by Jason Brant
The man beside the cart stood and picked up the cordless drill.
Oh shit.
I panicked.
My arms and legs bucked against the restraints. I flexed my quads as hard as I could, hoping to pop the bindings around my legs. It didn’t work. I wasn’t getting out of that chair unless someone untied me.
Smith said, “We had to wait for the drugs to wear off or else the readings would be compromised. That and we had to know if the helmet’s other function works on your telekinesis. You see, it not only gives us some information about your abilities, but it should also confine them. It has worked on the other telepaths we’ve tested it on. It nullified Murdock’s mind control as well. In theory, it should work on your telekinesis. Let’s find out, shall we?”
Even though I shook my head back and forth, Smith managed to slip the helmet on. My range of motion was severely compromised by the tie around my neck. The helmet bathed me in darkness.
It had no eye or ear holes. A small space was open for the mouth, allowing me to breathe, but no light made it up to my eyes. The inside was covered in a harsh rubber that sat flush against my skin.
I bucked against it, but I didn’t accomplish a damn thing.
Smith did something to the back of the helmet that sucked it even closer to my face. All the spaces between the rubber and my skin disappeared as it squeezed tight. It closed so snugly around my features that it felt like a custom fit.
“Can you hear, Mr. Benson?” Smith asked, his voice distant and muffled from the helmet.
“Eat... a... dick...” I grunted.
“This is going to hurt. A lot.”
I heard the other man trigger the drill beside my head.
A vibration started on the left side of my helmet. I paused, listening, waiting.
The drill sped up. Excruciating pain ignited above my temple. The speed of the drill slowed as a screw pierced my skin and twisted into my skull.
I gritted my teeth, fought with everything I had not to scream.
Agony beyond words ground throughout my head. It was blinding, all consuming.
The drill stopped for a moment, the only sound in the room the staccato of my pulse in my ears. I shrank into the chair, gasping in air. The white-hot pain didn’t cease. The screw was hot inside the bone. Warmth ran down the left side of my face, arching along my cheek and dripping from my chin.
“Only four more to go,” Smith crooned.
I didn’t scream as they secured the second screw into my skull.
Or the third.
But the fourth broke me.
32 – Licking Wounds
“That’s it?” Drew asked. He stormed around the conference room. “That’s all we have? A victim with no valuable information and a blown-to-hell laptop?”
Tate unzipped his tactical vest and pulled it over his shoulders. “That’s it.”
“So in our first mission, we lost the hardware we were after, the men who could lead us to Smith, and my best goddamn friend?”
“Yeah.” Briggs slumped into a seat in front of Drew. “They worked us over.”
“You don’t even realize what just happened here.” Drew continued pacing. “Smith has Ash.”
“We realize that,” Huxx said. He stood in the corner, arms crossed over his chest. “Believe me. We know we got our asses kicked today. But we didn’t greenlight that stupid op. We’re lucky that mob didn’t tear us to pieces.”
“You have no idea.” Drew stopped and pointed at him. “Ash was the last piece we had in a chess game you didn’t even know we were playing. Without him, we’re all screwed.”
“What do you mean?” Bree asked. She wiped her sweaty brow with the back of her hand.
They’d barely escaped the city. Bree had fled down to the bottom of the parking garage and ran back to the SUV. The crowd wasn’t as thick back there, but it had filled in significantly since they’d arrived. A couple of men had attempted to grab her, but she’d fought them off with a few motions of her rifle and one really solid throat chop.
Shea had moved the vehicle onto the side of the street, the engine idling as he waited for her to jump in. He’d watched the crowd following her in the rearview mirror as she slid into the backseat.
“We’re going to meet the rest of the team halfway.” Jack had driven them down a few side streets, and then stopped in the middle of an intersection.
Tate had relayed their locations as he, Huxx, and Briggs ran from the rioters. They popped out from behind a barbershop and leapt into the SUV.
They’d quickly abandoned the area while Nelson reestablished a connection with their surveillance drone. After scouring a several block radius around the parking lot where they’d lost Benson, they couldn’t come up with any sign of him.
The police had arrived in full force, a battery of shield-carrying cops slowly forcing the crowd away from the apartment building. When they discovered three of their own laying lifelessly in the parking lot, things went from bad to worse.
Helicopters flew overhead.
Shots were fired.
The number of protestors swelled. A legion of cops fought back. More people died.
Nelson ordered his team home, knowing there was nothing else they could do amidst the chaos. The ride back to Aberdeen Proving Ground had been a silent one. Bree didn’t know about the men around her, but she couldn’t help but mull over the craziness of what they’d just done. Could things within the government truly be so corrupt and insane that a small, clandestine outfit was forced to send an untrained team into the nation’s capitol?
It all seemed like a bad dream.
And on top of it all, they’d lost a teammate. While it was true they didn’t really know Benson, and actually believed him to be a con artist, they’d still gone into battle with him. None of them ever wanted to leave a man behind.
Christie Tolbert had popped up at a local police station shortly thereafter, hysterical but otherwise unhurt. Under orders from Nelson, she was removed to an undisclosed location until everything blew over. She’d been questioned, but she didn’t know anything of significance about the men trying to kill her or the hardware they’d recovered.
“We’re an agency operating entirely in the shadows using the only known telepath in the world. And we lost him. Without Asher, there is no reason for us to exist. We’ll be lucky if they don’t disappear all of us.” Drew’s entire head had turned a light red. “For your sake, we need to get him back.”
“Bullshit.” Tate pounded his fist off the large, rectangular table in the middle of the room. “We didn’t make the decision to send us down there armed to the teeth and dressed like terrorists. And Benson split off from the rest of us—not the other way around. None of us asked for this. You came to us, remember?”
“That doesn’t matter anymore.” Drew stopped pacing and put his hands on his hips as he inspected the floor. “Look, I know this isn’t your fault. We were put in an impossible situation. All of us.”
He looked at a television mounted in the corner of the room. Images of the riots flashed across it, hysterical headlines plastered on the bottom half of the screen. The dead officers had sent everything into an uproar.
The appearance of a handful of armed people dressed in all black had blasted the situation into the stratosphere. The talking heads on all the news stations were working overtime as they attempted to tie all the events of the morning together.
“We have to get him back. Smith’s men must have him. He would have contacted us by now if he could.” Drew paused, turning his attention back to them. His voice cracked when he spoke again. “God only knows what they’re doing to him right now.”
33 – Eating Lightning
“Now that we have that unpleasantness out of the way, we can begin.” Smith’s voiced moved from behind me to directly in front. “Is there anything you want to say?”
If I were being honest, I wanted to cry like a little child. They’d just screwed a helmet to my head. Metal screws didn’t
mesh well with skin and bone.
Blood soaked my hair, coated my neck and shoulders. Head wounds bled like a bitch. I couldn’t see myself, but between the blood, science-fiction-styled helmet, and nakedness, well, I probably looked kinda funny.
I didn’t feel funny, though. I felt like the bottom of a shoe after a marathon.
“What are you going to do to me?” My voice came out small and pathetic.
“Nothing good, I’m afraid. We have two known instances of you using telekinesis. Both of them revolve around pain, stress, and anger. We’re going to inflict the pain to trigger the stress and anger responses we’re looking for.”
My shoulders trembled as I fought against the fear gripping me. I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing me panic, but it was kind of hard to stay calm after someone had screwed a helmet onto your head.
“With any luck, we’ll get some interesting readings from this.” Smith’s voice moved further away, as if he’d walked across the room. “You should have taken my offer. Do you think they care that you’re going to suffer? They’ll be happy when you’re gone. You could have unearthed their secrets, fought against their corruption. But now, you’re here. And for what? What have you done?”
A warm tear spilled from my eye. “I’ve gotten people who care about me killed.”
I could feel the soft touch of Sammy’s lips on mine. I could see the way her eyes had dimmed as I’d held her during her last moments. Smith was right. I hadn’t accomplished anything. My telepathy had always been a curse to me. I should have used it for something more than an excuse to get drunk and wallow in self-pity.
Everything that had happened to me was because I refused to step up. I’d been reactive instead of proactive.
“Then help us, Mr. Benson. You know what I’m saying is true. You saved President Thomas from Murdock that day and what has it gotten you? What has he done with it? Nothing. The system grinds on. You think I’m a monster, but I’m the only one who has done anything to protect this country.”
“Okay... okay.” I swallowed a lump that formed in my throat. “Before we go any further, I need a guarantee from you.”
“Yes?” Smith’s voice moved closer. He sounded hopeful.
“Promise me you won’t tell anyone I peed myself when we get this party started. I’d hate to have my manly illusion shattered by a little bit of torture and urine.”
Smith exhaled gruffly right in front of the helmet. “Have it your way. We’ll see how sarcastic you are in a few minutes.”
“Don’t be mad, Smithy. You have to understand how important my tough-guy image is.”
“You should have let me sew his mouth shut,” the other asshole said.
“Good-bye, Mr. Benson.” Smith’s voice was even quieter, as if he’d moved back to the door.
“I’ll be seeing you soon.” I straightened out in the chair, squared my shoulders. “And then I’ll kill you.”
The door closed and silence enveloped me.
The only sensory perception I had was the feel of the chair underneath me and the pounding in my head from the screws. I couldn’t see anything, not even a sliver of light. The helmet had my nose mashed down, making it difficult to breathe through. Not that there was anything worth smelling just then anyway. I was sure I reeked of sweat, blood, and fear.
The machine on the cart beside me beeped.
I’d be lying if I said I didn’t jump a little.
As the drug they’d given me continued to flush from my system, my thoughts cleared. I tried to reach out with my mind, to feel the presence of Smith and the man who wanted to practice being a seamstress with my face.
Nothing.
Either the drugs still had enough of a hold on me that I couldn’t use my ability or the helmet really did work the way Smith had said. If they’d figured out a way to nullify telepathy, then I was little more than a helpless dude strapped to a chair.
A jolt of electricity zapped into my back, ass, and legs.
Rigidity froze my body. All of my muscles contracted. Lightning flashed through me, my nerve endings on fire. My teeth clacked together.
And then it was gone.
I slumped back into the chair, gasping. The whole thing had lasted just a few seconds, but it felt like an hour. I’d never suffered through any kind of electrocution before save a Taser a fellow officer had zapped me with in Iraq on a dare. That had sucked.
The chair was on another level.
It made sense to me to me then why the chair was metal.
Another current zapped me. I yelped and bucked against my bindings, tearing at them like a wild animal. It didn’t help. The torture stretched for five seconds, and then ten. When the misery finally relinquished its grip on me, I almost passed out.
Cramps racked my calves and feet. My fingernails had bit into my palms, drawing blood. My jaw ached from clamping shut. A mouth guard would have been nice. If I wasn’t careful, I could bite off my tongue or a lip.
Talking shit would be difficult because of that.
They electrocuted me again.
And again.
I screamed. A lot.
I braced myself for another jolt, but it didn’t come right away. My body shook in anticipation of the pain as I waited with bated breath. The waiting was almost as bad as the electrocution.
Almost.
Rage blossomed during the lull in torture. I knew that was what they wanted and I tried to fight it, but I failed miserably. Knowing I was succumbing to Smith only made me angrier. Unlike the other times when fury had overtaken my thoughts, nothing vibrated around me.
Nothing moved.
The contraption covering my head prevented me from doing anything.
Gritting my teeth, I slammed the back of the helmet off the chair. A fresh wave of misery ran through my skull, but I didn’t care.
I slammed it off the chair again.
They zapped me then, and all voluntary movement ceased. Spittle flew from my mouth. Blood poured down my neck. The chair grew hot under me, though I could barely feel it.
Just as I slipped toward unconsciousness, the electricity released me.
My bladder let go.
I sat there, slumped over, chest heaving. “Can someone bring me an adult diaper?”
34 – Digital Wizardry
Nami flipped the laptop over on her desk and inspected the back. Roughly a third of the computer was either gone or mangled beyond all hope of repair. Huxx had told her that Smith’s men had tried to blow it up.
No shit, Sherlock, she’d said.
Drew had told everyone to leave her office, which she’d begun calling her Forensic Palace of Digital Love Making. He’d explained that the busted piece of crap in her hands was the only hope they had of finding Ashley. The despair in his voice had twisted Nami’s gut.
She loved to give Ashley a hard time almost as much as she loved anime, and that was saying a lot. The big bastard had a soft spot in her heart, though she would never dare tell him that. Knowing Smith had him made her want to bawl. Being the oddity that she was made it difficult for Nami to make friends. Her sharp tongue and lowbrow vocabulary didn’t help.
Ashley treated her like a friend—like one of the guys. That meant more to her than she would have ever admitted to anyone, let alone his gigantor ass. He didn’t see her as a super weirdo. Well, he did, but he was even more bizarre, so he didn’t pass judgment the way everyone else did. He gave her a hard time, sure, but that was why she liked him.
Ashley was her friend, by gods, and that cock holster Smith wasn’t going to hurt him. Not on her watch.
The hard drive bay on the back of the laptop was empty.
They’d taken it before attempting to destroy the rest of the computer. If the Tolbert woman had connected the thumb drive to her PC before Smith’s men had arrived, then any files she’d opened might have been recoverable. Without the hard drive, however, the odds of getting any actionable evidence on it were almost nonexistent.
“Balls.
”
Nami reached for a small case on her desk and slid it in front of her. She opened it, revealing a screwdriver set. The tips ranged in size from small to ridiculously tiny. They had Phillips, hexagonal, straight, and everything in between.
After wiping dust and soot away from the back of the computer as best she could, Nami leaned close to it. A handful of screws on the back remained in place, keeping the remnants of the cover attached.
Nami grabbed an appropriately sized screwdriver and worked at loosening the screws. The damage done to the case had wedged them in place, making them difficult to remove.
“Fuck it.”
Nami dropped the screwdriver and grabbed part of the case that stuck into the air. The plastic had cracked and warped from the explosion. She pulled as hard as she could, attempting to pry it away from the motherboard and chassis.
The screw in the middle popped out and the case yanked several inches back. She stuck her hand under it and pushed up. The plastic creaked and popped as it slowly pulled away.
As she peeked inside the computer, Nami noticed there appeared to be minimal damage to the internal components. So minimal that she stopped yanking on the case for a moment and thoroughly examined the edges of the motherboard. There were a few singe marks, but nothing appeared to be melted or even chipped. The external shell and the screen of the laptop had taken the vast majority of the damage.
Chunks of the LCD screen had fallen free as she’d carried the laptop to her desk. That combined with the condition of the case made her assume the thing was totaled.
But maybe not.
Afraid that tearing the back cover off could actually cause damage, Nami stopped pulling and grabbed the screwdriver again. Removing the screws without stripping the slits in the head proved difficult. The tool kept slipping.
Grunting, cursing, and sweating, Nami worked at them carefully, applying as much downward pressure as she dared. Her fist pumped in the air when the final one came free.
That was the easy part.
She removed the back cover, tossed it to the floor.