Cybershot_An Empathic Detective Novel

by Jaxon Reed

  Beside her, she heard Jacques chuckle.

  They were in an apartment owned by one of the college girls. Evidently the two were roommates. While Phoebe jumped into Metro-X to make an appointment and plead her case with Simon, Jacques had been amusing himself with the girls.

  One of them was already dead, her body sitting in a corner of the room, the neck twisted at an unnatural angle.

  The other one still amused him. He sat on the couch next to Phoebe. The girl kneeled before him, her arms bound by mental force behind her back.

  Jacques held his hand on her face, covering her mouth and nose. The girl struggled to breath but couldn’t move. She stared cross-eyed at his hand, helpless.

  He chuckled again.

  Her eyes rolled up to the top of her head as she passed out. He removed his hand and his control over her body as she slumped to the floor gasping for breath.

  Renard said, “Jacques, you should be more respectful toward women.”

  “These are just pets, Mama. They’re like dogs. If I use them up, I’ll get more.”

  She started to say something else, stronger this time, but his power overwhelmed her thoughts.

  He said, “So, did you talk to the executioner?”

  Fully compliant now, she said, “Yes. I made contact. He killed my avatar and refused to parley further.”

  “Hmph. Fool.”

  His thoughts blackened and for a moment his control over her weakened.

  She said, “Jacques, I’m worried. He mentioned something about being cut off from money, and he’s right. My accounts are frozen by now. Not only that, any attempts to retrieve funds will lead the police right to us. I don’t know how much farther we can go, how long we can stay hidden or how—”

  He raised a hand cutting her off.

  “I don’t want to think about it right now, Mama. We’ll make it. I was raised to be a leader. But perhaps I’m not meant to lead in Europe. Perhaps I’m meant to lead here. Everything happens for a reason, right? And we’re in Texas now. Maybe it’s time Texas had a new leader.”

  He walked to the window and looked out. In the distance, the dome of the Texas State Capitol reflected back sunlight.

  “I’ll announce myself to the state at their big building. You’ll see. Everybody will love their new ruler, Jacques Bryce Renard!”

  “Jacques, we should be reasonable, we can just—”

  He raised a hand again, and she stopped, fully under his spell.

  The girl moaned on the floor, regaining consciousness.

  “Go into the other room, Mama. I want to play some more with my pet.”

  Phoebe found herself compelled to walk out of the room, unable to say another word. The last thing she heard was Jacques saying to the girl, “Dance for me. Dance!”

  -+-

  The new FBI headquarters had a large conference room set up as the J-LEAP command center. Bryce and Parker walked in and were quickly swallowed up in the hubbub. Law enforcement personnel filled the space, both in the flesh and via holograms. All were full-body holograms, Bryce noted, meaning they used more bandwidth.

  Not surprising under the circumstances, he thought.

  The room was packed. And noisy. Some people stood in place while others moved around. Some spoke with each other in the flesh, while others spoke to virtual people. Still others spoke over com channels that could only be heard in their own ears.

  In the middle of all this organized chaos stood FBI Assistant Director Nathanial Nguyen, trying to coordinate several agencies at once. Around him stood holograms of people Bryce suspected were in Washington D.C. Some wore uniforms of the various armed forces. Whether there in the flesh, or virtually, everyone was taller than Nguyen. But he carried himself with such authority, nobody seemed to notice.

  Friedman walked in behind Bryce and Parker, and rudely cut through the hologram of somebody wearing a colonel’s uniform. He walked up to Nguyen and stood in front of the diminutive director until noticed.

  Nguyen said, “Yes, Agent Friedman?”

  “My sources got a hit on the mother, Phoebe Renard. She is located at this address.”

  He opened his hand and a virtual screen appeared, floating in the air. It showed a map of the city, with a flashing red dot above an apartment building.

  Nguyen said, “How did you get this? How do we know the information is valid?”

  “I have contacts at VIR-1. Phoebe Renard made a visit to their virtual game, Metro-X. My contacts were able to pinpoint her real-life location when she entered the game, and they sent me the data.”

  Bryce said, “That’s odd. I thought VIR-1 was one of the most private companies in the world. Aren’t there certain European laws in place to prevent that?”

  Friedman glanced at him and said, “Yes, yes, yes. That is true. However, desperate times call for desperate measures, Detective. I have gleaned her whereabouts, and presumably the boy is either with her or nearby. He has no neural link, not even a cell phone implant, so we can’t be for sure. But almost certainly they would not have separated. We need to move quickly and act on this intelligence before it is too late.”

  Nguyen looked at the floating screen again and said, “Alright. We’re going to go on the presumption your information is accurate. Chief Jones?”

  The Chief’s hologram stood nearby. He nodded and said, “I’m on it. We’ll have the building surrounded in a matter of minutes. We’ll also begin evacuating as many people as we can from the immediate area.”

  The hologram of the colonel who Friedman had walked through earlier spoke up. Bryce noted he was tall, at least six-three, and stood ramrod straight. He carried himself with a very commanding air. He looked to be in his late-40s and retained all his hair, although it was cut very short to the scalp. His floating nameplate read, “Lt. Col. Horatio P. Clark.”

  Clark said, “Chief, we’re sending down a special squadron from Ft. Hood with some new weaponry. We think they can help.”

  Jones said, “Thanks, Colonel. We’ll take all the help we can get.”

  -+-

  Bryce and Parker floated down in her car to the rooftop of one the nearby apartment buildings as the sun dipped low toward the horizon.

  A mobile command center had been hastily set up on the roof. Several agents in black jackets with “FBI” in large yellow letters scurried around communication equipment. Elsewhere, uniformed officers stood at the ready along with a SWAT van on standby, its occupants sitting inside in tense formation.

  As the doors to her car popped open, Parker said, “Why are we here? There’s not a lot we can do.”

  Bryce shrugged. “I guess we’re the psychic link. Or at least I am. Plus, that is my kid, however messed up he is.”

  “Have you come to grips with that yet, partner? That boy, which you had no say in making, is a psychic terrorist. That’s got to be hard to handle.”

  “I’m just now getting over the dose of Hexenhammer, and we’ll probably get another one before operations start up in earnest. So, no. I haven’t had time to emotionally process everything.”

  Parker nodded, sympathetically. She said, “I imagine we’re all going to be in for a long night.”

  They walked together toward the command center, and Bryce noted the Chief’s hologram was present again, along with the colonel’s and Kim’s. Friedman and Nguyen were there in person.

  Kim’s hologram was talking as they approached. She said, “We’ve got a 360-degree cordon blocked off. Personnel on the rooftops and at strategic windows. Ground crews. Drones in the air but at a distance. All nearby buildings evacuated. The first ten floors of his building have been evacuated, but everything above that is in his zone of perception, or at least what we presume is his zone of perception based on prior observation. Out of an abundance of caution, we have not contacted anyone above the tenth floor in the hopes that he won’t get wind of our presence prematurely. We’re assuming he’s monitoring emotions and any sense of alarm or undue concern will alert him to our presence.�
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  Nguyen nodded and said, “Fine work, you and all your people. I appreciate it, Captain.”

  Friedman said, “What’s the plan, Director? How are you proposing to apprehend him?”

  Nguyen said, “I’m not. The Army is. Colonel? Where’s that squad you promised?”

  The colonel’s hologram looked up and pointed. He said, “That should be them, right now.”

  Everyone turned and looked as a military craft, painted in light brown with a black star underneath along with “US Army” in white letters, came floating down out of the sky. It settled on the rooftop next to Parker’s car. The rear door opened and ten men and women streamed out wearing odd uniforms.

  They were led by an officer who marched everyone up to the command center. They all stopped simultaneously and saluted the colonel’s hologram.

  He returned the salute and said, “Director, may I present to you Captain Montoya and his squadron.”

  Friedman frowned, looking over their uniforms, which appeared to be made of some sort of synthetic material dully reflecting the light. He said, “What are they wearing?”

  Bryce said, “Looks like ghostsuits.”

  The captain, the other soldiers, and the colonel’s hologram all stared at him. The colonel said, “What do you know about ghostsuits, Detective?”

  Bryce’s eyebrows went up. He might have felt more self-conscious at all the sudden attention if it weren’t for the lingering Hexenhammer in his system.

  He said, “I had a chance to try out a couple of the early proto-types, back in the day.”

  Everybody continued looking at him, as if waiting for a lengthier explanation.

  He decided to omit the fact his ex-wife worked at the company that developed the suits. Instead, he said, “You realize they were developed just down the road from here, don’t you? And the DARPA request for proposals was never classified.”

  Mentioning DARPA seemed to break the spell. Colonel Clark grunted and said, “That’s true, DARPA RFPs are unclassified. Anyway, yes, that is our plan. We propose to retrieve the subject using ghostsuits.”

  “Very good,” Nguyen said, regaining control of the conversation. “Everybody physically present needs to be dosed with the emotion-damping drug. That includes anybody who was dosed at the airport earlier.”

  An FBI agent holding a pneumatic syringe stepped up. She said, “Form a line here, please.”

  Bryce and Parker fell into the queue. The captain glanced at Clark, who nodded. He made a signal and all the soldiers lined up, too.

  Friedman turned to Nguyen and said, “I’m sorry, how is this going to work? The plan is to let these soldiers in the funny suits go get the boy?”

  “Just watch, Agent Friedman, you’ll see. Or rather, you won’t see. I worked with Detectives Bryce and Parker on a case involving the ghostsuits as well. The technology is . . . impressive.”

  Overhearing the exchange, Clark said, “Great Scott! Does everybody under the sun know of the existence of this program? I thought we had something classified here!”

  Nguyen smiled apologetically at the colonel. He said, “Honestly, I doubt most weapon systems stay secret for very long.”

  As the line progressed for the shots, Friedman grumbled, “I never heard of it.”

  “Well, this is the first time we’ve ever used it in an actual scenario,” Clark said. “The technology has been around a while, but the ethics involved have led to a lot of high-level discussions about whether and when it should be used. So even though we’ve had ghostsuits for years, we haven’t actually used them in the field. Until now.”

  After everyone had dosed up, Nguyen made another round at the control console, checking in with agents and officers stationed along the perimeter. Finally he looked up at Clark and said, “Your people have a green light, Colonel. Retrieve the hostages and secure the subject.”

  The colonel’s hologram smiled grimly. He turned to face the soldiers and said, “Captain, you heard the man. Go take care of business.”

  Montoya saluted, then turned to the soldiers behind him. He said, “Ghost Corps! Suit up!”

  The men and women reached behind their necks and pulled hoods over their heads and visors over their eyes. Almost simultaneously they reached down to large belt buckles on their waists and tapped a power button.

  They disappeared.

  Friedman blurted out a curse. Even with the Hexenhammer, he felt surprised.

  He said, “Where did they go?”

  “Oh, they’re still here,” Clark said. “Or rather, at this moment I suspect they’re flying toward our target.”

  “Flying? Those suits let them fly, too?”

  Clark turned to Nguyen and said, “We’ve got a live feed from Montoya’s visor. Use this frequency.”

  He held his hand out, palm up, and a virtual screen appeared in the air. Nguyen nodded, reading the numbers, and made a twirling motion with his own hand. A large virtual monitor appeared, and everybody watched as the building seemed to rush closer on the screen.

  Augmented reality kicked in, and the windows of the appropriate apartment were outlined in red. Montoya adjusted his trajectory accordingly.

  Just outside the windows he stopped and floated effortlessly in the air. He looked around and the other soldiers appeared, dimly outlined in white lines.

  “So, they can see each other?” Friedman said. Clark and Nguyen nodded.

  Friedman said, “But nobody can see them. Will the boy be able to sense them?”

  “We’re hoping for the element of surprise,” Clark said. “But they’ll maintain radio silence for now, just in case.”

  They watched as Montoya made quick, brief motions with his hands at the other soldiers floating nearby. They nodded in turn. Then he made a forward motion and they rushed toward the wall and windows.

  The scene shifted to inside the apartment.

  Friedman said, “Did they . . . did they just go through the wall?”

  Clark nodded. He said, “Shortrange teleportation. One of the suits’ handier features.”

  “And you say this is old technology?”

  Bryce said, “How are they going to extract the hostages without becoming visible?”

  Clark said, “We’ve got a couple of surprises in store, Detective. Watch.”

  9

  Jacques smiled down at the blonde, now lying on the floor on her stomach and moaning in pain. He grew tired of playing with her and fantasized for a moment how best to kill her. Twisting necks with his mind had grown tiresome. Perhaps he could come up with something new.

  She moaned again and flopped over on her back. He smiled and stood up.

  “I think I’ll gut you. Pelvis to neck. What do you think?”

  Her eyes looked up at him, blankly. Drool slowly dripped from the edge of her lips. Her mind felt blank to him, too, as she receded into shock.

  He smirked and pulled his hand back, preparing the mental slice that would open up her front.

  The girl disappeared. From her head to her feet, she simply phased out of sight.

  Jacques blinked and rubbed his eyes. She was still gone.

  He looked over at the body of the other blonde, slumped lifeless in the corner, and said, “How is that possible?”

  The other blonde disappeared too.

  His eyebrows shot up in surprise. He walked to the corner. The woman’s bloodstains were still on the carpet, but the corpse was nowhere in sight.

  “Mama?”

  “Yes, dear?”

  Renard walked out of the bedroom where he’d banished her, still completely under his control.

  He said, “Why is everybody . . .”

  He stopped mid-sentence as Phoebe winked out of sight, too.

  “No!”

  His eyes flashed red and he reached out in his mind, looking, feeling, probing.

  He found her. She was flying away from the building. Somehow. And he felt the presence of strangers with odd electronics all around him.

  The red li
ght in his eyes returned. He focused and sent a ball of kinetic energy spiking outward. The windows exploded, and all the furniture flew up against the walls.

  Four people materialized and slammed against the wall, too. Then they tumbled to the floor.

  He walked to the closest one, who lay stunned. He reached out in his mind to grasp control of the man’s emotions.

  Jacques frowned. “Hexenhammer,” he said with a snort.

  He made a twisting motion in the air with his hand, and the soldier’s neck turned at an impossible angle, popping ligaments, blood vessels, and the spinal cord.

  He turned to another, across the room, a woman. He twirled his hand again, and her head responded, making a loud wrenching noise as the neck turned in a full circle.

  The other two regained consciousness. The one nearest her sat up and shouted, “No!”

  He pulled a ray gun from his holster, and everything seemed to shift into slow motion. As he brought it up and into position, Jacque’s attention focused on it, fully.

  Fzzzzzzzzzt!

  The soldier managed to get a bolt off before Jacques grabbed the gun with his mind. The bolt shot through the floor, a foot away.

  Jacques focused on the gun and the soldier jumped as it seemed to move on its own. He fought it as the trigger guard wrenched from his finger and the barrel turned around to aim at his face.

  The last soldier recovered her senses and pulled her own gun out. Jacques did not look at her but shoved her away with a motion from his free hand. She sailed out the broken window.

  By this time the ray gun aimed squarely at the soldier holding it. He screamed as he pushed against the barrel.

  Fzzzzzzzzzt!

  The bolt obliterated his head. His lifeless body slumped to the floor.

  Jacques stopped and reached out mentally, searching for any more threats. Finding none, he turned back to the bodies on the floor.

  “What are these suits you’re all wearing?”

  -+-

  Nguyen, Clark, and assorted law enforcement officers watched on the virtual monitor as the squadron entered the apartment. Following Montoya’s hand signals, the group split up. Four headed toward the bedroom. He pointed to the women lying on the floor in the living room.