The Guardian's Wildchild (42 page)

“Get out of here!” Sam shouted. His fire still burned and continued to spill its wrath.

Nathan’s mouth dropped open and tears welled in his eyes. “I’m sorry, Dad. Really. Just was scared ’n all. You mad at me, Dad?”

Sam was dumfounded.
How could I have shouted at him? What’s happening to me?
He hardly recognized the man he’d become. But he still felt the gut-wrenching need to complete what he’d started. And yet, if he did, he could see with certainty that he’d become twisted like Butchart. He’d never be free of the Dark forces that would follow him. Nausea swelled in his belly, the floor swayed, and he was chilled to the bone. He saw madness overtaking his life, the worst kind of prison.

He hoped he could undo the damage he’d caused. He knelt down on his knee in front of Nathan.

“I’ll never leave you again,” he said, wrapping his arms around his son’s slender shoulders. “I love you and Simon very much. Now go back upstairs. I’ll see you before I go back to the hotel. Tomorrow, I’ll pick you guys up from school. Okay?”

Nathan hugged his dad back and nodded. “Okay, Dad.” He dashed out of the room.

Sam went to the Admiral and put him in his chair behind the desk. He called for the servant and gave orders to get water for the Admiral and called for Perkins. He placed Butchart on the floor and checked the shoulder wound. It was already healing, but Butchart was still weak. He laid a blanket over the injured man. When Perkins arrived, the servants helped walk Butchart out to Perkin’s vehicle with orders to deliver him to his home.

The admiral was still trembling, but regaining his control. Sam stood in front of the admiral’s desk.

“Sir, I apologize. My behavior toward you was insubordinate and cruel. My actions were dishonorable to my rank and my heritage as a Guardian.”

The admiral eyed him suspiciously. “Fine,” he barked. “But I demand one more thing from you right now. Explain how you got that chopper to fly and fire its guns without the crystal.”

Sam sat down. He smiled and spoke softly. “You see, Admiral, that explanation comes with a price tag.”

The admiral straightened his posture. “Figured so.”

The admiral leaned down to a desk drawer and pulled out a bottle of aged scotch whiskey and two glasses.

Detective Clay Flanders’ comlink buzzed. “Flanders speaking.”

“Perkins. The heat’s been turned up. Waterhouse nearly killed the admiral and Frank. Trashed part of the mansion with the admiral’s chopper. Got a piece of Frank.”

“Christ! Is tomorrow still on?”

“Yeah. Frank hasn’t changed the plans, but the timing’s still up in the air. Better not talk to him tonight. He’s like a wounded animal.”

“Well, we better find out what Waterhouse is up to.”

“That’s the problem. Hook had the hotel staked out, but Waterhouse never showed.”

“Jesus! We better be ready when Frank wants to make his move. Has he picked the spot?”

“Yeah, that old photography place on Seventh. Going to use the dark room. Figures no one will hear any hollerin’ from there.”

“Good. Sure be a lot easier if we knew what Waterhouse was up to. Might have a bunch of that underground helping him. He said he’d call tonight. Must be busy. Can’t call him or he’d get even more suspicious. Keep me posted, Perkins.”

Sam sat down on the bed. He felt off kilter. On his drive to his hotel, he’d had the most incredible urge to pull off the freeway. Clearly, a voice had said, “Get out now!” He’d abandoned the vehicle and, just as he reached a safe distance, it had exploded. Sam had disappeared into the darkness and found a different motel, the one he was currently at.

He fished out the memory rod from his gun and inserted it into a laptop provided by the hotel. In spite of his exhaustion, he was anxious to open the file that Joy had felt worth the risk. He went through the folders and pages and read document after document. Shortly after 0200 hours, he placed a call to the
Nonnah
.

“Commander Moon speaking.”

“Good evening, Rhett. Sam here. Long day for you?”

“Yes, sir. Where are you?”

“Hotel. Patch me through to Bridges.”

“Is this about the prisoner, sir?”

“Yes, why?”

“I have orders from HQ that there’s to be no further contact with her. She remains in her cell in isolation.”

Sam blinked. “From who at HQ, Commander?”

“Head of Security, Captain Butchart, sir.”

Sam hesitated. “At what time, Commander?”

Moon touched a few keys on his computer keyboard and read the report. “Received direct order at oh nine thirty-eight today, sir.”

“Anything else you wish to report?”

Moon shifted in the captain’s chair. “No, sir. All systems and personnel normal.”

Sam searched for insight into what was happening on his ship. “Rhett, be careful. Good night.”

24. Admiral Garland’s Awakening

Morning, Tuesday, July 16, New Seattle

It was only 0634 hours when Sam woke with an ache which had begun in his chest, but now threatened to spread to the rest of his body. It had nothing to do with his muscles. This was deeper, a vacant feeling which could only be filled with the sound of her voice and her company. With voice communication no longer an option, Sam wondered if another connection was possible.

He sat on his bed, hands relaxed on his thighs, and breathed slowly. Soon he was able to hush the chatter of his mind. At one point he thought about grabbing the crystal and accessing its power, but his intuition told him he didn’t need it. He continued his meditation in silence.

The sense of being in his hotel room faded. His body became as fluid as his breath, without shape or limitation. He sensed moving through light. Her beautiful pale green eyes, smiling and teasing, beckoned him. He remained centered. Currents of energy surrounded her, and as he shifted to connect, they were enveloped in a swirl of dancing rays. He briefly whispered her name, her Guardian name — Wild Child. Then he sent the energy of his heart to her, immersing her entire being in his love.

“Hello, Sam. Everything okay?” She conveyed a deep, abiding love through the touch of her ethereal fingers in his hair.

“Yep. Everything okay there?”

She nodded. “Uh huh.”

With a boyish grin on his face, Sam inhaled, and the connection was gone.

At 1500 hours, Sam waited by his sons’ school. He was half an hour early, anxious to finally have them back, completely and wholly under his care and guidance. The late afternoon sun shone down on the vacant schoolyard. Finding a bench under a solitary tree, he sat and contemplated what was to come in the next few hours.

He wondered who’d been behind the previous night’s attempt to kill him. He glanced around the school grounds. The morning paper had reported the incident, saying the owner of the vehicle hadn’t been identified, but that police forensics discovered the remnants of a bomb that had been detonated from a remote transmitter. The name Madame echoed in Sam’s head. Again he looked around, trying to spot odd shadows among the buildings, shapes that didn’t belong in the trees. It bothered him that Perkins was nowhere in sight. Sam hadn’t seen Frank Butchart or heard from Admiral Garland all day, a fact that made him nervous.

The admiral and he had tried to come to an agreement, or at least the framework of an agreement. He would get his sons and his freedom in exchange for Sidney’s cooperation to work for the navy. But he knew Sidney wouldn’t agree, and a feeling of doom alternated with a sense of release. Even if he and his boys got free of the admiral, they’d have Butchart and Madame to worry about.

Sam’s hand still bore the bruises from his fight with Butchart the previous night. He massaged the soreness and let go of the dark feelings he had for the desperate man. He discovered it was a matter of choice, and the gut wrenching desire to strangle the man was gradually being replaced with a vague sense of pity.

Gazing down at his hands, he noticed two tiny bare feet standing beside him. He looked up to the child’s face. The little girl was dressed in coveralls. She smiled sheepishly at Sam as she twined fingers in her curly, long, dark brown hair.

“Hi, sweetheart. Where’s your mommy?” Sam asked.

“Over there.” She pointed in a westerly direction.

Sam looked about but saw no one. He became concerned that she may be lost.

“What’s your name, little one?”

The child playfully ran around the bench, giggling and kicking up dust. She began singing a song. Sam couldn’t make out the words other than something that sounded like “Savy anna, savy anna is coming, coming.”

“Is your name Anna?” he asked when she finally stopped in front of him.

The child put her hands on her hips and indignantly declared, “No. Savannah.”

“Oh, Savannah. I get it. Are you lost, Savannah?”

The child giggled again. “No.” She looked at Sam’s bruised hand and touched it lightly. She looked into his eyes. “Daddy.”

“Dirty? No, just a bruise. It’s okay. I think we’d better find your mother.”

“Okay.” She reached up to him, indicating that she wanted to be picked up. Sam lifted her and walked into the school. Inside, he set her down and held onto her hand.

“Can I help you sir?” a young woman asked.

Sam hadn’t heard her approach and was startled. “Oh, yes. Are you a teacher or parent here?”

“I’m a teacher. What’s your problem?” she said rather stiffly.

“This little girl. I was hoping her mother might be here.”

“What little girl, sir?”

“This … ” The child was nowhere in sight. “Sorry, she must’ve found her mother. I’ll just wait here for my boys.”

How bizarre
, he thought.
Is this the life of a Guardian? Mystery upon mystery?

Soon the children began to race out of the school. Sam stood and watched for his boys. He thought it was odd that Perkins hadn’t shown up yet. It took some time for the chattering students to exit the school, so Sam went outside to stand along with the other parents. He was becoming concerned. Once all the students seemed to be out of the school and his boys were nowhere to be seen, he went into the school and found the same teacher he’d spoken to earlier.

“Yes?” she questioned, annoyed. “What child’s parent are you looking for, now?”