Involuntary Control (Gray Spear Society) (12 page)

"We just wanted...," Bethany said softly.

"...the truth," Leanna said.

"Just?" He stood up and slowly walked towards them. "Truth is the most powerful thing in the universe. It can transform lives. It can topple empires. It can strip away the veil that protects us from the things we were never meant to see. You have to be careful when you seek the truth because you never know what you might find."

He grabbed one of the tables and pulled it over. Computer monitors went black as they smashed into the ground. Looking at the tangle of wires and broken equipment made Bethany feel ill.

He drew a gun from a holster under his shirt. "Two Satin sisters are too many," he said grimly. "It's like critical mass in an atomic bomb. One of you has to go. Who will it be?"

He swung his gun back and forth. Bethany clung to Leanna as tightly as she could.

"You decide!" He pointed the gun at Bethany. "Should I shoot you or your sister? It doesn't matter to me."

She shook her head.

"Yes? No? Use your words!"

"Me," she squeaked. "Shoot me." She couldn't go on if she were responsible for her sister's death.

He turned the gun towards Leanna. "Is that all right with you? Should I let you live?"

"No," Leanna said. "Let her live. I'll die."

"Come on, girls. I won't kill both of you."

"Me," Bethany said.

"No," Leanna said, "shoot me."

"This is ridiculous!" Aaron roared. His veins throbbed in his temples.

Bethany had never been this close to death before. It was like a presence standing behind her, dark and hungry. She was afraid to turn her head.

Aaron accidently stepped on one of the broken monitors. His foot slipped out from under him, and he fell awkwardly onto his face.

She saw her opportunity. With the table out of the way, she could just reach the revolver under the hem of his pants. She threw herself forward even though her ankles were still chained to her chair. The metal cuffs dug into her skin. She grabbed the revolver and fumbled with it for a second before pulling the trigger. She wasn't sure where she was aiming, but Aaron was right in front of her. It was impossible to miss him.

The gun clicked harmlessly.

"No bullets." Aaron calmly stood up and straightened his clothes. He gently lifted her back onto her chair.

She stared dumbly at him. "Why?"

"When you write software, you test it. Right? You make sure it behaves as expected under realistic conditions."

"Yes."

"I was testing you." He took his gun back and sat on the recliner again.

"Are you going to kill one of us?" Leanna said in a weak voice.

"Not a chance." He shook his head. "You can relax. I'm sorry I scared you so badly."

"You're not mad?"

"I'm delighted! Both of you stayed focused. You protected each other. When your opportunity to fight back came, you seized it. Well done!" He clapped enthusiastically.

Leanna abruptly vomited onto the floor. Bethany held her until she stopped heaving.

"So much for breakfast," Aaron said dryly. "Let's get back to the truth. I think you've earned it. Do either of you believe in God?"

Leanna was in no condition to respond, so Bethany said, "I guess somebody had to write the operating system for the universe."

He laughed out loud. "That's priceless. We'll stick with that analogy. It turns out there are hackers everywhere. Even God has a problem with them. They're always trying to embarrass him, like what you did to us a short time ago. So, God installed special software. It's like an internal defense mechanism that remains hidden, but it's always watching for trouble. When God's enemies make a move, it springs into action and fights off the intrusion. It tries to restore the system to its original design."

"Like anti-virus software?"

"Pretty much." He nodded. "Of course God doesn't use the kind of software you're familiar with. Human souls are the tools of His trade. He expresses His will through our actions."

Bethany felt like she was in a dream. Was Aaron being serious, or was he testing her again? His explanation made sense though. Every complex system needed ways to correct errors.

"However, defending the world against hostile supernatural forces isn't a job for ordinary folks," he said. "You need a powerful organization made of elite warriors. You need genuine miracle workers."

He spat at the chain holding Bethany's ankles to her chair. A yellow glob flew across the room and struck the metal with perfect accuracy. Foam and greasy smoke covered the chain, and then it broke. She was free. He did the same for Leanna.

Bethany touched the end of the broken chain. It looked like the metal had simply dissolved. Now she was sure she was dreaming.

"We are the Gray Spear Society," Aaron said. "You just joined my team. Welcome."

"What about the trouble we caused?" Leanna said.

He shrugged. "A very impressive audition."

"But what if we don't want to join?" Bethany said.

"You lost that option when you demanded the truth. It's not so bad. We'll take good care of you and keep you safe. You'll be surrounded by loyal friends. I think you'll really like being with us." He took out his phone and made a call. "Norbert? I've decided to relocate the twins to Chicago. That will be a lot better for everybody. I want you to get a moving van and packing materials, and bring it to the house. We're taking all the computers with us. Got it?" He closed his phone.

"We're going somewhere?" Bethany said.

"That building on your monitor is our headquarters and your new office. Your computers will stay there."

She looked again at the long, narrow building near the train tracks. It suddenly had a lot more importance in her life.

Aaron settled back in his chair. "While we're waiting for Norbert, I'll answer any questions you have. From now on, I'll keep no more secrets from you."

* * *

Marina stood on the sidewalk in front of the Friendly Diner. She peered through the plate glass window and saw a man sitting in a corner booth with a yellow notepad. It was the same guy as yesterday, wearing the same spotless coveralls. Breakfast was over and the diner was mostly empty, so he looked even more out of place than before. He wasn't eating anything. He was just staring ahead and occasionally writing a note with an expensive pen.

She turned to Smythe, who was standing beside her. "Let's make this simple. I'll put him to sleep and you grab the notepad. Then we'll leave."

"I was hoping we could talk to him before you knock him out," he said.

"White Flame owns this town, and their main campus is just ten minutes away. They can bring all kinds of hell down on our heads in a hurry. I'd rather not press our luck."

"I'm not asking for a full interrogation. Let's just talk to the guy for a couple of minutes. If he gets jittery, then you can use your fingernails."

She furrowed her brow. "OK, we'll try it your way. Box him in so he can't run away, and watch his hands. He could be armed."

"What's our cover story?"

"He claims he's a writer, so we'll do the same. Birds of a feather and all that."

Marina and Smythe entered the restaurant. It smelled like pancakes and maple syrup inside. They proceeded directly across the room and sat on both sides of the man, Smythe on the left and Marina on the right. She rubbed her fingers to squeeze extra venom towards the tips of her sharp nails. It gave her a tingling sensation.

"Hello," she said with a cheerful smile.

The man covered his notes with a blank sheet of paper. "Hello."

"I'm Sadie. What's your name?"

"John," he said in a suspicious tone. "Is there a reason you're sitting at my table?" He glanced at Smythe.

"We heard you're a writer. We're writers too!"

"That's great. If you don't mind, I'd like to be left alone. Writing is a solitary pursuit, as I'm sure you know."

"Come on." She nudged his arm. "Tell us what your story is about. Maybe we can give you some constructive feedback."

"I don't think so." He shook his head.

Smythe said, "I bet you're writing about all the strange suicides around here."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," John stated flatly.

Marina knew he was lying. Tension around the eyes and a slight hesitation in his voice gave him away. However, she wouldn't get the whole truth just by talking to him. At best she might provoke an informative reaction or a small slip of the tongue. Still, it was worth a try.

"What if I promise to sleep with you?" She nuzzled his neck and sniffed nice cologne. "Will you talk to us then?"

"Hey!" John pushed her away. "Don't touch me!" He looked around and lowered his voice. "Please."

He doesn't want to attract attention,
she realized. "What's wrong? You don't like women? Then maybe you'd like to fuck my friend instead?"

Smythe winked and licked his lips.

John shuddered. "No. Leave me alone, or I'll call the police. I swear I will."

Marina decided to change tactics. "Calm down. We're actually from White Flame counter-espionage."

Smythe immediately assumed a strict military posture.

"Huh?" John's eyes opened wide.

"We're just testing you," Marina said. "It's nothing personal. Everybody on the project gets the same treatment."

"How do I know you work for counter-espionage? Let me see some identification."

"Actually, I need to see yours first."

He reached for his wallet. Then he stopped and pointed at her. "Almost got me. You know I'm not supposed to show my badge outside the fence."

She raised her eyebrows. "You still screwed up. You pretty much admitted you work for White Flame. You blew your cover."

"That was just..."

"Seriously, you have no idea who we are. Maybe we're elite operatives from a top secret organization that's hostile to White Flame."

He stared at her, and his face became pale.

"Just kidding." She patted his shoulder. "But we will have to report this infraction."

"Hold on." He cleared his throat. "No harm was done. Is there any way we can forget about my tiny lapse?"

"I suppose that's possible, if you give us something in return."

He furrowed his brow. "Like what?"

"Information is our preferred currency," she said.

"I'm just a low level sociologist. All I do is collect observational data. Most of the time I'm not even sure what I'm observing. What information do you think I have?"

"Think hard."

"Hey!" He narrowed his eyes. "You're trying to get me into even more trouble."

Marina decided she had pushed this conversation as far as she dared. She jabbed her fingernails into his neck and injected a good dose of venom. His eyes rolled up and he slumped over.

"Grab the notebook," she told Smythe.

She took John's wallet.

Smythe and Marina quickly left the restaurant, turned, and headed down the street.

"It's always a pleasure to watch you work, ma'am." he said.

She smiled. "Thank you. I'm not certain we accomplished much, but it was entertaining. Sorry about calling you gay."

"Just part of the job."

"That reminds me. I noticed you and Jack have been going out together in the evenings on a regular basis. If it's none of my business, you don't have to say anything."

"It's fine," Smythe said. "There is a brothel we both like a lot. It's a long drive north, so we go together. We swap war stories to make the trip go faster. He's a very interesting character."

"Maybe you should drag Norbert along. He's so bottled up all the time."

"He already declined the offer. He's worried sleeping with a prostitute will lower his standing in the eyes of God."

"That's kind of funny." Marina smiled. "He still doesn't get what it means to be a Spear. All God cares about is how well we do our job."

"Until three months ago he was a devout Catholic. It's hard for him to shake that off."

They found a secluded spot behind a building.

Smythe opened the notebook and read aloud, "Subject 132: has a large stain on shirt above left breast. Subject 84: appears dizzy and tired. Subject 111: engaged in vigorous conversation with peers. They appeared entertained. Subject 59: dried blood on upper lip. Subject 18: mismatched shoes. No socks. Torn pants." He looked up at Marina. "It's all trivial observations."

"Just flip to the end."

He went through the pages. Towards the back of the notepad he found sheets of photographic paper with grids of faces printed on them. Each face had a name and a number below.

"196 test subjects," he said, "and I bet not one of them realizes they're part of an experiment."

She examined the wallet. It contained an ordinary driver's license, insurance cars, credit cards, and a little money. The only interesting item was a thick plastic card with John's face printed on it. There were no words or emblems on the smooth, white plastic. She handed the card to Smythe.