Jaden Baker

by Courtney Kirchoff

  Like the footprints on her shirt, “Google Earth” was not something he understood. The only time he was on a computer was at the library to find a book.

  “What’s that?” he asked her.

  “It’s a program that shows the world. Streets, terrain, anywhere and everywhere. It’ll even show you street views and the current weather. I thought it would help you figure out where you wanted to go.”

  Jaden’s insides deflated. He had to go, leave Seattle, escape from Archcroft. And Libby agreed it was a good idea. She would help him move away forever. She didn’t want him to stay.

  “Are you still planning on going, or are you going to stay and fight them?” she asked, watching him.

  He didn’t know how to fight Madrid. They would be smarter this time, sneak up on him when he wasn’t aware, snag him from behind. Maybe the device in his head was how they controlled him, and all they had to do was flip a switch and he was theirs. Just an object.

  “I can’t fight, I have to run.”

  Her face was hard to read. Libby’s bright blue eyes were blank, her lips rigid and stern.

  “Okay. Well, before I go out for lunch I’ll show you how to use the program.” She turned her back on him and finished her cereal, then put the bowl in the dishwasher.

  There were more wasps in his stomach than before, stinging every part of him.

  “You think I’m a coward,” he said, his voice hollow.

  Libby turned, frowning.

  “What?”

  Jaden swallowed and stood straight. “You think I’m a coward for running. You think I should stay and fight.”

  She took a deep breath and sighed, leaning her hands on her counter, staring down and away from him, confirming his theory.

  “I think,” she began, tapping her fingers, “I think it’s no way to live, running like that. But I don’t know what they did to you,” she said, looking into his eyes now. “I can only guess it was horrible.”

  Instinctively, Jaden shoved his hands into his pockets.

  “I’m not judging you,” she said. “You need to do what’s best, and only you can decide that. I’ll help you however I can.”

  There were things he wanted to tell her, so she would understand why he needed to go. It was horrible, he thought. They tortured me, did unspeakable things. They took away everything I had, wore me down to nothing. I have to run away. Fighting didn’t work, I tried.

  But he didn’t tell her. She couldn’t understand, and he didn’t want her to. Jaden wanted Libby to think well of him, not to pity him or think he was a coward, that he wasn’t brave or strong.

  “I don’t want to run,” he said, he had to clear his throat. “But I can’t go back to that. They did things,” he said, and trailed off, shaking his head of the flood of experiences Madrid had put him through. He shut his eyes and gripped the counter with his hands, bringing himself back to the moment, back to Libby’s house.

  “Okay,” she whispered, and he watched her smiling gently. “Okay, Jaden.”

  twenty-nine

  Armed with two sketches and a computer generated rendering based on the X-ray of his skull, the Archcroft recovery team fanned out in search of Baker’s home, place of employment, and favorite haunts. Baker was admitted to the hospital with no ID, nothing in his pockets but cash. Madrid knew his quarry was adaptable, cunning, and wouldn’t make the same mistakes twice, or follow the same modus operandi. The less Baker was attached to, the easier it would be for him to run. He’d successfully avoided detection, so wherever Jaden lived and worked was off the grid. There would be no car, no apartment lease, no record of employment.

  Anywhere Baker traveled would be within walking distance. For a 25-year-old man, in peak physical condition, that was quite a radius. Based on the evidence from Dr. Clarkson and Nurse Blithely, Baker had come in with a bruise on his temple. Knowing what he did about the array, if Baker sustained a direct hit to his head and survived the impact, he would be suffering from a horrendous headache, further limiting their search area.

  Any record of existence would help the team locate Baker. Madrid was certain there was no record. They had to find where he lived. If he came into the hospital clean, that meant he lived somewhere; he did not drift or sleep under a bridge.

  “He needs structure,” Madrid said, looking at the map of the city, a team of people behind him, some for searching and interviewing, others for the actual physical recovery. It was important Madrid lead the effort, his team had to know who and what they were up against. Most of all, they couldn’t leave any evidence of their search along the way to tip Baker off.

  “His whole life has been chaotic and disorganized, it’s all he knows. He’ll keep himself busy, creating the chaos if necessary. He feels uncomfortable with stagnation, but will seek something concrete to anchor to. One thing has been constant, he’s always had a place to live, somewhere out of the weather. Up here where the weather changes hourly, he’ll have shelter of his own. He wouldn’t risk companionship or exposing himself. He’ll live alone.”

  The drugstore was the center of their search bubble. With a headache and no mode of transportation, Baker could not have come from more than a few miles away. All residential areas were ruled out. Neighbors were nosy. Jaden would live somewhere more private and empty.

  “Search south,” Madrid said, looking at the business district near Harbor Island. “Keep your ears open.”

  Loren Dillard pointed toward the island on the map. “We’re checking the local business for any hired hand off the books. Our story is we’re looking for a fugitive.”

  “A quiet one,” Madrid muttered in his gruff voice. “He won’t seem the type. Tell the people you talk to he’s reserved.”

  “Even though he has killed,” Dillard reminded.

  “Oh yes, he has. Be careful. There’s a small chance he may still be in the city. If he knows you’re close, he’ll feel cornered and strike. He won’t need to do anything theatrical. A psychokinetic can do anything. He’ll have control of your organs once you’re within range. Killing you would only be too easy.” Madrid surveyed his team. They seemed calm, as though they thought Madrid exaggerated, like an overly enthusiastic professor at the start of term. They needed to know the person they hunted was extremely dangerous in ways they couldn’t fathom. Not an easy idea to swallow.

  “So if we do see him, how should we take him?” asked Dan Rutherford, a middle aged man with a bald head and pot belly. Madrid had selected a team that could blend in, no one extremely physical because it didn’t matter how strong someone was, the boy was stronger.

  Madrid removed protocol handbooks from his briefcase and handed one to each of the fifteen people in the conference room.

  “We experimented with behavioral conditioning. In the process, we made some modifications that enhanced our level of control, and implemented different luring and control methods. One was radio,” he said, and he dispersed tiny radios to each recovery partnership in the room (the searchers would go out in teams of two). “He’ll respond to a certain low frequency. The risk here is high, and was used for extreme measures only. First, you have to get close enough for him to receive the signal.”

  “How close?” one of them asked.

  “Ten feet,” Madrid said, and correctly interpreted the alarm on their faces. “Anything stronger could harm him permanently. If you get close and can disable him, his brain will temporarily set into a ready mode as he waits for his next command. The radio is a stop gap, so if you have disabled him, you have to give him the correct command to make him sleep. If you can’t give the command within three to five seconds, his brain reengages and he proceeds as if uninterrupted.”

  Dr. Sam Hull, the leading engineer for the technology, followed up to Madrid’s brief instruction. “We did it for safety reasons. If, on the off chance he did come in contact with the correct frequency and shut down, we couldn’t have him standing there like a drone until someone woke him. It was dangerous for him to be so vulnerable. Th
e brain wouldn’t allow us to expand the time, anyway. As soon as he shuts down, you have to issue the correct command to put him to sleep.”

  “What happens if we don’t make the time?” a young woman asked.

  “He may or may not notice,” Sam answered. “If it’s only been a few seconds he may shake it off and disregard it. But given he knows we’re looking for him, it’s better for you to memorize the safe word.”

  “The safe word is in your file,” Madrid continued. “Along with a pronunciation guide. I suggest you practice before looking for him.”

  Dan Rutherford spoke up again. “You’ve tested this on him? We’re not going to get killed if we follow this exactly?”

  Sam answered: “Yes, we tested extensively, but never trusted the handling staff at the lab with the technology, due to problems we had in the past.”

  “We’ve cast the lures, targeting the Seattle area, though I doubt they’ll work. We’ve broadcasted them nationally for the past ten years and he’s never called himself in. He’s avoided radio and television all this time, further proof that he’s smarter than we thought,” Madrid said. That Baker knew to avoid any broadcasts was disheartening. It meant he had help, someone whispering instructions for how not to get caught. Madrid didn’t know who or what it was, maybe instinct. The brain had ways to circumvent intrusive methods, and Jaden may be particularly resistant.

  Handing over the safe words, revealing how Jaden had been programmed for capture and control was unfortunately necessary for recovery. Only Sam and himself had known, until moments ago, how they achieved such remarkable levels of power over their project. Giving the keys to their team diluted the power, but that’s why he and Sam only revealed the shut down command.

  At nine a.m., once the commands had been reviewed, the teams dispersed. Joseph Madrid and Sam Hull stayed in the conference room with a phone line open should either need to be reached. Because Baker had seen both Hull and Madrid, they had to stay hidden.

  “What if he took public transportation out of the city?” Sam asked.

  Madrid considered it for a moment. “He prefers walking, it’s easy for him to get away. Cars, boats, buses all keep him confined. Walking is the freest form of transport.”

  It was high noon when the first call came in. Madrid put the call on speaker; it was Loren. Beeping and the sound of motors polluted the background of the call.

  “Just talked with an Elliot Fain,” Loren shouted into the receiver. “He’s a manager for Noble International on Harbor Island, an import and export company. He recognized our rendering, said the worker went by Joel.”

  It was their first real lead. Loren continued.

  “He worked under the table, not with the union. He did an average of ten hours a day, five days a week. Today is his second day off, and Fain expects him to return tomorrow.”

  “He won’t,” Madrid said. “How long did he work there?”

  “A few months. He was recommended to Fain from a colleague at a trucking company. It sounds like he’s bounced around wherever he’s needed.”

  Madrid smiled. “Jaden was a laborer,” he said.

  “Yes, stronger than three men combined, according to Fain.”

  “That’s our boy. He’ll live close by if he walked to work.”

  “You should come down and talk with Fain,” Loren said. “He has some interesting details.”

  Madrid took the suggestion, leaving Sam at the call center.

  Harbor Island was an ideal place for hiding. As the car approached the office for Noble International, Madrid made a mental inventory of the ships, the vast number of containers, the intricacy of the operation, like an ant farm.

  Elliot Fain was chatting with some of his workers during their lunch break. Madrid approached him and requested they go up to his office for privacy, if it wouldn’t be too inconvenient.

  “You run quite a business here,” Madrid commented, taking the seat Fain pointed out to him. “Looks like you’re doing well.”

  Fain smiled. “We are. It’s a responsibility, but a great one.”

  Loren Dillard sat in a chair opposite Madrid, notepad on his knee, ready to scrawl.

  “So you’re interested in hearing more about Joel?” Fain asked.

  Madrid appreciated his down to business attitude.

  “Yes,” Madrid replied, leaning forward in his chair. “We’ve been searching for him for years.”

  “Your assistant said you were private detectives? You with a certain agency?”

  “It’s private,” Madrid answered, smirking. “You know how it is. If you don’t mind, I’d like to ask some questions about Joel.”

  “Was that his real name?” Fain asked.

  Madrid shook his head. “No. We suspect he’s gone by many names these past few years. But I wanted to ask you about what he was like while he worked here. I have not seen him in some time, and I wonder how much he’s changed.”

  Mr. Fain leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. A defensive posture. “What’s he done? Why are you looking for him?”

  “He’s killed,” Madrid said. “More men than I’d care to admit to.”

  Mr. Fain’s chair fell forward. “He’s killed people?”

  “Yes,” Madrid replied, scratching his chin. “Hard to believe is it?”

  “Why aren’t the FBI here?” Fain asked.

  “The FBI have other matters to attend to. They say they don’t have adequate proof Joel ever harmed anyone. And anyway, all the crimes were committed in one state. But we know what he did. May I ask some questions about him?”

  Mr. Fain frowned. “He didn’t seem like a killer. Are you sure?”

  Madrid and Dillard exchanged a look. “Why doesn’t he seem the type? What was he like?”

  “Well,” Mr. Fain started, easing back into his chair as he looked to the ceiling. “Quiet, mostly. He always kept to himself, never ate lunch with the guys. Hell, he didn’t do anything with them. I used to watch him sometimes. Every lunch, rain or shine, he’d go out by himself and read a book. Joel’s a smart kid, I guessed he didn’t like people much.”

  “You’re a trained observer,” Madrid said, smiling. Compliments always went a long way. “No, he’s not a fan of other people, and he does love to read. I’d almost forgotten that,” he said, grinning at Dillard as if reminiscing about an old friend.

  “He was really helpful, for a price. Spoke at least two other languages.”

  That was new. Dillard eyed Madrid and jotted down some notes.

  “What languages?”

  “Russian and German,” he answered. “Fluent in both. Just the other day I had him up here translating for me, in Russian. He’s so good at it he told a joke.”

  The temperature seemed to drop. Speaking other languages opened new possibilities for the boy. He could slip on a boat and travel internationally. They hadn’t acted soon enough. Madrid assumed Jaden would stay in the United States, but he could blend in anywhere...

  They both left Fain’s office then, offering their thanks.

  “What about the woman he came into the hospital with?” Dillard asked as they walked toward their cars. “Should we look for her?”

  The mystery woman crossed his mind, but his gut told him Baker wouldn’t trust anyone for help, especially, as Nurse Blithely commented, if she recognized the Archcroft symbol. The boy wouldn’t trust anyone associated with Archcroft. The mystery woman wouldn’t be able to provide any information they didn’t already have. He’d ordered a sketch of her but had not seen it. He focused on finding credible leads.

  “But if she recognized Archcroft, then maybe she’s one of us. What if she helped him?”

  He shook his head at Dillard. “No, he wouldn’t accept help. And a lot of people know the Archcroft symbol, we’re a public entity.”

  They got into their respective cars, but Madrid did not drive to their temporary headquarters. He wanted to explore the area, and requested that Dillard do the same. Since today was Friday, all businesses wer
e open. Trucks were being loaded. Cars were parked in front of buildings. Customers walked in and out of glass doors. He drove up and down streets, insisting other cars pass him when they needed to, searching for a building with no activity.

  He thought he saw Baker a few times, but knew it was just his imagination. Baker wasn’t fifteen anymore. What if he had taken a boat and was now in Russia, disappearing forever? He avoided detection for ten years; if he fled the country, they may never find him again.

  His cell phone rang, glowing and vibrating on the passenger seat. It was Dillard.

  “Yes?” he answered.

  “It may be nothing. I’m parked in front of an old warehouse building. There’s no one here.”

  “Address?” Madrid asked, and he drove there as fast as he could, feeling more excited than he had in years. When he parked alongside Dillard’s car and saw the building, he knew this was it.

  The door was large, sliding, and solid steel. There was no lock on the outside, and when Madrid pulled, it gave a little then wouldn’t move anymore. “It’s locked from the inside.”

  “The bottom floor windows are bricked in, and the fire escape ladder is gone,” Dillard said. “I think this is it.”

  Madrid knew it was. Only Jaden could lock a door like this from the inside. There was no key, no way to get in. If the windows were bricked, and the fire escape removed, then this front door was the only access point.

  “Get the jaws of life,” Madrid said.

  He couldn’t help it; he smiled.

  When the boy escaped from San Francisco, he’d left virtually no trace. It was by sheer luck they had found him heading east through Livermore. A Ford Focus had been stolen in the radius they were searching, then spotted by their helicopter later. Finding him had been fortuitous—but it wasn’t stealthy enough.

  Now Baker left clues, imprints of memories and behaviors on people.

  The jaws of life pried open the door, snapping a chain. Before them was a wall of crates, Baker’s barrier.