“Good girl.” His voice was a purr of approval. I tried to see his face, but it was hidden in the dark. It wasn’t Jameson, I knew that much. This voice was older and deeper. Familiar too, but I couldn’t place it.
Mallory said, “Every page destroyed.”
“You’ve passed the test of perfect obedience,” he said. “And you know what you need to do next? At the Bash?”
“I know what I must do,” she said.
“And you’ll do it?” His hands slid over her shoulders and from the light coming from the bathroom I saw hairy knuckles and a gold watch.
“Yes, I’ll do it.”
“Don’t let us down, Mallory, we’re depending on you.”
“You can depend on me, Commander.”
I did a double take. Commander? I realized, with a start, that I only knew of one commander, and that was the head of the Associates. But that couldn’t be right. Why would she be half naked and hanging out with the enemy?
“Good,” the commander said. “Now go get the necklace you were given at the airport.”
Mallory walked out of the room in slow, measured steps and headed toward the bedroom. Again I strained to see the man’s face, but he hadn’t moved an inch and was still hidden in the dark. I followed Mallory into the bedroom and watched as she turned on the bedside lamp before going to unzip a compartment in her suitcase. By the time she looked up, a necklace dangling off her fingertips, I’d decided to confront her.
Hello Mallory. I was right in front of her, but I purposely didn’t become visible. She could hear me, but she couldn’t see me.
I thought she’d jump out of her skin, but she didn’t. Her eyes were dull, her voice nonchalant. “I can’t talk right now Nadia,” she muttered, very quietly. She gestured to the other room with a nod of her head. “I’m doing important work right now. Come back later.”
Mallory, what is going on? She ignored me and kept going. Her deliberate, slow pace reminded me of the way sleep walkers moved in movies. And that’s when it hit me. Mallory had been brainwashed. Someone in the Associates had used mind control on a girl who had incredible mind control powers herself. And as a trusted member of the Praetorian Guard, she could work against the rest of us, giving the other side secrets and using her powers for their side while pretending to be on ours.
Still hiding my presence, I followed her back into the other room. I saw now that it was a sitting area almost exactly like the one in Russ’s suite. “Here it is,” Mallory said, handing over the necklace, a white rose dangling on a chain.
The commander did something to the rose and I heard a click. “When you press on this side and hold it,” he said, “a tiny needle pops out. Like this, see.” Mallory leaned over and watched as he repeated the motion. He asked, “Do you understand?”
“Yes,” she said robotically.
“And you know what you need to do with it?”
“Yes.”
“Just one quick prick, that’s all it takes.” He turned the necklace around. “When you press on the opposite side a different needle comes out. That is the antidote. You won’t need that. It’s for emergency purposes only. Understand?”
“Yes.”
“After you use the first needle the way we talked about, you’ll need to distance yourself from the necklace. Put it in another lady’s bag or leave it under a napkin or whatever. Just get rid of it.”
“But Mrs. Whitehouse gave it to me.” Mallory’s confusion came to the surface. “She said I could keep it always.”
“I know, I know,” he said, like soothing a small child. “But we’ll get you another one. A much better necklace than this one. I’ll even let you pick it out. Any necklace you want. Would you like that?”
She smiled. “Yes, I’d like that.”
“Now let’s go over the plan one more time. You know how to use the needle in the necklace?”
“Yes.”
Don’t listen to him, Mallory! I sent a message right to her, but she showed no sign of hearing me.
“Wait until you see the Specteron,” he said proudly. “I’m unveiling it that night. Some say it was impossible, but I’ve managed to improve on Tesla’s design. The particle beam is most impressive. If you want to live, you’ll manage to get behind it. Those in front of it will be getting a not-so-nice surprise. Do you understand?”
“I’ll need to get behind it if I want to live.”
Oh Mallory, how can you be part of this?
“Have you gotten control of Jameson?”
“Yes, I think so.”
No! Jameson is your friend. Do not involve him.
“Good girl!” the man said. “And what about Russ?”
Oh, not Russ. Leave Russ alone, Mallory…
“I keep trying but my mind control doesn’t work on him. It’s like he’s got a shield over his brain,” Mallory said.
“Keep trying. Use your feminine wiles, do a lap dance, just do whatever you need to do to get him up next to you.”
“I’ll try. But...”
“But what?” he asked, his voice stern.
“I don’t think it will work. He won’t let me get too close because he loves Nadia.”
I held my breath thinking that next she’d tell him that she’d just seen me a minute ago, astral projecting to her in the other room. But either she forgot or else her loyalty to me as a friend had survived the brain washing, because she didn’t say anything else.
“Teenage boys are notoriously fickle. Nadia’s not here. You are. Make it work. Do you understand?”
“Yes, I understand,” she said. “I will make it work.”
“I’m going to leave now. You need to go to bed and when you wake up you’ll forget I was here. You will, however, remember all your instructions and you will carry them out to the letter. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Commander.”
“And Mallory?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t answer the door in your underwear ever again. If it had been anyone but me you could have encountered big trouble.” He leaned out of the shadow then and I got a full view of his face: the high forehead, receding hairline, and glasses. Behind the dark rimmed glasses and beard and mustache, his facial features had a familiar look. I puzzled over this for a split second until he took another step and his button-down shirt and sweater-vest came into view.
The commander was Mr. Specter.
“One last thing, Mallory,” he said, pushing his glasses up his nose.
“Yes?”
“I need to know Russ Becker’s room number.”
“Two-oh-eight,” she mumbled.
“That was last night, at the hotel.” Mr. Specter sighed and rubbed his forehead like he had a headache. “You’ve moved remember?” And then quietly, almost to himself. “Probably to shake our trail.”
“We moved from the hotel to the luxury suites,” Mallory said, her voice lifeless and flat. “I put the ribbon on my doorknob like I was supposed to.”
“Yes, that’s right. But I need to know where Russ’s room is because I have to speak to him.” He reached down and patted his pants pocket where I saw, to my horror, the bulge of what looked like a gun.
Mallory’s mouth twitched. “I don’t remember the number, but he’s two doors down from here.”
“On the same side of the hallway?”
“Yes.”
“Not the next room, but the one after that?”
“Yes.”
“In which direction, dear?”
When Mallory hesitated he said, “Remember that wonderful session we had in Peru trying out my Deleo?”
“I remember,” Mallory said, nodding.
“It was such a pleasant feeling having the Deleo rays wiggling into your head sending soothing messages to your brain. Remember the beautiful feeling?”
“Oh yes, I remember.” Mallory’s chin lifted heavenward. She closed her eyes and the expression on her face said she was recalling something wonderful.
“What is the num
ber one thing you were told to do?” he pressed.
“Always do whatever Mr. Specter tells me to do,” she said.
“Now I’ll ask you one more time. What direction is Russ’s room?”
Mallory’s arm rose in one swift movement pointing to the left. I almost showed myself then and confronted Mr. Specter, but stopped when I realized I’d be as threatening as a dust mote. There was nothing I could do to stop him, but I wasn’t going to wait for him to hurt Russ either. “That’s my girl!” he said patronizingly, but I was out of the room before he said another word.
Take me to Russ Becker. I was like the wind only better, because the wind couldn’t go through walls. In a second I was next to Russ’s bed, and once again I tried to wake him up. Russ! Russ! Russ! Please, open your eyes. Mr. Specter is on his way to your room with a gun. I pleaded. He didn’t move, not even a muscle. Again, what I wouldn’t have given to have a real body in the room with him at that moment. So frustrating not to be able to reach him.
Panic swelled inside of me. Astral projecting, I could travel hundreds of miles in seconds and move invisibly through walls. I was as big as the world and as small as a microbe. I heard conversations without being detected and could get past locked doors. But I couldn’t stop a man with a gun.
I wished myself into the hallway. Once there, I needed a half a second to get accustomed to the sudden brightness. When I’d adjusted, I realized I’d landed about ten feet behind Mr. Specter who now stood in front of Russ’s door. From behind I watched as he patted the pocket that held the gun.
I struggled to make myself visible to the world. It was easy to do when I was with Russ, but I found it harder to achieve when alone and terror-stricken. I pushed to burst out of my shell of anonymity until I finally felt my shape develop like a Polaroid picture. As I forced myself into view, I noticed Mr. Specter swiping a plastic card key in the slot above Russ’s door knob. Instinctively I screamed out No!! and surged toward him. At that moment I heard a ding and saw a man in a waiter’s uniform pushing a cart through open elevator doors and down the hall. Room service for someone. The linen covered cart held domed plate covers, a bottle of wine chilling in an ice bucket, and one red rose in a silver bud vase.
The man pushing the cart didn’t notice me or Mr. Specter at first. His head was down as if he were determined to get to his destination. But something made him glance up. Maybe he’d heard my “No,” ringing in his head, or maybe he caught a glimpse of Mr. Specter standing in the hallway. It really doesn’t matter. What matters is that he looked up and saw as I rushed at Mr. Specter. I knew he’d spotted me when his face went from confusion to horror. “Dear God, what is that?” the waiter screamed, picking up one of the covers off the cart and throwing it at me.
It didn’t hit me, of course. I was still at home in my bed with my eyes closed, fingers laced together on top of the covers. Mr. Specter, however, was very much there and the cover came right at him. “Get out of here,” the waiter yelled, clearly terrified.
The metal cover bounced off Mr. Specter’s front but before it even landed on the floor, he turned and ran down the hall. The speed with which he took off made me think he didn’t want to be identified.
Mr. Specter had taken a physical hit, but I was shaken to my metaphysical core. The waiter looked at me like I was something vile, monstrous. It was worse than my mother thinking I was possessed by the devil—this man thought I was the devil. I tried to hold on, I even thought: Take me to Russ, but it was no use. I felt myself fading from sight and being pulled back, back, back to Wisconsin, then Edgewood, and finally under the covers of my very own bed.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Russ
I woke to a sharp rapping noise. Minutes before, in a dream, it had been the sound of a woodpecker, but as I woke up I realized it was someone knocking on the door to my suite. I struggled out of bed and flung the door open, so sure it was Jameson that the words ‘get lost’ had already taken shape in my mouth, so I was a little taken aback to see Dr. Wentworth there. “Dr. Wentworth.” I rubbed my eyes. “I wasn't expecting you.”
“Obviously,” she said, giving me the once over.
Self-consciously I ran my fingers through my hair. “What time is it?” I looked down at my bare feet, glad to see I had pulled on a T-shirt and pajama pants before going to bed.
“Five-thirty. You need to get dressed and come with me right away. The president has asked to see you!” Her eyes shone and her mouth stretched into a wide smile. I'd never seen her look so enthused.
“Really?”
“Yes. She’s made enormous improvements during the night. The medical team is very pleased with her progress.”
“Let me jump in the shower…”
“We don’t have time for that. Get dressed. We need to go immediately.”
I can’t tell you how much it goes against my way of doing things not to shower right away in the morning. At home there’d have to be a fire to get me to skip it, but since Dr. Wentworth followed me into the suite and plunked herself down in the sitting area, I didn’t have much choice. I ran my hand under the faucet and managed to wet down my hair (which always stuck up funny in the morning), brush my teeth, and throw on some clothes. We were out the door in five minutes.
When I got out to the hallway, I almost walked into a man standing guard by my door. He wasn’t wearing a uniform, but something about him said military to me. It might have been the close-cropped hair, flak jacket, and the semi-automatic weapon held at his side. “Hi,” I said. He just nodded.
As we made our way down the hall, I asked Dr. Wentworth, “What’s up with that?”
“We had a slight security breach the other night,” she said. “Nothing to worry about, but we’re covering our bases.”
“A slight security breach?” That didn’t sound good.
“You didn’t hear anything in the hallway last night?” she asked.
“No.” I drew in a sharp breath. Something happened while I was sleeping?
“A minor disruption. We’re not entirely sure what happened. Probably just someone goofing around,” she said, sounding bored. “Come along. We don’t want to keep the president waiting.”
I was starting to know the route, so this time around I kept pace with Dr. Wentworth rather than letting her take the lead. If I’d had her laminated pass and her retinas (for the scanner), I could have made my way to the hospital room by myself.
When we got to the hospital room President Bernstein was sitting up in bed, a tray positioned in front of her. Her husband stood at her side, holding a cup with a straw to her mouth. “That’s enough,” I heard her say, and he pulled it away. Her voice made me smile; it was strong and familiar, exactly the voice of the Commander-in-Chief I’d heard giving presidential speeches. When Mr. Bernstein caught sight of us, he waved us over. “This is the young man I was telling you about,” he said to his wife. “Russ Becker, the miracle maker from Wisconsin.”
I strode over to the bed to shake President Bernstein’s outstretched hand. She clasped it gently while I said, “I’m very pleased to meet you.” Next to me, Dr. Wentworth beamed up at me like a proud mother.
“The honor is all mine,” she said. “I am very grateful you agreed to travel here for my benefit.”
“Of course,” I said.
“And for the benefit of the country,” Dr. Wentworth added.
On the other side of the room Dr. Karke was talking quietly to one of the nurses. He’d given me a nod when we walked in, but it was a safe bet I wasn’t getting any thanks from him. The president called out, “Doctor? Would you mind if I had a few moments in private with Russ?”
Dr. Karke raised his eyebrows, but he said, “Of course that would be fine.” The nurse took the cue and left first, followed by Dr. Karke. When the president raised her eyebrows at Dr. Wentworth she took off too, although she walked slowly as if hoping it was a mistake and she’d be called back. No one did call her back though. As she went through the doorway her head turne
d and I caught one last lingering look.
“Now that we got rid of them,” President Bernstein said, holding my hand in hers, “I can say what’s really on my mind.” She squeezed my fingers as if afraid I might bolt out of the room. “I don’t know what it’s like for you to heal someone, but I can tell you how it feels being on the receiving end.” Her eyes twinkled. “I couldn’t move and I couldn’t talk, but I could feel the warmth coming off of your hands and it felt like just what I needed. Even more than that, I could feel the energy and love radiating out of you and pouring into me. It was remarkable.”
I didn’t want to get too full of myself, but I’d be lying if I didn’t say I felt a surge of pride just then. I mean, how many people get to pull the president of the United States back from the brink of death? “I’m glad to be able to help,” I said. “It was my honor.”
Mr. Bernstein spoke up. “You should know that you will be the first recipient of the Civilian Medal of Honor for acts of valor above and beyond the call of duty.”
The Medal of Honor? When he said the words, I felt my ribcage seize hold of my heart. The Medal of Honor was a big, big deal—too big for me. I thought about the men and women who gave their lives during battle or performed heroic acts at great cost and suddenly I felt insignificant. I’d done something important, but not because I was brave or willing to sacrifice my life but just because it was the right thing to do. Under the same circumstances anyone would have done it. “That’s not really necessary,” I said sheepishly. “I’m not in the same category as the other Medal of Honor recipients. It wouldn’t be right.”
“Now I don’t want to hear any of that,” Mr. Bernstein said. “You are worthy, believe me. Interestingly enough, the hallmark of a true hero is denying that they’ve done anything heroic. You’re clearly in that category.”
“But the Medal of Honor? I don’t know about that…”
“It’s the Civilian Medal of Honor,” Mr. Bernstein said, holding up one finger. “An important distinction.”
The president briskly said, “It’s not up for discussion, Russ. The decision has been made.”
Edgewood Series: Books 1 - 3 Page 74