Lies (The David Chance Series Book 3)

by Hileman, John Michael

All things considered, if he was honest, his situation was better now than it had been before the voices intervened. Though he’d been made to go through some horrible things, it wasn't all bad. He did get to drive a Porsche, walk away with thirty grand, and meet the girl of his dreams. His mind rested on an image of the beautiful deaf girl who had captured his heart. The mysterious and talented Canary. What had become of her? She had promised to contact him on his iPad, but he hadn't heard a word.

  Is she alive? he said, into the hollow expanse of his mind.

  "Who?" said an older-sounding voice.

  Odd. He’d assumed the voices could read his mind. How was it they didn’t know he was thinking about her?

  Canary, he thought, bluntly.

  There was a pause. Then, "Yes. She is alive."

  So you lied.

  "Yes. For the good of your world."

  What?

  "There is no time to explain."

  Where is she? I want to see her.

  "You will. But not yet."

  When?

  "Not long. Hurry."

  The answers would have to wait. He finished dressing, tucked his jeans and t-shirt into the suit bag and, with a short hesitation, stuffed the bag in a drawer. If circumstances made it impossible for him to come back for them, like they had with the briefcase full of money, it would be no great loss. He had more clothes now than he had ever had in his life. What was one pair of jeans and a shirt?

  He buttoned the top button on the black dress shirt, tightened the black tie, and adjusted the black suit coat in the mirror. The suit was looser than he would have liked but it wasn’t bad, considering it had been made for another man. Black had always complimented Jon’s tanned Mediterranean skin and thick eyebrows. He had never seen himself in a full black suit before. With this suit and his new haircut, which made him look older than his seventeen years, he looked like something straight out of a men’s fashion magazine. This was a look he could get used to.

  "It is time," echoed a female voice. "Take the woman and go."

  He rapped gently on the bathroom door, and it swung open. The Italian woman ran her eyes down to survey the new look. "You clean up good," she said, with a glimmer in her eye. "I think we have a winner, tonight."

  She slipped by, taking advantage of the tight space to brush in close. Her breath smelled of peppermint, and her light copper skin gave off an aroma of sweet flowers. For a moment her dark eyes locked on his, then disengaged playfully as she went to her purse, the low cut of her dress giving him a full view of the tanned skin of her back.

  He had to remind himself that her only interest was in the money she had been paid to accompany him. But it wouldn't be entirely unpleasant to have her fawn over him all night, even though it was just an act, and even though there was no chance he would allow it to turn physical. She was beautiful and had plenty of sex appeal, but in the end, even if he could get past the fact that she was a call girl, she was not Canary.

  She turned and faced him. "Are you ready to take the house?"

  Take the...? Was that the plan? Were the spirits going to help him win money gambling?

  She stepped in to adjust his lapel and wipe away some stray lint. "Do you have the money?" she said casually, still looking his suit over.

  "Yes," he heard himself say.

  She gave her nose a playful scrunch. "Then follow me. This is going to be fun."

  Chapter 4

  The young woman stared at the image on her smartphone. From the vantage point of the camera she had left above the coat rack in their room she could see her mother sitting against the pillows of the bed with the television remote held loosely in her grip. She looked worn, and had good reason to look that way. So much had happened in the last few weeks. She had lost her home, her family, her friends. And the crippled daughter she had taken care of for so many years was now a stranger to her.

  The doors to the elevator began to open. Immediately she saw him, standing with his arms clasped in front, waiting outside her suite, wearing the same blue suit he always wore, the same Marlboro Man face, the same dark tan.

  "Hello, Jillian," said his lips.

  She almost responded, but caught herself. He was three times farther away than was appropriate for verbal communication, and he knew it. Was there a point? He wasn't a man who did anything without purpose. Perhaps he wanted to remind her how well he knew her and her abilities, to reassure her that if he had come to kill her that day in front of her house, he wouldn't have announced it to the man with him.

  She walked down the empty hallway toward him.

  "Look at you," he said. "When did you become such a beautiful woman?"

  "When did you become a cold-blooded killer?" she replied as soon as she judged he could hear her properly.

  "That's harsh," he said with a puppy dog face that did not play well on his leathery skin.

  "You gave the okay for Blackstone to kill those people on Air Force One. You didn't think I would find out about that?"

  "Better three hundred should die than the entire east coast, don't you think?"

  "Even if I believed you, is that what it's come to? Just a numbers game?" She clenched her delicate fists at her sides. "Who decides who lives and who dies? You?"

  "You should have trusted me, Jillian."

  "It's Canary!" she spat. "And don't play your mother hen games with me. I'm not twelve any more."

  "It's true, you have grown into a very capable young woman."

  She wanted to give in to his charms. She wanted to believe that he was the sweet man who had swooped in to save her when her father was murdered, and the only one she could turn to when her uncle preyed upon her. But there had been too many lies. No matter how much she wished it were so, he was not the gentle and compassionate man he pretended to be. He was beginning to look more and more like her uncle every day.

  "You wasted your time coming here, Jakson. I'm not going back with you."

  "Because of the house?"

  His wounded look set her off. "Yes, because of the house! And Blackstone. And Elliot James! All of it!"

  "Your house was an unfortunate matter."

  "I had half a million dollars of tech in my basement!" she spat. "Not to mention the memories my mother and I had in that house! Even if you didn't come to kill us, you still came to take everything we had."

  "It's not what I wanted, and it's not what you think, Jillian. We needed to make Jon believe you were dead."

  "Why?! We were recruiting him."

  "We were, but not to be with us. That all changed."

  She tried to comprehend his words. "What?"

  "Because of Sam."

  Sandman. Her mind whispered the word.

  He was more of a mythical creature than a real person. She’d been a little girl when she was first told of the man whose dreams became the future. She couldn't quite remember when she’d stopped asking about, "that Sam man," and started calling him Sandman, but it was connected to a story her mother used to read to her when she was very young. Sam was the reason for everything. His dreams painted a picture of a future so frightening it was the substance of most of her childhood nightmares. He saw a future where the United States would enslave the world with terrible biological weapons. Jakson and her father had dedicated their lives to stopping this future from coming to pass. It was a cause she had committed herself to after her father's murder.

  "What did Sandman see?"

  "He had a dream where he saw himself."

  Sandman's dreams always started with what Jakson called the catalyst, the event that begins the chain. If the catalyst could be changed, the future could be changed. But Sandman had never dreamed of himself as a catalyst. She always figured it to be a paradox.

  "I don't understand. I didn't know he could do that."

  "Neither did we, and I still don't understand how it works. But Sam said, in his dream, he told me the future, and by doing this, he became the catalyst."

  "For what?"

  "The
death of Elliot James," Jakson said coolly.

  She knew it was true, but it was no less jarring to her system. She cared for Jon more than she wanted anyone to know. She’d watched him for years and knew him intimately. How could he be a killer? "Is that what Jon was doing in that bank? Did he go there to kill Elliot James?"

  "Yes."

  "I don't..." her mind was on overload. "Why? Why would he do that? Why would you allow him to?"

  "His voices were leading him in that direction anyway because of what Elliot did to his father and his father's girlfriend. There is no end to the destruction that man has caused. Jon was justified in going after him."

  It was too much to process. She knew the threat Elliot posed, and she wanted him dead for all he had done—and all he would do—but she didn't want Jon taking the fall for it.

  "Sam said he saw me burning your house down and that it would lead to the death of Elliot James. I didn't know for sure Jon would be the one to kill him. I assumed—but I didn't know for sure. All I knew was that I had a chance to stop Elliot once and for all, and I took it."

  "You're saying Jon's voices and Sandman's dreams set all this up, that you were just a pawn?" She gave him a disgusted look. "So what was all that 'make-it-clean, make-it-quick' garbage about?"

  "We came to plant two bodies we got from the morgue, and to move you, your mother, and your equipment to a safe house. We needed to get in and out before Jon got there to make sure there was no trace of your evacuation."

  Was it true? Had she misread the situation? "But it made our family and friends think we were dead!"

  "At first they did—for Jon's sake—but after the dental records were checked, the investigators discovered the information we’d planted. The authorities concluded that the two people who died in the fire were the arsons themselves—of course, you and your mother's disappearance has thrown a little bit of a wrench into all that, but it's nothing we can't fix, if you'll just come back with me."

  Her heart was conflicted. Jakson should have given her warning, especially since his plan involved Jon Blake committing a murder. No one wanted Elliot James dead more than she did, but she had feelings for Jon—feelings Jakson knew about.

  There was another matter eating at her.

  "If you did as Sandman instructed, why is Elliot still alive?"

  His face snarled, two words bent his lips. "David Chance."

  Recent news coverage played in her head of Jon, David, and Elliot being pulled from the rubble together, filthy, but unharmed. Had David stopped the assassination? This created an unsettling pattern in her mind, a pattern where Jakson was once again the aggressor, and David the protector. But why would David protect that monster?

  "I see you’re struggling, Jillian, and I understand your conflict. I don't want to hurt anyone, least of all Jon Blake. But you know what our future holds. We're not talking about the death of one person, we are talking about mass suffering worldwide, mothers eating their own children, diseases that consume the flesh for weeks until death is a welcomed release from the pain. We can stop it from happening, but it won't leave us without blood on our hands."

  "I don't want blood on my hands," she snapped.

  "Then do what you do best, and let us do the hard things that must be done, the things your father had to do to stop the approaching darkness."

  His argument was sound. She didn't like it, but it felt less like betrayal now.

  "What about Blackstone?" she said. "How do you explain that?"

  "He understood that he would only get paid if the president was unable to be reelected. The only option he had left was to kill him. But he didn't clear it through me, he was working on his own initiative."

  "But you said..."

  "I didn't sanction it, Jillian, and I didn't execute the plan. But to tell you that I wouldn't have been happy with the results would be a lie, and I have never lied to you."

  She shut down.

  "You know how the catalysts work. You know what it means when we don't change them. Billions are going to die because we failed to stop this President from being reelected."

  Her gaze intensified. "But if we become murderers to stop murderers, how are we any different?!"

  "That's why I'm not angry at you for giving the information that stopped the assassination. I understand your convictions and I'm proud of you for standing up for what you believe is right."

  There were still questions, but as always, Jakson's manipulations had their desired effect.

  "We failed to stop the reelection, and we failed to kill Elliot James, but all hope is not lost; there is still one way to stop it all from happening."

  She knew to what he was referring; the prime catalyst, Sandman's first dream.

  "Walk with me." He turned and began to stroll down the hallway.

  Her feet were rooted to the carpet, her body went rigid. Was she ready to trust him again? Was she willing to believe the excuses?

  He looked over his shoulder. "Well?"

  She followed, but she wasn't happy about it.

  He brought her to a room at the end of the hall and swiped his key. It was mid-sized, like hers, but had only one double bed instead of two, and the bed was unmade.

  "What is this? You have a room here? Have you been watching me?"

  He turned so she could see his lips. "Yes."

  "How long?"

  "A few days."

  "You knew I was here all along?!" Her blue eyes burned. "I spent more than a week casing this place, rooting out its vulnerabilities, so that I could protect myself from you, and you were watching me the whole time? Why? To see me squirm?"

  "I took no pleasure in you or your mother's discomfort. I was simply waiting for you to cool off."

  His ability with people was unmatched. In the many years she had known him, it was still the trait that most impressed her, a trait she sought with great effort to emulate.

  "Please, sit," he said, waving at the edge of the bed. He grabbed the remote and hit the power button. The screen lit up with one of the news channels. He flipped to another news channel, then another. Presently video of David, Jon, and Elliot emerging from the wreckage appeared on the screen. He leaned in front of the TV. "You see, Jillian? It’s been nearly two weeks and the world is still watching. They are mesmerized by the story. How did three men survive under the rubble of an entire city block for ten days?"

  The face of David Chance filled the screen. Words crawled across the bottom: BOSTON MAN, DAVID CHANCE, WHO SAVED HIMSELF AND THREE OTHERS IS STILL UNAVAILABLE FOR COMMENT...

  The screen went dead. Jakson turned around and leaned against the back of a chair. "David Chance has the eye of the entire world. No one has ever seen anyone like him before. Here we are, with everyone looking for answers in these dark times, and along comes David Chance from the ashes of his own grave." He leaned in. "The people of the United States are listening."

  Her veins ran cold. She understood the purposeful implication in his statement. Sandman's first catalyst, the one which began it all, was a dream of a Boston man who would unite the U. S. with a single speech. That speech would usher in the age of darkness and set the stage for world subjugation under this president's reign. Everything they had done for the past twelve years was connected to stopping that speech from happening. It was what her father gave his life trying to prevent. But Sandman's dreams had not revealed the identity of the unifier. It could be anyone in the city of Boston.

  "Do you think it's him? Is David the unifier?"

  "We don't know, but Sam got another catalyst last week. It revealed what we have feared for months now—the speech is still set to happen. Nothing we’ve done has changed its course." Her eyes transfixed on his lips. "Worse still, Sam says the speech will take place at a conference in Boston. In two days."

  "Two days?" Coils of fear gripped her insides. It had always been a distant future. Never so close. Never so imminent.

  "We know where the event will happen, we’re sure of it, but the who is s
till a mystery. It could be David. It could be anyone."

  "If the unifier speaks at that conference, is there any way to contain the fallout?"

  "How do you stop public sentiment? The passion of a people cannot be contained. Whatever this unifier says, it will be an ember that cannot be squelched, and this president will use it to set the world on fire."

  The air in the room felt thinner, and her fingers began to tingle. "Do we have a plan?" She noticed the word ‘we’ as it slipped from her lips. Whatever misunderstandings there had been between her and Jakson seemed trivial now. The event her father feared his whole life was upon them. Not months, not years. Days.

  In his letters he spoke as though it were the apocalypse. One person, one speech, and the entire earth would be forever plunged into darkness—a period of biological torment unlike anything the world had ever known.

  "I know we have not seen eye to eye on David Chance. I know you think he has some kind of power given to him by God, but we need to table our differences. He is no different from you, or Sam, or Jon. You all have powers we can't explain. The problem with David is that he is on the wrong side of this thing. And, with the possibility that he might be the unifier, I need to know you are on our side. I need to know you'll stand by me and stop questioning my motives."

  Her jaw tightened.

  "Well?"

  She was quiet for several seconds, then spoke with resolve. "What do you need from me?"

  "We need someone inside that conference, someone who can get in close and intervene at a moments notice."

  "Why not just stop the conference from happening?"

  "We've considered that, and your unique talents would be needed if such a thing becomes necessary, but at the moment, we have another plan."

  Chapter 5

  Jon Blake followed the lovely escort to the elevators and up to the 56th floor where the doors opened onto a plush hallway with thick red carpet and vibrant paintings. At the end of the hallway she knocked on a door marked 5634. A muted Frank Sinatra song emanated from within.

  The door cracked open, and a man whose neck was as big as his head appeared. "Is this him?" he said to the woman.