He had never cared. He preferred not to have to deal with most of them anyway. His true awakening had come when he discovered the writings of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and his legendary creation, Sherlock Holmes. He had gravitated toward tales of the master sleuth, not so much for his masterpieces of logic and observational skills, but for the flawed nature of his personal life. It was the first time he realized that to be a hero did not mean you were a perfect specimen of either manhood or ethics.
Then, Charlie had come along like an answer to all his lost dreams. And he had made things infinitely worse. Now, he had this all-but-omnipotent ally to help him wage a war against the things he thought were wrong. Now, he could be the hero who would be…
What? A savior? A leader? A role model? The realization of how limited his contribution would be was a depressing thought once Terry allowed it to take hold. He knew that despite all he would do and, in fact, all he could think to do, it would be no more than a wave in the ocean on a calm day.
But if he couldn’t save the world, he could save the parts he came across. That would have to do for now.
At the moment, that meant getting to Chicago and finding a maniac who hated cabbies. Terry had deliberately not told Traci about the particulars of the job. He didn’t know how she would react to it, and like everything he had already learned from Mir, he couldn’t let her know that he knew most of the things he did without raising some questions he couldn’t answer.
No, he would let her know what happened after it was done and this killer, whoever he was, had been dealt with. Then, maybe, he could convince her…
He stopped there. He was reaching again. He wanted to be a hero and he wanted her to be his damsel in distress. He wanted to save her from whatever it was that was tormenting her. It was stupid. It was a joke. It was just another childish dream sure to blow up in his face and make him feel even worse by the time it was all over.
But at the moment, he had to admit, the idea felt wonderful.
He opened the file in his phone. It was time to go to work.
* * * *
In Chicago at the mayor’s aide office, Crane sat behind an ornate desk, holding his head in his hands, trying desperately not to scream. Bad enough he had to babysit Simon, now Finch got his own help from another agent who just happened to think this Bridger character was a con artist. Just the kind of thing the mayor would use to try and back out of his deal. He still had doubts, but for Crane, the murders last night had reaffirmed his position to him that they needed fresh eyes on this. That whoever was doing all this killing was not only sharp in his own right, they seemed to have some kind of insight into the police and the techniques they were using. This Bridger could be the thing they needed to break this case.
If the mayor didn’t pull one of his famous one-eighties and decide against bringing him on... Men like Simon treated promises like disposable tools. Break one, make another. To him, it didn’t matter what he promised, because he only promised to get someone else to do what he wanted. If he no longer needed you, you were history, regardless of what deal he might have made. On the other hand, if Benin managed to convince him that Bridger was a liability, it was a real possibility that the man would make the trip out here for nothing. And there was little he could do about it.
The only thing he could do was remind his honor that time was running out, especially after these latest murders. It had taken everything he could to come up with from threats of tax audits to promises of exclusive stories sanctioned by the mayor’s office to outright bribes to keep the press away from two witnesses to this last scene. And even then, they had stipulated time restraints on them. They weren’t as easily cowed as people might have once been by the power of city hall. And they knew that if the mayor held them in limbo too long, it would look bad for him more so than for them.
Either way, it meant that time was running out and they were still no closer to finding this jackal than they had been. Bridger had to work out. Otherwise, whether or not Simon believed it, this thing could finish all of them. His backers expected action from both the mayor and from him personally. And if he didn’t deliver, it could affect more than just his political career. They might be the new order, but they had very old-fashioned ideas of competence. And about the price for failure.
Something else the mayor didn’t grasp. He knew the debts he owed for his office, but he refused to acknowledge them. Which left Crane, and in some cases even Finch, to make sure that the things they wanted done happened while at the same time making sure the mayor stayed in their good graces.
This Bridger was their last hope. That is assuming that this Benin didn’t pull the rug out from under him before he even got here.
* * * *
Terry walked off the plane, quietly going over in his mind what he had read on the flight. He knew there would be no one to welcome him since he had told Smyth he’d be here Monday, so he headed for the cabstand. When he stepped into the sunlight, he had to wait a second for his eyes to adjust. When they did, he found himself amazed by the sight.
There were cabs there at least. And a line of people waiting to get into them. A long, angry line. The trouble was there were nowhere near enough cabs and the ones that were there were refusing to take people to isolated locations, leading to arguments, and in at least one case, a fist fight that security had to break up.
It was no surprise to Terry. When people get scared, they protect themselves anyway they can. In the case of the cabbies, they were just not going anywhere they didn’t feel safe. Anyone that needed to get to one of the places that they wouldn’t go had to either catch a bus, a train or walk. And as most of them were from out of town, it led to even more confusion. The shuttles were full, which left his only option renting a car, so he headed for the rental desk.
Thirty minutes later, he pulled out of the lot in a Corolla. A far cry from his Beamer, but he wasn’t figuring on any car chases, so what the hell?
The thought of his car made him think of Traci and wonder what she was doing just then, but he pushed the thought out of his mind. She was the prize at the end of this. First, he had to earn it.
As he headed for the city, he finally tried to contact Charlie. It was time for him to get to work as well.
“Charlie, you up yet?” No response. “Char-lie, don’t make me whistle.”
A few seconds passed and then he heard, “No need to get rowdy. I was just collecting my thoughts.”
“And what thoughts would those be?”
“Well, for one thing, I was trying to figure out what exactly happened with Mir and Traci back there.”
“What happened how?”
Charlie hesitated for a moment. He didn’t seem to want to talk about it, but he had to.
“When your fields were integrated, I was able to draw on some of her personality just as I can on yours. In your case, since we have similar views on the way things are and should be, it doesn’t really cause either of us any distress. She, however, has a self-destructive side that Mir tries to hold down. Part of that is her choice in vocalizations. The colorful language, as your people call it, that I found myself using was a direct effect of her mind interacting with mine and yours.”
“You mean, she affects you as well as being affected by you and Mir?”
“Exactly. Mir seems to be immune to it, and I suppose, given time, I could adapt, but her fields are nearly as powerful as yours. Close enough that Mir may be trapped in her as well.”
“If it’s that close to our link, why can’t she hear him, too?”
Now came the part Charlie was almost dreading. “Perhaps she can. Remember, though, we do not speak in English normally. Any suggestions we make are, in a normal case, neural impulses. He may have simply not tried hard enough to speak to her directly. Or she just may not be quite strong enough to be able to pick up his thoughts. Perhaps, given time, she could learn.”
Terry was surprised. “You seem to be saying it might be a good thing.”
Once a
gain, Charlie seemed to mentally shrug. “This is, as I have said before, all new territory. It might even lead to a way of us being able to discorporate. Or at least return my ability to communicate with others of my kind without the need for intimate contact. Even without the former, the later would be a boon.”
“Charlie, I think you’re going soft!”
“No need to be insulting.”
Terry started to whistle up a show tune but then decided there was no reason to. Instead, he went to work on the files.
“Okay. Can you get the files and see if there’s anything in ‘em they might have missed?
“I copied them while you were reading them. The chemical compound they found on this Martin victim was the only thing. It seems to be a solvent called dimethyl sulfoxide, commonly known as DMSO.”
Terry was confused. “Hell, even I know what that is. How the hell could they miss it?”
“I said it seems to be this DMSO. I cannot be certain. It’s been mixed with an organic compound of some kind that deteriorated to the point of being undetectable before any samples were taken. Apparently, the DMSO hastened this decomposition. The integration of the two formed a whole new chemical compound that seemed to be totally inert, except perhaps as a degreasing agent.”
“So, what’s the big deal then?” Terry felt a bit thick at that point. And Charlie wasn’t much help.
“I don’t know. Whatever it was mixed with, as I said, broke down even before the lab techs were able to analyze it. They know it was organic from the residue, but more than that, they have nothing.”
“Anybody try a guess?”
“No one dared to. From what I gather, the chief examiner is a bit of a stickler for rules of empirical-information discovery. Theories have to be proven. If not, they should not be presented. Most of the staff will not challenge his authority, so guessing is not allowed.”
Again, Terry was bordering on confusion. “I read that report. I didn’t see all that.”
“Nor would you. Most of what I just told you was from the Chrliti, Fai, who occupies the lab tech in the medical examiner’s office. Mir had connected with him once at the diner when Martin was found and again when Traci claimed the body for disposal.”
Terry was suddenly very interested. “You mean, she took care of his funeral expenses?”
Charlie emanated a sadness that Terry could almost not believe he knew as he answered simply, “Despite his many friends and favorites, they were the only family either of them had.”
Terry was suddenly sure of his thinking. “No wonder she left town.”
Charlie pulsed with indecision for a moment and then decided it was important enough that Terry needed to know. “That was not her initial reaction. After the services, she tried to kill herself. If not for Mir, she would have succeeded. Once she failed, she took it as another sign that her punishment was not over. One of the burdens he has to carry is whether or not he did the right thing by saving her. Or, at least, it was.”
“What do you mean was?”
Charlie had made up his mind to tell the whole thing to Terry but that did not make it easier. In the end, he simply said, “Then, you came along. The last thing he and I said before we lost the connection at the airport was that for the first time in years, she has, for lack of a better word, hope. He thinks you can save her from herself.”
Terry didn’t answer, but in his private place, he mused, “I hope so.”
Chapter Eighteen
Arriving at the city hall, Terry made his way quickly upstairs. Smyth had told him when he arrived to contact Crane at the mayor’s office. Then, Crane would contact him, and they would get to work. Terry, of course, knew nothing about the latest murders. As such, he was amazed by the pandemonium that reigned. Men and women moved in an almost dizzying dance choreographed by the urgency of the moment. Terry took a moment just to enjoy the spectacle then stopped one of the women, a small Spanish-looking girl who seemed almost frightened when he stepped in front of her.
Seeing her eyes widen, Terry put his hands up to calm her.
“Whoa, hello. Excuse me, but I’m looking for a Mr. Crane, I think he said?”
The girl looked him up and down for a second before she decided he was harmless. And cute.
She smiled as she lilted at him, “You mean Alvin Crane? He’s one of the mayor’s top aides. These days, you need an appointment two weeks in advance to set a meeting next month.”
Terry smiled back. “Well, then I guess I got friends in the right places. Agent Smyth told me to find him when I got in town. My name is Bridger. Terry Bridger. I’m supposed to—”
Suddenly, what looked like a Viking with a buzz cut popped up and all but leaped around the desk he had been sitting at. He grabbed Terry’s arm and pulled him toward the door.
Unfortunately, Terry had an aversion to being manhandled. Whirling his arm around, he grabbed the bigger man’s arm at the bicep, pulling him off to one side and into another desk. Given his height, he slammed his thighs into it hard enough to bend him over it.
He came up, now angered and embarrassed, spinning toward Terry, he glared at him for a second but caught himself.
“I-I’m sorry! But we have orders to keep your arrival on the down low! Mr. Crane was told you would be here Monday.”
As he spoke, Terry could see him sizing him up, trying to see if the move he had just used on him was just a fluke or a precursor to a lot worse. Terry, meanwhile, simply stood loosely, trying to keep himself looking unconcerned while at the same time ready for any retaliation this big son of a bitch might have on his mind.
“Yeah, well I just don’t like being touched, so let’s not have any more of that shit, okay?”
The big man shrugged and smiled. “Fair enough. I just didn’t want the rumor mill to kick in before you even got to meet the man. Around here, what you know is a dim second to what you think you know!”
The big man checked his creases and then extended his hand. “My name is Decker. Steve Decker. I’m head of the mayor’s security detail. Mr. Crane’s office is down the hall. I’ll take you down there now if you want. He ought to be in right now.”
“Let’s hit it then. The sooner I can get started, the sooner we can get something done.”
Decker nodded as he turned to the girl. “Anna, see if you can get Agent Smyth on the phone. I believe he might be interested in knowing that his hero has arrived.”
Terry didn’t need Charlie to detect the cynicism in his voice. It was easy to see that he had his doubts about Terry’s methods or ability, although he could personally vouch for the latter, as few men he knew could throw him around the way he had.
The hall was more ornate than Terry was used to, but somehow, you were still reminded it was a government building. That is for the thirty feet they walked through. Then, Decker stopped at what looked like an unmarked door with a keypad. A quick code punched in and Terry found himself in a hallway that would not have been out of place in a bomb shelter. The plain cinder-block walls and steel gratings said that the passage was a remodel done recently. The office at the end of the hall was a continuation of that barrenness, the walls having just a couple of pictures and a vase full of plastic fronds in the corner. Clearly, interior designing was not on the top of the list here.
In the privacy of his mind, Terry signaled Charlie.
“Charlie, any of your friends in range we can get anything from?”
Charlie sounded almost pissed. “Nothing! Apparently, none of my people here have acquired the necessary tastes for life in the role of a politician.”
“If I can get a hand on a computer, you feel up to doing a little ripping?”
“I can, but it may take me a minute to find the correct files in it, depending on the size of the hard drive.” That was one of the other advantages Charlie had over the other Chrliti. Given Terry’s powerful bioelectric fields, Charlie had learned to pulse energy through a computer and read it remotely. He could even store the data in Terry’s subconsc
ious long enough to go through it more thoroughly. The problem was that despite his speed, it took time to find a particular file then to download and imprint it on Terry’s mind. To make matters worse during the download, he had to maintain the contact or the connection was lost. Although it might be finished in less than a minute, it was a long time to have one’s hand on someone’s computer just sitting there.
“We’ll wait. Let’s let ‘em lie first, then we can figure out what they’re lying about.”
“You seem sure they will lie.”
“They are politicians.”
Just then, the door in the rear opened and a man stepped into the room shuffling through a folder. He looked up when realized he was not alone. His face displayed surprise when he settled is gaze on Terry, trying to place the face before him. When it dawned on him where he had seen the face before, he offered his hand and immediately went into diplomatic mode.
“Mr. Bridger! How are you? We weren’t expecting you until Monday. Agent Smyth told us you were in… Montana, I believe?”
Terry took the offered hand and shook firmly, answering with an equally fake smile, “I decided to fly out and get a jump on things. If Smyth was right about the urgency here, I figured it couldn’t hurt.”
Fake or not, he smile widened. “A fair conclusion, I’d say. I see you’ve met our security chief, Mr. Decker.”
Terry tried not to let his own smile grow out of sheer politeness.
Decker looked a bit sheepishly at Crane, saying, “We had a little mix up in the office. I’m pretty sure you’ll hear about it. I was trying to get him out of the cubicle farm before too many people saw him and started asking questions.” He cut a quick look Terry. “He doesn’t like being touched.”
Crane read between the lines and nodded his head sagely. “Impressive, Mr. Bridger. There aren’t a lot of men that can discombobulate Mr. Decker. It appears Agent Smyth’s faith in you could be justified. Did he send you the files on all the cases?”
The Primal Connection Page 14
