by Jaime Rush
Gerard’s mouth twitched, but he wasn’t about to reveal his annoyance at Sayre’s lack of respect. “I understand your sentiment. But what I’m proposing isn’t standard government work. It’s top secret. And it involves sanctioned killing, though if you tell that to anyone, I’ll deny it.” He smiled. “You like killing, don’t you?”
Sayre had never admitted to his crime, and Gerard didn’t expect him to. Seeing the interest in the man’s eyes, he continued. “I have three women who need to be executed, all beautiful, in their early twenties, like you. You could have fun with them. And you would never need to worry about being prosecuted.”
Sayre’s pupils flared at that, but he banked his enthusiasm. “What do I get out of it?”
“What do you want?”
“Out of here.”
“I can’t do that.”
Sayre stood, the chains linking his cuffs rattling. “Then we’re done.”
“Isn’t there anything else you want? Money for someone you care about?”
Sayre laughed. “Know who I care about? Me.”
“Then I’ll pay you.”
Sayre waved his arms to indicate the room. “And where am I gonna spend it? I don’t do drugs, don’t need cigarettes. Can’t exactly order in some muff.” His expression darkened, which made his smile even more sinister. “And I can already kill anytime I want. Just ask the warden.” He rapped on the door.
“Through your dreams?”
Sayre turned around, surprise on his face, as the guard opened the door.
Gerard stood and walked over to him. “I know about the dreams, Sayre. I know more than you think. And I can help you discover more about your talent, about who you are, where you came from.” He handed Sayre his card. “Call me if you change your mind.”
The guard ushered him out, but Sayre continued to look back.
Later that day, when Gerard returned to his office, he found Robbins at his desk reading something he’d left out. “What are you doing?” Gerard growled.
Robbins jumped, but he didn’t look the least bit chagrined at being caught snooping. He held up Sayre’s file. “You are not thinking of bringing him in.”
“He’s got valuable skills.”
“He’s psychotic.”
Gerard snatched the file from Robbins’s hand. “He’s not interested anyway.”
Robbins’s eyes widened. “You talked to him?”
He slapped the folder on the desk. “If I ever catch you sniffing around my office again, I’ll snap off your pinky fingers. For starters.”
Robbins’s tongue darted out to moisten his lips. “I…I was leaving you a note and saw the file.”
“Forget you saw it. For now it’s not an issue. I’ve got to go to Langley.” His real job was getting in the way of what he really wanted to do.
Robbins left without saying another word, but recrimination glowed like embers in his eyes. A few minutes later Gerard walked out of his office and locked it. His shoes made hardly a sound on the carpeted treads. When he reached the bottom of the stairs, he caught Olivia, his assistant, and one of his subjects in what appeared to be an intimate discussion. They broke off abruptly, and her cheeks colored. He would have a talk with her. It was bad enough that two of his subjects were romantically involved. He couldn’t have one of his staff getting involved with the third subject.
He was tired of feeling as though he needed to answer to anyone. This was his program. His baby. If he broke a few rules, if he took risks, if he had to eliminate people to protect it, he would, without anyone’s conscience getting in the way.
Zoe rode with the rest of the Rogues in the Camry to the SPP in D.C. Rand had taken his bike, volunteering to watch the car from a distance.
Zoe watched the wind ripple Rand’s shirt. “He seems to want to believe his dad was a thief. Or maybe he’s just comfortable with the idea.”
Lucas said, “Some people don’t care to know who their fathers are. Or why their dads were the way they were.”
Zoe leaned toward the front, where Lucas sat for the leg room and to navigate. Driving was too dangerous given his episodes. “Do you want to know who your father is?”
He and Amy exchanged that odd look again. “Not as much as Eric does.”
“I want to know everything about him,” Eric said from the driver’s seat. “I may have other powers, ones I don’t even know about yet.” His hunger for that was palpable, but it quickly changed to frustration. “When my powers come back, that is. It’s been over a week. Where the hell are they? Lucas’s came back after a week.” Now fear transformed his gruff expression. “What if they don’t come back?”
Amy said, “There are no hard-and-fast rules. Chill out, and they’ll come back.”
He grunted, not convinced.
They drove into the city, the buildings rising up around them, people walking down the sidewalks, suits and briefcases. It all looked so normal, average…boring.
Petra smoothed down one of Amy’s gelled locks of dark blond hair. “You missed a spot. You have to check all around in the mirror.” Like a proud older sister, she said, “But you’re getting the hang of it. Doesn’t it look much better without the frizz?” Petra, whose own hair was pinned back in a bun, looked at Zoe’s hair with a critical eye. “You know…”
Zoe put her hands over her head like a helmet. “I’ve done enough with my hair, thank you very much.”
Lucas directed Eric to a parking garage near the SPP’s address. Rand followed them into the multilevel garage.
When they all got out, he was already standing at the edge of the deck, scanning the area with binoculars. “I can see part of the front of the building from here. Not the front door from this angle, but close enough. I’ll keep an eye on the car, too.”
Zoe wanted to say something to him. He’d put a wall up between them, especially after he’d painted her monsters. Every time she got close, he backed up.
He’s a loner. Get that into your head.
She used to think of herself as an outcast, though, and now she wasn’t. She took in the group and felt a swell of affection for them. These were her people. All outcasts like her…all freaks like her, too.
Eric looked over and caught what must have been a soft smile on her face. “What?”
“Nothing. Are we ready?”
Eric turned to Petra. “Keep your ears on. If someone’s making a call, having a conversation, whatever, tune in to it. I gave them a false name, so if they have any connection to Darkwell, we’ll take them by surprise. Someone will have to make that call to alert him.”
Zoe fought not to glance back at Rand as they walked to the stairwell. And then, just as she descended, she did look back—and caught him watching her. Then he disappeared from view.
Eric led the group down the sidewalk to the unassuming building with the even more unassuming sign that read SOCIETY FOR PSYCHIC PHENOMENA. “I made an appointment to see if I’m a candidate for their programs. I asked to see Hobson, but the receptionist said he doesn’t talk to candidates. I did make sure he’d be here, though.” He held the carved wooden door open as they filed inside. The lobby was masculine and smelled of leather. The walls were paneled in dark wood, with elaborate crown molding at the ceiling and the doors. Classical music flowed softly from the overhead speakers.
A glass partition reminded Zoe of the dentist’s office. A woman on the other side slid the window open. “May I help you?”
Eric stepped up. “My name is Bill Farraday. I’ve got an appointment to see Paul Ganyon, but I really need to speak with Calvin Hobson.”
Her eyebrows rose. “He doesn’t take appointments.”
“Tell him I’m here to talk to him about my mother, Camilla Aruda. I think he’ll remember her even though it’s been over twenty years.”
She closed the window and made a call. She nodded, hung up, and left her desk. A moment later the door opened. “You can come back.” Her eyes widened when she saw the other four, but she didn’t say anything. Sh
e led them down a carpeted hallway to the office at the end.
Petra slowly looked from left to right as they walked, tuning in to whatever conversations were going on. Zoe saw people laughing in a large room on the right, cards with symbols hanging on the wall.
The man who waited for them near his open doorway was in his seventies, slight frame, and was of Asian heritage. He too looked a bit taken aback by the group coming his way.
Eric shook his hand. “Thank you for seeing me. Us.”
“Your mother was Camilla Aruda?”
He pulled Petra forward. “Our mother was Camilla. I’m Eric. This is my sister, Petra.” He held up the wrinkled letter. “I found this in a box of my mother’s things.”
Hobson read the letter, his expression tensing. Then he looked up. “Come in.” He leaned out in the hallway. “Sandra, bring three more chairs, please.”
Zoe let out a breath of relief. He was going to talk to them.
Then again, maybe this was going too easy. She really hated the paranoia, the never feeling safe. She wasn’t the only one. The others looked warily around at the many doors, most closed. One bore the sign, TESTING IN PROGRESS.
Sandra brought in one chair at a time, and Lucas took them from her and set them in the room. Hobson’s office, which continued the masculine décor, was large enough to accommodate his massive desk, credenza, and two leather chairs. He nodded for them to take a seat when Sandra delivered the last chair and closed the door behind her.
He waited for them to settle before saying, “So you found this and you have questions.”
Eric smiled, shaking his head. “You don’t know the half of it. I’ve read about your organization on the Web site, but could you explain what it is that you do here?”
“We are a research facility for all things psychic. We believe that psychic abilities are in the untapped portions of the human brain, and we have been working on proving it since the SPP was founded thirty years ago. We undertake studies, research projects, investigate reports of parapsychology in certain individuals, and try to present the world with an educated view of the extrasensory.” He folded his hands together. “I hope you do not think your mother was an oddity.”
A tremor of laughter moved through the group. Eric rubbed his face to wipe off his smile. “We’re not really in a position to judge. And unfortunately, I don’t know much about her. My father won’t talk about any of this.”
Hobson stood and walked to his computer, where he punched the keys with amazing speed considering that he used only his pointer fingers. He turned the monitor to face them, and they saw a black-and-white picture of a beautiful blond woman with broad features.
Petra gasped. “Mom.”
Hobson leaned back in his chair. “Sandra, my assistant, had the bright idea many years ago to scan all the old documents into the computer. I thought it was a waste of time.” He gave them a chagrined smile. “Guess I wasn’t so psychic after all.” He turned to the computer and squinted as he read. A minute later he turned back to them. “Camilla was one of the most talented members we’ve ever had. You might find her gift hard to believe.”
Eric said, “She had pyrokinesis.”
“Yes. How did you—” Hobson blinked. “You inherited it, didn’t you?”
Eric nodded. “What else could she do?”
“That’s all that I knew about. She was just beginning to set fires from a remote location.”
“And then she joined Darkwell’s program.”
Hobson’s expression darkened. “So you know about that, too.” He shook his head. “It never felt right to me. Richard Wallace was in charge of SPP then, and he was all for it.”
“Wallace?” Eric asked.
Hobson punched some keys and pulled up a picture of a man with light green eyes and blond hair so light it looked white. “Richard Wallace, founder of the SPP. Somehow he met up with Darkwell, who became fascinated with psychic phenomena when a fellow soldier saw a vision of an explosion that happened the next day. Darkwell wanted to use psychic abilities for spying and terrorism. I picked up on his aura, as sinister as the one I could see in pictures of Adolf Hitler.”
Amy leaned forward in interest. “You can see a person’s glow—their aura, I mean—just by looking at their picture?”
“Yes.” He narrowed his eyes at them. “Your auras, though, I cannot see at all.”
Eric drummed his fingers on his thighs. “Go on.”
“Darkwell spent some time here, where he and Richard conducted military experiments with some of our more gifted people. Richard himself was very gifted. Odd, since he’d come from a scientific background. I’m afraid he was seduced by Darkwell’s hunger to use psychic abilities for the supposed good of the country.” Hobson used his fingers for quote signs. “Richard talked three of our members into joining some top secret program under Darkwell’s direction. I never saw them again. One by one they died in unnatural ways. I questioned Darkwell about what they’d been put through after hearing of their psychological problems. He subtly threatened me if I tried to investigate further. I saw his aura, and he meant it.” He looked at Eric. “I sent that letter to your father before that conversation. He never contacted me.”
“Who were the other two people?” Lucas asked.
“Francesca Vanderwyck.”
Amy grabbed Lucas’s arm. “Your mom!”
Hobson’s stubby fingers poked the keys, and an exotic-looking brunette’s picture appeared on the monitor. “She and Camilla were best friends. They met here and bonded immediately.” He looked at Lucas. “Have you inherited her ability as well?”
“I can get into people’s dreams.” He glanced at Amy. “And I get visions of the future that come out in sketches.”
Hobson read over the data on the screen. “Francesca was a dreamweaver. She was working with our sleep team, and we were achieving some amazing things with her. She could get into a test subject’s dreams and suggest things, and they would wake up and want a beer for breakfast.” His face lit up at the memory. “A lovely woman. Very quiet, very serious.” He looked at Lucas. “I can see her in your face. But she didn’t get visions like the ones you described. However, the third member did.”
His fingers jabbed again, and a man’s picture came up. “Wayne Blackhawk Kee. Originally from the Hopi Indian tribe, though that’s as much as he would ever say about it. Judging by his eyes, my guess was that his father met a white woman, and he was exiled from the tribe. He had many talents, including visions that came out in pictures he had no memory of drawing.”
Amy and Lucas looked at each other, their fingers intertwining as though they had a will of their own. A smile broke out on her face. “The full mouth and blue-gray eyes…Lucas, he’s got to be your father.”
Petra pointed to the screen. “That has to be Cheveyo’s dad.”
“Cheveyo.” Hobson looked up in thought. “Yes, I remember his wife had a son.” Petra’s face glowed as she looked at the picture. “He looks just like that, and he has”—she looked at Lucas—“the same shade of eyes as you do. I knew there was something about his eyes, other than they were gorgeous, but I was too thrown off to connect the dots. Lucas, maybe he’s your brother.”
Lucas’s hand came up to rub his mouth as he studied the picture. “There is some similarity.”
Eric said, “Well, Kee’s sure as hell not my father. I don’t have any of his features or ability.” He looked at Hobson, who was taking in the scene with curious interest. “Those were the only three who went with Darkwell?”
“Yes, thank goodness. Besides Richard, of course.”
“Richard Wallace,” Eric said. “Tell us more about him. Could he remote-view? I must have gotten that from my father.”
“He went beyond remote viewing; he could astral project to another location, see what was happening, and actually move objects.”
Eric waved his hand back and forth. “Can we go back to Wallace?”
Hobson pulled up his profile, and Eric leaned
forward to study it.
Petra looked at it, too. “You take after Mom, Eric. I don’t think you’ll find any resemblances to your birth father.”
Amy pressed her cheek against Lucas’s arm, her face aglow. Zoe found her enthusiasm odd considering that Lucas hadn’t been nearly as interested in finding his father as Eric was.
Amy said, “You said Wallace was a scientist.” She turned to the group. “Cyrus said the guy involved in the project was a scientist. It’s probably this Wallace.” She turned back to Hobson. “He created a substance, a psychic Booster, that he gave the people in the program. Do you have any idea what it was?”
Hobson shook his head. “I’ve never heard of anything that would boost psychic abilities.”
“Try sensory deprivation,” Lucas said in a flat voice.
Hobson tilted his head. “The Ganzfield environment. Yes, it does help, at least with those who can handle it. But this Booster, I have not heard of this. Did it work?”
Amy’s arm curled around Lucas’s. “Yes, but it made the subjects mentally unstable. That’s why they died.”
Petra rubbed the back of her neck in quick strokes. “I’m getting the feeling.”
Hobson looked puzzled. “Feeling?”
“I get a feeling whenever someone is remote-viewing us.”
He chuckled. “There’s a lot of that going on around here. No privacy at all, though we do have ethical restrictions we ask the participants to adhere to. You’ll probably pick up all kinds of vibes if you’re sensitive.”
She shivered. “I hope that’s what it is.” She didn’t look convinced.
Amy got to her feet. “We have to go. But quickly, what kind of scientist was Wallace?”
“He was a botanist and mycologist.”
Her eyebrows furrowed. “Plants and…?”
“Fungus.”
Amy seemed to consider that. “Maybe he used either one of those in the Booster. Unfortunately, we can’t ask him. For all we know, he’s probably dead by now.”
“Dead?” Hobson asked.
“He’s been missing for over twenty years. He went into hiding when the program dissolved.”
