Chasing Ghosts

by Lee Driver

  Sara closed the suitcase and returned it to the closet. “Demko showed up at our doorstep and I think it’s clearer now how he changed from being a rather pushy client to wanting to kill you. Somehow he did a retina scan or was programmed to recognize defectors. That’s when he tried to kill you. We figured you two exchanged retina scans. You saw Cardinal Esrey on his itinerary and assumed you were the one who had known him and might have killed him. The second Demko was a backup in case Number One didn’t complete his mission which was to retrieve the flash drive Father Thomas had stolen from the guy at the airport.” She took his empty glass to the bathroom, filled it with water, and returned to the bed with the bottle of pain pills.

  “As far as BettaTec is concerned,” Sara continued, “you died on the plane. As far as Demko Number One, Skizzy placed a fictitious accident report on the police department computers stating Demko Number One had a whiplash and refused hospitalization other than to accept a neck brace. This, we hope, will have BettaTec suspecting the reason why his chip went haywire. Then Skizzy booked him on a plane to Vancouver, again in the hopes that BettaTec assumes this is why they can’t locate him through the chip.”

  “You and the boys have been busy.”

  Sara smiled as she shook out a pain pill. “It was a long ride back from Nebraska so we spent the time bouncing ideas off of each other.”

  “But what about Demko Number Two? Wouldn’t he be expected to return the flash drive?”

  She gave a shrug of indifference. “Don’t you think BettaTec would have given instructions that Demko destroy it even if it means destroying himself? As far as they know, he accomplished what he set out to do.”

  Dagger sank back against the pyramid of pillows. Worry still left tracks across his forehead. “Provided BettaTec doesn’t send someone to retrace Demko’s steps before he flew to Vancouver.”

  “Such a worry wort. Now take your pill.” She handed him the pain pill.

  He dropped the pill on the nightstand. “Is Padre sniffing around for answers?”

  “Padre’s been busy. He discovered that Father Thomas isn’t a priest much less Donald Thomas. Cardinal Esrey had met some people several weeks ago who had gone to the seminary with Father Thomas. Only problem is the real Father Thomas died in a car accident right after graduating from the seminary. What better way for a BettaTec assassin to get close to the Pope. What they have against the Pope one can only guess. Skizzy thinks it might not even be the current Pope they are after. Could be the next one, that it’s all a move in BettaTec’s giant chess game of manipulation. Either way, Father Thomas wasn’t going with the program. Skizzy figures there was a break in the ranks and the leaders have chosen up sides. Unfortunately, Father Thomas was on the wrong side.”

  Sara walked over to the jalousie windows and cranked them open, bringing a waft of floral odors from the garden. She kept the blinds closed but slices of sunlight managed to seep through.

  “Remind me to ground you for coming after me.”

  “Right,” Sara grumbled. “After I remind you to thank me for again saving your life. You might still be at the bottom of that sink hole if I hadn’t dragged your bleeding body out of there.”

  No argument there. She was right but then the memories of bleeding out on the floor came back to him. “Why is it I remember bleeding all over the car and a doctor stitching me up but I don’t have any scars? Did I dream it?” Dagger asked.

  “I was wondering when you were going to get to that.” She pulled the sheet up to Dagger’s waist. Her fingers grazed the area where he had been injured. Skin as smooth as a baby’s had replaced the damaged skin. “You were pretty badly injured. That futuristic weapon sliced into you pretty good. You lost a lot of blood so I gave you four pints of mine.”

  Dagger blinked several times as though trying to remember details. “I can heal my wounds as though nothing happened?”

  “If anyone needs that ability, it’s certainly you.” Sara rummaged through the bathroom cabinet and returned with a roll of tape.

  “But why aren’t my ribs healing?”

  “You only have four pints of my blood. Not all of it so don’t expect miracles.” She motioned for him to sit up as she re-taped his ribs. “The doctor said NOT to remove the tape. Got it?”

  “Can I…?”

  Sara knew what he was thinking. “No, I’m pretty sure you won’t have any shifting abilities. That isn’t something you can get from my blood.” She returned the tape to the bathroom. Once she was sure he was comfortable, she made her way to the door.

  As her hand reached for the doorknob Dagger said, “Stay.”

  Sara’s breath caught in her throat and she heard her pulse pounding in her ears. She looked over at Dagger to make sure she had heard right. In the past she had thought nothing of waking him by walking into his bedroom with a cup of coffee and sitting on his bed. Why does it feel different now?

  “I don’t know what’s real and what isn’t anymore,” Dagger said.

  Sara released her hold on the doorknob saying, “And lying next to a shapeshifter will give you a grasp of reality…how?”

  Dagger gave a weak laugh to the irony of his statement. Then his face turned serious and he stared at her with an intensity that frightened and thrilled her. “You’re one of the few real things in my life.”

  “On one condition,” she replied. “You take your pain pill.”

  “You know I don’t like those. It makes me sleep too soundly. Then I can’t wake myself from dreams of being stuck one mile below the surface or stuck in the Doomsday Vault.”

  “I’ll wake you out of the nightmare, if that happens. You need as much sleep as possible in order to get your strength back.”

  Dagger relented and took the pain pill, washing it down with half a glass of water. Sara kicked her sandals off and carefully climbed in next to him, fearful of moving the bed too much. His major injury might be healed but his body still showed bruises and his ribs were still tender.

  She stretched out next to him and propped herself up on one elbow. “Is there any part of you that doesn’t hurt?” she asked.

  A slight smile tipped the corner of his mouth as he lifted the baby finger on his left hand. Sara slipped her hand into his and squeezed. If she was fearful of anything, it was what the visit to the city might have done to him.

  “What did Connie show you?” Sara asked.

  “Connie?”

  “The computer, when it was repeating the phrase, I was lonely, it was like you were hypnotized. You just stared as guards tramped down the metal stairs and the minutes ticked off until total destruction. You just stood frozen in place. Afterwards, when Simon got you settled for the ride home from the vet’s, your eyes were shifting left to right as if you were reading instructions.”

  “I did?” Dagger’s puzzlement swiftly changed to relief. “My memory. Connie was starting to give me back my memory.”

  “Your memory?” Sara slowly sat up. “And I cut the power to the computer before it finished? I can’t believe I ruined your only chance...”

  “Don’t blame yourself. With the guards and the bomb, we didn’t have much time to hang around.” Dagger thought of the few snippets he had been able to grasp. The memories hadn’t been in chronological order. He remembered some of the training; he remembered his mother telling him not to reveal that he wasn’t like the others. And he remembered his father finding out that his mother had tampered with the program. Exactly what was his father’s role? Did his father have something to do with his mother’s death? Was that why Dagger had a memory of pressing a gun to his father’s head? So many questions and so few answers.

  “What if she also planned to give you the identities of the players? It was your one chance to expose all of them and I screwed it up.” One lone tear made a lazy trail down her cheek.

  He reached up and wiped the tear away with a finger. “Don’t worry about it, Sara. What’s done is done. Maybe a face in the crowd or a name in the paper might trigger somethin
g someday. Maybe I know more than I can grasp at the moment.”

  “What about your real name? Did the computer reveal that?”

  He tugged at her arm and she reluctantly lay back down. “I kind of like Chase Dagger.” He blinked slowly, either the fatigue or pain pill taking its toll. “Has a nice ring to it.” Then again, all he would ever be was a number...617. That’s all anyone had been. His words were slow and labored. “How do you know the vet won’t say anything?”

  “Because we paid her off.”

  Dagger swung his head toward her. Obviously the pill hadn’t taken that much effect yet since the mention of money always got his attention. “You what?”

  “I gave her the satchel of money for all of her help. She’s in Montana by now scoping out a new animal sanctuary, thanks to you.”

  Dagger gave a weak laugh. “Easy come, easy go.” Blinking started to become an effort. Memories of Connie and the security guards flooded back, the wound he suffered, and his last thoughts as he felt his life drain away. “How old was the vet?”

  “I don’t know, maybe late fifties, early sixties. Why?”

  Dagger took a deep breath and winced as his ribs protested. “I had the strangest dream that I kissed a beautiful angel. She didn’t have gray hair, though.” He closed his eyes, giving up on the effort to keep them open. “I knew when I died I definitely wasn’t going to Heaven so I thought, ‘if this is Hell then I’m definitely staying.’”

  Sara smiled secretly. “They say when you are close to death you are prone to hallucinations.”

  A figure made his way slowly across a dark London street. The rain was a light mist which played havoc on his body. His slight limp was more pronounced than usual. Later the police would blame it on poor visibility that the man didn’t see the vehicle barreling down on him at sixty miles an hour. It hadn’t left skid marks and it was only because of the distance the body had been thrown that authorities could gauge how fast the vehicle was going. The man had died instantly. As yet the victim had not been identified.

  The Cedar Point Police Department was at a loss to explain how a prisoner being transported to the county jail at the crack of dawn had been abducted by three men in a black SUV. The police van had been run off the road by the SUV and tipped over on its side. Witnesses say Donald Thomas, who was due to be arraigned in court at nine o’clock, was reluctant to leave with his rescuers and had screamed for assistance from the police officers who lay unconscious from the accident. Witnesses were unclear as to which direction the SUV had driven. Authorities had yet to locate the vehicle.

  Skizzy stayed up all night searching the Internet for photos from a list he had made of certain names that had popped into his head. Given enough time, he could probably make a lengthy list. At seven o’clock he sat staring at two computer monitors struggling whether to believe he was a genius or totally off the deep end. If anyone would believe him it would be Dagger.

  John Wilkes Booth, Lee Harvey Oswald, Sirhan Sirhan, and Khalid Islambouli who had assassinated Anwar Sadat, were just a few photos he had examined closely, assassinations that affected the course of history. He even found photos of Charles J. Guiteau who assassinated James Garfield in 1841. When it was difficult to find photos from all angles, he was successful in finding autopsy reports.

  Where to go from here, though. Newspapers? They probably control them. Politicians? Some of them are probably members. You Tube? The Internet? Would only force them underground. No, he and Dagger needed to outmaneuver them, to be patient and unpredictable.

  Skizzy returned his attention to the photos on the monitor. What did the future hold for mankind if their lives were in the hands of a select few? Although he wanted to congratulate himself on his brilliance, there was a chill that tamp down any attempt to be too smug. He was still having a hard time believing what he could see right before his eyes.

  Skizzy discovered the one thing these assassins had in common: They each had a scar on the back of his neck.