Cracks in Reality (Seams in Reality Book 2)

by Siegel, Alex

  "What the hell do you want?" Fernando said. "I'm not saying a damn thing. I have rights! This is police brutality!"

  "We're feds, not the police," Tungsten said. "We want to talk to you about biological weapons."

  Fernando furrowed his brow.

  Tungsten went on, "An informant told us you ordered Miranda Torres to fake a news report. Now, worthless garbage like you didn't come up with that idea on your own. You probably don't even know what a biological weapon is."

  "That bitch told you?"

  "No," Tungsten said, "an informant did. Pay more attention. Who gives you your marching orders?"

  Fernando stubbornly clenched his jaw.

  Tungsten looked at Andrew and Charley. "I already swept the house, but sweep it again. Find some evidence."

  Andrew knew Tungsten was really telling him to plant the bugs. The apprentices walked off.

  They went into a kitchen which smelled of rotten food. A garbage can was overflowing with cardboard boxes which had once contained frozen meals.

  A man was lying on the floor. He had a cut on his forehead and was unconscious. Cable ties bound his wrists and ankles.

  "This upsets me," Charley said.

  "What did you expect Tungsten to do?" Andrew said. "We just busted into a house full of gangsters. Some violence was inevitable. At least he's not killing them. Come on. Let's just plant the bugs."

  A clear plastic bag was taped to the back of his shirt under his jacket. He pulled the bag free and opened it up. It contained an assortment of electronic devices.

  Charley grabbed two and hid them in the kitchen, one under the sink and another in a high cabinet. They were sensitive enough to pick up sound through a closed door.

  The apprentices continued through the house, planting more bugs as they went. The living conditions inside the house sickened Andrew. Garbage was strewn across the floor, and the bathrooms were horrifying. Stains on the walls and carpet defied explanation.

  He and Charley stepped around the gangsters. Tungsten had left them on the floor, tied with cable ties and helpless. They were unconscious, injured, or both.

  Andrew was very impressed. Presumably, the gangsters knew how to fight, but Tungsten had ripped through them like they were practice dummies.

  The last task was planting the "base station," a device the size of a paperback novel. It controlled all the other bugs and also detected radio transmissions. Andrew placed it on the top shelf of a linen closet. He turned on the base station to activate the entire system and then covered it with a towel.

  The apprentices went back to the front room and found Fernando cowering in a corner. His right eye was puffy, and his lips were bleeding. He was desperately trying to protect his face with his arms.

  "Feel like talking yet?" Tungsten said.

  "Go to hell," Fernando grunted.

  "Been there. I wasn't impressed."

  "Mis hermanos will cut your throat."

  Tungsten smirked. "You mean the guys I just trashed?"

  Andrew stepped up and reported, "We didn't find anything useful."

  "OK. Let's get out of here."

  Tungsten kicked Fernando in the gut before leaving. Charley muttered under her breath.

  Tungsten, Andrew, and Charley left the house at a swift pace. They walked down to the street, turned, and headed towards the car.

  "We agreed to avoid violence," Charley said angrily.

  "I don't remember agreeing to that," Tungsten said. "Guys like that only understand violence. I was nice. I didn't break anything that wouldn't heal."

  She made a sound of disgust.

  They arrived at the car, a blue sedan with government plates. Tungsten sat in front, and Andrew and Charley sat in back.

  Tungsten made a call and put his phone in speaker mode. "Weasel," Tungsten said, "the bugs are in place."

  "I know," Weasel replied through the phone. "I'm seeing the data stream. Hold on. I'm picking up audio now. I'll pipe it through."

  Fernando's voice came next. "I got trouble." The sound was muffled, but Andrew could still understand the words. "Some federal bastardos just came in here and cleaned house. They knew about Miranda Torres and the biological weapons."

  "What?" another man responded. "How did they know?" His voice was calm and professional.

  "A snitch."

  There was a pause. "What's your situation now?"

  "We're hurt. We need a doctor."

  "I'll send one over. Don't go anywhere. If you show up at a hospital, you might get arrested."

  "OK," Fernando said. "Make sure it's a good doctor."

  "Of course. Bye."

  Andrew heard a click.

  "Who was Fernando talking to?" Tungsten asked.

  "Unknown," Weasel said. "My system picked up a coded transmission at 300 MHz. It wasn't a regular phone call. Fernando was using an advanced military radio of some kind."

  "I didn't see a radio."

  "Then it was hidden."

  Tungsten frowned. "Do you have any idea who received the transmission?"

  "No," Weasel said. "We're lucky I got as much as I did. If you gave me the actual radio, I might be able to tell you more."

  Charley leaned forward and said, "Maybe the doctor will know something."

  Tungsten smiled as if she had told a joke. "A doctor isn't coming."

  "But we heard..."

  "Your innocence is adorable, but you're right about one thing. The people who come will have information we want. Let's go watch."

  The three of them left the car again. Tungsten led Andrew and Charley back to the house, but instead of going to the front door, Tungsten crossed the street. They hid behind a bush in a dark, narrow space between two homes.

  "Call Webster," Tungsten murmured. "Tell him Miranda Torres is in immediate danger. Bad guys might be coming for her."

  Andrew's eyes widened. He took out his phone and dialed Webster's number.

  "Yes?" Webster answered.

  "This is Andrew. Miranda Torres needs protection. Her life is in immediate danger."

  "Why?"

  "Um." Andrew paused. "You probably don't want to know how we got the information."

  "Well, the BPI doesn't assign agents to protect ordinary civilians, but I'll certainly let the police know."

  Andrew had hoped for a more enthusiastic response. "The police might be too slow."

  "I'll encourage them to be quick," Webster said. "I gather you don't want to talk about your situation."

  "Not really. I'll tell you when we get some useful information."

  "Fair enough. I won't keep you. Bye."

  Andrew put away his phone. Charley had a concerned expression.

  Fifteen minutes later, a black Cadillac parked in front of the green house at an odd angle. Two men wearing black suits hopped out. They ran to the front door, checked for witnesses, drew pistols with suppressors, and entered the house.

  "Those doctors make house calls," Tungsten said.

  "But you'd better pay your bill on time," Andrew replied with a smile.

  "Mass murder isn't a joke," Charley said.

  "Right," Tungsten said. "Wait here."

  He glanced up and down the street. Then he ran across to the house, but instead of entering through the front door, he went around the side and vanished from sight.

  "Is he brave or foolhardy?" Charley said.

  Andrew shrugged.

  A few minutes later, Tungsten appeared at the front door. Blood had sprayed onto the legs of his pants, but none of it appeared to be his. He waved for the apprentices to join him.

  Andrew and Charley checked for witnesses again and then ran across. They followed Tungsten into the house.

  The sight stopped Andrew in his tracks. Fernando and the teenage gangster were dead from well-placed shots in the forehead and the heart.

  One of the hitmen was also in the front room. Deep, ghastly cuts all over his body were oozing blood. His hamstrings were slashed, crippling him, and his right wrist was pa
rtially severed. His lips and chin were laid open down to the bone.

  Charley made a choking noise. When she got her breath back, she said, "What did you do to him?"

  "He pulled a knife and got frisky with me," Tungsten said. "I showed him how to wield a blade properly."

  She looked at the other bodies. "Is anybody else still alive?"

  "No. The hitmen killed the gangsters, and I killed the other hitman. It's a house full of corpses except for this asshole." He kicked the surviving hitman's injured leg.

  The man moaned in pain.

  "What do we do now?" Andrew said.

  "We got three options," Tungsten said. "Option 'A' is I interrogate the prisoner until he tells us everything he knows."

  "Do you mean torture?" Charley said.

  "He's a hired killer, little girl," Tungsten said. "Your tears are wasted. Interrogations can be messy and time consuming though. Some guys are hard to break. And I probably don't need to mention that it's highly illegal."

  None of this is clean, Andrew thought. "What's the next option?"

  "Option 'B' is we haul this sack of garbage to Manassas," Tungsten said. "You extract the information the quick and easy way, just like this morning."

  "Also illegal and unethical," Charley said.

  "What's in Manassas?" the hitman asked.

  Tungsten kicked him in the leg again. "Shut up."

  "I'm more worried about facing Richard," Andrew said. "He won't be pleased."

  "That's very true." Tungsten nodded.

  "Any other options?" Charley said.

  "We search for evidence and forget about the prisoner."

  "That seems like the only acceptable choice." She looked to Andrew for confirmation.

  He chewed his lip. He actually liked option 'B' a little better despite the issue of dealing with Richard. It was the quickest, surest way to make forward progress, and time was running short.

  "What if we used another seam?" Andrew suggested. "A small one?"

  Charley raised her eyebrows. He hated to see the look of disapproval on her face.

  "Fine," he said, "we'll do it the nice, legal way this time."

  Tungsten shrugged. "Your choice."

  He used cable ties to bind the prisoner so he wouldn't crawl away. Tungsten searched the man's pockets to find a set of car keys.

  Tungsten tossed the keys to Andrew. "You two check the car. I'll give the house another once over. I want to find that radio."

  Andrew and Charley hurried to the black Cadillac parked on the street. It was a handsome car and obviously brand new. Wide tires and a bulging hood suggested plenty of horsepower.

  "Crooks always drive the best cars," Andrew said.

  "That's probably not true," Charley said. "It just seems that way in the movies."

  They opened the car doors and checked the interior. It was surprisingly clean. The only piece of garbage was a coffee cup in a drink holder. There wasn't as much as a smudge on any of the tinted windows. Andrew opened the glove box and found the registration and insurance papers.

  "This could be useful as identification," he said.

  "We'll see," Charley said. "The car might be stolen."

  "Still, Weasel can probably do something with the information."

  They opened the trunk next, and it appeared completely empty. Then Andrew noticed the bottom of the compartment was higher than he expected. There was space for something hidden below. He started searching for a secret latch.

  "Careful," Charley said.

  Andrew slowed down and took his time. He examined the trunk from all angles until he finally discovered a release hidden under the bumper. He held his breath as he pushed it.

  He heard a click. A panel at the bottom of the trunk had popped open, and he gently pulled it the rest of the way. He found a collection of very nice guns, grenades, and demolitions packages.

  "Cool," he said.

  "But not very informative," Charley said. "I'll check the car again."

  She went into the car and climbed all over the interior. After a minute, she stuck her hand under the driver's seat and fished out a slip of paper.

  Andrew walked over to look. The paper was a credit card receipt from a coffee shop.

  "Nice," he said.

  Tungsten came out of the house with an electronic device in his arms. It had nobs, buttons, and a small display. The metal housing was painted green.

  "You found the radio," Andrew said. "Where was it?"

  "Under the bed," Tungsten said. "I should've seen it the first time, but I was a little distracted."

  "Beating up gangsters," Charley said.

  "Exactly."

  Andrew noticed two wallets on top of the radio. "Wallets?" he said.

  "From the hitmen," Tungsten said. "I also took pictures of their faces with my phone. Did you guys find anything?"

  The apprentices showed him the paperwork and receipt they had found.

  "I think we have enough for Weasel to work with," Tungsten said. "It's time for us to leave anyway."

  "Yeah," Charley said. "I'm surprised the police aren't here already."

  "This isn't the kind of neighborhood where neighbors call the cops."

  They walked quickly towards their car.

  "Wait," Charley said. "What about the guy we left in the house? Shouldn't we call an ambulance? He's bleeding."

  "Are you kidding?" Tungsten said. "As soon as he gets to a phone, he'll call his friends and warn them about us."

  "But he could die."

  "So? He just committed multiple murders and tried to add me to his list of victims. Somebody else will find him eventually, and the longer that takes, the better for us."

  She looked to Andrew for a response, but he could only shrug. He agreed with Tungsten. It was time to stop playing nice.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Andrew, Charley, and Tungsten walked into Weasel's secret room. Tungsten placed the military radio on a desk with a metallic thud.

  Weasel rolled over in his chair for a close look. "Expensive," he said immediately. "You can't buy equipment like this on the street."

  "Can you do anything with it?" Tungsten said.

  "Maybe. What else you got?"

  Tungsten handed over the wallets he had taken from the hitmen.

  Weasel rolled back over to his computer. He opened the wallets and began to type.

  Andrew looked over his shoulder but didn't understand what Weasel was doing. In the movies, hackers always used bright, colorful, intuitive interfaces. Weasel was using plain text only, and the interaction consisted mostly of computer codes.

  "These identities are fake," he announced. "Stolen social security numbers. Forged driver's licenses. Dummy insurance cards. Worthless."

  "What about this?" Andrew said.

  He gave Weasel the paperwork from the glove compartment of the Cadillac.

  Weasel used his computer again. "Just as worthless."

  "Last shot," Charley said as she gave him the credit card receipt.

  Weasel entered the numbers off the slip of paper. After a moment, he sat up straight with a more attentive expression. He continued to type at a rapid pace.

  "Got something?" Tungsten said.

  "Maybe. A stolen card was used to pay for the coffee, but there are plenty of other recent charges on the card."

  "How can you tell?" Andrew said.

  "The bank computer told me," Weasel said.

  "You have access to bank computers?"

  "The NSA does, and I have access to the NSA."

  "Oh." Andrew raised his eyebrows.

  A printer came to life and spit out a sheet of paper. He grabbed it immediately. Tungsten and Charley came around to read over his shoulder.

  The sheet showed a long list of credit card charges. The descriptions included the names of restaurants, bars, casinos, shows, and hotels, all in Las Vegas.

  "He was on vacation," Andrew said.

  "Maybe," Tungsten said, "or maybe it was a business trip. We s
hould check out all the places he visited. We have his entire itinerary." He tapped the sheet of paper.

  "Touring Vegas sounds like fun, but it could take a lot of time. How do we know the hitman was even there? Maybe the real owner of the card made those charges."

  Weasel typed on his computer for a moment. "The real owner is in a nursing home in Sacramento. I don't think he's attending midnight strip shows."

  "It's our only lead," Tungsten said. "We can be in Vegas first thing in the morning. I have a good feeling about this one."

  Andrew raised his eyebrows. It was hard to argue with a "good feeling," and he didn't have another suggestion anyway.

  Charley shrugged. "I've always wanted to visit Las Vegas."

  "OK," Andrew said, "but I want to talk about something in the car."

  She gave him a suspicious look.

  "I'll keep working while you're gone," Weasel said.

  "Thanks." Tungsten patted him on the shoulder. "You've been a real lifesaver, and I mean that literally."

  He, Andrew, and Charley walked out of the Slippery Weasel Tavern. The sun was setting, and the air temperature had dropped. Orange sunlight illuminated a blanket of clouds which had rolled in. Andrew zipped up his coat to his neck.

  They hustled over to their blue sedan and sat inside. Tungsten started the engine and turned on the heat.

  "What is it?" Charley said.

  "This investigation is taking too long," Andrew said. "We don't have time to wander around Las Vegas, hoping to get lucky. Nobody who knows anything will talk to us voluntarily."

  "What are you saying?"

  "I want a portable seam. I want quick, truthful answers to my questions."

  "Mind-reading?" Charley said. "We discussed this already."

  "It's better than torturing people."

  "Not by much."

  "I agree with Andrew," Tungsten said. "We have a very powerful tool at our disposal. Let's use it."

  "But the ethics...."

  "We're dealing with very bad people who have no ethics at all."

  "That doesn't mean we have to lower ourselves to their level," she said.

  He glared at her. "I'm tired of this wimpy attitude," he said angrily. "You're sorcerers, damn it. Sorcerers! You have powers I can barely comprehend. I've seen you tear a steel bar in half. At some point, you have to accept what you are. You can't hide from your natural abilities forever. Andrew's situation is even more extreme. He's a war mage, maybe the only one in the world. It makes no sense for him to follow rules written for everybody else."