ricocheting up Luke’s forearms. He made no sound, every sense focused on the next movement. The gun again swung at his head; Luke ducked, his eyes finally finding the assailant. Luke’s fist snapped out like a viper, catching Christian in the stomach, causing him to bend at the waist. Another punch to Christian’s nose, bone crunching beneath Luke’s knuckles.

  His old partner was still on his feet; Luke straightened himself and with a god’s righteousness, brought down his left fist across Christian’s face.

  He collapsed to the ground, the gun falling bes
ide him.

  Christian squeezed his eyes together. He couldn’t breathe out of his nose and his entire face felt like a lake of pain. He tried to sniff, but his sinuses lit on fire when he did.

  Christian opened his eyes and saw a lamp on to the right, slightly illuminating the hotel room. Luke sat in a chair directly across from him, holding Christian’s weapon; it hung lazily from his right hand. Luke had one leg crossed over the other, looking as patient as the Buddha.

  Christian saw that nothing restrained him. He sat on his chair with as much freedom to move as Luke, except for the fact that Luke had a gun and he didn’t.

  “I’m impressed.”

  Christian blinked hard, trying to shove the pain in his face away.

  “How did you know I’d come?”

  “You look like a fucking bum,” Christian said as he did a once over Luke’s clothes. His ex-partner was wearing jeans and tennis shoes—clothing that didn’t even exist in the stores Luke previously frequented.

  “You’ve forced me to make adjustments, Christian … How did you know I’d come tonight?”

  “I didn’t. I thought it was a good probability.”

  “And yet, you didn’t tell anyone?”

  Luke’s entire body was still, nearly a stone statue. Christian sat opposite him with a swollen, bloodied face, his mouth open so that he could breathe.

  Luke smiled. “Veronica really took a stance today, no?”

  Any pain Christian felt disappeared at the mention of her name. “Fuck you.”

  “So much anger. Have you found no peace in the past two years? Even when you chased me to my home in South America, did you see me show any disturbance? No, Christian. It’s not healthy, walking around with a weight like that on your back. You’ll eventually end up stooped over unable to move.”

  “Why are you here?” Christian said.

  “I wanted to palaver. I think it might be beneficial for both of us to discuss what comes next.”

  “You’re so fucked and you don’t even know it. You attacked four FBI buildings yesterday, Luke. What do you think comes next? Whatever plans you’ve created, they’re gone now. The body count is over 200. Waverly will enlist the fucking army if he needs, but you’re done. Completely.”

  Luke nodded and frowned slightly. He didn’t look away. “That’s possible, though not probable.”

  “Then what comes next, Luke? You think you’re so in control of all this, except if I was faster and stronger, you’d be dead right now.”

  “But you’re not.”

  Luke stood and walked to the hotel window, his left shoulder facing Christian so that the gun was on the other side of Luke’s body.

  “Do you remember my purpose, Christian?”

  “No one can forget anything that crazy.”

  “What is it?” Luke asked.

  “Fuck you.”

  “There’s no need for such crude language, Christian. It doesn’t fit you.”

  “Fuck you.”

  Luke chuckled. “Another question, perhaps. How much of my life do you understand? Have you seen when I was put on this quest? Do you see that I have no choice in the matter?”

  “I see that you’re insane, Luke. That’s all. There’s nothing else to you.”

  Luke shook his head. “You don’t believe that and we both know it.”

  Neither spoke for a few seconds, Luke’s words settling over Christian’s mind. We both know it. Christian wouldn’t say anything, and he might try to fight the assertion consciously, but subconsciously? Where the truth always resided deep inside its pool? What would it say?

  “My purpose is disorder in the face of God. You’re a tool in that purpose. A very good tool,” Luke said. “Waverly will come after me now, with more resources and focus than ever before. That’s fine. It’s you and I that concerns me. Where we go from here.”

  Christian was silent, his eyes looking at the empty chair in front of him. His mind had already gone through every possible escape scenario, but each one ended with a bullet inside him. If he sat here, he would make it out alive; Luke wasn’t going to kill him. If Christian tried to run, though? Well, Luke might have to make more ‘adjustments’.

  “Christian, I recognize the seriousness of what I’ve done. I declared war on the federal government. I intend to continue waging that war until you do what I ask of you.”

  “And what’s that, Luke?”

  “You’re going to kill Veronica, Tommy, and Waverly. Your mother can live, but the rest of them have to die at your hand.”

  Christian’s eyes widened, and for a moment complete shock kept him from doing anything else. Then, he started laughing. Loud, originating from deep within his chest.

  “You’re crazier than anyone imagined!” Christian nearly shouted the words, his face bright with pain, but he couldn’t help himself. It was all too funny, Luke showing up here thinking Christian might even consider his outrageous demand.

  “Slow down. Think about it. You might see things my way.”

  Christian’s laugh died as his mind focused, a single ray of intensity drilling down on Luke’s words.

  “There you go,” Luke said without looking away from the window. “Two hundred people died yesterday. That attack was more for show than actual effectiveness. What comes next will be worse, and that’s going to weigh on you, Christian. Remember how you felt when Lucy Speckle started killing people you knew? Everyone told you it was ridiculous to think you were responsible, yet you couldn’t shake it. Really, that’s what gave me my opening, why that other version of yourself still lives somewhere in your head. Your guilt made you hate Lucy, and that allowed me to make you kill her.”

  Luke turned his head to Christian.

  “And now look at where we are. We’re almost the same, you and I. You’re going to have to embrace my purpose as your own if you want to see your way out of this.” He turned so that he faced Christian completely. “Once those three people are dead, by your hand, I’ll turn myself in, Christian. How does that sound?”

  Christian looked into Luke’s brown eyes and he saw light in them. Not the cold, nearly dead stare that he so often gave—but he saw something close to glee.

  “We’re going to kill you, Luke. That’s the only sound I hear. You dying. Your last breaths struggling out of your caved in chest. I hear your death rattle.”

  “It’s not my rattle you’re hearing, Christian. But you’ll know that soon enough.”

  Christian didn’t look away as Luke stepped forward; he knew what came next, and though fear naturally rested in him, he wouldn’t give Luke the satisfaction of seeing it.

  Chapter 11

  Christian woke up, slumped in the same chair. His skull hurt, as well as his face. Luke had put him in a chokehold until …

  Luke.

  His eyes snapped open as everything came back to him, the fog of unconsciousness whisked away.

  Christian stood up, but black spots dotted his vision and he grew lightheaded. He grabbed onto the chair’s arm and bent over, trying to gather himself.

  He took two deep breaths, his eyes scanning the room as he did. He didn’t see his weapon anywhere and knew Luke must have taken it.

  “Tommy,” he said through a nose full of snot and blood.

  He straightened slowly, doing his best to keep from collapsing. Finally feeling like he had control of himself, Christian walked to the hotel door and into the hallway. He looked both ways but there was no point, Luke was gone.

  Or, with Tommy.

  That sped him up. Christian ran down the hallway, reaching Tommy’s door and leaning against it. Black spots danced along his vision again; he had to focus.

  You don’t have a weapon, and you’re going to go in there and try to save Tommy? That’s your plan?

  What else was there? He couldn’t very well call this in; by the time anyone arrived, Tommy would be dead.

  You will be, too, if you go in there now.

  Christian ignored his thoughts, just glad they weren�
��t his mother standing in the hallway talking to him. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet, flashing Tommy’s key against the scanner. The card reader flashed green and Christian stepped inside.

  “Tommy!”

  “In here.”

  Relief washed over Christian, cold but pleasant water breaking through the borderline panic which held him. He moved across the room—larger than his own as it was handicapped equipped—and found Tommy in his bed, exactly as Christian had left him.

  “He went to you, too, huh?” Tommy asked. “Looks like I got off easier.”

  Christian looked at Michael Hanson sitting across from him. Christian’s face was still bruised, swollen—looking like he’d gone five or six rounds in a boxing ring before being knocked out.

  It was 8:00 in the evening, and while Christian had no problem working these hours, he imagined Dr. Hanson was here only because the Director told him to be.

  He no longer saw his old therapist, Melissa. There was no big breakup, no shouting or tears. Not even a solemn goodbye. Christian exited the hospital, and simply never went back. There was a life before the knife went through his skull and a life after; very, very few things crossed from one side to the other. That included many people, among them Melissa.

  The relationship with Hanson was much different than the one he had shared with Melissa; Christian still wasn’t sure if that was a positive or negative thing. Melissa cared. Hanson didn’t. It’s not that the lack of caring meant active dislike, only that what Christian decided to do didn’t matter to Hanson. Either way, the man’s day would continue on, as would his life.

  “You’re probably going to want to see a doctor,” Hanson said of Christian’s face.

  “You’re a doctor.”

  “Not the type that can help your head.”

  “This one was my fault,” Christian said.

  The psychologist looked at him for a second, the two chairs facing each other in Hanson’s office. Waverly had insisted Christian keep seeing him, but their distance meant the two had to communicate over the Internet. Now, thanks to Luke, they were able to meet in person.