Origins (Remote) (20 page)

While Thorne was crossing the road Cassie was working furiously inside the shed. Ronnie had found a hacksaw and she used it to cut the hoses on the welding rig. It took both hands to open the valves on the oxygen and acetylene tanks. The escaping gas gave off a low hiss while she worked. Ronnie was running a line of gasoline down the dock to the boat. The hiss of the gas seemed huge in the silence and Cassie worried it would give them away. Ronnie came back in, grabbed another can and began spilling gasoline over the floor of the shed. That done, Cassie grasped the igniter, a spring loaded contraption used to light the welding torch. Squeeze the handle quickly and a small head of flint scraped across a bed of rough steel, creating a spark. Ronnie went out the back window first, helped Cassie through after him. They could hear Thorne calling out to them. Cassie put her finger to her lips. The door opened. Behind the shed there was a foot of dry land. They moved across it to the dock and ran down to the boat at the end.

Thorne rolled into the shed and saw nothing moving. A back window was open. He smelled the heavy scent of gas and another smell, one he couldn’t identify, stumbled across something on the floor. He called out to his man.

At the end of the dock
Cassie was frantically squeezing the igniter, holding it over the gasoline soaked boards of the dock. Nothing was happening. She scraped again and again, the sparks flashing on her face. She turned to Ronnie, tears of frustration on her face. “It’s not working. I can’t get it to light.” Thorne’s face appeared in the window. He yelled again. Ronnie grabbed the igniter, flashed it over the boards. He could see the wet marks on the dock where he’d trailed gasoline out to the end of the dock. The last board was still dripping. He held the igniter underneath the end board, caught a drop of gasoline as it fell. He squeezed again.

Thorne has picked himself up off the floor, making his way to the window. He could see the flashes of light on the boy’s face, couldn’t see what he was doing. It was no matter though. The flatboat had no engine. If he had to he could swim faster than they could get away. He had them. Thorne called out to his man again, his last agent, who was just entering the room. When he turned back to the window there was a line of flame leaping a foot high at the end of the dock. As he watched, it began to race toward the shed.

Ronnie pushed the boat away from the dock as hard as he could. The flames moved faster now, flickers of light that caught, sputtered, and rushed in a straight line back along the dock. Thorne was yelling, another man was coming out the door. He saw them and raised his arm with the gun in it. Too late, he turned to run. The line of flame got brighter, accelerated toward the shore. For a brief moment as Ronnie watched he was afraid the line was broken where the dock met the land. The fire raced toward the end of the dock, hesitated, wavered, and made the leap gaining speed toward the door of the shed. There was a sickening whump sound, a flash, and the shed exploded in the night, a bloom of fire. A wave of heat hit Ronnie in the face as he watched, dry heat and wind and the end of Thorne.

Archer never got the chance to confront Thorne. He would have liked the opportunity to reel in his agent, maybe redirect his efforts in another direction. Instead he was left with picking up the pieces, or more accurately, burying them. The police had been a major obstacle. Few local departments looked fondly on a clandestine operation that involved the kidnapping of their citizens. Even fewer would put up with the death of one of their officers. In the end it had been smoothed over with an uneasy truce. Archer had spoken with the Chief of Police, passing Thorne off as a dead renegade, and giving earnest reassurances that nothing of this nature would occur again, along with a hefty financial subsidy for new equipment and training, courtesy of the Department of Defense. The newspapers were left in the dark, given a story that would reach the front page and fade quickly. Detective Woods, who had died in the weeds, was hailed as a hero caught in the crossfire between thieves operating in the stretch of weekend camps and an overzealous tenant.

Breed was a different story. Shot in the chest by Thorne he’d been left to die on the lawn but hadn’t cooperated. Emergency units summoned to the scene had stabilized him and hours of surgery left him wretched and in for long recuperation. Archer had paid him a visit while he was still in the hospital. Like most reporters he longed for the big time and Archer bought his silence with a carrot. With connections in both New York and Washington, Breed was slotted for an assignment in Washington, D.C. after his release from the hospital. Veiled threats didn’t hurt either.

The return home of
Cassie Reynold and Ronnie Gilmore was never reported. Runaways are a story, returned runaways are not. Their arrival home was greeted with joy by their parents, a measure of envy by their friends, and complete indifference in the press. It was days after the homecoming before they were able to see each other again. The reunion brought a sense of completion for both of them. The separation had been achingly painful for Ronnie, who spent most his time thinking of Cassie, and resisting the attention of his mother. Their parents were never told the whole story.

During the short hiatus they both had time to think about their future. Ronnie was the most uncertain. His talent, the sense of it, the use of it, was a source of fear for him, akin to grabbing a tiger by the tail. In his heart he knew he would never be rid of the beast. He could only hope to limit its effect on his life.

Cassie was much more resilient. The aftermath had given her time to think things through, which she did mostly sitting in a swinging bench on her back porch, the summer beginning around her. If she had a gift she intended to use it in the way she saw fit, not have it forced upon her. Always a practical girl she saw the opportunity it presented if used in the right way. Her heart gave her another point of view. The ability shared by herself and Ronnie was an unbreakable bond, something that couldn’t be touched or shared with anyone else. She was content with that and thought Ronnie eventually would be too.

When they finally met she had kissed him lightly on the cheek. He hadn’t lost the capacity to blush and she was glad for it. This guy has possibilities, she thought to herself and smiled. They talked of homework and parents, TV shows, and whatever they could before getting down to what they both knew was coming.

“What do you think they’ll do?” Ronnie said. They were once again sitting on the side of the K & B Drugstore, finishing off cold Cokes and watching traffic flow by on the highway. Ten miles further north on that road, Thorne and Woods, and other men had lost their lives. Theirs had been changed forever. After the explosion that killed Thorne they had walked home the whole way, arriving at Cassie’s house exhausted. They hadn’t spoken much on the trip.

“They’ll find us,”
Cassie said. And she was right.

It happened sooner than they thought. They were finishing their drinks when the man walked up to them. He was an older gentlemen dressed in a light brown suit. His grey hair was parted on the left and thinning on top. He had a pleasant smile as he stopped, holding up his hands. Ronnie thought he was going to ask directions until he got a better look. When he recognized him his stomach turned over.

“I think we need to have a little talk,” the man said, smiling at each in turn. ‘You don’t know me but I know the both of you very well.”

“Who are you?”
Cassie asked. But she already knew. She had seen Ronnie go pale.

“Well, let’s just say I work for an organization that’s caused you some problems. I’d like to apologize for that.”

Ronnie was silent, watching. Cassie looked him over, decided he couldn’t do anything here in front of a public drugstore, and nodded her head. “Okay,” she said. The man smiled again. “Let me step inside and buy another round of drinks and we’ll have a nice talk right here. Would that be alright?” Cassie nodded again.

They watched him as he went into the store, just a nice old man in an average suit on an errand. He returned a few minutes later with three Cokes, handed one each to
Cassie and Ronnie, set his on the ground and hiked up his pants legs by the crease, sitting down on the curb and gesturing for them to do the same.

“My name is Archer,” he said, “something I suspect you already know or could find out easily given your abilities. I’d like to suggest a truce, or what you might call an…..agreement.” He waited for a response, got none, sighed, and continued. “There’s considerable interest in you two. Right now I’m one of the few, the very few, who knows exactly who you are and where you can be found. I’m prepared to offer a level of protection in exchange for your cooperation.”

“What kind of cooperation?” Ronnie asked

“Let’s call it an agreement to occasional consultation,” Archer said. “You see, in this world things are always happening. Most of these things aren’t very serious on a grand scale, they blow over very quickly. But every now and then big things do happen. When they do, I’d like to know I can rely on you for advice or information I can’t get elsewhere. It would happen infrequently I assure you.”

“What if we say no?” Cassie asked.

“There are always other ways,” said Archer, “but I’m a man who doesn’t like to go to extremes, and I won’t, unless I’m pushed. Look at it this way. Why be looking over your shoulders every day when you can live without that. Once or twice a year maybe, or maybe not at all, I’ll get in touch with you and ask you to look into something. You live your lives unbothered, I get what I need, and everyone is happy. Not to mention that you’d be doing a considerable service for your country.”

Cassie and Ronnie looked at each other and a message passed between them, one of many that had already passed and many more to come. It couldn’t be gotten away from. It had to be lived with.

Cassie
held out her hand for Archer to shake. “Deal,” she said.