The Vision Master

by William Hill

The silence in the car was deafening. Liam didn't have to guess who wanted him. It had to be Smith, but why? Was it because he'd shown Smith his power? Was Smith afraid of him? Was Smith behind his father's and Gran's disappearance? Had that cop not wanted to question him but to arrest him instead? Or Worse? And for what? He hadn't broken any laws that he knew of. Just who was this guy, Smith, anyway? All this hard thinking, added to the events of the day, all conspired to tire Liam’s mind. He was exhausted. The drumming hum of tires on pavement and the darkness sent him to sleep. He woke, briefly, for only the amount of time it took to get out of one car and into another. The sound of airplanes taking off somewhere nearby barely registered in his numb mind. The next thing he knew was someone jostling his shoulder and calling his name.

  "Liam, wake up. We're here."

  "Where?"

  "Your new 'home away from home', for a few days, anyway. Welcome to Georgetown."

  Georgetown. As he got out of the car he recalled reading about Georgetown. It and nearby town in Maryland called Washington, as well as the city and county of Alexandria across the river in Virginia, had been added to the federal territory of Columbia to become the District of Columbia around 1771, although Congress had given Alexandria and it's surrounding countryside back to Virginia in the 1840's. Georgetown was now Northwest Washington, home to several renowned universities, and foreign embassies, and terribly exclusive — and equally expensive — homes, townhouses and apartments, just like the row house near Georgetown University that Liam found himself walking into.

  He walked through the parlor, amazed at the opulence. The works of art, paintings and tapestries, the heavy furniture that even an amateur like himself could tell was handmade, the waxed hardwood floors, all gave him the feeling he was in one of the castles he’d visited in England. He looked at a collection of objects d' arte on the fireplace mantle. One piece looked out of place, like it didn't belong. Walking closer to get a better look, Liam recognized a crudely made small glazed clay pot painted in garish colors. He knew it. He'd made it in the second grade and had given it to his grandmother for Christmas that year. He turned to his uncle.

  "Is Gran in the habit of giving away things given to her?"

  "Huh?"

  Holding up the pot, "This! I gave it to her when I was seven. How did it wind up in her 'friend's' house?"

  "Because this place belongs to Mom, she inherited it, along with everything in it. Things that have come down the generations from all our interrelated families, the Washington's, the Ball's, the Lee's, the Jefferson's, and there's even a piece here somewhere that was Andrew Jackson's, I believe."

  "This stuff should be in the Smithsonian!"

  "It will be, once she passes. It's in her will. In the mean time, they're hers to enjoy. She's very proud of our family's history. Sit down, Liam. Let's talk."

  Liam sat down gingerly on a brocaded settee; it looked so delicately made he was afraid it might break.

  "This is the family 'safe house', as you surmised. We also own the adjoining units on either side, so you don't need to worry about neighbors hearing you, so long as you don't use a jackhammer. It's quite sound proof anyway because of the thick walls they used in its construction a hundred fifty-odd years ago. There are blackout curtains on all the windows, so no matter how many lights you have on no one outside will ever know."

  "Then why was I told to be as quiet as possible, and to stay away from the windows?"

  "One can't be too cautious, Liam, in our business."

  "I've asked Dad once or twice about the 'business' and all I ever got was 'need to know, Liam'. I even got that from Gran earlier tonight. Don't suppose you'd tell me, will you? I'm guessing it's something more than the Circle, right?"

  "Yes...and no. The Circle is our business, or more precisely our avocation, our ‘calling’, if you will. We look into things that seem strange and unusual where the government is concerned. There are many factions, some legitimate, some not, that would like to mess with things. We’re pretty apolitical; we don’t back any particular political party or movement, we just want things to move along without being subverted or overly influenced by questionable interests that stand to gain power to the detriment of the people. Most in the Circle are federal employees. It's sort of an informal, semi-sanctioned, interagency task force, if you will. We know who each of us works for, but you don't ‘need to know’. Beside the fact that we're all Vision Masters, each of us has different training that we bring to the table. I'm skilled in escape and evasion, among other things. However, I expect you to not reveal to anyone that we've had this conversation. If you really want to know what training the others have, all you have to do is be observant and piece the clues together, Sherlock."

  "Now all the things you've done since we met tonight, all the things you told me to do, makes sense. It was you, and not Uncle Gene, that came because of your skills, right? So why am I 'wanted'?"

  "Your little demonstration of your vision power last week has been reported quite high and you've scared more than just a few. And Smith is one of them. Your not letting him leave has many people wondering just how powerful you are, or could become. Smith's gambit to get you alone with him in D.C. tomorrow may have been an attempt to isolate you from help and take you captive. That cop you told me about showed undue diligence, he obviously wanted you. I'm guessing Smith, or his handlers, have put out a bogus warrant for your arrest. I'll have someone look into that. The fact that Mom and your Dad have obviously been snatched pretty much confirms it. They're probably being questioned now as to your whereabouts. Can't imagine why 'whoever' didn't look in the store to see if you were in it."

  "What about Dad and your Mom?"

  "I'm not worried about them, and you shouldn't either, although I know you are. Mom has fifty years of experience in this sort of thing, and your dad's got a pretty good head of his own, as well. Besides her agency training, and his Circle experience, don't forget they are Masters. Individually they are very strong, but together they are formidable. No way is either of them going to tell 'whoever' anything. For now, you're safe and out of sight. No one outside a select few in the family even knows of this house."

  "That makes me feel better - at least somewhat. But what do you mean, 'together'?"

  "By themselves they are just two Masters, dependent on their own individual strength. When two Masters work together as a team, their combined strength is exponentially much greater than alone. That's why when Drew and Scott individually tried to bring the other along in a vision they failed; when they both tried together, they succeeded, as you surmised possible when you suggested that they try together. Singly they are two Watchers, jointly they are somewhat like one Master."

  Liam filed that away for future thought. "How long do I have to stay here by myself?"

  "Not much longer, I'd say. Carol and the boys should be here soon."

  "Really! Why? I thought you wanted to keep this place secret!"

  "If someone is looking for you, that means your friends are in danger too, as hostages, if nothing else, and need to be hidden as well. You can keep each other company. The location of this house, even what it looks like from the outside, won't be compromised, they're being brought here in the back of a delivery van, and they're blindfolded to boot."

  "How'd you get them to agree to that?"

  "I don't know what my brother told them. But they apparently agreed. They're good soldiers. And better friends."

  Liam was relieved. If anything could relieve him under the circumstances it was to know that the guys and Carol were not only safe, but would be with him.

  His uncle told him he had to leave; he needed to get back home before anyone noticed his absence. "Don't answer the door for any reason until Gene gets here. He'll knock three, pause, twice, pause, once."

  After his uncle left, he decided to take the grand tour of the house. It was a two story affair. The downstairs contai
ned the living room, the museum. There was so much that he had already looked at, but there was so much there to see that he knew he'd never get out of it if he looked at everything in it. He went through a door and found a short hall that led to a bathroom on one side and a dining room on the other, with the staircase to the upper floor at the end. Entering the dining room Liam noted its uncluttered simplicity, in contrast to the living room. The only things there were a rectangular table with a plain white linen tablecloth, six armchairs, and a china cabinet along one wall. Over the table was a small crystal chandelier and there was nothing on the walls except one beveled glass sconce with candle in the middle of each. Under foot was the same hardwood flooring as was in the living room. There was a small door at the far wall. He guessed must lead to the kitchen. He was starting to feel hungry. He couldn't remember when he had eaten last. Was it lunch? That was twelve hours ago, he realized. He went in and saw it had everything, stainless steel double refrigerator, oven with stove top, microwave oven, sink, dishwasher, and counters that appeared to be marble, as well as built-in cabinets in some kind of dark finish. The whole room looked modern, and thus out of place, juxtaposed to the parlor. There was a back door that Liam opened and could see a bricked courtyard-like patio, fenced all around and adjoined to the rear courtyards next door and behind. Forgetting his hunger, Liam wondered what was in store upstairs.

  There he found another bath and two bedrooms. The smaller one was quite Spartan, obviously a guest room, with only a double bed and a simple dresser, and no closet. He guessed that back when the place was built they didn't make them. The larger bedroom had to be the master bedroom, yet it too was quite simply furnished, with a queen size four-post bed, another dresser, and a plain straight-back wooden chair against the wall next to a small alcove that contained a wooden armoire. Curious, he opened it and, expecting it to contain clothing, was astonished to find it was an office, complete with a state-of-the-art computer, and an all-in-one printer/scanner/fax/telephone. Underneath all of this, taking up the entire bottom half was the biggest, most solid safe he had ever seen. He wondered how the floor could support its massive weight. There was no keyhole, combination dial, or even a numeric key pad. The only thing on the door was a biometric hand pad. Obviously, whatever his grandmother kept in it must be exceptionally important, or personal and, short of a nuclear bomb, no one would be able to open it except her. He wondered what it might contain that was so obviously valuable that she needed such security.

  He went back down the stairs to the kitchen; his hunger once more asserting itself into his consciousness. He was in the middle of looking in the Fridge when he heard knocking on the front door. He got to it too late to hear any sequence, if there had been one. He silently stood at the door, debating what he should do, when the rapping began anew, three, two, one. Liam unlocked the door and opened it. Before it was fully opened a blindfolded Carol, Drew, and Scott were pushed through past him as his Uncle Gene stood on the steps looking hurriedly up and down the street before he, too, entered, shutting and locking the door behind him.

  "Hello, Liam! Okay, kids, you can remove the blinders."

  As they did so, blinking their eyes as they tried to focus on where they were, his uncle pulled Liam aside.

  "Listen, kiddo, it's as bad as we thought. The group that snatched Mom and your dad were after you. Apparently, they didn't know you were with them, or you'd be missing, too. They grabbed them, thinking that maybe they could get it out of them where you were. Since they won't get anything out of Mom or your dad, the rest of us are suspect as well, and I'm sure they're looking for us too".

  "How'd they — and I'm assuming its Smith — know Dad and Gran, and maybe me of course, were at that store and how do you know that?"

  "I’ve got my sources, and I also suspect Smith, or the people he works with. Anyway, they didn't know. Pure happenstance. They were headed into Maryland from the District to look for you, decided to stop at the same place, saw your Dad and Gran in the car. At least that's what my sources tell me. Listen, I've got to go." He reached into his coat pocket, took out two cell phones, and handed them to Liam. "Here's a couple of prepaid. Use one of them to call Del or me only if there's an emergency. We'll answer if we can, but under no circumstance leave a message if we don't. Simply try again after ten minutes. If we don't answer the second time, assume we've been caught. Give the second one to one of the others. Tell them the same thing and explain to them what's going on, okay? Oh, and tell them that their families are safe. After Del left you, he went back and had them follow him to another safe house we have in Baltimore. They'll be fine there, we have friends keeping an eye on the house." He put his hand on Liam's shoulder, gave him a smile, and went out the door.

  By this time, Carol and the brothers were standing in the living room staring at all the heirlooms. Liam joined them, told them to sit down, and filled them in on everything that had happened since he left them after the Meeting. As he finished he could see Carol was not her usual self; she suddenly looked like the young girl she really was, and not the self-assured, confident, in-control, mature women she always projected, always tried to be. Drew and Scott merely glanced at each other and then down at the floor. For many minutes, there was a tangible, oppressive, silent, collective sense of fear in the room. Liam broke the silence.

  "Someone say something!"

  They all looked up at Liam. Carol's eyes contained fear. Drew's a mixture of both frustration and anger. Scott's showed a simmering determination.

  "We've got to plan. We may be safe, for a while, and our families too, but what will we do if somehow they find out where we are? We need to decide things,” Scott said.

  "Do you think they'll find us?" Carol asked, in a nervous whisper.

  "If they don't, I'm going to find them!" Drew exclaimed, "And when I do I'm gonna dance on top of them, and Smith!"

  Liam laughed. "And I'll be doing a jig with you, Drew!"

  Looking at Carol, he smiled and told her, "I don't think so, but we don't know who they are or what they're capable of, so Scott's suggestion makes sense. Anybody have ideas?"

  They heard a loud crash against the front door and the sound of splintering wood. Then, another. They all stared at each other in horror.

  "An idea now would be great!" Scott said.

  The only thing Liam could think of was the kitchen backdoor. "Follow me!"

  As he led them into the kitchen, he suddenly realized that the back door was probably being watched, they would naturally be thinking that kids would instinctively think to escape that way and they could be grabbed as soon as they ran out. The banging on the door continued, and everyone knew there were only moments left before it would be in pieces, and whoever was after them would be inside. He looked and noticed a six-pack of soda bottles on the counter. He hefted a bottle over his shoulder like a baseball pitcher, poised to throw it at the first head through the door.

  Instinctively, they had all backed up against the far wall. They could hear the heavy footfalls on the hardwood floor of the living room coming their way. As he raised his arm to throwing position, his elbow hit hard against the paneled wall behind him. He felt it give. He looked over his shoulder and saw that a section of the wall had swung back, revealing another room.

  "Guys!" he said in a hushed voice. "In here!

  Chapter Twenty Two: Trapped

  “If you don’t have a vision, nothing happens.”