HALLOWED GROUND

by James Somers

  Silas stood slowly, keeping an eye on Ming’s bodyguards. “Now that we have him, what do you propose we do, if not use his power?”

  “Kill him immediately, while you still can.”

  Silas feigned a smile and gave a slight bow of acknowledgement. He turned and stepped past Garth, who had opened the door for him. As Silas stepped just beyond the threshold, Ming called out. “Silas, when you’ve disposed of Samuel Stokes, I want to see you here again. We have unfinished business to attend to.”

  Silas could feel the old man smiling behind him as he said it. He turned his head slightly, catching Ming in his peripheral vision, then nodded, turned, and left for the security chamber where Samuel Stokes waited.

  3 AWAKE

  As Silas walked the long underground corridor toward the security chamber he had had built to hold his Psy-Corp prize, he replayed his visit with his boss in his mind. Ming almost certainly meant to kill him. The old man knew Silas had been asserting his own authority and meant to put a grinding halt to it.

  Silas had to admit, he would do it the same way. After all, a younger man with excellent leadership ability presented a challenge to the old man’s rule over the Ring. The challenger had to be dealt with. Yet, Silas already knew the old alpha lion’s time was growing short. He wouldn’t let the old man strike first.

  Silas reached the end of the corridor and bypassed the hangar door to enter the new security chamber control room. When he walked in, he found his crew sitting in the large control booth drinking sodas and discussing rumors of Stokes’ power and what that might mean for their organization.

  Silas put on a smile, despite his smarting from the old man’s rebuke. “Boys, today is the day. Once we’ve cracked the secret to Stokes’ power, our crew will be unstoppable. We’ll rise to rule the Ring and lead it in a new direction. No more hiding in the shadows. We’ll take all of Imperial City for ourselves.”

  His men cheered, fifty in all, cramming into the lab area surrounding the control booth. Beyond it, laid Samuel Stokes. They viewed the containment chamber through a transparent plexi-steel containment wall.

  Silas walked over to the control console and tapped the intercom button in order to speak with the nurse anesthetist monitoring Stokes’ vital signs. “How is he? Are you ready to revive him?” Silas asked.

  The nurse nodded from the head of the table where they had secured Stokes’ body with Kevlar straps. “All ready, sir.”

  “Good. You may proceed.” He turned to his men waiting in the lab area around tables of equipment and weapons. “Be ready with the tranquilizers. If anything happens, we may be forced to put him back down.” Ten of Silas’ men nodded, checking their tranquilizer guns. Several others waited with Taser pistols, just in case.

  The anesthetist made adjustments to the anesthetic, essentially cutting everything but the pure oxygen. After several moments, Stokes body began to tremble, then jerk against the restraints. Silas waited eagerly. His palms began to sweat.

  The anesthetist hovered over him and then deflated the endotracheal tube and removed it. Stokes’ convulsions ceased almost immediately. The nurse watched the monitors, made more adjustments, then spoke softly to the patient. Silas tapped the intercom button on the console. “What’s happening? Is he awake?”

  “He should be…he’s breathing on his own now,” the nurse said. Then the nurse shook his head, as though dizzy. The nurse anesthetist braced against the table, trying to steady himself. Without another word, the nurse began unfastening the Kevlar straps restraining Stokes’ body.

  Silas punched the intercom again. “What are you doing?” The anesthetist didn’t answer. “Tom?” Silas turned to his crew, waiting with tranquilizers in hand. “You guys get in there.”

  Silas released the security lock, and his men ran through the door into the chamber. The door automatically closed after them, resealing itself. The nurse finished removing the last of the safety straps from Stokes’ body, despite one of the team members yelling at him to stop.

  The nurse anesthetist removed his sidearm from the holster on his hip, turned, and pointed it directly at Silas, standing at the control board inside the booth. He fired. Several layers of the plexi-steel barrier shattered into spider webs, but the barrier held. The strength of his protection hadn’t stopped Silas from reflexively ducking the gunshots.

  The anesthetist turned the gun on several of Silas’ soldiers, then on himself. Staring blankly at the men before him, the nurse fired a single shot into his temple and collapsed to the floor in a bloody mess.

  For a moment no one moved—everyone trying to make sense of what had just happened. Without warning, the soldiers tumbled in every direction like smashed bowling pins. Tranquilizer guns hit the walls and floor.

  Silas watched as Samuel Stokes sat up on the operating table, brushing the Kevlar straps aside. He looked back at Silas—fury and confusion written all over his face—a handsome young Caucasian with a sandy mop of hair. Silas hit the intercom button as his men regrouped inside the chamber with Stokes. “Samuel, we’re not trying to harm you!”

  It was already too late to say it. Most of Silas’ men had gathered their tranquilizer guns from the floor and taken aim. They fired just as Silas tried to tell them not too. Maybe it was for the best. The situation had quickly gotten out of control.

  Tranquilizer darts flashed through the air toward Samuel, but stopped inches before hitting his flesh. The darts hung suspended in the air for a fraction of a second, then turned on Silas’ men and surged back at them. The darts hit with the force of bullets, killing the victims and clearing out the majority of Samuel’s opposition inside the security chamber.

  “Stop, Samuel! I’m trying to help you!” Silas lied. Somehow, he had to get control of the situation.

  Samuel got off the table and started toward the door. The soldiers still alive in the room tried to punch in their codes to release the door lock and escape. The codes had no effect. Silas had made sure only someone at the control board could unlock it.

  The entire wall reverberated with the sound of invisible impacts as Samuel pounded at Silas’ men with his telekinesis, trying to escape the chamber. Gore streaked across the transparent plexi-steel barrier as Samuel exploded the soldiers’ bodies from within. The barrier shook again, and again as Samuel hammered his cage with his mind, like the fist of a giant.

  The men with Silas, in the control booth, screamed—terrified for their lives. Samuel Stokes may have been an unconscious boy a moment ago, but now a mental juggernaut threatened to come through their impenetrable barrier and kill them all. “Gas him!” Silas shouted to one of the men helping run the control board. The man tapped the switch labeled Hydrogen Cyanide 3500ppm.

  Gas level indicators on his panel started to register higher and higher concentrations. The pounding from within stopped as a pale blue haze built up in the room. Silas felt relieved, but couldn’t see what had happened to Stokes. “How long will it take to kill him?” Silas asked.

  The man operating the board with him, a scientist on the Ring’s payroll, read the instrumentation again. “He should be dead within sixty seconds.”

  Silas looked into the room again through the blood splattered plexi-steel barrier. He still couldn’t see anything moving. “We’ll give him a half hour, if we have to.” His fears began to abate only to be replaced by Ming’s warning. “You can’t control him,” he had said. Silas’ pride burned. The old man had been right.

  Silas’ head began to ache, and his ears popped. “What’s happening?” he asked.

  The metal portion of the wall groaned and bulged. Large cracks snaked through the plexi-steel barrier. Rivets and welds snapped. The wall pushed outward, as pressure rose in the control room. “He’s still alive,” the scientist cried. “Stokes is coming through. I’ve got to evacuate the gas before he breaches.”

  Silas turned, running from the room. Some of his men tried to follow, but the alarms sounded and emergency countermeasures slammed the auto-door shut,
fixing it with pressurized seals. Silas backed away, listening to the muffled screams of his men beyond the steel door. They pounded again, and again with no hope of escape.

  An explosion, from within the chamber, shook the building. Silas fell back against the wall. He quickly picked himself up from the floor and noticed the screaming had stopped beyond the safety door. He stepped up to the door, trying to hear if anyone was still alive.

  The metal door frame squealed. Silas stumbled backward as cracks formed in the wall plaster. He turned, running down the corridor. Behind him, the security door exploded away from its frame and slammed into the adjacent wall. It remained embedded there as Samuel Stokes emerged, wearing only his hospital gown.

  Silas saw the venom in the boy’s eyes as he fixed upon him. Silas turned, sprinting as fast as he could. His feet left the floor. Silas felt the sudden acceleration of his body tumbling through the air—scooped up by an invisible hand. He hit the ground and tried to roll out of it.

  As Silas got back to his feet, intending to run again, he felt the invisible grip lift him from the floor again. This time he flew back toward Samuel Stokes, standing in the hall waiting for his arrival. Silas stopped three feet from the boy, still suspended in mid-air. “What is this place?” Samuel demanded.

  Silas felt the pressure on his body increase. The boy would squeeze the information from his corpse if necessary. “You’re in a facility owned by the Ring, a criminal organization.” Silas saw no point in lying. Possibly, the boy might even be reading his mind just to be sure.

  Samuel looked puzzled. “Why am I here?”

  Silas now saw an opportunity, but he had to be quick. He looked down the corridor, as though wanting to be sure that no one else heard the privileged information he was about to spill to Samuel. “I’m a mercenary going under the assumed name, Silas Chang. I was hired to infiltrate the Ring and more recently assigned to foil their attempt at kidnapping you.”

  For a moment, bewilderment crossed Samuel’s face. “What are you talking about, hired by who?”

  “I’m afraid I can’t say at this point, not without authorization,” Silas said. “I’ve taken an oath.” The pressure on his suspended body increased dramatically, making it difficult to breath.

  “I’m authorizing you,” Samuel demanded. “Tell me who sent you, or die.”

  “I just tried to save your life in there!” Silas shouted. His gamble had to work.

  Samuel stifled mocking laughter. “You tried to save me? Yeah, right!”

  Silas mustered his anger. He had to be convincing. “Exactly, Sam, and you heard me in their shouting at you to stop. I knew what would happen if they felt you had become too great a threat.”

  “They tried to shoot me and then gas me!”

  “Yeah, and I’m the only one who was trying to calm you down to prevent it from happening!” They were shouting at each other, but Silas knew if he flinched on his righteous indignation the boy would know it and end him, then and there.

  To his surprise and relief, the pressure eased somewhat as Samuel considered the situation. Silas had him. Time to reel in his big fish. “I’ve blown my cover here trying to rescue you, Samuel. At the very least, I need to finish my mission and get you out of here! Ming wanted them to slice you up, to see what makes you tick. He’ll be here soon with his thugs, and I can’t let that happen! I’m sworn to protect you!” He pumped all of the desperate pleading he could into his performance.

  Samuel fumed as he considered what he was hearing. He looked into Silas’ eyes. His expression had turned from fury to resolve. “Where is this Ming?”

  Silas would have smiled, had his life not depended on it. He had the boy right where he wanted, after all.

  4 DAMAGE CONTROL

  Jay’s transport exited the sky-lane with a view of at least fifty vehicles surrounding the Psy-Corp transport, crash site. His driver brought them up to the perimeter set up by his Halo Tech team. Jay surveyed the damage through the tinted windows of his car, as the driver unfolded the wheels and settled down on the road.

  They drove along a new path worn through the grass by the emergency response vehicles. Flashing red, blue, and yellow lights blanketed the entire site in a cacophony of glare. The large cylindrical Psy-Corp transport lay on its side. Medical technicians worked with bodies near the cab, five in all.

  Todd Metz appeared, coming through the crowd toward Jay as he exited his limousine. He looked harrowed in his loose tie and dirty suit. “It’s a mess, sir,” he said.

  “What’s the damage?” Jay asked.

  “Five dead, including Dr. Andre Sarkov, all shot to death. There are three survivors. I’ve got them waiting for you near my car. They were a little banged up from the crash, but otherwise unharmed.”

  Jay slapped a hand on Todd’s shoulder. “All right, take me to them.”

  The pair weaved through the crowd, which included volunteers from several local fire departments, medical response teams, and local police officers. Jay noticed an FBI transport as they made their way toward Todd’s company limo. The three survivors, dressed in scrub clothes, were all sitting in the back. “They’ve already been treated and released by the medical team,” Todd said.

  Jay grabbed one of the rear door handles. “Good, then we’ll talk inside.” He opened the door and climbed inside with Todd following. Jay and Todd sat opposite the two women and one man who had come through the incident with their lives. “I want you to tell me what happened in the rear compartment,” Jay said.

  One of the women, a nurse, spoke up. “It was a group of mercenaries, or something, Dr. Young, with an oriental man leading them. They only wanted Samuel Stokes.”

  “Did anyone say the man’s name?” Jay asked.

  “No, but Dr. Thomas was working with them.”

  “Karen Thomas?” Todd asked.

  “Yes, she’s the one who shot Dr. Sarkov…said she got ten million credits for her part,” the nurse said, disgusted.”

  Todd turned to Jay. “I’ll begin an investigation of her finances and see if we can find out who paid her.”

  “So Dr. Thomas left with these people?” Jay asked.

  “No, sir, their leader betrayed her. After she shot Dr. Sarkov, he did the same to her…serves her right,” the nurse said.

  Jay smiled wanly. “Let me offer my condolences for your friends who were killed. We’re going to do everything we can to find out who did this and why.”

  The surviving man spoke up. “But sir, what about Samuel Stokes? I’ve seen what he can do and—”

  Jay interrupted. “Believe me, Stokes is our number one priority here. I’ve also seen what he can do. The last thing we want is for his abilities to fall into the wrong hands.”

  “Actually, sir,” the man said, “I feel sorry for those terrorists. I don’t think they realize what they’ve gotten themselves into.”

  •

  Silas sat uneasy in his railcar seat as Samuel breathed deeply next to him, his eyes closed. Their underground transit system allowed members of the Ring to travel to various secret locations in order to avoid police detection. There were updated Meisner systems available, but most generated strong magnetic fields making them easier to detect by the authorities.

  The car pulled into a small receiving station filled with more railcars. Silas got out on one side, and Samuel exited on the other, opening his eyes only then. “We’re in luck,” Silas suggested. “Their leader, Ming, is meeting here with the five heads of the Ring.”

  “My only concern is Ming,” Samuel said.

  “Yeah, but what you don’t understand is that they all work together. If you eliminate Ming, another of these five will automatically assume his position. They’ll never stop coming after you.”

  “Oh, I’ll stop them.” Samuel started toward a set of double doors where two guards had been stationed. He grabbed the right side of his head and stopped. Silas caught up to him. “Are you all right, Samuel?”

  Samuel gritted his teeth, then straigh
tened up. “I’m fine. Take me to them.”

  A long corridor with red carpet stretched out before them. The stainless steel panels on the walls gleamed. They hung interspersed with a dark polished hardwood, adding a touch of natural to their refinement.

  Silas walked just ahead of Samuel. He hoped his assumption, about the boy not being capable of reading minds, was correct. It had occurred to him, by now, that he truly could not control this boy’s power by force. Coercion remained his only hope for survival and the chief means by which he could assume power over the Ring and its vast resources.

  The guards allowed Silas to pass with his guest. Large stainless steel doors stood ahead of them at the end of the corridor. “Is that where they are?” Samuel asked.

  “Yes, but they’ll have plenty of bodyguards with them.”

  Samuel scowled toward the door, then marched on past Silas. “Maybe you should wait here,” he suggested.

  Silas wasn’t sure what to say, but he followed after anyway. “I’ll tag along, if you don’t mind.”

  The lock on the door popped as Samuel approached. By the boy’s will, the doors swung open into the room. Multiple guns snapped to firing position in the hands of the many bodyguards spread throughout the room. Samuel walked in with Silas following. Ming raised his right hand, stopping the guards from firing. He rose from his chair.

  The five heads of the Ring sat at a large, wooden table with Ming at the far end, directly opposite the door. His expression of cautious anxiety turned to anger when he noticed Silas coming into the room behind the boy. “Silas, what is the meaning of this interruption?”