Mindbenders (20 page)

Max rang the bell to the corner apartment, the one that overlooked the river. It took a few rings before a woman’s voice answered, approaching but still a few feet inside the door. “Hello? Who’s there?” Max motioned us against the wall away from the door. Tauber pushed me over where Max wanted—I wasn’t paying attention—and we heard the voice say “Hello? Hello?” and then the metal door gave a little groan as she leaned against it on the inside. As soon as she did, Max touched a finger to the surface of the door and whispered, “Open” and, an instant later, we heard the locks unbolting from the inside.

It was Sam the blonde, the aide from L Corp headquarters, the one who seemed so chummy with Avery. She seemed to be holding her eyes open wide as we filed past her across the threshold—she wasn’t blinking. Apparently she was getting ready to go out—she wore a light blouse and panties but the rest of her clothes were laid out on the bed a few yards away. As we came inside, Max touched her forehead and her whole body relaxed. It was like she was standing out of habit. She followed Max’s finger on her forehead into the living room like she was stuck to it. He led her to a high-backed wooden chair and she sat without being prompted.

“Hello Sam,” Max said.

“Hello,” she replied like reciting off a page.

“Tell me about your day,” Max said in the blandest of tones.

“It was a mess,” she replied. “We had to evacuate because of you and Pietr was furious. He wants to know how you did that trick with the air, because he thought he knew all your tricks but he doesn’t know that one. He was ranting about it for like twenty minutes non-stop when we got back inside. Like we should have known air was a security hazard. And you stole his car which
really
pissed him off. It had Lo-Jak and the cops got it back but they didn’t get you and they’re trying to figure out what kind of car is missing from the long-term lot but all they have on the records is blue Nissan and the plate number but the plate number wasn’t written clear on the tag so they’re trying to find the guy who wrote it to see if he can read it or remember what it was but they think he’s on a bender because tomorrow’s his day off and that’s what he does when he has tomorrow off.”

“This is called a brain dump,” Tauber groaned, “for obvious reasons.”

“She hasn’t had a chance to organize her thoughts,” Max explained, pausing every few seconds to monitor whatever Sam was spouting. “By tomorrow morning, she’ll have everything capsulized but all the details will be smoothed over and the details are usually the things that are useful.” Sam was complaining now about the time that was spent trying to get good staff who wouldn’t drink too much or smoke pot too much and and and…Max finally touched her forehead again and she stopped.

“You work for Avery—you’ve been having an affair with him—and you’re sleeping with Pietr as well,” Renn said, like they were facts.

“I thought you couldn’t read anything in their headquarters,” I said.

“No,” Sam said. “I flirt with Jim all the time but he’s never made a move. I don’t know why. Do you think I’m past my prime?”

“Absolutely not,” Max answered, giving her a quick appraisal, then back to me. “I didn’t have to—it’s how Pietr works,” he replied. “He uses her to monitor Avery, to make sure Avery’s not looking too deeply into what he’s up to.” He returned to Sam. “What about Pietr? What is he up to?”

“I can’t tell you. He’s locked me up so I can’t tell you anything about him.” There was a note of pride in her voice. “He figured you might want to talk to me and I’ll tell him you did as soon as I come out of this.”

“Who says I’m letting you out of this?” Renn said. And waited. It took a few seconds for this thought to penetrate and then Sam’s composure visibly faltered. “I need information out of you now. After that, I don’t need you.”

“You—” Sam’s voice wavered and then stopped. Her expression hadn’t changed, neither had her anesthetized tone of voice. But there was no mistaking the alarm in her all the same. “—you wouldn’t. Pietr said you didn’t—”

“That was then,” Renn answered and the chill in his voice made
me
tremble. “This is now. Pietr’s trying to kill or capture me. He’s already killed my friend. All bets are off.”

“Pietr would hunt you down,” she vowed. “Forever. He would never rest—”

“Pietr would forget you in five minutes,” Renn answered harshly, cutting her off hard, “and you know it. He likes that girl in Asian section, the one he takes to lunch all the time. She’ll be sympathetic when he remembers you later.”

“Don’t try that shit with me!” Sam insisted, her voice suddenly taut. “I know your tricks! Pietr told me about your problems with women!”

Max’s eyes lowered at this and came up dark. “Well, it doesn’t really matter,” he said, “what you think of me, does it, as long as you don’t give me your password?”

There was a pause then, for just a second, and the air freshened, like someone had thrown the window open in winter. I saw a look of recognition pass through Samantha’s eyes to Renn’s.

“
Barbie’s Dream House
,” he said quietly and she slumped in the chair. Tauber grinned ear to ear. I must have been giving him the eye because Max turned to me to explain. “Like I said, trying not to think about something makes you think about it. I remind her she’s not supposed to think of her password so it’s the next thing she thinks of. Like sticking out your arm when you’re falling.” He turned back to Samantha, breathing quietly and peacefully now in the chair. “
Barbie’s Dream House
. What is the plan?”

“Which one?” she asked, drowsy.

“The one Pietr’s keeping from Avery. Or the one Avery’s using you to keep track of, the one he doesn’t admit knowing about.”

“Pietr doesn’t talk about it much,” the blonde answered, now slouching across the couch, looking very sweet in her filmy blouse and panties, “and I don’t ask questions when he doesn’t want to tell me. He scares me. He’s made people squawk like chickens and lick the dust off the floor in front of me, just for fun.
His
fun. He’s not a nice person, really. I guess I like guys who scare me.” She looked at Max now and suddenly she didn’t seem anesthetized at all. “You’re a scary guy,” she told him. “I saw that when you first came in this morning.”

“What do you know about the plan?” Max persisted. She smiled hopefully and he offered a sad-eyed smile in return.

“Do you think I’m pretty?” she asked, her voice gone girlish.

His face was almost tender—as close as he let himself get. “You’re very pretty. And much smarter than you let yourself be. Pietr could benefit from the advice you avoid offering.” His expression faded. “
Barbie’s Dream House
. What do you know about the plan?” Tauber returned from the fridge with a couple bottles of water—he kept one and handed the other to Sam, who chugged it like she’d been traipsing the Sahara for a week.

“It’s soon,” she said finally, after belching and smiling like a child, “and it’s a big deal. He’s got a group of six training for it here. They’re not like the others; they’re the scary guys, throwbacks like the old mindbenders, I guess—no offense. There’s Marat—you know him—a Russian, an Israeli, along with two Americans. And a Jamaican guy with dreads and the best weed in the world, Jesus. He gets his own room ‘cause nobody can think once he lights up.”

“What’s the objective?” Max asked. His voice had gotten quieter but more distinct.

“They didn’t say and I didn’t ask. I don’t want to know.”

“You know more,” he persisted. “I know you do—and so do you.” She continued with her blank silence for about ten seconds, like she didn’t hear him.

“You live in Pietr’s world,” Renn said, “and Avery’s. You like being in between—you like the danger. You think they don’t know about each other. I assure you they do. They’re both comfortable using you to watch the other. They both trust you to keep the confidences they actually want you to keep. Frankly, they both take you for granted. Their trust in you is justified by the fact that you’ve never used your position to play one against the other.” He looked at her searchingly, which seemed kind of comical, what with the dazed look on her face. “You could, you know,” he said and she nodded like a marionette.

“I could,” she mumbled, half a second behind him. “I know.”

“You know more. You know something you’re not supposed to know, that you didn’t even intend to find out.” As he said this, his voice deepened again, taking on that echo chamber sound. “Share
that
with me.”

Samantha sat up and motioned as though writing on a pad. Tauber grabbed a pen and paper immediately off the table and put them in Sam’s hands—and she started writing strange. She started writing upside down, is how it turned out. When I looked up at her, her eyes were closed. And some of the letter forms were a bit garbled. But there she sat, writing it.

“She saw
him
write it,” Max whispered, “across the desk.” He waited until he was sure she was finished and then took the paper from her. Turning it around, we all read:
Sun 1230 IAD-CIA

“
’Sun’
—It’s Sunday?” Tauber said. “Day after tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” she nodded her head.

“You’re working with CIA?” Max asked.

Sam shook her head. “That’s what he wrote but it doesn’t make sense. Jim always says we can’t work with the agencies because that would put us on the radar, up for investigations. I don’t know who the client is.” She thought about it for a moment. “Actually, I don’t even know if there
is
a client. The other night, Pietr said—he’s a man, you all boast in bed—he said, ‘When this is done, we’ll be in the driver’s seat. They’ll dance to our tune.’

“Who will?” Max asked. “
Who’ll
dance to our tune?”

“That’s all he said.” Max and Tauber exchanged looks, perplexed and concerned. But they looked like they were going to stop there. I leaned forward.

“What did he mean?” I asked.

“He didn’t tell her,” Max hissed in my ear. “She has no facts.”

“You said everybody mindreads,” I told him. “She’s been sleeping with him.” I turned back to Sam. “What’s your intuition tell you? What did he mean? Who’ll
dance to our tune
?”

She stared blankly for just a moment and then, something inside her seemed to gather itself. She cleared her throat and said, “Everybody.”

“What’s that mean?” Max asked.

“
Everybody
,” she repeated, but now like she
knew
, certainty without proof but certainty nonetheless. “Governments, Business—Everybody.”

And then it was quiet, for what felt like a long time. We waited to make sure she had nothing more to say—and to let it all sink in.

“Okay,” Max said in his echoey voice, “you fell asleep while preparing to go out. You were stressed from the events of the day. Do you understand?”

“Of course. I’ll tell him you were here,” she said cheerily.

Max smiled. “Of course you will,” he replied respectfully. “But I didn’t get anything out of you because I couldn’t get the password.”

“You couldn’t get the password,” she repeated half a second behind and you could see her relief at the thought, as his suggestion faded her actual mistake away, out of memory, out of existence. “You didn’t get it…” she murmured, fading away.

“I didn’t get it,” Max repeated softly. “Tell Pietr you did well.
You have every reason to feel good about yourself
,” he ended, touching her forehead and she slouched back onto the couch, snoring like a buzzsaw. He led us out the door, down the elevator and back outside.

“What now?” I asked, pulling the car out of the parking lot. “It’s Friday night. If they’ve got a big deal Sunday—”

“What are they doing with CIA?” he demanded, handing the piece of paper with Sam’s writing to  Tauber in the back seat. “Does that make any sense to you?”

“Maybe if we knew who IAD is…” Tauber muttered.

“It’s the rat squad,” I said and felt all eyes on me at once. “It’s on all the cop shows—Internal Affairs, the cops that watch the cops.”

“That’s what I was supposed to do for Alan Hammond,” Max said, seeming to find the memory impossibly strange now.

“So does CIA have a rat squad?” Tauber asked. “Is L Corp watchin’ CIA?”

“How would that make everyone dance to their tune?” I asked.

“Maybe they’ve got some secret—maybe they’re blackmailin’ CIA.”

“Do they really want to cross the Government like that?”

“It would explain why they’re meetin’ on a Sunday,” Tauber held onto his point. “Keep it off the record.”

“They’ve already built themselves a position where the government can’t hurt them,” Max shook his head. “Why open Pandora’s box? Blackmail doesn’t make sense.”

“And it’s not what she said,” I added, as surprised as anyone to hear myself speaking up. “She said there was an operation, that Volkov had a group of six in training and it’s Sunday. Blackmail isn’t an operation.”

“—ya don’t need six black ops to handle it,” Tauber added. “Maybe they’re gonna steal something from CIA and blackmail ‘em with it. Maybe that’s what they’re doin’ Sunday.”

“But what’s that got to do with Dave?” I asked. “Why kill Dave?”

Silence. Several beats of silence.

“It seems,” Max said, “that the only thing we know for sure is who CIA is.”  He shrugged.  “We’ve got to go someplace and dope this out.”

“Someplace we can
think
,” Tauber added, “and this ain’t it—it’s a probe a minute around here. Where do we go?” Tauber asked and Max looked blank for a moment.

“Ruben Crowell,” I said. “Gettysburg, Pennsylvania.”

“Ruben?” Tauber exclaimed. His face got all screwed up.

“You know him?” Max asked. “Good guy?”

“One o’ the best, back in the day,” Tauber said. “Smart guy, kind of a rebel—part o’ Dave’s klatch. Now? Who knows? None of us are what we were. How about Marjorie, his wife? They were both in the program.”

“Don’t know her,” I answered. “I just have Ruben’s name.”

“What about him?” Max asked again. “How would he fit into all this?”

“Let’s put it this way,” Tauber said. “I can imagine Ruben havin’ nothing to do with
any
of us. I can imagine him makin’ pizzas or analyzin’ nut cases for a living. I
can’t
imagine him workin’ for Jim Avery.”