by Naomi Stone
~ * ~
Fluke returned to the penthouse suite accompanied by a small caravan of carts laden with a mini-buffet steered by hotel staff. It had taken him some time to arrange for the midnight snack with the hotel’s night chef. Amazing how a few hundred dollars in gratuities could overcome objections to going off menu. Rachel had been snoring lightly when he’d slipped out.
He hoped she hadn’t had time to wake and wonder where he’d gone.
He ushered his procession into the suite and left them to set up the array of dishes, beverages and flowers while he went to the bedroom to wake Rachel.
He found the rumpled bed empty and turned to check the bath with a rising sense of misgiving—he heard no sound of water running—and found that room empty too. He returned to the living room of the suite. The hotel’s crew had departed, leaving a fabulous buffet in place. Fluke dropped his specs over his eyes and opened a channel to call Rachel. Maybe she’d decided to explore on her own.
He got no response to the call, so he pinged the team’s night secretary. “Can you get a fix on Rachel Connolly’s location?”
“According to the logs, she’s with you.”
“Not at the moment.”
“Ah. Just got a new entry showing she pinged Tom Stanton for transport—some emergency involving her housemate. I’ve got a fix on her specs, showing her at her home address right now.”
“Thanks. She’s not responding to my ping. Is anyone in position to check on her?”
“Tom just checked in. He reports everything under control, says Rachel’s busy calming a hysterical woman.”
He hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath until it left him in a sudden rush of relief. What was wrong with him? He’d have known if anything happened to her, wouldn’t he? Somehow, as close as they’d been, he felt as if she’d become almost a part of him.
“Who authorized her to go off on a mission?” he asked sharply. “We’re in the middle of something here—trying to draw a dangerous Talent out into the open. She can’t go jaunting off like that.”
“I’ll patch you through to Mr. Connolly, sir.” Before he could say a word David cut in.
“No one authorized it. Rachel can be too impulsive when she’s worried about her friends. Don’t take it out on Alice.”
“Sorry about that, Alice” Fluke muttered. “I still don’t like this. We’re trying to draw Johnson to us and instead Rachel goes AWOL—the timing of it bugs me.”
“We heard from Tom, he said he’d bring her back to the hotel as soon as they’ve resolved some situation with Tamara’s mother. Apparently she twisted an ankle. They brought her back to stay with Tamara, but report the woman’s pretty upset and say Rachel’s dealing with her now.”
“Guess I’ll save my lecture for Rachel when I see her.” Fluke wandered to the array of food spread out near the sectional couch. Nothing looked good anymore, despite the gnawing in his gut.
“We’ve got someone shadowing the woman Johnson put on your tail,” David continued. “She hasn’t left the lobby of the hotel since you arrived. She’s stationed where she can monitor the elevators.”
“Think I should go stir things up for her? What’ll it take to bring Johnson out here?”
“He may not be after you or Rachel at all—just making sure he knows where you are so you won’t interfere with whatever else he’s up to.”
“Dammit. I don’t like waiting around for him to make his move.” Fluke paced.
“We’re trying to track him down, but he’s good at flying under the radar. We need something to go on and so far all we’ve got is a guy in a coma and an unexploded bomb.”
“Any luck with either of those?”
“We’re bringing in a telepath-healer to work with Longo. When we spoke she told me this kind of reaction happens when something interferes with a puppet carrying out the puppet master’s instructions—like a computer freeze-up. She thinks she can bring Longo out of it by using a kind of ‘psychic reboot.’”
“That’d be a good thing. Keep me in the loop.”
“No guarantee Longo will remember anything useful. And we got nothing more from the bomb components—those that could be traced were bought by different people at different times and places all over the Midwest, with nothing to tie them to each other.”
“Guess I’ll go rile up Mabel.” Fluke headed out of the suite. “Let me know when Rachel checks in.”
“Sure.”
~ * ~
At least being tied to a dining room chair felt less uncomfortable than being trussed up like a Christmas goose on the floor, or being rolled into a rug, slung over Tom’s shoulder and dumped on somebody’s back porch. If only she had her specs she could call for help. If only she had a pair of scissors, or a really useful super power, like Elastic Lass… If wishes were horses…
Rachel stared around the unfamiliar dining room. Somebody liked floral motifs a lot. Bouquets of cabbage roses adorned the wallpaper and the drapes—which, oddly, remained tied back in the middle of the night, as if the owner had left in broad day and never returned to close them. Neatly arrayed flowery china filled a built-in cabinet just like the built-ins of hundreds of other dining rooms constructed around the turn of the previous century in South Minneapolis. Framed oil paintings of flower arrangements hung on the walls. She could see nothing of the rest of the house, but felt reasonably sure this place belonged neither to any of her friends or to Johnson.
Rachel tugged at the ropes securing her to the spindle-back chair. Tamara, seated across from her, eyes closed, seemed not to notice, but then spoke.
“Be still,” she said. “Focus inward. Breathe. If you try to escape you know I’ll have to hurt you.”
She sounded so much like herself—up until that last statement. Was she still in there? How much control did Johnson have over her? Over Tom? Wasn’t there some way they could fight him?”
“I feel your distress.” Tamara spoke, still with her eyes closed, in apparent meditation. “Calm yourself.”
“Of course, Tamara.” Rachel drew a deep breath, focused. “See, just like you taught me: deep breaths, visualizing peace, visualizing the light of compassion embracing me… Remember when I first came to you? How scared I was? Scrounging food out of back alley dumpsters?”
“Yes…”
“You were the only one who could deal with my fear even when it scared you too. You took it in and you calmed it and you showed me how to do the same. Do you remember?”
“I remember.” Tamara’s voice seemed distant, abstracted.
“You don’t want to hurt me now, do you?”
“Of course not.” Some of her usual warmth touched Tamara’s voice. “But you know I must if you don’t cooperate.”
“I know, Tamara. But I am cooperating. There’s not much else I can do stuck in this chair. He didn’t say we couldn’t talk, did he?”
“No… He just said to stay with you, to stay calm, and to hurt you if you tried to get away.”
“I promise you I won’t try to escape you. I know you’d feel bad about it if you had to hurt me. Wouldn’t you?”
“You know I would.” Tamara looked and sounded just like her old self for moment, as she spoke, meeting Rachel’s eyes.
“And you know I’m telling the truth right? You know I’ll stick right with you if I say I will.”
“Yes…”
“So, is there any reason we need these ropes?”
Tamara frowned. “He said—”
“Any reason I can’t use the bathroom sometime soon?”
“No.” Tamara smiled. “I’ll have to stay with you, but if you give your word not to run away from me, that will be okay.”
Rachel breathed a sigh of relief. Of course she’d keep her word. She couldn’t very well go off and leave Tamara alone in the clutches of the mad Johnson. But it looked like Tamara still had some initiative beyond the constraints of the instructions Johnson had given her. Just how far could they stretch those limits?
~ * ~
“Hey, Mabel.” In a lobby seating arrangement in sight of the elevators, Fluke sat on the damask covered wing chair beside the one occupied by the woman. “How’s it going?”
Mabel had come to attention when he exited the elevator, watching his progress intently as he approached her, but now she looked confused. “I’m supposed to be inconspicuous,” she muttered to herself.
“You are inconspicuous,” he assured her. “You’re very inconspicuous, but I’m very perceptive. I just wanted to make sure everything’s okay with you. I want to help you do your job.”
“What are you talking about? What job? I’m here to play Bingo.” She looked around uncertainly. “I just felt like getting off my feet for a while before I head over to the casino.”
“Sure. I know how it is. They run the games all night. No hurry. Still, you may be interested to know my companion has left the hotel.”
“What? How? I’ve been right here and never saw her leave.”
“You might want to let someone know she left from the heliport on the hotel roof sometime in the last half hour.”
“Why would that possibly be of any interest to me, young man? Please leave me alone.” She made a shooing gesture at him and Fluke rose obligingly and moved off a few feet. He found a spot from which he could watch her in one of the decorative mirrors hung above a flower arrangement. Between the reflected leaves and blooms of large white peonies he observed Mabel take out her cell phone.
Fluke used his specs to zoom in and record the sequence as she punched in a number. “Got that?” He sub-vocalized the query to David.
“Yep. I’ll have them reverse the image, slow it down, extract the number and see if we can track the device she called.”
“Good.” Fluke turned away from Mabel as she replaced her phone in a copious handbag. Still addressing David, he went on. “Any new word from Rachel and Tom yet?”
“No. I’ve still got Rachel’s position at the ashram. I’m on my way home for the night. I can stop off there and check on her.”
“Fine. Maybe I’ll check out those Bingo games Mabel’s been telling me about.”
“You do that.” David signed off with a chuckle.
~ * ~
Tamara’s cell phone rang out a sequence of Tibetan temple bells. She drew it from a woven holster she wore slung across her shoulder and answered, “Yes?”
She listened for a moment, then moved to the chair beside Rachel and held the phone to her ear. “He wants to speak to you.”
“Hello,” Johnson’s oily voice at her ear. “How’s my little empath doing?”
“Not very empathetic for you, Johnson. What do you have to say for yourself?”
“You have no idea what I’ve been through,” the man growled at her. “Don’t you judge me. And don’t call me Johnson. The world wrote Johnson off a long time ago. I’m Mesmero now.”
Mesmero? The man was certifiable, making up a whole new identity for himself. Getting rid of the people he blamed for destroying his old life was probably a part of the psychosis. She’d bet they had a name for his condition. Not for the first time, Rachel wished she’d gone on to college, studied psychology. Maybe if she lived through this…
“All right, Mesmero. Why are you calling? You’ve got me trussed up where I can’t do anything to stop you.”
“I want to give you a little demonstration of my powers.” The voice came thin over the phone, yet still menacing, “And then I’ve got a proposition for you. Put my puppet back on the line.”
“I don’t think so,” Rachel continued in conversational tones. She couldn’t imagine any good coming of letting Tamara hear what this madman had to say. “But thanks for calling.” She quickly spoke to Tamara. “He wants you to turn your phone off now so no one else can call us on it.”
Obediently, Tamara pressed the button to shut down her phone and set it aside on the table. Rachel permitted herself a flicker of satisfaction. So far, so good. Apparently that hadn’t countermanded any direct order ‘Mesmero’ had given Tamara, and her friend retained enough will of her own to play along with the assertion that the shut-down order had come from the puppet master. Unfortunately, she didn’t dare try testing any of his direct orders by countering them in the same way. The risk to Tamara would be too great.
An old style ring tone sounded nearby, beyond a door probably leading to the kitchen.
“Don’t answer it!” Rachel twisted, struggling to turn to follow Tamara as her friend rose, heading toward the sound.
“I’m supposed to answer the phone if it rings.” Tamara didn’t even turn back to her as she spoke. In a moment the ringing cut off and Tamara returned, holding a cordless land line phone to her ear with one hand and a paring knife in the other. She seemed to be listening intently, then held the new phone to Rachel’s ear.
“Okay, smart girl,” Mesmero spoke fiercely. “Watch this.”
Tamara set the phone on the tabletop in front of Rachel, then picked up the paring knife and calmly drove it into her own thigh.
“No!” Rachel screamed. Tamara, usually so sensitive to Rachel’s projected feelings, seemed oddly unaffected—to both her own physical pain and Rachel’s distress. Blood surged out around the blade’s handle, protruding from the denim of Tamara’s jeans. The fabric grew dark. Rachel winced again as Tamara pulled the blade out and the blood flowed more freely.
Tamara held the phone to Rachel’s ear again. “Shall we continue the exercise?” Mesmero asked in congenial tones, “I could have her stick the knife in some more vital spot, or maybe take a few slices at her own face—or, what do you think—does she really need all her fingers?”
“You’re a monster,” Rachel hissed, shuddering. If only he were near enough to feel the revulsion she had for him right now, or to feel her horror at what he’d done to her friend.
“Tsk, tsk.”
She imagined him wagging a finger at her, then, horribly, imagined the finger to be one of Tamara’s.
“Are you ready to hear my proposal or shall we continue this exercise? The sooner you listen, the sooner your friend can bandage her wound. I told her to avoid major arteries—this time, but the blood loss can’t be good for her.”
“I’m listening.” Rachel spoke through gritted teeth.
~ * ~
Fluke led the way to the casino. After Mabel had chosen a seat directly across from him at one of the tables, she asked, “Are you following me, young man?”
“Not at all,” he said, with a raised brow.
“You seem to turn up wherever I go.”
“Coincidence.” He’d hoped that helping her fulfill her stated goal might shake her out of the delusional state Johnson had her in. Apparently not. He’d accessed what the Team’s research had uncovered so far. They’d found no real studies of the puppet master talent. One volunteer had come in during the initial period following the P-Bomb event, when new Talents were asked to help scientists better understand the nature of the changes taking place in the affected populace. There’d been some Talents civic minded enough to comply with the request—back before the real Freak-hunts began. This puppet master had apparently not liked the results of compliance and had used her ability on the custodians of the research facilities to quietly depart and disappear.
The few less civic-minded puppet masters, like Johnson, who’d used their powers in ways that came to public attention had been killed before they could be stopped—leaving their victims with obsessive-compulsive disorders, or comatose like Longo.
After his second Bingo in as many games, Mabel started giving Fluke the evil eye, so he left the table. He stayed in sight of her, lounging against a wall and wondering what he could try next. Might be better just to wait until that telepath-healer David had mentioned could get to Mabel.
His specs pinged for attention. Speak of the devil.
“She’s gone.” David’s usually cool tones cracked. “I got here, found the door open, no sign of Rachel, or Tamara, or Tom—and Rachel�
��s specs on the floor.”
“I’m on my way.” Damn. Something in Fluke went cold as he left the Bingo games and threaded his way toward the exit of the casino, keeping up his connection to David while the coordinator contacted other Team members and the police, alerting them to the situation. Damn. Rachel. Her
face flashed across his memory: wry, laughing, tender. She had to be okay.
“What’s your assessment?” Fluke asked, as much to keep his own mind occupied usefully as to keep David from worry. As he exited the building, he glanced behind to see Mabel hurrying after him.
“Tom lied to us. No one’s been here as recently as he said. I’ve got Beth Talbot here, reading the place. Called her before I called you.” Beth’s talent, in much demand with the police, let her read the history of a site, like rewinding a videotape of events. David continued. “She knows Rachel and was assigned as Tom’s buddy. She’s ticked that he took off without alerting her, but says Tom and Rachel were both here briefly, along with a man matching Johnson’s description. And she recognized Tamara from a photo, says she tackled Rachel and tied her up before they all left.”
Fluke’s breath came had as he reached his car and swung in behind the wheel. “So, we have to assume Tom and Tamara are both compromised?”
“Right. Johnson got to them somehow. Including the woman he’s got tailing you, that makes three at once—that we know of—under his control.”
“Mabel. The woman tailing me is Mabel.” He glanced over to see her sprinting toward her own car—in surprisingly good shape for a woman her age. Probably telling herself she forgot to turn off a faucet at home or something. She’d never admit to pursuing him.
“Can Beth trace them? Find out where they took Rachel?” Fluke put the Porsche in gear and navigated the parking lot at unsafe speeds.
“She followed the trail as far as the back porch—where Tom teleported them out, one by one.” David’s voice caught in a moment’s crack. “We haven’t got a clue where they went from here.”
Someone broke in on another channel. In the seconds before David got back to him, Fluke hit the main road back to the highway.