Mind's Eye (12 page)

How could they be having trouble getting this guy?

Vasily had sent a handpicked team of men to hunt him, each of whom could bring down a Grizzly with their bare hands. And yet none of them had managed to club the helpless baby seal that Nick Hall represented. It was
insanity
.

If Hall had any survival instincts at all, he had ditched the girl the moment she was patched up. But for some reason, only because nothing with this hunt had gone as planned from the very beginning, Vasily fully expected Hall to stick around to ensure her safety.

Radich had found Megan’s phone at the motel, under a bush, and had destroyed it so those investigating the murders would never be led to the Kern River Motor Lodge, or the ambulance that represented their single best lead. Staying a step ahead of the legitimate investigation was even easier when you could sabotage those behind you.

It was nearing one in the morning when Vasily and Radich pulled quietly into the Blue Ridge Luxury Apartments complex and killed the engine.

Vasily prepared himself mentally to put on an American accent and called a number he had already entered into his phone. At one in the morning, it could be hard to get someone to answer the door, and they wanted to minimize the attention they drew to themselves.

The land line he called was picked up after three rings, and a word was mumbled into it that Vasily could only assume was
hello
.

“Hector Garcia?” said Vasily.

“Yeah,” came a mumbled reply, only slightly more intelligible than Garcia’s first syllable had been.

“Sorry to trouble you in the middle of the night like this,” said Vasily, “But my partner and I are with the FBI, and it’s urgent that we speak with you.”

“What’s this about?” said Garcia, less groggy this time as adrenaline began to hit his bloodstream.

“We’re right outside your door, Mr. Garcia. If you could let us in, we’ll be happy to answer your questions.”

“Who
are
you?” said Garcia, a question that showed an unexpected level of suspicion, even for this hour. Vasily had already told him they were with the FBI, but he apparently wasn’t taking this assertion at face value. Good for him.

“My name is Jim Anderson,” replied Vasily, using the name that appeared on his flawlessly forged FBI credentials. “My partner is named Troy Shaw,” he added.

“I’m not opening the door until I see your IDs and badges,” said Garcia.

“If you have a peephole, I’ll hold them up to it.”

“No. Take a photo of them and text it to my TV. I’ll give you the address.”

“This is ridiculous,” said Vasily, losing his patience. “What’s wrong with the peephole?”

“If you aren’t really FBI, you could shoot me through the door.”

Vasily turned toward Radich and rolled his eyes. “If we weren’t really FBI and wanted to kill you, you’d be dead
already
. You think a killer’s going to call you and make sure you’re awake?”

There was a long pause. “That’s probably true also. Okay. Hold up your ID to my peephole. I’ll be down in a minute or two.”

Five minutes later they were inside Garcia’s apartment. Before they began any exchange, Vasily asked if they could conference in their colleague, and soon Delamater’s face appeared on Garcia’s TV. Garcia grew more impatient and agitated by the second.

“Okay, let me tell you why we’re here,” began Vasily once Delamater had joined them. “Six or seven hours ago, you and your partner, Tony Kosakowski, were called to the Kern River Motor Lodge. We want to know everything about the woman you patched up there, and the man who was with her.”

“Why?”

“There was a double murder less than an hour before you arrived at the motel. And these two were both involved.” Vasily sighed. “I know it’s unusual to visit you in the dead of night like this. But every minute we don’t apprehend these two, the trail grows colder.”

Garcia shrugged. “There’s nothing to tell. The girl had had an accident with a pair of scissors—stabbed herself in the leg. It was actually pretty minor. They really shouldn’t have called us. We stayed for a few minutes to make sure she was going to be okay, and then we left. Altogether, we couldn’t have exchanged more than a sentence or two, all of it medically related.”

Vasily considered. A scissor wound didn’t sound likely. He would have guessed a gunshot wound. But it was possible that after she or Hall had shot his men, one of them had managed to stab her with scissors before bleeding out.

“Where did you take them?” asked Radich.

“We didn’t. The girl was fine. So we just left.” He paused. “If you check the hospital log, it will show that we never brought them in.”

“
Why are you lying to us?
” said Vasily ominously.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“We have a witness who saw them enter the back of the ambulance.”

Garcia looked flustered, but recovered quickly. “They did,” he said. “We had them in the back for a few minutes while we were working on the girl. But then they returned to their room.”

Vasily glanced at the television to see if Delamater wanted to jump in, but it was clear he was willing to let Vasily continue at this point. “Mr. Garcia, we don’t have to rely on eyewitnesses. I can play the satellite footage of what went on outside of the motel if you would like. Showing them leaving in your ambulance.”

This last was a bluff, but Vasily was sure it wouldn’t be called. He had no idea why Garcia was being so uncooperative. He was sure the man now believed they were with the FBI. They could have easily beaten the information out of him, but given their cover they had assumed he’d give it to them willingly. And the current body count was already sure to be attracting enough unwanted attention.

Vasily leaned in toward the paramedic menacingly. “Frankly, Mr. Garcia, I’m having trouble understanding why you’re lying to us about this. These people are dangerous criminals. On the loose. Do you know what obstruction of justice is?”

The big Russian allowed this to sink in for a few seconds. “If the next words out of your mouth aren’t the truth, you’re going to become intimately familiar with this term. And jail time.”

Garcia took a deep breath. “Okay, okay. I’ll tell you the truth. The truth is the girl had a gunshot wound, not a scissors wound. When we got there, the guy with her forced us to work on her. At gunpoint.”

“Now we’re getting somewhere,” commented Delamater dryly from the TV. “Why wouldn’t you want to tell us about this?”

“The guy told us everyone was after him. Trying to kill him. And he warned us that if we went to the authorities we’d probably end up dead ourselves. He said the people after him would kill anyone whose paths he had crossed.”

“And you
believed
him?” said Vasily.

“I didn’t know what was going on. But there was something persuasive about him. He threatened us repeatedly, but there was something about him,” he said, holding out his hands helplessly, as if unable to find the right words. “Like, I don’t know . . . like he was a decent guy who was at the end of his rope. Like the type who wouldn’t willingly hurt anyone.”

“You do realize,” said Delamater, “that this guy is a paranoid schizophrenic. Thinking the entire world is trying to kill you. Nothing about that suggested
paranoia
to you?”

“There was more to him than that,” said Garcia. He hesitated. “He had some . . . unusual . . . characteristics. Hard to believe characteristics. Which made what he said more believable.”

“Like what?” said Vasily.

Delamater jumped in immediately to cut off any possible answer. “Don’t bother with this now, Mr. Garcia,” he instructed. “We can circle back to it later. Right now, we need to know where you took them.”

“I dropped them both off at the main Amtrak station on Truxtun Avenue. I have no idea where they went after that.”

Delamater asked several additional questions. What Hall and the girl were wearing, anything else they might have said about their destination, and the like. When these had been answered, he said, “Mr. Garcia, I have some questions of a more sensitive nature I need to ask. I’m going to ask my colleagues to return to their car for a few minutes. When I’m done, they can return so we can conclude the interview.”

Vasily’s blood began a slow boil. The bastard had cut off the paramedic before he could explain Hall’s
unusual
characteristics, because he wanted this information for his ears only.

Prick
.

If it had been anyone other than Delamater, Vasily would have told him to shove his secrecy up his scrawny ass. Nick Hall had made Vasily’s people look like incompetent assholes. And now, when he might finally get some clarity on how this could be, Delamater was playing games.

Vasily glared at his boss with enough intensity to melt lead, but the serene look never left Delamater’s face. “Thank you, gentlemen,” said the image of Delamater to the two mercenaries. “I’ll let you know when we’re finished.”

14

Delamater was now absolutely convinced Hall had Internet capabilities, but this was his chance to learn the true extent of these capabilities. Apparently, Nick Hall hadn’t been the least bit shy about demonstrating them to the two paramedics.

“Mr. Garcia,” he began, “let’s circle back to the unusual characteristics you were speaking of.”

“Yeah. About that. I, um . . . I’m not exactly sure what I meant by that. Just that he seemed like a good guy. A smart guy.”

A predatory smile played across Delamater’s lips. “You’re lying yet again, Mr. Garcia. I thought you had gotten that out of your system. This is the last time I’m going to let this slide. If I detect even a hint that you’re not being one
thousand
percent forthcoming, I promise I’ll make an obstruction charge stick.”

Garcia looked like a trapped rat. “Look, you’ll think I’m crazy.”

Delamater shook his head reassuringly. “Not at all. Because I already know what you’re going to tell me. And I know it’s not crazy.”

“You know about his ESP?” said Garcia in shock.

Delamater couldn’t keep his eyes from widening, but he managed, barely, to maintain the placid expression on his face that he had worn throughout the interview.

What?
he thought in dismay
. Hall had developed ESP?

Delamater’s thoughts raced around his head so quickly he became dizzy, having to reach out and steady himself on a table out of sight of the camera that was transmitting his image. He had a well-earned reputation for his ability to maintain a poker face, for his machine-like unflappability, but these traits had just been tested like never before.

“Right,” Delamater finally managed to get out. “His ESP. We know all about it.”

“What’s the deal with that?” said Garcia in awe. “I mean, is he some kind of mutant? Or are there more like him?”

“I’m afraid that’s classified,” said Delamater smoothly, having already recovered his equilibrium. “But I need you to tell me everything about this. How he revealed this to you. Every last thing you can remember. It might be important.”

Garcia spent the next few minutes recounting what had happened with respect to Hall’s psi ability.

Mind reading was completely impossible, Delamater knew, but he also had no doubt that this was what was going on, anyway. It explained so much of what had happened. How Hall had known that Radich was at the mini-mart to kill him. How he had managed to stay at large. He had two impressive capabilities: thought-controlled web access
and
the ability to read minds.

Delamater would have to ponder the implications of this new development long and hard. Should he continue on course, or should he now switch gears entirely? Could he now come up with a more optimal strategy?
When you see a good move
, he thought,
look for a better one
.

He decided he would tell his business partner that Hall’s implants were working to surf the net, but he would keep the ESP angle strictly to himself. At least until he figured out how best to use this new reality.

“Are there any other impressions from this encounter that you want to report?” asked Delamater. “If there’s even a chance an impression or hunch might be useful, I urge you to share it with me.”

Garcia scratched his head. “Well, there may be one thing. Just before they left, I asked him who he was.”

“And what did he say?”

“He said, ‘I only wish I knew.’” Garcia paused. “Maybe he meant this on a deep, philosophical level. You know, like do any of us really know who we are? But I got the impression he really
didn’t
know. Like he had lost his memory.”

Delamater nodded. This wasn’t entirely surprising, but still very good to have confirmed. “That
is
interesting,” he said. His hands flew over a cell phone touch screen for several seconds. “I’m texting Anderson and Shaw that it’s time to rejoin us,” he explained.