Sweet Mercy (10 page)

Tamara held the phone to Rachel’s ear again. “Shall we continue the exercise?” Mesmero asked in congenial tones, “I could have her stick the knife in some more vital spot, or maybe take a few slices at her own face—or, what do you think—does she really need
all
her fingers?”

“You’re a monster,” Rachel hissed, shuddering. If only he were near enough to feel the revulsion she had for him right now, or to feel her horror at what he’d done to her friend.

“Tsk, tsk.”

She imagined him wagging a finger at her, then, horribly, imagined the finger to be one of Tamara’s.

“Are you ready to hear my proposal or shall we continue this exercise? The sooner you listen, the sooner your friend can bandage her wound. I told her to avoid major arteries—this time, but the blood loss can’t be good for her.”

“I’m listening.” Rachel spoke through gritted teeth.

~ * ~

Fluke led the way to the casino. After Mabel had chosen a seat directly across from him at one of the tables, she asked, “Are you following me, young man?”

“Not at all,” he said, with a raised brow.

“You seem to turn up wherever I go.”

“Coincidence.” He’d hoped that helping her fulfill her stated goal might shake her out of the delusional state Johnson had her in. Apparently not. He’d accessed what the Team’s research had uncovered so far. They’d found no real studies of the puppet master talent. One volunteer had come in during the initial period following the P-Bomb event, when new Talents were asked to help scientists better understand the nature of the changes taking place in the affected populace. There’d been some Talents civic minded enough to comply with the request—back before the real Freak-hunts began. This puppet master had apparently not liked the results of compliance and had used her ability on the custodians of the research facilities to quietly depart and disappear.

The few less civic-minded puppet masters, like Johnson, who’d used their powers in ways that came to public attention had been killed before they could be stopped—leaving their victims with obsessive-compulsive disorders, or comatose like Longo.

After his second Bingo in as many games, Mabel started giving Fluke the evil eye, so he left the table. He stayed in sight of her, lounging against a wall and wondering what he could try next. Might be better just to wait until that telepath-healer David had mentioned could get to Mabel.

His specs pinged for attention. Speak of the devil.

“She’s gone.” David’s usually cool tones cracked. “I got here, found the door open, no sign of Rachel, or Tamara, or Tom—and Rachel’s specs on the floor.”

“I’m on my way.”
Damn
. Something in Fluke went cold as he left the Bingo games and threaded his way toward the exit of the casino, keeping up his connection to David while the coordinator contacted other Team members and the police, alerting them to the situation. Damn. Rachel. Her

face flashed across his memory: wry, laughing, tender. She had to be okay.

“What’s your assessment?” Fluke asked, as much to keep his own mind occupied usefully as to keep David from worry. As he exited the building, he glanced behind to see Mabel hurrying after him.

“Tom lied to us. No one’s been here as recently as he said. I’ve got Beth Talbot here, reading the place. Called her before I called you.” Beth’s talent, in much demand with the police, let her read the history of a site, like rewinding a videotape of events. David continued. “She knows Rachel and was assigned as Tom’s buddy. She’s ticked that he took off without alerting her, but says Tom and Rachel were both here briefly, along with a man matching Johnson’s description. And she recognized Tamara from a photo, says she tackled Rachel and tied her up before they all left.”

Fluke’s breath came had as he reached his car and swung in behind the wheel. “So, we have to assume Tom and Tamara are both compromised?”

“Right. Johnson got to them somehow. Including the woman he’s got tailing you, that makes three at once—that we know of—under his control.”

“Mabel. The woman tailing me is Mabel.” He glanced over to see her sprinting toward her own car—in surprisingly good shape for a woman her age. Probably telling herself she forgot to turn off a faucet at home or something. She’d never admit to pursuing him.

“Can Beth trace them? Find out where they took Rachel?” Fluke put the Porsche in gear and navigated the parking lot at unsafe speeds.

“She followed the trail as far as the back porch—where Tom teleported them out, one by one.” David’s voice caught in a moment’s crack. “We haven’t got a clue where they went from here.”

Someone broke in on another channel. In the seconds before David got back to him, Fluke hit the main road back to the highway.

“I just got a report that two of the Capital Finance board members have been taken.”

“Taking any bets our puppet master hasn’t gotten himself a teleporter?”

“If you can find someone who’ll take that bet, more power to you. Obviously, Johnson used Tom to get to the board members. Alice is sending out an alert right now, letting the other members of the board know they’re at risk, to stay behind locked doors, go nowhere alone.” David spoke again. “Alice, contact the available Team members and patch them into this channel as you can. We need more input.”

Fluke checked his rearview mirror. Mabel’s car appeared as expected, hanging well back. Not enough cars drove the highway this late for her to keep any between them.

“Do we have any notion what Johnson’s limits are? How many people he can influence at one time?”

“The only literature on the subject suggests there
is
a limit, but our

info comes from only one subject.” David’s voice kept him company on the road. “She reported having trouble controlling any more than four or five ‘puppets’ at one time, but that varied depending on how complex the instructions, and whether she had determined opposition from any of them—and we can’t know whether she represented a norm or an outlier of either extreme on the spectrum for her talent.”

Fluke let that sink in. “Swell. We do know teleporters have limits. Tom can only carry about as much mass as he can lift– he’s a strong guy, so that’s about twice his mass, but it tires him accordingly. In the last hour he’s moved Rachel, Tamara, and Johnson from the ashram, and he’s moved those two board members…”

“Hmm.” David fell silent for a moment.

Fluke passed one car after another, foot heavy on the accelerator. Despite his habit of exceeding speed limits, he’d been lucky enough to’ve never been caught, and he counted on that luck now.

Alice cut in. “I’ve got personal stats on the missing board members. Both adult males. Graham Hanson is fifty-four, six foot two, two hundred thirty pounds. Joel Rosso is forty-nine, five foot eight, two-seventy.”

“Hefty guys. Tom’s got to be exhausted…”

“Hopefully that’ll buy us some time to figure out where he’s stashing these people.”

“Can we hope they’re all still alive?” The question came from Stacy Peterson, the telekinetic, who’d just signed in along with several other Talents.

David jumped in again. “Reports from Johnson’s previous killings suggest he plays out some elaborate scenarios with his victims before killing them. That’s what led police to believe his ex and her new husband performed a murder-suicide. Johnson doesn’t just want to kill his targets, he wants to make them suffer.”

The thought of Rachel in this guy’s power sent a chill through Fluke. “What does he want with Rachel? He used her to get to Tom Stanton; isn’t that enough? He doesn’t have anything personal against her. Any chance we can bargain with Johnson, get him to release her?”

“We'll have to find him, first.”

Five

Rachel turned at the sound of a thump. A door opened and closed, and a moment later Tom Stanton appeared through the door dividing kitchen from dining room. He breathed hard, like a man who’d just run a marathon.

“Tom! Are you okay?”

He didn’t respond, just turned blankly toward Johnson, who’d entered on his heels.

“Shut up.” Mesmero told Rachel before turning to Tom. “How were our guests when you left them?”

“Uncomfortable,” Tom answered. “But they’re in place.”

“Good.” Mesmero sat in the chair opposite Rachel, turning back to her. “My ride, Tom here, has taken two of the Capital Finance board members to a very special place I’ve arranged for them.”

He leaned across the table toward her while the exhausted Tom, and Tamara with her bloodily bandaged leg, stood by like statues.. “You see, after I lost my job and my wife, and their company foreclosed on my home, I had no place to stay—no roof for my head, no comfortable bed. I lived on the street. Do you know what that’s like?”

Rachel opened her mouth to say that yes, she had some experience along those lines, but Johnson plowed ahead.

“I thought my life was over. The best nights I had were spent in jail when I got picked up for vagrancy.”

“I know what—”

“You know nothing! I had nothing! I had no one. I can’t tell you how often I thought I’d be better off dead, but doing anything about it seemed like too much effort.”

“That’s terrible.” She couldn’t help but feel some sympathy for Johnson. He’d become a monster, but no one deserved what he’d been through. She couldn’t think of the pathetic little man by the grandiose name he’d given himself, but she’d better try—or he’d take her lapses out on Tamara. He seemed to grow calmer before going on.

“Well, all that changed when I got my power. I go where I want. I get what I want—people give me what I want. I can stay in the best hotels, the nicest homes, and I don’t have to work for any man or say please to any woman.”

Rachel recoiled in revulsion at the leer with which he said this.

Mesmero leaned further across the table until the warmth of his sour breath touched her face. “Don’t try any of your tricks on me. I felt that.”

“I didn’t—” She stopped. She hadn’t tried, but he had felt what she felt. Apparently her talent worked better on him than vice versa. Something to keep in reserve. For now.

“Anyhow—I have a little logistics problem maybe you’d like to help me with.” Mesmero smiled as if he hadn’t just been totally creepy. Apparently, treating people like his puppets had played hell with whatever social skills he might once have had.

“Because we’re such good friends?”

He gave her a blank look before going on. “Tommy here gave me the home addresses of all the board members before we threw his specs away. I’ve got two of them at my facility now, and I’d like to have all of them gathered together before we start the festivities—but then there are those stories of teleporters disappearing in mid-transit if their powers are taxed too far. What do you think? Should I send you with Tom now, to join the two men I’ve got, or let him rest up first?”

Rachel looked him in the eye, wondering why he’d even ask. Some strange game of his own devising? Did he expect her to appeal to his better nature? Ask for mercy?

“If you plan on having Tom’s help later, you’ll need to let him rest.”

Mesmero laughed. “Of course I will. Have a seat, Tom. But how nice to hear you put it in such practical terms. None of that ‘we’re human beings, you can’t treat us like this’ crap. No, he’s a resource, and so are you, and you’re exactly as important as you are useful to me.” His laughter cut off like he’d a thrown switch. He glowered at her.

“And here’s another question for you. Since I need to rest my ‘horse’ it will take a long time to gather all seven members of the board. And since it will be tricky keeping these two alive long enough to gather them all, do you think it might be better to deal with them a few at a time?”

“Why would it be so hard to keep these men alive?” Rachel asked in growing alarm.