“Seb! Seb, listen to me! I know where Meera is. She’s ok! Please, stop this! We have to talk.” For a frighteningly long moment, Walt thought Seb wasn’t listening. He knew his Manna defenses would be useless against power like this. Then the rumbling stopped. Walt’s ears popped in the sudden silence and he looked over at Seb as his hands relaxed and his eyes stopped blazing. Walt remembered reading that metaphor in a cheap novel once and snorting. Surely ‘blazing eyes’ belonged in badly written romances along with ‘manly torsos’ and ‘heaving bosoms’. But he had seen Seb’s eyes, and he couldn’t think of any other way of describing them. Mason’s instructions had been to make Seb face facts, show him the lay of the land, intimidate him a little. Now Walt wondered who was the mark here. Was he supposed to walk away from this? Seb had changed. He could sense that flame of extraordinary talent, but it was flickering and nebulous, lost in something far more tangible, powerful and incomprehensible. His hand shook as he raised the beer bottle to his lips.
“Where is she?” said Seb. “What happened here? Where’s Bob? And how the hell do you even know who she is? You said I could trust you.”
“And you can, Seb, you can. Meera’s fine, she’s in no danger whatsoever. But listen, I don’t enjoy the whole dramatic spaghetti western vibe, ok? I promise I’ll tell you everything, but let’s go grab a drink.”
Seb had brought his breathing under control and was looking steadily at Walt. The older man couldn’t read that expression, and something in the eyes made him feel like he was Seb’s junior by a long, long stretch. He looked away quickly and gestured toward the car. The driver’s door opened and Steve stepped out, holding open the rear door and waiting. Seb waited for Walt to get inside, then joined him. Steve drove slowly away, the big car’s suspension wallowing over the uneven ground. The security glass between driver and passengers slid slowly into place.
Seb turned to Walt. “Start talking,” he said.
“I never told you how Sid Bernbaum died,” said Walt. Seb shifted in his seat and Walt held up a placating hand. “Look, I’m a story teller. What I need to say isn’t easy - I need to tell you in my own way. And that means you need to know a little more about what brought me here. Meera is in no immediate danger. I swear she isn’t, Seb. ”
Seb said nothing, so Walt reached into the cool-box and opened two beers, handing one to Seb.
“I got comfortable as Sid’s apprentice. He kept the bosses and the bent politicians as honest as he could and I watched and learned. Not just about using Manna, but about what makes people tick. Including myself. I found out everyone has a weakness they don’t want exposed. You find it and you own them. Sex, drugs, booze, gambling, whatever. Some guys had no fear at all. That kind, you threaten their family. Or you threaten whatever it is they love. Usually money. Then they play ball. I just watched this, laid low and got better and better at controlling Manna.
“Then, suddenly, there was a new guy in Chicago. Seemed to come out of nowhere. Buying up cops and politicians, taking chunks out of Marty the Bear’s extortion racket. We knew there was trouble brewing when they found Marty’s head nailed to the door of the Mayor’s house. The Bear had owned the Mayor for years. Sid knew he had to find this new guy. And he didn’t take much finding. In fact, he came to us. Just walked into the florists one Friday morning, picked out a funeral arrangement and laid them on the counter. I was minding the store, Sid out back somewhere. This young guy, on the short side, expensive suit and overcoat, thinning blonde hair, he didn’t look like anything, but he had an atmosphere about him. Like he was used to getting what he wanted. I felt something straight away, but wasn’t experienced enough to realize what it was.
“‘Go tell your boss I want to see him, kid,’ he said. He put a business card on the counter. Tell him Michael Hamilton is here.’
“‘I know who you are,’ said Sid. He had this way of just appearing, always made me jump. ‘What do you want?’”
“‘Oh,” said this Michael Hamilton character, acting like he knew something we didn’t, ‘it’s just a courtesy call, Mr. Bernbaum. I’m introducing myself to potential business associates all over Chicago.’
“‘You and I both know I have no interest in doing business with you, Mr. Hamilton. Please leave.’ Hamilton just smiled. Now, remember, by this time I’d seen dozens of hard guys underestimate Sid and live to regret it. So I wasn’t worried at all. Until I glanced over at Sid and saw straight away that he was scared. I’d never seen him scared before, but it was written large in the way he was pressing his lips together to stop them shaking. He looked like a frail old man. Then I worked out what was different, what had made me feel on edge since Hamilton had walked in. It was Manna. He was a User. And if Sid was scared, he must be powerful.
“Hamilton never raised his voice or got upset. ‘It’s just business, Mr. Bernbaum. Your way of running things has come to a end. The world is changing, but that doesn’t mean there’s nothing left for you. On the contrary, I’d love to have you on the team. You and your young friend here.’ He winked at me. ‘Often the younger ones see change coming first and adapt. It’s a quality I admire, but it doesn’t have to be solely the province of the young, does it?’
“‘Leave him out of it,’ said Sid. ‘You’ve said your piece, now get out.’ Hamilton put his hat back on and nodded at both of us.
“‘I’ll come back in twenty-four hours,’ he said. ‘I could build my organization without you, Mr. Bernbaum, but it would take a little longer. Your contacts, the nefarious way you gather information, the pressure points you’ve put in place…I admire your work. I admire it very much. But, make no mistake, if you do not accept my offer, I will shut you down.’ He looked over Sid’s floral displays, seemed to choose a wall at random and pointed a finger. Every bloom wilted simultaneously, petals floating to the ground like snow.
“After Hamilton left, Sid took me out back and made tea with shaking hands. ‘Feh,’ he said, ‘I knew this day would come. That fool was right about one thing: the world is changing. It’s always changing, and as you get older, it gets harder and harder to change with it. Sometimes you see change coming and decide you won’t go along with it. His type means we go back to the old days of violence, turf wars. People will die and Chicago will become a place where decent people are scared to live. It’s time to get out of the city, my boy.’
“He gave me a list of errands to run. He planned to leave town in the morning, but not before destroying everything in the shop. His whole network, all the bugged offices, hotel rooms, warehouses and homes, all the information giving him power, all gone forever. I was horrified. I thought he was crazy. But I’d sensed the power Michael Hamilton had and I could see he was someone who was going to build an empire. He just had an aura about him, he seemed unstoppable.”
Walt stopped talking. The Lincoln had stopped outside a rundown bar well off the Strip. “Look, Seb,” he said. “We make decisions all the time, some easy, some hard. Sometimes, one decision can determine the course of the rest of your life. Even if you regret it, it can’t be undone. It sets you on a path. By the time you realize it wasn’t the right path you’re so far along there’s no way back.” He sighed heavily and shook his head.
“You betrayed Sid,” said Seb. Walt didn’t look at him, his eyes fixed on the back of Steve’s head.
“I didn’t know they were going to kill him,” he said, his voice quiet and flat. “I shouted for his help outside the shop. When he came out they shot him. Five of them with machine guns. He might have coped with one. At that stage I hadn’t seen how powerfully or quickly Sid’s use of Manna could heal injuries, but it was obvious Hamilton was taking no chances. The bullets just kept hitting him. They fired into his body after he fell. They just kept firing until they’d run out of bullets. Hamilton stepped forward with an axe and hacked his head off, kicking it away from his body like a football. Then he walked over to me. ‘Smart decision, kid,’ he said. ‘You just got promoted.’”
“He was your frien
d,” said Seb. You owed him everything.”
“I can’t justify what I did,” said Walt. “It was a long time ago. Sid was old, I was ambitious, I thought I’d be ok living with the consequences. I think about Sid every day. Every damned day. But I still look back and wonder what else I could have done. They weren’t going to let him walk away, that was obvious. Why should I go down with him? What good would it have done him?”
Seb didn’t answer.
“I made a decision and I learned to live with it. Never made my peace with it, but learned to live with it, ok? And I carved out a decent life for myself.”
Seb was thinking about Jack Carnavon. About the look on his face when he realized Seb was going to let him die. He lived with that look every day. Bad decisions had consequences. But you could learn from them, you could try to restore some balance by doing some good, doing the right thing. You didn’t have to stay on a path. Knowing he had the potential to become like Jack, someone who thought they could make decisions about life and death, had given him a constant reminder never to let it happen. And now lives were at risk again and he had the power to do something about it.
“Yeah, you got your decent life,” said Seb. “But it’s never too late. You can always choose to do the right thing.”
Walt laughed then, but there was no humor at all in the sound. “You don’t know Mason,” he said, bitterly. He grabbed his laptop and got out of the car, heading into the dim interior of the bar. Seb followed him. Walt ordered more beer and sat down in a booth at the back of the room. He opened his laptop, tapped some keys, then swung the screen around so Seb could see it.
“I’m calling Mee,” said Walt.
42
The screen showed what looked like a mid-range hotel room, spacious, clean. It could be anywhere in the world. The laptop at Mee’s end was obviously on a desk in front of a window, as no lights were turned on inside, yet it was bright enough to see clearly. So she was in the same hemisphere, at least.
Mee looked washed out, tired, and angry. Seb knew his face had just appeared on her screen, as tears began to roll down her face.
“‘I’m sorry, Seb,” she said, wiping the tears with a tissue. “It’s all my fault. If I hadn’t called you, they wouldn’t have found us.”
“Where are you?” said Seb.
“I don’t know,” she said. “They used some kind of spray. I don’t know how long I was unconscious for. When I woke up, I was here.”
“Look out the window, Mee,” he said.
“No good. They’ve covered it. It’s some sort of tower block, I know that. I’m high up, I can see the street and other buildings, but the covering blurs everything, makes it impossible to see any details. See?” She swiveled the laptop and Seb saw she was right. He couldn’t Walk to her if he had no idea where she was.
“Who’s with you?” he asked.
“Paid thugs,” she said, curling her lip. “Henchmen and henchwomen. Wearing black. Like they need to dress that way to let me know they’re the bad guys. Idiots.”
Seb smiled. That was a little more like the Mee he knew.
“Back up a little, Mee. Whatever happened wasn’t your fault, ok? You’ve been dragged into this, and you can’t blame yourself for anything anyone else does. Ok?”
She sniffed. “Ok,” she said in a small voice that seemed to belong to someone else.
“Now tell me what happened.”
Mee told him about Lo rescuing her and Bob back in LA, about their time with the Order. How she had quickly come to respect them and their quiet power. She told Seb the Order thought he was important, but avoided the word ‘Messiah’ as she thought he had enough to deal with right now. Then, her voice drained and tight, she described the events of the previous night, the wholesale slaughter of the people who’d taken them in and looked after them. She took a long breath in and told Seb about Bob.
Seb sat staring at the screen. He felt grief and rage building inside him like floodwaters battering a dam. He closed his eyes briefly.
“Breathe,” said Seb2.
“Easy for you to say,” thought Seb. “You don’t have to.” He was desperately trying to cling on to his sense of humor, before the anger overwhelmed him and caused him to reach over and squeeze the life out of this man he had briefly considered his friend.
“Mourn Bob later,” said Seb2. “It’s all you can do. They want you off-balance, they want you irrational. You lose it now, you’re playing into their hands.”
Seb took a few long breaths, sounding his word: silence. He unclenched his hands, then opened his eyes and looked down at the stained bar table for a few seconds.
When he raised his eyes, he looked over the top of the laptop at Walt. The older man was also looking at the table. Seb looked back at the screen, and Mee.
“What do they want?” he said, finally, his voice quiet but steady. “Have they told you that?” She shook her head mutely.
“They’re not interested in me,” she said. “I’m just here because they think they can use me to get to you. Don’t let them trap you, Seb. Whatever’s happened to you, you’re still you. Don’t let them use me to threaten you. I’m serious. Get as far away from these ruthless bastards as you can. Forget about me.” She looked at the screen and Seb had that strange sensation of knowing she was looking right at him, but as the camera was at the top of the screen, her eyes seemed to be looking elsewhere. Her hand moved.
“Mee,” said Seb quickly, “don’t. I can help, I can-”. The screen went blank as she broke the connection.
Walt leaned across, folded the screen down and pulled the laptop back to his side of the table.
“She’s strong,” he said. “I can see what attracted you to her.”
Seb just looked at him. “Don’t ever speak about Meera to me,” he said. “Tell me what you want, but don’t think I’m your friend, don’t try to make conversation. You should have left Chicago with Sid. Or put yourself between him and those bullets. You’d be better off dead than ending up like this.”
Walt was silent for a long time. Then he took a long swallow of beer and shrugged.
“I have no illusions about what I am,” he said. “Now listen. Mason has Meera. He has run things in this country for about thirty years. Before I tell you what happens next, I’m going to give you some advice.”
Seb opened his mouth to speak, but Walt cut him off.
“I know you don’t want it. Doesn’t matter. You need to know this. You can’t win against Mason, so don’t take him on. He is as cold as they come. You, me, Meera, Bob, the Order, we’re just pieces in a game to him. He will sacrifice anyone without a second thought if it gets him something he needs. He doesn’t care who has to bleed. And he’s untouchable.”
“No one’s untouchable,” said Seb.
“Think again. No one knows who Mason is. He communicates through email, text or phone calls. He runs a network of the most powerful Manna users in America. The network extends to many other countries. His attempt to remain anonymous has been completely successful. You only need one demonstration of his power to decide it would be in your best interests to join him. And he asks very little of us, really.”
“Just that you murder innocent people,” said Seb. As Walt raised his hands to protest, Seb cut him off. “Or stand by while innocent people are murdered. It’s the same thing.”
Walt lowered his hands and looked away for a moment before continuing.
“As far as I know, Mason has only been challenged once. He wiped out the challenger’s whole family. The guy didn’t even know it was happening, at first. An uncle in London died, I think. Then it was his wife’s sister and her family. Then his parents. Then his wife. Then his children. He shot himself to deny Mason the pleasure of finishing the job. If you have anyone you care about, do as he says. If you ever want to see Meera again, Seb. Think about it.”
Walt couldn’t meet Seb’s eyes. To know you’re weak is one thing; to have someone look at you with hate, disgust and pity was anothe
r.
“What does he want?” said Seb.
“He wants you to go to New York.” Walt slid one of his business cards over to Seb. Handwritten on the back was an address. “8pm tomorrow.”
Seb stood up, turned and walked out without looking back. Walt tapped out an email to Mason.
Varden will be there tomorrow. His power has increased massively, but I can’t sense him any more. I don’t know what he’s capable of.
Walt finished his beer and ordered bourbon. When the barmaid came over, he asked her to leave the bottle.
43
Seb Walked back to Los Angeles. He had twenty-one hours before his meeting in New York. He knew Mee was safe, for now, but he also knew she was in the hands of people who didn’t have any qualms about murder.
In his apartment, he drank a glass of water and walked around the rooms he had lived in for the last three years. He felt disconnected, as if he was an intruder. He remembered feeling the same way when Mee had taken him to Liverpool and they’d visited the childhood homes of John Lennon and Paul McCartney. The houses had contained old furniture sourced to make them look as close as possible to how they looked in the late 1950s and early 1960s, when the Beatles first met. It had been a fascinating tour, but Seb remembered suddenly feeling like a voyeur, peering in at a world that had gone forever and attributing to that world some kind of magic that made it a Golden Age. They had left the tour early and gone to the pub, playing Beatles songs on the jukebox and getting gloriously drunk.
He pulled his old prayer stool out from under the piano and sat, realizing as he did so, that he was now wearing the old sweat pants and t-shirt he always wore when he practiced contemplation.
“Your clothes, your physical appearance, just thinking it changes it,” said Seb2 as Seb tucked his legs under the low wooden stool and folded his hands in his lap.
“Yeah, I remember,” said Seb, allowing his breathing to slow. “Tell me something useful. Fashion tips aren’t going to help save Mee.”
The World Walker Series Box Set Page 31
