He’d thought Lansing’s home normal. After seeing Beth’s cabin, it struck him as strange and more than a little creepy. No warmth here, not much sunlight either.
Lansing turned left past the kitchen, leading him down a familiar hallway. They stopped at the doorway to Alec’s old room.
“It’s smaller than I remember,” Alec said.
“They always are.”
Lansing hadn’t changed his old room. The bed was still made with perfect corners. His glow-in-the-dark planets still hung from the ceiling. The hardcover editions of the Harry Potter books were still in the bookcase, along with all the history books. No little kid picture books, though, like the ones the librarian had read in Maine.
“Why did you bring me here?”
“To show you where you’ve come from. Does this look like a prison?”
Alec shrugged.
“I know I was harsh. You needed to learn to be tough, to survive. It was necessary. Now let me show you something else.”
They went in the opposite direction, down another hallway and stopped in front of a heavy wooden door with a sword carved into the top half. Alec didn’t remember this door at all. This was a wing of the penthouse where he’d never been allowed.
Lansing used a key that was six inches long with teeth about an inch long. The lock opened and they stepped inside.
It took a moment for Alec’s eyes to adjust to the darker room. The lights on the walls flickered, casting weird shadows. “What kind of lights are these?”
“Gas lanterns,” Lansing said. “I like them.”
Weird but they fit the Victorian style in the rest of the place. Against the far wall, silent flames also flickered in the red brick fireplace. The mantel was a warm brown, which added some life to the gloomy room. Lansing went to a switch on the wall and the flames inside the lanterns and the fireplace blazed higher, chasing away the darkness and shadows.
Bookcases occupied the wall on both sides of the fireplace. Over the mantel was a crest with a skull in the middle, crossed by two red and white pennants. Under the skull was a banner that said “Or Glory.” Death or glory? Um, okay.
The opposite wall was covered by a painting of a city besieged. The forces on the city wall flew the British flag and carried old-style rifles that were later than the Revolutionary War but before automatic weapons. Alec walked closer, studying the uniforms, and recognized the invading army as some sort of desert people.
Right. The siege of Khartoum, one of the most well-known battles of the British Empire. He’d learned about it during his studies of military tactics. The British soldiers had been overwhelmed after a siege and their General, “Chinese” Gordon, had been killed. Martyred, Lansing had said, with some anger. The painting was incredibly vivid—you could see the faces clearly, the lines of their guns, even the buttons on their uniforms.
“Why would you want to remember a defeat?” Alec asked.
Lansing linked his hands behind his back. “So it doesn’t happen again. If the city had been resupplied in time, if the reinforcements had shown up just a few days sooner, there would not have been a defeat.” Lansing paced away, stopping at one of the six waist-high tables in the room. All the tables held miniature recreations of battles.
“Bureaucracy always moves too slowly. That was the British Empire’s undoing. Governments can only do so much and they get creaky and tired and hidebound. To get anything really done, you have to circumvent them.”
“I wouldn’t know. I haven’t had much experience with governments.”
Lansing leaned against one of the tables. “And that’s deliberate on my part. You don’t need to know how government works. You just need to control it. Look at those soldiers. They followed orders at Khartoum. They died. They served well but they didn’t reap the benefits of the empire. It teaches a valuable lesson.”
“To be a better soldier?”
Lansing smiled. “To be the one in charge who reaps the benefits, not the one who dies.”
Alec thought of F-Team and Jimmy. He crossed his arms over his chest. “Thanks, I feel very wanted.”
Lansing straightened. Alec stepped closer to the table and recognized the Battle of Gettysburg in three parts, for the three days of fighting.
“You needed military training to know how to use force, Alec. It’s one thing to learn about battles, another to be in them. Your courage had to be tested and honed.” He pointed to the table, to the collection of Confederate soldiers under General Longstreet. “Lee ordered Pickett’s men to charge the high ground. What would you have done?”
“That’s easy. You shouldn’t charge high ground, so I wouldn’t give the order.”
Lansing nodded. “But Lee was taking the human factor into account. His men had always won in a fight. So, given that you had men ready to fight and wanted to move forward, what would you have done?”
Alec leaned over the diorama. He lifted the figure of Jeb Stuart and shifted him to the very edge of the Confederate lines. “Have Stuart take his cavalry unit, circle around and attack the flank.”
Lansing nodded. “Good. You take a weapon that the enemy doesn’t have access to, in this case a mobile unit, and use it. In fact, that’s what Stuart did but he was stopped. What Lee should have done is retire from the field, circle around and make the Union chase him.” Lansing stepped over to a World War I setup and picked up a German biplane. “This eventually ended the need to assault high ground.” He waved it over the Union lines at Gettysburg.
“And a nuke can take out the whole city with one plane,” Alec said. “So what’s your point? We need to go back in time and re-fight the Battle of Gettysburg with biplanes?”
Lansing grinned, looking almost young. “That might be fun, but no.” He set the biplane back down. “Horses, biplanes, nuclear weapons. What do they have in common?”
“If you have them and the enemy doesn’t, you win.”
“Exactly.” Lansing smacked his hands together. “They were game changers. And you, Alec, you’re the next generation of game changer.”
“You want me to be a general?”
Lansing shook his head. “You don’t need an army. Assuming Russia’s Putin is the one ultimately behind the terrorists with the dirty bomb, how would you deal with him, if you had to oppose him?”
“We’re going to take out his proxies and render the dirty bomb useless.”
“But Demeter’s cell is simply a feint to cause destruction and confuse the enemy. Smart of Putin. If the cell succeeds, it will leave the United States in crisis without costing Putin a thing because there’s no definite proof of his involvement. The end result is that he’ll have a free hand in his corner of the world while the United States deals with a crisis. And if the cell fails, there’s no downside for him. He’s the one with the real power in all of this. He has control.”
“So what would you suggest?”
“I think taking out Demeter is too slow. It drags out the game.” Lansing stepped over to the chessboard near the fireplace. “What’s the object of this game?”
Alec picked up the chess king with his TK and let it hover in the air. “Take the king.” He frowned. “You mean, take out Putin?”
“Yes. You go right to the top and grab the king.” Lansing crossed his arms over his chest. “You have the power to do this. And there’s no reason you shouldn’t.”
“Or I could do this,” Alec waved a hand and the chessboard burst into flames. He watched it burn, controlled the fire, careful. Let Lansing see who was in charge. He listened to the grandfather clock in the corner and counted ticks. When sixty seconds were gone, the chessboard was ashes and the metal pieces were half-melted. He shut down the fire.
“I could wreck the entire game,” he said.
Lansing had watched the destruction in silence. He swallowed. “That’s right. We write our own game.”
“I write my game,” Alec said, arms crossed over his chest, echoing Lansing’s pose. It would help if he knew what his game was. What
did he want, other than making sure Beth was safe?
“In time. But with the Resource and its power and influence at your back, you can eliminate competitors, amass power behind the scenes, control governments, even.”
“You want me to be president or something?”
“I considered it but presidents are immaterial in Western society. Money is the key, and the power to take it.”
Damn, Lansing, I was kidding.
Lansing continued, lost in his little speech.
“With your gifts, with my money and with the backing of the Resource, we will find others like you. All you need is a handful of game changers like yourself and the world is transformed. With far less destruction than an atomic weapon too.”
“You have others like me?” He had guessed after learning of Beth’s telepathy that there must be others. He wondered if Drake knew about them. If he found Drake again, he might ask the CIA agent about that spongy thing at the docks. Drake would give him a straight answer. Lansing wouldn’t.
“In time we’ll have a full team.” Lansing nodded. “Your counselor is one, or could have been one, if she wasn’t afraid of her gift. And with all that power at your disposal, you’ll never have to worry about anyone controlling you.”
Except you. “That sounds ambitious.” And a little insane. More than a little.
“It’s not. It will be easy. You’ll help train the others, help them appreciate their gifts, give them a destiny and a chance to help rule.”
“And put them in a cage, as you did for me? Beth might have shut down her gift, but she controls her life.”
“You’re freer than Beth Nakamora.” Lansing swept the melted chess pieces onto the floor with the back of his hand. “Let’s assume she didn’t consciously try to manipulate you with telepathy. Let’s assume that she meant well and simply didn’t have control over it. That means she could do things to your head on impulse. If she wanted to control your fire, for instance, her subconscious might reach out and do that.”
Alec turned away and looked at the fireplace. Beth had turned his fire off.
“So?”
“An untrained telepath is probably worse than a trained one. And why is she untrained? Because she’s scared of her gift. She’s afraid. Is that a good thing?”
“No.” Beth had been scared. It hadn’t made sense. Why be scared of something that was so useful?
“She’s locked in her own internal cage, scared of her shadow, not seeing the possibilities that you can, yes?”
Yes. “I don’t know about that. She seems to like her work.”
“And now she’s given up her work to go into hiding with Drake. What kind of existence is that?”
“You scared her, sending the team to attack.”
“And I bet she said she was leaving before that, didn’t she?” Lansing raised a bushy eyebrow.
“None of your business.” Alec turned away and stared at the painting. Beth didn’t want this life. She didn’t want him in this life either, but she hadn’t offered a good alternative.
Become the person in charge, become the one who saved the soldiers from being killed by making the right decisions. Become the one who could change the game by going to those making the bombs instead of fighting the people who received them.
Lansing’s plan had appeal.
He heard Lansing walk up behind him. The older man put a hand on his shoulder once more. That was twice in one night. Lansing must really want him to agree.
“You’re going to change things for the better, you’re going to have the leadership and the power to help people like yourself, and you’re going to make decisions that will benefit the world.” Lansing squeezed his shoulder.
“So why am I a prisoner here?”
“You are not a prisoner. We’re taking safety precautions. It’s the price you pay for greatness. Or you can decide to be like one of those soldiers in the painting. Normal. Disposable.”
Alec shook his head. “Why do I have to choose between what you say and freedom?”
“You have the choice between obscurity and making a difference. That requires sacrifice. Look what happened when you left. Drake could have killed you or kidnapped you for the CIA.” Lansing dropped his hand away.
“Being locked up is not sacrificing to help others. It’s being a slave with no choice.”
Lansing collapsed into a parlor chair in front of the fireplace. “Perhaps it seems that way to you. It’s natural for you to feel restless, locked up, hemmed in. Maybe keeping you here, waiting on word about the bomb, is only making it worse. Move back to your own bed tonight. And if you want rooms up here, I’ll arrange it. A full apartment for you.”
“Thanks.” Wait, was he thanking Lansing for putting him in a different cage? But maybe he had a point about cages. He’d never been scared of what he was. Beth had.
“Also, you need some time outside.”
“I want the choice to go outside when I want, where I want.”
“You need bodyguards. F-Team would do.”
He scowled. “I’d rather not.” Daz should have given him more time in Maine. Instead, he’d joined in on the attack.
“You need some time with the team before going on another mission, to make sure there are no problems with team unity. A night out.”
“Daz helped them attack me. He helped shoot Drake.”
“Drake was shooting at him.”
True enough.
“Well, if you don’t want to have some time outside the Resource as you just claimed—”
“I didn’t say that.” A night out. It would give Beth or Drake a chance to contact him, assuming Drake was alive. In any case, it would get him away from his half-crazy mentor, and give him space to think.
What did he want? What was his game?
Alec stared at the flames in the fireplace. They leapt higher, responding to his unconscious desire for a massive fire. He could burn down this entire room. He could burn down the penthouse and Lansing with it. He didn’t have to stay. But aside from finding Beth, where would he go and what else would he do with his fire that would make as much of a difference as what Lansing offered?
“Take the night. Go out,” Lansing said.
“What about Demeter? Word could come at any time.”
“Stay local. If we get something urgent, we can pull you back.”
It was a nice carrot and stick. He’d get a night outside with his team and then Lansing expected him to come back to work and be happy under his thumb.
But what if he wanted the same thing that Lansing wanted? Sure, Lansing sounded more than a bit crazy. But there was nothing unreal about the money he had or how he’d built the Resource complex. Lansing had the muscle to follow through on this plan. Provided Alec went along with him. As Beth had pointed out, Alec didn’t know enough about economics or politics or sociology to make an informed decision about what went on in the world.
“A night out would be good.” Anything to get him out of this suffocating room.
“Good. Thank you for listening, Alec.” Lansing’s voice was gruff. He turned his back to Alec and stared at the fire.
“You sound like you really care, old man.”
Lansing nodded. “You’d be surprised how much.”
Chapter Seventeen
The strippers got down to their G-strings, waved to the crowd and sauntered off to applause.
The house lights came up. Alec slumped back in his chair. With the lights down, he could fantasize. With the lights up, the place just looked cheap and sleazy. The bar along the side of the club was half-full, unlike on a weekend, and the patrons ranged from a couple of dirty old men to scattered businessmen in suits. There was a group of college students sitting at the booth in the corner that had been jerking off during the show.
I’m never sitting in a booth again.
Daz had snagged the table at the front of the runway tonight, so they all had a nice view of the strippers. Alec had gotten into the show, like always, except thi
s time, when he got aroused, he wanted Beth. If Lansing had wanted him to forget about her, it wasn’t working. And if Lansing wanted him to make nice with F-Team, that wasn’t working, either.
Daz grinned easily to the passing waitresses in the skimpy costumes. The girls grinned back. They always liked him, all of them—black, white, Asian, Latino. Alec had thought it was because he was so nice to them or because of his mixed-race heritage. But it wasn’t that at all. It was the big roll of cash that Daz used for tips. He hadn’t noticed the money before, and if Beth hadn’t brought up money in Maine, he never would have.
Lansing paid Daz a hell of a lot of money. Now that he knew about that, Alec wasn’t sure if Daz did this work for money or if team was more important, like Daz had always said. Daz had been with the goons in Maine, after all.
“Wait’ll you see the new main event,” Daz said.
Hoots and catcalls rang out as three women came out onto the runway that led from the stage. They wore black silk capes to cover whatever they might or might not be wearing. They set a cauldron down in front of them and circled it.
“Real art,” Daz said.
Yeah, right. Nudes in a museum were art. A night at the opera was art. This was naked women dancing for money. The house lights went down again. The college kids whooped a bit, then settled. Alec straightened. He might as well enjoy it.
The three women on stage started chanting. He recognized the opening scene to “Macbeth”.
“Double, double, toil and trouble…”
Damn straight.
The “actresses” quoted a little more from the play, then shifted to their own script, if you could call it that. The words lost any poetry and the strippers dropped their witches’ capes. All three wore devil costumes. Well, if you could call bras with devils on the cups and red and black G-strings costumes.
The strippers began wriggling and writhing on the runway. The college guys hooted their approval and so did some of F-Team. Alec didn’t. He didn’t need an exhibition that left him horny and unsatisfied. He wanted Beth. Or a distraction from wanting Beth.
Phoenix Rising Page 18
