Phoenix (8 page)

"Shit," Brad muttered.

"Come on."

They stepped inside and immediately noticed
the smell.

Brad pulled the collar of his shirt over his
nose. "Oh, God. I knew it. They’re dead."

"We don’t know that," Mort said over his
shoulder and inhaled. The corners of his mouth curved up. "Maybe
they just cleaned earlier today."

They ventured away from the door and further
into the living room. It looked perfect, like it
had
just
been cleaned. Mort knew clean, and this was it. Absolutely no signs
of a struggle. Instead of turning on the lights, he drew a
flashlight from inside his coat and flicked it on. He waved it in a
direction and started off, Brad following close behind. So close he
kept stepping on the heels of Mort’s shoes. Each time he did, his
mentor would grunt and throw a dirty look back at him. They
investigated the kitchen, finding it in the same shape as the
living room.

Mort swept the beam back and forth, looking
for anything out of place, anything that could tell him what had
happened here. "Nothing."

Brad took a few steps away and turned. The
skin under his left eye was twitching. "You know, I probably
imagined all that shit, like you said. The Suit probably wasn't
even here. I was just seeing things." He jabbed his thumb toward
the ceiling. "They’re probably up there right now, asleep, and if
we keep creeping around, we’re going to wake them up and Mister
Henderson is going to come down here with his shotgun and blow our
asses off."

Mort raised an eyebrow, pushed Brad aside,
and headed toward the staircase. Brad balled his fists, and
eventually followed.

"That bleach stink is getting stronger."
Brad’s voice was muffled; he had covered his nose again.

"Yes, it is."

They reached the landing.

"See, I told you he killed them. Probably
used Clorox to clean up the evide—"

"
Shhh
!" Mort hissed. His flashlight
was pointed at a door to their left. It was ajar.

Brad’s eyes widened, but he kept still. Mort
tipped his head in that direction, and the pair moved. Mort
couldn’t sense anything in the room beyond, or in the house for
that matter. Other than a very anxious Brad. The older man stopped
just outside and listened. The only sound was the soft patting of
his pen against the fabric of his pants. After several moments of
nothing, Mort toed the door open.

The air rushed from Brad’s lungs. "I told
you!"

The Henderson’s lay in their bed. Quiet,
peaceful, and, judging from the utter lack of anything Mort was
able to read from them, dead as hell.

* * *

Rakburn busied himself with readying his new
location. He preferred heavy curtains over the thin ones the
apartment had, but they’d have to do. He glanced out the window.
From this vantage he could see directly into the precog’s
apartment, into what looked to be three different rooms. It was too
dark to see, but a set of night-vision goggles, binoculars, and a
spotting scope on a stand next to him would serve him well. If he
wanted to, he could spy without aid. However, in order to keep his
cloak in one piece, he needed to remain singular in power usage.
Staying invisible now was more important than ever. This meant
surveilling the old fashioned way: with his physical eyes, instead
of his psychic ones.

At least he hadn’t had to remove anyone from
this apartment.

When scouting for a backup location, Rakburn
had been extremely lucky when he found this one up for rent. The
older gentleman and his wife who lived across from Mortimer had
been unfortunate. Rakburn didn’t care for killing; he felt it was
too messy. He also understood that sometimes it was required. There
had been a time at the beginning of his career when he’d tried
keeping innocents out of his way by simply restraining and stowing
them somewhere. This still left him with the issue of witnesses,
and he’d had to dispose of them anyway.

He sighed and turned away from the window,
again relieved that this location had been vacant.

Up until the meetings had started at the
empath’s home, Briggs had occupied this space. Rakburn had been
told the young precog was of the same priority level as the empath,
but had assumed the older of the two could potentially cause the
most trouble. Because of that, he took up the primary location,
leaving Briggs with the secondary. Things now being as they were,
this was the last viable spot available that would afford him a
view of both targets.

Now he was here, in an empty apartment that
stank of Briggs’ cheap cologne, questioning the wisdom of his
orders and pondering the likelihood of escape if he refused, while
Briggs was keeping an eye on the other local member of this "Book
Club."

"Good evening, Agent Rakburn."

Rakburn started violently and spun around. In
a darkened corner of the room stood a man about his height but
broader across the shoulders. His hands were clasped in front of
him. He stepped out of the shadow wearing a cold smile.

Rakburn’s breath rushed from him. "Sir." He
bowed his head. "You startled me."

The man chuckled. "That wasn’t my intention."
He took a few steps closer. "Though I’d be lying if I said I didn’t
love the hell out of this cloak and dagger thing."

Rakburn returned the smile. "It becomes you,
sir."

The man’s demeanor turned somber. He came
closer and placed a hand on the agent’s shoulder. "What are you
doing, Thomas? You’ve been given your orders."

Rakburn had been expecting this visit. He’d
only received his orders an hour earlier, and already someone had
been sent to bring him in. Except this wasn’t just another agent.
This was a Board member.

Rakburn felt the hand squeeze his
shoulder.

"Relax, I’m not here to hogtie you," the man
said.

It did little to alleviate Rakburn’s
fears.

The man lowered his voice. "They don’t know
I’m here." When Rakburn met his face, he smiled again, this time
softer and more reassuring. "I’m here because I owe you one. Or do
you need reminding?"

Rakburn couldn’t help but chuckle. "So, my
young friend. I saved your life, now you’re saving mine? How cliché
of you."

"Well," the man said, clasping his hands
together again and moving toward the window, his back to Rakburn.
"I’d hardly call it that. You talked me into leaving the
Department. If you hadn’t done that–" He faced Rakburn and
considered his words. After a moment, he shrugged. "I suppose
you’re right. I’d probably be dead if you hadn’t." He clapped his
hands once and laughed. "Yes, I’m here to save you."

Rakburn shook his head, though the smile
remained. "Sam, how did you find me?"

Sam fiddled with the night-vision goggles.
"Oh, you mean your cloak?" He waved one hand. "It’s intact, don’t
worry about that." He held the goggles up in front of his eyes and
turned his head, looking around the room.

Rakburn took a deep breath, telling himself
to stay patient with his superior, even if he
had
known him
since he was a wet-behind-the-ears rook. "Very good, then."

Sam didn’t seem to hear him. Instead he
whispered, "Cool," and replaced the goggles on the stand. He
cleared his throat and forced his attention back on Rakburn. "You
know how the other agents like to talk. The whole lot of you stay
in contact, even if the Board tells you otherwise." He shrugged.
"Can’t be helped. Personally, I really don’t care. An open line of
communication with others in the field is vital to our success.
Wouldn’t you agree?"

Rakburn nodded. "Yes, I would. This is why I
have never attempted to keep my interactions with the others
secret. We function better as a unit."

Sam paced a circle around Rakburn. "So you
would agree, then, that most agents know the whereabouts, or the
approximate whereabouts, of other agents?"

Rakburn took a moment before answering. Was
this a trick? Was he leading him? "Yes, I suppose so."

"Then you need to be very, very careful of
who knows your location. Unless you
want
to be caught
disobeying a direct order." He faced Rakburn and raised his
eyebrows. "And then there’s the fact that I know your habits. Of
course
you’d be at the secondary. Really, Thomas? You’re too
predictable." He patted Rakburn’s shoulder and continued his
pacing. He seemed bored.

Rakburn frowned. "I’m sorry, but why are you
here again?"

"I came here to talk you out of doing
something foolish."

Sam came to a stop in front of the window
again, this time facing Rakburn, arms folded over his chest. He
knew his subtle warning would get across to Rakburn. He was known
by all the agents as the one who was sent in when mind manipulation
was warranted.

The warning had the desired effect. Rakburn’s
shoulders squared as he drew himself up to his full height. He was
an older man, turning frail, but his abilities were as strong now
as they were forty years ago. "That is hardly necessary."

"Isn’t it? Instead of killing your
assignments and ordering your partner to do the same, you set up
shop here, to do what?" Sam spread out his arms. "What, you were
going to stare them to death?"

Rakburn lowered his face. "I don’t believe
you understand."

"Yes, Thomas, I do. I understand we are in
the final stages of our mission. I understand that your assignments
are starting to dig, starting to get a little too curious. I
understand that one of them busted you." His sigh sounded like a
snarl. He put his hands on his hips and approached Rakburn. "I also
understand that you have a very difficult time murdering Psi."

Rakburn looked up.

Sam smirked. "You really think any of us
enjoy that? I know you don’t. How many agents have been placed in
your exact position over the last couple years? We knew when we
started this that we wouldn’t be able to keep
everything
a
secret. It’s too big for the collective strength of the Board to
cloak." He actually ran a hand through his perfectly-combed hair
and walked over to the window again. He stared across the street,
into the window of Brad’s apartment, and whispered, "Can’t hide
everything from psychics, PhoenTek or civilian. Eventually
something is going to slip through."

Rakburn gave this a moment of consideration.
When he spoke again, he chose his words carefully. "But if we are
so close to the end now, why can we not bring them into the fold?
Or let them do their little investigating? It must be too late for
them to interfere?"

Sam threw his hands out to his sides. "Our
seers say it’s not too late."

Rakburn snorted. "And I have it on good
authority that the seers have projected failure for each and every
other scenario. It amuses me that the strongest precogs in the
world can barely predict far enough ahead in time to stay ahead of
those they consider lesser than they. So again I ask you: why
concern ourselves with the rogues? Why kill our own kind if
PhoenTek is doomed to fail regardless?"

Sam laughed. "You’re so dramatic. We’re not
doomed
to
fail
. It just seems that way to you
because of what you’ve supposedly heard. It’s a matter of scale,
really. Our seers are trying to see the
world’s
future.
Every single person interacting, including every single civilian
psi, and you
know
how erratic those shitasses can be. So
it’s much harder for our precogs because they’re casting such a
large net."

Rakburn set his feet and met his friend’s
eyes. He wasn’t going to convince Sam. "Do what you must."

"What?"

"I cannot ask you to risk your own safety."
Rakburn took a deep breath and straightened his tie. "Do what you
must."

Sam chuckled, not entirely surprised. "And
your mind is made up?"

"It is."

"Good." Sam smoothed his jacket and his hair,
then moved close to Rakburn and again took him by the shoulder.
"I’ll buy you some time."

"No—No, I cannot ask—"

"You didn’t. Like I said, I owe you one. Take
care of yourself, Thomas."

And before Rakburn could stop his friend and
protest, he was gone. Slipped out the door without a sound. He
stared after Sam for a long time before coming back to his
senses.

"Right, then."

He cleared his throat and got back to
work.

"Describe again the events leading up to when
you and Mr. Kinney found the bodies, please," asked a detective.
He’d barely glanced up at all during the last two run-throughs.

Brad wondered if there were naked ladies on
that notepad. He pinched the bridge of his nose and said, "I told
you twice already."

"Sir." The detective sounded bored, which
confirmed for Brad that there were
not
naked ladies on the
notepad. "Like I said before, I’m only doing my job. You wanna go
down to the station and give a statement, be my guest."

"No," Brad said and shook his head, "let’s go
through it again." He recounted everything to the detective,
leaving out the Old Suit and the Book Club, and replacing those
with, "We were watching TV and saw bright lights outside, so we
investigated."

As a matter of fact, he left
everything
out, and replaced the truth with a bald-faced
lie. He and Mort had gotten their story straight before the
ambulance and cops showed up an hour before. Calling them had been
Mort’s idea. He’d said it looked like suicide and the cops would
have no reason to suspect otherwise, so they should do the right
thing and report it. Brad was all for leaving the Henderson’s
alone, getting the hell out of that house, and locking up behind
them.

"Alright." The detective flipped his pad shut
and whipped out a card. "If you remember anything else, give us a
call." Brad barely had time to grab it before the cop spun around
to leave.