Chasing Power (Hidden Talents) (34 page)

Tess’ passcard got them into an underground garage and through two sets of doors.  A second passcard got them access to a new set of buttons in the elevator.  Seeing the double-digit number Tess pressed, Sam’s stomach flip-flopped.  She hoped that the room they took her to didn’t have windows.  Her palms damp, she rubbed her good hand on her pants, already sweating as the elevator rose. 
Great
, Sam thought,
I get to meet my destiny smelling like nervous sweat and looking like hell
. 

The door opened into a slick lobby.  Classy but unassuming.  Bland linoleum floors, wood furniture, polished chrome fixtures.  It might have been the lobby of a nice department store.  Except for the four large men standing guard, each posted in a corner of the room.  Another man, tall, slender and dapper, manned a tall counter in the middle like it was the command deck of a battleship.  He smiled as Tess led the motley group from the elevator. 

“About time, Theresa.”

“Sorry to keep you here late, Joseph.”

The receptionist shrugged and made a show of stretching his arms out, “I’ve got my Venti latte because it’s going to be an all-nighter.  And you,” Joseph turned his twenty watt smile on Sam, “I know who you are, but you still have to sign in.” 

He pushed a clipboard across the counter.  “The rest of you, too.  All guests sign in and sign out.  Those are the rules.”

Picking up the pen, Sam tried to curl her fingers around it.  But the gash on her right palm made it hard.  Lane, noticing, inclined his head in question, reaching forward.

“I can do it,” she muttered, managing a half-legible scrawl for her name before passing the clipboard over to him.  Sam felt a tickle on the back of her neck.  She rubbed the offending spot, only to find that the tickle seemed to have spread into her skull.  She gave a quick shake of her head, like a horse trying to shake off a fly. 

“Joseph,” Lane said, “Knock it off.”

“Knock what off?”  Joseph’s eyes widened in a perfect picture of confusion.  But the tingling stopped.  Rolling his eyes, Lane finished signing and handed the clipboard over to Al, who did the same.

“Now that we’ve gotten that taken care of, you may proceed to the waiting room.  Have a pleasant evening.”

The waiting room projected more upper-end blandness, with lush but worn-in leather couches, heavy mission-style coffee tables with a few magazines to read.

“Coffee, water, pop?” Tess asked, “I need a mochaccino.  Back in a few.”

After the car, the waiting room seemed enormous, much too large for only three people.  Al and Lane sat on opposite sides of an oversized sofa meant for four.  Sam took an armchair seated next to the couch, but still over five feet away.  She wanted to sit next to Lane on the couch, but worried that would come across as too needy.  She picked through the selection of magazines on the side table next to her.  The selections were truly atrocious:  sailing, golfing, and gourmet cooking; not one thing she cared about.  Besides, between her left shoulder and her right arm, turning the pages wasn’t much fun.  Tired, shell-shocked, Sam gave up on the magazines and stared at a painting hanging across from her, trying to find meaning in the mishmash of red, green, ochre, and newsprint. 

Not one person spoke.  Not even Al rescued Samantha from the silence.  Once upon a time, she would have welcomed silence.  Now it felt oppressive.  Ignoring that thought, Sam sat and pretended interest in the hideous artwork as she worked out contingency plans for how she would handle anything and everything that was about to happen next.  She, singular.

She had plenty of time.  It was well over twenty minutes before the door opened and she was rescued by the arrival of someone new.

Sam guessed the short, paunchy man to be in his mid-forties.  He wore an expensive, well-tailored suit and introduced himself as deputy chairman Erik Spaulding (call him Erik).  He welcomed Samantha to N.T.U. with a warm, two-handed handshake.

“We are so glad you finally were able to make it,” he said, “I can’t tell you how worried we’ve been about you.”

He turned to Lane and gave him a very manly half-hug and pat on the back.  “And you, to keep it all together, to drive all that way—so impressive!”

He turned to Al, who puffed himself out expectantly.  Erik paused, obviously trying to figure out who this person was and why they were here.  He settled for a lame but enthusiastic, “I’ve heard you were quite the contributor, as well!” 

Al smiled weakly, the disappointment on his face plain to read.  Sam could have kicked Erik.  A man in his position should do his research, she thought.  

“He helped rescue me from the hospital,” Sam said.

“That’s amazing!”

Al grinned, puffing up again.  “Aw, it was nothing.”

Erik laughed, a hearty chuckle.  With his big dark eyes and genial face, he reminded Sam of a hound dog who had never quite grown out of puppy hood.  Waving for them to follow, he opened a door and trotted down a hallway, opening a door to a corner office.  He sat down behind the desk, hemming and hawing.

“Right.  First, I should tell you, the council has met.  Based on the evidence so far, they’ve agreed to give you full asylum.  The current time period is three months, but that can be extended on review.”

Al let out a cheer, turning to high-five Samantha, “Awesome!”

Accepting the high-five, Sam smiled back.  Her shoulders straightened as she felt the weight lifting off them.  For a few months, at least, she wouldn’t have to worry about the Corp.  That was something, right?  Erik opened a drawer, pulled out a few papers and snapped them smartly on the desk, passing them across to Sam.

“Further, the council has decided to speed up your participation process.  So, they’ll have an interview with you tomorrow—a mere formality—and the initiation—another formality—and you’re in.”

“In what?”

“North-American Talents United, of course.”  He passed her the form, “Sign these, and I’ll fast track ‘em.  You’ll be full fledged member of N.T.U. by the end of the week.”

“Oh.”  Sam looked at the forms.  There were a lot of blank spots.  And a lot of tiny, legal writing.  “Why?”

“If your parents aren’t members of N.T.U., it’s just a formal process you have to go through.  Like acquiring citizenship.”

“All right.  I’ll look through them tonight.”

The pause only lasted a second, but Sam recognized the look on the deputy’s face—she’d mastered it herself.  It said “nothing is amiss—nothing at all.”  It meant exactly the opposite.

“That’ll be fine,” Erik said, “I’ll have Joseph show you to your room for now.”

Sam looked to see if Lane sensed the same hesitation she had.  But if he did, he didn’t give any sign.  He stared at Erik, smiling and trusting.  As Erik showed them to the door, Sam felt a familiar weight settle back onto her shoulders.

Chapter
30

An idiot.  He was an idiot.  No, not an idiot, arrogant, cocky.  It dawned on Lane in the car on the way to Seattle, the enormity of the situation. 
You’re going to betray her, Lane, in a big way.
  Audrey warned him and he’d dismissed her.  He persisted in going along, refusing to accept that he could ever be in the wrong.  And when the chameleon attacked, he’d assumed that was the treason Audrey discussed.  Disaster averted, he’d thought, risk over.

God, what a tool.

It didn’t matter what Sam said, Lane knew the whole thing was his fault.  He let Tess get out of hand, he didn’t step in when he should have.  If Hal had killed Sam, Lane didn’t know what he would have done.

And if she had killed Hal, it would have been a disaster.  Not that he blamed Sam for acting in self-defense.  But N.T.U. had very strict ideas on what you could, and couldn’t, do to other Talents.  Stricter than the law in many cases.  Talents, they argued, should be held to higher standards, since they had a greater potential to cause chaos, death, and destruction.  Up until this point, Lane agreed.  But now, he worried for Sam, worried what would happen if Tess relayed the whole story.  Would they accept the situation as exceptional, or peg Sam as a crazed lunatic?  Her father’s mental status, he feared, wouldn’t help matters.  They might decide not to help Sam.  Or, even worse, to imprison her for her “own safety.”

Lane wanted Samantha so badly, he ignored common sense.  He’d refused to believe in his own fallibility.  But now he knew.  Dramas ended in tragedy because of the most trivial accidents of fate or human foibles.  If he truly cared about Samantha, if he truly wanted her to be safe, he realized, he was going to have to buckle down and follow Audrey’s advice.

From here on out, he was going to do whatever it took to make sure that Samantha got under the protection of N.T.U.  And then he was going to take himself out of the situation.  At least for the time being.  As far as he was concerned, his own involvement was a disaster waiting to happen.

And so he kept his distance in the waiting room, knowing more contact was only going to make it harder for him.  He withdrew further during the interview, doing his best to tune out the mixed emotional messages he was receiving from the others.  The walk from Erik’s office to Samantha’s room took an eternity, and when Joseph opened the door for her, Lane suddenly felt like it had come too quickly.

“Call if you need anything,” Joseph chirped, and, turning to Lane, “Now, if you two would come with me, I believe Tess has a place for you to stay.“

“We made it!”  Al said, as a way of farewell, “See you later, kiddo!”  He gave Sam a quick hug.

It was Lane’s turn, now.  He wanted to say something deep and meaningful.  Wanted somehow to convey what he was thinking.  What he had realized the moment he’d thought Sam was gone for good.

“Goodbye,” was all he managed.  Pathetic.  But it was hard to say something sappy with Al and a perfect stranger hovering over his shoulder.

“You’re going to be nearby,” Sam said, “Right?”

Lane shrugged, “I’m staying with Tess.”

“Lane,” Samantha glanced at Joseph and lowered her voice, leaning in, “Something’s not right here.”

The concern was genuine, hidden, subtle, but distinctive nonetheless.  Lane didn’t know what to tell her.  Sam was suspicious of everyone and everything.  But he had a lifetime of experience with N.T.U.  She’d be fine—provided she didn’t come across the wrong way. 

Taking her shoulders, Lane enveloped Sam in another hug.  He pledged to himself, again, to make things OK with her when this situation was finally over.  But for now, he had to keep her safe.

“Sam,” he whispered, “I know you’re scared.  But you can trust them.  Please, just believe me.  For your own sake, for my sake.  I almost got myself killed getting you here.  I don’t want you to be hurt when you’re so close to safety.”

Pulling away, Sam stared at him.  The expression on her face was blank, unreadable.  But the stink of anger, frustration, was unmistakable.  At him, because he didn’t believe her. 
It’s not a matter of belief
, Lane thought;
it’s a matter of experience.
  But how to explain that?

“Lane?”  Joseph’s voice sounded hollow, echoing down the hall, “It’s getting late, and we have things to take care of.” 

#

“Things to take care of” was Joseph’s code for returning them to Erik’s office.  Lane wasn’t unduly surprised to find himself there, or to see Tess stand up as he entered, obviously finishing a conversation with her superior.  He reached out and read her.  She felt tired, and uneasy.  Maybe she hadn’t told them all of the sordid details.

“Lane,” she said, nodding by way of greeting, not seeming to notice his emotional intrusion, “I’ll talk to you later.”  She left the room.  He and Al were introduced to a second officer—Erik’s counterpart.  She asked Al to accompany her to her office while Lane was asked to sit down.

“Sorry to keep you up, Lane,” Erik said, “but I thought it prudent we talk.  Get some things cleared up before Samantha’s interviews tomorrow.  I know you must want the best for her.”

#

Settling into her room, Sam put Lane’s goodbye out of her head, trying to pretend that nothing was wrong, and waited for the sense of relief to arrive.

The apartment was modest, meant for assistants of visiting dignitaries or some such, but it was more than she was used to and suited her fine.  The furniture was plain but of high quality.  Her bags waited next to the bed and a pile of soft towels sat on the bathroom counter.  Joseph had run to grab her a late snack.  Nothing too fancy but the little luxuries added up.  Almost as though someone had sat down and calculated exactly what would make her the most comfortable and had taken pains to make sure it happened.

She sat down awkwardly on the edge of the couch.  She wanted to read through the papers, but her eyes couldn’t seem to focus through the slippery legalese.  She turned on the TV, but every channel was filled with happy couples or relationship woes, and it made her want to puke.  She wanted to take a shower, but every time she went into the bathroom she started thinking about hidden cameras. 

A medic arrived, a heavyset woman with the brusque attitude of former military.  She barely said hello and didn’t tell Samantha her name or qualifications.  She looked over Lane’s work, made an unreadable noise, and carefully cleaned the work with antiseptic.  She had Sam roll up her pants and inspected the bruised and swollen knee: “It’ll heal properly, but keep your weight off of it.”  That was the longest sentence she spoke.  After that, she went through and bandaged everything: shoulder, hand, knee, and all.  Overall, much too tightly for Sam’s comfort.  She preferred Lane’s methods.  She handed Sam a few painkillers and left without a word.