Jaden Baker (59 page)

She came back to the kitchen and put the phone on the counter.

“I have cereal if you’re interested,” she said, opening her pantry, resuming the conversation where they left off. “Cherrios, corn flakes, other stuff.”

“Who called?” Jaden asked, noting the grudging tone in his voice, hoping she did not. He tried smoothing it out. “Friend of yours?” No, still grudging.

She pulled a bag of cereal from the pantry, then got two bowls. She apparently didn’t notice his temper. “Client.” She poured a bowl for herself and one for him, then retrieved the milk from the fridge.

Was she going to tell him they were having lunch, or leave him hanging?

“Is he a long time client?” Jaden asked, trying to figure out if he should be bothered at all.

“Yep, one of my first. We’re meeting for lunch,” she said, putting a spoon into each bowl. She took a large, crunchy bite, and spun around on her kitchen floor.

“That’s nice of him,” Jaden said.

Libby eyed him for a moment then returned to her cereal. “So I was thinking,” she said, “I don’t have any atlases or maps, but I do have Google Earth installed on my computer.”

Like the footprints on her shirt, “Google Earth” was not something he understood. The only time he was on a computer was at the library to find a book.

“What’s that?” he asked her.

“It’s a program that shows the world. Streets, terrain, anywhere and everywhere. It’ll even show you street views and the current weather. I thought it would help you figure out where you wanted to go.”

Jaden’s insides deflated. He had to go, leave Seattle, escape from Archcroft. And Libby agreed it was a good idea. She would help him move away forever. She didn’t want him to stay.

“Are you still planning on going, or are you going to stay and fight them?” she asked, watching him.

He didn’t know how to fight Madrid. They would be smarter this time, sneak up on him when he wasn’t aware, snag him from behind. Maybe the device in his head was how they controlled him, and all they had to do was flip a switch and he was theirs. Just an object.

“I can’t fight, I have to run.”

Her face was hard to read. Libby’s bright blue eyes were blank, her lips rigid and stern.

“Okay. Well, before I go out for lunch I’ll show you how to use the program.” She turned her back on him and finished her cereal, then put the bowl in the dishwasher.

There were more wasps in his stomach than before, stinging every part of him.

“You think I’m a coward,” he said, his voice hollow.

Libby turned, frowning.

“What?”

Jaden swallowed and stood straight. “You think I’m a coward for running. You think I should stay and fight.”

She took a deep breath and sighed, leaning her hands on her counter, staring down and away from him, confirming his theory.

“I think,” she began, tapping her fingers, “I think it’s no way to live, running like that. But I don’t know what they did to you,” she said, looking into his eyes now. “I can only guess it was horrible.”

Instinctively, Jaden shoved his hands into his pockets.

“I’m not judging you,” she said. “You need to do what’s best, and only you can decide that. I’ll help you however I can.”

There were things he wanted to tell her, so she would understand why he needed to go. It was horrible, he thought. They tortured me, did unspeakable things. They took away everything I had, wore me down to nothing. I have to run away. Fighting didn’t work, I tried.

But he didn’t tell her. She couldn’t understand, and he didn’t want her to. Jaden wanted Libby to think well of him, not to pity him or think he was a coward, that he wasn’t brave or strong.

“I don’t want to run,” he said, he had to clear his throat. “But I can’t go back to that. They did things,” he said, and trailed off, shaking his head of the flood of experiences Madrid had put him through. He shut his eyes and gripped the counter with his hands, bringing himself back to the moment, back to Libby’s house.

“Okay,” she whispered, and he watched her smiling gently. “Okay, Jaden.”

Armed with two sketches and a computer generated rendering based on the X-ray of his skull, the Archcroft recovery team fanned out in search of Baker’s home, place of employment, and favorite haunts. Baker was admitted to the hospital with no ID, nothing in his pockets but cash. Madrid knew his quarry was adaptable, cunning, and wouldn’t make the same mistakes twice, or follow the same modus operandi. The less Baker was attached to, the easier it would be for him to run. He’d successfully avoided detection, so wherever Jaden lived and worked was off the grid. There would be no car, no apartment lease, no record of employment.

Anywhere Baker traveled would be within walking distance. For a 25-year-old man, in peak physical condition, that was quite a radius. Based on the evidence from Dr. Clarkson and Nurse Blithely, Baker had come in with a bruise on his temple. Knowing what he did about the array, if Baker sustained a direct hit to his head and survived the impact, he would be suffering from a horrendous headache, further limiting their search area.

Any record of existence would help the team locate Baker. Madrid was certain there was no record. They had to find where he lived. If he came into the hospital clean, that meant he lived somewhere; he did not drift or sleep under a bridge.

“He needs structure,” Madrid said, looking at the map of the city, a team of people behind him, some for searching and interviewing, others for the actual physical recovery. It was important Madrid lead the effort, his team had to know who and what they were up against. Most of all, they couldn’t leave any evidence of their search along the way to tip Baker off.

“His whole life has been chaotic and disorganized, it’s all he knows. He’ll keep himself busy, creating the chaos if necessary. He feels uncomfortable with stagnation, but will seek something concrete to anchor to. One thing has been constant, he’s always had a place to live, somewhere out of the weather. Up here where the weather changes hourly, he’ll have shelter of his own. He wouldn’t risk companionship or exposing himself. He’ll live alone.”

The drugstore was the center of their search bubble. With a headache and no mode of transportation, Baker could not have come from more than a few miles away. All residential areas were ruled out. Neighbors were nosy. Jaden would live somewhere more private and empty.

“Search south,” Madrid said, looking at the business district near Harbor Island. “Keep your ears open.”

Loren Dillard pointed toward the island on the map. “We’re checking the local business for any hired hand off the books. Our story is we’re looking for a fugitive.”

“A quiet one,” Madrid muttered in his gruff voice. “He won’t seem the type. Tell the people you talk to he’s reserved.”

“Even though he has killed,” Dillard reminded.

“Oh yes, he has. Be careful. There’s a small chance he may still be in the city. If he knows you’re close, he’ll feel cornered and strike. He won’t need to do anything theatrical. A psychokinetic can do anything. He’ll have control of your organs once you’re within range. Killing you would only be too easy.” Madrid surveyed his team. They seemed calm, as though they thought Madrid exaggerated, like an overly enthusiastic professor at the start of term. They needed to know the person they hunted was extremely dangerous in ways they couldn’t fathom. Not an easy idea to swallow.

“So if we do see him, how should we take him?” asked Dan Rutherford, a middle aged man with a bald head and pot belly. Madrid had selected a team that could blend in, no one extremely physical because it didn’t matter how strong someone was, the boy was stronger.

Madrid removed protocol handbooks from his briefcase and handed one to each of the fifteen people in the conference room.

“We experimented with behavioral conditioning. In the process, we made some modifications that enhanced our level of control, and implemented different luring and control methods. One was radio,” he said, and he dispersed tiny radios to each recovery partnership in the room (the searchers would go out in teams of two). “He’ll respond to a certain low frequency. The risk here is high, and was used for extreme measures only. First, you have to get close enough for him to receive the signal.”

“How close?” one of them asked.

“Ten feet,” Madrid said, and correctly interpreted the alarm on their faces. “Anything stronger could harm him permanently. If you get close and can disable him, his brain will temporarily set into a ready mode as he waits for his next command. The radio is a stop gap, so if you have disabled him, you have to give him the correct command to make him sleep. If you can’t give the command within three to five seconds, his brain reengages and he proceeds as if uninterrupted.”

Dr. Sam Hull, the leading engineer for the technology, followed up to Madrid’s brief instruction. “We did it for safety reasons. If, on the off chance he did come in contact with the correct frequency and shut down, we couldn’t have him standing there like a drone until someone woke him. It was dangerous for him to be so vulnerable. The brain wouldn’t allow us to expand the time, anyway. As soon as he shuts down, you have to issue the correct command to put him to sleep.”

“What happens if we don’t make the time?” a young woman asked.

“He may or may not notice,” Sam answered. “If it’s only been a few seconds he may shake it off and disregard it. But given he knows we’re looking for him, it’s better for you to memorize the safe word.”

“The safe word is in your file,” Madrid continued. “Along with a pronunciation guide. I suggest you practice before looking for him.”

Dan Rutherford spoke up again. “You’ve tested this on him? We’re not going to get killed if we follow this exactly?”

Sam answered: “Yes, we tested extensively, but never trusted the handling staff at the lab with the technology, due to problems we had in the past.”

“We’ve cast the lures, targeting the Seattle area, though I doubt they’ll work. We’ve broadcasted them nationally for the past ten years and he’s never called himself in. He’s avoided radio and television all this time, further proof that he’s smarter than we thought,” Madrid said. That Baker knew to avoid any broadcasts was disheartening. It meant he had help, someone whispering instructions for how not to get caught. Madrid didn’t know who or what it was, maybe instinct. The brain had ways to circumvent intrusive methods, and Jaden may be particularly resistant.

Handing over the safe words, revealing how Jaden had been programmed for capture and control was unfortunately necessary for recovery. Only Sam and himself had known, until moments ago, how they achieved such remarkable levels of power over their project. Giving the keys to their team diluted the power, but that’s why he and Sam only revealed the shut down command.

At nine a.m., once the commands had been reviewed, the teams dispersed. Joseph Madrid and Sam Hull stayed in the conference room with a phone line open should either need to be reached. Because Baker had seen both Hull and Madrid, they had to stay hidden.

“What if he took public transportation out of the city?” Sam asked.

Madrid considered it for a moment. “He prefers walking, it’s easy for him to get away. Cars, boats, buses all keep him confined. Walking is the freest form of transport.”

It was high noon when the first call came in. Madrid put the call on speaker; it was Loren. Beeping and the sound of motors polluted the background of the call.

“Just talked with an Elliot Fain,” Loren shouted into the receiver. “He’s a manager for Noble International on Harbor Island, an import and export company. He recognized our rendering, said the worker went by Joel.”

It was their first real lead. Loren continued.

“He worked under the table, not with the union. He did an average of ten hours a day, five days a week. Today is his second day off, and Fain expects him to return tomorrow.”

“He won’t,” Madrid said. “How long did he work there?”

“A few months. He was recommended to Fain from a colleague at a trucking company. It sounds like he’s bounced around wherever he’s needed.”

Madrid smiled. “Jaden was a laborer,” he said.

“Yes, stronger than three men combined, according to Fain.”

“That’s our boy. He’ll live close by if he walked to work.”

“You should come down and talk with Fain,” Loren said. “He has some interesting details.”

Madrid took the suggestion, leaving Sam at the call center.

Harbor Island was an ideal place for hiding. As the car approached the office for Noble International, Madrid made a mental inventory of the ships, the vast number of containers, the intricacy of the operation, like an ant farm.

Elliot Fain was chatting with some of his workers during their lunch break. Madrid approached him and requested they go up to his office for privacy, if it wouldn’t be too inconvenient.

“You run quite a business here,” Madrid commented, taking the seat Fain pointed out to him. “Looks like you’re doing well.”

Fain smiled. “We are. It’s a responsibility, but a great one.”

Loren Dillard sat in a chair opposite Madrid, notepad on his knee, ready to scrawl.

“So you’re interested in hearing more about Joel?” Fain asked.

Madrid appreciated his down to business attitude.

“Yes,” Madrid replied, leaning forward in his chair. “We’ve been searching for him for years.”

“Your assistant said you were private detectives? You with a certain agency?”

“It’s private,” Madrid answered, smirking. “You know how it is. If you don’t mind, I’d like to ask some questions about Joel.”

“Was that his real name?” Fain asked.

Madrid shook his head. “No. We suspect he’s gone by many names these past few years. But I wanted to ask you about what he was like while he worked here. I have not seen him in some time, and I wonder how much he’s changed.”