by Roy Johansen
Roland Ness. Here. Jesse wasn't sure what Ness did, but he knew that he was a billionaire. He'd once seen Roland Ness high-five the president. Jesse remembered it because both men seemed so clumsy, and they came close to missing each other's hands.
He and Mama had laughed and laughed about that.
Ness leaned down and whispered, “It's a pleasure to meet you, Jesse.”
Jesse shuddered. Ness's voice almost sounded like one of the whispering shadows in his dreams.
“I know who you are,” Jesse said. “My mama says you have more money than God.”
Ness chuckled. “That may be true, but, of course, I'm sure he doesn't operate on a cash basis.”
“I don't want to stay here anymore.”
“This is only temporary, dear boy. We're constructing a new home for you as we speak. It will be a beautiful complex in the Caribbean. Lots of land for you to play on. But you have much to learn, and much to teach.”
Jesse thrust out his chin. “I want to see my mom.”
A flicker of fear crossed Ness's face. Fierce satisfaction soared through Jesse as he realized Ness was scared. Just as Myrna and Charles had been.
Dunning was still calm. “Control yourself, Jesse. If you behave, we'll consider letting you see your mother.”
“You're lying.”
Ness shook his head. “No. We would have preferred that you stay with your mother awhile longer, but it was getting too dangerous for you. We know that you were being sent death threats every day. I'm sure no one told you that.”
“No one had to. People were screaming at me in front of my house.”
“Animals,” Ness muttered. “And there's an even more dangerous man out there. His name is Lyles. I believe you met him last week.”
“He helped me.”
“He's insane. He was once a member of our sect, but we had a disagreement over his methods. His intentions are good, but he sees himself as a soldier fighting a holy war in which any and all enemies are to be exterminated. I'm afraid he's gone over the edge, and he could have hurt you, Jesse.”
“You don't believe in hurting people?”
“No, but I'm afraid a police officer was hurt at your church. That wasn't supposed to happen, but your safety is more important than anyone else's.”
Jesse felt his chest tightening again.
Ness gently held him by the shoulders. “We've been looking for you. I funded the Landwyn parapsychology program for you, Jesse, even before I knew who you were. The prophecy of our founder, Alessandro, gave us reason to believe that the Child of Light would be found sometime within the next few years.”
“The Child of Light?”
“You, my boy. I fund several first-rate university paranormal studies programs around the world, hoping that either they would find you or you would find your way to them. Happily, that's exactly what happened.”
Jesse stared at Ness in bewilderment. “Why do you think I'm him?”
Ness lifted a tattered hardcover volume and opened it to one of several bookmarked pages. “It's all here, Jesse.”
Joe turned the corner and drove down Avenue K, thankful the journalists had abandoned their sidewalk vigil in front of the Randall home. It was only 6:30 A.M. though; they would undoubtedly be back for live stand-ups for the noon and evening newscasts. He parked in front of the house and knocked on the door.
Latisha answered, dressed in a red and white Target cashier's uniform. “Come in. Thank you for coming.”
She had called his pager-activated voice mail less than an hour before. He'd come straight from Suzanne's and hoped he didn't appear as rumpled as he felt.
“Why did you call?”
“When you asked if I had any home videos of Jesse, it started me thinking. I don't have any, but I thought my brother in Macon might. That's where Jesse was when he first started doing this stuff. Well, I called Derek—that's my brother—and he says he did shoot some video. I wrote his address out for you here.” She handed him a page torn from a memo pad. “It probably won't help you though.”
Joe glanced at the address. “Thank you. We can use all the information we can get.”
“That's what I figured.” She furrowed her brow. “Is your little girl all right? I heard what happened on TV.”
“She's fine. I sent her away for a few days. I sure miss her.”
“Like I miss Jesse.” She reached out and took his hand.
He squeezed hers, unsure whether he was giving comfort or taking it. Both, he realized.
He let go and held up the address. “Thank you. Does your attorney know that you called me?”
“No.”
“What would he say about that?”
“I don't give a damn anymore. I just want Jesse back.”
* * *
Kahn's voice cracked as he talked into the gas station's pay phone. “We need to renegotiate, friend. I didn't know the heat was going to come down on me this hard.”
Lyles nodded his approval, angling the Lanchester at Kahn's chest.
“It'd be in your best interests to talk to me,” Kahn said. “Immediately.” He used his sleeve to wipe the sweat from his face.
That should do the trick, Lyles thought. Whoever had hired Kahn wouldn't want him blabbering to anyone about it.
After what seemed like an eternity, Kahn smiled. “Great. I'll see you there.”
He hung up.
Charles stared at the phone in his hand before putting it on the cradle. Shit. That wacko helicopter pilot was trying to blackmail him.
He stood in front of the pay phone in a convenience store parking lot. He hadn't dared to call from Ness's house or his cell phone. Couldn't have any connection between him and this guy.
They all knew that Michael Kahn was the one weak link in their abduction of Jesse. Everyone else involved was a trusted Millennial Prophets follower, but no one in the group had the piloting skills they needed. They'd thought that a drug pilot would be discreet and would want to steer clear of any contact with the law.
Charles's first thought was to call Ness.
No, he'd take care of this himself.
Lyles crouched near a gravel road less than a mile from Turner Field. In only a few hours, local teenagers would be selling parking spaces on the road for five bucks a pop, even though they didn't own the land or have any rights to it. For now, however, the area was deserted. Lyles was hiding in the tall grass that bordered the road, keeping a close watch on Michael Kahn.
Kahn called out from the road. “Are you sure this is a good idea? The guy sounded pretty pissed off.”
“Don't worry about him.”
Kahn cocked his head. “Somebody's coming!”
Lyles had already heard the approaching car. “Stay cool. If you try to tip him off, you'll be dead before you know what happened.”
“All you need is one clean shot at him, right? Then I can go?”
“Right.”
“I'd feel better if I had a gun.”
“You're not going to need it. I'm a better shot than you'll ever be.”
“I hope so.”
Lyles checked his Lanchester's ammo cartridge and snapped it into place.
A late-model Cutlass appeared from around the bend, kicking up dirt and gravel. It stopped twenty yards from Kahn.
With the engine still running, the driver sat in the vehicle for a long while, almost as if sizing up Kahn. He finally cut the ignition and climbed out.
“Greetings and salutations, Kahn,” the man said.
Lyles recognized him instantly. The bearded man from the helicopter.
“Howdy, friend.”
“Friend, huh? Do you always blackmail your friends? Call me Charles.”
“The game has changed,” Kahn said. “I got cops and feds breathing down my neck like you wouldn't believe.”
“Part of the bargain. If it wasn't, we would have hired a chopper jockey from Pilots-R-Us.”
“I didn't bargain for this, friend. There aren't many people who
can fly the way I can, and it's only a matter of time before the cops take a long, hard look at me.”
“So get out of town.”
“That's my plan, but it's going to cost me a lot of work. I figure you owe me a little something extra for my trouble.”
“You've already been well paid.”
“I need another fifty thousand.”
Silence. Then the man spoke. “That shouldn't be a problem. How do you want to do this?”
“What do you mean?”
“Do you want to meet later, or do you want to go with me to get the money now?”
“Uh—” Kahn's eyes darted to Lyles's hiding place. Lyles could almost read his mind: Shoot him. What the hell are you waiting for?
“Well, we can meet later,” Kahn said. You've got a clean shot. Take it.
“Fine. I'll give you an address.” The man reached into his jacket.
“You better not stand me up, friend. Because if you do—”
Three gunshots. A thin stream of blood ran out of the corner of Kahn's mouth. He stumbled backward and collapsed onto the ground.
Charles was holding a revolver. He jammed it back into his shoulder holster and walked to his car.
About damned time, Lyles thought. He was surprised Charles had let Kahn live as long as he had.
Charles started his car and pulled away.
Lyles turned and made his way down a grassy em-bank-ment. His car was waiting on the muddy lot below, perfectly positioned for him to drive to the main road and follow.
He could've just grabbed the guy, but this required a bit more finesse. There was a trail to be followed, and Lyles knew that it could only lead to the Child of Light.
Derek Adams sat across from Joe, tapping a video-cassette against his palm. They were in his modest, well-lit home in Macon. Joe had driven there straight from Latisha's house, a ninety-minute trip that had taken over two hours due to an accident on I-75.
Derek was a heavy man, and he puffed when he talked. “I could have sold this tape, you know.”
“Why didn't you?”
“Didn't seem right, making money off the boy. But I bet some of those news shows would give me good money for it.”
“You're probably right.”
“The first time Jesse showed us what he could do, he was sitting right where you are now. He leaned over that coffee table and used his mind to push checkers around the board. Then he moved balls of paper, toy cars, you name it.”
“How did the rest of the family react? Did you treat him differently after that?”
“Differently?”
“Did you make him feel he was special?”
Derek considered the question. “Well, he was special, so I guess the answer would be yes.”
“Did Jesse get a lot of attention from your neighbors and friends?”
“Of course. We showed him around quite a bit. We were proud of him, you know?”
Joe nodded. “Is there anybody who could have taught him to do these things?”
Derek laughed. “No way. Latisha told me that you still didn't believe in his powers, but it's the real deal. He scared my wife to death when he first started doing this stuff. She even took him to Janey Clary to check him out.”
“Who?”
“An old Creole woman who lives near the paint factory. Practically everybody on this side of town grew up with her. She was the cafeteria lady at the high school. A lot of people think she uses white magic, and they go to her for love potions and stuff like that. Silly, if you ask me. But after Jesse showed us his powers, Tonia, my wife, took him to see Janey, to see if his powers were white or black.” He grinned. “Janey spent some time with him and then she told us that not only were Jesse's powers real, but that he was good through and through.”
“He met her only after he'd already started showing you his powers?”
“Yes.”
Joe pointed to the videocassette. “May I see it?”
Derek pried himself out of the chair, turned on his television, and slid the cassette into his VCR.
The screen flickered and Jesse appeared. He was in the same room where Joe was now, surrounded by balls of paper, small toys, and tokens from board games.
Derek's voice boomed through the television speakers. He was obviously the cameraman. “Do the game pieces, Jesse.”
Jesse stared at four Trivial Pursuit plastic pie pieces. They shook, then scooted across the floor as Jesse leaned over and followed them with his gaze.
There was applause and delighted squeals. The camera panned to show eight or nine people watching from the doorway. The rest of the family, Joe guessed.
The camera whipped back to Jesse. “How about the fire truck?” Derek asked.
Jesse leaned over a plastic fire truck. It was larger than his other toys and seemed to require more concentration. His chin dropped to his chest, but his eyes never left the truck.
The truck shuddered. Jesse leaned closer. It shuddered even more.
The camera zoomed in for a tight close-up on his face. Joe studied him. He'd never seen Jesse hold his head that way. Joe walked to the television screen and crouched in front of it. There was something different this time, different from all the taped test sessions he'd seen.
“Give me the remote,” Joe said. Did he just see what he thought he saw?
Derek handed him the remote control. Joe scanned back the tape and watched again.
“Holy shit,” he said under his breath. It wasn't just his imagination.
Derek crouched next to him and squinted at the screen. “What do you see?”
“Exactly what I've been looking for.”
Any friend of Jesse's is a friend of mine. You are a friend, aren't you?” Janey Clary opened the steel-barred security door and motioned for Joe to enter. She was probably in her eighties, but her dark golden skin was still smooth. She spoke with a slight Creole accent.
“I like to think of Jesse as a friend,” Joe said as he walked into the small, musty house. “I'm trying to help him.”
She smiled. “You won't find him here, Mr. Bailey. You won't find anything here except a lonely old lady.”
“You can't be that lonely. I hear that you help a lot of people with your white magic.”
She made a raspberry sound. “People want reassurance, that's all. I just dress it up a little.”
“Like you did with Tonia Adams when she brought Jesse here?”
Janey sat in a large easy chair. “Oh, lordy … Poor woman thought he might be the son of Satan.” Janey cackled. “Wouldn't surprise me if she was checking his scalp while he slept, looking for those three sixes!”
“Jesse showed you his powers?”
“Oh, yes. Such a sweet, sweet boy. All summer long he'd come a couple of times a week. I sure missed him when he went back home.”
Joe sat across from her. “You never met him before he started showing his powers?”
“Never. Only afterward, when his aunt wanted me to tell her that he wasn't the demon spawn. Which I did, gladly.”
“So what did you think of Jesse's powers?”
She grinned, flashing a set of perfect teeth that had to be false. “Verrrry interesting.”
Joe cocked his head. “You knew, didn't you?”
“Knew what?”
“You knew.”
She was still smiling. “I don't know what you're talking about, Mr. Bailey.”
“Sure you do. I'm trying to help Jesse, and I hope that you will too. You knew he wasn't what he seemed to be, didn't you?”
She hesitated. “I don't want any trouble.”
“Ms. Clary, I'm not here to make trouble for you. This is about Jesse. Please, for his sake, be honest with me.”
“I haven't talked to anybody about this.”
“It's a good time to start. Please.”
She sat in silence, then nodded. “Of course I knew.”
“When?”
She shrugged. “Right away. I showed him what he was doing wrong.
He wouldn't have gotten very far otherwise.”
“Why didn't you tell his aunt?”
“Because that's not what she wanted to hear, and if there's one thing I've gotten good at in this job, it's telling people what they like to hear. Jesse didn't want to make his family a part of it. This was his game, and if he got caught, he didn't want any of them to get any of the blame.” She sighed. “I'm not sure how this is going to help you find him.”
“You never can tell. So you taught him the other tricks. The telepathic drawings, the spoon bending …”
“Are you sure I'm not going to get into trouble for this?”
“Positive.”
“Well, every time he came over, I taught him a new trick. It kept him coming, and I guess I liked the company. He was such a nice boy.”
“I was impressed with his ability to reproduce drawings. Magicians often use a confederate, but I don't think he had one.”
She shook her head. “He didn't need one.”
“I watched the tapes, and the camera was always on Jesse. I couldn't see the other people in the room, but Jesse was watching them very carefully.”
“That's the key, Mr. Bailey. You get more than fifteen or twenty people in a room and ask them to imagine drawing a simple shape, a few of ‘em are going to tell you what to draw whether they realize it or not.”
He smiled. “Did you teach him to read head and eye movements?”
“Ain't you the clever one? Yeah, if you tell a group of people to imagine drawing a circle, someone's head might move around, or their eyes may do a little loop-the-loop. If it's a triangle, you might see three sharp strokes of the chin or nose. It's not a sure thing, but the more people there are in the room thinking about drawing the shape, the better your chances are. And if you limit it to simple geometric shapes, well, how many simple shapes are there?”
“He was very good at it.”
“He wasn't enjoying it. Maybe he was at first, when he was entertaining his family, but the bigger it got, the more upset he became. And that was last summer. I can only imagine how it was for him these past few months.”
“Then why did he do it?”
