The Perfect Weapon

by Christopher Metcalf

  Preacher would escort the psychologist to another location where he would sit and talk with a changing, evolving Marta. It was like his first sessions with Lance Priest four years earlier. Marta was a living, breathing, hurting, hating, fire-breathing chameleon. She was a killer in the truest sense. He had seen it before, with Lance and with Fuchs and Seibel.

  In 12 sessions, Marta had gone from distant and aloof, to engaged and laser-focused. She was on the verge of a breakthrough. Braden was skilled at unraveling the trickiest wrinkled human maps. And he had a secret weapon when it came to Marta.

  Preacher was coaching him. He never stepped into details, but Preacher gave Braden little hints he should be on the lookout for during his sessions with Marta. This exercise in self-exploration was indeed something of a gift Preacher gave to Marta. It was something that could help her, if she let it. She fought against discussing herself at first; wanting only to mine Braden for details about Lance or anything about Seibel he would give up. But gradually, Braden was able to massage their conversations to include her life, her childhood, her young adult territory and her adult life as a professional killer, blackmailer and provocateur.

  Marta’s rebirth, her phoenix-like rising, her emergence from darkness that had surrounded her every moment into the world of light and possibility came during a session in a motel on the Pennsylvania-New Jersey state line just south of Philadelphia.

  The two of them had spoken about Lance during each session. Sometimes it was just a few comments. Other times, they spent hours on the topic. Marta offered fertile, unplowed fields on the subject. She brought a view, a perspective that neither Braden nor Seibel could ever know.

  When Marta spoke of Lance, she referred to a loving, generous, appreciative, warm and surprisingly kind individual. He was the love of her staggeringly bleak and despairing life.

  The psychologist could see in her sometimes brilliant, occasionally lifeless eyes, that Marta's consideration of the future and living in that future was conjoined with Lance. She held the idea, the sliver of hope, in trembling hands. For a brutal, pitiless killer with black ice in her soul and lethal venom in her veins, she was at least tenuously willing to embrace the possibility of happiness.

  Driving to this particular session from Braden's office took the standard two and a half hours it takes Braden to drive home. It took even longer because Preacher stopped in a parking garage to change cars. It was habit and Braden just had to deal with it.

  Two and a half hours was a long time with Lance, even longer with Preacher. Braden didn’t know he’d get this time until Preacher surprised him in the parking lot. A somewhat rough frisking was a little uncalled for, but Preacher knew the games Seibel liked to play.

  “So where are we going tonight?” Braden was casual.

  “North. Just outside Philadelphia.”

  Braden’s reaction was not good, not happy.

  “Relax. We’re not going to your house. Not too far from there, but no need for alarm. Geez, you’d think I'd have earned a little trust.”

  “Don’t give me any of your trust b.s. You’ve neither earned nor desired any trust. It’s not in you.” Braden was still smarting from the thought of them going to his house, or anywhere near it. “Why there?”

  “Just because.” Preacher was always stingy with details.

  Their conversation over the next couple of hours was in-depth and illuminating. Preacher hadn’t given him much since returning to the country several months back. They did go pretty deep into the subject of Geoffrey Seibel. Braden didn’t reveal anything too sensitive, but he did divulge a variety of views Seibel had shared with him over the last two decades.

  A portion of their trip was also spent discussing Seibel’s introduction to Lance nearly fifteen years earlier. Braden obviously wasn’t thrilled to learn he had been kept in the dark about Marta. He did confirm his help in creating the questionnaire and the evaluation of youthful violent offenders as a sub-category.

  As they neared their destination, Preacher abruptly changed the subject from Lance to Marta. In the preceding weeks, he had been sprinkling tidbits and hints for Braden to explore in his sessions with her. For the meeting this evening, Preacher wanted to arm Braden with a little more.

  “So, you know about her childhood, her brother, her parents, right?”

  “Correct. I have the basics on all that.”

  “And you know about her time in state homes and foster care and the abuse she suffered.”

  “Yes. She faced significant challenges, and responded in a most violent manner to each instance.” Braden was very cordial, very professional.

  “So that’s my question for her, for you.”

  “What’s that, what’s your question?”

  “Why. Why did she keep going? Why didn’t she take another way out? Why not end her life a long time ago? After her brother, after the foster homes, after Seibel abandoned her in Russia. Why not just take a step off a building or put a gun in her mouth?” Preacher looked from Braden to Lance outside the window doing a superhero pose flying through the air beside the car.

  Braden let that sink in for a few moments before responding. “So what you really want to know is motivation. What is her motivation for both living and doing what she does?” It was a question he had asked Lance no less than a dozen times.

  Preacher heard it in Braden’s voice. “No, don’t go there. That is completely different. I didn’t go through anything like she did. My life doesn’t even come close.”

  “But yet, it is a mystery. What could possibly drive someone to do the things she does, the things you do?”

  “Her. Not me.”

  “I’m sorry, but it is almost one and the same. You and her.” Braden was adamant.

  “No. I told you, she went through so much more than I did. She suffered; she was basically held captive and then was a prisoner of the state. She has seen and lived through things I’ll never know, never comprehend.”

  Braden let that sink in for a moment. “So you are left with a quandary. What makes someone else tick? It is indeed life’s greatest mystery. And I believe it is as unique as we are. Most people never explore their true motivations in life. Others know from an early age what they want, what they need to do, to attain it.”

  “So what is your hypothesis for her?” Preacher was anxious.

  “I don’t have one yet. I don’t know.”

  “Come on. You have an idea. You've got to have something in mind after a dozen sessions.”

  “This is really important to you isn’t it?” Braden liked seeing Preacher concerned for someone else.

  “Don’t try that on me Stu. Don’t put me under your little microscope and look for amoebas of truth and bacterium of lies. I don’t work that way. You know there is no there, there.”

  Braden smiled at his repeating this line for a fourth or fifth time with him. “I know you like to think that, believe that. But it is physically, mentally and clinically impossible. All humans have a ‘there’ at their core, a reason for every action. Be it survival, or revenge or anger or hunger or desire for detachment.”

  It was Preacher’s turn to smile. Lance, riding on the roof of the car, grinned at that one as well. “Desire for detachment. Geez Stu, how long have you been working on that? I’ll bet you even said that line into a mirror. It’s not bad, but a little bit cheesy.”

  “You think so?” Braden’s smile transitioned to furrowed brow.

  Preacher laughed up at Lance, who was now standing on the roof of the Toyota shouting the words “desire for detachment” through cupped hands. Braden didn’t laugh along with Preacher. He should have known better than to try to share his clinical and diagnostic ideas with Lance.

  “Sorry. Sorry Stu, really. It’s just that is really good. I mean you nailed it.”

  “Shut up. You never change. I think you are growing, evolving even, and then you let your guard down and you're the same as five years ago.”

  “I said sorry. You were the one
who tried that shit on me. But like I said, this is not about me. I asked you for your ideas on Marta.” He slowed down and turned off the highway onto a two-lane road. “We’re getting close. Look, I don’t believe for a moment that you don’t have a better handle on her motives, her reason for still being.”

  Braden stewed in it for a few moments. “Okay. I was sandbagging, but I think you can see from your previous outburst why I hold some things back from you. You frustrate the hell out of me. I used to find it challenging, stimulating to try to pin you down. But I’ve learned the sad truth, you are incapable of being genuine, being real, even for a moment.”

  “No there, there.”

  “Bullshit. No framework for honesty there. No infrastructure for truth. You keep it all hidden. You have your reasons, just like she does.”

  Preacher turned into a parking lot of a small motel and killed the lights. “She’s watching us right now, so finish up. What are her reasons in your estimation?”

  “Marta has been searching her entire life for a challenge, for someone to offer her a real competition. She was literally searching for you every day of her life. Besides me, she has let nine people into her life to see if they could indeed challenge her abilities. Six of the nine are dead. Still alive are Seibel, Smelinski and you. She has not been bested, and each of you have a limited number of days left.”

  Preacher digested Braden’s professional take on patient Marta. “So in your professional opinion, she has been searching her whole life for someone to kill her, because that’s the only way she can truly be bested.”

  Braden nodded then shook his head. “You already considered this hypothesis, of course. I’m two steps behind you, as usual.”

  “Three steps really.” Preacher smiled and slapped Braden’s shoulder. “Just to be clear, you fully expect her to dispatch Seibel and Smelinski from this earthly realm. They failed in their duties of besting or beating her so now they have to be eliminated. And then it’s up to me.”

  “I have no doubt that she loves you. She’s more in love than anyone I’ve ever met. But...”

  “But love is not enough. Not for her.”

  “For you to be the true love of her life, the one man deserving of her blind affection, you must kill her.”

  Preacher shook his head and looked in the direction of the room Marta stood waiting. She was undoubtedly looking out the window at the two of them. “That is messed up Stu, really.”

  “You asked.”

  “So to encapsulate your theory, Marta is totally messed up, needs me to kill her to prove my love or will take care of me like she has done so many others.”

  “That about covers it.”

  Seven minutes later, Preacher was gone on foot into the dark. Braden sat across a small table from Marta. She had procured a ham sandwich, chips and a Coke for him, since he was missing dinner with his family.

  “So I suppose you and Lance spoke about a great many things on that long drive up here.”

  “Too many.” Braden was enjoying the sandwich and the soda would give him the little pick-me-up he needed after two-plus hours with Preacher.

  “He is very distracted these days. He can only concentrate when he is deep into one of his trances, looking for any clues left by Anwar.” Marta was basically talking to fill the space as Braden ate. He already knew most of what she was saying. Anwar was top-secret public enemy number one for Seibel and company, and the number one target for Preacher.

  “He talked quite a bit about Anwar on the drive. Fixated is the word I would use. If the guy is in the U.S., Lance will find him.” He took another swig of Coke. “He’s fixated on him almost as much as he is on you.”

  She smiled and huffed a bit at that. She liked it, but it made her uncomfortable to think of the two of them talking about her. This psychologist, that she had only known for a few weeks, was now a repository of information others had killed and died for. Marta looked away from Braden. She hadn’t thought of killing him since that first day. It was somewhat alarming to her that she had not evaluated him as a threat and assessed his weaknesses to capitalize upon, and kill him. “He likes to think he knows a thing or two about me.”

  Stuart Braden realized something right there, right then. He had been given an opportunity to change the world. Sitting in front of him was the only person he had met in the past five years who stood even the slightest chance of getting through to Lance Priest.

  She was, plain and simple, the only person with any power over the one human he had encountered who possessed the ability to change the world. It was a circular argument in his head, but it was clear that Marta was Lance’s tether to reality. She was an anchor he had dropped into a sea of utter nothingness that he had been skittering across. But Lance was also a human time bomb, and Marta was the fuse.

  “Marta, I’m going to tell you something that he never would. Something he would be very upset about if he learns I have told you.” Braden bowed his head slightly, an act of contrition.

  She tilted her head sideways. It was a minute, but measurable action. She was waiting.

  “Lance loves you. But he is not Lance anymore. He has changed, something has changed him. He is an alternate personality. I noticed it immediately, within minutes of seeing him after more than a year and a half. I don’t know if it was meeting you, nearly being killed or a combination of both. But he is not Lance.”

  “Go on.” Marta was prepared for more.

  “He is suicidal. I have no doubt that he would put a gun under his chin right now if it weren’t for you. He is looking for any reason to end his life. His fascination with Anwar is superficial. It is light and fog. He is hyper-focused on you. You are, without a modicum of doubt, his reason for living. But here’s the thing,” Braden sat back. He took a breath and swallowed. “He is certain that he cannot save you.”

  “Save me? What do you mean?”

  Braden let it sink in for a moment, let her think it through. “What do you want from him?”

  She stiffened. He had hit the exact chord he’d hoped for. “I don’t want anything from him.”

  “Do you want him to save you or kill you?”

  She tilted her head a little more. “You’re serious.”

  “Most people never meet their soul mate. I didn’t even believe in the idea until he shoved me in the car a few weeks ago. You two truly, in every sense of the word, were meant for each other. Every word you have told me these past weeks could have come from his mouth and his comments five years ago were line for line your words today.

  “But the way I see it, you have all the power. You are the one who will decide where this goes and how it ends. You have the power to love and live or to kill. But this time, if you decide to kill, you will succeed in besting the one person in the world who could give you happiness.” Braden pushed back from the table. Now to see if anything he'd just said had any effect on Marta. He ran his hands through his graying hair.

  Marta just looked at him, watched him. She was off somewhere else. She was in an apartment in Baghdad. It was a room like many others she had been in before. It was nothing. She expected to complete the mission, secure the nuclear warheads, and ensure that two former KGB agents were eliminated. She did not expect him.

  She heard the silenced shots from the front room. There were three of them. Before she could get up from the chair positioned next to the window, Lance was there, in the doorway. The feelings that washed over her then, did so again now.

  One moment in his eyes was a lifetime. He could kill her and it would be fine. She had at least seen him one time in her life. He was glorious, like a fallen angel, a hero without an ounce of remorse or pity. He shot her in the leg and she felt nothing. Truly, she felt no pain, just pressure and gravity.

  He motioned her to step back and sit against the wall and then shot her again, this time in the hand. She felt a tinge of pain, but no more than a paper cut. But then he was with her. He was within inches of her, giving her the chance to grab and crush and claw
. But she didn’t. No, instead they kissed.

  Sitting there, just outside of Philadelphia nearly two years later, she flushed as she had in Baghdad. That was her first kiss. One or two boys had tried before, but they paid dearly.

  Lance’s lips were like an angel breathing light, the devil spewing fire into her soul. It was life-changing. She was changed. Marta was wrong. She was not the cold, lifeless, doomed person she thought she was destined to be. Damn.

  She came back to the motel room and Braden running his hands through his hair across from her. Marta simply exhaled. With the breath expelled from her lungs went years of pain and anger and hatred. When she breathed in, it was as though she were welcoming oxygen into virgin lungs. It was new and different.

  She smiled. Braden smiled back at her. She reached out a hand to him and he took it. Just as she had welcomed fresh air, she welcomed the human touch. Marta was reborn. She was hopeful, instead of cold and calculating and lonely, ever lonely. This was a rebirth, a realization, that welcomed her into a new life.

  She simply smiled and didn’t think about the next minute or how to kill with bare hands the person across from her and escape through the plumbing access panel into a vacant unit on the other side of the wall.

  She just sat and held Stuart Braden’s hand and waited for Lance to return to her.

  Chapter 36

  Monday, January 18, 1993 — Detroit, Michigan

  For the third time in two years, he was chasing a fleeing terrorist. This was full speed on foot through dirty streets of a rundown and fallen Detroit neighborhood. This time, there was deep snow on the ground. And this time, she was helping him.

  It wasn’t Anwar. But it was the closest thing anyone hunting the ghost had found. And Preacher and Marta had uncovered this direct link to Anwar the old fashioned way – threats, torture and detective work. He had discovered a lead in London months ago that connected the dots right to Detroit and the terrorist cell they had just raided, along with an FBI counterterrorism team.