Something Bad (44 page)

“Good morning, Mr. Petersen. Surprised?” Thibideaux stood, leaning his right arm on the seat of his chair. To his left was a man dressed in a dark pinstripe suit, white shirt, dark tie. “I said you wouldn’t get another chance.”

“How did I get here?” Gabe said.

“You drove. Look out front. There’s your truck.” Thibideaux pointed out one of the front windows.

Gabe tried to scramble to his feet, but Thibideaux extended his left hand and Gabe’s feet went out from under him. He came down on his left side, stirring the pain in his knee and ribs.

“Don’t move,” Thibideaux said. He turned to face the Councillor. “I suppose you’re going to stop me, or did you come here to remind me of my recent failure? Both, right?”

“I’m here because the Organization wants me here. You may want to re-think your plans.”

“I know I failed,” Thibideaux said with an air of impatience. “I under-estimated this simian.” He pointed in Gabe’s direction. “It won’t happen again, particularly since my secondary target is his child. Now I know who I’m dealing with, so I’ll get him out of the way before he can interfere again.”

The councillor stepped forward. “That’s not the Organization’s way. You know that.”

“But it’s the way in the field. You’d know that if you ever had to work out here.” Thibideaux shouted, but his voice came out as a high-pitched northeasterner. “I have to make sure I get this secondary. I can’t take any chances.”

The councillor remained calm. “How much do you know about this secondary? Have you researched it?”

Thibideaux spun around to face the councillor. “I looked into it.”

Gabe leaned up so his vision was vertical instead of horizontal. The two men were only a foot-and-a-half apart. The suited man towered over Thibideaux.

“Then you know this man and Ms. Wanna Petersen aren’t brother and sister?” the councillor said, pointing Gabe’s way. “Ms. Petersen’s father was Mr. Gabe Petersen’s uncle Raymond. He and his wife were killed in an automobile accident on the way home from the hospital after Ms. Petersen’s birth. Gabe Petersen’s parents took in their infant niece and raised her as their own.”

Thibideaux’s hands balled into fists and he stared at the councillor. He didn’t say anything for what seemed like a century to Gabe. Thibideaux leaned against the chair again.

“Children of first cousins still make excellent CSCs. It’s a high priority. I have all the paperwork. It’ll probably become a provost.”

Gabe squeezed his trunk muscles but his voice came out weak. “Not my cousin.”

Both men turned to face Gabe. Thibideaux raised his left arm but the councillor caught it with his hand.

“What did you say?” the councillor said. “Speak.”

Gabe pushed up on his elbow again and took a deep breath. “Neither of you did your research. Wanna’s not my cousin. Her momma was pregnant before Uncle Ray married her. She wasn’t Uncle Ray’s. Her daddy’s last name was Wanna.” He leaned back down—his chest hurt when he leaned up.

“So the pregnancy isn’t from siblings, or even cousins? You’re not related?” the councillor said. He lightened his grip on Thibideaux’s arm.

“No pregnancy, either,” Gabe said.

Thibideaux took a step toward Gabe. The councillor stayed at the little man’s side, but his eyes were on Gabe, not Thibideaux.

Thibideaux’s voice was almost as high-pitched as a child. “What do you mean there isn’t a pregnancy?” His voice rocketed into a scream. “I made it happen in the hayloft. I was there.”

Gabe reached in his jacket pocket and pulled out a circular disk. He slid it on the floor, over to the men. “Birth control pills,” he said. “Been giving them to her since before the hayloft. One every day. She thinks they’re vitamins.” He looked up at Thibideaux. “The vitamins you told her to take.” He expected an explosion, but instead he heard a child-like giggle. He looked up. It was the councillor whose face projected hate.

Thibideaux turned to the councillor. “You’re feeling it, aren’t you? Now, you know what it’s like. You want to kill him? Be my guest. Now you know what it’s like to be in the field. How does it feel? How do you like it?”

The councillor shook his head and turned away.

“Come on,” Thibideaux said, his voice back to southern drawl. “We can do him together.”

“No,” the councillor said. He turned back to face Gabe. “The Organization doesn’t allow it.”

Thibideaux huffed and gave his left hand a backward flip.

Gabe slid backward across the floor. His head stopped his momentum as it crashed into the wall with a thud. Darkness came fast and complete.

“Stop,” the councillor said. “Our work is done in Area Four.” He reached in his pocket and pulled out a cellular phone and punched numbers. Before the fourth beep, Thibideaux raised his left hand toward the councillor, who fell back, nearly losing his balance. The phone fell from his hand. Thibideaux closed the fist and the councillor’s legs seemed to go limp.

The councillor put both hands out straight and pushed in Thibideaux’s direction. Movement in his legs returned. He swung his head to the right and uttered a “Fizzzz” sound. The chair swung around to face Thibideaux. It vibrated, and with a crackling sound, it emitted small arcs of electricity between the arms and the seat.

Thibideaux struggled against the councillor’s invisible force. He seemed to gain strength. The councillor shouted, “Haaah,” and the chair threw a bolt of electricity that landed squarely in the front of Thibideaux’s torso. The oscillating arcs maintained contact with his chest and slowly lifted him so his feet were held six inches off the floor. With the forced levitation, Thibideaux lowered his hands.

“I thought the chair was mine,” he said in the whiny northeastern voice.

“The chair belongs to the Organization, as do you,” the councillor said. “Now let me do what I have to do. We’re through here.”

Thibideaux spoke through gritted teeth. “What do you mean we? I’m the one who’s going to be terminated.”

The councillor kept his hands outstretched toward Thibideaux. “Don’t you remember? Our fates are tied together on this one.” He issued a muffled chuckle. “You shouldn’t complain. You’ll get the quick termination reserved for councillors, not the slow, painful one used on recruiters.”

Thibideaux’s expression changed from a sneer to its usual blank screen and his voice returned to that of a southerner. “If you have to do it, can I ask a question or two first? There’s something I need to know before I go.”

The councillor kept his grip, but softened his expression. “I guess there’s no harm. But get on with it. If I don’t call in the next few minutes, the whole rectory will be demolished and our demise will be on the painful side.”

Thibideaux arched his eyebrows higher than usual. “Was I a CSC?”

The councillor frowned. “I’m familiar with your file. Are you sure you want this information? You may not like it once you hear it.”

“Does it matter now?”

“I guess not,” the councillor said. “Pardon my bluntness. You were the son of a Pennsylvania congressman, a citizen, and a Philadelphia prostitute, a Triple O. In other words, you were a normal primary target. Although normal isn’t a good word for your procurement.”

“What do you mean?”

The councillor turned serious. “Your mother hosted a suite of venereal diseases throughout her pregnancy. You were born almost two months early, at just over three pounds. If it weren’t for the fast action of the Organization, you would have died. My guess is you can thank your mother for your appearance, but maybe for your powers as well.”

Thibideaux paused to digest the information, then he became pensive. He noticed the councillor beginning to relax. “I have another question. Does the Organization appreciate what I’ve done? Have I served the Organization well?”

“Your longevity speaks to that question. You don’t know it, but you’re the oldest of all North American recruiters, past and present. There are some who are older in other parts of the world, but you’re number one in these parts. You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t serve the Organization well.” His expression brightened. “Although I shouldn’t tell you this, I guess it doesn’t matter now.” He paused as if he expected to be struck down before he could forward his revelation. “Your technique for procurement at baptisms—it was so successful, and it increased the success rate in rural areas so much it was adopted as a normal part of the training regimen. It’s named after you.”

Thibideaux flashed a look of calm and stared into the councillor’s eyes. He wanted to prolong the conversation a little longer. “Why have you been arguing on my behalf?”

“I’ve admired your work for some time. I thought you were still of value to the Organization.”

“And that’s it? You thought I was still of value, so you put your life on the line?”

The councillor looked at his watch. “There’s more to it than that. It has to do with my own situation.” He paused. “Obviously, I was a CSC—sixty-four years ago, in the State of Montana.” He paused again. “Was I one of yours? I have a strange feeling I was.”

Thibideaux’s expression brightened. He enjoyed mentally out-dueling a foe more than he enjoyed bringing a foe to his knees with his powers. “If it was Billings, I believe I’m your man.” He had never knowingly encountered one of his own procurements, particularly one of his CSCs.

“Then, can you tell me about my parents? Who were they? Why was I a CSC?”

Thibideaux was excited by the request, for more than one reason. His memory was keen on all of his CSCs. “If you’re the one, your mother was also your sister.” The twinkle in his eye remained long enough for the councillor to figure out the puzzle. “Your father molested your sister, who was also his biological daughter, and she became pregnant with you. What made it even more special—both were citizens. In most cases of incest, the molester is a Triple O. It’s rare to find one that’s a citizen, and even more rare for a pregnancy to result. You were a very high priority for the Organization back then.” Thibideaux became serious. “I thought you’d go higher. A provost for sure.”

The councillor looked down, his face reddened. He reached for his phone.

“I have a final question,” Thibideaux said. “Why did you stop a few minutes ago? You felt the hate, the desire to kill? Why didn’t you finish him?” He pointed at Gabe, who stirred.

The councillor became business-like again. “You know as well as I do that power is only effectively used if it is controlled by logic and reason. It becomes dangerous if it’s controlled by emotion, particularly anger or revenge. This is true of any organization, not just ours. Even though we’ll be departing soon, we still have to think of the Organization to the last second. We owe it our lives. Now, if you don’t mind, I have to check in or we’ll not like the outcome.”

G
ABE STIRRED
. H
E
felt pain. It was dull at first, but it came on stronger and stronger. And the light—it was turning up as if controlled by a rheostat. He blinked, and a regular, red pattern appeared. He tried to lift his head, but it throbbed with pain, and dizziness made the room swirl. Focus on the pattern. His mind was slow, but steady. Bricks? It clicked again. The rectory. The floor of the rectory, at the side of the fireplace. He looked beyond the hearth and saw two men standing face-to-face. One was Thibideaux, but he seemed taller than usual. He could only see them from the knees up, but Thibideaux was only a few inches shorter than the suited man.

The suited man held what appeared to be a phone. He lowered his right arm and Thibideaux shrank back to his normal height. The suited man pushed buttons on the phone, and Thibideaux pointed his right hand at the fireplace and then swung it around to point at the man. With a grinding sound, three bricks came loose from the fireplace, next to Gabe’s head, and flew toward the man.

Gabe watched the first brick tear into the suited man’s left knee, causing his leg to buckle. The second brick crashed into the man’s left hand, removing three fingers and knocking the cellular phone to the floor. The third brick hit the man’s head just above the right ear, indenting the skull with a loud pop. The impact toppled the already wavering man, and he fell to the floor, conscious but disoriented.

Gabe’s head cleared like he’d just jumped into icy water.

“You and all the other councillors are no match for this lowly recruiter,” Thibideaux said, and he extended both hands. A fireball flew toward the suited man, who rolled on his back and put out his right hand. The fireball stopped, mid-way between the two men, but inched toward the prostrate man. He put up his left hand, minus three fingers, and the fireball hovered again.

Gabe leaned up on his right elbow, then went to all fours. He wanted to run, but he was way too dizzy and nauseous. His head pounded with his pulse.

Thibideaux appeared to be straining against the power of the suited man. Gabe could see it in his face. It was like they were in some sort of surreal tug-of-war or arm wrestling match. The advantage was going to the suited man.