Sweet Dreams

by Aaron Patterson

  He put away his laptop and slid the bag’s strap over his head and onto his shoulder. At the elevator, he hit the up arrow. He should try to get an interview and do something useful while he had inside access to the FBI offices.

  The fifth floor was open, with offices around the perimeter of the building and a center area filled with cubicles. The woman at the front counter asked him how she could help him.

  He stood tall and tried to keep his voice firm, in spite of his nerves. “My name is Geoff Martin. I’m with World Magazine International. I’d like to speak with Captain Jacobson, if I could.”

  “Do you have an appointment?” She didn’t wait for him to answer. “No, I didn’t think so. Tell you what—you leave me your card, and I’ll have him call you, okay?”

  Geoff could tell he wouldn’t get any further, so he took out a business card and handed it to her.

  “Can you tell him it’s about his special task force?”

  She nodded, put on her glasses, and went back to typing on her keyboard.

  He took the elevator back down to the main floor and waited for Kirk to finish his meeting.

  * * *

  AFTER COVERING EVERY ASPECT of the operation they could think of, Kirk got up, shook Agent Goodwin’s hand, and started to leave.

  “Oh, before you leave, what’s the story with your reporter friend?”

  “He’s cool. He knows almost everything about the case involving the prison. I left out some parts about my kidnapping, since they’re a bit unbelievable.”

  “Don’t let him in on too much. The last thing we need is for this to get out to the media.”

  “No problem. He knows I’ll kill him if he tries to cross me.”

  The agent laughed, then saw the look on Kirk’s face. “Okay, then, uh, you need anything, just ask.”

  “One more question. What can you tell me about Captain Jacobson?”

  “He’s the lead man on this task force and handles all the sensitive matters as far as the cover-ups go. He’s the one who started the operation ten years ago.”

  “I’m just curious as to why Jacobson was given the file from Jenkins. Then after we talked to Jenkins, he ends up dead.”

  “We’re looking into it, but I can assure you Jacobsen had nothing to do with the Jenkins’ death. The file was doctored to try to preserve the operation and keep a low profile.”

  Kirk found Geoff in the waiting area typing away on his laptop, as usual.

  “Hey, how’d it go?” Geoff asked.

  “Good. I got new information that changes everything. First, I want to go out to the Jenkins place to see what’s up.”

  The second agent who had brought them walked by just then. “I’m going out there now. You two can ride along if you like.”

  Geoff squinted at him. “Really?” He turned to Kirk for an explanation.

  But all Kirk said was, “Great, it’ll save us a cab.”

  * * *

  MARIA WAS WATCHING FROM her second story window as Mark drove away. He waved and smiled. She was a wonderful friend and person. He just hoped he could keep her in his life. At this point, he wasn’t sure of tomorrow, let alone what was going to happen next week or next year.

  He made his way to the smoke shop he’d been told to visit and pulled up to the curb in front of the store. He looked around. This side of town was dingy, and if a guy didn’t keep his wits, he would be a prime target for a mugging or worse. All of a sudden his shiny new sports car felt like a trouble magnet.

  As he opened the shop door, he heard a tiny bell bang against the glass. The place was dim, almost dark, and filled with choking smoke.

  The solitary customer was looking at cigars. A grey-haired man stood behind an old-style till with a short, fat stogie hanging from of the side of his mouth.

  “Can I help you?” he grunted, as if it he was a bit annoyed by Mark’s presence.

  “I’m here to meet someone. Uh, I was told to be here at eleven.” He glanced at his watch and saw it was eleven, right on the nose.

  “You Mark?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Take your car around the side, in the alley, and Mario will tell you where to go.” He puffed a thick cloud of smoke into Mark’s face before turning back to the television that sat behind the counter.

  Mark drove behind the shop and down a dark alley. A short, heavy man wearing a beanie on his head, a scarf around his neck and an expensive trench coat stepped out from a dirty doorway and held up his hand.

  Mark rolled down his window, and Mario leaned in. “I see you got yourself a new ride. Nice. All the newbies buy top of the line.” He laughed and held out his hand. “I’m Mario.”

  “Yeah, thought I would see who I was dealing with, you know?”

  “You’ll take it back before you know it. You’ve got no idea, pal. You ready?” He looked at Mark, a knowing smirk on his face.

  Mark nodded and looked as confident as he could, even though he was terrified.

  “Hold on to your hat—here we go.”

  Mario pulled what looked like a cell phone from his coat pocket and hit a button. The ground shook, then opened into a huge, gaping hole with a ramp leading downward.

  Mario pointed toward the hole. “Just find a spot and meet me at the office inside.”

  Mark drove down the ramp, which led to what looked like a lighted parking garage.

  He aimed for a door in the corner of the underground parking garage and parked next to a red Porsche 911. He looked a few rows down to see an Aston Martin sitting sideways, filling up two spaces. He shook his head. That’s how those sports car owners were—always worried about dents and scratches. Not that he was any different.

  He followed Mario into the small, simple office. Several computers sat on a counter on one wall, but that was all, other than chairs. Mario took off his coat and led Mark through another door, which opened to a room that had a familiar look about it. This was definitely a WJA operation. Between the gadgets and gauges and the wall with a large glass case, it looked like something in a science fiction movie. Hanging in a row in the case were what looked like wet suits.

  “You’ve been briefed,” said Mario. “I’ll go over the details. First thing is, you’ll find your weapons and equipment at the safe house. If you have any questions on how to use them or what to do, you can access the mainframe computer in any safe house. They’re all voice-activated. Watch this.”

  Mario put his hand on a wall sensor. After it apparently scanned his fingerprints, a screen came down from the ceiling. Once it was in place, the screen flashed on, and a voice welcomed him, asking what it could do for him.

  “I need information on suiting up for the Taxi,” Mario said with his Italian accent.

  The droning electronic voice seemed to come from everywhere yet nowhere. “The suit is located inside the glass case and will mold to your exact dimensions and body density.” The computer went on to explain how to operate the Taxi and the importance of using it correctly. The female-sounding voice was calm and devoid of emotion.

  “Cool,” Mark said. “So the Taxi is how I’m getting to Pakistan?”

  “Bingo. The Taxi, as we call it, is a device that connects our safe houses by a series of sealed, underground tubes controlled from the main station you see in front of you.”

  He pointed to a control panel mounted to the wall. “It has settings for the place you want to go and the time you want it to get you there. A list of cities and safe houses will come up, like so.” He punched in Pakistan, and five cities appeared on the screen. He highlighted Islamabad. With an audible click, the computer locked the location in place.

  “It’s around ten in the morning in Pakistan, so you’ll need to get there as soon as you can. We’ll set it at top speed.”

  “How fast is that?”

  “Uh, you really don’t want to know, pal.” He chuckled and went on. “Next, you punch in your weight and height. I’d say you are just under six-feet tall and, what, a buck eighty-five?”
<
br />   “One eighty. Why do they need all this information?”

  Mario tried to explain without going into too much detail.

  Mark grabbed a chair and sat down, striving to take in everything he’d just heard. “So, it’s like a bank with the tubes and the canisters. And I’m the sucker inside the canister.” A sucker in more ways than one…

  “The suction picks the capsule up and sends it to the bank teller. It’s like that, but much bigger and far more involved, right? It’s an underground network based in just about every country, leading to multiple stations called safe houses.”

  Mario nodded.

  Mark shook his head. “You can’t be serious.” But, from the look on his new friend’s face, he could tell he wasn’t joking.

  Mario hit a key on the keypad, and part of the wall opened up with a grinding sound, revealing a round, metal, pill-looking machine.

  Mark got up to take a closer look. It had a small, glass window on the top. Apparently, he would lie on his back. The lid opened from the side, like a clam. The interior looked like was made of a soft gel. He noticed it had a five-point harness, probably to keep passengers from shifting as they shot through the bowels of the earth.

  “So I put on this suit, and then I get inside this thing and strap in?”

  “Yup. When you close the top, a nontoxic sleeping gas will fill the capsule and put you to sleep. Believe me—you don’t want to be awake for the ride.”

  “I see. And when I arrive at my destination, the capsule will send in fresh oxygen to wake me up, right?”

  “Yup. You’ll be fine. You might feel a little sick for an hour or so, but you’ll get used to it.” The little man giggled. “The first time is always the hardest.” His slick black hair bounced out of place and he pulled a black comb from his pants pocket to run through his shiny helmet.

  “And the suit. What does it do again?”

  “It stimulates your blood by pumping your muscular system to keep the fluids flowing evenly. You’ll be experiencing a whole lot of Gs.”

  “So, without the suit?”

  “Well, let’s just say… it’d be messy.”

  “Ah.”

  “When you arrive on the other side, you’ll be met by your spotter. He’ll get you lined up and ready to go. If you’ve got questions, he’ll answer them. Okay?”

  Mark nodded, stripped down, and pulled on the suit. It was soft, except for the cables and lumps from the small pumps imbedded in the fabric. He zipped it up and pulled the hood-like piece over his head. Now he knew what Spiderman must have felt like. He could barely move as the fabric suctioned tight against his body.

  “You ready?”

  “No time like the present.”

  Mario helped him into the small capsule and hooked him in, making sure the straps were tight. Before he closed the lid, Mario wished him luck with a thumbs-up. Mark looked out the little window as Mario pushed him into the round tube, which encased his little projectile body like Spandex.

  He heard a beep just before the same mellow, female voice filled his confined space, counting down from ten. The wall went back into place and Mario disappeared from view. A final thump made it feel like he’d just entered his own casket.

  “Nine.”

  The sound of rushing air could be felt as the seal was sucked against the lid, making a snap as it locked into place.

  “Eight.”

  Mark’s heart raced as he imagined himself shooting beneath the surface of the earth and traveling under the ocean. Regret teased his mind. Part of him wanted to scream for Mario to let him out.

  “Seven.”

  Tiny pumps began to massage his body. Now it wasn’t so bad. He could use one of these at home. It felt like a Swedish massage, but as the pressure increased, the sensation was more like a python squeezing him to death.

  “Six.”

  The sound of rushing air grew louder; he could feel the force of it compressing as it hit the tiny vessel. The air at the foot was pulling, and the air at the top was pushing–yet the machine stood still.

  “Five.”

  He heard the hiss of gas. It smelled like vanilla and strawberries. Mmmm. The final numbers rang in his ears.

  “Four...three…”

  CHAPTER 21

  KIRK LOOKED AT THE two bodies that lay in the queen bed. He nodded to the coroners—who nodded back. They were thinking the same thing. This was the calculated work of a professional.

  Jenkins lay on his stomach, a single gunshot hole on the back of the head. His pillow was soaked with blood, and bits of his skull were embedded in the pillowcase.

  His wife was on her back, a horrified look on her face, staring with wide, lifeless eyes at the ceiling fan that spun in lazy circles above them. She must have awakened when her husband was shot, just in time to see the killer standing over her. She had probably been killed before she could even let out a scream.

  The CSI agents took pictures of their coworker and dusted for fingerprints. They powdered everything, even though Kirk knew and they must have known they wouldn’t find the slightest careless fingerprint or casing. The room was just as it should be. Other than the bodies lying in pools of tacky, gelling blood, nothing was out of place.

  Kirk rummaged through the closet, touching the suits and dresses. The owners would never wear them again, unless one was suitable for a funeral. His foot hit something hard, and he bent over to get a closer look. It was a small metal safe, similar to those found in hotels, where guests kept personal items.

  He motioned for Geoff to help him move the heavy box. “Know anything about getting into one of these?”

  “I think I can do it,” Geoff said.

  Kirk didn’t show any surprise at this bit of news. He was getting used to the idea that his friend had many hidden talents.

  Kirk snickered. “I s’pose you’re gonna tell me you were a locksmith in high school.”

  “No. Just a bad kid—you know, cars and the occasional quickie mart. My dad put a stop to it as soon as he found out. No worries, though. I’m retired now.” He gave Kirk a half grin.

  Kirk watched as he leaned down, put his ear to the small safe, and slowly turned the dial. In a few minutes, it was open. Geoff sat up and shrugged. “It’s a simple safe lock. Anyone could do it.”

  Kirk smiled. “Thanks. Just remind me not to leave my wallet around your sticky little fingers.” Inside the safe, they found a file, a few savings bonds, and a clip from a service revolver; however, the gun was missing. Kirk scanned the file, then shoved it in his coat and called one of the investigators over to look at the safe. He couldn’t wait to get out of the house to look at the file.

  A thin woman wearing a blue CSI ball cap came over to their side of the bed and stooped down to look at the open safe. She began dusting for prints. He decided now would be a good time to leave, before the questions started coming.

  “Let’s get out of here.” He strode out the front door, Geoff right behind him. Something else was going on, something other than WJA. He knew from the file the FBI gave him that the WJA people would not kill an innocent man, let alone his wife.

  “What was in that file?” Geoff asked.

  “You’re not going to believe it. It’s the David’s Island file from Cassy’s office, the only file left outside of what the FBI has.”

  Geoff raised an eyebrow. He turned to look at Jenkins’s house, which was now crawling with FBI and NYPD. Two officers were taping off the crime scene with bright yellow tape. “What are you thinking?”

  Kirk looked at Geoff as he called a taxi. “I think we have a mastermind who is hiring hit men to do his dirty work, who works for the FBI, or worse, the CIA. He wants this to look like it was done by the WJA group, but maybe he has other plans as well.”

  A yellow taxi pulled up about ten minutes later and parked at the curb. Kirk told the driver to take them to the hotel. He needed to get ahold of Mooch for some more unconventional computer work. The FBI mole was getting on his nerves, and he was i
tching for the kill.

  Even if it killed him.

  * * *

  MARK BOLTED UP OUT of a deep sleep, sweat dripping from his forehead and neck. His heart felt like it was going to burst through his ribs. He looked around, trying to see in the dark. He had a bad feeling in the back of his mind that something was wrong. Did the Taxi crash and kill him? Was he still asleep and just dreaming?

  Then he smelled the faint, sweet scent of K’s perfume. His heart leaped into his throat and for a moment, he thought he was going to cry. It was so real, just like he remembered it.

  Where am I?

  His thoughts spun as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, saw the nightstand to his right, and had to look again at the old, black alarm clock and black touch lamp on the stand. A book hung lopsided over the clock. It was Ted Dekker’s Kiss.

  Then he realized where he was. He was in his bedroom back home, in the room he’d shared with K. How did I get back here?

  He reached out his hand, sliding it along the sheets to his left hoping, praying he would find what he so desperately wanted to find—and he did. His fingers touched the warm, soft skin of a sleeping woman. He could feel the slow rise and fall of her gentle breathing and closed his eyes, praying the dream would not end.

  Was it Maria? But they’d never—

  He could not remember where he was or even what day it was. Confused and shaking, he reached up to the lamp on the nightstand and clicked it on. His head felt light and his heart began to beat even faster, making him feel like vomiting. But lying next to him was K.

  The room was just as he’d left it, as if he’d never left the house. Rushing to his feet, he ran to the bathroom and threw up in the toilet, shaking uncontrollably.

  What was going on? Was this a dream?

  His whole body ached from the top of his head to the bottom of his feet. Every muscle tensed as he stumbled back into the bedroom. He just about made it back to his bed, when he stumbled and fell to the floor, twisting his wrist as he hit the carpet.

  Get ahold of yourself. K is dead. This is not real. The more you hold on to the past, the worse off you’ll be. This is a dream. A very vivid dream—but still, a dream.