Deadly Visions (27 page)

Success. He pulled free of the belt and tried to see in the murky water. No dice. He felt the passenger-side window's smooth surface and struck it with the heel of his hand. It held firm. Shit.

The door. Try the freaking door.

He pulled the handle. Locked.

His lungs ached. He couldn't last much longer….

This wasn't rocket science. Just unlock the goddamned door. But would the electronic locks work down here?

He fumbled for the lock and pulled. Was that the sound of the door-lock mechanism? He gripped the handle and pushed. The door was opening! A bit more …

He was free. He wriggled through the opening, frantically crawling for the surface.

Oh God, he thought. His lungs were starting to pump involuntarily. He might not make it.

Just another few seconds …

He finally broke through. Thank Christ.

He swam for shore. His leg felt numb. Cold. It was probably bleeding.

He didn't care. At least he was alive.

J
oe, Howe, and Carla watched Haddenfield through the large observation window. He sat in Interrogation Room C, wearing a sweat suit that one of the duty officers had scrounged up for him. His hair was slicked back and his lips were trembling.

“He
wanted to
stay here?”Joe asked.

Howe nodded.”He's scared shitless.”

“Of what?”

“He won't say. But he thinks we're his only hope to stay alive.”

Joe studied him. Although the accident had occurred more than two hours before, Haddenfield was still shaking.

“We thought you'd want to take part,”Carla said. “You wanna go in with us?”

Joe nodded.”Definitely.”

They unlocked the door and silently walked into the interrogation room.

Haddenfield glanced up warily. “You're not gonna make me leave, are you?”

“We have no reason to keep you here,”Howe said. “There's nothing to suggest that your wreck was anything but an accident. Accidents happen all the time.”

Haddenfield glared at him.”This was no accident.”

“Why do you say that?”Joe asked.

“I'm not sure I can tell you.”

Howe slapped the table. “We don't have time for this shit. Tell us now, or we're tossing you back on the street.”

“You don't understand,”Haddenfield said.

Carla leaned close to him. “Then make us under-stand. What are you afraid of?”

Haddenfield threw his head back and stared at the fluorescent lights above. Tears welled in his eyes. “I can't fucking believe it. None of this was supposed to happen. I screwed up.”

“We can help,”Joe said.

Haddenfield shook his head. “Not likely. This is so out of your league.”

“We're all that you have,”Joe said.”Try us.”

Haddenfield finally looked down from the ceiling. “I'm fairly new to the parapsychology field. My background is in hypnotherapy.”

“Like to help people stop smoking?”Howe asked.

“Well, I was involved on the research end of it. In one of my studies, I noticed that the subjects'perceptions seemed heightened. Hypnosis affects all kinds of behaviors and thought processes, and I became intrigued by the idea that we might be able to develop psychic abilities through a series of hypnosis sessions.”

“That's what you were doing at the testing cen-ter?”Joe asked.

“Yes. I convinced the Defense Department to fund the study. I spent several months working on a hypnosis program that would foster psychic abilities.”

Joe wrinkled his brow. “Why did you use subjects who already professed to have psychic powers?”

“It was just one phase of the study. We thought we may be able to increase the abilities they already had, and at the same time, learn from them. If we could study them, we might pick up on things we could use on later phases of the study.”

“What were the results?”Carla asked.

Haddenfield sighed. “The early findings were inconclusive. I needed more funding to develop other variations of the program, but the Defense Department wasn't willing to go that far. When the study concluded, that would have been the end of it. I couldn't let that happen.”

“So what did you do?”Joe asked.

Haddenfield shifted uneasily. “Well, as you can imagine, there would be enormous interest in the world's intelligence communities for this research. A Russian operative contacted me several weeks ago, and his government promised me a large budget to continue my research. I'd be allowed to conduct my study in a place of my own choosing. They promised me everything I could ever want.”

“You sold out?”Carla asked.

“Remember, by this time our government had no interest. But the Russians needed some indication that my system actually worked. Only then would
they be willing to fund more studies. So …”Hadden-field's eyes darted anxiously.”I arranged with some of my test subjects to improve their results.”

Joe stared at him in disbelief. “They went along with it?”

“Yes. Some of them are quite well known, but they've never had scientific validation. I promised to give them that if they went along.”

“Was Monica Gaines one of those involved?”Howe asked.

Haddenfield nodded. “We had all the best intentions. It was the only way to continue my research. Can't you see how important this is?”

“So what brought you here?”Joe asked.

“The agent—his name is Shawn Dylan—wanted to see Monica Gaines in action, working on an actual case. He wanted to show his higher-ups how her newly enhanced abilities could be applied to real-world situations. He influenced Councilman Talman to press for Monica's involvement.”

“Influenced with a one-hundred-thousand-dollar donation,”Joe said.

“I didn't ask,”Haddenfield said. “But after Monica was attacked, he was afraid that she would let on about our scheme. So he kept a close watch on her. This man caught and killed a member of my research team, but it was an accident.”

“An
accident?
”Carla was incredulous.

Haddenfield shook his head. “I haven't been able to think of anything else since. I was already nervous around Dylan, but then I was terrified that he'd find out that we were lying to him.”Haddenfield anx-
iously bit his lower lip. “I think it's happened. I think he tried to kill me tonight.”

Joe, Howe, and Carla sat in silence for a moment, letting Haddenfield's story sink in.

“We're going to bring in this Dylan,”Joe finally said.”And
you
'
re
going to help us.”

“You're gonna be my goddamned bodyguard, Dylan. You owe me.”

Dylan sat in his car, listening incredulously to the voice coming through his cell phone. He'd triggered the charge that sent Haddenfield's car into the river, then watched as the lucky bastard swam to shore. If it hadn't been so important to make it appear to be an accident, Haddenfield would be dead now.

“Of course I owe you, Haddenfield. But why do you need a bodyguard?”

“Someone just tried to shoot me on the expressway. They blew out my tire and I lost control. I almost drowned.”

Good God. It didn't sound as if Haddenfield even suspected him. “You're lucky.”

“This kind of luck I can do without.”

“I told you that your research might make you a target. Another nation may be close to a similar breakthrough, and they don't want you to complete your work.”

Dylan paused. Was Haddenfield buying this bullshit?

“That's what I thought. That's why I need you to take me back to South Carolina.”

Yes, he was buying it. “When do you want to leave?”

“As soon as possible. Can you meet me at the Georgian Terrace Hotel at six-thirty?”

“Why there? I'd suggest another place, perhaps a bit less conspicuous. How about—”

“No way. Until I'm with you, I'd feel safer there. I'll see you at six-thirty.”

Click.

Dylan turned off his phone. Okay, fine. There were plenty of places to dump Haddenfield's body after they were on the road to South Carolina.

That miserable fuck. Who the hell did he think he was, stringing everybody along with his lies? Did Haddenfield really think he wouldn't eventually find out?

He'd convinced his superiors that Haddenfield represented a security risk and needed to be eliminated. He wasn't sure if that was true, but that bastard had to pay.

Dylan turned the wheel of his Jeep and headed for downtown.

Six-eleven P.M.

Joe, Howe, and Carla arrived at the intersection of Peachtree and Ponce De Leon Avenue, half a block from the Fox Theater. Special ops section commander Hank Barbour was already there with four other plainclothes officers.

Barbour squinted at Joe. The man's neck was so big that it was difficult to see where his head began. “What are you doin'here, Spirit Basher?”

“Backup,”Howe cut in. “This is related to a case we're working.”

“Don't worry, I'll keep him from getting into trouble,”Carla said from behind Joe. He turned to see her smiling at him as she tightened the strap on her flak jacket.”Betcha you don't get this much excitement in bunco, huh, Joe?”

“So, Barbour,”Carla asked. “What are
you
doing here? I thought you usually handled hostage situations.”

Barbour shook his head. “I was told that our suspect may have some specialized training. They sent me to keep you children nice and safe. By the way, he's already in the lobby.”

“What?”Howe said. “I thought you were going to get him before he went inside.”

Barbour nodded. “Plan's changed. He managed to slip in somehow. I guess he's scoping things out. Reinertson and Clune will enter and ask him to leave with them.”

Howe nodded.”And if he's not so inclined?”

“The rest of you will already be in place. We move against him in three minutes.”

Dylan sat twelve feet from the front windows, scanning the faces of the passersby on the sidewalk. He was across the street from the Fox Theater, where he'd first made the acquaintance of Councilman Tal-man a few weeks before. Talman's favorite charity had been holding a fund-raising dinner in one of the reception halls.

Dylan shook his head. He hated politicians. It was almost enough to make a man want to—

What the hell?

Dylan leaned forward. Someone on the sidewalk had been staring at him. Staring and talking into a cell phone…

The man turned his back.

Dylan glanced up the street. Another man was about sixty feet away, doing absolutely nothing. Yet another man was standing casually near the corner restaurant.

Tactical positions.

He turned and glanced around. Shit. He was alone in the lobby; the area had been cleared.

The police. They undoubtedly had the exits covered. Haddenfield wasn't as stupid as he'd thought.

Dylan took a deep breath. Keep calm. As a matter of habit, he'd mapped out three possible escape routes each time he visited a new locale. It was a routine that had saved his life on many occasions. He'd automatically run through the possibilities in his first five minutes there. Christ. Now he wasn't sure if any of them would work.

Well, perhaps one.

He glanced at the elevator.A dim readout told him that it was headed downward. Another few seconds …

Two men walked through the lobby's main doors. They were trying to look relaxed and casual, but he could see their tense expressions.

Not to mention the slight bulges of their shoulder holsters.

The elevator car arrived with a sharp “ping,”and
Dylan jumped to his feet. The two men reached for their holsters.

Showtime, boys.

Dylan bolted for the elevator, leapt through the open doors, and punched the button for the highest floor. He drew both of his guns and fired repeatedly as the cops dove for cover. The doors finally slid shut and the elevator lurched upward.

Dylan glanced around the cramped little car. How many seconds would he have until—?

The elevator stopped and the lights cut out. An emergency battery lamp switched on.

The cops had cut power to the elevator.

Precisely as he'd anticipated.

“All units, suspect has been contained. Convene to lobby area immediately.”

“Copy that,”Carla said into her radio. She and Joe stood in the back alleyway, near the service entrance.

“Contained, not apprehended,”Joe said.

Carla drew her gun. “Guess they're waiting for us to save the day, huh?”

They ran to the lobby, where Barbour was assigning positions. “We're bringing the elevator down. Maintain your defensive positions until I give the word, got it?”

Joe and Carla took cover behind adjacent pillars. Howe nodded to Joe from behind a sofa.

Barbour turned a key in the elevator panel and stepped back. “Get ready.”

The elevator chimed. Joe angled his revolver
toward the doors. After what seemed like forever, the doors finally slid open, and—

“I don't fucking believe it,”Barbour cursed through his teeth.

Blood drizzled from Dylan's hands onto the carpet as he ran down the second-floor corridor. It had been simple enough to climb through the elevator's flimsy ceiling, but the steel lift cables had sliced his palms and fingers to ribbons.

He peered through a window at the alley below. A Mercedes was parked underneath. Too strong a frame. He ran to the next window. A Volvo. No good, built like a tank. A Sentra was parked beneath the third window. The perfect air bag.