Spitting Image

by Patrick LeClerc

  Sarah, who was, as far as Amelia knew, still Brad, gave a slow, nervous nod.

  “And then you come out with my sample,” she continued. “Or we start breaking bones. Maybe her bones. After you do decide to play nice, and I assure you, eventually you will, you can heal them. I’m sure she won’t hold that against you.”

  Yeah, no chance I was going to let my potential kids be raised by this pack of wolves. I wondered if she’d actually have Brad’s fingers broken to test me. And if he’d go along. Probably not. Maybe she thought she knew me enough to bluff on that. I wouldn’t ever let them hurt Sarah if I could stop it, so maybe she was banking on that.

  Still was a dick move.

  “And you think this is going to work?” I asked, playing for time. “It’s not like some mood lighting and Marvin Gaye on the stereo is going to make me forget the whole threats and guns and coercion thing.”

  She sighed. “And yet you continue to try my patience.” She fixed me with an icy glare, then reached into her purse, dug out a prescription bottle and tossed it to me. “Those should do the job. Miracle of modern medicine. If they don’t, just remember there are less pleasant ways for me to get your sperm. We could tie a rope around your neck and toss you off the deck. That usually works. Or we could get a doctor and remove some of it whether you want to or not.

  “I’m getting what I want. And then I am done with you. The only choice you have is how difficult you want to make it on yourself.”

  I thought about that. I figured it was probably bluff. It’s true, a hanged man often ejaculates, but if it didn’t work, they wouldn’t get a second chance, and while they could surely trick a doctor into coming somewhere with them, it would leave a loose end, and they wanted to avoid those.

  I looked at the bottle of little blue pills. Maybe that was something I could use. Time of onset of those was about half an hour. I could use that time. I didn’t think claiming a bit of performance anxiety and waiting for the meds would be enough to push them to do anything too rash.

  Funny to think that surrounding me with armed men wasn’t the rash option.

  I shook a pill into my hand and made a show of taking it. I actually palmed it so I could get rid of it later. I didn’t think it fit the heroic image I like to project if I had to go through a gun battle or careful negotiation with a distracting bulge in my shorts.

  One of the men gestured with the muzzle of his weapon, and we walked into the closet. It was large, as closets go, intended to hold heavy winter jackets, ski boots and other bulky winter equipment. In the middle of summer, there wasn’t anything as offensive as a ski pole or even a scarf I could strangle my foes with, even if I had planned a desperate escape.

  It might seem crazy for them to let me out of their sight like this, but Amelia was a calculating enemy. As far as she knew, Sarah was Brad, able to keep an eye on me, while I was oblivious, so if I did have a plan, chances are I’d confide in her. Sneaky. I wondered how far Brad would have taken the charade. Maybe pretty far. Spies do what they have to do, and he was no green recruit.

  He’d reached a breaking point somewhere, though. If Amelia treated him this way all the time, I wasn’t surprised he’d turned his coat.

  As the door closed, Sarah leaned close to me and whispered. “Now what? And don’t even joke about supposing a blowjob is out of the question.”

  “There will never be a better time for that joke,” I pointed out. “But this buys us a few minutes for help to get here. Is there anything in your purse we could use as a substitute? Like shampoo or lotion or anything that would look kinda semen-y in the bottom of a sample cup?”

  “Sorry, no.”

  I took the opportunity to move the gun from my ankle, which is awkward, to my waistband which is quicker. They’d already taken one gun from me; chances were they wouldn’t frisk me again.

  “We have to play for time,” I said. “They took my phone. Text Bob and see if he sees any movement around the cabin. And tell him get ready to go. When we come out with an empty cup, things might get exciting fast.”

  She dug out her phone and sent a quick message. After a few seconds she said. “Bob says there are some people moving in. I hope it’s Daniels.”

  So did I. They wouldn’t wait forever out there for me to finish, and even excusing the delay on nerves wouldn’t buy all that much time. I hoped Daniels’ people would have them all rounded up and I could come out.

  “How long have we got?”

  “I don’t think all that long,” I said. “This is supposed to be business, not pleasure. The whole performance anxiety thing should buy us a few minutes. And I think they’ll give us the benefit of the doubt because they think you’re on their side. But I think Brad would want to get this over with.”

  “No wonder he sold her out,” she said. “The way she talks to me–him, as far as she knows– is so degrading. It’s one thing to give an order, but she really enjoys the idea of making him get you off in a closet while they all listen. She thinks it’s hilarious. What a bitch.”

  “Once you start using people, you get used to it,” I said. “Then it becomes normal. Then you stop thinking of them as people, and they just become tools. Been that way forever.”

  “Well it sucks.”

  “It does,” I agreed. “That’s why every so often the people rise up and guillotine the nobility.”

  “Any chance we can do that today?”

  “Probably not,” I said. “Anyway, it’s viscerally satisfying in theory, but in practice it tends to get messy.”

  There was a knock on the door. “Are we finished?” Amelia asked in a saccharine tone. “I don’t mean to be impatient, I just don’t remember it taking so long last time.”

  “That’s it,” whispered Sarah. “I’m going to shoot her.”

  I raised my voice. “Almost there.” Quieter, I breathed in Sarah’s ear, “Stay calm. Play for time.”

  “Just a little. Like in the shoulder. Then you can fix her.”

  Chapter 32

  AT THAT MOMENT I heard shouting, a scuffle, then pounding on the cabin’s front door.

  “The cavalry have arrived,” I said. I crouched down and pulled Sarah low, just in case somebody started shooting and put a bullet through the door.

  There was a bustle outside our door, barked commands and heavy boots, then the closet door was thrown open. Daniels stood back in the middle of the room, dressed in expensive civilian camouflage and holding a shotgun. Not a practical pump action like a normal person going on a raid, but a beautifully inlaid over-and-under double-barreled break-open breech loader. He looked like a gentleman on safari. All that was missing was a native bearer.

  Not sure what a native bearer would look like in New Hampshire. The only locals were on my side, wisely hidden and – I hoped – watching closely.

  Daniels had brought five men with him, all dressed in the same Treeline camouflage, and well armed. Amelia’s minions clustered near her, dressed like hikers. I was disappointed to see that they hadn’t been disarmed and tied up.

  This many expensively dressed, heavily armed WASPs in one place gave the impression that a local yacht club had decided it needed a SEAL team.

  The truly disturbing thing was that everyone still had a gun, and while they weren’t actually pointing them at one another, a palpable tension hung in the air. Eyes darted around the room, feet shifted, muscles twitched. It wouldn’t take much to set things off.

  It was Lexington Green all over again.

  I stepped in front of Sarah. It was more symbolic than practical. My body wasn’t likely to stop a bullet, but placing myself physically between her and danger felt right.

  Daniels nodded at me, then addressed Amelia. “My dear, it’s time to end this silliness.”

  “This is no concern of yours,” she replied with a scowl.

  “But it is,” he said. “We wield great power, but we keep that through discretion. You are overstepping. Making messes that will bring attention.”

 
“We can cover this all up.”

  “But in doing so, we invite more problems,” he replied. “Every time you misdirect by impersonating someone, or I modify a memory, we run the risk of missing a detail, of tipping our hand. You are playing Russian Roulette. Most of the chambers are empty, but if you go on long enough you will pull the trigger on a loaded one.”

  “Nonsense,” she spat. “Do you have any idea of the power at stake here?”

  “I do,” he said. “Which is precisely why I cannot allow it.”

  “You think you can stop me?”

  “My dear,” he said in a soothing, avuncular tones, “your plan relied on secrecy. You can see by my presence that you have lost that. Spilling blood here– spilling gifted blood– would be your undoing.”

  “How did you find out about this anyway?” she asked. “I was discreet.”

  “As always, you were, but not so much as you imagined,” he said. “I spoke with Mr Danet and his young lady two days ago. They explained the situation and sought my counsel.”

  She turned to glare at me, undisguised hatred in her eyes. “Mr Danet and...his...” she trailed off, focused on Sarah, searching, scrutinizing. Her eyes narrowed dangerously, then widened in surprise.

  “You bitch!” she snarled, whipping her pistol to point at Sarah.

  I shoved Sarah aside and sprang forward, lowering my shoulder and driving at Amelia’s body. She fired as I came in. The round went past my head, the report deafeningly loud in my ear as I came in low, hitting her under her gun arm and bearing her backwards.

  She kept her feet, but I forced her back, out the French doors onto the back porch with its stunning mountain view. Behind me I heard the room erupt in gunfire as the two factions reacted like so many nervous armed men through the centuries, blazing away without orders or strategy.

  “Sarah! Get down!” I shouted. I had one arm around Amelia’s waist; she clawed at my eyes with her left hand but I caught her wrist. My head still ringing from the gunshot, I tried to keep my body against her to make it hard for her to get the gun pointed at me, and I kept shoving so she’d have a hard time aiming as she struggled to keep her balance.

  Unable to bring the muzzle to bear, she struck me on the side of the head with the pistol. She wasn’t in a good position to deliver a very hard hit, but it hurt and I saw stars. I wrenched her around, finally throwing her off her feet. I was going to get my weight on her and try to wrestle the gun away when someone grabbed me by the back of my collar.

  One of Amelia’s thugs pulled me off her. He had a pistol in his hand, but he was struggling to point it at me in such a way as to not endanger her. I slapped his hand away, pushing the weapon out of line.

  At that moment, his head burst like a kicked pumpkin. An instant later I heard the report of a rifle drift across the valley. I was glad I’d brought Bob along.

  As the man’s body flopped onto the deck, Amelia scrambled back, trying to bring her pistol to bear on me. I lunged at her, hoping to close the distance before she could aim. She was rising to her feet as I slammed into her, crashing into the railing. She grunted in pain as the collision knocked the wind out of her. I heard a dry crack as the wooden railing gave way and we started to lurch over.

  I flailed madly and caught an unbroken spar with my right hand, stopping my fall. Amelia, eyes saucer-wide with fear, grasped at me with both hands as the railing dropped away. Her right hand, still clutching the pistol, couldn’t grab anything, though the barrel did smack me in the forehead. Her left hand caught the pocket of my shirt, but it ripped away and she tumbled to the rocky slope below, hitting with a sickening crack.

  I looked back into the cabin. The air was a haze of smoke. I saw one of Amelia’s men lurch toward me, raising a handgun. There was a dull boom and he sprawled forward. I saw John crouched against the far wall, his pump action shotgun in his hands.

  I stumbled toward the cabin.

  “Sarah!” I called.

  “I’m here!” she shouted. “I’m OK!” She lay huddled behind an overturned table, the Browning clutched in her fist.

  I drew the pistol from my waistband. It looked like the fight was over, but better safe than sorry. I walked in.

  The room was thick with the smell of cordite and blood. Daniels was sitting against a wall, clutching a bleeding arm. One of his men stood in a daze, his back to the wall, his weapon pointed at one of Amelia’s men who lay bleeding and unresponsive on the floor.

  “It’s OK,” I told him. “It’s over. Lower your weapon and I’ll come check your boss.”

  He looked at me for a moment in confusion, then pointed his weapon at the deck.

  I moved in. John moved in from the other side, checking bodies.

  I went first to Sarah. “You’re alright?” I asked.

  She threw her arms around my neck. I held her tight. “It’s OK,” I said. “It’s over.”

  John gave a report. “We got two dead, four mostly dead, four injured but stable and one shell-shocked without a scratch.”

  Sarah let me go. “Save as many people as you can,” she said. “I’m OK. I’m just going to sit outside.”

  I looked at John. He nodded, followed her until he could keep an eye on her as she sat, shaking, on the front steps, out from the room full of blood and smoke and moans.

  I went to Daniels first. I squatted beside him, put a hand on his shoulder, let some energy sink in to ease the pain. “It’s alright,” I said. “I’m going to check out your arm.”

  I let my senses sink in deep, probing his injury. A bullet had gone through his right arm, just below the shoulder, smashing his humerus. I calmed the nerves, stopped the bleeding and coaxed the chips and shards of bone back together.

  When I finished, he looked at me in awe. “You should be fine in a little while,” I told him. “Maybe take a week off from tennis.”

  I moved on, checking the others. I worked by military triage, which is a bit different from civilian triage. Unofficial military triage is “our guys first, their guys last.” Daniels was the key to this whole thing working, so once Sarah was safe, he was first, then his men, then Amelia’s. While I went through the wounded, John took out his phone, called in Bob and Pete and Nique.

  John would have been right about the wounded, if I’d been any other combat medic. Being me, I could at least stabilize all but one. The man Bob had shot was beyond my skills.

  When I finished, I stumbled out the door, sat next to Sarah on the front steps.

  She looked up at me. “You’re bleeding,” she said.

  “I got pistol whipped,” I said. “It’s nothing terrible.”

  “This whole thing is terrible,” she said.

  She had a point.

  “There’s one more thing I have to do,” I said.

  “What’s that?”

  “Amelia fell off the deck,” I said. “I have to go see if she survived. Or at least see the body.”

  “I’m coming,” she said.

  “I don’t think you’re going to want to see this,” I said.

  She shook her head. “This was all her fault. She made this personal. She took my identity, slept with my boyfriend, tried to wreck my life, and I think she was about to shoot me. I need to see the end of this.”

  “OK,” I said. “But it won’t be pretty.”

  “None of this has,” she said. “None of this has.”

  Chapter 33

  I DREW MY PISTOL, checked it and replaced it in my waistband. I wasn’t banking on it being safe.

  We hiked down the side of the hill, picking our way among the brush and rocks. As we approached the hillside under the back deck, we heard moaning.

  “So she’s alive,” said Sarah.

  “Sounds like.”

  “So what’s the procedure?” she asked. “Stake through the heart? Cut off her head and fill her mouth with communion wafers?”

  “We’re going to see how bad off she is, then decide whether we can make a deal,” I replied.

  Sarah was
silent for a moment.

  “Why?”

  “First, because I don’t like executing the wounded, and second, because if Daniels can mind wipe her, we don’t have to worry about her. And there’s less chance of going to jail for murder if we don’t actually murder her.”

  “I guess.”

  “Trust me,” I said. “I know you feel that rage right now, and you want revenge, but if you go down that road, it will haunt you. You’re too good a person not to lose sleep over this. She’s not worth it.”

  I was saying that for myself as much as for her. I was shaking with the after effects of adrenaline, my head throbbed where the gun had hit me, my ears rang from the shots. I felt angry, betrayed, unjustly put-upon. I’d seen it before. Emotions running high even after the danger is past. That’s when it’s just so easy to pull that trigger. Take out all that poisonous fear and rage and hate on the first available target. Didn’t really matter if they’d already surrendered, or were too wounded to be a threat.

  It’s an act of will to resist that urge. It’s not always easy, but it’s important. For that reason, I was thankful Sarah was coming with me. I’d be less likely to do something terrible in front of her.

  We found Amelia on her back among a jumble of granite boulders. Her legs were twisted unnaturally. When she saw me, her hand pawed feebly at the ground, searching for her gun.

  “Don’t bother,” I said. “You’ll never reach it from where you are.”

  “Oh, God,” she moaned. “It hurts to breathe. I...I can’t feel my legs.”

  “You had quite the fall,” I said.

  “Please don’t kill me,” she said, a sob underlying her voice. “Don’t hurt me any more.”

  I stopped a few yards from her, squatted down closer to her level. “I’m not going to do anything to you,” I said.

  “Really?”

  “I admit, it would probably feel good for a minute. But it wouldn’t solve my problems, and I’d have to live with the fact that I’d killed an injured woman, lying helpless and weeping on the side of a mountain. I’m not willing to spend the rest of my life as that guy.”