Deadly Powers (Tapped In Book 2) (9 page)

“I’m very sorry, Ms. Rosette, for the discomfort I caused you.”

“Discomfort? That’s what we’re calling it? You nearly killed me by decapitating me with a wire.”

“You were in no danger of dying,” he replied, matter-of-factly.

“Fine. You were only following orders, anyway. Isn’t that right, Mr. Taffy?” Pippa was addressing Taffy, but her eyes were on Heidi.

“Now, now, Pippa, that’s all over. Nothing like that ever has to happen again. We can go back to being friends … true BFFs,” Heidi said, showing her a toothy smile.

“What now? What are you going to do with me? Do I remain a captive indefinitely?”

“Captive? Hardly.” Heidi came around the couch and sat down next to Taffy, across from Pippa. “You are free to go. In fact, my personal jet will deliver you anywhere you desire, even back to Kingman, if that’s what you want.” She’d said the word Kingman in an exaggerated, disgusted, tone.

“Uh huh.”

Heidi leaned forward, resting an elbow on her knee, her small fist beneath her chin. Her silk chemise blouse, with its two thin spaghetti straps, was draped open just enough to expose the tops of her two perfectly proportioned breasts. “I’m being honest with you. But then again, I believe that once you fully understand the situation, Pippa, you’ll prefer to stay here … with me.”

Pippa raised a brow and gave a half smile.

Heidi sat back and nodded to Taffy. He reached forward, grabbing ahold of a manila file folder from the marble coffee table between them. Pippa could see that it was packed full of eight-by-ten photographs. He stretched the folder out across the table to her, holding it there.

“It’s for you,” Heidi said. “Go on, take it.”

Pippa did as told and seized the folder from Taffy’s grasp. She brought the folder down to her lap and opened it. She gasped, “No … please no!”

“She looks so happy, doesn’t she? If I didn’t know better, I’d swear I was looking at photographs of you … maybe ten years ago?”

“She’s innocent. Don’t do this, Heidi. Even for you, this is over the top—so diabolical.” Pippa glared at Heidi, but soon couldn’t keep her eyes from straying down to the photographs on her lap. Arlington,
Arly
, was her niece. Her sister’s only child, and the most precious relationship Pippa had with anyone, with the exception, perhaps, of Rob. And Heidi was right; Arly looked more like Pippa than she did her own mother. She had the same long blonde hair; was tall with an athletic build, and her Nordic features, down to the same, slightly turned-up nose, made them look more like twins than aunt and niece. Arly loved her too, and to her parents’ chagrin, she wanted to follow in Pippa’s footsteps and become an FBI agent.

Pippa flipped through the glossy color photographs of Arly. Each one captured her in a different location at different times of the day. One photo of her was in Central Park, sitting on the grass with friends. They were all laughing, enjoying a casual summer afternoon. Another one caught Arly in the evening; she appeared dressed in a miniskirt, entering a nightclub. Another showed her sitting at a small desk, a stack of books placed off to the side, studying. The photo was grainy, shot from a telephoto lens somewhere below, but Pippa recognized Arly’s small Brooklyn apartment. There were many more photos, but Pippa closed the file.

“I want you to look at them again, Pippa. Only this time notice the man positioned nearby.”

Pippa let the folder fall open and arbitrarily lifted one photo out. It was the Central Park scene. She brought the photo closer and scanned the image. Off to the right was a dark-haired man, wearing a white windbreaker and sitting on a blanket, looking directly into the camera lens. Now that she noticed him, he indeed looked out of place. She chose another photo and held it up close to her face. This was one she hadn’t seen before. It looked to be early morning and showed Arly jogging in the city somewhere. It took Pippa several seconds to spot him, but there he was in the distance, standing in a storefront doorway. It was the same man, wearing the same white windbreaker. She grabbed up another photo and saw it was a companion image to the one of Arly sitting at her desk, only a wider view. This one showed several adjacent apartment windows, sited to the left and the right of Arly’s own. Pippa brought the image closer, nearly touching it to her nose. There, to the right, she spotted Arly’s next-door neighbor; he was pulling the curtains apart, and again, it was the same man, still wearing a white windbreaker.

“He has only one job in life. He’s been well paid … over a million dollars.”

“To do what, exactly?”

“To never … ever … let her out of his sight. He knows where she is at all times. She, Pippa, is his life. And with one call, her life ends.”

Pippa was doing everything she could to keep her breathing rate steady. She wanted to jump from her seat and beat Heidi to death with her bare hands. “What do you want from me? What will it take for you to leave her alone?”

“In time, Mr. Chandler will come for you. Of course, he will! He and Mr. Baltimore—we want both of them, along with you, to join our organization. We need to garner far more influence within the ranks of SIFTR. It’s really as simple as that.”

Pippa shook her head. “So much trouble. Why go to such lengths? I mean, we’re simply agents …”

“More will become apparent to you in time, Pippa,” Heidi said. “Let’s just say for now that there are certain monumental occurrences, coming soon—well planned and synchronized. We’re talking global-level here, Pippa. It’s exciting and, well, a bit scary too, to be honest. There can be no hiccups. There can be no surprises. SIFTR is but one of several unknown entities we’re addressing. Chandler and Baltimore, and your boss, Calloway, are unpredictable loose ends. So now, let me speak to you about the Order. Just like I recently have done, you too will pledge your allegiance. We will become sisters, Pippa.”

Pippa continued to stare at Heidi, even more certain now that the woman was bat-shit crazy. But she needed to learn more about their Order organization, and the people who ran it. It was time she started thinking strategically and taking control of her situation. She’d play along, do everything she could to keep Arly safe, but she wouldn’t be their puppet, either.

She glanced at Taffy and considered him for a moment. The man was more than a simple henchman—a robot-like thug—at Heidi’s beck and call. He gazed back at her and then looked away. Maybe it was something Pippa saw in his eyes. At some level, he cared. At some level, he regretted hurting her.

Pippa knew Heidi was right. Rob and Baltimore would come for her. And this Order would set up a well-planned trap, so it was up to her to keep things slightly off-kilter—inject the unexpected.

Pippa stealthily unbuttoned a button, and then another one at the top of her blouse. She didn’t quite match in size Heidi’s ample bust, but she, too, had enough cleavage to catch a man’s eye. Pippa let the luxurious Alpaca wool throw fall from her shoulders, as she leaned forward to replace the file folder full of photographs onto the coffee table. In her periphery vision, she could see Taffy’s attention on her … taking in the view.

We were back in Baltimore’s Ford sedan, driving roughly in the direction of the Pentagon and the nearby SIFTR agency.

“What is it?” I asked. I hadn’t seen Baltimore like this before. He was totally immersed in thought and something was needling him. I was in the process of probing his mind when he said:

“We’ll talk later, once we’re below ground.”

We slowed and pulled up to a nondescript guard station. In addition to the man inside, there were four armed guards situated outside—two on each side of the black-striped metal gate. Baltimore was handed an electronic tablet, which he held up before his face. I saw a mirror image of his face on the tablet screen, as facial recognition software confirmed Baltimore’s identity. Next, a zoomed-in image of one of his eyes, a retinal scan, completed the security check. Baltimore passed the tablet over to me and I followed the same procedure.

“Heightened security?” I asked.

Baltimore didn’t answer. The armed men relaxed and the gate came up. It took another minute to reach the brick single story SIFTR building. I’d been here numerous times now, and still found it so architecturally unremarkable I almost didn’t give it notice, which was the whole point.

Entering the lobby, here, too, were added upgraded security measures. In the past, rarely was anyone stationed here, letting the building’s electronics and hidden armament measures handle security. But today, there were several armed guards, holding on to automatic weapons. Again, we went through the same rigmarole with the tablet before we were allowed to progress to the elevator.

Baltimore waited for the elevator door to slide shut and begin its descent below ground before he spoke. “You need to understand something, Chandler—we’re
it.
” He gestured with an open hand to nothing in particular around him. “SIFTR … us … we’re the only
clean
agency left.”

“Clean?”

“Autonomous. No one from the Order works within our ranks.”

“How could you possibly know that for sure?” I asked. Before Baltimore could answer, I continued, “It’s the nature of our business. Even if an operative can’t be bought, he or she can still be manipulated in any number of ways.”

“I’m well aware of all that. But SIFTR’s security measures have been doubled—sometimes tripled. Our field agents’ activities are scrupulously tracked, and they can no longer access our agency network without jumping through rigorous hoops. With very few exceptions, even those here at headquarters who’ve undergone baseline verification are still not permitted to leave.”

“Baseline verification? What the hell is that?”

The car slowed, coming to a halt, and the elevator door slid open. “Come this way, you’re about to find out.” We made our way through glass-paned double doors into the agency’s lab and continued past several ultra-clean-looking glass-partitioned compartments. I noticed there were far fewer technicians milling about than usual.

“Here I am!”

Both Baltimore and I stopped and turned, seeing Bridgett Bigalow, SIFTR’s quartermaster—our own version of James Bond’s Q—carrying an armful of clothes, and other objects piled up high.

Ms. Bigalow, in her early thirties, wore thick-lensed glasses, no makeup, and dark hair pulled back into a tight ponytail. She smiled at me as she joined us.

“Hi Rob, really good to see you again.”

I’d always suspected the nerdy, but refreshingly real scientist had something of a crush on me. Now, seeing her schoolgirl-nervous blush—I suspected my hunch was confirmed.

“Good to see you too, Bridgett. Doing some last-minute laundry?”

Her confused eyes looked enormous and distorted behind her glasses. Then she looked down at the stack of items she held and laughed out loud. “You’re so funny. We’ll talk about the stuff I’m holding as soon as you’re done with baseline.”

She brushed by us and strode off without looking back. Baltimore gestured with his chin for me to follow her. We turned down one corridor and then the next, into an area I hadn’t visited before. Bridgett was gone. I stopped and looked behind me, seeing Baltimore several paces back.

“In here … you walked right by me,” sounded Bridgett’s voice in the near-distance.

I retraced my steps and entered a room, dimly lit, surrounded by floor-to-ceiling equipment panels. High tech was everywhere. I could see the top of Bridgett’s head, moving on the far side of a console at the back of the room. When she emerged, she said, “Take a seat, Rob. This won’t take long.”

An open, reclined dentist-type chair was waiting for me, and I settled into it. Baltimore remained standing, but moved back into the shadows.

Bridgett sat on a stool and scooted in close to me. “Listen to me, Rob. This is a totally non-evasive procedure. There are hundreds of censure guns pointed at your body.”

“Guns?”

She shrugged. “It’s what they’re called. They measure every aspect of both your mental state and physiological responses. Please keep your hands on the armrests and stay as still as possible. I’m going to ask you some questions; you just need to answer them as honestly as possible. Do not think before answering—I’m looking for natural responses—what first comes to mind. I’ll need to ask you a few obvious yes or no questions in order to create a baseline.”

“Wait … this is a lie detector?”

She glanced around the room and wobbled her head back and forth. “I guess you could call it that, but this newer technology is incredibly advanced. It all but reads your mind, Rob.” She smiled. “So best keep all those dirty thoughts about me hidden away.” She laughed out loud again, far too loudly, then scooted back away. She gave a nod to Baltimore as she again disappeared behind the console at the back of the room.

I was suddenly uneasy. How much of what she’d just said was actually true? Could this newer technology detect my mind-reading abilities? I immediately discounted that as being almost impossible.

I heard an amplified voice come from a speaker above me. “Rob, okay … we’re ready to start. Are you comfortable?”

“I’m good.”

“Yes or no, Rob.”

“Sorry … yes.”

“Rob, do you currently reside in Kingman, Arizona?”

“Yes.”

“Rob, do you have blue hair?”

“No.”

“Rob, did you arrive here today with Curt Baltimore?”

“Yes.”

“That’s good, Rob. We’ll get started now.”

“Rob, have you had any direct contact with an agent, or with any personnel associated with the organization commonly known as the Order?”

I hesitated before answering. “Yes.”

“Other than Alberto T. Boccaccio, have you had any other contact with the Order?”

“Yes.”

I saw movement in the shadow, where Baltimore was standing.

“Whom, specifically, have you been in contact with?”

“I was shown a video clip intended for me … from Heidi Goertz.”

“Anyone else?”

“No.”

“Rob, are you working, even indirectly, willingly or unwillingly, for the Order?”