Marcus cocked the gun, still pointed at Fin. “Shut up!”
“I figured if Fin could make her sound like that, I ought to be able to make her howl.”
Marcus pointed the gun at Kyle.
“I haven’t yet,” Kyle said hastily.
“What did you do to my girlfriend?” Fin asked.
The gun swung back to him.
Kyle looked smug. “She went with me willingly enough. She is cute, but not exactly my type. Nipple ring would have to go, for one thing.”
Marcus belted him with the gun.
Kyle shook off the blow and glared at them. “She’s a good kisser, once you’re past the biting stage. Smells good, too.”
Marcus raised the gun to strike again but Kyle quickly said, looking at Fin, “Maybe we can have a three-way, since she’s moving in with you.”
Marcus hesitated, but only because he couldn’t decide which one of them to whack first. Fin was impressed by the depths to which Kyle had sunk. Kyle watched alertly to see what the next move would be. The gun again pointed at Fin.
“She’s not moving in with you,” Marcus said with barely contained anger. “We’re not breaking up.”
“Sure aren’t getting back together until we find her.” The gun didn’t move. Fin sighed. He addressed Kyle. “Let me show you how to avoid being shot.”
He sat on the coffee table again and said to Marcus, “Besides me, how many leads do you have? Now you’ve already beaten me savagely, and heck, let’s set a date to do it again. Why not? But if you don’t stick with our agenda right now it’s rather pointless.”
Marcus growled. He struck Kyle across the face, knocking him flat. He placed the muzzle of the gun against Kyle’s head. Kyle didn’t move. Fin couldn’t tell if he was conscious.
Marcus said, without looking back at Fin, “I can do this without your help. Leave now if you want to.”
Fin studied Kyle with detached fascination. He said, “I’m none too thrilled about teaming up either. But,” he looked at Marcus, confident he was being regarded in the other’s peripheral vision, “I think it’s her best chance.”
The door crashed in without warning. Before they had time to react, Marcus and Fin were surrounded by men in dark body armor and gleaming visors, pointing high-tech small arms at their heads.
Marcus set the pistol down and placed his hands on his head. Fin sat absolutely still. Marcus’s wrists were grabbed and he was shoved off of Kyle, who stood up with minimal difficulty. He gave Fin a look that deserved a good whack with a crowbar and tapped his watch.
“At the tone, you’re utterly fucked. Beep.” Kyle drifted out of the room.
*** *** ***
Shaw sat at his battered steel desk after they’d taken the girl away. The old factory was furnished entirely in battered steel, which crystallized for Shaw why he preferred the warm glow of fine wood. He laid both hands on the blotter and tried to achieve calm.
Useless.
He stood and paced. At the window he stopped and looked down at the work floor. The technicians sat at their table, headphones clamped on, fingers tapping away on their keyboards. On the platform there were only two men at the production stations, soldering the tiny angel pins and pendants. Shaw’s mind wanted to turn to managerial concerns, but he refused it. The girl held more importance right now.
He needed to know who she was, really, to determine whether she represented a threat, but how could he when even she didn’t know?
Her name should have been the easiest answer to get.
She’d furrowed her brow for a long time and Shaw thought she wasn’t going to reply. Slowly she chanted, “I am Rook. I am Raven. I am Brook. I am Bramble. I am Brandy. Moon. Brandymoon. Brook Bramble Brandymoon. I am Coyote’s Raven. Rook. Raven. Brook. Rook. Black tower. Black bird. Tower bird. London Bridge is falling down...”
He had silenced her. Too much and too little information. Unprecedented. Delving deeper into her mind to untangle things, Shaw encountered a landscape unlike any he’d ever seen. False structures and abandoned facades dotted the tangled, black forest. Shaw realized this poor creature had built herself an elaborate defense system, and he wanted to know why. Some searching uncovered the core structure of her mind which was further evidence of over-zealous self-preservation. It had no portal. This girl was overprotected by her mother in certain aspects of her childhood, but woefully underprotected in others. She had tried to protect herself and overreacted, desperately wanted to be in charge of her own identity. Shaw knew somewhere nearby would be evidence of discarded personae. If he could locate them, he might be able to help her.
Unfortunately, this was not the time. Shaw had an agenda and it did not involve resolving an identity crisis.
This pathetic creature was brought in because the intelligence division claimed she had knowledge of the program, an assertion Shaw now saw was laughably overstated.
Through the lengthy interrogation, he determined she was a reporter of some kind, though her ‘real job’ involved creating chaos, saving humanity, and poking holes in people. She was investigating something at Buckminster University involving dream control, spaceships, and the budget, but she was just making it up. The great irony was, in her day job as a body piercer, she played an integral part in Shaw’s plans to disperse his wondrous devices to the unwashed masses, and yet her suspicions were turned in entirely the wrong direction. She had personally done enough to advance Shaw’s holy agenda that, by rights, she should be named employee of the month, and yet she blamed Buckminster University for her paranoid delusions.
His people would explore the few names she mentioned. He didn’t expect to turn anything up, but needed to be thorough. The program was moving along nicely and he didn’t want to overlook anything that might jeopardize its implementation.
Returning to his desk, he turned his thoughts to the girl’s first kidnapping, if that was indeed what it had been. She’d been drugged and her recollections were suspect. Shaw felt all but certain he knew who did it, but was baffled as to why. She clearly wasn’t a member of Gregory’s coterie. Were they perhaps trying to recruit her?
His intercom buzzed and he received the first good news of the night. Perhaps these two his ambitious squad leader was bringing in would explain everything. It seemed that someone else was in the running for employee of the month.
Chapter Nine
SANDCASTLE
In researching this work, I traveled to Blessed, Missouri and interviewed the few remaining residents who remember the day the charismatic, pious young man named Brian Shaw first arrived in town. With the help of a Forestry Service map of the area, I found the site of Shaw Oracle, several days’ hike out of Blessed in a rocky, inhospitable valley. Nature has all but reclaimed the original twelve cultivated acres, but there is evidence of the past. Charred foundations remain from one large and several smaller buildings. And there are many graves.
from Brainwashed by Julie Rome, ©1998 Futhark Press
Fin came around in a shaking and leaning room. There was a loud, low, growling noise and several sudden bumps. He was in the back of a panel truck, bound in some sort of straitjacket, with a bag over his head.
Sitting up took a determined effort. The truck’s engine reached a steady note and the ride became smoother. They were on a highway.
The injection had been a fast-acting sedative, a synthetic to judge from the dizzy residual high and metallic taste in his mouth. Probably would have kept a normal adult under for several hours. Fin’s hunch was he’d been out for five or ten minutes.
“Is that you, Fin?”
“Marcus?”
“This is ugly. Big time ugly shit. If you know what any of this is about, you need to tell me. Probably makes no difference, but I can’t stand wondering.”
Fin shifted over awkwardly to lean against the side of the truck. He wanted a smoke. “Why do you think I would know what my brother is up to?”
“I sure as hell don’t.”
Fin wished he k
new enough to affect a cavalier attitude. The attitude remained an option, of course, but with no inside knowledge to back it up, it wouldn’t carry well. “We need a plan. Knowing something about Kyle’s agenda would be great, but we’ll have to make do with my intuition.”
After a long pause, Marcus asked, “Would I be better off sticking to my own devices?”
Fin snorted. “You broke in.”
“What?”
“You entered my chaos stream, and now you think I might not be the key to your survival.”
“Good point.”
Fin was a little nonplussed.
Marcus continued, “There must be some patterns you can see here. Alright, so now there’s some type of mercenary twist on those patterns. Granted. But, if we’re trusting your intuition, can you at least give me a taste?”
“Marcus, I really have no fucking clue. I fucked up.”
“No, no.” Marcus sounded eager to keep Fin talking. “You were right all the way. You knew he’d taken Rook. The fireworks were my department. We’re not dead yet.” Fin smirked at that, thinking it wouldn’t be long now. Marcus went on, “Does this situation remind you of anything? Even way back? He’s your brother.”
“Half-brother.” Fin scanned a rapid flash of teenage memories, all with Kyle doing things he couldn’t, or wouldn’t. Sports, shallow friends, trophy girlfriends, sucking up to teachers and egging their cars with his buddies later. Definitely a pattern. “The knee.”
Marcus prompted, “Kyle’s? Yours?”
“His. Took him off the scholarship fast-track, which effectively negated his social existence for a while. Pruned his network.”
“Does it still hurt?”
Fin scowled. “Yes, but you’re missing the point. He found a surrogate for football. One thing Kyle understands, it’s toadies. He is one himself, instinctively, and he needs his own little troupe.”
“Okay...”
“This GI Joe shit is how he gets his fix, now that he can’t get it on the field. Or off for that matter.” Fin enjoyed putting Kyle under a microscope. What did Kyle want, besides lots of uncritical acquaintances? “He wants to move up. Wherever he is right now isn’t high enough, so we’re most likely to be some kind of offering to his dark master. He brings in everything, simpering for approval.”
“Everything?”
“Rook.”
“You’re sure?”
Fin shouted, “No! How the fuck can I be sure about any of this?”
“You sounded sure a second ago!”
“Then why did you ask?” Fin retorted.
“He knows we know, I mean he’d be taking us right to her.”
“I notice you didn’t say, ‘I miss her.’”
That one found its mark, and they were both silent for a time.
Marcus finally sighed. “What should I do?”
Fin narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips, noting that his shrewd expressions were going to waste at the moment. He said, “You’re letting me call all the shots?”
“I’m just looking for ideas here. Can’t say whether I’ll stick with you once the shit hits.”
“You won’t. But you don’t have a clue what to expect.”
“Well bring me up to speed.”
“Play it cool. I’ll improvise.”
“Christ!” Marcus sounded disgusted. “Okay. Today is the day. You’re an asshole.”
“What day?”
“The day somebody calls your bluff. Do you think these people are gonna fuck up and let you waltz away? Maybe they’ll be so entertained by your yammering that you can trick them? Wake up. I thought I saw signs of something, a spark of true knowledge. I was thinking you put on an idiot act to keep people guessing.”
“Guess again.”
“Yeah, that’s the incomparable wit of Fin Tanner that’ll get you out of any mess. Boy, are these guys in trouble now!”
“Fine. Don’t listen. Make your own luck.”
“I’ll take mine over yours.”
“You still don’t know what I plan to do.”
“Neither do you. That’s what ‘improvise’ means.”
“No. Improvisation is deeply informed, not random. To improvise is to create, making something out of nothing. Do you think making up the notes as you go is the easiest way to play? Does the name Miles Davis mean anything to you?”
Marcus chuckled. “I never said you don’t put on a good show. Hell, I can’t wait to see what you end up trying. I just don’t want my life depending on it.”
“Too bad.”
“Let me tell you what I plan to do. I plan to play ’possum, and listen for them to leave me unguarded. Then I’ll take my chance.”
“Sounds reasonable.”
“So you still don’t have any idea?”
“Oh. Sure. I’m going to mess with their brains when they question me. Just a stall tactic, of course. I’ll make my move when the commandos storm the building.”
“Commandos?” Marcus said sarcastically. “I’ve obviously underestimated you.”
“Never underestimate chaos.”
The truck slowed and made a tight right turn, crept along. Vibrations shook the vehicle as it drove over an uneven surface before stopping. Fin laid back down.
The back of the truck opened, introducing new acoustics. After a brief pause a voice piped up, “Put ’em in number two?”
Fin got an icy jolt — Kyle’s voice, right beside him, “Let’s not waste any time. We’ll take the ’possum here up first. As soon as Shaw finishes with him, send the other one up.”
The disembodied voice of his evil half-twin echoed in Fin’s head, trying to connect with something important.
“You morons all forget how to do your jobs?”
Connection made. The men who’d torched the office. Fin felt ill.
“Get this one upstairs,” Kyle continued. “Keep the other one quiet and wait until Shaw is ready for him. Don’t fuck up. Simple enough?”
Unseen hands dragged Fin to the tailgate and left him to droop over the edge and slouch with a graceless thud onto the concrete floor. He heard muffled thrashing and cursing as Marcus was unloaded.
*** *** ***
Kyle ascended the staircase to the third floor. At the top, he rapped on the door. Two henchmen lugged Marcus along behind.
The door opened. “Welcome, and hello. Bring him in,” Shaw said.
Kyle hadn’t met the reverend before, and had not formed any ideas about what he might be like. He entered, stepping aside to let the others bring Marcus in. “Here’s one of them. I doubt it’s worth your time to question him.”
Shaw beamed at him and brushed off all this shop talk with an effete gesture. Looking over at the guards, he said, “Make yourselves comfortable. I’ll be ready to start in a few minutes.” The guards shrugged and moved to a large brown sofa, where they sat and dumped Marcus on the floor. The spacious room had a huge window overlooking the old work floor. Recessed lights created pools of brightness in the dim lair. An imposing desk sat somewhat forlornly in the center of the room, and two austere black chairs faced it. Shaw stationed himself behind his desk, and stood there leaning on it as if at a pulpit. His suit didn’t bunch up at the shoulders, which Kyle knew meant it wasn’t off-the-rack.
The lighting gave Shaw an aura, or at least Kyle assumed it was the lighting. He sported a substantial quantity of gold jewelry, but it worked. Kyle remembered hearing Shaw was a TV preacher, and decided he looked the part. With a start he realized Shaw had been speaking to him for at least a minute. He couldn’t tell if the man was self-absorbed, or just supremely patient and polite with inattentive underlings.
“Don’t let it worry you,” Shaw said. “My message has a way of sinking in.”
Kyle blinked.
“Sit in that chair,” Shaw said calmly. Kyle was appalled with himself for the undignified way he scampered to take a seat. He sat fuming.
“Now relax,” Shaw soothed. “I brought you here because I’m interested in you.
Your recent exploits are almost too good to be true and I simply can’t take any chances.”
Settling primly into his enormous chair, Shaw signaled to the guards, who brought Marcus forward, struggling. The guards unhooded him when they’d reached a position in front of the desk. He looked frenzied, eyes bulging and teeth bared like a cornered dog’s.
At a subtle shift of Shaw’s dispassionate gaze, the two men shoved Marcus down into the available seat. Kyle watched, blank-faced, as Shaw began to speak. The evangelist started with a standard summary of his captive’s situation, underscoring the futility of plotting an escape. He worked outward, mentioning Marcus’s restraints first, then the guards, then the locked door, then the many more armed personnel, and the remote location of the factory. Shaw was a natural orator. His voice alone held power. Marcus now looked merely wary.
Shaw continued his monologue, describing the immenseness of the continent, and the greater immenseness of the Earth’s mantel. He spoke of the elegant ballet of rotation and revolution performed by the planets, condensing all their graceful curves into a single web of meaning. Impressed, Kyle wondered if anyone else noticed how far off-topic the boss had wandered.
Dismissing the guards, Shaw stood and stated to Marcus, “You cannot lie to me, and you cannot refuse me.”
“Fuck you!” Marcus said, flashing an unsteady grin.
“Sure, you can swear at me. No problem. Now let’s have some fun. How did you trace your little sweetmeat back to Kyle?”
Marcus’s sneer turned into an agonized grimace. He took a sudden deep breath and looked almost imploringly at Shaw. He worked his jaw like he was choking or about to be sick. In a retching voice he said, “Fin just knew. Fucking slippery... persuasive... little shit...”
With an expression of minor offense, Shaw said, “Excellent, thanks. Save the editorials for another time, and for God’s sake relax. You’ll have a stroke.”
In another two minutes Shaw confirmed the dirty details of Fin, Marcus and Rook’s little triangle, so far as Marcus understood them, and satisfied himself that seeking the girl was his sole motive for ambushing Kyle. Marcus never did relax his will against answering, and at times his words were interspersed with shrieks and screams. These sounds didn’t produce any visible response in Shaw.
Miss Brandymoon's Device: a novel of sex, nanotech, and a sentient lava lamp (Divided Man Book 1) Page 11