Deadly Powers (Tapped In Book 2) Page 4

  “Stay right there!”

  Halfway down the mound I stopped and held up my hands. My mind flashed to Pippa. I didn’t have time for delays.

  “Shoot me, then. Just be prepared for what Heidi will do to you.” I put my arms down, walked the rest of the way off the mound, up the steps, and onto the platform he was standing on. I moved past him and entered the construction office. In his mind, his thoughts noted I smelled like shit.

  The confined office space was taken up with a desk. A large computer was running, its screen displaying multi-colored CAD-type drawings. A close-by drafting table was littered with giant, schematic-type engineering drawings. Countless other paper rolls were piled around the office.

  “Show me … where are we here?” I asked, standing at the table.

  I noticed the gun was now tucked into the back of his pants as he moved to my side. He used a marker to circle one small section on the plans. What I was looking at was the largest civil engineering feat in the history of the United States … perhaps the world. Billions … maybe trillions of dollars of investment must have been requisitioned for this kind of enterprise to succeed. More importantly, its magnitude and scope could not have gone unnoticed. At a minimum, city water and electrical utilities would be alerted to such a vast undertaking. Even though the construction site was a hundred fifty to two hundred feet down, this underground venture couldn’t have gone undetected, which meant high-placed government officials had some kind of involvement.

  “Wie heißt du?” What is your name, I asked.

  “Moritz. Zeigen Sie mir, wo er entdeckt wurde.” Show me where he was spotted.

  I tried to make heads or tails of the plans in front of me—thousands of intricate lines and symbols, which, for the most part, made no sense. The tiny text was written in German. Then I spotted FDR Gedenkstätte, the FDR Memorial.

  “Right here … near the FDR Memorial.”

  “Ahh … yes, there is an access point there.” He used his marker to draw a line, starting at the memorial, then straight down into what looked to be a sewer line. Through a series of right and left turns, the line finally ended right here, at this deep, subterranean level.

  Moritz continued to look at the plans but his mind was racing. He no longer believed my story. He knew, beyond any doubt, that it was me who shouldn’t be there. The truth was, my story was weak. I was surprised he’d bought into it as long as he had. In the end, though, he was an engineer, not an operative. In a fraction of a second, I pulled the gun from the back of his pants and pointed it at his head. “Okay, Moritz, we have a lot to discuss. Take a seat.”

  * * *

  Apparently, the armed, five-man security team was on rounds, covering several construction sites like this one, and scheduled to return within the hour—maybe sooner. It took me close to thirty minutes to get any meaningful information from Moritz. I’d ask a question and he’d refuse to answer it. That was fine—I silently retrieved the answers from his mind anyway—at least to the extent that he mentally was in possession of the right answers to my questions. His range of knowledge, basically, was limited to his particular engineering duties. What I did glean was that an army, in the thousands, had been assembled over the last few years. Composed of scores of men and women—of Germanic origin, mostly, although not entirely. As suspected, U.S. government officials were indeed involved. Who they were, Moritz did not know. What I did learn was that Washington D.C. was not the hub, or central command point, for the operation. That was in Denver. Interestingly, its location was beneath DIA—Denver International Airport.

  I continued with the questioning: “Why? Specifically, what’s the main purpose of … Hydrospan?”

  He shook his head, just like he’d done throughout the long list of questions I’d asked. But reading his mind, the answer to my last question came across clearly … rapid deployment of military assets. When the time was right, the organization he worked for would strike … and One World Government would take charge. The result promised an end to future wars and global suffering; international, ego-driven, geo-politics would come to an end. One thing was certain: the scope of this operation extended all the way up, to the highest levels of the U.S. government. I thought about that. Not knowing how close their full operation was to completion, SIFTR would need to tread carefully. Hell, it might already be too late. Then something else struck me … how could SIFTR—Calloway—not be aware of this?

  There were noises coming from outside the trailer. I held the gun up to Moritz’s temple. “Go to the door and wave … let them know everything is fine. Remember, you’ll have a gun pointed at the back of your head.”

  Moritz stood and went to the open doorway. Stepping onto the platform, he waved. I stayed out of sight, but still delved into his mind and I could see what he was seeing. There were five men—dressed in black combat fatigues and armed with M4 Carbines—standard U.S. Army infantry issue. With its shortened barrel and collapsible stock, I could see how the M4 would be ideal for potential close-quarter combat down here. So who in hell was supplying them with standard Army-issue weapons?

  The security team spread out, slowly inspecting the construction site. Periodically, each man spoke into his shoulder mic, declaring an area clear. Again, Moritz waved and I saw the men head off in the direction of a distant bored-out tunnel.

  Now I had to deal with Moritz. It was most important that my presence here remain undetected. Unfortunately, that meant Moritz had to go. I had one more injection thimble left in my pocket. This one would deliver a lethal compound, triggering an instant heart attack, and be completely undetectable in an autopsy. It had been intended for Gustavo, if it had come to that.

  “They’ll be back very soon,” Moritz said, still looking off in the direction of the tunnel.

  I placed the small device on my forefinger and peeled back the tiny protective plastic sheath from the needle. Reaching over, I placed my hand and fingers around Moritz’s neck. Before he knew what was happening, I heard a breathy humph sound escape from his lips, and his legs gave out. Right there to catch him, I dragged his lifeless body over to a chair in front of the small desk and eased him into it. Tilting his upper body forward across the CAD monitor, I looked at my handiwork. He looked as if he’d died there … a massive heart attack in the midst of a busy day’s work. I placed his right-hand fingers over the mouse. Then I remembered he had held the gun in his left hand—he was left-handed. I transferred the mouse into that hand. Now it was time to return to the Lockkeeper’s House and contact Baltimore. I heard a sound—the subtlest of creaks, like the settling of weight on worn, tired floor joists. I looked up and saw a large man standing in the doorway. The muzzle of his Glock 19 was pointed directly at my head.

  Chapter 7

  Pippa sat quietly in her seat while keeping a leery eye on her captor, sitting across from her. Aside from Heidi’s obvious sociopathic tendencies to kill those people she was displeased with, the woman clearly had other issues. She was constantly in motion—fussing with her hair, checking and rechecking her reflection in the nearby portal window, and she talked to distraction—always about herself.

  “I think you and I should be friends … best of friends, in fact.”

  Pippa stared back at her without answering.

  “Oh, I know you’re still upset with me. I don’t blame you. I get caught up in the moment. That’s what makes me … what? So dynamic.”

  “If we’re going to be friends, a good start would be to let me off this train.”

  “Hydro-pod,” Heidi corrected. She waved Pippa’s comment away as if she were swatting a fly. “What I will do is give you something … something special. Hmm! What shall it be? Ten million dollars placed into your bank account? No … too pedestrian. I have it! I’ll share with you something only a handful of people know about. Not even your own president. You’ll learn that knowledge is power. Power is worth far more than money. Money is easy to come by … but power is earned and it’s what elevates one to greatness.”

  Pippa gave her a perfunctory nod. So Heidi has elevated herself to greatness. Is there no end to this woman’s vanity?

  “You’ve never had power, Pippa. Not really. So you don’t know what I’m talking about. You can’t know what you don’t know. You don’t know the sheer visceral thrill of it.”

  “I guess I don’t. Oh well …”

  Heidi scowled at her and then, just as suddenly, was again smiling mischievously. She looked up, raising her chin, as she peered toward the back of the pod. “Taffy!”

  The big man approached from behind Pippa’s seat and stood before Heidi, who let one of her Jimmy Choos fall to the floor.

  “There’s still blood on my toes,” she said, rocking one bare foot with her legs still crossed.

  Taffy looked down at her perfectly clean-looking foot and shrugged. Brows raised, Heidi continued to move her bare foot back and forth, like a fast-moving metronome. Taffy gave a hesitant glance toward Pippa.

  “Lick my toes, Taffy. Make sure each and every toe is thoroughly clean. Do a good job now, Mr. Taffy, and I’ll reward you later.”

  Again, Taffy glanced over to Pippa. Face flushed, he pulled at the fabric over his knees, slightly hiking up his slacks, then lowered himself down onto the floor. Heidi’s waving foot became still, as Taffy took her foot in one hand and brought it up to his chest. Heidi tilted her head forward and let out an impatient breath.

  Pippa felt the man’s humiliation. She wanted to say something … hell, she wanted to drive her own foot into the woman’s surgically altered, perfect face. But she knew it would be the last thing she’d ever live to do. Heidi was undoubtedly prepared for Pippa to do something. This ruse, of course, was a test.

  Taffy brought the woman’s toes up to his mouth and slowly, star
ting with her biggest one, began to lick.

  Heidi’s eyes were not on her foot, nor even on Mr. Taffy. They were now locked onto Pippa, her mischievous smile still in place. “Take off your shoes, Pippa.”

  Taffy hesitated, but soon was back at work, licking her two baby toes.

  “No.”

  “No?” Heidi repeated, seeming surprised—as though she hadn’t heard that word before.

  “You want to kill me for keeping my shoes on, have at it. But I’ll leave torturing this poor man all to you.”

  Heidi laughed out loud. “Do you hear that, Mr. Taffy? She feels sorry for you. Mr. Taffy … my poor mistreated homicidal bodyguard. That’s fine, Taffy. Run along now.”

  Taffy reached for the lone shoe on the floor.

  “Just leave it!” she barked, her face suddenly twisted into a hateful glare. The man stood, brushed off his knees, and silently moved away behind Pippa.

  “Is that the kind of power you’re talking about?” Pippa asked.

  “Sure. It’s all a matter of degrees, though. Maybe it’s time I tell you why you’re here. What you’re going to do for me.”

  “I’m not going to lick your toes.”

  Again, Heidi laughed. “No … I wouldn’t make you do that … unless you wanted to,” she said, making a naughty expression. “You’re going to deliver to me a certain person. A very important person, Pippa.”

  “I’m just a mid-level government agent, Mrs. Goertz. I couldn’t deliver you the UPS man unless he was delivering a package.” Pippa felt the pod decelerating. Looking out the porthole she saw they were entering another station, of sorts.

  “Oh, please. You have proven yourself to be far more than a simple agent. Pippa. You, and that Agent Chandler of yours, were the first to have bested me, and my organization. Although to be honest, it was only a temporary setback. Agent Chandler has capabilities far beyond those listed inside his SIFTR personnel file.”

  Heidi must have noticed Pippa’s sudden uneasiness.

  “I don’t know how he does what he does, but you’ll tell me in time. What I do know is that he has the ability to alter the playing field. Perhaps it’s a genius, even savant-level IQ. Like I said, I don’t know. What I do know is that he, and you, will soon be working for me.”

  Pippa did her best to look nonchalant. “I don’t even know where the man is. We’re no longer together, so I can’t help you.”

  “Uh huh. You need to understand that we have infiltrated the SIFTR organization. Rob is currently in Washington, D.C.”

  Pippa shrugged. “So?”

  “So you need to tell him to stop what he’s doing and come to you.”

  “I don’t know what he’s doing. He does what he wants.”

  “So be it,” she said, looking as if she had just come to some kind of decision. Heidi began fishing in the small purse that matched her shoes. She found her iPhone and brought it out in front of her. “The video-capture capabilities of these new phones today are truly amazing. We’re talking 1080 resolution, you know.”

  Pippa watched Heidi with mild interest. With a furrowed brow, Heidi tapped at the phone’s screen. “Ah!” She held up the iPhone and pointed it toward Pippa. “Oh, come on … can’t you give me a little smile, hon?”

  Bewildered, Pippa shook her head, flipping both Heidi and her iPhone the bird, then offered up a condescending smile.

  Pippa felt the slightest shifting of air behind her seat. At some level she was aware of the presence of Mr. Taffy. What came next happened so fast—so suddenly—she didn’t have time to react or, more importantly, catch her breath. An arm moved in front of her and next, something was around her neck. A garrote. She knew instantly that Taffy had gotten the thin wire wrapped around her neck, and was in the process of pulling both handled ends of the wire weapon taut. Reflexively, both her hands reached for her throat, only to find it impossible to get her fingers in between the garrote and her flesh. She felt warm oozing moisture—her own blood. She kicked out wildly with one foot, and then with the other, desperate to connect with something solid—something she could get a footing on. Anything substantial enough to gain purchase on, and maybe, swing back around on her attacker. Her head felt as though it was going to explode; her eyes—already nearly popping from their sockets—saw Heidi across from her, her iPhone still raised. Heidi’s face was frozen in a sick voyeuristic expression. Pippa, now straining desperately to breathe—unable to scream out—or make even the slightest of sounds, watched as her vision closed in, as if she were looking through a long tunnel there would be no escaping through. Briefly, she thought of Rob … is all this for him? Of course it was … he would watch her die in 1080 resolution. I’m sorry, Rob. I love you …

  Chapter 8

  Rob recognized the man holding the gun. He was one of the two men in Calloway’s photographs, carrying the body bag—Pippa’s body bag. Tall and broad-shouldered—thick on top, with an ample belly—his hips and legs were, in relation to them, relatively slender, giving him a cartoon character-type appearance. But it was the man’s face that held my attention. Of Latin descent, perhaps Italian, his thick, black, combed-back hair began about an inch and a half above his bushy eyebrows and gave the impression he virtually had no forehead. That feature, unfortunately, gave him a somewhat Neanderthal countenance. In stark conflict was the manner in which he was dressed. He wore an impeccably tailored dark gray suit.

  He glanced at the dead body of Moritz—leaning over the CAD monitor and then back to me. “Mr. Chandler, would you please step away from the desk and raise both hands.”

  I did what the large man asked. The barrel of the Glock followed my movements. I peeked into his head and found a mind that was orderly and highly intelligent, giving credence to the fact that you really can’t judge a book by its cover.

  “My name is Alberto T. Boccaccio. My friends call me Albo. May I call you Rob?” His baritone words came out with a heavy Brooklyn accent.

  “Sure … call me whatever you’d like.”

  “That’s good. We’re starting off on the right foot, Rob … that’s very good.”

  Mind-reading is invasive at an unparalleled level. For the most part, I tend to skim someone’s mental playbacks—I’m not interested in someone’s darker compulsions or addictions. To be honest, I don’t want some other folks’ shit taking up residency in my own mind. Like flipping through the pages of a book, I often let the images flash by so quickly that much of what I see is nothing more than a blur. That is, until something catches my attention at a subconscious level. And that’s what just happened: My heart had begun to race, my breath catching in my chest before I knew why.

  “Did you hear me, Mr. Chandler? You’ll be coming along with me. You don’t want to try anything. There is far more at stake here than your own life, I can assure you.”

  I tried to swallow. I tried to speak. What did I see inside his head? I backed out of his mind, no longer wanting to look into anyone’s thoughts ever again. What the hell did I see?

  Albo stepped further into the small office, and two men—both heavily armed and dressed in black—took his place at the doorway. Albo transferred his gun to his other hand and reached into his inside breast jacket pocket. An iPhone, one of the near tablet-sized models, appeared in his big fleshy hand.

  “I have something to share with you, Rob. It’s important that we start our relationship with everything placed on the table. There should be no secrets … no hidden agendas, between friends, Rob.”

  What did I see? Suddenly, I felt sick. The office was spinning around me—I reached a hand out to steady myself. The two men at the entrance raised their automatic weapons.

  Albo was at my side now—aftershave and garlic filled my nostrils. I felt his hand on my shoulder. “Are you all right, Rob? Do you need some water?”

  His face showed real concern, which was surprising in light of … in light of what?

  I shook my head. My eyes were on the screen of his iPhone, which was now held out in front of me, as if a friend were showing me pictures of his family; or perhaps, vacation pics, maybe someplace warm and humid, like Cancun or Tahiti. I don’t want to see his vacation pics.