Weavers

by Aric Davis

  “How much worse could they be?” Katarina asked, and I shook my head. “You are here in Dachau, and our country is about to be spanked very hard by three angry parents. The only saving grace for Germany is if the Americans beat the Russians to Berlin.” She sighed, sipped coffee, and said, “That is unlikely to happen. The Russians are furious, as they should be, and nothing will stop the bear.”

  “Aren’t you worried that someone will hear you?”

  “No, of course not,” said Katarina, and I knew that she was telling the truth, and I even knew why: Who would I tell? “No worries, little Ora. We can speak freely here. Have you noticed how long we have already been speaking? No one else has lasted in this office as long as you, child. Do you know why? Because no one else has been nearly as much fun to talk to. In case you were wondering, that is a good thing. I know you cannot see my smile, nor can you see my uniform. I am just a voice, and there’s nothing wrong with that.” She paused then, waiting for something from me, but I was frozen. Finally, she said, “I do wonder, however, what can you see?”

  “Nothing,” I said, and it was true, at least as far as what I could explain. What would telling her of my visions do for either of us? She would either think me crazy and into the oven I would go or, worse, that I was the solution to some mad plan, and then it would be off to Berlin. It was better to be quiet Ora who never saw anything and rarely spoke.

  “You see nothing, child?” Katarina asked, and for just a moment, a flurry that lasted but tenths of a second, the room erupted in color. Not just the strands that I could make myself see, but the ghosts of all the strands from that day. Every little contrail from the women who had come before me. It was magic, it was ours, and I could see it. Not as one of my own visions, not as true eyesight as I understood it, but something better. Something special. She has my gift.

  “And you mine,” said Katarina, and despite my fears, my desire for every Nazi to simply drop dead or surrender, I smiled back at her. I had no idea what else to do. Then it happened. / Are we done being coy now, child? / Is it time to stop playing games? / I may wear the uniform of your enemy / But you must trust me / I am one of the only friends that you have left /

  I recoiled in my chair, nearly spilling coffee all over my lap, and then steadied myself. My breathing was hard and heavy—I feared I might even pass out—and I’m sure if I could see, my vision would have been blurry. There was the sound of a thousand insects in my ears, and then the most wonderful feeling in the world came over me.

  It was the soothing of the womb, of mother’s milk, of safety in a place where safety is the furthest thing from one’s mind. I knew at once that it was the Fräulein, that somehow she was making me feel that everything was all right in the office, and it was wonderful. I hadn’t felt like this since time out of mind, when I was too young to know that my people were hunted and that the wolves were everywhere. For as long as I could recall, death had been around every corner. I had learned to temper the fear of death, but now that fear had been lifted.

  How can I describe such a feeling? I’m not sure there are words to explain how glorious it all felt. This wasn’t the end of the war and the gift of freedom; this was something that was somehow better than that could ever be. I felt alive, like a bird in flight in the sky, and if I had died, then it would have been a happy death.

  Instead of dying, I felt the sensation begin to fade, until I was just Ora in the office again. I was still seated across from the Fräulein, still holding my lovely coffee, and my feet were planted firmly on the floor.

  “How do you feel?” Katarina whispered to me, and I smiled back at her.

  “I felt wonderful,” I said, knowing there was no longer any point in attempting to lie or deceive her. “I felt safe. It’s not a feeling that I’m used to.”

  “It will be,” said Katarina, and though I could not see her face, I knew she was grinning back at me. “You shall be my maid, for lack of a better word, Ora. You shall be safe from the selections, and together we will find a way to survive this war.”

  “I will be your maid, though I’m not sure how useful I will be,” I said. “But what do you mean about finding a way to survive the war?”

  “I mean that at some point we are going to need to leave this place, to make our way to safety,” said Katarina. “The Russians will be raping and killing anyone in their path, but the Americans may pose a far greater danger. Their lines will be our refuge, but we will need to sneak across them.”

  “Why?” I asked plainly, and Katarina was silent.

  Finally, she answered in my head: / They will be hunting people like us / Just like the Nazis hunted people like you / They may not kill us but use us / But we will lose our freedom all the same /

  / I will escape with you / was the message I sent her from inside of my mind, and I knew that she had received it when she began to clap across from me.

  “I will teach you all of my tricks,” said Katarina.

  CHAPTER 16

  1999

  Jessica stood on the lawn outside of the TRC next to Howard and the CIA director, Herm Miller. All three wore Tesla Helmets so as to make Herm feel comfortable, and Jessica was already getting a headache from the constant humming of the machines in the helmet that kept the TKs from doing their damage. Three hundred or so yards away from them was Frank. It had taken four Tesla-clad TRC agents to get him from the floor of his cell and onto a gurney, and that was where he lay at the moment, five hundred pounds of flesh containing one of the most brilliant and diabolical minds the world had ever known.

  Jessica had shocked Frank a week prior by telling him that the first victim of the Ham and Egger and his partner had been Miranda Walter. The poor woman was a young mother who had been widowed by the war, and the pair of them had stolen her from the broom factory where she worked. The body was found in a ditch a few days later, and though the papers of the time would likely have skipped over the extravagance of the brutality inflicted upon Miss Walter, Jessica’s friend Buddy Everts at Quantico hadn’t exactly been limited to just what the reporters at the time knew.

  Jessica had known immediately upon leaving Frank’s room that too much rested upon her getting the answer right, so she’d called Buddy, a onetime lover and still good friend from years back, and once the pleasantries were exchanged, Jessica got down to the details. She’d left out the parts about Frank and his future wife being declared legally dead after their executions in a federal prison for being convicted traitors, just as she left out her current job at the TRC, and Buddy had been around classified files enough to know not to ask.

  They’d settled on Miranda after two hours of comparing files after work. Although all of the Ham and Egger’s victims had been stabbed and left to bleed to death, Miranda had been stabbed with two different knives. One of them was the same blade that had been used on the rest of the victims to that point, but the other had only been used on Miranda and the girls who had come after her. The wounds from this second knife varied in quality, as though the offender had been learning his limits as he cut, discovering a joy in his work as the blood poured from Miranda. Jessica had thanked Buddy for his help, promised to buy him dinner the next time they caught up—which was likely to never happen—and then hung up and breathed a sigh of relief.

  Now, Frank was running a perfect two-man drill across the field. In the two-man, a TK controlled two separate volunteers at the same time but made them behave perfectly in sync, so that when one sprinted, the other did so next to him. The two-man was one of the surest gauges the TRC had found to determine a TK’s prowess. A good two-man drill would infer that they were dealing with a skilled telekinetic. And a drill like the one Frank was performing was proof that the TK in question had godlike powers.

  Frank’s pair of men cavorted across the lawn, doing somersaults, sprinting, and managing synchronized back handsprings. At this last feat of acrobatics, Jessica had been able to hear Herm who
op with joy even over the hum of her helmet, and the sound of it made her grin with pleasure. Frank was doing the work, that was true, but she was the one who had made it happen when no one else could.

  When the show was done, after the conclusion of the spirited two-man and another drill involving two volunteers wearing boxing gloves and headgear, Herm retired with Howard and Jessica to the TRC conference room. It was not his first time there, but it had been several years since his last visit, and he settled in comfortably at the table so few had ever seen.

  “This is great coffee,” said Herm once they were settled in, “and that was a hell of a display. My question and the president’s question is, when can we expect to see new TKs in service? Frank has got to be about at the end of the useful period of his life, and even if he weren’t, I can’t imagine using a man his size on an operation, especially a covert one.”

  “Frank is the most talented TK we’ve ever seen,” said Jessica. “I pray that someday we find someone even half as powerful. And frankly, I’m not sure I’d want to play with the grown-up version of one who was stronger than Frank. He already pushes the limits of what this facility can control.”

  “I think what Jessica means to say,” said Howard, with a peacemaking smile across his face, “is that while Frank is a wonderful example of what a great TK can do, we too would like to see some new blood in this facility. And to do that, we need time, Herm, and the president needs to know that. We’re as aware as everyone else in this line of work that big things are coming, and the TRC wants in. We just need the time to get our house in order.”

  “You’ve told me many times how difficult it is to find new subjects for this program,” said Herm, “and you can be sure the president is well versed on that subject as well. What assurances can you give me that you aren’t just looking for a Hail Mary in order to buy some time? I realize the impact the TRC has had on this country—especially the actions of your father, Jessica—but I need to bring the president something more, some sign that things are right in your house.”

  “Jessica has a few lines in the water currently,” said Howard, “and though I would hate to speak out of turn, we both strongly suspect that we will have at least one more TK by the end of this calendar year, with perhaps even more to come.”

  “Oh well,” said Herm, brightening, “that does change things. Can you share anything about this acquisition process with me? It must be fairly new.”

  “It is,” said Howard. “We’re still working out the kinks, in fact, but we have high hopes for what this will bring.”

  “My congratulations,” said Herm as he stood. He walked to the cart with liquor and fine crystal—a staple of the room, but almost never used—and began pouring neat glasses of Lagavulin. “Jessica, I cannot wait to hear more about this when you can share more.”

  “I can’t wait to tell you all about it, but like Howard said, I just need a little time,” said Jessica as she took the glass from the CIA director, and this was certainly true. This was the first she’d heard of Howard’s new program, and she was hoping against hope he really had come up with something for her to work with.

  “That sounds perfect, and I’m sure the president will be delighted.”

  “Please send him our regards,” said Howard, smiling magnanimously as he raised his glass.

  Herm was gone, and empty glasses sat before Jessica and Howard in the TRC conference room. Neither of them was speaking, and neither had even looked at the other since they’d walked Herm to his waiting driver and security team upstairs.

  Jessica was scared to ask what she wanted to ask, and the silence from Howard only made her more nervous. The booze had done nothing—not even the third glass of scotch, and that one had been poured to roughly a four-finger height by Howard.

  When they finally spoke, it was at the same time:

  “Howard, I need to know—”

  “Jessica, I must confess—”

  “You first,” said Jessica. “I need to hear this confession before I waste any more wind on this shit.”

  “There is no plan.”

  “Goddamnit,” said Jessica under her breath. It wasn’t that she was concerned about cursing out her boss; it was that she wasn’t sure she could even stay in her chair. She felt beyond dizzy, like someone had swatted her behind her ear. He’s hanging me out to dry, and I blew the only chance I had to make sure the director of the fucking CIA knew I was not in on this shit. “Goddamnit.”

  “What I mean to say is that there is no plan in place as of now, but I know that between the two of us we will find one,” said Howard. “I know what you’re thinking, Jessica, but I’m not setting you up to take a fall. Rather, the TRC is going to be in your more than capable hands.”

  “I’m going to pretend I believe you,” seethed Jessica. “Explain. Make me get this, because right now I see a big pit with my name on it, and I feel your hands on my back getting ready to give me a shove.”

  “Jessica, you know how much I respect you, and you know how I felt and continue to feel about your father. I could never do that to you, and I could never do that to him. This is not a setup.”

  “So what is it?”

  “I’m taking you off of Frank immediately,” said Howard. Jessica started to simultaneously open her mouth and stand, and then Howard waved a hand. “Stop. Let me finish.” Jessica sat, staring at her glass and wishing there was more whiskey in it. “Like I said, you’re off Frank, starting now. I know you had the breakthrough, and I appreciate that, but this is more important. You’re going to find us those TKs, and I figure you have six months at most to do it.”

  “How am I going to do that? Are you bumping me down to Research? Those people don’t even have clearance, Howard. They don’t even know why they’re looking for what they’re looking for.”

  “Of course not. Jesus,” said Howard as he shook his head. “You’re going to do something that has never been done: a senior agent of the TRC is going to be putting her all into finding TKs, open and shut. You’ll have my blessing to do whatever is necessary in order to accomplish these tasks, and you will be allowed as large of a budget as our coffers can allow. In short, Jessica, once again the fate of the TRC falls on the shoulders of a Hockstetter.”

  Jessica stared at him. “I’m not sure what to say,” she mumbled at last.

  Howard wasn’t throwing her under the bus; he was telling her the train was coming at 12:15 and that it was her job to make sure the TRC was off of the tracks. I’ll be saving him, myself, and all of this. She might even like this job again.

  “Just say you’ll do it, and make me believe that you can succeed.”

  “I know I can.”

  “Godspeed.”

  CHAPTER 17

  Darryl was sober, and Darryl was fishing. It was harder work than they’d figured. Bending a kid or some drunk for pocket change was easy, but going in and acting like a scalpel was harder. It took finesse. Twice in the past week Darryl could tell the kids he was invading knew he was there, but it hadn’t mattered: they weren’t what he was looking for. He didn’t need to find a perfect specimen, one as strong as him, but he did need a gifted child to work with. Finding some kid who was learning how special he was wouldn’t be good enough. He needed a child who was already getting his hands dirty. Darryl needed a kid who could bend but also had a flair for the diabolical. Thus far, such a kid was proving hard to come by.

  Which made Darryl freshly bemoan his discovery and quick disposal of Vincent. That kid had been perfect. He was smart, twisted, and loyal to no one. Had Darryl felt like looking for them, he was sure he would’ve found on the kid the sort of scars that predicted a sociopathic future. Darryl hadn’t looked, though. He’d taken what he needed and settled for a half million when the kid could have been eyes and ears into tens of millions of dollars, maybe even more. Darryl was going to be carrying the regret for shoving Vincent into a noose for a
very long time.

  “Fucking nothing, man,” said Darryl as he leaned away from the computer.

  Terry nodded from the couch, then took a butt from the pack on the coffee table and lit it. The walls here weren’t covered in porno, and the view out the window showed a beach covered in bikini-clad women instead of a punk club, but Darryl couldn’t have cared less. Terry was kicked back, enjoying the spoils of war, while he was still struggling to find their next battle.

  “It’ll happen, Darryl,” said Terry. “Just relax and let it come to you.”

  It was good advice, but Terry was still chapping Darryl’s ass. While Darryl had been working constantly, Terry had been back up to his old tricks. Darryl knew that was the real reason his friend had wanted a spot on this Mexican beach. Life was cheap here. But the way Terry was playing his game, it could end up costing them a lot more than just a few pesos for a woman.

  Darryl had been in Terry’s head only a few times since they’d been kids, but he’d gone digging twice this week while Terry was sleeping, and for good reason. Terry had always liked to hurt women a little bit—no big deal, really; both their dads had that hobby, too—but he’d killed two girls this week. Barely teenaged girls. Worse, he thought he could hide it from Darryl. That Darryl wouldn’t notice the normally teetotaling Terry was increasingly drunk, and that Terry had a longing in his eyes when he looked over those white Mexican beaches.

  Terry knew Darryl could see into him, could see the lights go out in the eyes of those two girls as Terry flexed his fingers around their necks, and he even knew that Terry pictured his own ineffectual mother as he did it. Terry’s mother had allowed him to be beaten so that she could avoid a few licks of her own on occasion, but really, he needed to move on. Terry was still revenge-killing the woman in his fantasies, even though she’d been in the ground for five years and counting.