Firestorm

by Iris Johansen

  “No.”

  He shrugged. “Whatever you say. I just want you to try.”

  “And I don't want Jason or Laura endangered. They've been through enough.”

  “I'll keep them safe.”

  “I'm supposed to trust you? You have a lousy track record.”

  “Okay. I'm not perfect. But I've already called Washington, and they'll have round-the-clock guards. I promise they won't be at risk. I don't want them hurt any more than you do.”

  She couldn't doubt his sincerity. “Thank you.”

  He shrugged. “I'm damn sorry that Trask was responsible for that baby's death. I had no idea he'd followed me to Atlanta.”

  “You should have known. He regards you as a threat. He has to destroy threats that might interfere with Firestorm.” She turned away. “Now I'm calling the hospital and checking on Laura. You make reservations to Washington out of Atlanta for this evening.”

  “We could arrange a private plane from here.”

  She shook her head. “I have a couple things I have to do in Atlanta. And I want to pick up Sam. It's just as well if Trask thinks that I'm only an arson investigator with a very smart dog. I may seem less of a threat.”

  “Good thinking.”

  “Does he know about . . . what you are?”

  “I doubt it. Besides, I told you that I can't get inside his head.”

  “Then why does he consider you such a threat?”

  “Cameron Devers was my brother.” His smile was bitter. “And Trask definitely respects the power of revenge.”

  She took a deep breath as the door closed behind Silver. What insanity was she getting herself into? But it wasn't insanity. The insanity would have been to let Trask be free to wander the world and inflict that hurt and ugliness on anyone else.

  So stop questioning the decision she had already made. The only thing to do was to protect herself as much as possible by finding out as much information as she could. She picked up the phone and dialed Michael Travis.

  “I can't tell you how sorry I am about what happened to your brother and his wife,” Travis said when he picked up the call. “It was a terrible thing.”

  “Yes, it was. I suppose Silver called you and told you what happened. Or maybe I shouldn't suppose any such thing. Maybe you had one of your psychic friends in that weird group of yours focusing on me.”

  “Silver called. He wanted me to be sure and have me contact the authorities and arrange protection for your family. And there's nothing really weird about our group. We're just people trying to survive. No one wanted this talent thrust on them. It just happened. And no one has any desire to exploit it. It's more of a curse than an asset, as you very well know. Some of our people ended up in sanitariums like you. Some committed suicide. And some hid their talent but secretly thought they were insane.”

  “Until Michael Travis came riding to the rescue.”

  “I tried to help,” Michael said quietly. “I've been there.”

  She was silent a moment. “You did help me. And I never thanked you for it. I was just so angry and defensive about being shoved back into a sanitarium after spending all those years in a coma that all I wanted was a normal life. I didn't want to think, talk, or hear about anyone who was . . . like me.”

  “But I think you're ready to hear about us now.” He chuckled. “And I consider it a breakthrough that you're admitting that you're not alone in this.”

  “Then enjoy it. But I'll never join your little coven. I handle my problems myself.”

  “So do we. And there isn't any real organization to our group. The cohesiveness is that we know we can reach out and talk to someone who understands. That's a blessing when half the time we're not sure we understand ourselves. We believe in independence and privacy too, and no one would think of violating that premise.” He paused. “Except when one of our members goes around the bend and threatens the rest of us.”

  “Goes around the bend?”

  “Some of us are more stable than others, as is true in any group. The balance is always more fragile when subjected to the strain we're under. And it's always possible that, if anyone started to spiral downward, they'd break confidence and subject us all to pain and humiliation.” He added ruefully, “The last thing we want is to have Newsweek trying to do an exposé on us.”

  “And what do you do with these exceptions?”

  He laughed. “Nothing lethal. God, you sound suspicious. We try to help them. We have one or two of the group make an attempt to help them come to an adjustment.” He added, “Most of the time we succeed.”

  “And when you don't?”

  “We ask Silver to come down from Washington and give it a try. If he's not busy on a project, he'll usually agree to help.”

  “If? I'd think he'd drop everything. Isn't he one of your buddies?”

  “No. We respect each other, but you can't call us friends.”

  “But he belongs to your group.”

  “No, he's like you. He doesn't want his independence compromised. I didn't find him, he found me. But unlike you, he wanted to explore his full potential. When I first encountered him, he was working in a think tank at Georgetown University, a top-secret privately funded project that was testing psychic abilities. He'd run across one of my less stable people who was turning psychotic. He called me and asked me if I wanted him to straighten him out. I was cautious, but I finally said yes.”

  “And did he do it?”

  “Yes. Jim's not entirely normal—who is?—but he's not going to end up in the loony bin. I'll take you to meet him, if you like.”

  “Because Silver brainwashed him?”

  “No, because Silver flushed out some of the poison and let him see clearer. He was careful not to hurt Jim in any way. That's why I feel okay calling him in occasionally.”

  “I'd hate it.”

  “Unless you were going bonkers. Jim has no resentment.”

  “Maybe he would if Silver hadn't told him not to resent him. How do you know he didn't?”

  “I don't. I don't know that much about Silver's talent. But I do know he's been a godsend. That's why I gave him your name when he came looking for someone who might help.”

  “A return of favor. My head on a silver platter?”

  “It seems intact at the moment.”

  “But Laura's child is dead.”

  “Yes, but it was Trask, not Silver, who was responsible. And I thought long and hard about giving your name to Silver. But I'm sure he told you about the urgency of catching Trask before he sells information to another power.”

  “Yes. He also told me his brother was murdered by Trask.”

  “Half brother. But I believe they were very close. He's been a driven man since Devers's death.”

  She remembered the cold ferocity of Silver's expression. “I can believe that.” She paused. “He made me a promise not to . . . interfere with me. Can I trust him?”

  He hesitated. “I think so. He's a wild card, but he's always been straight in our dealings.”

  “That's not very comforting.”

  “It's the best I can do.” He paused. “Besides, you're an independent lady. You always like to make your own judgments.”

  “Can I stop him if he doesn't keep his word?”

  “Maybe. If you concentrate. If you try to sense any intrusion and repel him. You're very strong. It's possible.”

  “Thanks a lot,” she said sarcastically.

  “It's all I can give you. As I said, I'm not that familiar with his talent. He doesn't talk about it. He just goes to work and does it. But it would be more comfortable if you'd try to trust him.”

  “Like trusting there are no land mines in Afghanistan?”

  He chuckled. “You're probably a little safer than that. Do you want me to talk to him?”

  “Would it do any good?”

  “Probably not.”

  “Then just be on call in case I find I can't stand Silver and need you to send someone else like him to help me.�
�

  “There is no one like him. I've never run across another controller. He's unique.”

  “In more ways than one. Good-bye, Michael. I wish to hell you'd never given my name to Silver.”

  “Do you? But then you'd never have known about Trask. All your life you've been hating and fighting those sickos who start the fires and now you've met the king of them all. Isn't there just a little adrenaline rush at the thought of bringing him down?”

  Adrenaline? She remembered the feeling of filth and horror she'd experienced when she was hurled into Trask's world. They were emotions she'd never felt before. No, she wasn't eager to go through that again, even though she knew she had to do it.

  It wasn't the rush of adrenaline she was feeling.

  It was fear.

  5

  Trask was driving through Atlanta when his phone rang.

  “I haven't heard from you in over a week,” Ki Yong said when Trask answered. “I believe you're abusing my patience.”

  “I've been busy.”

  “So Dickens tells me. He's getting very nervous.”

  “That's his problem. You promised me a professional and I expect professional behavior.”

  “He came highly recommended.” Ki Yong paused. “I understand you have certain priorities in the United States, and you can't say I'm not cooperating. But I have pressures from my superiors. They want delivery of Firestorm—soon.”

  “They'll get it.”

  “Not if you're dead or captured. You're playing a dangerous game. It's not as if I haven't offered to totally take over your agenda there. I'd put all my efforts into winding up those loose ends for you. I want you out of the U.S. and safe.”

  Safe? Ki Yong wouldn't give a damn about Trask's safety once he got his hands on Firestorm. That's why he'd had to be so careful. “Dickens is enough help. I don't want anyone interfering.” And cheating him and the child out of the pleasure they deserved. “It won't be too long now.”

  “There comes a point when patience gives way and the price becomes too high.”

  “Not for Firestorm. I showed you what it could do on that island in the Pacific. As I remember, you were very impressed. You told me it would take years for that island to be anything but a burned-out shell.” He decided to take the offensive. “So don't try to bluff me. You want it and you want it bad. I'll call you when I'm ready to leave.”

  The silence vibrated with Ki Yong's displeasure. “Soon. Make it soon.” He hung up.

  Arrogant bastard. Trask pressed the disconnect button and thrust the phone in his jacket. Ki Yong had been polite and saccharine-sweet when he'd thought he'd be able to manipulate Trask. Well, that hadn't lasted long and he didn't like the idea of Trask running the show. Too bad. Trask was in control, and they could all jump when he snapped his fingers. He had the power.

  He had the child.

  But the child had not performed well last night, he thought, troubled. He'd thought he had the small dish perfected, but it had behaved erratically at the Murphy house. Obviously there were some serious alterations to be done on it before he entered into negotiations with Ki Yong.

  And Kerry Murphy had survived Firestorm. The knowledge was a bitter pill on his tongue. Before, she had been a mere inconvenience, a possible threat, but now she was a symbol of his failure, the child's failure. He could feel his rage begin to sear like acid.

  Keep calm. Control the fury as he controlled Firestorm. He hadn't been able to rectify his mistake at the hospital in Macon. It would have been too dangerous with Silver standing guard every minute. But he would make sure there would be other opportunities.

  Until then, he would think about Kerry Murphy and anticipate the marvelous destruction the child would visit on her.

  Thanks for leaving Sam.” Edna gave Kerry a hug. “He was a great comfort to the kids.”

  “I'm sure he loved it. You probably spoiled him rotten.”

  “We tried.” Edna hesitated. “And thanks for everything else, Kerry. I don't know what I would have done without you.”

  “Are you doing okay now? Anything else I can do to help?”

  She shook her head. “Donna's here, and the kids love her. We'll be fine.” She tried to smile. “Well, maybe not fine, but we'll survive. That's what we have to do, isn't it?”

  Kerry nodded. “You're pretty wonderful. Charlie would be proud of you.” She hesitated. Oh, what the hell. “Come on out on the porch.”

  “What?”

  “Just come.” Kerry opened the door and went out ahead of her. “I know it's the wrong time, but maybe it isn't. Not for the kids.” She pointed to the large mutt tied to the porch post. “This is Sandy. I called him that because he looks like that dog in Annie. I got him at the pound.”

  “A dog?”

  “Underneath all that dirt, he's definitely a dog. He's also definitely friendly, and house-trained—maybe. Think of it this way. It will be a challenge for the kids to—”

  “I don't know . . .” Edna frowned. “I'm not sure—”

  “If you don't like him in a few days, call me and I'll find another home for him.” She gave Edna a quick kiss on the cheek and led Sam down the steps.

  “Everything okay?” Silver asked from the driver's seat of the SUV. “She doesn't look too thrilled.”

  “He's a sweet dog. Edna's a born mother, and he'll give her something to think about. And I hated taking Sam away from the kids.”

  “She's petting him,” Silver observed. “Cautiously. It may be okay.”

  “I hope so.” She was wiping her eyes as she opened the back passenger door and gestured to Sam to get into the car. “You know, life sucks. Charlie's dead and his family is hurting. They'll always hurt.”

  “But it will get better.”

  “I guess so.” She got into the passenger seat and closed the door. “I'm trying to think so.” Sam had lunged up on the top of the seat and was trying to lick her cheek. “Sit down, silly.” But she gave him a hug before turning to Silver. “We can go now.”

  “No more errands? What did you do when you had me stop at your office?”

  “I had to ask a favor of one of the fire inspectors. One of the kids at the hospital is going to be released this week to his grandmother, and the nurse at the hospital wasn't sure he hadn't been abused. I needed to buy some time until DFACS could investigate.”

  “The little boy, Josh.”

  She smiled bitterly. “Why am I surprised you knew that? You even included him in the little fairy tale you made for me.” She gestured impatiently as he started to speak. “Have you made our travel arrangements?”

  “Would I dare do anything else?” He pulled away from the curb. “A private plane is waiting at Hartsfield. I assumed you'd want your pup in the cabin with you.”

  She nodded. “He doesn't like crates. I think it reminds him of the pound.”

  “I can tell he's a sensitive soul.” Silver glanced at the dog. “Well, happy is sometimes as good as smart.”

  “He's smart . . . sometimes. Usually when food is concerned.” She took out her phone. “I have to tell my boss I'm taking a few weeks off.” She made a face. “He's not going to like it after I spent so much time with Edna and the kids.”

  “I've already had Travis call Washington and ask them to exert a little muscle to smooth the path for you.” He glanced at her. “How are your brother and his wife?”

  “As good as could be expected. While you're pulling strings, can you find a decent place for Jason to take Laura when the hospital releases her?”

  “No problem. I thought that a full-service hotel would be best for the first week or so, and then we'll move them to a rental property. Okay?”

  She nodded. “You've thought it all through.”

  “I have to make sure you're free of worry.” He added, “I'm sure you'd be skeptical if I also said I wanted them to be as happy and comfortable as possible.” He smiled sardonically. “After all, I'm an abomination.”

  “Did that sting?”


  “Perhaps.” He thought about it. “I think it did. I'm used to it, but sometimes a word or a particularly vicious attack gets past my guard.”

  She was silent a moment. “You can't blame anyone for hating you for messing around in their minds. There couldn't be an uglier intrusion.”

  “I don't blame anyone. I'd hate it too,” he said wearily. “Do you think it's fun for me? You have no idea what ugliness people hide from the world. Some people's minds are cesspools.”

  “Then stay out of mine.”

  He smiled. “Your mind is remarkably clean. Oh, a few sexual repressions and fantasies, but on the whole it's clean and honest and bright. Most of the time it was a pleasure monitoring you. The only problems I had were the nightmares and the barriers you hid behind whenever you thought about your mother's death. That was a cross between riding a tornado and being locked in a coffin.” He glanced at her. “I can imagine what it's like for you. You should have let Travis help you to control it.”

  “I'm not interested in your opinion and I'm not looking for a crutch.”

  “A little leaning until you learn how to stand on your feet isn't a weakness.”

  “Are you speaking from experience?”

  He grimaced. “Caught. No, I was too mixed up and stubborn to let anyone help me. But you should do what I say and not what I do. It's much healthier. Life would have been a lot simpler for me if I'd had a Michael Travis during those early days.”

  “He told me you weren't actually part of his group.”

  He shook his head. “The only thing I had in common with Travis or his friends was that the talent came to me in the same way. I was injured in an automobile accident when I was thirteen and in a coma for almost a year. When I came out of it, everyone thought I was normal for a long while. Everyone but me. I knew I was screwed up, but I had no intention of letting anyone else know I believed I was being sucked into other people's minds. I thought I was going crazy, and I intended to live every minute of my life to the fullest before they shut me in the booby hatch. My parents were too busy pushing my brother Cam's political career to pay much attention, so they let me go my own way. And my way was to indulge in every excess under the sun and invent what I couldn't find available.” He shook his head. “Talk about black sheep.”