by Mike McCrary
“Ya don’t say?” Mother drops her fork. “That’s some unconstitutional shit right there.”
“I’m also the one who helped get you out of prison.”
Mother resets. Murphy can’t help but smile.
“So?” Murphy places a hand on his mother’s hand that’s tightly gripping the fork again. “Now that we’re all friendly, what can we help you with, Dr. Peyton?”
“Like some pie?” Mother says through gnashed teeth.
“There’s a potential problem.” Peyton mouths a soft thank you to the waitress as she drops off her coffee. “A rather ugly, potential problem. You know I wouldn’t show up here casually.”
Murphy nods.
Peyton would never simply pop in to say howdy. His fingers spread out on the table seeking stability. Attempting to find calm in the storm as Peyton tells them about the scientists who have been murdered. Explains some of what has happened. That these scientists survived the Brubaker escape and there is one more out there. A lead scientist they can’t find. She also explains the CIA believes others—followers of Brubaker who share Murphy’s mind—are out there roaming the land and they are responsible for the murders of these scientists.
She leaves out the suicide attempt by Brubaker, not knowing the effect that information may have on him. Could potentially be catastrophic. Peyton needs to know more about Murphy’s state of mind.
“Split-heads?” Murphy almost chokes on his pie. “That’s what they’re calling them?”
“Kinda what they’re calling you too,” Peyton adds, taking a bite of his pie.
“Split-heads.” Mother giggles with a mouthful. “That’s so great.”
Murphy’s mind folds in on itself. He’s avoided thinking about the escape and the nasty process of minds mixing. Of his mind being added, blended into other people. Innocent civilians who now share his mindset for killing. He’s pushed down the idea that the work Peyton did had been stolen, mutated, made ugly, and used on Brubaker and others. He feels himself drifting. As if he’s dragging himself away from all that’s happening. Pulling himself to safety, away from the twisted wreckage of reality.
“What does any of that have to do with me?” Murphy asks.
“Is that a serious question?” Peyton asks.
“Felt like a serious question.”
“They are part you, Murphy. You are part them, and they are starting something. No idea what exactly. Seems like they’re working with, or maybe attempting to find, this Ernesto. We don’t know for certain.”
“We?” Murphy says, putting his hand up. “You full-blown CIA now?”
“No.” Peyton wants to avoid him baiting her into a fight. “Work with, not for.”
Murphy shrugs. If you say so.
“Murphy,” Peyton continues, “please make no mistake, there is without question something going on and it is not good.”
“Sounds just like a job for the big bad CIA.”
“Big bad.” Mother giggles again.
Peyton glances toward Mother, then back to Murphy.
“You can’t act like this has no effect on you.”
“Not an act.” Murphy signals for the check.
Peyton takes a deep breath.
“Murphy, they sent me here to talk to you.” She holds her hands out in front of her as if asking for a reset. “There’s someone new in charge of this. Agent Margo Darby. She sent me here to try and convince you to help us.”
“There’s that word again,” Murphy snaps. “You and another agent asked for my help not that long ago. You remember any of that?”
“I do.”
“Good. So, you will completely understand when I politely request that you tell Agent Margo Darby and Operation Split-Head to fuck the fuck off.”
Murphy tosses some cash on the check, then shoves back hard from the table. The back of the chair bounces off the tile as he walks out the door.
Mother chews her pie. Drinks her coffee.
Peyton stares at the empty space where Murphy sat only seconds ago.
Mother stands up, placing a soft hand on Peyton’s shoulder.
“He’s talked about you,” Mother says. “Said some nice things, actually. Fairly rare for him.”
“That’s the nice part of him talking.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right about that.” Mother considers. Stops, then says it anyway. “I should probably thank you. Whatever you did worked. Or I should say, is working. He’s a mess of biblical proportions, but he’s better than he was.”
Peyton fights a smile, but she can’t fight the warmth spreading through her. The feeling your work did some good is pretty powerful. Even with its flaws. Even after all that’s happened.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Depends, Dr. Peyton.”
“Is he…” Chooses her words. “Is he having problems?”
“Really?”
“I mean is he having problems with the change?” Peyton tries to lock into her eyes. “It’s important. I need to know if you’ve seen any problems with how he’s handling the mental changes.”
Mother stares at her. Tries not to show it on her face, but she can’t hold it back. She thinks of what she’s seen. The nightmares. The firing range. The boxing ring.
With eyes full, Mother gives a single nod.
Peyton nods back, not pressing her for more.
“This isn’t over. Is it, Dr. Peyton?”
Peyton picks up a fork, stealing another bite off Murphy’s plate. “Not even close.”
Chapter 13
The safe house is more like a barn.
“Guess safe barn doesn’t sound as cool,” Tinker whispers to Hiro.
The vacant farm looks like it was abandoned some time ago. American farming took a nosedive years ago. The few that could survive consolidated, leaving the rest to wither and fade. The moon hangs above, framing the remains of a large, two-story home that looks like it would fall over if you clapped your hands too close to it. Blown-out windows with rags posing as curtains sway in the night breeze. Acres and acres of open land surround the broken-down home with patches of grass peppering the dirt with stubborn blades of brownish-green. A poor showing of the last bit of life that clings to this once-proud farm.
Despite the appearance of the house, the barn is in far better condition.
Its all-metal construction still has some shine to it under the starry night sky. Not in amazing shape, small spots of rust here and there, but unlike the house, the roof at least seems intact.
“Must have been built a couple of years ago. If not sooner.” Tinker pushes his chin toward the barn. “Looks less like shit.”
Hiro nods.
They circled the area three times.
Arrived here about an hour before the scheduled meet time so they could be sure. Allowed them time to inspect all the angles of the farm and a half-mile radius of the property. Doing what they could to make sure they weren’t walking into some sort of bloodbath ambush. Unlikely, considering Lady Brubaker gave them this location, but anything is possible given all that’s happened.
Trust but verify.
Tinker and Hiro stand amongst the trees about a hundred yards from the entrance to the barn. A cool wind blows, moving the tree limbs and creating a shadowy dance around them.
Tinker checks his phone.
“It’s time.”
Hiro nods.
They pull their guns.
Neither one likes the exposure time this is going to require. They will be moving without cover for longer than anyone would consider comfortable. Being out in the open for the amount of time it’s going to require for them to get from where they are to the barn is not a strong tactical move. The problem is, there’s no other way. The barn is almost exactly in the middle of the open land and where they are standing is the shortest distance to it.
Maybe that was the idea.
This is a smart, safe spot that’s been chosen. But safe for whom is the big question. Certainly not for Tinker and Hi
ro. Brubaker will be able to see them, or whoever, clearly in all directions. No way for anyone to sneak up. She’ll be able to react to whatever is coming her way. Brubaker was, and still is, the smartest person in most rooms.
Smart safe barn, indeed.
Tinker and Hiro decide that staying low and moving with purpose is the best and only way to go. Hiro will watch their backs while Tinker scans the area as they move forward. They will be sitting ducks for a full minute, maybe two if the terrain is rougher than expected. They will run hard and shoot first if necessary.
Again, they have no choice.
They talked about not showing up. About just avoiding this meeting altogether. They have some money. They have weapons. Do they really need this meeting? Can’t they go and make a life without this? It wasn’t a long discussion—meaning Tinker talked and Hiro listened and nodded—but they both agreed they needed to, at the very least, show up to the meeting.
A light flickers from inside the barn.
Tinker stops holding up a fist. Hiro stops cold.
The barn’s light peeks through the cracks, giving an eerie strobe to the open field before the light finally stays on. The large steel door rolls open, but no one can be seen clearly inside. Tinker can make out two hints of shadows at the edges.
“I count two inside.”
Hiro studies the light inside the barn. Then holds up two fingers, confirming Tinker’s assessment. Tinker shakes his head, not liking this one bit.
Hiro doesn’t either.
They recheck the loads of their guns, take a deep breath, then continue pushing toward the barn. Only faster now. Tinker moves up to the side of the wide-open door as Hiro takes a position farther back that gives him a clear sight line of the door.
Tinker looks back to Hiro.
Hiro nods, taking aim at the open barn door with a two-handed grip. Tinker raises his gun, deep breath, then spins into the barn.
A single lightbulb hangs down by an orange cord.
Standing under it are two men.
One is calm and cool. Slicked-back hair. Nice suit. Hands stuffed inside his pockets while rocking back and forth on his heels. Tinker has never seen him before. However, the man standing next to him Tinker does recognize. Can’t remember his name, but he knows he’s one of Brubaker’s people.
He’s like Tinker and Hiro.
Mr. Madness turns to Tinker, removing his fingers from the gun tucked behind his back.
“You know this man?” Mr. Madness asks Tinker, motioning to the other man.
Tinker breathes slightly easier seeing the recognition in the eyes of Mr. Madness. Calling him a friendly face is a stretch, but at least they know one another. Tinker studies the calm, cool man with olive skin in the nice suit. He shakes his head no, then motions outside for Hiro to join them.
“Irving.” Agent Irving offers his hand knowing Tinker won’t shake it. “I was just telling your friend and colleague here that I’m with the CIA.”
“Why hello, Agent Irving.” Tinker raises his gun, wanting to shoot the smile off Irving’s face.
Irving places his hands back in his pockets, never breaking away from cool.
Hiro enters the barn with his aim dead at Irving’s head.
Mr. Madness gives Hiro a nod.
“I’m on your side, Tinker. You too, Hiro.” Irving gives a toothy smile with a cock to his head. “Please, there’s no need for guns and hard words.”
“He might be okay.” Mr. Madness gives vague validation. “Tell them what you told me, Agent Irving.”
“I’m the one who sent those messages,” Irving says. “The time-bomb messages.”
“You?” Tinker lowers his gun. “Thought those were from her.”
Hiro does not lower his weapon.
“Her?” Irving asks, then resets. “Oh, you mean Brubaker. It is her message, but I’m the messenger. I slipped that phone in your pocket at the naked lady joint.” Leaning against a rusted-out piece of farm equipment. “Pretty slick, right?”
Tinker remembers the drunk who slammed into him at the bar.
“We needed to see where your heads were at, so to speak. I realize that’s a loaded statement if ever there was one.”
“You testing us?” Tinker sneers.
“More or less. You all passed, by the way.” Agent Irving shrugs. “We really wanted to see what you’re capable of out there in the field.”
Tinker thumbs between himself and Hiro. “So you had us take out that guy at the hotel?”
“Threw him out a window.” Irving laughs. “Literally raining men.”
No one shares his laughter. Hiro knows it was a balcony—technically—but lets it go.
“Sorry.” Irving cuts his laughter short. “It’s an old pop song—”
“We know,” Hiro says, regripping his gun. Keeping his aim on Agent Irving’s head.
“Wow. Didn’t know that one talked.” Irving turns to Mr. Madness. “And you. You, we wanted to see if you could rise up and take out two all by your lonesome.”
“And I did. Easily.” Mr. Madness’s stare is blank. “Who were these people you had us kill?”
“Surprised you gents didn’t recognize them.”
“How’s that?” Tinker asks.
“They were scientists who did some work on your brains.” Irving plops a stick of gum in his mouth, then offers the pack to them.
Tinker looks to Hiro. Hiro lowers his gun.
“Where is she?” Mr. Madness asks.
“Who?”
“Brubaker.”
“Oh.” Special Agent Irving chews. “They’ve got her locked up.”
“You talk to her?” Mr. Madness bites back his excitement.
“Every day.”
Mr. Madness feels a flash of heat rush inside of him. There’s a tingle to his stomach. He can’t place the emotion exactly, but it feels a lot like jealousy. Heat flashes to his face. This man, this Agent Irving, gets to spend time with Brubaker.
“Look, guys.” Irving pushes off from the tractor. “We’re only trying to continue the good work she started—”
“You keep saying we.” Tinker’s anxious energy rises as he bounces on the balls of his feet. “Who does that include exactly?”
“There’s the billion-dollar question.” Irving snaps, pointing a finger at Tinker. “You see, a few people barely escaped that massacre at the lab that day.” He holds up a hand. “Now, I completely understand why you and your buddies did what you did, mind you. The frustration must have been enormous. But these folks survived the slaughter. So, we gave you an opportunity to finish the job—kind of.”
“You keep talking in circles, man.” Tinker starts to finger his gun.
Hiro does the same.
Mr. Madness crosses his arms. Wants to hear more.
“You’re right. I’ll tighten it up. Another doctor. A man of science.” Irving holds up an old-school black-and-white photo. “Sorry for the ancient medium, but digital can’t really be trusted given the circumstance. CIA has all kinds of fun gadgets.”
They all stare at the photo.
It’s like the three of them are seeing a ghost.
“Now, do you remember this large-brained man?”
“Ernesto,” escapes Mr. Madness’s lips.
Agent Irving snaps his fingers again, points to Mr. Madness.
“What is all this?” Tinker asks. “What do you two want?”
“There’s more work to be done.” Irving sets the photo down. “We can continue. We can expand what Brubaker started.”
“Can you get her out?” Mr. Madness can’t hide the schoolboy sound to his voice. “Can we talk to her?”
“I can and you will.”
Tinker and Hiro share a look.
“There’s a catch. Kind of a big one.” Irving bounces his eyebrows. “There are more people that need to go away.”
“Who?” Tinker asks.
“One will be a little more challenging than the other.”
“Who is it?” Tinker
squeezes his fists until his knuckles pop.
“Markus Murphy.”
The name hangs in the air.
“You know the gravity of that request?” Mr. Madness asks.
Agent Irving nods.
“Why does Murphy need to go away?” Tinker asks.
“He’s the alpha for the other side of the equation.” Irving starts to move around the barn. “Murphy is the holder of all the science for them. Without Murphy, the CIA has nothing. They can’t crack Brubaker.”
Mr. Madness smiles. A flutter in his stomach. She’s too strong.
“So, he represents the only research avenue for them,” Irving continues. “They monitor his vitals, his biology, everything about him. They use this data to alter and perfect what they’re doing. Sad thing is Murphy doesn’t even really know it’s happening. Poor bastard thinks he’s free.” Irving stops, taking a dramatic pause. “As long as he’s alive, the CIA will continue their work and keep us from ours.”
Tinker, Hiro, and Mr. Madness listen. Something in his words does not ring true.
“And the other person you say needs to go away?” Mr. Madness asks.
“Another scientist. Named Peyton.” Irving shows them another photo.
Mr. Madness nods. He remembers seeing Murphy with this woman in Central Park shortly before all hell broke loose.
“There’s been a hard-hitting agent assigned to this. Margo Darby. She will not stop until you people—” Irving holds up a hand as if asking for a reset. “Sorry. She will not rest until you fine gentlemen are in the ground. They’ve already started looking for you.”
The three share looks.
“Don’t worry. I was obsessively thorough when covering up the mess you created. There was a whole lot of digital footage of you taking the lives of those scientists that needed a good scrubbing. But I can only do so much, and it is only a matter of time before the wrong people start asking the right questions.”
“You’re full of shit,” Tinker says. “You are holding back some serious chunks of information here.”
Hiro nods.
“Full transparency on this side of the conversation, my good man.”
“Bullshit,” Hiro says.
“Always shocked when he speaks.” Irving smirks.