Undetectable (Great Minds Thriller)

by M. C. Soutter

  “One to the knee, one to the neck,” Kevin said, his tone conversational. “Right out of the textbook,” he added.

  The Big Guy

  Kevin left them lying there on the path. He turned and began walking back the way he had come, heading south. Suddenly he didn’t feel like running anymore. He had exercised enough, and now he had demonstrated to himself – and to any annoying voice that might want to make itself heard – that he was ready when it came to subduing thugs in the park.

  Not that he knew of too many jobs that required such a skill, but never mind; it was yet another thing he was ready for, another thing he could use to tell that voice to leave him alone.

  He ambled through the trees and back onto the main running loop, taking his time. It was a relief to be able to walk with a quiet mind, and he let his thoughts drift. He passed the grassy space behind the Metropolitan and saw an uncommon emptiness; the homeless man was no longer there.

  Early riser. Busy day.

  Finally he came to the place where he would have turned off to get home, but instead Kevin kept walking. This sense of peace he was experiencing was too good to let go. So he continued all the way down to the southern-most exit, emerging finally onto 59th street west of Fifth Avenue, and then he walked to the corner and headed uptown on Fifth. He had gone just three blocks when he came to a bus pulled over at the curb.

  There was no one inside but the driver. The bus’s engine was off, and Kevin could see the man talking on a yellow phone connected to the main dashboard. After a moment he slammed the phone down into its cradle.

  Kevin poked his head into the open double doors. “How’s it going?”

  The bus driver turned to Kevin as if they were old friends. He threw his hands up. “They’re kidding me, right? I’ve got less than twenty-five minutes left on my shift, and this piece dies on me.”

  “They’re sending someone out?”

  “Sure,” the driver said sarcastically. “‘Soon as they can,’ they said. But who knows what that means? My wife is waiting for me. My kids are waiting for me, I need to get home.”

  “Okay. I’ll take a look.”

  “What? You’re a mechanic?”

  “Yup, definitely. You’ve got a few basic tools up here, right? Screwdriver, stuff like that?”

  “Of course, but – ”

  Kevin beckoned to him.

  Let’s go, then. Hand them over. Don’t argue with the technician.

  The man reached down into the compartment beneath his seat for the little tool bag, and he gave them to Kevin with forced hope in his eyes. The driver wanted Kevin to be telling the truth, wanted it because he had no other choice. Kevin looked nothing like any bus mechanic he had ever seen, but that didn’t matter. Couldn’t a bus mechanic be wearing shorts and a t-shirt? He didn’t have to be always wearing coveralls, any more than an off-duty police officer had to have his nightstick always at the ready. Kevin probably wasn’t a tool thief, so at worst he was a pathological liar. Or just a weirdo in running clothes who had nothing better to do than pretend to be an off-duty technician.

  Worth a shot.

  Kevin walked to the back of the bus with the tool bag under one arm, humming as he did.

  I don’t know what I’m getting ready for, he thought, but maybe I don’t ever need to know. Because it’s starting to look like I’m ready for absolutely anything.

  When he was finished he stood back and looked around him, feeling disoriented. It had taken longer than expected, and somewhere between removing the side panel, hot-wiring a fuse connection, and double checking the fuel lines and battery terminals, some kind of secondary process in his head had taken over. He had become so immersed in the mental texts of his engine-maintenance collection that he had gone into the same grayed-out state that came over him while he was reading.

  But in the meantime, I think I did it.

  It would work, he knew it. He could tell just by the feeling of satisfaction in his stomach; it was as though he had found a set of keys that had been lost until just this minute. He walked to the front and told the driver to give it a try.

  He did, and the bus started up with a grateful rumble. “You just saved my life,” the driver said.

  Kevin returned the tool bag, waved at him like a bellhop dismissing a tip, and then he was back on his way up Fifth. He glanced up at the steadily lightening sky and realized he had to get going.

  Don’t want to be late getting fired.

  He began jogging again. Faster now. Running. He reached 67th street and was about to turn right when he heard someone calling out to him. “Now you’re moving.”

  Kevin looked, saw no one at first, and stopped.

  “Feeling better, huh?”

  This time Kevin found him: the homeless guy from behind the Metropolitan. He was sitting on one of the benches by the wall enclosing Central Park. All of his possessions were with him, shopping cart, coats, boxes. He seemed to be migrating.

  “Where’s your training buddy?” the man asked.

  Kevin hesitated. Then he understood. “That guy who was following me? No, he wasn’t – ”

  “Not him,” the homeless man said impatiently. “Your buddy.”

  “What buddy?”

  “The guy you always used to run with. The big guy.”

  Kevin froze.

  Hold on. The big guy? “Tell me what he looked like.”

  “The guy. Your friend. He’s a beast, looks like you but a little shorter, a little thicker. Like a linebacker. Every day you guys would run by. Every afternoon, like clockwork. You know,” the homeless man insisted.

  Kevin stood there for another moment.

  Yes, he thought suddenly. I do know.

  He turned and ran east, toward his apartment. Maybe he would still be late. And maybe he would still be fired. But now those things seemed far less important, far less interesting. Because he had a few hundred questions to ask his buddy Danny Fisher, his buddy who claimed to have met him just a few days before school started.

  No, Danny was part of the team. Part of the team in charge of getting me ready. And Petak is full of shit. Today is the day. Today I’m going to go find out what’s really going on.

  Kevin was right.

  Today was the day.

  Though not at all for the reasons he expected.

  Part 5 – Pop Quiz

  Go Time

  Jacob Savian sat at his computer, waiting. He was waiting for the Organizer’s call to come, but he was also waiting for a decision. From inside his own head. Jacob believed in logic, in using all the available data to make the right choice. But he also believed very deeply in the power of intuition.

  It was, after all, the thing that made him better than the computer before him. The thing that made him human.

  The computer hummed, Jacob pressed the spacebar, and the Organizer’s face came into view. And then it happened. Jacob felt something in his head, some tiny relay, some cascade of neurotransmitters that, for whatever reason, had come down on one side of the question. He knew what to do.

  “Good morning,” the Organizer began. “As I expected, everything is stable. Three days to go, and we’re just holding until – ”

  “We’re going this morning.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me. Go time is now. It’s seven o’clock. I want mission-ready status in half an hour. Start of operations a half-hour after that.”

  The Organizer shook his head. “No, I still don’t understand. The subject is not, is not out in the open. He’s not coming until Friday. Mission-ready status for what? Explain.”

  Jacob held up a hand.

  He explained.

  Today is the Day

  Kevin was almost there. It was a beautiful September morning, and he could tell it was going to get more beautiful. Danny would be there, and he would have to come clean to Kevin. What choice would he have?

  The pieces of the world would fall into place. It would all make sense again somehow. Petak had seemed to
have the answers, but Kevin could see now that the doctor had been some sort of ruse. Some sort of almost-true, almost-right distraction.

  But no. Danny was the key. Danny was the truth. Kevin could feel it now, could feel it as surely as he had felt himself conquering the innards of that stalled city bus.

  Didn’t count on the observant homeless guy, did you? Shouldn’t have run with me on the same loop every day.

  “Oh, Danny,” he whispered as he came around the corner of 74th street. “We have so much to discuss.”

  He looked down the block, and he could see Danny there. Standing in the door, welcoming students. There were more boys on the sidewalk than usual this morning, perhaps because so many of them seemed to be stalling before heading into the building. It was too nice of a day. The air was too sweet, the sky too blue. To be in school on such a day, sitting at a desk taking notes or staring up at a whiteboard, seemed fundamentally wrong. The students were holding off as long as they could.

  Kevin saw Anselm, and he wanted to say hello. Wanted to say anything at all, just to re-establish a connection. To re-establish trust. Even if he were to be fired today, even if he were forced to leave this school and never return, he wanted Anselm to know that he had only been trying to help.

  Yes, I made the wrong move, he would say to the boy. Can you blame me? You were getting bullied. I had to do something. I was trying to protect you.

  But all of that could wait. Anselm had stopped to chat with one of the painters by the three white vans parked at the curb this morning, and now he was pointing to one of the long hose extensions they used for reaching high spots. He was probably asking something about pressure or flow rate or some other question of startling intelligence; the painter probably didn’t know what to make of the miniature genius standing before him. In any case Kevin wanted to get to Danny first. Wanted to confront him and see the look in his eye, the sudden realization that the jig was up, it was time to let it all out. So first Danny, and then a brief word with Anselm before the school day was done.

  Kevin increased his pace as he neared the entrance, and he called out a friendly greeting to Danny. Danny saw him, and he seemed about to hold out a hand when Kevin saw the big man’s eyes shift. He was looking at something over Kevin’s shoulder.

  “Shit,” Danny said, his voice cold. Three boys in the process of walking through the doorway looked up quickly at Mr. Fisher, their eyes wide with delighted surprise.

  That teacher said shit.

  Danny didn’t notice them. He stepped quickly to one side, away from the building. Before Kevin had a chance to ask what was wrong, Danny was reaching under his own jacket, reaching for something concealed in a slim holster-like pocket sewn into the side of his shirt.

  Now that’s a nice gun, Kevin thought, as Danny brought the weapon out and up to eye-level. The world was moving more slowly than normal, and Kevin had a moment to study the design. Compact semi-automatic Smith & Wesson .45. Very smooth. Good size, good weight. I wonder if –

  But both his thought process and the slow-down were suddenly interrupted by the sound of a high-powered rifle shot, and at the same instant Danny was knocked backward as though he had been punched with an invisible battering ram. He hit the open door behind him with a thump, and he sank straight to the ground.

  Kevin knelt quickly down to him. “Holy shit, Danny, what – ”

  “Him,” Danny hissed, grabbing Kevin by the lapels and pulling him down toward him with shocking force. Whatever injuries he had sustained, Danny Fisher was clearly nowhere near dead. He turned Kevin’s head as if manipulating a puppet, and he pointed. “Never mind me,” Danny said, his voice strained. “Protect him.”

  Kevin looked where Danny was pointing, and he saw a flash of blond hair as Anselm was pulled into the first white van. The doors closed, and all three vans took off down the street in unison, their tires squealing on the pavement.

  Kevin stared after them in horror for a moment, and then he turned back to Danny. “What? No, how would I – ”

  “Shut up!” Danny yelled, wincing. “You’re ready now, right?”

  “Yes!” Kevin said, the answer coming almost like a reflex. He couldn’t help it. “I mean, for some things,” he added, trying to get control of his own head. “But for this, I don’t – ”

  “This is the only thing!” Danny shouted at him. He was still holding Kevin by his jacket, his meaty fist clenching the lapel. His jaw was clenched in pain, and sweat was running down his face. “This is what’s important, this is what you’ve been getting ready for!”

  “No, I wasn’t picked,” Kevin protested, returning in desperation to what Petak had told him. “The other applicants – ”

  “There were no other applicants! You’re it!”

  “No, you’re the guy, and they shot you, so now we can’t – ”

  “I’m the obvious under-cover, you idiot! They’ve had me marked since the first day!” He pulled Kevin closer still, until their foreheads were actually touching. “Listen. You’ve been getting ready to protect Pascal Billaud. But now the mission has changed. They took his son. Do you understand?”

  Kevin grunted a yes.

  “Good,” Danny said, releasing him. He pressed the semi-automatic into his hand. “So take a minute to think, then use the cell phone, and then go fetch Anselm. That’s your mission, your purpose. This is the important thing you’ve been forgetting, do you get that? That kid is now your whole reason for existing, and you are ready!”

  Kevin nodded. Finally it was making sense to him. Everything. Every book, every run, every un-remembered training session in the park or on the 20th floor or wherever they had taken him during the last three months. It didn’t matter; he was ready. Danny had pushed the right switch somehow, and he could feel his focus returning. He stuck Danny’s gun underneath his own belt behind his back.

  “Go get Anselm Billaud,” Danny said, one more time.

  Kevin stood up, straightened his coat, and then spared one last glance for the big man lying on the sidewalk. “That’s what I’m doing,” he said. “Shut the fuck up for a second so I can think.”

  A Poor Chance Of Surviving

  There were too many variables to work out, too many contingencies to consider. He needed time to think it all through, but he had no time. So Kevin dropped himself into a crouch, closed his eyes, and stuffed his fingers into his ears.

  Plenty of time.

  He stayed in that position for what seemed to him like nearly an hour, going through every possibility. Every strategic scenario. He played them all through, played them as though he were playing chess games from start to finish, discarding the games that ended with Anselm’s death.

  Finally he stood and looked down the street. Three seconds had gone by, maybe four. The last of the three vans had just rounded the corner to head down Lexington. He knew how these things went – he knew everything about how these things went, down to the last statistic and official report, because he had read all the reports – and so he knew that Anselm had a poor chance of surviving no matter what he did.

  But he also knew he could improve that chance.

  He ran to the end of the block, stopped at the corner, and looked south. He was in the act of pulling out his cell phone when he felt a tug at his jacket.

  Elias Worth. Again. Always in the middle of things.

  “Elias, I’m busy,” Kevin said. Up came the contacts list on his phone.

  “No, I saw.”

  Kevin paused. The boy could have pleaded, could have whined or demanded Kevin’s attention, and none of it would have mattered. He would have turned away and ignored him. But Elias managed to strike exactly the right tone, the perfect note of calm authority, and Kevin Brooks knew an asset when he saw one. Elias had been right before. Elias’s head was still heavily bandaged, and he knew a thing or two about evil.

  “What, Elias?”

  “They switched him,” Elias said, and Kevin found himself impressed. The boy knew how to skip past needl
ess details, knew how to cut straight to the meat of the issue. “He was in the first van, but they just now put him into the second.”

  “You’re a hero,” Kevin said, and he returned his attention to the cell phone.