Tainted Hearts (6 page)

“As of this moment,” she said with a breezy
smile, “I’m unable to verify Ms. Fitzpatrick’s whereabouts. You
gave us a rather dire ultimatum only this morning. I’m sure Ms.
Fitzpatrick is doing her best to fulfill your expectations of
her.”

“Turn off your in-office surveillance, Ms.
Lucero.”

“I’d rather not, General Bettencourt.” She
folded her hands on her desktop.

“Then I’ll have you arrested and we can have
this conversation in my office.”

Oh, Vonne, don’t develop a backbone
now.
Marc tapped his thumb against the control console,
suddenly very interested in what the general had to say. Just in
case it was half as informative as he hoped, he began recording the
feed.

Narrowing her gaze on the general’s
impassive face, she grated out, “I’m not in the military, General
Bettencourt.”

“There is no need for this stubbornness.”
His tone was nearly as stiff as hers. “Just turn off your
surveillance, so we can speak freely.”

The general stood and watched carefully as
she deactivated the primary monitors. Marc had studied the
mediplex’s schematics, so he knew proximity safeguards would
reactivate the recording device if her unwanted guest made a sudden
movement toward her, or if any projectile was launched in her
direction.

Despite her elaborate security, Vonne had no
idea there’d been a fly on several of her walls for the past two
months. Oh, how he loved his toys!

“Speak,” she prompted.

“President Rawsen has no interest in CPT or
the SP-64 Project,” the general began. “My purpose this morning was
to initiate a process by which Ms. Fitzpatrick would be motivated
to help us with an unrelated matter.”

“I don’t understand.” The dark gleam in
Vonne’s eyes assured Marc she understood all too well.

He glanced at his control panel to verify
that the feed was still being recorded. The president and his
resident lapdog needed Tuesday to do something for the government,
and they were going to use threats against the SP-64 Project to
ensure her cooperation. Ordinary people called this extortion.

And he was capturing it all in full color
and sound.

He felt his leg bounce slightly and
consciously stopped the anxious movement. How would Tuesday react
when she saw this? Was it in his best interest to show her?

“It’s not imperative that you comprehend
every detail.” The general dismissed Vonne’s resentment with a wave
of one hand. “You’re an intelligent woman; I’m sure you understand
what I’m saying.”

“What do you want Ms. Fitzpatrick to
do?”

He just stared at her for a long time.
“She’s been contacted by a person named Job.”

“The leader of PURE. Yes, she told me but
how do you know?”

Curling his fingers into fists, Marc was
shocked by their icy chill.

Without bothering to respond to the
question, the general continued. “President Rawsen has been trying
to infiltrate PURE nearly from its inception, but certain recent
events have made the need more urgent.”

“What events and why has the President of
Unified North America been unable to infiltrate an organization
like PURE?”

Amen! Phil Carey had a man on the inside.
Why had the UNA’s military failed? PURE was a fanatical cult. They
were hatemongers and…

“Job is worshiped by his followers, treated
more like a deity than a leader. At first, PURE posed no real
threat because their resources were so limited, but Job has amassed
untold wealth and fanatical support in an ever-increasing segment
of the population. They have introduced legislation and seen it
voted into law before we were able to trace the source or
comprehend the true ramifications.”

“Like the Mandatory Ratings Act?”

He nodded. “Exactly. Having each person
tested for Methuselah Syndrome and entering the rate of their
genetic abnormality into a person’s medical record seemed
reasonable and mutually beneficial to the entire population. But
PURE took those ‘Purity Ratings’ and created a caste system,
sponsored segregated communities and businesses.”

“I understand all of this,” Vonne said
carefully. “What does it have to do with Tuesday?”

“Job is planning something. We haven’t been
able to determine what, but it is some sort of mass demonstration.
Every agent we’ve sent into PURE was returned to us with creative
messages communicated through the way they were killed. Job is
nothing if not creative.”

Marc shuddered. He knew several other
atrocities Job had committed in the name of his “cause”.

“And this is the man you want Tuesday
associated with?” Vonne asked.

“Hear me out. The last agent we sent in was
Raeanne Rawsen’s fiancé.”

“Raeanne Rawsen, the president’s
daughter?”

“Yes. His body was left in Ms. Rawsen’s bed,
mutilated in ways you don’t want to think about.”

“Someone from PURE got a dead body beyond
the president’s security and—”

“That is one of many reasons President
Rawsen has moved the eradication of PURE to priority one. Some of
the accomplishments of Job’s army have led us to believe he has
either recruited or created soldiers with unusual abilities.”

Give the man a cigar. Marc had come to the
same conclusion.

“You’re talking about the psychic side
effects of Methuselah.” She shook her head, skepticism clouding her
gaze. “I know the anomalies were real, but I also know anyone who
took enough of the drug to produce those abilities died within a
few months.”

“If you say so.”

Marc’s heart gave a mighty lurch. The public
had no idea how many anomalies were still running around. A network
of Reporters had been established to identify and record the
actions of people with psychic mutations. Phil noticed Marc’s
Reporter shortly after Marc hired him or Marc might never have
realized the genetic fallout was far from contained. More
disturbing still was the fact that Phil had been unable to
determine who controlled the Reporters.

Returning his attention to the conversation,
he let the recording run.

“What happened to the president’s daughter?”
Vonne asked.

“Ms. Rawsen went a little insane. She had
her appearance altered and allowed herself to be recruited by
PURE.”

Vonne gasped. “The president’s daughter is a
PURE follower?”

He shook his head. “We don’t believe her
conversion is genuine. She has infiltrated PURE for the sole
purpose of assassinating Job. We’re not opposed to this objective,
but PURE must be rendered powerless, not just leaderless.”

“How can you be so—glib? This is an innocent
young woman you’re talking about. How do you even know Raeanne is
still alive? How can she possibly succeed when your best operatives
have failed? How—”

“Ms. Lucero, this is highly classified and
I’ve told you more than I was supposed to already. Stick to the
elements of the situation directly pertaining to Ms.
Fitzpatrick.”

Heaving an audible sigh, Vonne sat quietly
for a moment. “All right, so President Rawsen is desperate to get
his daughter out, but how does he expect Tuesday to help? Won’t she
just become another victim of Job’s depravity?”

The general eased back in his chair and
glanced away. “Our original proposal was only for her to carry a
message to Ms. Rawsen.”

“And now?”

“Where is she, Ms. Lucero? Where’s Tuesday
Fitzpatrick?”

“I told her to…she wasn’t supposed to
disappear until after her meeting at Sinclair-Dietrich.”

Damn. He needed more time with Tuesday. It
wouldn’t take the general long to figure out where they were.
Thinking he’d have until Friday before the search began, Marc had
done very little to cover their tracks.

“Is it your belief that she departed ahead
of schedule or do you suspect foul play?”

“What made you come back here, General
Bettencourt? What do you suspect happened to her?”

“We have reason to believe Job may have
abducted Ms. Fitzpatrick.”

“Oh dear God!” Vonne came up out of her
chair and rounded her desk. “What do you intend to do about
it?”

Again he averted his gaze before he spoke.
“There is nothing we can do about it.”

“Bullshit! There is nothing you will do
about it. If Job has her, she’s exactly where you want her.”

“Does she have any way of contacting
you?”

“I don’t know,” Vonne cried. “She was
supposed to send me encrypted messages, but I don’t see how that’s
possible if she’s inside PURE.”

“Job’s interest in Ms. Fitzpatrick is all we
have to work with right now. If he wanted her… That is, he could
have forced her participation long before now. He seems to want her
of her own volition.”

“How comforting.” Vonne sneered.

“We’re not any happier about this than you
are. We wanted her fully briefed before she was subjected to Job’s
influence. He is said to be incredibly charismatic.”

“What do I do if she contacts me? Can we
send her help? How do we get her out of there?”

“One step at a time, Ms. Lucero. If she
contacts you, give her as much information as you can in vague
terms, in case the transmission is monitored. Do not mention anyone
by name!”

“I’m not a complete idiot, General.”

“Let her know we can hear and see many of
their common areas. See if she can get to one of these. Let us know
for sure she’s inside. That would be helpful.”

“Anything else?”

“Tell her the president’s daughter is likely
using the name Rahab.”

“Looking for something in particular?”

Tuesday’s spontaneous search had taken her
from the kitchen, through the main room of the lodge, and into the
bedroom by the time her captor returned. Why bother with excuses?
She was on her hands and knees with her head angled under his bed.
What clever explanation could there be for that?
I dropped my
pen?

Releasing her hold on the quilted
bedspread—with as much dignity as her awkward position allowed—she
stood, intentionally took a moment to fiddle with her dress, then
faced him.

“I was looking for another weapon. I’m never
been good with knives.” She punctuated the claim with her most
charming smile.

He laughed. Just a muffled chuckle at first.
Then leaning against the doorjamb, he gave in and filled the room
with the full, warm sound of his masculine laughter.

Tuesday watched him closely, fascinated by
the change in his appearance. Tiny crinkles fanned out from his
deep-set eyes, faint dimples appeared in his cheeks as his mouth
formed a slightly crooked smile. Imperfections. An image flitted at
the edge of her consciousness but dissolved before she could grasp
it.

“Oh.” He took a deep, shuddering breath.
“You are nothing like I expected.”

“What did you expect?”

“A…scientist.”

Her brow shot up at that. “I think you just
insulted me.”

Stepping away from the doorway, he motioned
toward the outer room. “That wasn’t my intention, I assure you.
You’re refreshing and unique, but why did you consider me foolish
enough to leave a weapon under the bed?”

She ignored his silent directive and
meandered farther into the room, determined to complete her task.
Two windows. All of the others had been securely sealed, so she
didn’t humiliate herself by attempting to lift them. The built-in
blinds made smashing through them impossible, even if the panes
were breakable. Such a tidy little cage.

“There’s something I’d like you to see.” He
waited until she glanced at him to add, “Unless there’s a reason
you’re loitering in my bedroom.”

Not dignifying the jibe with a reaction, she
strolled past him and into the main room of the lodge. Escape
wasn’t much of an option even if she managed to get out of the
building. Mountains and trees surrounded them as far as her eyes
could see. The nearest person could be just over the next rise or
several hundred miles away. She had no way of knowing.

“Come here.” He patted the sofa beside where
he was sitting, but she chose the adjacent chair instead. He
chuckled at her obstinate antics. “Play.”

His voice command triggered the monitor
directly in front of him. Tuesday pivoted slightly as Vonne
Lucero’s office materialized on screen. The date/time stamp in the
corner of the image told her when the conversation had taken
place.

General Bettencourt’s revelation probably
should have surprised her, but it didn’t. She had known his
motivation had nothing to do with the SP-64. “Pause,” she said
clearly, and the image froze. “How did you get this?”

“You just learned that the President of
Unified North America is trying to blackmail you and that’s what
you want to know?”

“Trying is the operative word. You’ve just
provided me with the protection I need to see that I’m not forced
into anything.”

“Only if I choose to share it with you.”

She scowled at him. “I see. We’re still
negotiating.”

“I will never stop negotiating. Keep that in
mind.”

Turning back to the screen, she said,
“Play.”

The propaganda Job had sent her ran in
tandem through her mind as she watched the rest of the recording.
Job wanted the world to believe PURE was a wholesome, orderly
environment where those not corrupted by vanity’s taint could live
in peace, protected from the genetic mutation God had unleashed as
a sort of purging judgment. No one with a “Purity Rating” higher
than 0.9 was allowed within the stronghold.

Bettencourt thought she’d been kidnapped by
Job. Barely suppressing a shudder, she glanced at her captor. Job’s
public image, the face used for PURE broadcasts, the face in his
messages could be anyone—or no one.

Had she been kidnapped by the real Job? That
had been her first suspicion.

“Tell her the president’s daughter is likely
using the name Rahab,” the general said and the image faded to
black.