Welch, D [Shadow People 02] Shadow Spies

by Doug Welch

  If she was going to try anything, it had to be now, while she only faced one opponent.

  Her captor held her by one arm, and she knew that a low concrete sill lay across the threshold of the door. She pretended to stumble on the obstacle, and clutched at the clothing of the man who led her.

  She twisted in a complex motion and then thrust upward with her legs.

  Surprised, she felt her guide sail over her back and the sound of him crashing on the floor with a grunt and then a moan. She ripped the hood from her face, and saw, in the dim glow of the propane lantern, the man sprawled on his back, partially dazed.

  She knew that he’d not be disoriented long. Rushing into the room, she located the piece of loose concrete that she’d patiently chipped from the wall and wrenched it from its confinement, heedless of the pain it caused to her hand.

  The man started to recover and sit up and she knew if he did, her bid for freedom would be short.

  She felt an uncontrollable rage consume her.

  She gripped the piece of rock in her hand. As a doctor, she knew just where to strike to cause the most damage. The idea sickened her, but the man started to get up. She swung with all her force and crashed the jagged chunk to the man's temple.

  He jerked as though he had been shocked. His upper body fell back on the concrete and his legs trembled. Blood seeped from the site of the wound on his head.

  Elizabeth fell on her backside, almost collapsing from her efforts, on the concrete floor. She drew her knees up and rested her forehead on them. After crying and shaking for a while, she looked up and stared at the man who lay motionless in front of her.

  She wept again, a battlefield of conflicting emotions, horrified that she may have killed a man and too terrified to approach him to check. She sat paralyzed on the cold floor, all the while realizing that she had to move before the man's partners returned and found her.

  She shook with the fear, but the urge to protect her unborn child and return to its father galvanized her. Finding the courage to rise from the floor, she began to search the room for something to help in her escape. She approached the man's body, loathe to touch him, afraid that he might regain consciousness and grab her.

  He wore a complex looking set of binoculars, which she identified as imaging goggles. Perhaps they were what allowed him to navigate in the darkness. She gingerly removed them from his head and used a paper towel to wipe his blood from the strap.

  She examined him and found he was alive but comatose, so she searched his pockets for a weapon or for some means to communicate. She found nothing but a cigarette lighter, a mini-flashlight, and his wallet. She took all three. She considered removing his shoes to protect her feet, but they were far too big to stay on her. Nevertheless, she removed them and took his socks. They were too big and she wouldn't be able to run in them, but they added some protection.

  They’d taken her purse, her shoes and her dress. She was clothed in some cast-off jeans and a man's shirt.

  The man wore a jacket so she turned him over on his front, stripped it off, and then slipped it on. It was too big and she had to roll up the sleeves. She feared she’d lingered too long, so she took the lantern and put the imaging gear on her head.

  She exited the door. The door emptied into a narrow corridor. It dead-ended in one direction, but led to a deep blackness in the other. The lamp was still lit, so she used it to navigate the passage.

  She came to the end and saw that it exited into a cross tunnel. The tunnel was wide and high and it curved at the top. Debris littered the floor and standing pools of water gleamed in the light of the lantern. She feared if she kept the lamp lit, they’d see it and capture her, so she turned off the lamp and sat it on the floor. Immediately, deep blackness surrounded her. She switched on the flashlight and used it to fiddle with the imager until she found the switch to turn it on. She raised it to her eyes.

  The corridor became visible as shades of red. She turned one way and then the other. The passageway stretched in both directions, and it seemed to have no end either way. Thinking that one direction was as good as the other, she slipped the strap over her head and made her way down the tunnel to her right.

  Counting her steps, she thought that she could use them to gauge the distance she traveled. Moving as quietly as she could, she listened for anyone else in the tunnel.

  After counting a hundred steps, she paused to listen again. She continued to travel in this fashion, listening for any signs of her enemies. When she had counted five hundred, she heard the clatter of an aluminum can in the passage.

  Maybe someone’s coming.

  She stopped to listen, and then heard voices in the direction she traveled.

  She had no idea of who it was that approached her, but she couldn't chance it. Turning around, she retraced her steps. The voices came closer, so she increased her pace to try and out-distance them. She couldn't risk running in the flimsy slippers she wore, so she walked as fast as she could, barely managing to stay ahead of the voices in the distance. In a while, she felt she was losing ground. Unless she found somewhere to hide, she’d have to chance running.

  Up to this point she’d kept her vision fixed on the objects ahead of her. Now, as she strode down the tunnel, she searched through the imager to the left and right, in order to find a place she could hide.

  By her estimate, she’d almost reached the corridor that led to the site of her recent battle and still hadn’t found a hiding place. If whoever approached her found the man in the room, she’d have to run to escape them, and she was not equipped to do much running.

  She passed the carcass of the moldy old couch that she‘d passed on the way down the tunnel. How it got there was still a mystery, but she realized that she was getting close to the entrance of the room and needed to find a way out soon.

  She spied a rectangular spot on the lower part of the tunnel wall, to the left of the passage. It was a different shade of red, but she couldn't identify it. In fact, a similar spot was visible at the same height, situated to the right of the first one. Pondering her options, she realized it might offer the only way to avoid the kidnappers.

  She decided to risk a brief flash of light from the mini-flashlight, just enough to identify what the spot was. Crouched down in the vicinity of the spot, she removed the goggles and quickly triggered the light. She studied the afterimage in her mind.

  The afterimage depicted two openings cut low in the wall. They appeared to be large enough to crawl through, but darkness lay behind them. Resolved, she put the imaging goggles back on and squeezed through the left opening. She found herself in another tunnel, this one narrower with a lower ceiling.

  She moved through the new tunnel, wanting to put as much distance as she could between her and her pursuers, back the way she‘d been traveling during her escape attempt. The tunnel curved to the right and seemed to descend.

  She kept moving. Soon she heard the sound of loud, angry voices echoing through the tunnel. She couldn't identify where the voices were coming from, but she suspected the kidnappers had found their companion. She increased her pace.

  Chapter 11

  Ransom

  Kitty exited the elevator accompanied by two Federal Agents. She spied a group of people in the suite waiting in the living room and glared at one of the men who held her arm.

  She ripped her arm from his grip. “God damn it! Get your hands off of me!”

  Furious, she stomped into the living room. “This is way over-the-top Paris! What's the damned idea of siccing the fucking Feds on me?”

  “Kitty, calm down, I'll explain,” Paris replied, “please, sit down.”

  “I'm not sitting down! Do you know what these two goons did?” She pointed a finger at the two Federal Agents who stood in the foyer.

  They were trying, with limited success, to hide the smirks that threatened to split their faces, and that made her even angrier.

  “Tweedle-dumb and his brother hauled me off my flight. I was about ready to le
ave Vegas when they stopped the fucking plane. Do you know what that means? My luggage is heading off to God knows where, and I don't have a place to stay or even a change of clothes!”

  “Kitty, please! I'll make it right, I promise. Please let me talk to you. –Caesar, fix her a drink, will you? –Alex, your stuff will fit Kitty, you can lend her something, can't you? –You can stay here Kitty. The suite has plenty of room. I'll get you a first class ticket to anywhere in the world. Just calm down, please.”

  She was skeptical, but his efforts to please her made the anger subside. “First the drink. –Scotch, Caesar, single malt. –Two fingers, ice and soda.”

  “Thirty-year good enough?” Caesar asked.

  “Damn. It must be nice to be rich,” Kitty replied.

  Caesar handed her the glass. She tossed off half and sat down.

  “This better be important Par-ass, or I'm going to throw another fit. –Hi, Alex. Where's Tom?”

  Alex laughed and leaned back in her seat. “You're impossible.”

  “Kitty. I need to talk to you in private,” Paris said. “Could you excuse us for a moment Agent Sanders?”

  “Yes Agent Sanders, and while we're gone, could you cure that overgrown jackass over there from calling me 'Miss Kitty'?” She pointed to one of the two grinning agents that stood by the foyer.

  Paris led her to his bedroom and opened the door. He stood clear to let her precede him.

  “A gentleman. Who would have thought?” They entered the room and Paris closed the door. “Alright, Paris, what do you want?”

  “Where was your flight headed?”

  She didn't fully trust him yet, but she’d made reservations to Cincinnati because it wasn't that far away from Kentucky. She wasn't at all sure why she’d done it. “That's none of your business. Just out of Vegas. That's what you wanted wasn't it?” She wasn't sure she’d like the answer.

  “I was hoping..?”

  Hoping what? Was he thinking she’d decided to go to Kentucky?

  “Forget it Paris. Why did you have those morons drag me all the way back here?”

  “First, I want to tell you something so you'll understand. Last night after you left, I called the Council and entered you as a member of my Family. No one will bother you. You can go wherever you want, except Vegas. You have my Family's protection. No strings attached.”

  That was a big commitment from a House, she thought, but it would tag her. She wouldn't be autonomous any more. She’d be on their radar and it was a mixed blessing.

  “Thank you. –I think. What's this leading up to?”

  “Understand, my protection is unconditional. You don't owe me anything. You can walk out the door and I'll buy you a new wardrobe and give you a plane ticket to anywhere you want to go.”

  Getting impatient, she felt he had to have a motive. “Get to the point Paris. Stop dancing around the subject. What do you want?”

  “You know my wife has been kidnapped?”

  “Of course. It's all over the news and we talked about it last night.”

  “It looks like it has something to do with the People.”

  “Did one of the Houses snatch her?” If a House was involved and it was the Borgias, she was out of here, fast.

  “I don't think so. They'd be taking a huge risk. No, this looks like the work of Normals. But what they want, other than money, I don't know. Anyhow, I'm supposed to meet with one of them tonight. They'll know how to spot one of the People, and if I ask for the Vegas House's help, they'll know. If the FBI shows up, they won't meet. Kitty I'm desperate. I want Elizabeth back. I want her back so much...I'll do anything to make it happen. I need your help.”

  He's so damn handsome. If he wasn't a supposed brother, she’d like to be Elizabeth.

  “I think your wife's a lucky woman.”

  “I'm a lucky man. At least I was, until this happened. I need your talents and your courage.”

  “I suppose it's because I'm a switcher.”

  “Yes you can appear normal and they won't suspect. They can ID all of us, but they've never seen you. I need you for backup and if the opportunity is there, you can follow them. Take photos of them. Maybe you can find where they're keeping Elizabeth.”

  Despite her ingrained caution, she knew she couldn't leave knowing she could’ve helped him. Anyway, it tickled her adventurous side.

  “Alright, Paris. I'll do it. But you owe me –big time.”

  “There's no owing when my sister's involved. You could have had anything you wanted before this. Families help each other.”

  Kitty had a profound distrust of the People, but she was starting to like this one. “You're crazy. You know that? You don't know me.”

  “You're family. That's all I need to know.”

  She could feel her eyes start to tear up. To disguise it she said, “You're still crazy, but I'm with you. When do we do this?”

  * * *

  Kitty entered the strip club about fifteen minutes before Paris was due to arrive.

  She’d dressed like a wanna-be Goth; adorned in black almost everywhere. Her eyebrows, her lipstick, all black. She wore a black short-hair wig and a short, black miniskirt. She had a black leather jacket over a cream-silk blouse and four inch spike heels that increased her height.

  She sat at the bar, checking the view behind her in the mirror, bought a drink, and listened to the loud music that accompanied the dancers. Swiveling the bar stool around, she arched back against the bar, thrusting her breasts out.

  She checked the other patrons. She had ample experience dodging the Houses, the authorities, and an occasional unwelcome admirer; so she knew how to spot observers.

  Scanning the room, she nailed them, a pair of men, one who wore dark glasses and fingered a camera on the table in front of him, despite the sign that read, No Photographs.

  The camera looked complicated but appeared to be turned off. From time to time he turned it around, pointing it at various areas of the club while his companion scanned the crowd. Kitty assumed he was looking for FBI surveillance, and the man with the camera was scanning for any of the People present. She turned back to the bar and nursed her drink.

  # # #

  After a few minutes delay, Paris entered the club. He walked over to the bar and sat one stool away from Kitty. Ordering a beer, he perched on the stool and stared in the mirror.

  He saw Kitty raise her glass for a sip. Her little finger pointed to an area of the mirror to his left. He glanced that way and continued to examine the interior of the club though the mirror, spotting two men who seemed to be disinterested in the activities occurring on the stage and were more intent on looking at the customers.

  Kitty turned to him and ran her eyes over his body. She leaned over and said over the loud music, “You come here often, handsome?” She smiled and batted her eye lashes.

  Deciding he’d kill her when this was over, he ignored her. “I'm gay,” he shouted over the music, “not interested.”

  Returning to his drink, he waited, looking at the reflections in the bar mirror. In a short while, one of the men at the table came over to the bar, sat beside him and whispered in his ear.

  “Go to the men’s room and wash your hands. Ignore the sign. Use the third washbasin from the far end.”

  Paris left the beer at the bar and found the men's room. It had a sign reading; Out of Order. He entered and walked over to the row of wash basins. Turning the water on, he dispensed some hand soap and lathered his hands. Someone exited one of the stalls behind him and walked up. Paris saw his reflection in the mirror. He wore a ski mask to hide his face.

  “Lean over and grab the faucet handles,” he ordered.

  Paris complied.

  The man ran a device over his body, felt under his shirt and patted him all over.

  “Turn around and turn out your pockets,” he said.

  Paris emptied his pockets on the counter and pulled them inside out.

  “Take your stuff and go to the front of the stage. Sit at
the table that has only one customer. Your drink will be there.”

  Paris filled his pockets, left the restroom and headed to the stage. The music grew louder as two dancers in various states of near-nudity, pole-danced to the music.

  Money littered the stage floor. As new bills appeared on the stage, the dancer’s state of undress increased. Near the stage was a table with only one man seated. Paris' beer sat in the space in front of him.

  He pulled the chair away from the table and sat behind his drink. He scowled at the stage and then turned to study the face and the mind-glow of the man sitting beside him.

  His opponent could only be described as ordinary, hair the same color grey as the majority of the older population, brown eyes, no facial hair with no identifying flaws and indeterminate age, a disguise better than most because it seemed so unremarkable.

  “Good evening, Mister Fox. At least pretend you're enjoying the show.”

  Paris fought the urge to kill him. It was difficult to maintain control. He expanded his senses, ready in case the man became hostile. He also sensed Kitty's mind-glow. She observed the action and would warn him if someone approached from behind.

  “I'm at a disadvantage,” Paris said. “You know my name but I don't know yours.”

  “And so it shall remain Mister Fox. It wouldn't matter. I have many names, each as false as the other, but you can call me Shadoe. The name’s ironic isn’t it?”

  “I would term it juvenile and pretentious, and I don’t like it. How about I call you, Mister Scumbag, or maybe Scumbag for short. Let's get this over with. I dislike my present company, it makes me feel dirty. How much money do you want, and where do we make the trade?”

  Shadoe stiffened and his eyes narrowed. “You misunderstand me, Mister Fox, we do not desire money. We cherish information.”

  “What the hell are you talking about? What kind of information?”

  “Information only you can provide. Information that will help us destroy the Shadows. Eliminate them from the face of the earth.” Shadoe appeared to suppress an anger that caused him to almost shout the words.