by David Reiss
**Whisper, sweetheart?** I sent a mental message.
**Mm?** she replied, not the least bit distracted from her focused efforts to place a found stick atop her sand castle like a flagpole. Her multi-tasking capabilities were truly remarkable.
**I don’t mean to alarm you, but I think that there are some bad men here at the beach.**
**Oh,** her mental touch felt disappointed. **Do we have to go?**
**I think that it would be a good idea.**
If we were together, the kidnappers would likely retreat and seek another opportunity. Kidnapping a child right out of a parent’s arms might create a visceral fear, but it was dangerously risky. There is no threat in the world so deadly that a parent would reliably be cowed when their child is in danger; it didn’t matter if the kidnappers were hulking brutes, bristling with guns and blades…when some parent heard that shrill, terror-filled cry for Mommy or Daddy, they run to attack no matter what. And if the kidnappers had to injure the parent in order to get away, well, who was going to pay the ransom? Professionals wait for an opportunity to isolate their target.
Doctor Fid had never been involved in a kidnapping. He did, however, occasionally drink at a bar where other villains discuss their careers. Powerful microphones and targeted recordings often made for darkly educational evenings.
This particular pair of prospective kidnappers had hoped, no doubt, that Whisper would stray further from her guardian. If so, their plan had been foiled; I was attentive and not so distant that they could get to her before I arrived to interrupt; I was certain that they would back off and return to their van to wait for another opportunity. And once Whisper was no longer in immediate danger, I could annihilate them at my whim.
Preferably in a manner that did not arouse suspicion that Terry Markham was in some way connected to Doctor Fid.
And so, Whisper started making her apologies and saying goodbye to her new friends while I surreptitiously kept my attention upon the two potential kidnappers; they did not appear to be making a move towards the beach.
Embarrassingly, I was completely surprised by the third attacker: a jogger on the Harborwalk that came up behind me and injected a fast-acting sedative into the side of my neck.
CHAPTER FOUR
A fair number of alterations had been performed upon my body in order to improve effectiveness in my villainous career. The neural interface and the aesthetic changes barely scratched the surface; muscle and bone structure had been enhanced to make me stronger and more durable than a normal human. Microsensors provided medical telemetry data, and nanites coursed through my veins to significantly hasten my healing. Surgical robots had cut into my own brain for various (now mostly repaired) purposes. And most of my internal organs had been replaced with highly efficient cloned versions, to free up space within my ribcage to install other technological devices.
My digestive and cardiovascular systems could metabolize most sedatives faster than they could be pumped into my body; a single syringe could effectively be ignored, no matter what the contents. I was, however, in a very public place and I didn’t want my civilian identity to be exposed…so I feigned going limp, eyes drifting closed, and was caught by the ‘jogger’.
**Terry!** Whisper yelped, and I heard her calling my name aloud as well.
**Stay where you are!** I implored, staying slack as my assailant dragged me towards his van. Other voices raised alarms, but the van’s driver and passenger had run over as well, lifting me up and manhandling me towards the parking lot before any resistance could be mounted. **I’m fine. I just want to make sure that I’m away from public view before I free myself.**
**But-**
**When I’m gone, go back to the car and lock yourself inside. If anyone asks, just say that we had a plan for this sort of thing.** Really, I thought, we ought to make a plan for this sort of thing. **Activate the self-driving feature to get home, okay?**
(“Christ, what the hell is this guy made of, lead?” One of my kidnappers complained.)
** ‘kay.** I could hear the whimper in her mental voice.
**I have combat-drones en route, I’m not in any real danger,** I assured her as my body was thrown roughly into the running van. The door slammed shut with an authoritative thud. **The beach wasn’t very crowded…Do you see anyone calling the police?**
**Mm.**
**Ah, well. An officer may come to interview you before I get home. Just tell them that you’re not supposed to talk to them without a lawyer or guardian present, ok?** The van’s wheels squealed as we tore out of the parking lot. **Remember to sound scared when they talk to you!**
**I am scared,** She admitted.
**Everything will be fine,** I repeated. Someone was stepping on the side of my head to hold my body still while another pair of hands searched my pockets for my cel-phone. Whoever was wearing size-thirteen military boots, I decided, was going to be hurt the most.
I heard a crunch, then the sound of a window rolling back up. No one would be able to follow my cellular phone’s GPS in order to rescue me, I supposed. I wasn’t worried; the subcutaneous trackers within my body were more accurate than my phone’s GPS.
“That went smooth,” the driver said. “Barry, good job with the hypo.”
“No names!” Barry grunted irritably.
“This guy is out,” said Military Boots, as he roughly nudged the side of my head with his toe. “Don’ worry ‘bout it.”
“It’s a bad habit,” Barry glowered. “If you want to stay on this team, you maintain protocol.”
“You’re not the boss,” The driver griped. “You can’t kick me out.”
“I know the boss,” Barry countered. “And I’m not trying to kick you out. You did fine; I’m just telling you what you need to do if you want to keep on after this job.”
**Whisper…?** I asked silently, **Did you happen to get a good look at the jogger who injected the sedatives into my neck?**
**Mm!** She uploaded the image into my thoughts; Barry was apparently a tall, athletic man with dark skin, a shaved head, and a salt-and-pepper van-dyke beard. **I haven’t identified him, yet.**
**Add the first name of ‘Barry’ to your search,** I suggested. **That might help.**
She sent a mental hug as well as the distinct impression that she’d made her way back to our car.
**Clever girl.** It took effort to keep my lips from twitching into a smile. **Keep in contact, let me know if you need anything; I’m going to let these gentlemen bring me to their employer.**
I summoned a few more combat drones to join the small swarm that was now following high in the sky above. Doctor Fid generally never involved himself with the doings of non-costumed criminals, but it seemed to me that requiring professionalism in one’s crew implied an experienced leader; a neophyte would lack the knowledge necessary in order to be so particular. Preparing a bit of extra firepower seemed a reasonable precaution.
“The police just announced a BOLO for a gray van.” From the voice’s location, I guessed that it was the man who’d had the expensive camera, the one that I’d dismissed as a paparazzo. I dubbed him ‘Passenger’ for ease of reference. “No license plates.”
“No worries…We’re here,” Driver piped up cheerfully, and the van hit a solid bump as it turned up a ramp. Tires screeched on smoothed concrete as the vehicle wound its way up a series of inclines and then came to a halt. Even with my eyes closed, I knew that we were in a parking garage; the echoes were quite distinctive. “You three take sleeping beauty to the SUV, I’ll burn the van and meet you at the warehouse.”
Military Boots ‘accidentally’ kicked my face again before rolling me to one side so that he could get a good grip on under my shoulder. I feigned being insensate and mentally updated my plans for the man. Pliers would be involved. Also, fire ants.
I was aware that fire ant stings rank relatively low on the Schmidt Sting Pain Index; they were, however, simple to acquire and easy to manipulate into swarming behavior. A villain n
amed the Ancient published a treatise on the subject several decades ago; to the best of my knowledge, no minion ever betrayed him after the article appeared in print.
Barry grabbed under my other shoulder, and Passenger grabbed my ankles. When the van door slammed open, it was a matter of seconds before I was manhandled into the back of an SUV and concealed under a wool blanket. After a moment or two of jostling, we were again underway.
◊◊◊
“Sometimes I wish I wasn’t smart,” I confide.
“You’re not just ‘smart’. You’re extraordinary.” Dad pauses and then points to the socket wrench.
“Sometimes I wish I wasn’t extraordinary, then.” I sigh, but obediently hand the tool up into his waiting hand. He’s repairing the garage door; it makes weird noises and isn’t quite closing correctly on the right side. I have a dozen ideas as to how functionality can be improved, but all require resources that are currently unavailable.
“That’s too bad,” my father grunts and fumbles to align a bolt. “I kinda like you the way you are. I’m proud of you, kid.”
“I know,” I grimace. “But it’s hard.”
“You can figure out things in seconds that take me hours,” he smiles affectionately. “Being smart makes some things easier.”
“Not everything.”
An intelligent child is perceptive enough to identify defects in the world around them, as well as to correctly identify how intensely helpless children are to correct those problems. A more gifted child is able to create complex plans that circumvent youthful limitations to overcome specific issues. The truly exceptional are cursed to look deeper, to analyze the system as a whole and come to the realization that individual problems are often symptoms of greater societal flaws that are so deeply ingrained that they simply cannot be resolved in a timely manner.
Sometimes, the skill to construct algorithmic models to predict the actions of one’s peers doesn’t help one to avoid adversity. It just means you can see the punch coming from further away.
Tomorrow isn’t going to be a good day at school. I’ve done the math.
◊◊◊
**Terry?** Whisper sent a mental query; she sounded calmer now. **I found the identities of the three men I saw.**
**Thank you, Whisper. Everything is going smoothly here.** So I now had names and faces for Driver, Passenger, and Barry. I supposed that I didn’t really need to know Military Boots’ name since he was soon to be deceased. **As soon as I find out why I was taken, I’ll take care of this and find my way back to the house. Have the police called yet?**
**Not yet. I’m not even home.**
**Well, keep me in the loop.** I took a few moments to reprogram the stealthed combat drones that were still following overhead; four peeled off to go follow Whisper, just in case there were any problems. The rest remained above, silent and unseen. **And don’t worry, everything will be fine.**
**You’re not Doctor Fid right now. You’re my brother Terry,** she whispered quietly. **Be careful.**
**I will.** I checked my GPS coordinates and tapped the aerial footage from my drones, and settled in for the possibility of a long drive; the interstate we were on headed south and the vehicle was now in the passing lane. In retrospect, I decided that the parking garage would have been a more favorable location to make my escape; that these professional kidnappers had felt comfortable using the location to swap vehicles implied that there had been no cameras present. The interstate was far too public and I dared not risk any action which would draw undue attention upon my civilian identity. Whatever our final destination, though, it was certain that the intent was to bring me someplace well out of the public eye. Whatever they intended, they surely would not want to be observed. All the better for me.
Mostly, I was annoyed that it seemed increasingly likely that I’d miss the opportunity to view this evening’s episode of CapeWatch with Whisper.
“So, why’s the boss got such a hardon for this guy?” Military Boots broke the silence.
“I don’t know,” Barry replied, after a moment’s hesitation. I guessed that he was operating the vehicle; he sounded like he was in the driver’s seat. “Probably something this guy made. He’s the CEO of a medical company.”
Not precisely true; AH Biotech had a wide range of products, the vast majority of which were aimed towards solving ecological disasters. Our medical department had recently made several major high-publicity breakthroughs, true, but the corporation had a much broader focus. On the other hand, it seemed remarkably unlikely that anyone would kidnap the CEO of a growing company for access to a genetically engineered bacterium designed to safely metabolize plastic waste from within ocean water.
“Is the boss sick?” asked Passenger—Andy Marsden, according to the bio that Whisper had uploaded into my brain; a career hoodlum, though he’d never been charged with kidnapping. Andy had been a suspect in two murders but had never been charged, and had no known affiliations with any gangs or criminal organizations. “He didn’t look sick.”
“How would you tell?” Military Boots laughed. “Maybe he looks paler when he has a fever?”
“Stow it!” Barry growled. (Barry Smith, formerly associated with a New York heist crew that had gone defunct. He had an extensive rap sheet for youthful violent acts but had apparently grown out of that tendency after a stint in the military.) “Don’t talk about the Boss while we’re still in Boston.”
“You’re kidding, right?” Military Boots sounded aggrieved. “Look, I get why you don’t want to use names in the field, but we all work for the same guy.”
“The boss is paranoid about this city,” Barry explained patiently, as though to a five-year-old. “It doesn’t matter if you agree with him or not. If you accept his cash, humor him on the little stuff.”
“Yeah, yeah, sure.” I imagined that Military Boots was rolling his eyes; it certainly sounded like it from the petulance in his voice. “Whatever.”
And that seemed to confirm that my kidnappers intended to take me out of the Boston area. Ah, well. According to my medical telemetry, the sedative that they’d dosed me with would have been sufficient to put out a normal person of my height and build for two to three hours. Even with weekday early-evening commute traffic, a journey of that length could have brought me all the way to Providence or Plymouth.
I hoped not; that would be a long and rather boring drive. I was curious as to who had ordered my kidnapping, but not so curious that I’d be willing to pretend unconsciousness through several hours of stop-and-go rush-hour traffic. If we looked to be heading in that direction, I would try to make an earlier escape.
“Why’s the boss so paranoid about this place?” Passenger asked. “It was an easy job.”
“Fid owns Boston,” Barry stated evenly.
“What the hell would Doctor Fid care ‘bout a random kidnapping?” Military Boots scoffed. “Besides, everyone says Fid’s lost his balls ’n gone hero.”
I reconsidered my position on fire ants. How hard would it be, really, to import a non-breeding population of tarantula hawk wasps?
“The boss doesn’t believe it,” Barry dismissed. I was beginning to like him. “Besides…Even if Doctor Fid’s gone white-cape, the boss still doesn’t want to get caught operating in Boston. It’s a thing the big names do.”
Well, that narrowed the field dramatically! Traditional criminals and minor-league supervillains usually didn’t pay too much attention to the territories claimed by major villains. The most famous and most feared, however, were more jealous of significant intrusions into their domain. When Imperator Rex decided to steal a music box from the John F. Kennedy Presidential Museum in Boston, he’d contacted Doctor Fid first to negotiate terms.
(At the time, Imperator Rex had been attempting to acquire every piece of artwork suspected to have been created by the Ancient; a scavenger hunt of sorts, attempting to find clues as to the whereabouts of the Ancient’s hidden fortune. Sadly, Imperator Rex’s quest was left unfinished wh
en he was captured by the San Francisco Paragons. If ever I had a few weeks free, I ought to chase down those leads. One more task for the queue.)
So...CEO Terrance Markham’s kidnappers were in the employ of a supervillain of sufficient notoriety that he (Military Boots had used the male pronoun) feared being caught intruding upon Doctor Fid’s domain. Many feared Doctor Fid’s raw might, but fewer were paranoid about what surveillance capabilities I maintained in Boston; a few comments had been made one night when I’d been visiting my friend Starnyx at Lassiter’s Den, but I was reasonably certain that the stories had not spread to become general knowledge.
Skullface had been a regular at Lassiter’s Den and could easily have overheard whispered rumors. Given the telling comment Military Boots had made regarding their boss’ pallor, he seemed the most likely suspect.
Seven years ago, Skullface had made a deal with an extra-dimensional demonic entity to gain power and had since quickly risen to prominence. The now-skeletal creature leveraged his magical abilities to gather a significant force of mercenaries and followers. The dangerously mad scientist Dr. Anthony Chaise was among his most trusted devotees, and while I knew my work was superior…I had to admit a grudging respect for the destructive capability of the man’s devices. Using Chaise’ weaponry, Skullface had caused dozens of dimensional breaches during his assault upon the United Nations building; the cadaverous villain had been incarcerated after that debacle.
(For more than two decades, Doctor Fid has avoided capture. Sometimes, I wondered why I put forth so much effort! The skeletal villainous sorcerer was strong and tough, but he wasn’t terribly bright; if he could escape imprisonment after only a year or two, then surely Doctor Fid would have been able to slip from confinement before the first meal was served. Were it not for the importance of Terry Markham’s role at AH Biotech, I’d have been tempted to allow myself to be captured by heroes just so I could enjoy the effort of puzzling my way free.)