Sleeper Code

by Thomas E. Sniegoski

  Madison knelt beside the two men who were lying on their stomachs, their hands bound behind their backs. “Yeah,” she said. “I think so.”

  “Good.” Tom hauled his charge up by the shoulders and leaned him back against the wall. The soldier was conscious now, eyes blazing with hate through the holes of the black ski mask he wore. This was the one Tom had taken down first, the one who had been the recipient of the finger thrust to the throat. His breathing was still a little wheezy.

  Tom reached out and pulled the mask from his face, revealing a man in his mid- to late thirties, hair cut very short in a military style. He snarled at Tom like some kind of wild animal that had been caught in a trap.

  “What are you going to do?” Madison asked, coming to stand beside him.

  “I’m going to ask him some questions,” Tom replied. “I want to know what they’re up to—I need to know what’s coming next.”

  The soldier said nothing, continuing to stare menacingly with his intensely dark eyes.

  Tom already knew that the man was not going to talk willingly, that he had been trained to hold his tongue, and besides, it was a matter of principle. He wasn’t going to talk to the guy who had kicked his ass.

  “Maybe we should just leave them and go,” Madison suggested.

  Tom stood and walked to the center of the room. “I wish we could, but this guy knows things—things that can help us get out of this mess alive.”

  The killer inside him was stirring again, roused by the chance of violence. It knew what needed to be done to ensure his and Madison’s safety, and it shared this information happily, a static whisper inside his mind.

  Tom picked up the knife from the floor, where it had fallen earlier in the struggle.

  Images of unthinkable things he had learned—no, that Tyler Garrett had learned—to do with a knife very much like this erupted in his brain.

  “I … I know some ways to get this guy to talk,” he said, the horrible knowledge making him feel a little sick.

  Tom returned to kneel in front of the defiantly silent man, holding up the glinting steel blade for him to see.

  “I want you to listen to me very closely,” he told the man as he concentrated on the blade in his hand. “I have no desire to hurt you, but the other guy—the one who lives inside my head?” Tom looked from the knife into the soldier’s eyes. “You know what he can do.”

  The soldier said nothing, but there was a change in his expression that let Tom know he realized exactly what he was facing.

  “He’s told me things,” Tom said calmly. “Things that I could do with this knife.”

  Tom held his breath, hoping that the assassin’s reputation would psych the soldier into telling him what he wanted to know.

  But the man remained silently defiant.

  “One involves your fingernails, how to slip the blade under the nails to slowly pry them off.” Tom demonstrated, pretending to do the horrific deed to an imaginary hand. “And that’s just a warm-up. I don’t even want to tell you what he wants me to do with your eyelids.”

  The soldier swallowed hard, closing his eyes and exhaling loudly.

  “I just want to know what’s next,” Tom said. He lowered the blade, waiting for an answer.

  The soldier opened his eyes and a smirk slowly spread across his features. “Don’t worry. You’ll know soon enough.”

  The anger Tom felt was sudden and intense, and it reinforced his beliefs that Tyler Garrett’s rage was somehow leaking into his.

  “You son of a bitch,” he spat, grabbing the man by the shoulder and tipping him forward to the ground.

  “Tom, what are you doing?” Madison asked, a hint of panic in her voice.

  “I’m sorry, but it has to be done,” he said as he brought the knife to the man’s hands, still fastened behind his back. “I gave him every opportunity, but he wants to be a hard-ass. He’s left me no choice.”

  Most of him was bluffing as he grabbed hold of the soldier’s thumb and pressed the tip of the knife blade under the nail, but there was a part of Tom that really wasn’t. A part of him that knew he might have to do something unspeakably horrible if he and Madison were going to survive this. He just hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

  But it might, Garrett whispered, and that’s when you and I become that much more alike.

  Tom leaned in close to the man’s ear, making him very aware of where the blade was placed. “Tell me what I need to know or I turn you over to him.”

  The soldier’s struggles lessened, the defiance seeming to leak from his body. “All right, all right,” he said. “What does it matter anyway? You and the girl are already dead; you’re just too stupid to realize it.”

  Tom flipped the man onto his back. “Yeah, we’re really stupid, which is why I need some answers.” He pressed the blade to the man’s neck, taking a perverse pleasure in the fear that appeared on his face. “What’s going to happen?”

  “The operation here has been blown. It’s only a matter of time before Pandora sends in its task force.”

  “Pandora?” Madison questioned. “Who’s that?”

  The soldier scoffed. “See? Real stupid.”

  Tom nicked the side of the man’s face with the knife, and he yelped in pain as a bubble of crimson leaked from the wound.

  “Whoops,” Tom said. “Stupid mistake; hope I don’t make another. Go on.”

  “Nothing much more to tell,” the soldier grumbled. “Our job was to apprehend you if possible—to terminate you if necessary—before Pandora arrived. The handlers were to take care of sanitation at the base of operations.”

  The handlers. Tom’s hand twitched, cutting the soldier’s face again, accidentally this time.

  “Why’d you do that?” he screeched, a new trickle of blood leaking from a much-deeper gash in his cheek. “I’m telling you everything I know.”

  “Sanitation,” Tom spat. “For the benefit of us stupid people, what exactly does that mean?”

  “It means sanitation,” the man replied, obviously aggravated. “To sanitize—to eliminate any evidence that you existed, standard procedure for any operation gone sour.”

  “How would they do that?” he asked, knowing he wouldn’t like the answer.

  The man thought for a moment. “Usually by fire.” He shrugged. “They make it look like an accident. The base of operation—in this case, your home—is burnt to the ground, as are any other homes in the area. It’s not good business to leave any loose ends.”

  Madison gasped, and Tom looked up to see her backing toward the door.

  “Madison, wait,” he called out.

  “My aunt and uncle,” she said in a terrified whisper. Then she turned, running from the house.

  “Madison!”

  Tom ran out of the house just in time to see Madison climbing into the Toyota and slamming the door closed. He rushed over to the car, but she had already locked the doors.

  “Madison, please. We need to talk. Don’t do this. It’s not safe.”

  Tom watched her through the glass as she bent down in the front seat, fiddling with the wires that dangled from the steering column.

  Tom jumped back as the engine roared to life.

  Madison looked at him through the driver’s side window. “I’m sorry,” she yelled as she put the car in drive. “But you’re part of this—and watching you with those soldiers … I’m not sure I can trust you.”

  The back tires spun out in the dirt, a cloud of exhaust and dust choking the air. Tom stood there stunned as the car finally gripped the unfinished road and sped off.

  Chapter 15

  Madison wasn’t really sure what to expect.

  She had parked the car on Stanley Place

  , a street that ran parallel to the cul-de-sac where her aunt and uncle lived, and then cut through some backyards on foot to end up behind their home.

  Squatting down in some tall grass and shrubs, she watched the back of the house for a few minutes and saw nothing out of the ordinary
. She had fully expected to see both her aunt and uncle’s house, as well as Tom’s, in flames or something equally as horrible, but both seemed perfectly fine.

  Cautiously she emerged from her hiding place and crossed the backyard to the deck. As quietly as she could, Madison crept up to the sliding glass door. Peering into the kitchen, she saw that it was empty and tested the door with a tug. It slid open on its track, and Madison silently thanked her uncle for not paying attention to her aunt’s constant nagging to keep it locked.

  She stepped into the kitchen and was nearly overwhelmed by the smell of gas. Her hand immediately went to her mouth and nose, and it took everything she had not to start coughing from the smell of rotting eggs. She could hear a hissing sound from the stove and quickly went to it. All the burner controls were turned to the off position, and she couldn’t quite figure where the sound of escaping gas was coming from. Then she noticed that the stove had been moved; it had been pushed away from the wall slightly. Hopping up on the counter, careful not to bang her head on the overhanging cabinet, she craned her neck to look behind the stove. The gas line had been disconnected.

  Sanitation.

  The soldier’s cold word echoed through her mind as she tried to reconnect the lines, but it was too awkward and impossible to do by hand. Not really sure what she should do, Madison hopped off the counter and opened the window above the sink as wide as it could go. She had left the sliding glass door open as well. It wouldn’t get rid of all the accumulated gas, but it would help.

  She had started toward the dining room, her every sense on high alert, when she stopped short and turned back to the counter by the stove. It was stupid, really, but she was remembering all the cheesy horror movies she’d seen over the years, the ones where the teenage girl would go into the creepy house looking for the serial killer, never having anything to defend herself with.

  She grabbed the biggest knife from the holder on the counter. Then, her confidence bolstered some, she moved on to the dining room. There was still no sign of anybody, and the house was deathly quiet. That in and of itself was unusual—even when the Arsenaults slept late, they were usually up by now.

  At the foot of the stairs she stopped and listened, tempted to call out but thinking again of the stupid teenagers in those movies. She peered up the stairs, and then, holding her knife at the ready, she started up, heart hammering so hard and loud she was certain that the deafening sound of its beating would give her away.

  Near the top of the stairs, she crouched and leaned out to check the hallway. The smell of gas was strong up here as well. Seeing and hearing nothing out of the ordinary, she stepped onto the landing and quickly made her way down the hall to her aunt and uncle’s room.

  She froze just shy of the entrance to their room. The door was ajar, as it usually was when they were sleeping, to keep the cool air from the air conditioner inside yet allow them to hear what was happening in the rest of the house. She reached out a trembling hand to push it open. The door slowly swung inward with a squeak, and she peered inside.

  Marty and Ellen were nestled snugly in their beds, sound asleep, the raspy breathing of her uncle over the hum of the AC giving the illusion that everything was as it should be. She approached the bed, reaching down to grab hold of her aunt’s leg beneath the comforter. “Aunt Ellen,” she whispered, squeezing the woman’s leg and giving it a shake. “Aunt Ellen, wake up.”

  Her aunt remained fast asleep, so Madison turned her attention to her uncle. She set her carving knife down on the nightstand beside a glass of water and shook him with both hands. “Uncle Marty, please wake up.”

  Her uncle continued to breathe loudly, as if so deeply asleep that her voice couldn’t get to him. She reached for the glass of water on the nightstand, preparing to douse her uncle to consciousness.

  “I’m afraid that will only make him wet,” said a voice from behind her.

  Madison let out a yelp of surprise, dropped the water glass and turning around to face Mason Lovett standing in the doorway. She reacted purely on instinct, grabbing up the knife, holding it tightly in both hands, blade pointed in his direction.

  Mason sighed, as if exasperated. “I don’t want this to be any more difficult than it has to be,” he said, coming into the room.

  “Stay away from me,” she spat. She didn’t want him to see that she was afraid, but the knife shook in her grip. “What are you doing in here—what have you done to them?”

  Mason looked down at the pair, sound asleep beneath the covers. “I gave them a shot to put them to sleep. This isn’t their fault. It’s only fair that they not know what’s happening to them.”

  Mason calmly looked at her, and she became even more terrified. “I’d like to give you that same chance. A shot and then you’ll go to sleep. I promise it’ll be completely painless.”

  “You’ll give me a shot and then what?” she scoffed. “You’ll blow up the house around me? Around my aunt and uncle? Are you out of your friggin’ mind?”

  Mason then produced a gun from somewhere at his back and pulled back the hammer with a loud click. He pointed the weapon at her sleeping aunt and uncle. “Look, I have a job to do here, and it’s going to require me to speed things up a bit, so I’d like you to drop that knife this instant or I’ll be forced to put a bullet into Marty and Ellen’s skulls.”

  “You’re crazy!” Madison shrieked.

  “Drop the knife, Madison,” he continued with very little emotion.

  Madison couldn’t move, but her hands shook so badly it looked like she was trying to cut the air with the knife.

  “Fine, which one first?” Mason asked, moving the gun from side to side. “Your aunt or your uncle? I’ll let you decide.”

  “No!” she screamed, tears of frustration and anger, spurred by helplessness, starting to flow down her cheeks.

  “Then drop the knife.”

  Madison finally did as she was told, letting the knife fall to the hardwood floor.

  “Now kick it over to me,” Mason coolly instructed.

  She kicked the blade, and it clattered across the floor.

  Mason quickly bent down to pick it up. “Thank you,” he said, sliding the long kitchen knife between the waistline of his slacks and his brown leather belt.

  Madison had the urge to run, a horrible tingling sensation spreading up and down her legs, but she couldn’t bear the thought of leaving her aunt and uncle behind.

  “I just want you to know that you’re being very adult about this,” Mason continued. “And I really appreciate it.”

  She was speechless, staring at the man in shock, as if he were some creature from another world.

  “Now, if you would be so kind as to go to your room.” He stepped aside and motioned toward the door with the gun.

  Numb, Madison left the room, feeling the strange sensation of having a gun pointed at her. She stopped in the doorway to her room and began to turn.

  “Inside,” he commanded, a hard poke in the back with the gun’s barrel convincing her to move faster. “Sit down on the bed and hold out your arm,” he told her.

  Madison sat at the edge of her bed, watching as Mason, still pointing the gun at her, reached into his shirt pocket and removed what appeared to be a green plastic vial.

  “What’s that?” she asked.

  He brought the vial to his mouth and pulled off the cap with his teeth, revealing a needle. He spat the cap onto the floor. “I told you I would make this as easy for you as I could,” he said, coming toward her. “It’s the same stuff I gave your aunt and uncle. You’ll be asleep before you know it.”

  “I’ll be dead!” she screamed, rolling backward and flipping herself over the bed to the other side of the room.

  “Eventually,” Mason agreed, “but you won’t feel a thing. Now stop this nonsense before you force me to do something really horrible. I’d hate to put a bullet in one of your kneecaps, or maybe you’d like me to march down the hallway and shoot poor Marty while—”

  Mad
ison was distracted by a flurry of movement in her doorway and heard herself gasp as Tom Lovett came into her room.

  “Don’t worry, Madison,” he said as his father whipped around, startled by the sound of his voice. “He wouldn’t dare use the gun in here. Too much gas: he’d blow himself to bits as well, and I doubt that’s part of his plan.”

  Madison looked at Tom. There was a sheen of sweat on his brow and his chest was heaving as he worked to catch his breath. She was still so confused by everything that had happened, but there was no doubt that she was very relieved Tom had come for her.

  “He’s right,” Mason said, shoving the weapon into the waistband of his pants.

  Madison knew what was coming. “Tom, watch out!” she screamed, just as Mason Lovett pulled the knife from his belt and leapt at his son.

  Victoria remembered the first time she had seen him, ten years ago, sound asleep as he was carried into the house. He would awaken from his narcoleptic spell and remember it as his home and her as his mother.

  She checked the connections on the detonator attached to the natural gas pipe in the basement of her neighbors’ home and thought about the life she was being forced to abandon.

  There had been another life, one that seemed so long ago, it was almost as if she had dreamed it. She had been a freelance operative, a spy whose only allegiance was to whoever could pay the most.

  And Brandon Kavanagh had made her the sweetest of offers.

  Victoria stared at the small explosive device, mesmerized by the rhythmic flashing of the green sensor eye, pulsing like a heartbeat. There was another one exactly like it across the street at her home, in her basement, and when the time was right, she would push a button on a tiny transmitter that she carried in her pocket and both homes on Burrows Place would be destroyed in an explosion, and the life she had led until that morning would cease to exist—Victoria Lovett would cease to exist.

  It wasn’t her real name, but in the line of work she had chosen, the opportunity for other identities often presented itself. She and another member of the illustrious intelligence community had been hired by the Janus Project to be the keepers of a newly developed secret weapon of the highest caliber.