New Markets - 02 (3 page)

I watched his mindview as he thought of this morning as she grabbed a bagel and orange juice, kissed him on the cheek while he skimmed the paper, and ran to the door.  He said, “I saw her this morning.”

Her mother, Aimee, interrupted, “I have a picture here.”

I held up my hand, “Thank you, ma'am, I won't need it.  Your husband has a more current memory of her from this morning, wearing her orange short jacket and black skirt.  I've got a very good visual of her now.”  I tapped my temple as I said that.

Mr. Lieberman said, “You ... you read my mind?”

I looked off to the side as I thought for a moment and said, “I ... yeah, pretty much.  It's why I'm here, to read the mind of the kidnapper you ought to have in custody, and find out where they are holding your daughter.  Speaking of ... what's the status on capturing him, Agent Willman?”

He said, “We ought to have him here soon.”  He actually thought that his men had the man trapped, but couldn't get to him because the man shot at the agents.

I sighed.  “It doesn't help to lie to a telepath, Agent Willman.  What's the address they have him trapped at?  I'll go help; I can take being shot if I need to.” 
Not that I
want
to get shot, but a few minutes of pain will be worth getting their daughter back sooner.

He stared at me for a moment.  He thought of the location and debated on telling me.

I said, “Thank you, call your men and tell them I'm coming to get this guy out.  Zena doesn’t deserve being in some creep’s custody any longer than she has to.”  I was cranky from being woken in the middle of night, and just didn't feel like putting up with people who wanted to do things slowly, or lie about not doing them.  I didn’t understand why they wouldn’t want to do everything to get Zena back as soon as humanly possible.

I walked to the door, opened it and said, “I'll be back soon.”  Out on the lawn I tapped in the address on my phone to get a distance and direction. 

Agent Dunsworth walked out to me.  “What the hell?  You're going to just go over there and try to capture him yourself?”

I glanced up at him.  “Pretty much.  Why?”

“How do you plan on capturing him?  You don't even have a gun.”

“I thought I'd bust in and rush him to take his gun away.  Once I do I'm pretty sure he'll be a pushover.”

“Jumping into another agency's investigation and trying to just take over won't win you any friends, you know.”

I rolled my eyes and sighed.  “You called me, Agent Dunsworth, and a note is in my file to not call unless someone has already been captured to mind read.  Your team already failed to follow directions, and at this point it may take who knows how long to get the guy out.  That assumes he doesn't shoot himself in the head or something.  I'm tired, and I want to get their daughter, Zena, back as soon as possible.  So I'm not taking anything over, I'm just expediting, okay?  It's your bust, I just want a girl home safe, and to go get some sleep.  I have a horrible day to look forward to tomorrow, err, today.”

“Why is that, can you see the future too?”

“No.  Power apparently comes with a price.  Mine is having problems around large groups ... like at college.  I can't even sit in classrooms anymore.”

“What?  Wait, are you a new super?”

“Yes I am; why do you ask?”  He immediately worried about my chances of finding out what they needed to know.  I waited for him to put the question into words.  I felt pretty sure I’d already pushed their limits.

“Are you sure you can find out the information we need?”  He looked skeptical.

“I've done this several times already.  I can go in and pull out memories that I want.  It's stressful at times, and makes me hungry, but it helped my team save a dozen people yesterday.  I need to go help with this guy, I'll be back soon.”

I stepped on my imaginary air step and pushed, which caused me to begin floating upward.  I consulted the cell phone's mapping software, then jabbed my knee up and shot into the air.  Leaves rustled in the yard from the small vacuum I’d created.  I flew over the suburbs to an office complex; apparently, they had the kidnapper trapped in a four-story office building.  The area outside had a group of police and F.B.I. vehicles in the street.  I flew down and landed just inside the tape barrier the police had strung up.

Costumes must make a difference, the officers watching the tape borders didn't even ask me who I was or challenge me.  I walked to the cluster of men standing next to some kind of F.B.I. command van.  There were six men standing together.  I noticed that almost none of the mindviews looked at my face.  They almost completely covered my normal vision; that was an annoyance.

I said, “Hi guys.  Which room is the perp in?”

I watched their mindviews as they wondered who I was, why I was there and who called in a super until I found the tactical leader.  He flashed a memory of the building map and the route his men would take.  The man had taken refuge on the third floor in a room at the end of a hallway.  The room had a door with a window, which helped provide him cover to shoot at the agents attempting to get to him.  Since they were under strict orders not to injure or knock out the man, it had eliminated most of their tactics.

Several of them began speaking at once.  I debated just flying up there, but even as grouchy as I felt, my better judgment told me to at least speak with them first.

One of the F.B.I. Agents spoke over the rest, “Who are you and why are you here?”

I answered, “I’m Psystar.  I was called in to interrogate the man you were supposed to have captured already.” 
Okay, I couldn’t help but rub that in a little.

That line visibly irritated several of them. 
Yeah, well, welcome to the party.
  One of the tactical men thought in no uncertain terms that as a young woman, costume or not, I didn’t belong there.  Another thought that I would screw up their tactical operation. 
That kind of thinking doesn’t help a person in a grumpy mood, you jerks.

The tactical leader said, “We’ve got the man boxed in.  If you are here for the interrogation, we’ll notify you once he’s been apprehended.”

An F.B.I. agent jumped in, “Wait, she’s a super; it might work best to have her go in.”

The tactical leader replied, “I’ve already got men in there.  We’ll handle this, without her getting my men injured.”

I said, “No.  You’ve delayed long enough.  I’ll go in myself, where is he located?” 
Not like I didn’t already know, but they might feel better sharing…

He replied, “You haven’t been briefed with my men, we’ll handle the extraction.”

“Bruce, is it?  You’ve had at least twenty minutes to do that already.  If you guys want to be difficult, then fine.  Call your men and tell them not to shoot me.  I’m flying in through the window and getting this guy now.  Stop worrying about whose sandbox we’re playing in, and just help get the guy, okay?” 
I know I’m being cranky, but I just can’t shake being annoyed at these guys for waking me up when they damn well know to have the suspect before calling me.  They are far too interested in who gets the credit for capturing this guy as well.  Why does credit matter?

I step-pushed several times to take flight quickly.  Then I flew alongside the third floor until I heard the mass of mental speech that went with the officers or agents down the hallway from the man.  That allowed me to locate the room with the perpetrator easily enough, and I kicked up some speed to fly around the building to a window on the far side.

This will be easy enough.  Fly in fast … but not
too
fast, smash through the window, quick slow down, then grab the guy’s gun and manhandle him to the ground.  Call in the tactical boys to tie him up and we’re good to go.

I aimed for a window in the far room, put my right arm and shoulder forward to take the blow, and slammed into the window.  The glass didn’t give as easily as I expected it to, and slowed me down a lot.  The impact alone really hurt, and shards of glass cut into my face and shoulder as I burst through the window.  Glass fragments exploded into the room. 
Ow!  Real glass is a
lot
harder than it looks in the movies.

A mindview appeared, and a spray of bullets struck me in my right arm, right shoulder, breast, and along my abdomen.  That hurt … a lot.  I cried out from the pain and surprise of being shot multiple times so quickly. 
So much for easy….

I spun my left foot forward to slow down and flew into the man.  I aimed for his right hand, but missed and grabbed his right shoulder with my left hand.  He let loose another burst from his submachine pistol directly into my abdomen.  I grunted as the bullets tore into my stomach and bent me over.  The pain was intense.

My momentum forced him backwards, he screamed something, and I grabbed for his gun hand.  I forced his arm down, but couldn’t get a hold of his arm.  He squeezed the trigger one more time, causing several bullets to spray into my left thigh before I finally had his right wrist in hand.  I cried out as my body was wracked with pain. 

I slammed his hand with the gun into the wall, hard.  Another burst of bullets sprayed out as his hand struck the drywall, ricocheting off the walls and ceiling.  The bones in his hand and wrist shattered from the impact with the wall and the man screamed in pain.  He punched me in the jaw with his good hand.  I was still airborne; the punch caused me to float backwards slowly.  Large black spots clouded my vision.

Pain from all the bullet wounds kept me doubled over in the air.  I coughed up blood.  I needed to get him out of the fight, but it was so hard to focus.  Another burst rang out from the gun, and I spun about from another hit to my right arm while floating.  I slowly spun in the air as I coughed out blood from the chest wounds.

The pain was extreme, and I wished Rael were here.

My vision went dark, and the last thing I saw were several mindviews appear, and then disappear as I lost consciousness.

Chapter 2 – Brash Youth

Stephanie’s Viewpoint

I awoke moaning in pain.  Two people hovered over me.  Their mindviews quickly appeared and showed them putting bandages on the many gunshot wounds.  My body ached all over, and I had some kind of mask over my mouth.  I sat up, and one of them attempted to push on my left shoulder to force me to stay down.  He wasn’t strong enough, and he gave up after a moment.  It felt like a child pushing at me.

I looked down at myself.  They had pulled up the shirt to cover only my breasts, and bandages covered my abdomen, leg and arm.  I pulled off what I assumed was an oxygen mask.

The paramedic said, “You need to lie down, you’ve been shot quite a few times.”  He was an extremely tall man, with medium blue eyes and short wavy, sandy brown hair.  He had to be in his thirties.

It felt like I’d been shot many times.  I grimaced and moaned slightly from the pain in my left leg, abdomen, chest, shoulder and right arm.  I wondered what he hadn’t hit.

He said, “I gave you a shot of morphine, it should help with the pain.”

It certainly didn’t feel like I’d been given any pain killer, my body hurt all over.  Between clenched teeth I said, “Either it’s not working, or I’m in a ton of pain.”

“You might be resistant to it; I've heard that some supers are.”

“Wonderful, I didn’t know that.”

A tactical officer in black body armor and carrying a rifle slung over his shoulder knelt next to us.  “That was a pretty dumb thing to do, kid.”

I grimaced again and tears ran down my face.  “Gee, thanks.  Ow.  Did we get him awake?”

“Yeah, we did.  He ran out of bullets on you and couldn’t reload one-handed in time.”