Weavers (9 page)

“Why?” I asked plainly, and Katarina was silent.

Finally, she answered in my head:
/ They will be hunting people like us / Just like the Nazis hunted people like you / They may not kill us but use us / But we will lose our freedom all the same /

/ I will escape with you /
was the message I sent her from inside of my mind, and I knew that she had received it when she began to clap across from me.

“I will teach you all of my tricks,” said Katarina.

CHAPTER 16

1999

Jessica stood on the lawn outside of the TRC next to Howard and the CIA director, Herm Miller.
All three wore Tesla Helmets so as to make Herm feel comfortable, and Jessica was already getting a headache from the constant humming of the machines in the helmet that kept the TKs from doing their damage. Three hundred or so yards away from them was Frank. It had taken four Tesla-clad TRC agents to get him from the floor of his cell and onto a gurney, and that was where he lay at the moment, five hundred pounds of flesh containing one of the most brilliant and diabolical minds the world had ever known.

Jessica had shocked Frank a week prior by telling him that the first victim of the Ham and Egger and his partner had been Miranda Walter. The poor woman was a young mother who had been widowed by the war, and the pair of them had stolen her from the broom factory where she worked. The body was found in a ditch a few days later, and though the papers of the time would likely have skipped over the extravagance of the brutality inflicted upon Miss Walter, Jessica’s friend Buddy Everts at Quantico hadn’t exactly been limited to just what the reporters at the time knew.

Jessica had known immediately upon leaving Frank’s room that too much rested upon her getting the answer right, so she’d called Buddy, a onetime lover and still good friend from years back, and once the pleasantries were exchanged, Jessica got down to the details. She’d left out the parts about Frank and his future wife being declared legally dead after their executions in a federal prison for being convicted traitors, just as she left out her current job at the TRC, and Buddy had been around classified files enough to know not to ask.

They’d settled on Miranda after two hours of comparing files after work. Although all of the Ham and Egger’s victims had been stabbed and left to bleed to death, Miranda had been stabbed with two different knives. One of them was the same blade that had been used on the rest of the victims to that point, but the other had only been used on Miranda and the girls who had come after her. The wounds from this second knife varied in quality, as though the offender had been learning his limits as he cut, discovering a joy in his work as the blood poured from Miranda. Jessica had thanked Buddy for his help, promised to buy him dinner the next time they caught up—which was likely to never happen—and then hung up and breathed a sigh of relief.

Now, Frank was running a perfect two-man drill across the field. In the two-man, a TK controlled two separate volunteers at the same time but made them behave perfectly in sync, so that when one sprinted, the other did so next to him. The two-man was one of the surest gauges the TRC had found to determine a TK’s prowess. A good two-man drill would infer that they were dealing with a skilled telekinetic. And a drill like the one Frank was performing was proof that the TK in question had godlike powers.

Frank’s pair of men cavorted across the lawn, doing somersaults, sprinting, and managing synchronized back handsprings. At this last feat of acrobatics, Jessica had been able to hear Herm whoop with joy even over the hum of her helmet, and the sound of it made her grin with pleasure. Frank was doing the work, that was true, but she was the one who had made it happen when no one else could.

When the show was done, after the conclusion of the spirited two-man and another drill involving two volunteers wearing boxing gloves and headgear, Herm retired with Howard and Jessica to the TRC conference room. It was not his first time there, but it had been several years since his last visit, and he settled in comfortably at the table so few had ever seen.

“This is great coffee,” said Herm once they were settled in, “and that was a hell of a display. My question and the president’s question is, when can we expect to see new TKs in service? Frank has got to be about at the end of the useful period of his life, and even if he weren’t, I can’t imagine using a man his size on an operation, especially a covert one.”

“Frank is the most talented TK we’ve ever seen,” said Jessica. “I pray that someday we find someone even half as powerful. And frankly, I’m not sure I’d want to play with the grown-up version of one who was stronger than Frank. He already pushes the limits of what this facility can control.”

“I think what Jessica means to say,” said Howard, with a peacemaking smile across his face, “is that while Frank is a wonderful example of what a great TK can do, we too would like to see some new blood in this facility. And to do that, we need time, Herm, and the president needs to know that. We’re as aware as everyone else in this line of work that big things are coming, and the TRC wants in. We just need the time to get our house in order.”

“You’ve told me many times how difficult it is to find new subjects for this program,” said Herm, “and you can be sure the president is well versed on that subject as well. What assurances can you give me that you aren’t just looking for a Hail Mary in order to buy some time? I realize the impact the TRC has had on this country—especially the actions of your father, Jessica—but I need to bring the president something more, some sign that things are right in your house.”

“Jessica has a few lines in the water currently,” said Howard, “and though I would hate to speak out of turn, we both strongly suspect that we will have at least one more TK by the end of this calendar year, with perhaps even more to come.”

“Oh well,” said Herm, brightening, “that does change things. Can you share anything about this acquisition process with me? It must be fairly new.”

“It is,” said Howard. “We’re still working out the kinks, in fact, but we have high hopes for what this will bring.”

“My congratulations,” said Herm as he stood. He walked to the cart with liquor and fine crystal—a staple of the room, but almost never used—and began pouring neat glasses of Lagavulin. “Jessica, I cannot wait to hear more about this when you can share more.”

“I can’t wait to tell you all about it, but like Howard said, I just need a little time,” said Jessica as she took the glass from the CIA director, and this was certainly true. This was the first she’d heard of Howard’s new program, and she was hoping against hope he really had come up with something for her to work with.

“That sounds perfect, and I’m sure the president will be delighted.”

“Please send him our regards,” said Howard, smiling magnanimously as he raised his glass.

Herm was gone, and empty glasses sat before Jessica and Howard in the TRC conference room. Neither of them was speaking, and neither had even looked at the other since they’d walked Herm to his waiting driver and security team upstairs.

Jessica was scared to ask what she wanted to ask, and the silence from Howard only made her more nervous. The booze had done nothing—not even the third glass of scotch, and that one had been poured to roughly a four-finger height by Howard.

When they finally spoke, it was at the same time:

“Howard, I need to know—”

“Jessica, I must confess—”

“You first,” said Jessica. “I need to hear this confession before I waste any more wind on this shit.”

“There is no plan.”

“Goddamnit,” said Jessica under her breath. It wasn’t that she was concerned about cursing out her boss; it was that she wasn’t sure she could even stay in her chair. She felt beyond dizzy, like someone had swatted her behind her ear.
He’s hanging me out to dry, and I blew the only chance I had to make sure the director of the fucking CIA knew I was not in on this shit.
“Goddamnit.”

“What I mean to say is that there is no plan in place as of now, but I know that between the two of us we will find one,” said Howard. “I know what you’re thinking, Jessica, but I’m not setting you up to take a fall. Rather, the TRC is going to be in your more than capable hands.”

“I’m going to pretend I believe you,” seethed Jessica. “Explain. Make me get this, because right now I see a big pit with my name on it, and I feel your hands on my back getting ready to give me a shove.”

“Jessica, you know how much I respect you, and you know how I felt and continue to feel about your father. I could never do that to you, and I could never do that to him. This is not a setup.”

“So what is it?”

“I’m taking you off of Frank immediately,” said Howard. Jessica started to simultaneously open her mouth and stand, and then Howard waved a hand. “Stop. Let me finish.” Jessica sat, staring at her glass and wishing there was more whiskey in it. “Like I said, you’re off Frank, starting now. I know you had the breakthrough, and I appreciate that, but this is more important. You’re going to find us those TKs, and I figure you have six months at most to do it.”

“How am I going to do that? Are you bumping me down to Research? Those people don’t even have clearance, Howard. They don’t even know why they’re looking for what they’re looking for.”

“Of course not. Jesus,” said Howard as he shook his head. “You’re going to do something that has never been done: a senior agent of the TRC is going to be putting her all into finding TKs, open and shut. You’ll have my blessing to do whatever is necessary in order to accomplish these tasks, and you will be allowed as large of a budget as our coffers can allow. In short, Jessica, once again the fate of the TRC falls on the shoulders of a Hockstetter.”

Jessica stared at him. “I’m not sure what to say,” she mumbled at last.

Howard wasn’t throwing her under the bus; he was telling her the train was coming at 12:15 and that it was her job to make sure the TRC was off of the tracks.
I’ll be saving him, myself, and all of this.
She might even like this job again.

“Just say you’ll do it, and make me believe that you can succeed.”

“I know I can.”

“Godspeed.”

CHAPTER 17

Darryl was sober, and Darryl was fishing.
It was harder work than they’d figured. Bending a kid or some drunk for pocket change was easy, but going in and acting like a scalpel was harder. It took finesse. Twice in the past week Darryl could tell the kids he was invading knew he was there, but it hadn’t mattered: they weren’t what he was looking for. He didn’t need to find a perfect specimen, one as strong as him, but he did need a gifted child to work with. Finding some kid who was learning how special he was wouldn’t be good enough. He needed a child who was already getting his hands dirty. Darryl needed a kid who could bend but also had a flair for the diabolical. Thus far, such a kid was proving hard to come by.

Which made Darryl freshly bemoan his discovery and quick disposal of Vincent. That kid had been perfect. He was smart, twisted, and loyal to no one. Had Darryl felt like looking for them, he was sure he would’ve found on the kid the sort of scars that predicted a sociopathic future. Darryl hadn’t looked, though. He’d taken what he needed and settled for a half million when the kid could have been eyes and ears into tens of millions of dollars, maybe even more. Darryl was going to be carrying the regret for shoving Vincent into a noose for a very long time.

“Fucking nothing, man,” said Darryl as he leaned away from the computer.

Terry nodded from the couch, then took a butt from the pack on the coffee table and lit it. The walls here weren’t covered in porno, and the view out the window showed a beach covered in bikini-clad women instead of a punk club, but Darryl couldn’t have cared less. Terry was kicked back, enjoying the spoils of war, while he was still struggling to find their next battle.

“It’ll happen, Darryl,” said Terry. “Just relax and let it come to you.”

It was good advice, but Terry was still chapping Darryl’s ass. While Darryl had been working constantly, Terry had been back up to his old tricks. Darryl knew that was the real reason his friend had wanted a spot on this Mexican beach. Life was cheap here. But the way Terry was playing his game, it could end up costing them a lot more than just a few pesos for a woman.

Darryl had been in Terry’s head only a few times since they’d been kids, but he’d gone digging twice this week while Terry was sleeping, and for good reason. Terry had always liked to hurt women a little bit—no big deal, really; both their dads had that hobby, too—but he’d killed two girls this week. Barely teenaged girls. Worse, he thought he could hide it from Darryl. That Darryl wouldn’t notice the normally teetotaling Terry was increasingly drunk, and that Terry had a longing in his eyes when he looked over those white Mexican beaches.

Terry knew Darryl could see into him, could see the lights go out in the eyes of those two girls as Terry flexed his fingers around their necks, and he even knew that Terry pictured his own ineffectual mother as he did it. Terry’s mother had allowed him to be beaten so that she could avoid a few licks of her own on occasion, but really, he needed to move on. Terry was still revenge-killing the woman in his fantasies, even though she’d been in the ground for five years and counting.

None of this should have been Darryl’s problem, but it was. If Terry got busted, they were both going down, and there would be some rough questions for Darryl to answer if the police dug into their finances.

“I’ll get there, Terry,” said Darryl, hating himself as he spoke for not being honest and just calling his friend out on his indiscretions. Terry thought he didn’t know, and that even if he did, he wouldn’t care. After all, Darryl killed people, too, and for whatever reason, Terry couldn’t see the difference.
I’m killing as part of a solution so that a couple of lost lives can see a happy ending. He’s just doing it to hurt women because his childhood sucked.
Darryl knew this was true yet couldn’t imagine discussing the matter with Terry, whether the man was sober or drunk—or, for that matter, whether Darryl was sober or drunk.

Instead of facing it, Darryl ignored the problem, giving drunken Terry a wave before turning back to the computer. As he did, though, he gave Terry a little poke, one that he didn’t think his drunk friend would recognize as anything at all, and what he found was even worse than what he’d imagined. Christ. Terry had taken another girl last night—the third one in a week—and this one hadn’t been a native. Darryl could see the whole thing through Terry’s eyes: his friend coercing the drunken teen away from her friends and then slowly raping and killing her on the beach, where he left her body to be discovered by whoever was unlucky enough to stumble across it. The bar he’d taken her from had been packed. Darryl and Terry were both regulars there, and there was no way he hadn’t been noticed.

“Motherfucker,” said Darryl as he stood and started across the room at Terry.

In response, Terry dropped his can of beer, sending suds flying into the air as the can bounced on the hardwood floor, and cowered behind his hands.

It was all Darryl could do to stop short of blowing the fucker up. “We need to go right now, asshole,” he said, looming over him. “Do you realize what you’ve done? You didn’t even have the nerve to tell me. You were going to just let me sit here with you until the police showed up!”

“You’re not supposed to look in me,” whined Terry. “We have a deal, Darryl, a deal we made a long time ago. You’re not supposed to ever look in me. We both know that I’m poison, you more than anyone. After all—”

“Think very hard about what you’re going to say,” said Darryl. “I’m serious, Terry. This could be it, and we’ve got a pretty good thing going.”

“I know, I know,” moaned Terry. “And I ruined it. I fucked up, all right? I was going to tell you, but you know how hard that is, to admit what I did. I can’t just say it, not when you’re risking everything every single time you do your trick.”

Darryl shook his head. It was already starting to ache, and he was beginning to wonder why he was even still in the apartment. For all he knew, the authorities could already be on their way with some serious questions about the men who had been living there. And if all Terry wanted to do was make excuses for himself, then maybe Darryl should just get on a plane without him and stop waiting for the other shoe to drop.

But no. He wasn’t ready to do that.

“Terry,” said Darryl finally, “this isn’t about us, about me breaking our ‘deal’ and looking into you. I
have
to look into you, you fuck. This just proves that. And you can’t just boohoo this away, say you’re sorry. This is about you being sloppy and putting everything that we have at risk.”

“How it went down with that girl wasn’t how it was supposed to be,” said Terry. “It was consensual, all of it. I just got rough, and then—”

“Not ‘that’ girl, Terry. Those
three
girls,” said Darryl. “Get the story straight if you’re going to lie. And while you’re at it, try and remember that I know the rest. You didn’t give me some half-cocked drunk confession where you tried to save me from the worst parts. I’m a thief, remember? I fucking know what you did, all of it, so just cut the shit.”

“All right,” said Terry. “All right, Darryl. I know it was wrong. I knew I could mess things up, and that this was a good place, but there will be other good places, right? You’re not going to leave me here, right? I can’t do that, Darryl. I can’t go back to a regular life. I can’t be what I am if—”

“You can’t be what you are anywhere,” hissed Darryl, and Terry waved his hands.

“I don’t mean like that, seriously, I just meant—”

“No, Terry, shut up,” said Darryl. “This situation is bad enough without you trying to explain. I know exactly what you mean, but there isn’t a place in the world where you can take a girl like that from a crowded bar and just kill her. Fuck.” Darryl walked away into his bedroom. He could hear Terry scurrying behind him, and Darryl called back to him, “Time to pack, Terry. I’m leaving on the next flight out of here that isn’t heading stateside, and if you’re not with me, you’re never going to see me again.”

“I’m coming to pack right now,” called Terry.

Darryl could hear the desperation in his voice but didn’t care.
You could blank him right now, make him forget everything he’s ever known and just leave. He’s never going to get better, and you know it.
Darryl swallowed thickly. It was true, but he knew why Terry was having those urges in the first place. He knew why, and he knew it wasn’t just a bad childhood. The fact was he needed Terry.

“Just pack quickly,” said Darryl. “You didn’t leave us much time to work with.” Darryl was throwing his own things into a pair of suitcases, pleased as he worked that he had so little to pack.

You’ll need to be rid of him before it’s too late
,
a voice screamed in his head, but it didn’t matter.

“I still need him,” Darryl said to himself. “At least for now.”

Darryl and Terry sat in the backseat of the cab. The cabbie was a local and thankfully wanted no conversation after the word “airport” had been uttered. Cops were everywhere, especially for a sleepy Mexican coastal town, and Darryl knew why and that the cabbie had to at least be wondering about the two rough-looking foreigners. Darryl read the cabbie as they moved, letting his topknot meld with the cabbie’s, but aside from irritation with his job, breakfast, and wife, the cabbie was doing pretty OK.

That is, he was doing pretty OK until they passed a cop car.
/ Couple of fucking gringos / Probably fucking did it / So sick of them treating this country like a toilet /
Darryl took in the thoughts like poison, then leaned back in his seat and tried to have golden thoughts. He dug in the cabbie’s head for memories of his wedding day, of his daughter’s birth, of playing baseball with neighborhood kids. Darryl let these memories bubble to the surface one after another, and when he looked at the space between them he could see that the yellow from his topknot was bending the cabbie’s to a calming blue.

The cabbie parked at the airport, helped them get the bags from the car, and was actually whistling as he got back in the driver’s seat and pulled away from the curb.

Darryl led the way wordlessly as the two slipped into the airport amid a sea of other travelers. He tried to think positively—Mexico was still a borderline Third World country, and the chances of the police having much of a lead on Terry seemed low—but a very loud, angry, panicked part of him screamed that he would be better off just shutting Terry down on some airport bench and leaving while his friend slept.

But it was a quiet voice that he ended up heeding:
You need him just as much as he needs you.

Darryl led the way to the ticket booth and parked his luggage two customers back from his turn to talk to a rep from Delta. Terry whispered something to him, and when Darryl turned to ask him to repeat himself, he saw a group of four cops working their way through the airport.
Fuck
, thought Darryl. The cops were stopping Americans, checking passports. He wanted to dive into Terry’s brain right there so he could know if there was any reason to think the cops had Darryl’s name, but he didn’t really need to. They had a sketch of the two of them from the bar and they had Terry’s name, he was sure of it—when you’re chatting up a potential date for the abattoir, you pretty much have to give your name, and Terry wouldn’t have had the sense to make one up. No, the cops had what they needed. It was just a matter of time until they found them.

The old couple in front of them parted, and as Darryl walked to the young woman working the counter, he hit her with a bend without even thinking of the consequences. He knew he’d have to work fast, could feel the cops on their necks. He settled in, doing his best to control both himself and the ticket agent, and reminding himself as he worked that this was practically running an old-school operation compared to the computer work.

Darryl laid his own hands atop the ticket counter, then set the woman’s fingers to flying on the computer in front of her. He could feel her breaking, but it didn’t matter. He punched in his name and then Terry’s, not even checking where the flight was going, because that didn’t matter right now. There were connections all over the world that they could take later, but right now all they needed was to be out of Mexico. Darryl made the woman take the tickets from the printer, her hands feeling like he was working with a pair of oven mitts, and then laid the boarding passes on the counter. This was the sloppiest he’d worked in years, but he could see the police through the woman’s eyes working their way up the line behind them, and the mess he was making of the woman was the least of his worries.

Darryl grabbed the tickets with his own fingers as he slowly took back control of his own body, and as his hearing came back, he could hear the clerk next to the woman asking her rapid-fire questions in Spanish.
“Sí, sí,”
said Darryl through the woman’s mouth, and that just made the other clerk look even more confused. Darryl grabbed his bags, leaving a connection to the woman still flowing behind him like a bridal train, and then took off from the counter with Terry at his heels.

“Go to bed,” said Darryl to himself as he cut the woman off, and behind them he could hear panicked screaming.

“Hit the bathroom,” said Darryl as he steamed ahead of Terry. “Leave the suitcases, get on the plane.”

In the bathroom, Darryl led Terry to an empty stall and took his bag from him. He balanced both their bags atop the stall’s toilet, then unzipped the top bag and pulled out a pair of pants and a pair of worn loafers. He set the shoes on the floor and the waist of the pants on the toilet seat with the suitcase atop them, then tucked the ankles of the pants into the shoes and shut the door. From the outside, it looked like someone was taking a shit.

“How are we going to get our stuff back?” Terry asked as Darryl led them from the bathroom toward the security checkpoint.

“We’re not.”

Darryl ignored his friend’s protests as they closed in on the security station, pulling his ticket from his pants pocket to see where they were headed.
Shit
. They were on their way to Des Moines, Iowa, for some reason—back in the middle of the central United States.
We’re going to need to stay there awhile, too. You know that
. The best thing to do—assuming they even made it through security—would be to hit Des Moines and lie low for a few weeks before getting the fuck out of Dodge.