It appeared that Donna Sanchez, the now dead nurse, had been telling the truth when she’d said he was at a university hospital, for he could see campus-like buildings in the distance. The hour was probably late for there were few lights in the windows. Some of these buildings he knew would be dormitories, sorority and frat houses. Perhaps he could find clothing or shelter among them. He reached the end of the walkway and set off across a deserted parking area on shaky legs. But he soon had to stop. The pain inside him was now excruciating. He took one of the syringes from his pocket and removed the sterile package that encased it. From his other pocket he extracted the vial of morphine, inserted the needle into the nipple and pulled back several CCs of the pain-killing drug.
Too late he saw headlights approaching at speed. He knew that he had been spotted and there was no time to escape. He simply wasn’t strong enough. Tucking the partially-filled syringe and the vial back into his pocket he hobbled toward a line of trees that bordered the lot. The car came straight at him. He put his arm up to shield his eyes from the bright headlights, knowing that if the vehicle’s driver meant him harm, he did not have the strength to jump out of the way.
The car swerved suddenly and came to a skidding halt beside him. The passenger-side door flew open and in the dome light’s glow he saw Dr. Parsons sitting behind the wheel.
“Get in,” Parsons said. “Hurry! We don’t have much time.”
Doug fell into the seat beside the doctor and the car sped away.
“What the hell’s going on?” Doug said through labored breaths.
“They know you’re alive.”
“No shit!”
Parsons said nothing.
“Where are you taking me?”
“Someplace safe.”
“Where?” Suddenly Doug did not trust Parsons. Hell, he was through trusting anyone. Parsons stared straight ahead, sweat beading his brow. They turned onto a nearly deserted four lane highway and sped off. When the car passed the sign that said Langley, Doug said, “Let me out!”
“Afraid I can’t do that.”
“I said let me out!”
“I have my orders.”
“Orders? You son of a bitch!”
“If you think you can get away, you’re crazy,” Parsons said in agitation. “If you think you can beat them you’re even crazier. They have my family. I have to do this. They always win. That’s just the way it is.”
“Who are they?”
Parsons frowned. “Your guess is as good as mine. Jesus. I’m just doing what I’m told.”
“What do they want?”
Parsons emitted a short, wry laugh. “They want you, Mr. McArthur. How’s that for starters? I believe you have something that intrigues them.”
“Are you talking about the artifact?”
Parsons frowned. “I know nothing about an artifact. What artifact?”
“Never mind,” Doug said, unwilling to go there. If Parsons truly had no knowledge of the artifact then he certainly wasn’t going to enlighten him. “What do I have that intrigues them, Parsons?”
Parsons gave Doug a sidelong glance. “You’re kidding, right? What about all that stuff you’re capable of seeing, of doing?”
Doug nearly laughed. “Oh, Christ, that? Why now? They’ve known about me for years and I’ve never been bothered. What’s changed?”
“This is just a guess, but it’s probably because they never had a plausible reason to touch you before. Now you’re a terrorist. You brought down an airliner. They can do anything they want with you and with the Patriot Act the way it is, well, they don’t even have to let you talk to a lawyer.”
“But I’m not a terrorist,” Doug said. “I didn’t bring down that plane.”
“You’re barking up the wrong tree. I don’t care.”
“My god,” Doug said. He rested his weary head against the seat-back breathing laboriously. He was finally beginning to understand some things. He had the power to see things. With his sight he had the power to perhaps alter some aspects of the future. If a person knew something bad was going to happen then that person could perhaps prevent it, or at least be prepared for it. That was real power, a power he’d never considered using. But they had, oh yes, they most certainly had. They wanted to use him. They’d been looking for an excuse to get their hands on him since he was a child. They wanted to stick needles in him, put electrodes on his head, try and enhance his ability for their own ends. But worse they wanted to prevent him from threatening the status quo by using it himself or sharing it with others outside the government. Now they had a tangible reason to hold him for as long as they wished. Had it been De Roché who’d brought down that plane or had it been someone else? The thought sent ice water surging through Doug’s veins. He was now starting to have serious doubts about everything.
Another terrible thought struck Doug. They knew about his unborn child. There was no doubt about that. It seemed everybody knew about it. Perhaps that’s what they really wanted. What if he had passed his ability on to his child through genetics? Ability, hell, this affliction is definitely not an ability; more like a curse. But in the final analysis none of that mattered. The reality of it was, the power inside the child, given the circumstances of its heritage, could be ten times what Doug’s was. If they took it from birth then they could train it to be loyal, do things their way. Breed more of them. He remembered De Roché talking some nonsense about the “guided evolution of man”. Perhaps it wasn’t nonsense at all. But he knew they’d have to get to De Roché first and Doug began to seriously wonder if De Roché had the resources to adequately protect Annie and the child. Then a terrible thought struck him. What if De Roché was in cahoots with them? What if he had been from the beginning? Was De Roché puppet or puppet master? What if Annie was expendable? Was De Roché capable of wasting his own daughter once the child came? The answer to that question chilled Doug to the marrow.
“You will never be allowed to wield the power on your own,” Parsons said. “Trust me.”
“But I don’t want to wield anything! I wouldn’t even know how. I just want to be left alone, lead a normal life.”
“Never going to happen,” Parsons said. “They’ll bury you. They’ll always be afraid you might sell to the highest bidder. Wake up. They have no scruples and they don’t believe anyone else does either. You know how governments work.”
“But all I’m capable of seeing are tragedies.”
“You can see the future, my man. What government wouldn’t want to control that kind of power?”
“But I can’t even control it. It comes unbidden, at the most inopportune moments. And it has something to do with a creature I don’t even know is real.”
“They’ll figure it out. Don’t worry. They have ways. Drugs, hypnosis . . . torture. And besides,” Parsons continued, “you’re still barking up the wrong tree. It’s not my problem. All I have to do is deliver you and they’ll let my family go.”
“You’re a fool if you believe that, Parsons.”
A cloud of doubt crossed the doctor’s face. Doug saw it clearly. Parsons was in too deep to turn back now. His family was already dead and so was he, and somewhere deep down he knew it. He was just going through the motions, hoping to buy a little more time until the ax fell. His world as a doctor, healer of men had always been a tidy and rational one. The world of corrupt governments and the power junkies who ran the machinery of those governments was as alien to Parsons as living underwater. His association with such men had come by chance. Now he was desperate. Now he was a man underwater.
“I can’t let you take me to them,” Doug said.
“I don’t think you have a choice. You’ve not fully recovered and you’re no match for this.”
Doug looked down. Parsons held a pistol and it was pointed in his direction.
“What about Lucy?” Doug asked.
“What about her?”
“Was it all a lie?”
Parsons frowned, shaking his head. “I imagine
she’ll be dead by morning, probably already is, in fact.”
“But why? Jesus Christ!”
“She’s an idealist. She thinks that religious organization she works for, the Brotherhood of the Order, or whatever the hell she calls it, is going to save the world. She believes it’s such a carefully guarded secret.” Parsons laughed. “They’re nothing but a bunch of pious old fools. The government’s been onto them for years. Wire taps, GPS satellite feeds. You know the drill. You think they’re going to let a resource like that go unchecked?”
“But she told me she was confident of their security.”
“Get real, man,” Parsons said letting go of the pistol and dropping it clumsily into his lap. “This is a post-911 world. There are no secrets. There is no security.” Although he was sweating profusely Parsons seemed overly confident of Doug’s inability to act. He swung the wheel hard right and turned onto a paved lane that was bordered closely on both sides by woods. There were no signs marking the lane. Doug didn’t know the lay of the land here. He had no idea how far they actually were from CIA headquarters or even if that’s where Parsons was taking him. In any event, it was time to get off the pot. In the pocket of his hospital gown Doug carefully held the vial of morphine he’d begun filling just before Parsons had picked him up. He pulled back the syringe’s plunger with his left hand while holding the syringe firmly with his right, filling the reservoir with what he hoped would be an overdose of the powerful opiate drug. The hand holding the syringe came out of the pocket of the gown, and before Parsons could react, Doug plunged the needle into the side of the man’s neck and depressed the plunger. Parsons gave a high, shrill, scream and let go of the wheel. The car skidded wildly and went off the right side of the lane, careening toward a row of small trees. Doug snatched the pistol from Parsons’ lap. Parsons was busy scratching at his neck trying to pull the needle free, screaming wildly, his eyes bulging madly. With one hand, Doug grabbed the wheel and spun it back onto the lane. With the other he took the pistol and held it to Parsons’ head. “Pull over,” he ordered, but it was clearly too late; Parsons had slumped forward onto the wheel, unconscious or dead. Doug did not know which. It didn’t matter. The doctor was toast anyway. Doug reached over and turned off the ignition, holding the wheel straight as the car coasted to a stop.
The pain was screaming inside Doug now, but he had to ignore it. There wasn’t time for distractions like pain. He got out and went around to the driver’s door, pushed Parsons’ limp body to the passenger side and got behind the wheel. He was shaking wildly as he put the car in reverse and swung around. When he got back to the main highway he turned right and drove for several miles until he spotted a pullover. The place was deserted. Beyond the pullover there was a tote road leading into a stand of tall pine trees. There were picnic tables and hibachis set up along the way. Doug drove in about a hundred yards, shut the engine and the lights off. The world was silent. The clock on the dash showed the time as 3:00 AM. He sat behind the wheel trying to catch his breath. With shaky hands he drew three and a half CCs of morphine into another syringe and gave himself a shot in an arm vein. The relief was nearly immediate. Once he had stopped shaking, he got out and limped around to the passenger side, opened the door and began undressing Parsons. The man was a little heavier than Doug and the clothes were loose-fitting, but he thought they’d do until he could find something better. Once dressed he put the night shirt on Parsons and eased him out of the car, leaning him against a tree. He’d gotten quite a dose of morphine but the man was still breathing and Doug thought he’d probably be all right once it wore off. That’s when the poor bastard would wish he was dead.
After that was done, by the light of the dash, Doug went through Parsons’s pockets. He found a wallet with about seventy dollars in cash and several credit cards. This would be enough to get him far away from here. He started the car and backed out of the parking area, quite aware of the fact that every cop in the land would be looking for the vehicle. As he sped south on Virginia Highway 70, Parsons’ gun on the seat beside him, he was already formulating a plan to ditch the car and find another means of transportation.
Chapter 53
The sound of a ringtone nearly jumped Doug out of his seat, totally surprised that there was a cell phone in the car. He searched around and found it stuck between the seat back and cushion, trying to see who was calling but the numbers were blurred. Doug realized that he was weaving on the road. He was in no condition to drive and figured it would be only a matter of time before a cop spotted him. Behind him headlights approached, a horn blared and the car pulled around him, the driver shaking his fist in the air.
Doug’s numb fingers groped the telephone, searching for the talk button. He pressed it and put the phone to his ear.
“Parsons!” barked an angry female voice. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“Lucy?” Doug said.
“Who is this?”
“It’s me.”
“My God, Doug. What happened? Are you all right?”
“They came after me. I had to run.”
“Those bastards!” Lucy exclaimed. “Doug, I have to find you before they do.”
“I’m on some highway near—”
“Don’t say it!” Lucy cautioned. “They’re probably listening.”
“Are you safe?”
“I don’t know. They know we’re both alive. That can’t be good. I’m on the move. I need to find a way to reach you without giving away either of our locations. We’ve got to figure something out soon. They’ve got all kinds of sophisticated tracking devices. There might even be a locater on Parsons’ car.”
“Tell me what to do.”
“Jesus, I don’t know. Listen, how bad are you. Can you continue much longer?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “I injected myself with morphine and it’s making my head fuzzy.” Doug looked down and saw blood leaking through the front of his shirt. “One of the wounds is open. My vision is blurred.”
“Shit,” Lucy said, “let me see, let me see.”
“How familiar are you with this area?” Doug said, desperately grasping at straws.
“Very, but I told you, they’re listening.”
“I don’t care. I am going to die if I don’t get help. You’re my only hope.” He was now coming onto a section of highway with a reduced speed limit. Either side was littered with strip malls and convenience stores, most of them closed. Doug was looking from side to side as he drove, trying to locate some kind of landmark that Lucy might know but might take the others longer to figure out. There was the usual array of fast food restaurants, MacDonald’s, Burger King, KFC, but nothing that stood out as unique. Then suddenly he saw it. He slammed on his brakes and turned the wheel hard right, pulling into a nightclub parking lot that was closed and deserted.
“You remember on that first day in the hospital when you came to see me, you told me about your organization and how they lived and worked?”
“Yeah, but . . .”
“Think, Lucy!”
There was a long silence on the other end of the line.
“Lucy?”
“Okay,” Lucy said suddenly. “Yes, I do remember.”
“Don’t say it,” Doug cautioned, hoping against hope that Lucy was familiar with the place he had found. “I’m there right now.”
“Oh, God, yes, I know,” Lucy said suddenly. “I’m less than ten minutes from where you are. How will I find you?”
“Just come. I’ll find you.”
Doug looked up at the black-painted marquis above the nightclub’s front entrance. In big, bold gold letters it said, SHADOWS. He pulled the car around to the back parking lot, which bordered onto some woods, got out of the car and waited.
Chapter 54
In a sterile, windowless room deep in an underground bunker beneath Langley, technicians were busy running programs on several sophisticated high-speed computers. The computers had taken the phrase, “live and work,” th
e words that had been overheard in Doug’s and Lucy’s conversation, and were running series after series of possibilities. So far nothing concrete had come up. The small, but powerful-looking man with the close-cropped sandy hair, pacing, watching the monitors carefully, was offering other possible pieces of the puzzle.
“We live and work,” he said, speaking with a slight southern drawl, measured, icy dangerous, and as soon as it was out of his mouth a technician would punch in the extra word. “I live and work. We live and work at. He said, how, didn’t he?”
“Right you are, Boss Man,” one of the techs replied.
The man the technician had referred to as Boss Man was Zach Spencer, AKA Spence, one of the Project’s main workhorses in the field of paranormal investigations. The ‘Project’ was an ultra-secret CIA splinter group, an X-Files type of organization whose main job was the investigation of anything outside the classification of ‘normal’. Spencer was not a scientist, however; far from it. He was a tough and ruthless ex-CIA operative who got the sorts of results his bosses demanded. The Project had actually been around since just after World War II when scientists in New Mexico working on ultra-secret government projects had been plagued by a variety of paranormal phenomena, some of which was believed to be alien.
Spencer’s cover was FBI. Most people believed that’s what he was, and that’s what he wanted people to believe. But in a country overrun with government agencies, the Project was a non-entity that answered only to itself. The President didn’t even know it existed. Its mission, like the Brotherhood of the Order’s, was the investigation of anything to do with paranormal activity; aliens, ghosts, demons, strange entities, machines and craft, angels, demons, magical artifacts, unexplainable mass murders and religious cults, to name just a few. But unlike the Brotherhood of the Order, the Project was a pragmatic organization with a pragmatic mission: find a constructive way to use these paranormal phenomena—real or fantasy—for the greater good. In recent years the Project had zeroed in on a particular artifact that was in some way connected to the present mark in its sights.
Soul Thief (Blue Light Series) Page 34