by Rob Horner
“Who was that?” Travis asked as Angela hung up the phone.
Instead of answering him directly, Angela whispered, “About six months ago, I was told to go to a certain dance club here in Virginia Beach.” She didn’t look at Travis as she spoke; her eyes stared at the floor between their chairs. “I was given a description of a man I was supposed to introduce myself to.”
Travis couldn’t speak.
“I’d done this sort of thing before.” She laughed self-deprecatingly, gesturing at her body. “It’s something I’m pretty good at, picking up men. But what do you know? I meet this guy, and he’s completely different from everything I’d learned to expect. He doesn’t try to get me into bed; he doesn’t try to get me drunk. He doesn’t try to do anything…except be my friend. I—” she stopped, drawing a breath.
Travis knew he should say something; he didn’t want to hear this.
Angela collected herself, continuing. “He calls me the next day and asks me out. And I think this is it, now he’ll show his true colors. But he’s the perfect gentleman; he treats me like a princess and not a sex object.”
Travis remembered that date, remembered opening the car door for Angela. He’d taken her light covering, some Lula-something flimsy thing, and folded it over her chair as they sat down to eat. He even remembered how surprised she was at the treatment.
Her voice wavered slightly. Travis couldn’t be sure, since she wouldn’t look up to meet his eyes, but he thought she was crying. “My instructions were clear: get close to him. Make him love me. But by then, I didn’t really have a choice anymore. This guy, this perfect guy…he’s you, Travis, and you got to me. I couldn’t stay away from you. Finally, I had to seduce you, not because I was told to, but because I wanted to. I wanted you.”
“And on the phone?” Travis asked softly.
Angela waved that away. “Ever since then, you and I have been kind of building, getting closer. I didn’t know what to do. My instructions never said anything about falling in love with you.”
Travis couldn’t respond to that last statement. He couldn’t focus on anything but the crushing thought that she’d betrayed him. “Who was on the phone?”
“And now…now I’m supposed to keep you here, Travis. They’re still expecting me to help them, and I don’t know what to do.”
“You…you’re one of them!”
“I…yes, Travis, I am. I always have been.”
“Everything we’ve done…all of it…it was all a set-up!” Travis shouted, jumping to his feet. He turned to the window and looked out into the parking lot, expecting to see unmarked government sedans swarming around the apartment building. Or maybe they’d use regular police vehicles. They’d come in with their lights flashing, policemen swarming like ants out of a kicked hill, hunkering down behind car doors, guns in the air.
So far, everything was clear. He checked the clock on the wall. It was ten minutes until ten.
Come on Sherry, he thought desperately, call me. Save me from this.
“Didn’t you hear me?” Angela cried. “I said I love you!”
“How do you expect me to feel, Angela?” Travis shouted back, rounding on her. “What am I supposed to say? My whole life has fallen apart! I’ve got people listening to everything I say, watching everything I do! I trusted you! I came here to tell you what was happening to me, to let you know I might need to go away for a while, so you wouldn’t be worried, so you would be safe. But of course, you’re not worried about me, no! So long as your assignment is completed satisfactorily, you’re just fine!”
Angela stared in shocked silence at his anger. Of all his possible reactions, this was one she hadn’t anticipated. She’d told him that she loved him. He should be saying that he loved her, too. Didn’t she mean anything to him?
Angela couldn’t understand that he might see this as just another pretense, another way to get him to remain with her, so she could keep her reputation safe. The very idea that he might see things differently hadn’t occurred to her.
His phone rang.
When did he get that phone? Angela wondered.
Travis jumped for it, thankful that the hour was over. So long as he got away before anyone showed up, he might be able to stay ahead of them.
2
“Sherry?”
“Yeah. You answered.”
“Of course.” Travis couldn’t resist a smile as he heard Sherry’s voice. He didn’t understand why, but he felt better just talking to the other woman. “You ready for me to come get you?”
“I don’t really want to leave my mom, but yes, I think we need to go somewhere.”
“Okay, just give me your address.”
“It’s five-eight-five Westchester Courtyard, off Titan Drive.”
“That’s over behind Bayside High School, right?”
“Yeah! That’s right! How’d you know?”
“I went to a friend’s bachelor party over in that area just a few months ago.”
“Well that makes this easier.”
“Good,” he said. “I could use easy for a bit.”
“What do you mean?”
“Nothing, Sherry. I’m just…worried.”
“Yeah, me too. It’s all happening so fast.”
“But we’re going to stay ahead of it, don’t you worry.”
“All right. Will you be here soon?”
Travis thought for a moment. Then he said, “The quickest way is off Witchduck, right?”
“Yeah, probably.”
“Okay, it’ll take me about ten minutes. I’m over off Newtown now.”
“Wow! That’s not far at all.”
“No. Will you be ready?”
“I…I’ll be waiting for you.”
“All right. See you soon.”
3
“Aren’t you going to say anything?” Angela demanded, moving toward Travis as he hung up the phone.
Travis shook his head, backing away from the blond. “What can I say, Angela? It’s all been planned from the beginning. But not anymore. I’m going to change the plan.”
“Travis, listen. You can’t fight this. Why don’t you just give in and let things happen?”
“Why? You heard what they did to me. I have memories of two sets of parents floating around in my head. And what about what they did to my friend? Is that what you want? You want them to write a whole new script for me? Maybe make you my wife?”
“Would that be so bad?” Angela asked softly.
“Maybe not before,” Travis replied. “But now—” he let his words die away. Turning, he found the doorknob. The bright Saturday sunlight stabbed at his eyes. The parking lot was still clear.
Angela reached for his arm. Travis spun at the contact, and his eyes found the unused pile of pillows and blankets on the living room floor. This time he didn’t feel any regrets. If anything, he felt justified. He couldn’t believe a thing she said to him. For all he knew, the only reason she’d told him anything was to delay him that much longer. Well, she’d succeeded. But no more.
“I love you, Travis. Please don’t leave me like this.”
Travis looked down at her and couldn’t find any residue of the emotion he’d felt that morning. Somewhere deep inside of him there was a grief that would need to come out, but at the moment it was buried under a ton of pain and anger. If he was lucky, he could hold it off for a while, maybe until he and Sherry were safe.
He didn’t trust himself to say anything else to Angela.
Before she could beg him to stay again, he turned and ran for his car. Jumping into the driver’s seat, he spotted the miniature transmitter sitting across from him. A sudden flare of rage almost made him grab the hateful thing and fling it out the window.
He controlled himself. Instead of hurling it, he lifted it carefully. Getting out of his car, he walked over to a forlorn late model pickup truck sitting two spots away, on the other side of Angela’s Fusion. Reaching carefully over the tailgate, he set the transmitter on the truck
bed. With any luck, it would be a while before the truck was moved.
Feeling as though a great weight had been removed from his shoulders—though whether that was because the transmitter was out of his car or because Angela was out of his life, Travis didn’t know—he got back into his car, started the engine, threw it into reverse, and backed out of the parking space.
He retraced his route to Virginia Beach Boulevard and made a left. Four stoplights later, he made another left, this time onto Witchduck Road. He would be at Sherry’s mother’s house in only a few more minutes.
4
Angela watched until Travis’s car was out of sight before closing the door to her apartment. Nothing had gone right, nothing at all. They should be making love by now, all tangled up in the blankets she’d set out.
But that didn’t matter anymore. Nothing did.
Angela had never felt such an emptiness inside; she hadn’t thought she was capable of feeling such a sense of loss.
And it was all her fault.
She shouldn’t have told him.
Wearily she sank down onto the couch, her gaze fixed on the piled cushions. Her small frame shook with sobs she tried to restrain, as if giving voice to them would make Travis’s leaving irreversible. Finally, she gave in, sinking to the floor.
5
“Is he moving?” Travers asked.
“Not yet,” Agent Black responded.
The audio had gone silent several minutes before. “Is anything wrong with the feed?”
“All I’m getting is the girl crying,” Lisa’s voice answered. “I could turn up the gain, but I expect you don’t want to hear that.”
“Poor thing,” Kirkson said.
Travers snorted.
Black said, “Serves her right.”
They’d heard everything: the one-sided phone calls, the argument, and Angela’s admissions. Lieutenant Barnes sneaked a glance at Agent Travers and was appalled at the look of fury on the big agent’s face.
“We’re almost there,” Black said. “Take the next left at Baker Street.”
Come on, Lieutenant Barnes thought, get moving!
Travers pulled into the left turn lane, blinker on late, like an afterthought. A trailing vehicle honked at them as he made a fast left.
“Still not moving,” Black reported.
Chapter 13
Contact
1
“The guy still hasn’t moved,” Black reported as Travers turned the Dodge Durango into the Harbor Crest Apartments.
What the hell? Barnes thought. Had he put himself and his career at risk for nothing?
“Contact is just ahead,” Black said.
“That’s Agent Bassett’s Fusion,” Kirkson confirmed.
Agent Travers nosed the Durango into the empty spot beside the silver Ford. There was no sign of Travis’s Focus.
2
“Is that him?” Victoria Galer asked, watching as a strangely beautiful electric-blue hatchback pulled to the curb in front of her house.
Sherry waited to answer. As soon as she saw his face rising above the hood she said, “Yes,” and moved to unlock the front door.
“Well, he’s good-looking at least,” Victoria said softly.
“Mom!” Sherry protested.
Travis took a moment to survey the street, looking for anything suspicious. By the time he started up the driveway Sherry had the front door open. She hadn’t known how she would react to seeing him. She thought the moment might be awkward. They were two people who knew a lot about one another but hadn’t officially met yet, not face to face. She thought of waiting in the house, letting him come to her, then starting their relationship slowly, with a handshake.
She hadn’t expected to find herself throwing open the door and running down the lawn to meet him.
3
Travis’s heart pounded with excitement as he turned onto Westchester Courtyard from Titan Drive. He didn’t know what kind of house to look for, so he drove slowly, counting the numbers from the right side of the street.
There, at the center of the courtyard.
It was a low, sprawling red brick house with two cars parked in the driveway, one behind the other. The second car was a little too far back, so its rear end hung out into the street.
The numbers on the mailbox read: 585.
Pulling to the curb, he turned his engine off. Slowly, trying to define the reason for his racing heart, Travis rose from the low car. He looked around, up and down the street, afraid they were running out of time. For all he knew, Angela had already reported to her superiors—her handlers? —and a team was on the way to retrieve them.
Then he turned to look at the house, noticing the open door. For just an instant his eyes locked on Sherry’s, green meeting blue, and something ignited, or re-ignited. It crackled like lightning through the air, connecting them, drawing him to her and her to him. Travis walked one step toward the house, then a second, and then he was rushing to meet her, pulled by a promise made long before.
They met in the center of the front lawn, arms wrapping around each other, standing at the epicenter of an explosion only they could feel.
4
The three agents and the lieutenant sat inside the black Durango for a few minutes, waiting while Agent Black fiddled with the settings on his tracking program.
“It’s still saying he’s here, just a few meters away.”
“Well, he’s obviously not,” Travers responded.
“Gentlemen,” Lisa said into their speaker system. “Captain Ortega just phoned in. He’s about forty-five minutes out.”
“We should have this wrapped up by then,” Kirkson said. “He probably found his tracker and pulled it. But there isn’t one on the girl’s car. We can track her through the in-dash GPS.”
“Why the hell didn’t we do that with his?” Barnes asked.
“Because he’s driving a 2016 Ford Focus RS, base model, which didn’t come with a navigation system,” Kirkson replied.
“This is bullshit,” Travers said, getting out of the SUV. Lieutenant Barnes hastily exited the passenger side, while Agents Black and Kirkson stepped out from the back. Barnes revised his opinion of Agent Travers. He not only sounded like Michael Clarke Duncan, he was just about as tall, with extremely dark skin and arms as big around as the lieutenant’s thighs. His shaved head reflected the sun as strongly as the SUV’s black finish, until he covered it with a Hillary for Prison 2016 hat.
Agent Black was shorter, but still over six feet. He looked to be about thirty. He was dressed casually in jeans and a Nike T-shirt, showing off muscular arms, a thick neck, and shoulders like a linebacker’s with pads. His features, however, were disappointingly plain. Brown hair, brown eyes, and a mouth that was neither too thin nor overly generous gave an illusion of anonymity. Aside from his size, no one would remember this man more than five minutes after seeing him. Take his shirt off and put him on the beach, and his anonymity would be complete.
Agent Kirkson was another winner of the testosterone lottery. Shorter than either Black or Travers, of a height with Lieutenant Barnes, he still fit his button-down Marc Anthony short sleeve shirt like it had been painted onto his chest and arms. Skin several shades lighter than Agent Travers’, combined with boyish good looks, make him appear to be in his twenties, with just the right height and build for an NFL running back.
All three agents had shoulder holsters over their T-shirts, though something about Travers’ seemed wrong, like it was bigger than it should be. Agent Black handed Travers a sport coat before pulling his own out of the back seat. Kirkson had already shrugged into his.
Travers walked to the left, eye-balling Bassett’s silver Fusion, while Kirkson went right, casually looking under first a white Chevrolet Impala, then a red Chrysler Town and Country minivan. While the agents searched, the lieutenant examined the apartment complex.
Like many of these pop-up rental places, it had an open front walkway with stairs zigzagging up to a second and third floor.
The walkway went straight through the building, with room for perhaps two apartments per side on each floor.
“We’re right on top of it,” Black said softly.
“Got it,” Travers said, reaching into the back of an old pickup truck. “Sonuvabitch was smart, shorted out the contact wires.”
Lieutenant Barnes breathed a small sigh of relief. Maybe he’d managed to give Travis enough of a head start after all.
5
A roiling wave of sensations swept through Sherry as Travis’s arms encircled her. An explosion of sparks danced through her vision. The contact reached deep into her soul, lighting off an awareness of self she’d never thought possible.
Travis gasped as the current raced through him, seizing his muscles so he couldn’t have relaxed his embrace had he wanted to. That he didn’t want to let this woman go was a thought that reached into his brain seconds later. His mind…expanded, reaching outward, seeking, finding, and accepting new and mysterious inputs he’d never known existed.
Tears poured down Sherry’s face, each one a drop of liquid fire as her nerves came alive. There was a power coursing through them, completely unexpected and wholly alien, reaching from him to her, from her to him, tearing through his body and coming back to hers. She felt…alive…for the first time in her life…truly alive! Possibilities, so many of them, opened in her mind. Together they were powerful, capable of many things.
Travis felt the same sense of incipient power and wondered at its source. A confusing torrent of thoughts poured into his mind. Some were his, and some felt different, as if they came from someone else. They were faint, at first, a scratching at the door of awareness. But then his mind opened further, and the words became clear.
What is this?
I don’t know.
What are we?
Power.
Sherry?
Yes, Travis?
I can hear your thoughts.
And I can hear yours.