Controller

by Stephen W Bennett

  She fist bumped her daughter on the arm and grinned. “Average people like me will lose their free will, and only you jackass super duper Immunes will be our free thinkers.”

  Turning the joke back on her mother, Stacy returned the arm bump with a smile and said, “Aww, Mom, don’t say you’re average. Dad says bragging like that means you’re hiding defects.”

  Shaking her head, Barb answered, “How true. I took out student loans to become an underpaid teacher, married beneath my station when I picked a cop for his good looks, and I raised a disrespectful daughter.” She smiled warmly and tossed her daughter a set of car keys.

  “I have an open house to show today, and I have a potential buyer. Take your Dad’s car. If you ding it, I’ll remind him and you of how you bragged to your father about being a good driver.”

  Snagging the keys out of the air she looked delighted. “Thanks. Can I call Carl and tell him I’ll pick him up? No hanky panky, I promise.”

  “Sure. I trust you kiddo, and almost as important, I trust Carl to be a gentleman. I’ll be holding open house until five thirty. I’ll pick up something for us to eat on my way home. Do you have practice today?”

  “No. Mrs. Lacy said she had a teachers meeting after school and we’ll work on the new cheers tomorrow. Carl has football practice, though. Can I wait to drive him home?”

  “Make him clean his cleats. Your Dad hates dirt on his floor mats.”

  “Mom, he showers and changes after practice. I’ll probably be home before you are.”

  She practically skipped out the door, seeming younger than eighteen, eager to drive her father’s 2015 red Dodge Charger SE. She much preferred her father’s muscle car over the “practical” five-year-old beige minivan her mother drove. It was good for carrying clients, and later for shared rides with the carpooling mothers of cheerleaders. Worse was the ten-year-old dark gray Camry her Dad kept after he bought the Dodge. He said he wanted to repaint it, do some repairs and perhaps let Stacy take it with her to college. She hoped not.

  Forty minutes later, Barb was at the vacant home she had listed last week, baking cinnamon scented cookies to entice walk-in visitors, and placed photo brochures on the fold out table she brought describing the empty home’s features. It would be her second sale this month if her preapproved clients, expected shortly after noon, liked the property. Her cell phone rang. It was Dan’s number, and she had her tease ready.

  “Hi, hon. Have a nice trip to Korea?” She was fishing, to see if Stacy’s hunch was accurate.

  His stammer gave him away. “How…, uh, who told you I was out of the country?”

  Laughing, she said, “Stacy figured it out, based on your ability, how fast you were rushed off to Washington, and the simultaneous news stories coming out of Seoul. Anyway, we miss you, and I’m happy you’re OK.”

  “I can’t tell you what I was doing for the last several days, but I’m happy to know I’m making a difference.” That furnished her no details or confirmation, but let her know he’d done something to serve his country and was pleased.

  “Have you found a place to stay yet?”

  “I’m using per diem to stay at a hotel, eat out, and rent a car. I have thirty days expense allowance for that I think, to find an apartment here. Then we also have a relocation allowance whenever we decide what we’ll do for long-term housing. I don’t want to sign an apartment lease now because I want you to have a say in where we live. Will we sell our house after Stacy heads for college, rent it out, or simply close it up for a time? Those are big decisions, and I’m sorry, but they’ll have to wait. I need to tell you something about Stiles.”

  “That doesn’t sound good.”

  “It isn’t. Stiles is in Washington, or he was two days ago. He apparently arrived almost on my heels, but I don't believe he was following me specifically. I think it was the BII team he followed because he couldn’t know I’d signed on with them. I think he wanted to hit back at the government organization that found him out, confiscated his property and locked out his bank accounts.”

  “What can he do to a federal agency?”

  “He killed one of our agents.”

  “Oh my God. Was it Mike?” He was the only agent she’d met, other than Superintendent Brogan.

  “No. You didn’t meet Dalia, but she was a Compeller Brogan sent to Jeffersonville to track down people Stiles had used, whom he calls Tools and Shields. Here in Washington, he tried to use his ability to get into the Congressional visitor’s gallery without an advance ticket, unaware that the BII has Immunes posted there to sense when a Compeller mentally manipulates someone. We don’t know what he intended to do while watching the House of Representatives, but he avoided a security check after he made someone give him their ticket. He was spotted on surveillance cameras later after several agents went looking for whoever issued the mental commands.

  “Dalia was the BII Compeller who was called to deal with a different annoyed citizen when two BII Immunes couldn’t get him to cooperate and show his identification. That man was merely opposed to having to show his ID after getting his ticket from his state representative. Stiles must have spotted Dalia when she Compelled the man to do what they asked him to do.

  “That evening, Stiles followed her car when she pulled out of an employee parking garage, and he kidnapped her from a strip mall when she stopped to buy Chinese food. The police found her car in that parking lot, with her gun locked in the dash compartment. The silver car that followed her from work was seen parking near her apartment, where an ATM camera recorded a tall, thin man and a small woman getting out. She was found shot the next morning in her apartment, tied to a chair. A later ATM recording showed him leaving alone just before dawn, but the recordings of the driver are not good enough for a positive ID.

  “However, it not only resembles Stiles, but it also has to be him. Only his stronger Control ability could make a Compeller like Dalia do what he wanted. It’s how he got her to go along with him as she did. We think he pulled information about the BII from her and then shot her.”

  “Dan, do you think he’s after you now?”

  “He probably got the names of most or all of the BII agents from Dalia, and what abilities they have. But he knows it’s extremely risky for him to stay here, where Immunes might sense his mind control, and where there is so much surveillance. We put his picture out as a person of interest in the murder. That was yesterday. We think he may have left the area.”

  “Where would he go?”

  “I think he’ll connect with the New York crime bosses who recently hired him. They’d help him, or he’d control them to make them help. It’s not a long drive from Washington, and he may need money unless he had some cash hidden away. We think he’s avoiding airports and the TSA’s monitor cameras. One possibility, more remote, is that he’ll return to an area he knows better, like Jeffersonville and Louisville, although he knows he’s wanted there. Stacy would be your best mental early warning system if he came near either of you. He knew he had arrest warrants there so he may stay away. Police protection from him is pointless for anyone. I can tell you for certain that for Stiles, any Susceptible possessing a gun will do whatever he wants them to do. Anything.”

  “Well, I’m not home anyway, and Stacy is at school. I’m holding Open House for my newest listing, and the owners have moved out of state. Stacy and I can sleep here with our camping cots, and use the kitchen so long as we keep it clean. What do you think of that idea? No way to trace us to this address.”

  “Not bad. It would add another degree of separation for a short time. We hope to get a line on Stiles whereabouts soon. I’d feel better if you avoided our house for several days.”

  “OK. When I break for lunch, it’s a ten-minute drive to the house, and I’ll pick up some things. I can call Stacy and tell her where to meet me after school. She has your car today.”

  “Oh, great. The Dad’s away, and the cats play. She’d better not dent that baby.”

  “I thou
ght she was your baby.”

  “You and she both are. Until one of you bends my retirement gift, which I bought myself when I left the LMPD. That was the first new manly car I ever owned. The other new cars were Mom cars for the family, like your minivan.”

  “I warned her to keep it clean.”

  “Fine. Remind her again.”

  After that, they talked about other matters, such as relocation in the Spring, and thoughts of Stiles faded into the background.

  ****

  Stiles drove the black, Cadillac XTS down the middle-class residential street. He was wearing the former driver’s overlarge uniform jacket, with the bill of his cap pulled down low on his forehead. It was unlikely many homes here had a video security system, but he would be passing businesses on other streets today, and their cameras might pick up the limo and driver. The real driver was in the trunk behind the luggage, including the one with all of Stiles ready cash. The driver had experienced a bloodless choking death since a mess could stain the car, luggage, or Stiles clothing. He would do a “clean up” of the body later, possibly with the help of a Tool he knew in Louisville.

  He’d slept much of the way back from Washington, and after arrival, he’d had the driver stop in a secluded spot, remove his cap and jacket, and pull the suitcases out of the trunk. He then was made to climb into the trunk and sit up facing forward, handing his employer his necktie. That was his final service, as he slipped into unconsciousness as the tie grew too tight, saving Stiles the inconvenience of lifting his dead weight into the generously sized trunk.

  He cruised towards the Grayson residence at shortly after nine AM. There was no car in the driveway, and the door of the two car garage was down. No one had answered the house line when he used the dead driver's cell phone. That was the only number Stiles had been able to find online. He knew Grayson was in Washington, and that he’d flown there on the C-17 that returned the BII team there. Their two newer cars could be in the garage, but he saw an old Camry on the side of the garage parked on patio pavers. He stopped in front of the home and tried a little test, mentally broadcasting to the house.

  Check the mail. It came early.

  Stiles stopped just beyond the brick column that enclosed the mailbox by the street and held a gun in his right hand as a back up to mind control. If anyone from the house responded, either the wife or daughter, they were going for a ride, although on a weekday the girl should be at school.

  He hadn’t been very specific in his broadcast message, and an old man stepped out of the house next door to the left and walked to his mailbox. The man looked inside, then glanced up the street, apparently checking for the mail truck, and his eyes flickered briefly past the black sedan.

  The street’s empty, check again this evening.

  The man went back inside. There apparently wasn’t anybody home at the Grayson house. Stiles didn’t want to wait where he was, and for all he knew, Daniel Grayson had arranged for his family to join him in Washington. That would put a crimp in his developing plans.

  He would find someone with the technical skills he needed to build what he wanted, a long distance transmitter for his Control ability. However, he needed to discover how Grayson managed to get the stolen transmitter away from the North Korean user. He’d force the man to talk to him, even if he had to shift his coercion to less immediate family members to get him to talk to him.

  He’d come back to see if anyone returned to the house for lunch. In the meantime, he’d contact his former Tool and have him dispose of the body in the trunk. It was the sort of “cleanup” work he’d done for Stiles previously, at the meat processing plant.

  Before leaving the Washington hotel, aside from digging for information about Grayson’s home life, he’d researched the events in Seoul over the last few days, based on what Nadeer told him. From the perspective of a Controller, it was obvious what had happened in Seoul but on a scale far greater than his hundred foot radius. Stiles had not always been able to force people to kill themselves when he ordered them to do that. It always required some subterfuge, like the eat a banana bit of mental misdirection. This Korean agent had sent people to leap in front of oncoming tanks, and others that charged machine guns with pistols and rifles. He wanted that level of signal strength.

  Stiles knew he would not have crashed all the approaching helicopters either. One of those Apaches, with its pilot, would have been a great mode of transportation out of Seoul. The agent using that equipment used poor planning. Stiles often engaged in such fantasies of destruction and death, but he knew his goal of quietly making a lot of money here in Louisville would fail if he were to act in a manner that obvious. So much death and destruction remained only a fun mental exercise. Nevertheless, if he could have a transmitter built from the copy of design plans he’d acquired, Washington would discover what his imagination could conjure into reality.

  After the trip to the meat packing company, he’d make another pass by the Grayson home at lunchtime, and then later that evening if needed. He wanted to capture Grayson’s wife and his daughter. He would find out which of them the man would most want to keep alive, and in one piece. Having a spare would expand the available options for extracting information from the man.

  ****

  “Carl, can you hurry up, please? I’d like to get home before my Mom does. She worked all day, and I can at least set the table.”

  The tall, good-looking boy waved her direction but didn’t immediately break away from a group of three other young men. After another minute, she honked, and he grimaced, but said his goodbyes and trotted towards the red Charger, opened the rear passenger door and tossed a gym bag on the floor, then slipped into the front passenger seat, and kissed her cheek.

  “Sorry Stacy, but you know I’m also lettering for track. I’m the anchor on the 4x400 relay, and it’s hard to focus on running during football season. I don't want to let those three guys down, and we need to schedule our practices together. You know I want my scholarship to be for track and field, but a football scholarship is my backup plan. I’m not getting a full ride like some smarty pants girls get, you know. My parents say I’ll probably need student loans.”

  She was defensive. “My parents couldn’t afford my preferred schools either, at least not before last week. My Dad’s new job does pay better, but not that much better.” She couldn’t tell him how she had qualified for a full scholarship from the government. It was due to her brain alright, but not because of her IQ and grades.

  “Did your Mom make her sale?”

  “I guess not. Mom would have called me if she had. Her share of getting the listing and making the sale of that big house would be nearly ten thousand dollars combined, she told me. She only made forty-five hundred for another sale three weeks ago, splitting part of that with her company and another realtor. She’s never had two sales this close together, and this one would be all on her own. She got the listing and found the potential buyers.”

  “See if you can convince her to buy you a nicer used car if the sale goes through.”

  “Don’t like this Charger?”

  “Love it. I want one. But your dad wants this one back, and he intends to stick you with that ten-year-old Camry if he gets it repaired. You told me he'd fly home to pick this car up soon, so he can get rid of a rental car in Washington. If you had a decent car that would start every time, we could see each other more often. My Dad says there’s no car in my immediate future, not before I go off to college. Your Mom’s an easier touch with your Dad out of town.”

  Their banter continued as they drove towards Carl’s neighborhood, a few miles beyond her subdivision, when suddenly Stacy’s cell phone rang. It was from Preston Realty. She guessed who was calling.

  “Hi, Mom. Did they sign the contract?” She guessed wrong. It was the company owner.

  “Stacy, it’s Bob Preston. I’m trying to reach your mother. She missed her appointment with Mr. and Mrs. Benson at the Open House. They arrived at quarter after one, and the ho
use was locked. They were a bit late, but waited thirty minutes and tried calling her and left a message on her cell phone. She never called them back. Have you spoken to her? She isn’t answering her cell or the house line.”

  “Sorry, Mr. Preston. I haven’t heard from her since I left this morning for school. She was going to hold the Open House and expected to see her clients. She was supposed to bring us something home for dinner after six, and it’s not quite six yet. I’m driving home from school now; I can stop by my house before I drop my boyfriend at his house.”

  “OK. Thanks. The Benson’s like the house from the outside, so she needs to reschedule them for tomorrow morning. They’re also looking at another place, and she really wanted this sale. I just tried calling your father, but it went straight to his voicemail.”

  “He’s out of town for a new Job, Mr. Preston.”

  “She told me that, but I wondered if Dan had heard from her is all. You were the next number on her contact list.”

  “Mr. Preston, I’m sure there’s good reason she missed the appointment. I’ll have her call you.” He thanked her, and they disconnected.

  “Carl, if you don’t mind, I’m going to swing by my house for a minute, then take you home.” She took a turn towards a back entrance to her subdivision.

  When she turned down her street, she was relieved to see the beige minivan sitting in their driveway. There was a black car parked across the street, facing her way.

  Stacy turned into the driveway and stopped to the right side of the minivan, and before she could tap the button to kill the engine, she froze in stunned disbelief. She sensed a chilling command.

  Meet your daughter in the driveway, take your gun with you. There’s a man in the car with her, and he is threatening Stacy.