Cracks in Reality (Seams in Reality Book 2)

by Siegel, Alex

  Later, he described what he had seen while searching for Dan. "I found scrap wood as far as 150 meters from the center of the detonation. Damage was consistent with the prisoner's report that two thousand pounds of ammonium nitrate were used. Bodies were dismembered. The meat had been stripped from the bones in some cases. I identified Agent Dan Easton from his head."

  Andrew swallowed and felt revulsion.

  "Any sign of Blake?" Director Webster said.

  "No, sir," Tungsten said.

  "What about the prisoner you took?"

  "I had to let him escape, but he won't be hard to track down."

  Webster looked up at Richard and said, "Do you have any thoughts?"

  "A few," Richard said. "This episode doesn't surprise me. Blake loves his tricks and traps."

  "We won't get caught again," Andrew said.

  "Oh?" Richard walked over to Andrew. "You're sure? I'm starting to question the wisdom of sending a couple of youngsters after a wily veteran like Blake. You may have extraordinary talent as sorcerers, but it will take more than that to win this fight."

  Andrew had no easy answer. Unfortunately, Richard was right. Andrew looked over at Charley and saw her biting her lip.

  "I can make up the difference," Tungsten said. "I'm not a sorcerer, but I'm a wily veteran. Between the three of us, we can create a winning team."

  Richard raised his eyebrows. "You were fooled today, too."

  "No, I wasn't, sir, and neither was Andrew. We warned Dan. Our mistake was letting him go anyway. We should've insisted on a smarter plan of attack."

  Richard appeared dubious.

  "I've seen Blake's handiwork first-hand," Tungsten said. "I want to be part of the team that takes him down, and I want Andrew and Charley with me."

  "How can you say that? They're just apprentices."

  "I've seen a lot of battles. I know what kind of people it takes to win them. The apprentices have the right stuff. All they lack is battlefield wisdom, and I can provide that."

  Richard narrowed his eyes and stared at Tungsten for a moment. Andrew wanted to speak up, but he wasn't sure what to say.

  "We don't have much choice," Director Webster said. "Andrew and Charley may not be the ideal candidates for this assignment, but they're the best available. They've trained for it, and Tonya says they're ready. My master sorcerers can't go because they have to guard their seams."

  Richard nodded. "OK, but I think we should meet at Manassas tomorrow night for a little tune-up exercise."

  "Sure," Andrew said. "Sounds like fun."

  "I don't know if fun is the right word," Charley said, "but it's a good idea."

  "I'll just take the night off," Tungsten said.

  "No," Richard said. "You're coming."

  "I am?"

  "Certainly." Richard smiled. "You could also use some tuning up. I suggest all of you go to bed. You'll want to be well rested for tomorrow."

  Andrew looked at Tungsten. His face showed anxiety.

  * * *

  "Big enough for you?" Griffith said.

  Blake was standing in a domed, underground chamber cut out of solid rock. The walls and floor were rough from recent excavation. Dry, dusty, still air made his nose itch. Proper ventilation hadn't been installed yet.

  "It will do," Blake said.

  He faced the manager of the missile silo renovation project. A mixture of dust and sweat had dried onto his face. Stains marked his plaid shirt under his armpits. His big beard was also dirty, and Blake felt he should shave it off.

  "So that means we're almost done," Griffith said.

  "We still need a back door in here," Blake said, "and you have to test the transport system. Make sure it can carry the full hundred tons without breaking. I want to be here for that final test."

  "Yes, sir."

  "And where is the closed-circuit surveillance? I also didn't see the secret door when we were in the silo."

  Griffith grimaced. "We're having some engineering problems with the opening mechanism."

  "Sounds like you're not done at all." Blake glared.

  "Don't worry. We'll meet the schedule."

  "I hope you do. If there is bad news, I'll insist you deliver it in person to Mr. Panetta."

  Griffith winced.

  Blake looked down at Phillip. "Do you have anything to add?"

  The boy was looking around with his big, brown eyes. His black suit was identical to Blake's except for the size.

  "An overhead lift in here would be useful," Phillip said.

  "A chain hoist?" Griffith said. "That's not in the contract."

  "Add it," Blake said. "We'll pay extra, of course. I'll be back in a week for the final inspection."

  Griffith appeared queasy but said nothing.

  "Come on," Blake told Phillip. "We have work to do."

  The two of them walked off together.

  * * *

  Tungsten believed himself to be a brave man. He had fought battles on every continent and had seen all the horrors of war. He had watched friends die in every way imaginable. He had thought he had seen it all.

  Then he had joined the BPI. Sorcery scared the crap out of him.

  He was driving a blue sedan towards Manassas. Night had fallen, and he couldn't see much except what was in his headlights. He only caught glimpses of farmhouses and wooden fences on either side of the road.

  Andrew and Charley were in the back seat holding hands. Tungsten glanced at them in the rearview mirror, and his gaze naturally went to Charley first. She was a very attractive young woman. Her long brown hair flowed like silk, and her eyes always reminded him of melted chocolate. She loved to wear tight-fitting sweaters which showed off her slim waist and modest breasts.

  Andrew was a natural match for her. He kept his dark brown hair very short. He had smooth, clean skin which was unusual for a teenage boy. His face was well proportioned, and his green eyes held an intensity that Tungsten associated with good soldiers.

  Even after working with them for months, Tungsten still wasn't sure how to deal with them. At times they acted like ordinary college kids. Andrew did everything possible to impress his girlfriend, but sometimes he just embarrassed himself instead. He had the physical awkwardness of a man who was still getting used to the length of his limbs. Charley hadn't decided whether she wanted to be shy or sexually aggressive, and she flip-flopped between both approaches.

  At other times, the kids were sorcerers, and Tungsten didn't understand them at all. They talked about belief as if it were a physical force. The all-important seams were completely invisible to Tungsten. The apprentices claimed to have an extra eye inside their heads, but scientists had studied sorcerer brains on many occasions, and as far as Tungsten knew, no unusual structures had ever been found.

  The sedan arrived at the Visitor Center of the Manassas National Battlefield Park. Tungsten knew the military history of Manassas. A bloody battle had been fought on the grassy fields, officially kicking off the Civil War. It had been a very painful learning experience for both sides. War always taught hard lessons.

  The three of them got out of the sedan. It was cold, but they were wearing coats. Tungsten handed out flashlights.

  The group walked around the Visitor Center and into a flat, grassy field. A few vintage cannons were artfully placed as decoration. A distant line of trees were black against a dark background.

  Tungsten visualized the battle that had been fought here. He imagined bloody, broken bodies strewn across the grass. Officers were screaming orders at anybody within earshot. Clouds of gun smoke darkened the battlefield. The cries of dying men were heard from every direction. Medicine had been primitive in those days. The lucky ones went quickly, while the unlucky perished after agonizing weeks from gangrene.

  Tungsten followed Andrew and Charley across the field. They seemed to know exactly where to go even though Tungsten saw nothing to guide them. He had heard the Manassas Seam was the biggest in the country, but it was just an empty field to him. />
  They found Richard standing in the darkness without a flashlight. The old sorcerer was wearing a black leather coat that went down to his shins.

  "What am I doing here?" Tungsten said nervously.

  "I think it's important that you understand sorcery as much as possible," Richard said.

  "Tonya already did that."

  "A quick refresher couldn't hurt, but I'll need your permission. We're going to practice a form of mind-control tonight. Technically, it's illegal, so you certainly have the right to refuse, but you'll find the experience enlightening. I suggest you give your consent."

  Tungsten looked at the three sorcerers standing before him. The flashlights gave them a spooky appearance. They didn't appear the least bit concerned, but they were the professionals. Tungsten felt like a guy who had brought a knife to a gunfight, except he didn't even have a knife. He was completely at their mercy.

  "Could you give me a little more detail?" he said.

  "You'll see the world through the eyes of a sorcerer," Richard said.

  "How is that possible?"

  Richard smirked. "Consent, and you'll get your answer."

  Andrew and Charley were just staring at Tungsten. He hated looking like a coward in front of kids young enough to be his children.

  "Fine," Tungsten said. "Just do it."

  Richard turned to Andrew. "We're going to try an unusual technique tonight: reverse clairvoyance. Instead of creating an illusion, simply take the images that you actually see now and put them in Tungsten's head. Let him borrow your eyes."

  "Sure," Andrew said. "Seems straightforward."

  Tungsten stared at him in disbelief. What part of that is straightforward?

  "Just be careful and respectful," Richard said. "Don't overload his mind."

  "Got it." Andrew looked at Tungsten. "Ready?"

  "Err," Tungsten said. "I guess so."

  Andrew relaxed and breathed deeply. He seemed to be going into a trance.

  Tungsten's vision faded, and for a moment, he saw nothing at all. He forced himself to remain calm. Fear and panic wouldn't help him. He was in the hands of an expert.

  His eyesight slowly returned, and he discovered he was looking at himself. It was Andrew's perspective, not just physically but psychologically. Andrew perceived Tungsten as a beast with an intimidating amount of muscle. Tungsten's Mohawk was aggressively primitive. The long, ugly scar on his face showed his violent nature.

  That's how you see me? Tungsten thought.

  Yes, Andrew replied silently.

  His eyes looked up, and for the first time, Tungsten saw the Manassas Seam. It was a horrifying gash in the fabric of space. Raw, chaotic energy spewed out like blood from a torn artery. With Andrew's help, Tungsten felt the power infusing his body. It was intoxicating.

  "My God," Tungsten whispered.

  Andrew looked at Charley. She wasn't a seam, but a black vortex of energy still swirled around her. It flowed smoothly like water over stones in a gentle stream. The energy pulsed in time with her heartbeat, and its beauty left him dumbfounded.

  Finally, Andrew looked at Richard, and his energy was even more impressive but in a different way. A black cloud of power surrounded him, and it rippled as if sharks were swimming just below the surface. The deadly potential was obvious.

  Tungsten had a glimpse into the true nature of sorcery. It was the destruction of rationality. It tore apart the rules that everybody took for granted and replaced them with nonsense. It was the exact opposite of science.

  The spell dissipated. He gently returned to his own body.

  "Are you OK?" Andrew said with concern in his voice. "It wasn't too much for you?"

  Tungsten took a deep, shuddering breath. "I'm fine. Thank you. That was educational."

  "What did you learn?" Richard said.

  "That you guys live on the hairy edge of insanity. The world is an island surrounded by a sea of chaos, and you're standing knee-deep in it."

  "That's very perceptive. Sometimes we drown in that chaos. It's a shame you don't have any real talent. You might've made a good sorcerer."

  "No, thanks," Tungsten said. "I like the laws of physics to be respected, thank you."

  "Charley," Richard said, "I can't ask you to do the same exercise. Putting a man inside the head of a woman or vice versa is dangerous. Instead, I want you to create a combat arena for Andrew and Tungsten. Create a shared illusion. Let's see them fight to the death."

  Tungsten looked at Richard in alarm. "What? Hold on."

  "I understand," Charley said. "I'm thinking... robots."

  Tungsten was suddenly at the controls of a giant robot the size of a skyscraper. He was inside the head of the thing. He looked across a battlefield strewn with burning wreckage at a similar robot presumably under the control of Andrew.

  Tungsten had to remind himself the experience was an illusion. The excitement was real though, and he honestly felt like he was about to fight for his life. It was hard to shake off the belief.

  The other robot charged him. Giant legs thundered in slow motion, and feet the size of buildings crushed whatever was beneath them.

  Tungsten looked down at his controls. They were clearly labeled and simple enough. It was like playing a video game. He pushed on a joystick, and his own robot charged forward.

  "Woo hoo!" he yelled.

  Andrew's robot fired a salvo of missiles. Tungsten put up a force field to stop them. The robots slammed together and engaged in a titanic wrestling match. As the giant metal bodies fought for dominance, he heard machinery breaking. Tungsten was an expert in hand-to-hand combat, and he used an Aikido technique to throw Andrew's robot onto its head. Before Andrew could recover, Tungsten stomped on the skull of his enemy, smashing it into the ground.

  He blinked. He was back on the fields of Manassas, still shaking from the adrenalin.

  "Wow," he said.

  "Was that fun?" Charley said.

  "It was the coolest experience I've ever had."

  She smiled. "Thank you. I tried to get some good detail in there."

  "Yes," Richard said, "it was very nicely done. Tonya would be proud."

  Charley's smile turned into a full grin.

  "Let's go again," Andrew said. "Dragons this time. Fire-breathing dragons."

  "You're on," Tungsten said eagerly.

  * * *

  Blake arrived at a small office building with walls made of colored cement blocks. Alternating bands of red, green, and brown blocks created a Native American aesthetic. The landscaping matched the desert climate of Las Vegas. Rocks, sand, a few cacti, and stunted trees surrounded the building.

  Blake and Phillip got out of the car. The weather in Las Vegas was perfectly pleasant after the damp cold of West Virginia. A blue sky had only a few tiny clouds. A bright sun made him want sunglasses.

  "You should stay out here," Blake said. "I don't need you for this."

  "OK," Phillip said in a slightly irritated tone. "I'll just stretch my legs."

  One of Blake's assassins had driven the car, and another was riding shotgun. Blake told the second man to come into the building. He was very tall and lean, and his suit hung loosely on his frame. His nickname was "Icepick" because of the extreme shape of his body and his fondness for the weapon. He had repulsive red splotches on his face.

  They walked to the front door of the office building. A small sign read, "SocialTech, Inc."

  Blake went inside. A pretty girl with red hair was sitting at a reception desk, but she wasn't paying much attention. She painted her nails until Blake walked up and cleared his throat loudly.

  The receptionist looked up at him. "Yeah?"

  "I need to speak with Mr. Meyer. Mr. Panetta sent me."

  Suddenly, she was all business. She pressed a button on her phone and said, "Craig, a guy is here to talk to you. Panetta sent him." Her voice boomed from overhead speakers.

  Thirty seconds later, a man rushed into the lobby. He had shaggy black hair, and he needed to shave
. His black T-shirt listed ten reasons why "beer is better than women." He was wearing sweat pants and rubber sandals.

  "Can I help you?" he said.

  "Mr. Meyer?" Blake said.

  Meyer nodded.

  "I'm Mr. Torvus, and I have an important job for you. Let's talk in your office."

  "Sure."

  They walked through the office building. The interior was mostly open and full of cubicles. Men and women in every cubicle were staring fixedly at computer screens. Everybody had multiple monitors, and some people had as many as six. They were typing quickly.

  Blake looked at some of the screens as he walked by. He didn't use social media, but he recognized it when he saw it. The employees of SocialTech were chatting, posting, commenting, like-ing, and messaging at a furious pace. It seemed everybody was engaged in several online conversations at once. It was probably a dream job for some, but Blake didn't see any smiles in the room.

  He and Meyer walked to a private office in back. It had a glass wall, allowing the boss to see his people working. Meyer had no less than twenty-four monitors suspended over his desk by fishing line. Bundles of video and power cables went up to a duct on the ceiling. Four keyboards and four mice were arranged neatly on the desk. An ergonomic chair made of stretchy webbing looked like it had come from a science fiction movie. The only other furniture was a single chair facing the desk.

  Meyer sat at his desk, and the suspended monitors almost blocked his face from view. Blake shifted his chair until he found a spot where he could see who he was talking to.

  Icepick entered the office, closed the door, and stood in front of it.

  "What's the job?" Meyer said.

  "I need you to spread a rumor," Blake said. "There is a military base near Alamogordo, New Mexico called Mumford Army Base."

  "Never heard of it."

  "You're about to. There is a mountain in the north called Montaña de la Serpiente. A top secret military installation is inside that mountain."

  Meyer raised his eyebrows. "Hold on. I'm not sure where this is going, but I don't think we can help you. The last soldier I saw was a guy sitting under a tree begging for spare change."

  "Mr. Meyer," Blake said, "your business is spreading rumors and manipulating public perception. Casino sports books pay you to shift betting patterns. People like Mr. Panetta pay you when they want more favorable odds on a fixed game. Dirty politicians pay you to torpedo the opposition. My job will be the biggest and most profitable you've ever done."