The Wallis Jones Series Box Set - Volume Two: Books Four thru Six

by Martha Carr

  “Two years ago?” she said, a little louder than she intended. “You’ve been spying on me and my family for two years,” she said, trying to take it in, absorb it all.

  “Yes! Yes, I did,” shouted David. His face was flushed with anger and he was trying to look up at Wallis but he kept blinking at the sight of the gun, lowering his chin back down.

  Wallis knew they could be caught in the boathouse at any moment. It was the middle of a calm winter day by a walking trail. She stepped just far enough out of the small building to see if there was anyone on the trail. A couple was walking hand in hand but they didn’t seem in a hurry and had already passed the office.

  A woman on the stairs turned halfway up and looked directly at Wallis, turning to run back down the stairs. Even from the distance Wallis knew she had recognized her.

  “Someone is coming,” said Wallis, waving at Fred. “You have to let him go. You have to, please,” she said, almost shouting. “Not like this, Fred.”

  Fred put the gun in a shoulder holster as David sagged in relief.

  “Thank you,” she said, just as Fred slammed his fist into the side of David’s head, knocking him back against the ground. He wasn’t moving. Fred quickly pulled out a small switchblade and leaned over David, carving a small x in his neck just deep enough to draw a steady trickle of blood. David groaned but didn’t put up any protest.

  “Come on,” he said, putting away the knife as he pushed Wallis toward the door.

  “Why?” she mumbled, staring at the trail of blood starting to pool in the crease of his neck, staining his collar.

  “Management will know they have a traitor in their midst. He won’t be able to go back,” said Fred calmly, still pushing to get Wallis to move faster. “A small pebble in Clemente’s shoe. It won’t stop him but it’ll give him pause.”

  No matter how much had happened to her in the past three years the small things could still horrify her and slow her down to stare and wonder what had happened to the details of her life. She wanted more than anything to be able to tell Norman.

  Fred grabbed Wallis by the elbow, pushing her out the door as she twisted to look back over her shoulder, while checking to make sure the picture was still safe in her pocket. It was all she had of Norman to know he was still alive, somewhere in the world.

  “We’re going to need to move faster,” said Fred. His hand was wrapped firmly around her arm, dragging her along. They were running down the path toward the far stairs. Wallis was a step behind Fred, trying to keep up as she tried not to trip.

  They got to the stairs and she was finally able to look back and see who was running after them.

  “Who is that?” she asked, turning back to Fred, as she tried to slow down on the stairs, breathing hard.

  “She’s with the Circle,” said Fred, leaning back to grab Wallis by the hand and pull her up the stairs.

  “Wait, no,” said Wallis trying to pull her hand out of his grip. “That’s our side, isn’t it?”

  “Not today,” he said. “Not if you want Norman to live. We can’t be seen with her. Everyone has their own agenda.”

  As they came to the top of the stairs Richard Bach stepped back under an awning behind shoppers looking in the window beside him. He saw Wallis try to straighten her coat as Fred Bowers pushed her from behind, getting her to walk faster in the other direction.

  Only a moment later another woman popped up the stairs, looking in both directions. Fred and Wallis had already turned a corner and were nowhere to be seen. Richard recognized the woman and knew she was a Circle operative. She looked frantic as she walked right toward him. He turned to the window and pointed at a ring in the jewelry store window.

  “My wife would love that,” he said to the couple next to him, getting them to turn toward him.

  “Oh, how pretty,” said the young woman, clapping her hands together.

  “Don’t give her ideas,” said the young man, smiling as he rolled his eyes.

  Richard smiled back, waiting till the woman had passed by them.

  “Maybe next paycheck,” he said, giving a nod as he walked away, wondering why Wallis Jones would want to evade the Circle.

  He passed by the small outdoor café that anchored the upscale shopping strip and didn’t notice the man sitting inside at the corner table with the best view in both directions.

  Alan Vitek took a sip of his rooibos tea. He avoided caffeine as much as possible. Circumstances were dramatic enough, he found, without any stimulants.

  Esther had given him the instructions to follow Wallis to the beer caves but keep his distance. He didn’t consider himself a member of either side but he was a friend of Norman and Wallis’ and had worked for them often enough as a private investigator. He was glad he could do something to help.

  “I imagine it will be crowded,” she had said, rolling her ‘r’s. “It’s an opportunity to see the dog chasing the cat chasing the mouse. Mr. Clemente’s new plans will cause a lot of blurred lines. Better we know the players.”

  Alan was able to keep track of Wallis with his phone, watching the little blue dot move around downtown Richmond. He was told to go nowhere near the caves, no matter what he might hear. They needed to gain more information from whoever she was meeting and Wallis would need to know more about Norman.

  He saw her getting dragged down the street by Fred Bowers and wondered how that might end. He had known Fred before the war began and marveled at how well he had kept his double identity hidden. It was possible he was still hiding things, waiting for the right moment. Or till he exploded once again.

  The woman who had moved so quickly down the street was a seasoned Circle operative. Alan suspected it was Fred she wanted more than Wallis. There were still cells within the Circle who worried about who Fred reported to and if he could really be trusted.

  The tea had grown cold and Richard Bach had gotten enough of a head start. He wouldn’t see Alan crossing back to his car. He got up slowly, folding the Richmond Times Dispatch in half, leaving it on the counter. The headline had read, ‘Violent Crime Rate Drops by Thirty Percent’. Local leaders were taking the credit saying better policing had cleaned up the streets, never mentioning anything about the end of a war and Management’s splintering.

  He took his time driving back out to the West End of Richmond, the older suburbs, to Wallis Jones’ house, still watching the blue dot move across the screen. There was no need to rush. They were going to have to take the long view to keep George Clemente from destabilizing the systems that had been running the world. An abrupt end would cause some governments to spiral, and economies to flatten out for an interminable amount of time. It would make the civil war of the past year seem like a skirmish. All the while the general public would still be left trying to understand what had gone so very wrong.

  Besides, it wasn’t in Alan’s nature to ever rush.

  The long game would require patience and planning, thought Alan, if Norman Weiskopf was to ever get back to his house, safe and sound.

  Chapter 13

  The snow was falling in fat, wet flakes as they landed at Chicago Executive Airport north of the city in Wheeling, Illinois. This time they were able to take a small jet and ride in comfort. Norman was allowed to stay conscious and was strapped into a seat across from George Clemente. Charlie noticed George didn’t even bother to use zip cuffs on him. There was nowhere for him to run and Charlie suspected Norman was just as curious to see what George had in mind. He would want to protect his family.

  A black Suburban was waiting for them at the airport. Chicago’s version of a Lincoln Continental. Norman was led down the metal staircase that was brought alongside the plane. The wet snow made the steps hard to navigate and he caught himself midway down as his foot slipped out from under him.

  Clemente heard him gasp and spun around, glaring at the men above and below him. Norman saw the look of fear come across their faces. He kept moving, wanting to get onto the tarmac as quickly as possible. As soon as his fe
et were on the pavement there was a man on each side of him, beefy hands in his armpits practically holding him up as they shuffled him to the waiting car.

  He was put into the backseat as the two oversized men squeezed in around him. He started to root around for his seatbelt but realized it was tucked under the thigh of one of the guards. The ridiculousness of it struck him but just as he was sitting back, resigned to drive in the snow without it, the guard noticed and let out an audible ‘tsk’, digging out the seatbelt and reaching over him for the strap, buckling him in.

  The guard leaned over and smiled at the man on Norman’s other side.

  “Want to keep him safe,” he said as the two men shared a laugh.

  George opened his door and the two men fell silent, their faces losing all expression. Norman looked back and forth at the small group as Charlie slid into the driver’s seat.

  They’re afraid of what he might do, thought Norman, storing away the knowledge for later. He watched how Charlie avoided making direct eye contact with him. It had taken him a little while to recognize him. The drugs in his system made it tough to see anything clearly.

  Then it took him some time to calm down enough to take stock of where he was and realize he was still alive. There must be a purpose to having him alive, he thought. He figured out pretty quickly that had to involve Wallis, or worse, Ned but he did his best to let that go. There was nothing to be done about that, yet.

  That small, cramped room where he first woke up smelled of mold and sweat. A passing siren helped him guess he was somewhere in the New York area. The city was the only place he had ever heard the distinctive ‘whoop whoop’ and it happened at least a few times over the few days he was kept in the first location.

  George Clemente had come in to the small room and sat down across from him, trying to start what looked like a staging for a friendly chat. His ingratiating smile only added to the feeling of danger.

  “I imagine you have a lot of questions,” said George. “No one here gives a shit about a single one of them. You can pass some time asking them if you like, but eventually you’re bound to piss someone off. Someone could end up hurt.”

  “What are you doing with my wife?” asked Norman, his face showing no expression. Wallis said it was his best attribute in court. He did his best to not think any further ahead than that moment.

  “Already ignoring my advice. To be expected I suppose, from a zwanzig,” said George, sneering as he said the last word. “Alright, I’ll give you the one pass. Here’s your answer. None of your damn business,” he said, smiling. A gold crown appeared in the corner of his mouth as he rocked back, laughing loudly. He looked up at the large men gathered nearby who were starting to join in, nodding their heads.

  Puppets, thought Norman. Large, dangerous puppets.

  “We are going to require your cooperation during your stay with us. Give us that and this should work out in your favor with a minimum of discomfort. Don’t and we’ll keep you just enough alive to satisfy the agreement.”

  “What agreement?” asked Norman.

  “There you go again, asking questions.” George’s smile slid easily into a frown, his heavy eyelids dropping till they were almost closed. He leaned forward in the chair.

  “The Black Widow is a shrewd woman. She’s managed to stay in one piece far longer than I would have speculated. Strange forces are with her,” said George, cocking his head to one side, still glaring at Norman. “But that can’t last. Till that day, though, we can work together,” he said opening his hands.

  “Get the photo,” he said, standing up, done with the conversation. “Anyway you have to,” he said, looking bored.

  “What are we doing for lunch?” asked an old woman, bent over at the waist with neon colored hair. “I’m getting hungry. We feeding him? I wouldn’t,” she said, as she turned and left without waiting for an answer.

  A muscular hand came down on his shoulder, pinching hard enough to make him wince, pulling him back hard against the chair.

  “Smile,” said George, as he followed the woman out of the room. “Let your wife know you’re still in one piece, at least for now.”

  Charlie had finally found him alone the next day and had wandered slowly enough in front of him that it got Norman’s attention. He looked up and saw that the Watcher in the room was busy wolfing down something from a Styrofoam box.

  A Circle operative was in the group, thought Norman. He looked down, worried he’d give something away. He wanted to ask him about Wallis or Ned but he didn’t even risk getting caught looking at the man for too long.

  Instead, it was just something else to keep to himself, piecing together all of the weak points in George Clemente’s operation. There would be more, Norman was certain of it.

  Just as he was starting to take stock of the people keeping him, the Watchers came into the room, gathering coats and shoving trash into a large green trash bag. Charlie moved through the room, the color drained from his face, pushing into the bathroom, slamming the thin wooden door so hard the handle rattled.

  “No one’s leaving me with this much crap to clean up,” said the old woman. Clemente was in the other room and Norman could see that without him, the Watchers didn’t care. They ignored the woman and kept gathering their things.

  Norman’s zip cuffs were checked with a tug before he was pulled to his feet. He was being moved.

  A Watcher got close to his face and menacingly put his hand over Norman’s mouth, smiling at him as he playfully drew a line across his own neck. A threat.

  Norman bit down hard on the man’s hand and received a hard slap across his face. It was worth it.

  George Clemente came rushing back into the room and before Norman could take in what was happening, Clemente had shot the Watcher in the head, spraying Norman’s face with a fine spatter of blood.

  Clemente didn’t even look back when he left the room. Norman wasn’t sure he had said much of anything. All he could do was stare at the dead body at his feet.

  A bag was placed over his head that was thin enough to let him still see shadows. He was pulled down stairs, losing his footing at one point and falling into the muscular back of someone in front of him on the stairs.

  “What the hell are you doing?” yelled someone, putting a large palm in the center of Norman’s chest, pushing him back upright.

  He started counting to himself, one, two, one, two, to keep better time with their footsteps. He heard several locks being opened and the sound of metal scraping as colder air blew over him. He tripped over an uneven floor as he was pushed. “Keep moving,” someone said as the light grew dimmer and he found himself in complete darkness, pulled into more stairs. This time, metal that seemed to curve around every few steps.

  A long walk, being alternately pushed and shoved, before a shorter flight of stairs up and out a doorway. More cold air blowing all around him. He was outside.

  Once they pulled away from the safe house and had pulled out of stop and go traffic, onto what felt like it must be a highway, the bag was removed. He blinked in the light as his eyes adjusted, trying to look around without looking anxious. He recognized the Lincoln Tunnel as they passed out of the city and saw they were heading into New Jersey.

  I do not want to die in New Jersey, he thought, trying to think of everything he still had in his life. That will all be there for me. I will make it through this. Small tremors of panic were threatening to build. Harriet will never move out if I die, he thought, trying to calm down. Wallis will start carrying a gun.

  Something inside of him turned cold. He knew it was true. Wallis would lose that part of herself that wanted to be normal. She fought for them to be able to be an average family. But on some days she had needed Norman to convince her it was still possible. Ned would never get the chance to know the world could be a different place. It would be Norman’s childhood all over again.

  His father, Thomas had never recovered from escaping Germany and took life as a series of trials to be overco
me. The threat of someone finding out their real background, that they were all zwanzig, was something he never let them forget. They had to hide in plain sight, never relaxing too much with their friends, for fear they would say something that didn’t fit with the carefully crafted background.

  Instead of the truth that they were recent arrivals, they told everyone they had gotten there twenty years earlier. Accents were forgotten, family members who were lost were rarely mentioned. Only Esther Ackerman ever let him talk about the past and only in the recesses of her bookstore.

  She admonished him all the time to not be angry. It would eat him up too. “Allow forgiveness, lieber. You can’t work at it. It has to be something you allow. If you don’t, you’ll be robbed of any joy.”

  Marrying Wallis Jones was his act of betrayal as well as love. She was a descendant of Management’s founders, a royal among their ranks, even if she was completely unaware of any of it. His father knew and begged him to find someone else.

  But by then he loved her and didn’t care.

  Even Esther asked him to reconsider. There were bigger plans for him. He was to be the next Keeper. The Circle was just starting to revive and needed someone like him.

  He answered them by asking Wallis to marry him. Only Esther fully forgave him, telling his father, what was the point if they took away Norman’s choices? “Then we’re no better than Management,” she said.

  Having someone so close by all the time whose relatives had a hand in so much death wore away at his father, making him grow older, faster. Only the birth of his only grandchild, Ned, seemed to lighten his days. He died while Ned was still in diapers, never once talking about the marriage. Wallis had chalked it up to a difference in religions, not knowing the truth till all of their secrets started to unreel, faster and faster.

  The moment Wallis had shown him that list, worried about what it meant, he had known things had changed. It had taken so long to catch up with him that he had relaxed and come to believe the troubles would skip over them.