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

by Martha Carr

  Charlie held the phone up as if he was about to pitch it. “Three, two…” he said, ready to smash it against the ground.

  “Alright, alright,” she said, waving the one arm wildly, her hand opened as close to the phone as she could get in a vain attempt to catch it. Her face was wild with anger and fear. “Zero-three-one-seven,” she said, her entire body stretched toward his raised arm, pulling away from his grip on her.

  He hesitated, realizing she was using his birthday as her security code. He was an Irishman born on St. Patrick’s Day. His grandparents had always said it was good luck. Charlie had come to wonder what bad luck would have looked like. Death, maybe.

  He held her back as he lowered his arm and typed in the code with his thumb as the phone rested in the palm of his hand.

  He scrolled through the call log, amazed at what she had done, not looking up at her to try and not cause any more harm. He didn’t want her to see how hurt he felt. “You’ve been calling, what, friends of yours?”

  “Just Stephanie and she promised not to tell anyone,” she said, trying to sound defiant but not quite pulling it off.

  Charlie turned back to her phone and scrolled through her texts and then her emails.

  “You’re lying,” he said, without looking up from the phone. He let out a sigh and the weariness came back to him. The adrenaline rush he had after being slapped was gone. He looked up at his sister, still holding the phone out of her reach.

  Maggie sputtered, “No, no, I’m not.”

  “You’re lying,” he said, squeezing her arm.

  “Ow, okay, okay, so, I’m lying. You’re dragging me across town by the arm, threatening to break my phone. What choice did I have?” she said, holding out her hands, pleading her case.

  Charlie threw the phone hard to the black top and smashed his heel against what was left of the case till it completely split open.

  “What? No! No!” yelled Maggie, trying to get close enough to kick what was left out of the way. Charlie brought his heel down again smashing the remaining large chunk, catching the side of her shoe throwing her backward into a sitting position. She was crying again.

  “It’s not fair,” she protested. “I can’t be cut off from everyone I know. I’m not like you. I actually have friends. I have a life. Why did you come back?” she said, sneering at him.

  He started to protest but she was shaking her head, blinking back tears.

  “No, no,” she said, shaking a finger at him. “None of that, for the common good crap that Mom and Dad keep talking about. No, I don’t believe you. Do you know, you’ve been gone for about half of my life? Most of the memories I have of you are when I was small.” She gulped in air as she let out a hiccup.

  “I had a life,” she said, patting the front of her coat with her hand, the red stone eyes of the cat pin catching the light on and off. “A life I liked and I had gotten used to you not being there.”

  “I came home occasionally,” Charlie said, stunned into relaxing his grip.

  “Yeah, and it was a big deal with Mom and Dad making me practice what I could say and warning me not to bring anybody around while you were there,” said Maggie, rolling her eyes. “It’s like I got hired for the same job from the moment you decided to go but nobody ever asked me. You’re still doing it,” she said, sounding hurt. “You have never once asked me how I felt about any of this. Not once.”

  “When would I have asked you? Before I left when you were in grade school? Excuse me, Maggie, is it okay if I go play nice with a sociopath so everybody else can sleep at night?”

  Charlie felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up and knew something was wrong. He couldn’t quite place it but something was off. He started dragging Maggie behind him again, picking up the pace to almost a run.

  “What are you doing?” she protested, working hard to stay next to him. “Why are we running again? What now?”

  He recognized the sound and ducked without even thinking pulling Maggie lower with him. A high-pitched whine that was low enough to be missed if it was a new sound but Charlie had heard it way too often after all the years next to George Clemente.

  “Oh,” said Maggie, letting out a surprised gasp as the arm Charlie was still holding onto, stretched out between them, jerked in his fingers and he felt the pressure of the bullet that came whizzing toward them pass through her flesh and bone. There was a slight hum under his fingers as he kept pulling her down toward the pavement, rolling on top of her, tucking his head next to hers.

  “What?” whimpered Maggie, barely audible. The dark pink of her jacket was already pooling red around the arm and there was a small hole where blood-soaked feathers poked through. “My coat,” said Maggie, dazed. “What happened?”

  Charlie pressed down harder on top of her, willing himself into covering her enough to take the next bullet. He wasn’t sure if they had been aiming at him and missed or Maggie was the intended target. It was hard to say how they would choose to hurt him.

  Tires crunched over the gravel mixed in with the strip of grass between the sidewalk and the parking lot on the far side, pulling closer to where they lay flat on the ground.

  “We have to move,” he said sternly into Maggie’s ear, pulling her along with him as he stood up and saw the car coming toward them. She crumpled back down to her knees as he quickly swooped her up into his arms, her head rocking back as her mouth came open and a soft groan came out.

  He ducked between the uneven rows of parked cars, weaving in and out as the dark SUV circled around the far end, quickly closing the gap. Charlie broke into a run, his back aching from the weight of running with his sister in his arms, her coat pushed up against his face and the hot, moist air from his breath pushing back into his face.

  He made a run for the front door of the grocery store, hoping he could make it inside before the car caught up to them and heard the car slide to a halt right behind them as he stepped up onto the curb in front of the store. A middle-aged woman in a black trench coat tied at the waist with a belt who had the look of someone who should be shopping in a much nicer neighborhood backed out of the way while holding up her phone.

  “Do you need some help?” she asked, as she started to dial.

  Charlie managed to give her a panicked look while rolling his eyes at the question.

  “Call 9-1-1,” he spat out, as he shoved open the automatic door that was slowly creaking open. He looked back through the front plate glass window to see Watchers neatly dressed in suits come out of the car and slow down to a more respectable walk, about to follow him into the store. He took off at a run down the nearby pasta and sauces aisle, hoping he was near the entrance to the back and the loading dock.

  He stopped just long enough at the end of the aisle, glancing left and right as Maggie lifted her head and briefly opened her eyes. “Unh?” she let out a garbled sound.

  There it was again. That high-pitched whistle as a box of elbow macaroni blew backwards off the shelf. The front of the box exploding as its contents made a tat-tat-tat sound hitting the floor. Charlie saw the oversized double doors and took off at a run, trying not to anticipate the next bullet. They made it through the doors, surprising him as he ran toward what looked like natural light and the rear docks.

  The muscles in his arms were starting to spasm as he pulled his sister closer, cradling her against his chest. As he came out into the sunlight he saw a silver Dodge pickup truck idling by the steps with half a payload in the back. Charlie ran down the few steps and slid his sister in the front seat, noting the smear of blood that was painted against the back of the leather front seat. He slid in behind her as someone yelled, “Hey! Son of a bitch!” He didn’t look back to see who it was and threw it into drive, jamming his foot against the gas pedal.

  He took a look in the rear view mirror to see two men in suits and long, expensive soft coal black overcoats running as fast as they could behind the truck getting further and further away. Just as he turned the corner one of them stopped and ra
ised a gun that had an extra long muzzle on it as the bullet whizzed by the truck and went off into the distance. Charlie kept going, climbing over the sidewalk and into oncoming traffic, ignoring all of the blaring horns as he ran the red light and swung down the next alley, making a hard right. He could still hear the car horns, still going as he sped down the open alley to the end where he made a hard left, and sped all the way back to the children’s home.

  He didn’t stop for a single stop sign or light, much less slow down, until he was finally back in the driveway of the home, leaning on the horn for a moment before he got out and ran around to the passenger side of the car.

  His mother and father came running out of the old dingy white mansion that served as the offices on the first floor of the home, quickly followed by a Circle administrator.

  “What’s happened?” asked his mother, her eyes wild as she took in Maggie being quickly lifted out of the car. The right sleeve of her coat was a deep, dark red that had smeared the interior of the car.

  “She’s bleeding out,” said Charlie, swallowing hard as he carried her up the front steps. “Is there a doctor here?” he asked the administrator. He couldn’t remember the man’s name. Charlie didn’t want to even try, hoping that would help him get out of there faster.

  This was not the way he hoped it would happen.

  “This way,” said the man, running ahead of them. “Get Dr. Collier,” yelled the man to an older resident, a tall teenager at the other end of the hall who was craning her neck in their direction. “Bring her in here,” he said, holding open a large wooden door with a large frosted glass pane in it and an open transom above the door.

  The man pushed everything off of the top of the desk, scooping up the laptop into his arms. “Right here,” he said.

  Charlie’s parents came running in after them, talking over each other, spitting out questions.

  “What happened?” asked his mother.

  “Were you chased?” asked his father.

  Charlie didn’t register all of the questions, focusing on Maggie and trying to keep her alive. A young-looking man ran into the room. He was wearing a green pullover and brown corduroy pants and was carrying a black leather doctor’s bag.

  “Are you the doctor?” asked Charlie’s mother, sounding doubtful.

  “I’m the resident doctor for the home. No need for scrubs on most days,” he said, peeling back a corner of Maggie’s coat as she lay unconscious on the top of the large oak desk. She was no longer stirring or making a sound. Charlie wondered if she was still breathing and laid his face down close to her nose, waiting for a puff of air.

  “She’s barely breathing,” he said, looking up. He could hear his father gasp in the background. His mother always did a better job of putting off having any emotions for a later date.

  “Hold her up,” said Dr. Collier as he slipped off her coat. Charlie’s arms were shaking from carrying Maggie for such a long distance and he could feel how wet and sticky her back was underneath. “She’s lost a lot of blood,” said the doctor. “I can apply a tourniquet to at least stop the flow until we can get her to a hospital.”

  “No hospitals,” shouted his mother. “We’d never get out of there alive. You have to treat her here.”

  Charlie looked up at the determined look on his mother’s face. She was always the one who thought more like an operative. His father stood helplessly behind her trying to fight his instincts to hold his daughter.

  Charlie was trained in the same responses. Put your emotions aside in a crisis to give everyone the best chance to survive. Compassion in a moment like this when everything is changing quickly and there are unknown assailants coming for you is deadly.

  Gather information, take care of the wounded, take the necessary action and leave it at that.

  “How many?” asked his mother, putting her hand on his shoulder to focus his attention.

  “All I saw was one car,” he said. He could feel the bile rising in his throat. The shock was wearing off. He was in the middle of a battle with his entire family in the line of fire.

  “Gather information,” he mumbled. “There were probably four people, all men I think. Heavily armed. Looked more like Management’s Watchers. Not Clemente.”

  “How do you know?” asked his father as his mother gave him a look.

  “Dressed well, similar outfits. Cared too much about the way they looked.”

  “This is not Management’s style,” said his mother. “They don’t like starting things out in the open like this.”

  “There’s been a lot of chatter on the wires,” said Dr. Collier, as he tended to Maggie’s arm. “Something about a revolt, all aimed at the people they think were responsible for the shooting in Richmond, Virginia. Or, I suppose I should say shootings.”

  “Who else are they looking for?” asked Charlie’s father.

  The doctor looked up, his eyebrows raised in surprise. “You haven’t heard?” he asked. “Wallis Jones and her family are on the run. They got out in the middle of the night or something. Rogue Watchers shot up their house but I hear the old woman, Harriet Jones, the other Keeper took out one of them. The story has gone viral. She’s become some kind of hero.”

  “That probably isn’t helping the Watchers’ mood,” his mother said warily. “How emboldened are they? Will they try to breach the home?”

  The administrator who had led them into the room traded a glance with the doctor.

  “We’ve already had someone move the truck out of view and your things are being packed as we speak. We have to protect the children at this home and the trail that could unknowingly help the wrong people find out about all of the rest.”

  “The Butterflies,” said Charlie’s mother. “I know all about it. We understand. As soon as Maggie is stable enough to be moved, we will go. We won’t put thousands of children at risk.”

  “But Maggie…” said his father.

  “We’ll wait till we’re sure she can be moved,” said his mother.

  “You don’t have long. The Watchers will be scouring the area, block by block. Even if they can’t search for you here, we don’t want them seeing you leave. It would be best if we can get you on the road sooner than later. We may need to send you out with a driver.”

  “And the rest of us hide on the floor of a van,” said his mother, finishing the sentence.

  “Do you know what blood type she is?” asked the doctor. “Do one of you match hers? She needs a transfusion and we don’t have much time.”

  “I match her,” said Charlie. “Take mine.”

  The transfusion took over an hour but Maggie’s color improved and it wasn’t long before they were all packed into the back of a paneled van, sitting on the floor around Maggie who was laid out in the back. One of the groundskeepers from the home, a Circle operative who also guarded the home, drove them out of the city, making sure to drive like it was any other day. In Chicago that meant occasionally following someone too closely followed by a gesture.

  The administrator handed a disposable phone to Charlie before they left and said, “Good luck. I hope you find a place to rest for a longer stretch. I’m sorry we weren’t more hospitable for you,” before sliding shut the door.

  Once they were out of the city limits, Charlie’s father was able to put on a baseball hat and sit in the passenger seat. His mother refused to leave Maggie’s side. Charlie sat with his back against the wall of the van as the shaking made his back feel worse.

  He started to drift off from exhaustion as the phone rang in his pocket.

  “Charlie? Charlie Foyle? My name is Esther Ackerman. I have your next assignment. You’re not going to stay with your family this time, that alright? Good, good,” she said, not waiting for an answer. “I need you to go to Philadelphia. There a man named Father Michael will meet up with you and tell you more. Don’t worry, no more undercover work, well of a sort. More will be revealed, okay?” she said. “Your ride will be waiting for you at the next stop. Be ready,” she
said, hanging up before he could answer.

  “What was that?” asked his mother.

  “I’m going to Philadelphia, apparently,” said Charlie.

  “Good,” said his mother. “Time to get on with things.” She always was the practical operative in the family.

  Chapter 13

  The cars were entering the parking lot of Baldwin Funeral home in an orderly line. No one was honking or trying to get around the slower drivers even though it was still considered rush hour in Richmond, Virginia. Cars might not make it through the light the first time and everyone expected to be home in time for six o’clock supper.

  The man driving the grey Lexus RX waited patiently while the driver of the older Acura pulled back out and realigned their car to fit snugly inside of the painted white lines.

  Richard Bach had no need to be in a hurry and could afford to rest back against the new leather seats, feeling grateful that his hard work was finally giving him the lifestyle he knew he deserved.

  He watched the other driver finally settle in the parking space and approved of their attention to detail, giving a slight nod even if no one was looking in his direction. Everyone in Management should be so careful, he thought.

  He was adjusting nicely to working in the White House under President Ellen Reese. The President was another unpredictable woman, thought Richard but no worse than any other and certainly not as bad as Robin Spingler, who had taken pleasure in beating him on occasion to keep him in line. He smiled to himself, remembering how easily she had cracked her skull open like a melon when she tripped down the stairs trying to take out Wallis Jones.

  Another difficult woman who was still causing him headaches. He was learning to accept the idea that this was his lot in life.

  Richard stepped out of his Lexus, straightening his deep blue tie held in place by a tie clip with a small enameled American flag set against a gold background. He stopped a moment to take it all in before joining the steady stream of people walking toward the funeral home.

  Women were all in dresses or skirts to the mid-knee wearing a sensible heel or the occasional flat if they were older or carrying too much weight. Men wore a version of a grey suit with narrow lapels and a red or blue tie, depending on their mood for that day. Men’s hair was cut just above the ear and neatly shaved around the neck and women had hair that just touched the shoulder or to mix things up, brushed against their collar.