Deadly Powers (Tapped In Book 2) (8 page)

I knelt down and leaned my head against the hard, cold pipe. Instead of the typical, blissful tapping-in process I had grown accustomed to … I was immediately aware of something odd, something new. As if being physically pulled, manhandled, by strong hands—I was transported past the place where I’d typically spend my mental tapping-in process. I became aware of others—the same beings I had never looked directly at, ensuring they’d stay faceless and leave me alone. Now, heads turned and dark-shaped bodies scurried out of our way. I tried to pull away—to free myself from the being’s grasp. We moved faster as an increasing warble sound pulsed around us; there was a red glow somewhere ahead of us. I reached a hand out in front of myself and felt something thick and viscous, as if we were moving through molasses, and more dark shapes began converging there. And then, suddenly, I no longer noticed others around me here in these blurry surroundings. I realized the pair of tightly gripping hands were now gone. Something in front of me moved—it was getting closer to me. It looked human … no … maybe not human.

Help me, Rob … oh God … help me!

What do you want? What do you want from me?

Look at me.

I am looking at you.

LOOK at me! Really look at me … you must look at me!

He was in my mind … or was it
my own mind speaking?
My heart continued to race.
Why am I so afraid?
I wanted to leave this place—get away from this … this being. I turned my eyes away from the approaching dark shape. Instinctively, I knew not to look into his eyes.
How do I know that?

I have waited so long for this, Rob.

What do you want?

You know.

Who are you?

You know who I am … I am Darwin.

You want your freedom … you want to leave this place?
I questioned.

Yes … will you help me?

The shape, now mere inches in front of me, shifted position. For a fleeting moment I saw enough detail through the viscous surroundings to make out something: it was an eye. I looked away.

You cannot deny what you already know, Rob.

Stop! Get out of my mind.

It’s only a matter of time, Rob … for the transference. You’ll find someone, just as I found you. It is the way. It is time.

No! My thoughts flashed to Pippa, near death, desperately struggling for life. Suddenly, anger rose up in me; fury consumed me. I felt my hands tighten into fists and I stood up tall. I no longer feared this being, this thing that wanted to trade places with me. I would die fighting anyone, or anything, that kept me from rescuing Pippa.

Clarity. The viscous surroundings were taking shape. The being before me was taking shape. I no longer struggled to turn away. I glared at him, my eyes wide open. I moved closer, towering over him. The being looked left and right, and then stepped back.

It is my turn, Rob.

Find someone else.

I have tried … I cannot—

I reached for the being that was not human. I wanted to tear its strangely shaped head from its strangely shaped body. I wanted to kill it.

It is my turn, Rob.

I awoke out of breath, my fingers still wrapped around the red-painted metal pipe. Anger still seethed in me.

I was in my seventh floor hotel room, overlooking Sixteenth Street NW and busy Washington, D.C. beyond. I showered, shaved, and dressed in the starched white shirt I saw hanging in the closet, and a dark gray suit. Polished shoes had been lying side by side beneath. Everything was impeccably tailored to my build. I checked the inside jacket label but didn’t recognize the Italian designer’s logo. Apparently, the powers that be at SIFTR had other plans for me today … above and beyond using a leaf blower and digging trenches. I decided on an old-fashioned Windsor knot and adjusted the light blue and yellow striped tie beneath my collar. Looking in the mirror, my eyes held fast on my forehead.
Who … or what is in there
? Something from my past, or perhaps something looming in my future … was wrangling for my very existence. Would I have to confront this entity every time I tapped in? Would it even be
me
emerging the next time?

There was a brown paper bundle, lying on the vestibule, with a blank envelope affixed to it. I opened it and read the enclosed card:

Rob: Inside you will find a wallet, holding credit cards and one thousand dollars cash. You have a license and passport included as well. You’ll be traveling so don’t forget to grab the suitcase in the closet.

Meet me in the Quill.

Baltimore.

I glanced into the partially opened closet and saw an upright case waiting there.

* * *

I dragged the rolling suitcase behind me and left it with a porter in the Jefferson’s lobby. I backtracked, climbed three steps, and headed down an adjacent hallway—airy, with bright-white painted walls and high-up crown moldings. I passed by the small library, with its collections of hundreds of hardbound books, and overstuffed chairs and couches, and entered the
Quill
.

There are few places that provide such an immediate impact. To me, this is the quintessential man cave—with its indirect lighting, dark wood flooring, mahogany bar and tables—the lounge exudes comfort and luxury. I spotted Baltimore at the far side of the room, sitting at a small table by a window.

I sat across from him, noticing he too was business-dressed in suit and tie.

“You smell better.”

“I’m having the overalls sent to your home as a special gift.”

He ignored my comment, only looking up from his laptop to acknowledge an approaching waitress.

I pointed to Baltimore’s glass. “Same as his.”

She did an about-face and headed off toward the bar.

“I need to talk to you,” I said.

He nodded and finally brought his attention across to me. “Look, I suspect you have more questions. Maybe you feel we haven’t been completely honest—”

I cut him off and leaned in: “Just shut the fuck up.”

He looked at me, startled. “What … what’s wrong?”

“Earlier today, I watched a video clip—watched as Pippa was nearly decapitated. Let me ask you, Baltimore, have you ever watched someone you cared about being garroted from behind? Watched their eyes bug out, blood seep from between their fingertips as the flesh of their throat rips apart?”

His face grimaced. There was true concern in his eyes. “Oh my god. Is she …”

“Dead? No … I don’t think so. It was a demonstration meant for my benefit.”

The waitress returned with my drink and a replacement one for Baltimore’s empty tumbler. I took a sip of the aged whiskey, slowly swallowing the smoky alcohol, which delightfully burned all the way down my throat.

I continued, “Pippa has been taken hostage by Heidi Goertz.”

“As in Leon and Heidi Goertz?”

“Don’t play dumb. This is where you start leveling with me … or so help me—”

Baltimore held up a palm in mock surrender. “Hey, no need for threats. I suspected you’d have questions at this point. I’ll tell you what I can, but first you need to tell me everything that happened. Start at the beginning.”

I sat back and let out a breath. “I need to speak to Calloway. This all revolves around Calloway.”

“That’s not going to happen. He’s … let’s just say he’s dealing with his own set of problems. He’s gone to ground.”

That jived with what Alberto Boccaccio spoke of. Calloway was being hunted.

“You knew that WZZ was back in the picture?”

He nodded.

“You knew about this Order? This power-broker consortium?”

Baltimore’s expression alone said I was stating the obvious. He pursed his lips and seemed to be weighing what he was about to say. “What you’re calling the Order is referred to by ten or twenty other names, as well. It’s not talked about openly. Not if you want to keep breathing.”

“Seriously?”

“The problem is, you never know who it is you are really talking to. Perhaps you’re being tested by someone within the organization itself.”

“So what if you are?”

“I don’t know what you were told, Rob. But now that you are aware of this … this …
Order
… you are at risk. We’re talking about a group so powerful, so influential, that having you—or anyone else—sanctioned is a very simple matter for them. Only a little blip in the organization’s everyday operations.”

“I was told they control government agencies—”

Baltimore’s agitation was clearly growing and he cut me off: “You’re not getting it. They, quite often,
are
those agencies. It’s not like they are a separate, definable group of people. The Order is a conglomerate of highly influential men and women, from all around the globe—from government officials to corporate CEOs to organized crime bosses to …”

“I get it,” I said. “How does one join?”

“It’s by invitation only. One can petition the Order for inclusion, but rarely does someone get in that way. Truth is, most individuals are invited, and even that’s more of a mandate. They want the influence or services you can wield, and they don’t take no for an answer. They can be very persuasive.”

I looked at Baltimore. In light of what I’d told him about Pippa, he quickly realized I already knew about that. “The president … he’s a part of this group?”

“Sure. All presidents are. Comes with that high level of position, on a global scale. But that doesn’t mean James C. Morrison is one hundred percent in their clutches either.”

“And Calloway?”

Baltimore took a sip of his drink. “SIFTR, as you know, is about as obscure and hidden an agency as they come. It was put into play by the president. And Calloway’s not an actual member of the Order, although the invitation has been offered to him. They—the Order, of course—are now well aware of SIFTR. And, furthermore, the lack of influence they hold over that covert agency makes them nervous.”

“So, then is it both the president and Calloway’s intention to bring down the Order?”

Baltimore laughed out loud at that, and then glanced around the bar to make sure he hadn’t brought too much attention to himself. “That would be impossible. The Order’s too entrenched within the global infrastructure. But like any other high-powered organization, who’s at the helm counts … and the leadership sometimes changes.”

“And has that changed recently?”

“Most definitely. How do you think the Goertzes were accepted? For years, the Order was controlled by moderates—something called the Council of Five. Nobody knows who the five are, only that they are among the wealthiest, most influential people on earth. We do know there’s been a shakeup, and several new members have supplanted others. There are new additions within the council too, so I’m not sure if it’s now called the Council of Seven, or Eight, but these new members are tied more to the typical criminal element than, say, to the corporate or government members. A far darker influence, I might add. The president and, subsequently, our leader, Calloway, would like to restore balance—influence events back to the way they were.”

“Is that even possible, considering the level of secrecy involved?”

“Like I said, we don’t know for sure who the members—”

I cut him off, “Rudy Palmolive.”

Baltimore’s jaw dropped. He leaned forward, looking profoundly interested. “How do you know this name?”

I started at the beginning and recounted everything that had happened to me, from finding the hidden chimney trap door in the Lockkeeper’s House, which led to the underground tunnels; to Moritz, the engineer; to Alberto T. Boccaccio, and his relationship to the CIA; Pippa’s horrific near-death experience; and the still-looming threat over me of termination, if I didn’t comply. I also spoke of my own invitation into the Order and, subsequently, the first assignment given to me—kill Calloway. Baltimore had me repeat everything twice when it came to describing the
bird-like man
, Rudy Palmolive.

“We knew of him but not that he was a member. Rob, this changes everything.” He sat back and smiled. “Okay … your itinerary has just changed.”

“That’s fine, just as long as it includes rescuing Pippa.”

“Where am I?” Pippa croaked, immediately regretting speaking. She brought a hand up and probed at the bandage around her neck. Sitting up, she kept her eyes on Mr. Taffy. He sat on an identical-looking white leather couch, with his hands on his lap—fingers intertwined. She looked beneath the throw blanket, now draped over her shoulders, and saw that she was wearing different clothes than her own. She pulled the blanket up higher around herself.

“From New Zealand. The finest … softest Alpaca wool money can buy.”

Pippa rose up and turned around. Heidi was sanding in front of two immense windows. It was dark out, but Manhattan’s skyline lights were unmistakable.

“This isn’t the Chrysler Building,” Pippa said, zeroing in on several recognizable landmarks in the distance. Both the Empire State Building and, farther off—near the Hudson River—the new World Trade Center. Again, she touched her bandage.

Heidi scoffed, “Truth be told, that old building is a decrepit old pit. Everything’s small—doorways, rooms, windows—why, it’s almost a hundred years old, for God’s sake. No, I’m sure Leon had good intentions and all, buying it for me, and the thing is spectacular to look at … but I’d much rather own it than live in it.” She did a modified pirouette and pointed a well-toned sleeveless arm out. “There … that’s the Chrysler Building.”

Pippa recognized the familiar metal spire and nodded. “We’re up so high.”

“Well, that’s what one hundred million dollars buys you on Park Avenue, dear. These condos start at ten million each.”

Pippa stayed quiet. She was fairly certain the condo wasn’t Heidi’s—that she was only posturing, as usual.

“Don’t you have something to say for yourself, Mr. Taffy?” Heidi said.

For the first time, Taffy moved. His chin tilted up several millimeters and his eyes found Pippa’s.