Cracks in Reality (Seams in Reality Book 2) (17 page)

"I can handle that."

"Not you," Richard said. "It's too easy for you. Charley, I want you to try."

"Me?" Charley said. "But mental manipulation isn't my specialty. I'm just along for the ride."

"I think you can do it. Begin."

"OK. I'll give it a shot."

"Just remember," Richard said, "your mind is much more powerful than his. Be gentle. Don't make the damage worse."

Andrew heard a loud snap. He looked back and saw Charley had broken free of her restraints. She climbed out of the car and walked along the side as if gravity had just rotated ninety degrees. She reached the front of the car and turned to face Cunningham. In real life, she would've fallen off instantly, but the delusion was more like a dream. Belief made anything possible.

"Look at me," Charley said. "Watch closely."

Cunningham turned his head, but Andrew couldn't see his face from behind.

Charley moved her arms around like a clock, ticking on a regular beat. They bent at the elbows in an impossible manner.

"Tick, tock," she said, "see the clock. Nine, ten, 'round again. Truth I will unlock."

Andrew smiled.
Nice,
he thought.

Charley continued, "You can get off this rollercoaster. This world is inside your mind. It's just a bad dream. You can change it."

Cunningham shook his head. "I can't!"

"Of course you can. You're a brave man, a federal agent. Be courageous for just one moment. That's all it will take to break the spell."

Charley's eyes became clocks which ticked in time with her hands. It was a captivating image.
For somebody who isn't good at mental manipulation,
Andrew thought,
she's pretty good.

"I'll try," Cunningham said weakly.

For a long moment, everybody rode the rollercoaster. It passed through clouds, dropped, and skimmed the ocean at impossible speeds. Andrew was actually enjoying himself. It was a fun ride.

The coaster car slowed down. After a moment, it rolled to a stop at a station. The bars released, and everybody stood up.

The delusion faded away.

Andrew was back on the green fields of Manassas. He had no idea how much time had passed, but the sun hadn't moved.

Tears were running down Cunningham's cheeks. "Thank you," he croaked. "Thank you!"

He shuffled forward and tried to give Charley a hug, but his hands were still shackled.

She gave him a hug instead. "Just doing my job."

"And doing it well," Richard added.

Andrew was proud of her.

Richard looked at the female agent. "You're next."

O'Bryan tried to raise her hands defensively. "No!"

"Just hold still."

The three sorcerers went into her mind. She was terrified of frogs, and her delusion was being trapped in a swamp full of them. Charley took the lead again and healed O'Bryan's mind. Charley had a gentle touch which Andrew decided to emulate once in a while.

When it was over, O'Bryan was sobbing like a baby, but they were tears of relief and release. She had been stuck in a nightmare for weeks.

Andrew gave Charley a congratulatory kiss.

"You can come back!" Richard yelled to Webster. "We're done!"

The director and his agents walked back to the seam.

"Report," Webster said.

"They were under mind-control," Richard said, "but we broke the spell. Actually, Charley did. They'll tell the truth now."

O'Bryan was still crying, but Cunningham had recovered his composure.

"My most profound apologies, sir," he said to Webster. "He caught us by surprise. We should've been more suspicious."

"Just tell me exactly what happened," Webster said.

"A man came into the house. He used some kind of psychic attack on O'Bryan and me. He took Phillip and ordered us to cover it up. We had no choice."

"What did the man look like?"

"He had a black mustache," Cunningham said.

"Wait," Richard said. "I can pull the memory from your mind."

He closed his eyes and held up his right hand. A face appeared floating in the air. It was just an illusion, but it was still a remarkable effect.

"Whoa," Andrew said. "That's a cool spell!"

"Thank you," Richard said. "I'm rather proud of it."

Andrew studied the image. Many details were indistinct, but there was still plenty to see. It showed a man with blue eyes, a black mustache, and black hair. A wart on his forehead was obviously fake.

"It could be Blake in disguise," Andrew said.

"It is," Richard said. "I recognize the structure of his face, and he had a portable seam."

"But why kidnap Phillip?" Charley said.

"I remember hearing about one of the infernal arts a long time ago," Andrew said. "Linking?"

"That's right," Richard said. "When one sorcerer exploits another to enhance his own talent. It's a highly unethical form of telepathy. Blake might intend to turn Phillip into a kind of mind-slave. The technique would effectively double Blake's power."

"That's awful," Charley said.

"Indeed, but it's just the sort of thing Blake would do. He would need a big seam though. The Russian Eye isn't powerful enough for such an elaborate spell."

Webster's phone rang. He answered the call, and as he listened, his expression became grim.

After the call ended, he said, "That was the blood lab. They discovered an entire team in Lincoln, Nebraska has been sending in suspicious blood samples for three weeks."

"What's in Lincoln?" Andrew said.

"A big seam," Cunningham said. "It's the nearest one to Aurora."

Webster nodded. "Blake, again. Andrew and Charley, go there. Help clean up the mess. See if you can uncover any leads. We have to kick this investigation into high gear
now
."

* * *

Blake and Phillip were walking across the Arizona desert towards the Titan II missile silo. Even though it was technically the middle of winter, the air was warm and dry. Blake didn't usually enjoy being outdoors, but the pleasant weather forced him to smile nonetheless. He saw a lizard sunning itself on a rock.
That's the life,
he thought.
No ambitions. No stress.

The manager for the massive silo remodel project accompanied Blake and Phillip. The manager was a small man with a big beard and a bigger personality. He always moved quickly as if in a great hurry. He was wearing a plaid shirt, jeans, boots, and a hardhat. His name was Mr. Griffith.

"Are we on schedule?" Blake said.

"Pretty much," Griffith said.

"That's not the strong, confident answer I was looking for."

"Digging the new tunnel is more challenging than we expected. We keep hitting solid granite."

The three of them reached the edge of the huge hole where a Titan II missile had once stood. A massive concrete slab could slide across the top of the hole, but the mechanism had rusted, and the slab hadn't budged in many years. That would get fixed. Scaffolding was bolted to the cylindrical wall of the hole, but most of it had also rusted and had fallen off.

The site was clean though. Workers had scrubbed every surface with sand and steam until it almost looked new. Every bit of debris had been hauled away.

"I'm sure a clever man like you can deal with some stubborn rocks," Blake said.

"It comes down to cost," Griffith said. "Boring through stubborn rocks takes money. The budget..."

"There is no budget. Spend what it takes. Mr. Panetta will happily write a bigger check if I tell him to."

Griffith raised his eyebrows in surprise.

Blake glanced back at his two bodyguard-assassins who were following at a polite distance. One was missing his eyebrows, and the other had scars all over his arms.

"Stay close," Blake told them.

Blake, Griffith, Phillip, and the two assassins rode a temporary elevator down to the bottom of the hole. The sounds of hammering, cutting, and drilling were loud. The entire underground complex was getting a makeover.

Blake looked down the tunnel leading to the bunker where the missile crew had once lived. Bright blue arcs from welding torches lit the confined space. Workers had removed all the original pipes and ductwork, and shiny new pipes were taking their place. The workers were also installing blast doors made of stainless steel and weighing many tons. Blake smiled.

"Let's take a look at those stubborn rocks," he said.

He faced the other direction. A new tunnel was being cut into bedrock starting at the bottom of the silo. The enormous tunnel was fifty feet tall and as wide as the silo itself. The tunnel had a square profile with smooth walls and clean corners.

The group walked down the tunnel. Griffith gave Phillip curious looks but said nothing.

"We're also having some difficulty getting all the parts for the moving platform," Griffith said.

"Why?" Blake said. "It's basically just a heavy-duty cart."

"With a hundred-ton capacity, solid rubber wheels, and a silent electric motor."

"It's not like I'm asking you to build a rocket to the moon. I just need to move a pile of cargo down the tunnel without anybody hearing it."

"Why?" Griffith said. "If I understood the purpose of the project, I might find better solutions to some of these issues."

"You're not being paid to understand. You're being paid to
do
."

They reached the current end of the tunnel, and the noise was deafening. Giant jackhammers mounted on hydraulic arms were carving out softer rock, and blasting holes were being drilled in harder material. Water sprayed from fire hoses kept the dust down. Bucket loaders carried off the broken rock. The workers wore ear protection, face masks, and yellow rain coats.

Blake nodded with satisfaction. He had performed as a stage magician thousands of times and had earned many awards. He knew the greatest tricks weren't necessarily complicated. A single deceptive move was sufficient in the right context. In this case, he merely intended to make a rabbit vanish from a box, except the box was a Titan II missile complex, and the rabbit was the contents of the BPI Vault. The principle was the same though.

Blake looked down at Phillip. The man and the boy were wearing identical black business suits. When they walked, their footsteps fell in perfect harmony, but Phillip took exactly two steps for every one of Blake's.

"You have any questions?" Blake said.

Phillip shook his head. "I'm ready to move on."

"Then let's go. We have so much to do."

Chapter Eight

The car drove into an industrial park in Lincoln, Nebraska. Andrew looked out the window at metal buildings which appeared to be warehouses. They were painted white, light orange, or blue, and patches of rust showed through in spots. One building had a giant American flag painted on the side. Huge lawns and parking lots created plenty of open space, and the few, scattered trees looked lonely.

Dan was driving, and Tungsten was riding shotgun. They were wearing the standard blue suits of federal agents, but Andrew knew they had extra weapons tucked away in odd locations.

Charley was in the back seat with Andrew. She had a white sweater, but it was puffier than usual because of body armor underneath. He also wore body armor beneath his black shirt. The heavy nylon fabric trapped sweat and made him itch mercilessly. The unfamiliar weight of a gun in a holster also bugged him. He didn't understand how police could dress this way all the time.

The car approached a building with "Tad's Truck Parts and Supplies" on a big red sign. Andrew could tell it was their destination with his eyes closed. A seam shaped like a human heart throbbed inside the building. It wasn't huge, but it was big enough for serious sorcery.

"How do you want to do this?" Dan said.

Andrew couldn't miss the deference in the agent's voice. Their relationship had changed over the last few months. Dan no longer treated Andrew and Charley like harmless kids.

"Let's check out the seam first," Andrew said. "Then we'll talk to the agents."

Dan parked in front of the building. Everybody put on their coats and stepped out into winter air. Nebraska was freezing cold, but at least it was a dry cold. In Chicago, the damp chill always found a way through the thickest clothing.

Tungsten took the lead, but instead of going to the front door, he went to a window and peered inside.

"What are you doing?" Andrew said. "Why not just go in?"

"The enemy was here. He might've booby-trapped the door."

"Oh. Good thinking."

"A lesson learned on the battlefield," Tungsten said.

He smashed the window with his gun and pushed out all the glass. Then he climbed through the hole with tremendous agility for a big man. Black leather gloves protected his hands.

After a minute, he yelled from inside the building, "Looks safe!"

He opened the door, and everybody else entered.

The smell of rotting food made Andrew wrinkle his nose. The odor was clearly coming from a garbage can with a cloud of flies buzzing around it.

The interior was a warehouse full of automotive parts. They filled long shelves which ran the length of the building.

Andrew looked through a glass door into an office on the right. He saw a space heater and two mattresses on the floor. Piles of water bottles, soda, and junk food were on a table. Garbage was heaped in the corners.

"They were living here for a while," Andrew said.

"Like a couple of pigs," Charley responded in a tone of disgust.

He walked to the seam in the center of the warehouse. Two chairs placed underneath faced each other. Some discarded rope was lying to the side, and he guessed it had been used to bind Phillip during the spell. One of the chairs had brown stains Andrew refused to speculate about.

"Where are the BPI agents?" he said.

"In a separate building," Dan said. "The surveillance control center is at a safe distance from the seam." He pointed to a security camera mounted high in a corner. "There is less risk of mind-control. Obviously, the precaution didn't help this time."

"Do you guys have a separate control center at Theosophical University?"