by Liz Wolfe
“I can understand that.” Mac felt like his head was about to blow up from the frustration. “However, knowing Shannon, I’m certain her wishes would be to protect her son.”
“I understand that, as his mother, she would certainly feel that way. However, as the SAC, I have to consider her safety as well. I doubt Ambassador Watkins or Director Fields would be pleased if our actions saved Sam at Shannon’s expense.”
“I understand.”
“So, you just sit tight for a few more days. Maybe you can do something to delay the experiments on the boy.”
“Yes, I will certainly try to delay them.”
“Good. I’ll let you know when we’re ready to move.”
“Fine.” Mac hung up the phone and looked at the papers again. He couldn’t wait for Chris to send a team in. Not if it was going to take several days. Even one dose of the drugs they were planning to give Sam could have a terrible effect on him.
Sam was the center of Shannon’s life. He’d seen the total devotion she had for Sam when they’d worked together at The Center for Deaf Children. Shannon would expect him to keep Sam safe no matter what the cost to herself. He had to find a way to get Sam out of The Center immediately and hope they could still rescue Shannon. He had another session with Sam tomorrow. All he had to do was get him out of the building and to his car without anyone noticing. He could drive straight to the FBI offices in Phoenix. And then he’d have to deal with Chris Jackson.
Shelby spent the following morning pretending to clean more files of the mole virus, while checking the network to make sure she hadn’t missed anything. By two she knew she’d gotten everything she could this way. From now on, she’d have to use more covert methods. Assuring Dr. Carlson that all their files were clean, Shelby turned in her temporary access badge and headed to her car. Might as well get a nap this afternoon so she’d be alert for breaking into the lab tonight.
Shelby pulled out of the parking lot and drove down the drive that turned and ran alongside the building to the exit gate. Something didn’t feel quite right. Shelby slowed the car and looked around.
The security guards seemed to be out in full force. All of them wore lightweight jackets in spite of the warm day, their hands obviously clasped around guns in their pockets. They all appeared to be looking for something—or someone—and a number of them were headed across the parking lot to the side of the building.
Shelby turned her car at the corner of the building and saw McRae trotting along the side of the building, carrying a young boy. Shannon’s son. She recognized him from the picture Ethan had included in the file. She turned the corner, sped up, and braked in front of them.
“Get in. Now!” McRae paused, seeming uncertain until a bullet whizzed over his head. He jerked the rear door open and piled in with Sam. As soon as she heard the door close, she gunned the car and sped toward the exit gate. The gate normally stood open during the day, but now it was slowly swinging closed. The guard who usually sat in the little enclosure was standing in the middle of the drive holding up his hand.
“Stay down!” she yelled at McRae when she saw his head pop up in the rearview mirror. She could hear gunshots and was surprised that none of them had hit the car yet.
Shelby gunned the car and aimed for the still-moving gate. The guard realized her intention at the last minute and leapt to the side, landing in some decorative cacti. She saw two white SUVs pull out of the parking lot and kept the gas pedal pressed to the floor, while the car smashed through the metal gates as they were closing.
“They aren’t shooting at us,” McRae said. “They wouldn’t take the chance of hitting Sam.” Shelby glanced at him in the rearview mirror. That explained why none of the shots had hit the car.
The road from The Center to Tucson was straight through the desert, and her only hope was to outrun them. Although the sixty-nine Firebird she’d chosen for Cathy Silvers to drive had faded paint and rusty dings, the engine was restored to factory condition. The speedometer markings went up to one-eighty, and she was about to test that. She knew the Firebird could outrun the SUVs, and the worst that would happen was that she’d get a ticket.
“We need to go to the FBI,” McRae said from the backseat.
“No FBI,” Shelby said as the car fishtailed out onto the road.
“Then the local police.”
“No police either.” Shelby glanced in the rearview mirror at McRae.
Mac turned to fasten a seatbelt around Sam, and then leaned forward. “I’m an undercover FBI agent.”
“You must be pretty new, because you sure weren’t prepared for this scenario.”
“Well, for a computer geek, you certainly seem rather adept at this sort of thing,” Mac shot back.
“Just keep the kid safe back there.” She had to think, and the conversation wasn’t helping. The speedometer had reached one-twenty, but Shelby was sure she could coax a little more out of the car. She was about five miles from The Center when the cop pulled out with his lights flashing. Crap.
Shelby pulled over to the side of the road and stopped. The two SUVs didn’t pass them. She assumed they’d stopped around the curve, out of sight. Pulling her FSA ID and driver’s license out of her padded tee shirt, she waited for the cop to walk up.
“Ma’am, I’d like to see your license and registration, please.” The cop was young and squeaky-clean looking. Blond crew cut, starched and pressed uniform, leather and metal accessories highly polished.
“FSA Agent Shelby Parker.” She handed him her FSA ID. “I’m on official FSA business. You might want to call your chief before we go any further. Mind if I get out of the car?”
“I’d prefer that you stay inside. And keep your hands on the wheel.” The cop examined her ID and then walked back to his cruiser. While he talked on the radio, Shelby turned and scanned the roadside for signs of the men from The Center. She thought she saw some movement and squinted until she could make out a man trying to conceal himself behind a scrawny Saguaro cactus.
“FSA?” McRae asked from the backseat. Sam sat scrunched up beside him. His eyes were wide, but he didn’t seem particularly frightened. Then again, what did she know about kids?
“We’ll talk about it later,” she said as the cop returned.
“Chief says I’m to forget this ever happened, escort you to your destination if you’d like, and assist you in any way you deem appropriate.” He grinned and handed her ID back.
“Thanks. Just behind that curve back there, there’s one, possibly two white SUVs following me. If you could arrange for them to be delayed, I’d sure appreciate it.”
“No problem. Are we talking a few minutes or should I find a reason to take them in?”
“I just need to get into town without them following me. If you can delay them for ten or fifteen minutes? Just don’t let on that you know anything about me other than I was speeding through the desert.”
“No problem, Ms. Parker.” He touched his hand to his forehead in a salute and trotted back to his cruiser. He then backed up on the road with his lights flashing.
Twenty minutes later, Shelby pulled up at the storage facility where she’d parked her yellow and white Mini Cooper. While the attendant brought the car around, she pulled out her cell phone and dialed into the phone connected to the recorder of the listening device she’d put in the receptionist’s cubicle. The phone automatically picked up. Shelby punched in a twelve-digit code and heard a series of answering beeps.
“Who are you calling?” McRae asked.
“No one. I just activated the destruct sequence on some equipment that I don’t want the people at The Center getting their hands on.”
“What kind of equipment?”
“A recorder for a listening device I planted at the receptionist’s desk.”
“You don’t want them listening in on their own conversations?” McRae looked puzzled, and she laughed.
“I don’t care what they hear. I just don’t want them to have the equipment.”
The attendant arrived with her Mini, and she handed him the keys to the Firebird with instructions to store it until someone contacted them. McRae put Sam in the backseat and fastened his seatbelt. He then slid into the front with Shelby.
“What now?”
“We go to a safe house.” She glanced over at him and smiled. “I’ll make a pot of coffee, and we’ll sit down and figure this out.”
“Coffee sounds good,” McRae said.
“Well, first we have to buy some.” Shelby turned onto Palo Verde and headed for the huge Wal-Mart. “I’ll get some food while you get some clothes for you and the kid.”
“What about clothes for you?” McRae asked.
“I’ve got clothes with me. You have cash?”
“No, I’ll charge it.”
“You really are new at this aren’t you?” She parked the car, opened the trunk, and punched in the security code on an aluminum briefcase. The case contained a packet of IDs and a considerable amount of cash. Shelby pulled out a few hundred in twenties, handed them to McRae, and then took another bundle for herself.
“Don’t use your credit cards for anything. At all. They can trace where you’ve been using them.”
“Right.” McRae frowned and nodded. “I knew that.”
“Meet me at the food check-out when you’re done.” They went their separate ways—McRae to the kids department and Shelby to the grocery department.
She knew the safe house would have some canned foods, but little else. She wheeled the cart to the frozen food section and grabbed a bunch of frozen dinners, some ice cream, and a few frozen veggies. Now for the kid. Shelby thought for a moment about what kind of food kids eat, and then decided to go with what she’d seen on television. She picked up some cereal, milk, juice, cookies, bread, peanut butter, and jelly. On the way to the checkout stand, she grabbed a six-pack of beer and a bottle of wine.
Wait! Did kids use special soap or something? She headed over to the toiletries aisle and checked out the offerings. She threw in some baby shampoo, guaranteed not to make the kid cry, and some bubble bath in a bottle that looked like a cartoon character. There didn’t appear to be a special soap for kids, so she assumed the bubble bath took care of the dirt. Or maybe kids just used the same soap as adults.
McRae met her at the exit, and they piled their purchases into the trunk. The safe house was only a half hour north of Tucson, and they pulled into the driveway before five. As soon as they got in, Shelby made a pot of coffee and checked out the back of the house, while McRae fixed a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for Sam.
The house had two bedrooms; one contained a full-size bed, the other a twin. The front room was furnished with an old sofa, two chairs, and a bargain-basement coffee table. There was a small fireplace, full of ashes. Usually FSA safe houses were better kept than this, but it didn’t matter, as Shelby didn’t expect to be here for very long.
She grabbed a change of clothes from her suitcase, along with shampoo and soap, and headed to the bathroom. She stuffed the dark wig and padded clothes into a plastic bag and then stepped into the shower. As good as the hot water felt, she didn’t linger, taking just enough time to shower, shampoo, and rinse. The towels smelled a little musty, and she figured the house hadn’t been used for a long time. She pulled on shorts and a tee shirt, ran a comb through her hair, and went back to the front room.
“My, that’s quite a difference,” McRae said as he handed her a cup of steaming coffee.
“So, you’re an FBI agent.” Shelby sipped the coffee, set the cup on the scarred pine coffee table, and then plopped into a chair.
“And you’re with the FSA.” McRae grinned at her.
“Want to tell me why you’re here?”
“I could ask you the same question.”
“We could do this all night.”
“You don’t think we’d need to stop to sleep at some point?”
“Let’s cut to the chase.” Shelby leaned forward. “I’m with the FSA. I’m here to recover Shannon Masterson and her son, Sam. Both believed to be held against their will at The Center.”
“Fair enough. My story is pretty much the same.”
“The FBI sent you in to extract them?” she asked.
McRae shook his head. “I was supposed to determine if Sam and Shannon were actually there. I’m not actually an FBI agent. I’m a psychiatrist with the FBI.”
“Ah, that explains this afternoon. And it explains how you got into The Center. I assume most of the background check we got on you was manufactured?”
“God, I hope so.” McRae chuckled. “The FBI went to a lot of trouble to make me look as sleazy as possible.”
“They did a good job.”
“I actually had to beg for this assignment.”
“Interesting. Why?”
“I met Shannon and Sam last year. She was visiting her aunt in DC, and we were both volunteering at The Center for Deaf Children.”
“And you and Shannon fell in love, and then?”
“No, nothing like that.” Mac shook his head and smiled. “Sam is an exceptional child. As we worked together I became aware of his special abilities. Shannon didn’t want to admit it at first, but she finally came around.”
“Special abilities? Is he a genius or something?”
“Sam definitely has a genius level IQ, among other things.”
“And the other things are?”
“Sam is psychic.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“Did you say that Sam is psychic?” Shelby asked.
“Actually, he’s rather exceptional. His abilities far surpass those of most persons with psychic abilities.”
“Exactly how is Sam psychic?”
“He can read emotions in people. I suspect he can even pick up thoughts and affect emotions in others. He can move things with his mind.”
“All that at the age of four?” Shelby sounded skeptical even to herself. Move things? Affect emotions?
“Actually, children usually show a much stronger psychic ability than adults. Unfortunately, our society manages to convince most of them that what they are experiencing is impossible. By the time they’re adults, they’ve dulled their senses to the point of being practically useless.”
“And the FBI sent you here to rescue this miniature psychic and his mother?”
“At my insistence.” McRae nodded.
“Yeah, you want to elaborate on that part?” That should be interesting.
“Dr. Mac, I’m done!” Sam called from the kitchen.
“Just a moment,” Mac said, holding up a hand. He disappeared into the kitchen and came back a few minutes later holding Sam in his arms.
“Sam, I’d like to introduce you to—” Mac stopped and raised his eyebrows in a question.
“Shelby,” she said. “How’re you doing Sam?”
“I’m okay. But mommy needs me.”
“Where’s your mom?” Shelby asked, trying to ignore the sorrowful look on the kid’s face.
“Back there. They wouldn’t let me see her.”
“I see.”
“You look like you could use a bath, Sam. Let’s go.” McRae swung Sam around, making him giggle. “Can you bring me those bags?” He nodded toward the Wal-Mart bags on the floor next to the sofa.
Shelby picked up the bags and followed him into the bathroom. McRae plugged the tub and turned the water on, checking the temperature.
“Here we go.” McRae pulled Sam’s shirt off, and then his shorts and underpants.
“Oh, just a minute.” She ran back to the kitchen and rummaged through the bags of food until she found the bubble bath.
“How about some bubbles?” She waved the bottle at Sam.
“Yay! Bubbles!” Sam sat in a couple inches of water as McRae opened some plastic toys he’d bought. “Spiderman!” Sam squealed and held his hand out. The plastic Spiderman figure lifted out of McRae’s hand and floated through the air, landing securely in Sam’s chubby fist.
“Holy crap!”
Shelby couldn’t believe what she’d just seen. McRae shot her a smug I-told-you-so look.
“Sam, will you be okay in here for a few minutes?” Sam nodded, still intent on his Spiderman toy. “Just yell if you need anything.” McRae grabbed her hand and pulled her back out to the front room.
“Did you see that?” Shelby was still shocked. “Of course you saw that. That’s what you were talking about, isn’t it?”
“Well, yes, actually.”
“He really can move things with his mind!”
“As I told you, Sam is an exceptionally gifted child.”
“This is incredible.”
“Exactly. When I asked for this assignment, I believed that The Center wanted to test Sam’s abilities and possibly Shannon’s as well.” Mac sipped his coffee. “But once I got hired at The Center, I started to think that maybe that was just a part of it.”
“Sam’s mother is psychic too?” she asked.
“Yes. Certainly not as strong or as varied as Sam, but she has psychic abilities. I’m very worried about her.”
“Sam said that his mom was still at The Center. Do you think that’s true?”
“Yes, I do. I believe that Sam and Shannon can communicate psychically. I’m not sure to what degree though.”
“Like you and I would have a phone conversation?”
“It could be that, or it could be very different. But I’m convinced from what Sam has said that he is definitely in communication with her.”
“And she’s still at The Center?” Shelby asked.
“Yes, I’m sure of it.”
“Crap.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I just wanted to take a hot shower, have a glass of wine, and relax for the rest of the night. Now, I have to break into The Center again.”
“Again?” Mac asked.
“Oh, yeah, I broke in last night to download some files.”