by Jaxon Reed
Parker stared daggers at him. She said, “You just wait. He’ll take you on a tour, and it’ll wipe that smug look off your face.”
He opened his mouth in mock surprise and tried to display profound innocence. She smirked and sat down at the desk opposite him.
Underneath, he could sense the affection she felt for him, bubbling just below the surface. It worried him. Since her divorce, her feelings for him had grown, and such warm moments seemed to be recurring more often. He realized he was the only adult male in her life at the moment. Her emotions for him verged on the romantic.
They had maintained a professional relationship all these years, and yet . . . One wrong move and professionalism would be destroyed. The thought made him uncomfortable.
Gently, he reached out and tucked her feelings for him back under the surface.
The ability to manipulate people’s emotions was one of the characteristics of a harpy. He knew that harpies and empaths were similar. Some said a harpy was simply a much more powerful empath.
On her deathbed, his mother passed along her gifts to him. He was not quite sure, at first, what that entailed. He had never thought of his mother as a harpy. The thought left him feeling a little uncomfortable. When she soothed his emotions, he saw it as her practicing a gift.
But the more he thought about it as the years went by, the more it made sense. She was a low level harpy, but she used her powers for good. When she died, she either passed along the talent, or she opened his eyes to show him how to do the same thing. He still was not entirely certain which.
He did not like the idea of controlling others, like Desiree had. Desiree was a powerful harpy, and she had caused an awful lot of trouble, almost taking over the entire state.
He did not even like to use the power for good reasons, such as stemming his partner’s affections for him. Deep down, if he were honest with himself, he felt too much use of the power might make him lust for more, and he would go down the path of many powerful harpies in the past. Like Desiree.
“How about you?” she said.
“Hm?” He jerked out of his silent musings.
“How was your trip? Learn anything?”
“Yeah. It seems the rock Michel gave me is the sigil for a secret society called the Courts of Westphalia. They’ve been around since medieval times. These days they, uh, track the bloodlines of the cunning folk and take out the bad apples.”
“Wow. That’s interesting. I thought Europol did that.”
“They do. Or at least, that’s what Phoebe Renard told us back in the day. Now I’m beginning to wonder if members of the Courts of Westphalia are also employed by Europol. Or, maybe the members just have a strong representation in law enforcement over there. I don’t know. That’s the thing about secret societies. Everything’s secret.”
“For them to remain active that long seems amazing. I mean, how can a shadow organization stick around for centuries like that?”
Bryce shrugged. He said, “Freemasons did.”
“Oh. Good point. Well, what are you going to do with your newfound knowledge?”
“I’m already doing it. I’ve asked the PD’s AI to run a search for any and all murders related to the Courts of Westphalia, Vehmic Courts, or Vehm Gericht. I’m looking for anything remotely resembling the sigil, or hints of Teutonic Knights. In short, any leads whatsoever that bear resemblance to our case.”
His neural implant signaled an incoming call. He stopped his hand from going to his earlobe and concentrated on the mental interface instead. An image of Nathanial Nguyen appeared, seeming to sprout out of Bryce’s desk from the waist up. The diminutive FBI agent sported the same flattop haircut as always.
Bryce said, “Director Nguyen! Congrats on your recent promotion.”
“Thanks.”
To Parker, Bryce said, “He recently became Assistant Director in Charge at the local field office.”
Parker nodded, oblivious to the image of Nguyen since she was not in on the call.
Bryce turned back to Nguyen and said, “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“I have a report on your department’s AI search this morning.”
Bryce raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Yeah, I just put that in a few minutes ago. What happened, did it ping a federal crimes database or something?”
“We should talk, Detective. Why don’t you come over and meet me in my office?”
“Uh, okay. Can I bring my partner?”
“No. It’s probably best if it’s just you.”
-+-
The FBI Field Office recently moved into a new building on the edge of downtown. Bryce landed in a parking area and walked into the entrance off the street. An ethnic neutral, male virtual receptionist scanned Bryce’s badge in a gleaming lobby accented in stainless steel.
Bryce thought the place looked inviting, yet virtually impregnable. Nobody was actually present downstairs, save for the virtual receptionist. The abundant metal everywhere no doubt helped deflect bomb blasts. The building had been designed from the ground up to withstand a variety of attacks.
The receptionist said, “Detective Bryce I have you listed for an appointment with Director Nguyen starting in five minutes. Please take elevator three to the top floor.”
The receptionist pointed helpfully toward the elevators along the far wall. Bryce thanked it, feeling foolish for exchanging pleasantries with what was essentially advanced computer code, and walked toward the elevator marked “3.” It opened as he approached.
Casually glancing around, Bryce realized there were no buttons on the outside to summon the elevators. Inside, as the door closed, he realized there were no buttons there, either. The building’s computer decided who went where.
As the elevator shot upward, Bryce found himself wondering what kind of backup generators would keep the building going in the event of catastrophic power failure. He also wondered about the stairwells. He could not recall seeing doors for them on the ground floor. Maybe they were hidden so intruders would not find them.
The elevator slowed and came to a stop, the doors chiming gently as they opened. Bryce stepped out into a wide hallway flanked by entrances to offices and conference rooms. Most of these were closed, but he could see a few agents working here and there. Each were attired in similar black business suits or dresses. At the far end of the hall, Nguyen stepped out of a doorway and waved at him.
“Over here, Detective. I’m afraid we don’t have any receptionists installed upstairs yet, to lead the way.”
Bryce walked down the hall and shook hands with the man. Nguyen stood short, at five-five, but nonetheless held a commanding air about him. Bryce suspected he was the shortest male FBI agent in Texas, if not in several states. But his size had not held him back.
Idly, Bryce found himself wondering if the Bureau had a height requirement. Obviously, they did not have one when Nguyen joined.
The Director closed the door behind them, and Bryce stared out an enormous window taking up the opposite wall.
He said, “Nice view.”
“It’s got the latest in anti-eavesdropping technology. Everything we say here is private. That’s why I asked you here for a personal meeting.”
Bryce nodded and took a seat in a comfortable leather chair facing Nguyen’s desk. Nguyen sat down and moved several virtual screens and holograms out of the way with a sweep of his arm.
He said, “Like I mentioned on the phone, we got a notification about your search this morning. That’s when I realized you were chasing a lead on the Vehm Gericht involving the recent murder case you’re on.”
Bryce said, “So, the FBI knows about the Courts of Westphalia?”
“Let’s just say we try to keep tabs on them as much as possible. They are not as strong in the States, but they have deep ties in the European police agencies.”
“Obviously they’re a concern if my search set off alarm bells in Washington.”
Nguyen nodded and leaned back in his chair. Bryce felt the
man weighing options and coming to a decision.
Nguyen said, “As you know, we operate within certain guidelines when dealing with local law enforcement. For instance, I can’t share anything I’m not authorized to share with you through prior written approval from D.C. However, I’m willing to bend the rules a little bit in this instance.
“I’m able to bend them because we’ve worked together before, and I do have written authorization to share details with you about the Hangman case since you were on that taskforce several years back. And, this is somewhat related to the Hangman case. So, I’m making an executive decision to share this information with you.
“While I believe sharing it with you is within the bounds of acceptability, it would not be good if my superiors found out I’m doing this. I hope you’re following what I’m saying.”
Bryce said, “I won’t be mentioning it.”
Nguyen nodded, satisfied with the comment. He said, “The Vehm Gericht have served as a check on people with advanced psychic abilities for centuries. Sometimes they’ve made mistakes, but for the most part they’ve done a decent job at containing potential disasters over there when someone gets out of line.”
Bryce said, “The world wars being a glaring exception.”
Nguyen shrugged. “I don’t know a lot of their history. All I know is recent stuff. And recently, our intelligence indicates there has been a schism within the organization.”
“What kind of schism? And what do you mean, intelligence? I thought this outfit was one of the most private in the world, killing anybody who broke their oaths of secrecy.”
Nguyen spread his hands and smiled. He said, “I admit we’ve only been around a fraction of the time they have, but we do have our resources. One of them was a trusted informant we managed to cultivate, who was able to share quite a bit of knowledge with us.”
“You’re speaking of them in the past tense.”
“Correct. You met him, briefly, before his murder. Michel Caron.”
Bryce’s eyebrows shot up. He said, “Well. That’s interesting.”
Nguyen said, “His last debriefing was considerably more detailed than anything we received from him before. He did it stateside, here in the city, in fact. It’s one of the reasons I know what I’m about to share with you.”
Nguyen paused, and Bryce felt him sorting the information, deciding the best way to phrase his words.
“For most of their existence the Vehm Gericht served as a check on power. But Caron told us in the last fifty years or so, a group within the organization has wanted to cultivate power, instead. They thought if they could raise up what he called a ‘golden child,’ an individual born with phenomenal psychic capabilities, they could . . . use that person to take over the world. The right politician at the right place at the right time could become the ultimate benevolent dictator. Controlled by them, of course.”
Bryce shifted uncomfortably in his chair, as distant memories resurfaced. He said, “How did they plan on obtaining the child?”
“By crossing the bloodlines of some powerful parents. You can see where this is going, can’t you?”
Bryce nodded. He said, “Phoebe Renard . . . she, uh . . . stole some of my semen.”
Nguyen nodded. He said, “And Europol spirited Desiree Lamont’s body back to Copenhagen in a cryogenic coffin. Caron told us they made test tube babies using her ova and your sperm. Now somewhere in Paris, there’s a lab filled with frozen embryos of children with more psychic power than this world has ever seen.”
Dread filled Bryce’s heart. He said, “My own DNA was used for that. Without my permission or anything.”
“It gets worse. Caron told us they implanted the most promising embryo in Renard. She successfully brought the baby to term and they’ve been raising him in secret the last 15 years.”
Time seemed to stop. Bryce’s blood ran cold. Finally he said, “A teenager? He’s . . . he’s . . .”
“He’s maturing and coming into his power. And the power is incredible. Caron said everyone near the boy has had to use a drug cocktail to control their emotions for years now. But he recently grew even stronger than anyone realized, showing skills with telekinesis. He evidently has an affinity for electronics, too, and he was able to fool the cameras they had on him.
“Caron upset him, and he broke both of Caron’s arms telepathically. He killed several armed guards while escaping the holding area, using only his mind. The Vehm Gericht is looking for him and his mother in Europe, but he evidently kills anyone who gets too close.”
Bryce said nothing, too stunned to speak.
“Caron came here to find you and warn you. Your son has grown up hearing about his father. He’s curious. Like any teenage boy, he wants to know where he came from. Everyone over there is looking for him and his mother. There are APBs out all across Europe, the Middle East, even Africa. But Caron was convinced the boy would eventually try and get to Texas somehow. And find you.”
Bryce shook himself, unable to fully process all the information. He said, “Why did they have to kill Caron? There’s so much I wish I could ask him.”
Nguyen said, “Can’t help you there, Detective. Like I said, the Vehm Gericht have a weaker presence here, but they do have a presence, obviously. And that presence took out our contact. But in light of everything, I felt you should know what I know.”
They both stood up and Bryce shook the smaller man’s hand. He said, “I appreciate it. Is there any way you could notify me if you learn anything else? And if the boy or Renard show up on your radar?”
Nguyen nodded and said, “Absolutely. I’ll keep you in our loop if you keep me in yours.”
“What did they name him?”
“Your son? His name is Jacques Bryce Renard.”
-+-
Sophie Charvet looked out the window of the autocab as it floated to the street and felt another pang of annoyance. This was her second attempt to reach Cybershot in Metro-X, and she privately raged against his rules for contact.
The first time she came into the game and headed over to Central Texas on the map, she failed in her attempt to kill somebody. With no weapon, she tried to bash a pedestrian on the head with a rock. The fellow looked like an easy mark, but it didn’t work. He fought back and several passersby even rushed to his aid. Charvet was lucky to get away from the crowd with her own virtual life.
Now she felt more prepared, and even had a plan. This time she had researched how to obtain weapons in the game, and flew directly to a black market she read about in one of the online guides. Sure enough, the market existed where the guide said it would, near someplace called “Hippy Hollow” in real life. She had no idea the historical significance of the location, nor did she care. All she cared about was obtaining a weapon.
The area seemed strange to Sophie. Many people chose to go naked for some reason. After some shopping among the outdoor booths she found a thin, wicked knife that could be easily concealed in her purse or even up a sleeve. It set her back 150 credits, a sum she considered equivalent to highway robbery. But she paid it to the vendor and took the knife so she could hopefully kill another gamer easily and keep her appointment with Cybershot.
The South by Southwest Music Festival was in full swing, and organizers set up concerts in virtual reality coinciding with real world events. The streets were filled with avatars swarming an outdoor stage.
The autocab landed on the periphery of an area marked for foot traffic only. Sophie paid an additional five credits so it would wait for her. She did not to want to have to find another one at a moment’s notice.
She exited the car and quickly joining a stream of people heading toward the stage. The opening notes of a popular song drifted through the air as the band started playing. Several people around her quickened their pace.
Charvet had chosen an avatar that looked like a teenager. The youngest available age appearance was 18, a popular one for females. In real life she was 36, and already fretting over her appearance.
Her weight had grown increasingly more difficult to control, and staying in shape seemed harder, too. Age seemed to haunt her. Men no longer looked at her the same way they had just ten years ago. At least, so she thought.
But here in the game, she could don a younger self. It felt liberating, and she enjoyed it. Her only annoyance was that almost everyone else playing a female character chose a similar youthful appearance. In this realm of make believe, everybody chose to be young and beautiful.
She broke out of her thoughts, reminding herself to stay focused on the objective.
The last time she had been to Texas in real life was in service of Vehm Gericht. Her objective had been to establish as close a connection to Gerald Bryce as possible. When his police partner Emily Parker and her husband began searching for an au pair, the Courts quickly maneuvered to place her in the role, flying her in from Paris for an interview.
She got the job, and all went well until she fell in love with Dan Parker. Somehow Emily had caught them in the act, even before much had happened. But it was enough to get her thrown out of the house. To make matters worse, Gerald was there, too. He was the one who took her away that night, after Emily fired her. She returned to France a failure, losing all hope of future contact with Gerald Bryce . . . or Dan Parker.
She put aside thoughts of Dan and refocused on the mission. Killing someone at random was proving harder than she thought. But now she felt that at least she had a decent plan. The crowds coalesced around the stage as the band continued playing. A public concert seemed the perfect location for what she had in mind.
She pressed in closer to the stage. The crowd moved like a living thing, each body a cell. The sound of the music swept over everything, stifling words, even thoughts.
She pushed deeper, until the bodies were packed tight. The young avatars around her tried to dance with the music, but there was little room for motion. They moved in time with the rhythm instead, pressing up tight against one another.
The woman in front of her held her arms up high, swaying with the music. Perfect.