I waited fifteen minutes before climbing onto the foot-wide ledge of the railing. I’d need to cross over three balconies, and then lower myself down one level to gain access to the balcony off Leon’s office. I’d also have to accomplish this standing up. There was no way I’d be able to leap across the eight-foot expanse without getting a running start.
Standing upon the ledge, I let my eyes drift down to the cobblestone courtyard, seventy-five feet below. My balance wavered. Dumb idea. I moved back several steps, took a deep breath, ran and leapt high in the air. I landed two inches in on the opposite ledge and reached for something to hold on to. There was nothing there to grab but air. I felt my momentum pulling me forward, over the side, and only by lowering myself to my knees was I able to regain my balance in time. I held myself there, perched on the narrow ledge, for what seemed like minutes. The noise of my shoes hitting the concrete railing seemed deafeningly loud. How could someone not have heard that?
Slowly, I rose to my feet and positioned myself for another leap. I’d barely cleared the last ledge so I decided to add an extra step to get some momentum going. Again, I took a deep breath, ran, and leapt high in the air. This time I’d cleared the ledge with more than enough room. But halfway into my airy leap to the next balcony, lights came on—the balcony was flooded in light.
I came down on the ledge, knees bent, on the balls of my toes, absorbing the weight of my landing somewhat more quietly than before. I stuck my landing like an Olympic gymnast. Sheer curtains allowed just enough visibility to see a woman moving around inside. I was fully illuminated and perched there like a statue in a museum. Can she see me?
Then I remembered to do the obvious. My eyes locked on her, standing behind the curtains. I reached into her mind. She was hungry. Hungry and mad. They couldn’t save even one piece of cake for the fucking mayor?
I remembered seeing a fully stocked minibar in our own suite at the back of the kitchenette. I projected a suggestion into her mind.
Check the minibar. Lots of goodies in there …
The mayor quickly padded off toward the kitchenette. I heard the sound of the minibar opening. She’d likely be there a while, but I wasn’t going to take any chances. I ran and leapt again. Another perfect landing. I held there for several moments to ensure I hadn’t been heard.
Getting down to the balcony below was going to be a challenge, to say the least. I knelt down and looked over the railing’s ledge. It was close to twelve feet down. I slid down on my stomach and let my legs hang down over the banister. First with one hand, and then the other, I grabbed at concrete-pillar balustrades. Thick and rounded, they were difficult to get a grip on. I felt my fingers slipping. I let go and grabbed the bottom edge of the balcony. My body was now hanging in the air. I kicked my feet backward, and then foreword, creating a pendulum-like effect. Another deep breath and I let go.
In my mind’s eye I had totally missed the balcony below and was falling to my death. Then I felt my feet touch down and I was able to breathe again. I’d landed on the balcony itself, versus the railing’s ledge. I moved to the French doors. They looked identical to those on our own suite. Inside, I could see soft-blue illumination coming from the server room. I needed to unlock the door. I held up my hand and looked at my ring. My mind went blank. Had Bigalow shown me how to use this feature? Then I remembered. I positioned my fingers and pressed down on three sides—three times consecutively. I felt a quick flutter. The mode had been initiated. I reached for the metal door handle and waited. A moment later there were two more rapid flutters. I turned the handle and the door opened.
Except for the server room, the office was dark. I knew I had to move fast. Security—hell, Leon himself—could be here in minutes. In the conference room, Leon had accessed the graphical representation of the Spatz program from the laptop. I’d start there. The laptop was still open just as Leon had left it. The graphical program was still running.
My ring finger fluttered. It was repeating the same damn message as before. Yes, I know Baltimore has been captured. Then I realized the fluttering message was not in regard to Baltimore. It was now Pippa who had been captured.
Chapter 45
I wanted to forget the mission and go and find Pippa. I’d just have to hurry up and find what I’d come here for. I spent several minutes looking through the files on the laptop. As I’d expected, the graphical representation Leon had shown us was merely that: a simple graphical representation, not the actual Spatz program. I got up and moved over to the server room. The glass door was locked and required a cardkey to gain entry. I didn’t think my ring would work opening cardkey devices, but to be honest, I wasn’t even remotely sure.
Again, I positioned my ring finger and pressed down on three sides—three times consecutively. I felt the quick flutter that told me the mode had been initiated. I placed my ring atop the small card reader and was surprised when a little LED flashed green and the door unlatched. When I got back, if I got back, I’d have to give Bigalow a big kiss.
The room was cool and the noise from all the whirling CPU fans was distractingly loud. I’d been wrong; these weren’t simply servers, they were Cray XK7 super computers. Each one was the size of a large refrigerator, and there were at least ten of the beasts chugging along in the room.
There was a workstation terminal with a keyboard off to my left. There was also a metal pipe affixed to the desk along with a set of handcuffs hanging from it. I sat down and moved the mouse. The screensaver disappeared and I saw the Linux Operating System desktop screen. Not an expert programmer by any means, I wasn’t a total slouch either. I clicked on the icon to bring up the Terminal window. There are two methods for searching for files with Linux—find and locate. Find is a better, more extensive way to search a directory structure; locate is faster—and that’s what I chose. Unlike Windows, where applications would typically have a .exe extension, Linux works quite differently. I ensured I was at the root directory and typed in locate and the word spatz.
The screen scrolled with thousands of listings. I’d hit pay dirt. I noticed that all associated files were in a subdirectory, called spatz prog. Next, I located the I/O ports at the back of the terminal. At the screen prompt I typed in the command function to initiate a total file transfer to the specified USB port. I then configured my ring as Bigalow had directed me. The ring fluttered and was ready. I placed the ring atop the port and used my other hand to hit the Enter key. The file transfer process started immediately.
After three minutes only 8% of the files had transferred. That’s when the lights came on in the outer office. I ducked my head down and watched two men enter; both were carrying handguns and both were freakishly tall. One at a time, I peered into the thoughts of both men. Having witnessed others who were sociopaths, such as Harland, I was surprised at the ruthlessness these two were capable of: inflicting pain and prolonged torture were what these two got off on. And it was definitely them who’d captured Baltimore and Pippa. All I could discern from their thoughts were quick images … flashes of events … Baltimore being jabbed with a red-hot poker. Had they done something similar to Pippa?
With my face inches from the workstation screen I watched as the transfer continued at an excruciatingly slow pace. 12% turned to 13%. They’d searched the office and were heading back in the direction of the server room. They still hadn’t noticed me, crouched down at the far side of the room. I picked up their names were Heimi and Lance. Heimi, the goon with thicker, more pronounced lips, tried the door and found it locked. Neither had an access card to get inside. Lance turned, confident no one was there. Heimi turned away as well—then jerked his head back in my direction. We made eye contact. I smiled up at him. His eyes bore into me as he talked into the comm unit at his sleeve. Leon was on his way.
The file transfer had jumped all the way to 76%. Encouraging, but I needed to do something—anything—fast. I popped back and forth between Heimi’s and Lance’s minds and finally settled on Heimi, who had spotted me first. H
e seemed the denser, more simple-witted of the two.
I have complete control of your mind.
Heimi pulled his hand up and touched his ear, as if he’d heard my voice over his comms.
I am in your mind, Heimi, and you will do as I instruct you to do.
He was now looking at Lance. “Did you say something to me?” he asked, perplexed.
“What the fuck you talking about? I’ve been talking to you all day.”
“No. I mean just now?”
“No,” said Lance.
If you want to live, you’ll point your gun at Lance and shoot him in the head.
Heimi shook his head and looked around.
“What are you doing? Stop that!” Lance said.
I put all my concentration on giving Heimi a headache, something I hadn’t thought of trying in the past. I picked a location right behind his eyes and envisioned a drill bit, spinning and churning out bits and pieces of his brain. The effect was instantaneous. Heimi dropped his gun and was down on all fours, his head buried in his hands. Lance was startled and looked around. He wasn’t sure if Heimi had been shot or what was happening. He looked in my direction, then back at Heimi.
Heimi. Do you want the pain to stop?
I heard his scream through the glass door. YES! Stop the pain.
Pick up the gun, point it at Lance’s head, and pull the trigger. Do it now.
Keeping one hand on his head, Heimi searched the floor for his gun.
It’s to your right, Heimi.
Heimi’s hand brushed against his gun. He picked it up while rising up off the floor. His eyes were clenched shut in agony. He was shrieking and saying things that were pretty much unintelligible.
I’m waiting, Heimi.
Heimi pulled the trigger and kept pulling the trigger until he’d emptied the clip. Lance had taken two rounds to his head and the rest went wild into the office walls. I glanced at the terminal. 100% file transfer complete. I had one more thing to do. At the prompt I entered the command, rm –rf/. Everything, on all hard drives and all attached media, began erasing—nothing of the Spatz program or anything else for that matter would be left.
It was then that I realized my mental powers were gone and I was totally spent. Heimi was sitting back on his haunches, staring at his dead partner. I swung open the server door with all my remaining strength. The metal handle hit Heimi between the eyes and catapulted him backwards into the office. His dead body lay even with Lance’s. Both had their eyes open as if they were stargazing together.
I scooped Lance’s gun off the floor and shoved it into the back of my pants. I heard running feet and voices coming from the hallway. The thought of jumping between balconies again made me consider just shooting it out, here and now. But then I thought of Pippa and I knew I had to do whatever was necessary to rescue her.
By the time I was halfway over the balcony, the office door opened and men with guns were piling inside.
Chapter 46
With a gag tied tightly around her mouth, Pippa sat on the floor, her arms securely fastened around her back to a wooden post.
Earlier, she’d retraced the steps she and Heidi had taken to the underground spas. At that time she’d noticed the locked doors and numerous other corridors. She could pick a lock with the best of them but as she explored the castle’s honeycombed underground, it was only a matter of minutes before she became hopelessly lost—one corridor looking nearly identical to another. It was by mere chance she saw several people, dressed in what looked like costumes, excitedly heading in one particular direction.
Soon, other partygoers were joining them and she struggled to keep out of sight. Whatever it was that was drawing them into the bowels of the underground, they were all keyed up. Pippa recognized several people who had attended Heidi’s birthday party. Having to duck behind an ancient archway, she watched four more costumed people pass her by. They were speaking German and she could only hear bits and pieces of their conversation. She was certain she’d heard Vaterland, Wiederauftauchen, and United Reich … It was then Pippa realized those weren’t costumes; no, they were uniforms. Like those distinctly worn by the Nazis, in World War II.
Somewhere behind Pippa came the distant sounds of moaning. She was tempted to follow the Nazi group but felt more compelled to find Baltimore. She started down one passageway only to discover the moans weren’t emanating from that direction. She rushed back the way she’d come and tried a different corridor. The sounds of moaning grew louder. She dreaded what she’d find—who she’d find.
She felt heated air coming from up ahead … waves of heat and bad odors. Instinctively, Pippa swiped at her nose and began breathing through her mouth. She slowed her pace and kept close to the wall. The moaning persisted and coincided with other sounds—metallic clanging sounds. Around the next bend, Pippa saw the corridor had opened into a large, circular chamber. A rock fireplace dominated the center of the room. A scraggily old man, with white hair, was scurrying around, placing what looked like tools onto a table.
Jail-like cells surrounded the outer perimeter of the room. Some were occupied; others seemed to be empty. Suddenly loud screams filled the chamber—Pippa gasped and the hairs on her neck stood straight up. Then Pippa noticed someone lying atop the table. The air, dark and smoky, made visibility from her distance difficult. She squinted her eyes and took a tentative step closer. It wasn’t Baltimore … no, a smaller man, with a bald head.
The old man started to talk to himself. Now, while he was holding up one of his sharp metal tools as if inspecting it, Pippa was on the move. With three long strides she was abreast of the table. Not knowing, or caring, what it was she grabbed for, she drove one of the old man’s sharp, heavy, spiked tools down, onto the back of his skull. He dropped like a bag of rocks.
“What took you so long?” came a voice from the outer rim of the chamber.
“Baltimore?” she called out.
“The one and only,” Baltimore replied.
Pippa looked at the bald-headed man lying on the table. He was dressed in rags and was gazing up at her with surprise in his eyes. “I’m going to get you off of there. Hold on, okay?” Pippa found that the small man had been bound to the table by his wrists and ankles that were tightly secured by leather straps. She used one of the dead man’s knives to cut through the straps and helped the bald-headed man off the table.
“What is your name?”
“Horris.”
“Why was he doing this to you?”
“It’s how they get me to work for them. I’ve tried to hold out many times, but I’m weak and cannot handle the pain.”
“Can you walk?” Pippa asked.
“Walk? No … hobble, maybe,” he replied.
It was then Pippa noticed that his skin was deeply scarred and he was missing most of his toes.
“Hang tight there, Horris, while I release my friend.”
A large metal ring, holding several dozen long keys, hung from a peg on the side of the chimney. Pippa flipped through the keys and noticed she’d have to try each one of them …
“They’re numbered, Pippa. You just have to look closely at the keys themselves,” Baltimore said, standing at the bars of the cell directly in front of her.
“Oh, I see.” There was a large number 23 carved into the stone above Baltimore’s jail cell. She found the corresponding 23 key and used it to open the metal gate.
“Where are your clothes?” Pippa asked, eyeing Baltimore wrapped only in a shredded, bloodied blanket draped loosely around his hips.
“Who knows? It’s the least of our worries. What’s going on with getting the code? Was Chandler successful?”
“I haven’t heard a peep from him,” she said.
When she looked up at Baltimore she saw he was no longer looking in her direction. Neither was Horris.
A crowd had formed at the passageway into the chamber. At the front of the group stood Leon Goertz—hands on hips, chin raised in defiance. A small bandage covered his lef
t cheek. He was dressed in a black Nazi uniform. A red band, emblazoned with a black swastika, was worn on his upper left arm.
“You have disgraced yourself, young lady. I’m terribly disappointed in you,” Leon said. He waved his hand and four similarly dressed soldiers hurried forward, their guns raised. “Bring the two of them here. Put Horris back in his cell. And find David Craft, or whatever his name is.”
Pippa, now gagged, tied up, sat with her back against a roughly hewn wooden post. Baltimore was close by and also secured to a post. No less than fifty armed Neo-Nazi soldiers stood guard around the room’s perimeter.
If their situation wasn’t so dire it would have seemed ludicrous. Pippa was well aware that Neo-Nazi cults, in the main, had been eradicated in Germany. The truth, sadly, was one was far more likely to find fringe, crackpot groups like this one back in the U.S. But here they were—men and women parading around in1940s-era military garb and saying Heil Hitler, left and right, like actors in a crappy World War II B-movie.
The assembly hall was large enough to accommodate several hundred people and on this night it was filled to capacity. The raised dais platform held four high-back chairs, two on each side of a podium.
Pippa felt the lingering stares of the onlookers. If her hands hadn’t been tied behind her back, she would have flipped each and every one of them the bird.
Leon Goertz with three followers walked onto the platform and the audience stood, cheered, and clapped their hands. The big Nazi flags hanging from above, on each of the hall’s walls, gently swayed in the ongoing commotion. Leon stood behind the podium and held up his hands, signaling everyone to settle down.
“Thank you. Everyone, please sit … we need to get started.” As the audience settled back into their seats, Leon looked around the hall and smiled. He turned back and looked at Pippa and Baltimore with an expression of disdain.
Mad Powers (Tapped In) Page 22
