Origins (Remote) (16 page)

“Let’s get something to eat,” he said. “A hot dog would go pretty good right now.”

“That was quick,” Cassie said. “I thought you were sick. If you’re feeling that good let’s hit the Ferris Wheel and the Zephyr one more time and then eat. I don’t want you yarking all over the place.”

“Not a chance,” Ronnie said and they went off to ride the rides in the diminishing crowds. Around them parents and teachers had begun to gather their charges, getting them lined up for the trip home. With no wait involved they found themselves at a small hot dog stand less than an hour later.
Cassie found a spot well removed from the parkway and they settled in. She was in the mood to get back to business.

“I’m thinking we call that reporter again,” she said, starting on her food. She chewed slowly, swallowing before speaking again. “Here’s what I think we should do-.” She laid out her plan. Ronnie couldn’t argue and when the food was gone they set off to find a phone.

Justin Breed spent the day by the phone, taking the opportunity to work on a few lesser projects. He worked out his expense report, stretching things a bit, but when he was finished he thought it was fair. His editor would disagree of course but there was enough padding in there to even things up. He wrote a pair of articles on the increasing drug trade downtown and another on the investigation of financial shenanigans of a city council member that threatened to spread even further. His phone rang twice. He snatched it up quickly each time but the call from the kids hadn’t come in by lunch. He ordered out, a cheap Chinese restaurant down the street delivered, and he ate the meal sitting at his desk.

By 2:30 in the afternoon he was worn out from waiting and ready to leave. His day usually began at five in the morning and ended when it ended. He was debating whether to take a nap at his desk, which wouldn’t go over well with his editor, or just go home and wait again tomorrow, when the phone rang.

“Mr. Breed? This is
Cassie Reynold.” The voice came over calm and collected. Whatever troubles this girl was dealing with weren’t reflected in her voice. He found himself admiring her without ever having met her.

“Yes,
Cassie. This is Justin Breed. How are you?”

“We’re fine Mr. Breed.” He caught the “We” in the sentence and was relieved. They were still out there and still surviving. He was determined to get them someplace safe and hear their story. Or at least get her talking.

“Listen Cassie, we need to talk. I’ll try and help you but I need to know what’s going on. Are you someplace safe? Can you talk to me now?”

“Not now but soon. I guess you know where Ponchartrain Beach is? The amusement park?”
Cassie asked.

“Sure,” Breed said. He reached back and picked up his coat with one hand, holding the phone in the other. “Are you there now? Do you need me to come get you?”

“Just listen,” the girl said. “Go into the front parking lot and turn left. Drive all the way to the end of the lot. Park there and wait. We’ll find you when we’re ready.” The phone went dead in his ear. Breed looked at it before putting it down, put on his coat, and headed out the door. His editor started to wave him down, saw the look in his eye, and let him go.

A long fruitless day had Thorne impatient. No net thrown over an area could be foolproof but he was fairly certain his quarry was still somewhere around the lakefront, probably hiding somewhere on campus. They had no access to a vehicle and few options for hiding. Some of his men had scouted the building and back portions of the college, checking behind buildings and in storage rooms and empty classes. But the place was a rabbit warren of offices. There were at least ten buildings all with attics and basements a couple of kids could crawl into and hide. And you couldn’t barge into every room. The teams on the road had come up with a few false alarms and sightings of single kids but nothing panned out. As the afternoon wore on he began rotating his people closer and closer into the campus and surrounding neighborhoods hoping to push them into a smaller circle. When they converged on the back portion of the campus behind the Student Center, Thorne called things off and headed back to his office. He left one team to roam the area and sent the others to watch the kid’s homes. Sooner or later he felt, they would try and reach their parents.

Thorne was not a man entirely blind to the big picture. He knew he was heading into dangerous territory. He also knew that the stakes were large. When Archer found out he’d jumped the gun against direct orders there was no telling what his reaction would be. Just the idea of Archer’s reaction made him nervous. His time overseas had been a string of wins each bigger than the last. Since then he’d built a reputation as a man that could get the impossible jobs done and done well. He was anxious to keep that reputation. More than that Thorne was deathly afraid of losing his edge. One more successful project pushed to completion would make his career and push him into the upper echelons. This was that project. Pulling it off would bring him the kind of power he’d been craving since joining the military. It was why he chose the path he was on. Working in his favor was the fact that Thorne had confirmed the whole idea of remote viewing was possible. It was something no other agent could have done. What Thorne didn’t know was whether it would be enough to keep him alive. Unless of course, he was the only one with access to the kids.

Thorne was still debating with himself when he got back to his office. He hung his coat over the back of the chair and settled in behind his desk. A stack of messages waited next to his phone. The top one caught his eye. The phone taps had been productive, leading him to the kid’s phone calls from the college. The call to the newspaper had been a possible fluke but covering himself was second nature to Thorne. Detailing a man to watch Justin Breed, the reporter who’d covered the initial disappearance and oddly failed to include the violence at the Gilmore house, had been standard protocol. You covered all the angles. Now he was looking at a message from the agent to whom he’d given the detail to watch Breed. It was marked urgent, which meant radio contact, something Thorne avoided if at all possible.

He picked up the message and went down the hall to the radio room. His men operated on a frequency apart from that of local law enforcement. The fewer ears the better. Thorne dialed in his agents contact band and keyed the handset. The reply was immediate.

“Sir,” said the voice from the headset, “I don’t know what’s going on but our boy just pulled into the parking lot at Pontchartrain Beach Amusement Park and now he’s just sitting there. “

“Don’t let him out of your sight. I’ll get some more cars headed your way.” Thorne said. He broke contact, sent out a message for his other units to cover the exits away from the park. This was it, it had to be. He cursed himself on his way down to the car. The damn kids had outsmarted him again. He should have sent men into the park, should have realized they couldn’t have gone too far from the school. Now he had them. Breed wasn’t sitting out there for his health. They were meeting him. It might be necessary to take the reporter too but he could deal with that. In a city the size of New Orleans bad things happened to people on a daily basis. He pulled out from the parking lot, picked up the interstate and headed toward the lake.

Cassie was sitting with her back against the fence surrounding the park. Low bushes in front of her, she could see Breed waiting in his car. Ronnie had slipped along the fence line, covered by the same row of plants, finding a spot near the entrance that allowed him to see the rest of the lot. They had decided to play a waiting game, allowing the reporter to stew awhile. Ronnie felt it was a good bet that Breed could be trusted. Cassie had less faith. She wanted to be sure before they got in a car with anyone. Before they’d split she had made Ronnie give her the pistol he was carrying in his bag, the one he had used to shoot the man in his house. He was reluctant to touch it but she had no reservations. She sat now with the pistol in her hand. There were four bullets left in the cylinder. Just in case.

Just holding the pistol in her hand, the weight, the smell of gunpowder still heavy in the cylinders, gave
Cassie a sense of resolve. She was someone with power now. The idea of being chased and hounded, her family traumatized, sent a cold chill up her spine. It turned into a dry calmness that flooded her veins, then to a steely resolve to end the situation. Sitting on the ground, watching, waiting, Cassie Reynold changed from the hunted to the hunter, a change akin to flipping a card on a table. On one side a 13-year old with nothing on her mind but the next school dance and stealing a kiss from her boyfriend. On the other side, the calculated ferocity of a lioness protecting her young. Cassie felt it, went with it, accepted it.

The parking lot was almost empty now. The school buses were gone. Stray groups came out of the park, families with smaller children, a few couples, and now and then a single person came out to their car. Breed was alone at the end of the parking lot. A few scattered cars lay between him and the entrance. On the outermost row a man was in his car reading a newspaper.
Probably waiting for someone
, thought Cassie,
but maybe not
. The park behind her had gone quiet. Only an employee or two back there moving around, closing things up. She could hear garbage cans banging together and the occasional murmur of conversation. Three teenagers came out of the park entrance wearing uniforms, got into a beat up Pinto, and drove off. Another older man followed shortly after, leaving only Breed and the man with the paper in her sight. He was starting to make her skin crawl. She was picking something up from him. The sun had set a few minutes ago and the park behind them was dark and silent. Cassie picked up her bag and slipped along the fence line, moving up beside Ronnie. She gave him her bag.

“Go down to where Breed is waiting. Stay in the bushes. When you see me step out into the parking lot, get in the car with Breed. Go in on the opposite side. Move fast.”

“Why? What’s going on?” asked Ronnie. He’d seen this look on her face back in her Aunt’s house. He felt the air change around her, like she was giving off some kind of electrical charge. Her mouth was a grim line. Her eyes, usually a deep and inviting brown, appeared now to be coal black. The difference was so startling he wondered if she’d somehow lost her mind. He reached out, putting his hand on her arm. The skin was ice cold even in the warm air. He could see her pulse throbbing in the lower part of her jaw.

“You okay?” he asked. “Listen, we can still try to make it down the seawall. If we follow the bushes we can get down there without them seeing us.”

“Just do it. That guy over there,” she said pointing, “He shouldn’t be here. They know we’re here. We’ve got to get rid of him.”

“How are you going to do that?”

“Go,” she said and pushed the bag at him. “Be ready to move when I come.”

Ronnie gave up, took the bag and began to make his way back along the fence. He reached the end of the bushes and crouched low, staying on his feet, ready to head for Breed’s car. He could see the reporter behind the wheel. Breed tossed a cigarette out the window and a flare of light hit the windshield as he lit another. The place was full dark now, the only light coming from the street lamps along the road behind the lot. Across the field the Student Center was still open. Ronnie could see the second floor sticking up above the line of the levee top, lights in the windows. He watched
Cassie walk out into the open, cross the parking lot, and stand in front of the car. The man put his newspaper down and opened the door.

While Cassie was moving in the parking lot, General Archer was sitting in the aisle seat of an airplane bound for New Orleans. He had spent the better part of three hours waiting for the phone call from Thorne on the latest sessions. All attempts to contact the man had failed. In Archer’s mind it could only mean one thing. Thorne had gone haywire. In his mind it was time to get directly involved. For all his good points, Archer knew Thorne was a wild card, the type of man you sent out when the odds were low but the payoff was huge. Archer had used him many times and Thorne had always come through. But he was unpredictable and best used in a place where the authorities could be bought off, the newspapers owned. Now they were operating in the U.S. and things couldn’t be controlled as tightly as he liked. Thorne’s Wild West tactics were getting out of hand.

Behind Archer, back in the economy section, were two of his better agents. If muscle was needed they would be there though his preference was to keep them out of it. Better he should dangle a carrot in front of Thorne to settle him down. Archer had no illusions as to the kind of man his underling could be. Thorne was a weapon and being a weapon, could turn dangerous if not handled properly. The important point here was that the two kids be kept hidden from any other agency that might find a use for them. Archer took a long view of things. While Thorne was interested in the quick grab and the immediate power, Archer was more interested in the future. He intended to allow these kids to resume their life in exchange for cooperation in the future. Their ability was a weapon itself, a potent one, and should be used sparingly. If there was any hope of that, he wanted to be the one with his finger on the trigger. But first he had to get Thorne out of the way. Archer leaned back, signaled the stewardess for a drink, and began to plan the way ahead.

Ronnie was watching as
Cassie came out into the open. Breed caught the movement too, and turned his head to watch. Carrying the two bags, Ronnie came out from behind the bushes and opened the back door on the driver’s side of Breeds vehicle. He tossed the bags inside, said “Wait here.”

Thorne’s agent couldn’t believe his luck. He immediately recognized the little girl as
Cassie Reynold. They’d been chasing her for two days and she was right here in front of him. He got out of the car. The girl looked tired and scared.
If she’s here
, he thought,
the boy can’t be far way
. Time to wrap things up. Thorne was on his way and it just might be possible to have them both by the time he got here.

“Are you a policeman?” the girl asked. She was a ragged looking little thing, her hair was uncombed, a ribbon on top the only thing keeping it together. Her shirt was dirty. The jeans she was wearing rode on her oddly, pinching at the waist. A dirty streak was on her left cheek and bits of the bushes she had emerged from were caught in her hair.

“Why, yes I am,” he said. “Do you need one?”

“Yes, I think I’m in trouble. Can I see your badge?”

Oh man, this is going to be easy
, the agent thought. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out his ID, held it out for the girl to see. “Here you go.” Cassie looked at it, and said “Do you have a gun?” The agent nodded. “Right here,” and patted his coat over his left armpit. “Do I need one?”

“You might. You see that car over there?” she said, pointing to Breed’s vehicle. Ronnie was behind the car, heading their way. “That man is trying to grab me and my friend.”

He followed her motion, looking over to Breed’s car. He could see the boy behind it. Breed was just opening the door, one foot on the ground. By the time his head came back around she was holding a pistol, her finger on the trigger. The pistol was pointing at him. His stomach turned to water.

“Sorry,” she said, and pulled the trigger. The shot banged out in the air and his kneecap blew away with it, pieces of shredded pants leg exploding, mingled with blood and bits of tissue. He hit the pavement, grabbing for his leg. He screamed.
Cassie took two steps, leaned over and reached into his coat, got his gun. He tried to grab at her, pulled at her head, got hold of her hair. She kicked him in his shattered leg and he screamed again, letting her go. “Tell Thorne we’re coming for him,” she said. She stepped over to the car. The keys were still in the ignition and she pulled them out, putting them in her pocket. There was a radio mike hanging on the dash. Cassie ripped it out and threw it across the parking lot. Ronnie was there now. He took the gun from her hand and put it in his back pocket. Together, they broke for Breed’s car. The reporter was standing by his door with his mouth hanging open. Cassie and Ronnie piled into the back seat with Breed still watching the agent on the ground, blood spreading from his leg.

“Time to go, Mr. Breed,” Ronnie said.

Thorne pulled into the parking lot of the amusement park, knowing he’d been beaten again. he pounded the steering wheel in frustration. His man was on the ground. He cursed to himself and got out the car. He could see the lights of a police car coming down Elysian Fields. Someone at the school must have heard the shots and called it in. Kneeling down, he pulled off his belt and wrapped it around the bleeding leg, pulling it tight.

“What happened?” His agent just groaned. He pulled the belt tighter. The lights were getting closer. He had to get some information now. He slapped the man on the face.

“Listen to me. We’ll have an ambulance here in a few minutes but I need to know what happened. Did the kids show up?”

“That little bitch shot me. Got me looking the other way and shot me in the leg. They took off in the reporter’s car. Goddamn little bitch. I’m going to kill her when we catch up to her.”

“I don’t think so,” Thorne said. “I think she’s smarter than you.” He walked back to his car, got on the radio. It might not be over just yet. The reporter just might make things easier. He couldn’t use the local police to track down the car but he could get into the state licensing system and have his own people watching for it. They’d be looking for a place to hide now. He called back to his office, got people working on the reporter. He wanted to know addresses, family, anything he could find. When fugitives ran they went to familiar places where they thought they were safe. Hotels played into it so he put a watch on Breed’s credit cards. As soon as bills were turned in he’d know when and where. These people would have to eat and they’d have to have someplace to sleep. When they did, and they eventually would, he’d find them. In the meantime he would have to deal with the local police. The cover stories and identities were already in place. Thorne prepared for everything, or at least thought he did. He had to admit, if only to himself, that these kids were unlike anything he’d ever seen.

The wild card in the equation was Archer. Thorne had been declining his calls all night. If he couldn’t find these kids and get them away to a safe house he was a dead man. Just another piece of motivation.

Carl Woods sat behind his desk, the remains of a sandwich laid out in front of him. All around him the detective division was in a swarm of activity. It had been a busy night. A robbery in the French Quarter, a shooting down by the lake, and a domestic violence dispute that had erupted into a murder had the squad stretched thin. Woods had avoided it all somehow. His attention was occupied by several unsolved cases, including the missing children. That one was stuck in his craw. Breeds article would hit the papers the next morning. He would be swamped by media, twisting in the wind with no answers. It was enough to make him wish again for a nice clean drug killing.

He dialed Breed but got no answer at the paper, tried his home phone with the same result. A detective wandered in, sat at the desk next to his and pulled out report forms from his desk. Woods got up and headed for the coffee pot. He couldn’t remember the detective’s name for a second, caught it as he turned back, Parker. Drew Parker, he’d just come into the division a month or so ago. Woods hadn’t worked with him yet.

“Parker, I’m going to get a cup of coffee. Want one?”

“Damn right,” Parker said. “I’m going to be here all night trying to dope this one out.”

“Tough one?” Woods asked.

“I don’t know,” Parker said. “It shouldn’t be. I caught that shooting out by the lake, you know? It looked simple. The guy’s in the parking lot at Pontchartrain Beach, says he pulled in to go over his appointment book. His story is that some guy tried to rob him and he ended up getting shot in the leg. But it doesn’t add up.”

“Why’s that?” Woods asked. He wasn’t making any progress on his cases, he figured, he might as well see if he could help out the new guy.

Parker pushed his papers to the side. “Let’s get that coffee and I’ll tell you about it.” The two made their way down to the snack room. Woods pushed quarters into the coffee machine, punched the buttons. They found a table and sat down. Parker rubbed his hand over his face, blew on his coffee. His notebook came out and he flipped it open.

“The story we got from the victim is bullshit. I know it. We get there and the guy’s on the ground. There’s another guy there that says he was passing by, saw the victim on the ground, and stopped. But here’s the thing. After the ambulance came I looked in the victim’s car. The keys are gone and he says the robber took them. There’s also a radio in the car. The mike is lying in the parking lot about 30 feet away. So why did the guy take his keys and not the car? He wasn’t going anywhere with a blown up leg. That’s another thing. Why shoot him in the leg? A guy with a gun shoots you in the chest doesn’t he?”