by Shutt, Tom
He reached for his pocket, but stopped when he remembered his phone had been destroyed the night before. Brennan wondered briefly if his replacement plan covered unforeseen car bombs and shootouts. He wrote a brief response message to Sam, then closed the laptop and went about gathering a fresh set of clothes to wear. He opened the bedroom door as he buttoned his shirt. “Hey, Greg?” he called.
“Yeah?”
“I have to go buy a new cell phone,” he said, emerging from the room. The sling somehow found itself left behind, and Brennan was not upset for its absence. “What are you going to do today?”
“Going to find a job,” Greg replied glumly, and he sighed loudly. “You don’t have to keep repeating yourself, I heard you the first time.”
“If I don’t say it over and over, then I know you will keep putting it off,” Brennan countered. “Just looking out for you.”
“Yeah, well, don’t. I’ve got this.” Greg cocked his head, and his frustration seemed momentarily replaced by curiosity. “What happened to your old cell phone?”
“It got blown up,” Brennan said simply. He grinned in response to his nephew’s puzzled look. “I can’t explain, I have to meet someone soon, and I’d like to get the phone shopping out of the way before then.”
“Meeting Sam?”
Brennan shook his head. “A contact about the case I’m working,” he hedged.
“Oh. Cool. Have fun!”
Oh yes, Brennan thought. Oodles of fun.
ф ф ф
It was very nearly noon when Brennan emerged from the phone store. The customer service rep very patiently explained that his service plan did not, in fact, cover incendiary bombs and covert assassination plots. She said all of this with a smile on her face, and Brennan realized she thought he was joking. Since he didn’t have a better excuse he could give her, he was forced to buy a new phone at full retail price.
He purchased a newspaper from a man in a stall and boarded the shuttle to uptown. It was less crowded in the middle of the day, and few eyes met his as he sought out a secluded corner to sit down. He had roughly fifteen minutes before the shuttle would arrive at his rendezvous with Sam, but that was more than enough time to first meet with Benjamin.
Brennan slipped on a pair of dark sunglasses that he had brought from home and opened the newspaper to a particularly lengthy article on government spying. Next to the main article were a half dozen editorials on the subject, and Brennan figured an interested reader could easily spend a quarter hour reading the same open pages.
After one last glance around to confirm nobody was watching, Brennan promptly fell asleep.
Falling asleep on demand was one of the simplest skills he had acquired from his previous occupation. It was a necessity of the job; there was never any certainty of when a target would fall asleep, so Brennan and the other Sleepers needed to be capable of infiltrating the unconscious mind at the drop of a hat.
Slumber for a Sleeper was different, though. Instead of darkness for several hours followed by a series of intense hallucinations, all of which would be forgotten within seconds of waking up, Brennan entered a state of acute awareness and control even as the waking world slipped away.
In his mind, Brennan saw a beach that stretched endlessly to what he considered the north, east, and west. Calm ocean waves lapped lightly at the southern shore, and he dipped his bare feet into the water before returning to the warm sands littered with scattered seashells. All around him, on the shore and in the surf, rested rocks of varying sizes. Each one represented a sleeping individual, a mind that could be tapped into by a Sleeper. Some were massive boulders that cast wide shadows on the sand; others were small pebbles that fit easily between two fingers.
The Sleeperscape appeared differently to everyone, and Brennan was pleased that his presented itself as an idyllic beach. He hoped it spoke volumes about the state of his mind, even if his daily life was populated by criminals and liars.
“An interesting arrangement,” said a sudden voice.
Brennan spun around to see Benjamin approaching him from the distance, his form wavering like a mirage in the heat. Even from a distance, though, his voice carried perfectly well, as if he were standing by Brennan’s side. His steps carried him farther and faster than they should have, as if he were on one of the moving walkways used in long airport corridors. Within seconds, he casually strolled several hundred yards.
“I do not believe I have ever frequented your ‘scape before,” the old man commented, looking around with those curious, blind eyes. His skin looked like dried parchment stretched thinly over his bones. “Interesting, indeed.”
“You asked for this meeting,” Brennan said sharply. “What do you want?”
“Straight to business, then. You always did have little patience for the niceties.”
“You’re testing that patience right now,” he growled.
Benjamin’s cheeks flushed, but he bit back whatever heated response had risen to the surface. “Straight to business,” he repeated. “I did not kill your wife.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“I urge you to stop listening with your ears and start listening with your power.” Benjamin reached forward faster than Brennan could react, and the old Sleeper placed a finger above his heart. “Listen to my words,” he said, “and know them to be true.”
Something reverberated within Brennan, like a gong rung firmly in the distance, and he felt his body tremble to the core. A tingle rose up his spine like a climbing vine, shooting tendrils out across his back as it reached the base of his skull. The sensation suddenly exploded outward, unfurling like a set of massive wings.
“What the hell are you doing to me?” he demanded. It felt like he was witnessing the entire scene from above, and he stared down at the awestruck image of his own face.
“I know many paths, Arthur Brennan,” Benjamin said imperiously. “I have tread where few men have gone before, and I understand more than you ever could.” His hand shifted so his palm lay flat against Brennan’s chest. “I am speaking to the root of your soul, to the power that resides inside your body. I will speak in no uncertain terms, so hear my words. I am not responsible for the death of your wife, nor did I condone any of my agents to strike her down.”
Truth.
The single word echoed throughout the Sleeperscape, beating down upon Brennan and Benjamin with its sheer force of will.
“There is a very real and present threat to our organization,” Benjamin continued. “There are rogues with Sleeper-level abilities wreaking havoc on our ranks, starting, I believe, with the unfortunate death of your wife.”
Truth.
Brennan found himself back in his body, on his knees, staring up into Benjamin’s unrelenting gaze. He didn’t detect a single sign of deception, and for the first time in countless years, he believed the old man. Benjamin’s hand left his chest, and the indescribable sensation of wings had faded without notice.
“Mara,” Brennan sobbed, choking out her name. Feelings of remorse and guilt, a wellspring of repressed emotion, rose up and overwhelmed his system. Dark storm clouds gathered over the ocean as his body was wracked with uncontrollable shaking.
It was a long time before either of them spoke, but Benjamin seemed content to maintain the silence. He sat respectfully still as Brennan sobbed, embroiled in his rekindled anguish. Eventually, his tears no longer wet the sand beneath his face, and an unfamiliar sense of release washed through him, replacing the troubled grief with a sense of calm and purpose.
“How long?” he finally asked. “How long did you know?”
“You are referring to the comment I made at summer’s end?”
“You said death was coming to Odols, but it had already arrived, hadn’t it?”
Benjamin looked out over the ocean. “I have had my suspicions. Do you see out there, in the shallows?”
“I’m not interested in imaginary waves,” Brennan said, his voice hollow.
“You will f
ind it interesting and insightful.”
Brennan’s power supported the truth that lay in the direct reply, and he lifted himself into a sitting position. He followed Benjamin’s raised arm and saw a curious aberration, something he had overlooked upon his arrival. About twenty yards out in the water was a massive whirlpool almost fifteen feet across.
“What is it?”
“That is all that remains of the most powerful ability I have ever seen.”
Brennan let out a low whistle. After the performance he had just put on, to hear the old man make a statement like that spoke volumes. “I have to ask again, though…what is it? I’ve never seen a Sleeper’s abilities cause anything like this, rogue or otherwise.”
“It was not the work of a Sleeper,” Benjamin replied mildly. “I met a boy who could absorb the memories of anyone he wished with a mere touch of his hand.”
“That’s…not possible.”
“Look at yourself and reconsider what you believe to be within the realm of possibility.”
“Does it ever get tiring, talking like that?”
A smiled touched Benjamin’s lips. “The boy said something similar. This is simply the manner in which I choose to communicate.” The smile faded. “He died shortly after absorbing the memories of his parents, and his sudden absence explains the disturbance you see now. It was larger three months ago,” he added with a sniff.
Brennan understood the general physics of the Sleeperscape, if indeed it abided by any set of rules. Every rock on his beach represented a node, a point at which he could enter a sleeping mind. Each node seemed to vary in size based on the life experience and importance of the individual, with the largest tending to be corporate executives, world travelers, politicians—in short, the worldly and wealthy.
“His name?”
“Jeremy Scott,” Benjamin supplied.
“How old was he?”
“Just past sixteen years of age.”
Brennan whistled low again. If the whirlpool he saw now was indeed a shrunken version, it meant the kid had had more knowledge in his head than anybody else within view, possibly within the entire reach of his Sleeperscape. Brennan watched the swirling waters continue to toss and turn, white froth bubbling violently at the center.
“It’s shrinking,” he noted. “But not gone.”
“Memories linger long after the body has withered.”
“Do you think one of the rogue Sleepers is responsible for his death?”
“The possibility crossed my mind, and it is not entirely surprising. They may have realized his potential, known that I was attempting to recruit him to our cause, and decided the best course of action would be to eliminate the threat.” He coughed lightly. “What a waste.”
The way he spoke gave Brennan chills, and it only served to remind him that whatever remorse the man felt for the boy’s death, it was only insofar as the loss of such a unique power. “What do you plan to do now?”
“My objective has not wavered since the outset of this crisis,” Benjamin said. “Your brothers and sisters await your return.”
He shook his head. “I’m still out.”
“Our Sleepers were not responsible for your wife’s death, Agent Brennan. It is past time that you returned to the fold.” He held his hands out openly, a magnanimous gesture. “When this serial killer is captured, you have my word that the full resources of our organization will be committed to realizing the justice you seek.”
“Why is this case so important to you, anyway?” Brennan asked. “Sleepers always stayed away from official police business because it was too mundane.”
“Have you ascertained the common denominator that links all of your victims together?”
Brennan stared hard at his old mentor. “No, but I’m guessing you have.”
“Indeed.” He waved a pointed hand between the two of them. “We are being hunted. Every target thus far has been an individual possessing some power or another. I was following each one’s progress, naturally, watching their development, though it appears that this serial killer is capable of identifying and tracking our kind.” Again, the way Benjamin spoke sent shivers down Brennan’s spine.
The implications of his statement were unsettling. Not too long ago, Brennan had believed he was the only one with a special ability. He’d kept it a secret from the other Sleepers. Then, Greg showed some level of psychic ability, though that faded when he stopped using the Leviathan patches. Now, a telepath was saving him from armed attackers and Benjamin let slip that he possessed his own power.
“What can you do?” he asked. “I always thought that ‘Pathfinder’ was just a title of yours, like ‘Agent,’ but now…”
Benjamin’s blind eyes remained focused on the distant waves. “I have never lied about what I am—nor could I, in present company,” he said wryly. “I am the one who finds connections between things that others cannot. I brought others like myself together for a reason, with a purpose to protect this city from those who would do it harm. My mission is unchanged.”
Brennan’s brain worked in overdrive. “So every Sleeper has some kind of special ability,” he concluded.
“Not all, but most. Largely, they believe they are unique in their power, as you did until recent events revealed otherwise.” He turned and looked directly at Brennan. “I am aware that your nephew possesses some latent ability, though it has yet to manifest itself fully. The point I am trying to make is that none of us will be safe until this murderer is brought to justice. If you will not do this for me, then do it for your nephew.”
Brennan felt himself being backed into a corner. “Why haven’t you taken care of this yourself?”
“There is a private war going on that keeps our Sleepers quite busy,” Benjamin said curtly. “Besides, this has become a police matter. A case with this high of a body count cannot be resolved discreetly, especially not since it has drawn the attention of the FBI.”
That was news to Brennan. “The FBI?”
“Half a dozen connected murders over three months, all occurring in one city. It is a wonder they are not yet actively involved,” Benjamin noted, his voice slightly ironic. “If you had agreed to speak earlier, I would not be spending valuable resources delaying their investigation.”
“You? Why are you holding them back?”
“Take the cotton out of your ears, boy. The police need their killer, and the only connection between his victims is something that they cannot possibly comprehend. You must bring him in and force a confession out of him.”
“I don’t even know where to find him,” Brennan protested. “The connection doesn’t do me any good.”
“It provides sufficient motivation to apprehend him, does it not?” Benjamin rose to his feet and brushed sand from the seat of his pants. “In any case, you have an appointment with your associate on that very subject. Perhaps he knows something that will be useful to your case.”
Brennan had completely forgotten about his meeting with Sam. He felt Benjamin’s presence receding, and he looked back to see that he was all alone on the long stretch of beach. Brennan closed his eyes and started taking deep breaths. Each inhale smelled less salty than the last, and after breathing out a dozen times, he awoke in the shuttle once more. He had wrung the life out of his newspaper, and his cheeks were damp. Brennan swiped at the sleep-inspired tears as he looked up at the digital map and saw that he had mere seconds to spare before arriving at his uptown stop.
He disembarked into a noisy shuttle station, and he threaded his way through the lunchtime rush to meet Sam just outside the building. His friend’s expression soured as he approached.
“Why is it every time I see you, you’re beaten up in some way?” Sam asked.
Brennan looked down at his body; all of his bruises and cuts had been covered by the long-sleeved shirt. “How could you tell?”
Sam gave him a serious look. “Walk with me. I’ve been meaning to tell you this for a while now, partner. I’m psychic.” After a long m
oment of Brennan nearly gaping in stunned silence, Sam’s trademark toothy grin resurfaced, wiping away any tension as quickly as it spiked. “You’re favoring your left side, and your gait is a little unsteady. Everything all right?”
Brennan told him about the car bomb, the multiple gunmen, and how the date had ended with a long wait in the sewer followed by a trip to the hospital.
Sam laughed at his misfortune. “You’ve got bad mojo, partner. Remind me never to take you out on any boats, or near any priceless pieces of art.”
“Your constant confidence in me is inspiring, truly.”
“That’s a shame about the lady, though. Still, there are plenty of fish in the sea. You’ll find the right one soon enough.”
“There is actually something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about, Sam.”
“Hmm, this sounds serious.” He stopped outside of a respectable-looking pub, and he gestured to the sign bearing its name. “Mind if we grab a drink while we converse?”
Brennan looked up to see The Eternal Tap painted onto an old-fashioned swinging wooden sign. “You actually found it,” he said in disbelief.
Sam grinned proudly. “You didn’t give me much to go on, but this is where our man buys his beers. Just wait until you see the setup they have.”
They walked inside, and Brennan took note of the pub’s unique atmosphere. Several sturdy beams ran the length of the ceiling, and each table looked to be hand-crafted from aged wood. It wasn’t crowded, but there were enough people inside to make it sound lively and warm. A few booths lined one wall, but the favored seats were apparently the open floor tables and stools at the bar; almost all of them were occupied by men older or more muscular than Brennan.
Sam led the way to the last two open seats at the bar, which were unfortunately separated by a long-haired fellow who already seemed deep in his cup despite the early hour. The barkeeper nodded to Sam as they sat, and Brennan turned to him with slightly narrowed eyes.