The Guardian's Wildchild (23 page)

Sidney grinned. “Is the boat still tipped over, Captain?”

All his previous anger had washed away. “You can really do it!” He rechecked a door. Turning back to Sidney, he asked, “Can you lock the doors?”

“Yes.” Sidney again returned to her meditative state. One by one the red light over each door came on.

Sam again checked the doors. They were indeed locked. He keyed in his security code, and the doors opened. Nothing had changed. Everything still functioned normally.

“Okay, now how far can you go with this? Can you lock and unlock the doors beyond this room?”

“It’s possible, Captain, but I wouldn’t do it.”

“Why not?”

“It may cause harm or frighten someone if they weren’t aware of what I was doing. If someone needed to get out of room in a hurry and expected the door to be open, they might suffer injury in having to take time to unlock the door. It’s something I won’t do.”

Sam crossed his arms and grinned. “Hmm. A witch with scruples.”

Sidney smiled. “Yes, partly. In truth, though, my skills are conditional. If I were to not have the higher good as my intention each and every day, I’d suffer the consequences. Other things reduce my ability to use my gifts.”

Sam’s curiosity was at an all-time high. There it was again. That feeling that everything was fine. That he wasn’t alone Being in the moment, that was the key, he thought. His interest had gone beyond his official need to learn more.

“Like what?” he asked

“The more fearful or angry I become, the less I’m able to use my gifts. If someone were to attack me suddenly, and I was in fear for my life, chances are I wouldn’t be able to unlock anything in time to escape. I must be completely calm before I can access the energy.”

Sam moved over to stand in front of Sidney. “You feel safe here, Sidney?”

“Strangely enough, yes. I was angry yesterday. I’m sorry for that. It didn’t serve the higher good, nor honor you.”

Sam frowned. “The higher good?”

“Yes, Captain.”

“The higher good for whom?”

“For all. Always, for all.”

“This,” he said, waving his hand around his office, “hasn’t been exactly for your higher good.”

Sidney brought her hand to her chest briefly before walking to the window and becoming lost in the beauty of the morning sky. “Sometimes, Captain, the higher good isn’t obvious. I’ve learned to trust and accept the fact that I can’t understand all things right now.” She turned to face him. “Doing something for the higher good doesn’t necessarily guarantee a long life, Captain. Or a peaceful death.”

Sam’s curiosity took hold. He moved up to her. “What’s the point then, aside from being able to unlock doors with your mind?”

Sidney brought her hands up to lightly rest on his arms, still crossed in front of his chest. “Your life becomes more than just an isolated physical exercise. It becomes deeper and freer of the physical world’s limitations. You’re no longer restricted to the rules of a three dimensional world. You separate yourself from fear and anger. You discover the essence of
you
, beyond the physical form.” She delicately tapped his chest with her fingers. “You discover your essence in a reality beyond your imagination — eternal, powerful, peaceful, joyful.”

Sam stared into her eyes for some time. He’d momentarily become comfortable with her closeness. He sensed the room’s artificial light softening, and the small space between them was calm, even inviting. When the intensity became too foreign, he stepped away from her, and cleared his throat.

“Remove the comlink, Sidney. That’s all for this morning.”

Sidney removed the comlink while Sam focused on his computer. Once again she eyed the sun crystal, perched again on its pedestal. While Sam was busy, she gave the pedestal and crystal another telepathic shove. Not much, just enough that he might notice it had been moved, like last time. He wouldn’t see the movement itself. The crystal, in a flicker of a second, was now an inch from the far end of the desk.

Once Sidney had left his office, Sam prepared a pot of coffee. More than ever, Sam wanted to learn more about Sidney’s peculiar talent. He believed it was significant. While the coffee was brewing, he paced the floor as he considered how much to reveal to the admiral. If Garland believed Sidney’s skills were a threat, he might demand her execution immediately.

The aroma of coffee filled the room. Sam poured himself a cup and sipped slowly between dictating to his computer His report was scarcely complete, stating only that the prisoner had admitted she’d been able to unlock the doors through telekinesis. He omitted the demonstration in his office, offering just enough information to grab the admiral’s interest so that he might want to dig further and find out how many more Sidneys existed out there. Learning where they lived would be a real coup for the admiral — and perhaps Sam’s bargaining chip to get his freedom back and the release of his sons.

Sitting back in his chair, he noticed the crystal had moved, perhaps accidentally shoved by his arm, he thought. Picking it up, he gazed into its beauty and held it to see how it might capture the light coming in from his window. Shards of light danced throughout his office as he twirled the crystal in the air before setting it back on its pedestal.

Sam’s comlink beeped. It was Lieutenant Bridges.

“Captain, the Mountiago prisoner is early.”

“Bring him aboard. I’ll see him in my office right away.”

Fifteen minutes later, Lieutenant Morton and three security guards delivered a hostile and handcuffed man, sweating, shaking, and spitting threats. The guards were attempting to keep the prisoner under control, and everyone had been stressed to the limit.

The prisoner was young, no more than thirty years old. He had dark brown hair and the bluest eyes Sam had ever seen.

“Sit down,” Sam demanded.

One of the guards pushed the prisoner into a chair while another handed Sam a computer memory rod. Sam plugged it into his computer and briefly scanned the report.

“Your name is Marcus Darby?”

The prisoner refused to answer and avoided eye contact with everyone.

“You have the right to not answer my questions, Mr. Darby. Keep in mind, though, that choosing to remain silent won’t help you. You’ve been charged with attempted mass murder. The report states you were caught planting bombs on a naval base. Perhaps several dozen people would’ve been killed. What do you have to say about that?”

Again the prisoner remained silent, his eyes not focused on anything in particular.

“The penalty for this crime is death. I’ve been ordered to carry out your execution as soon as possible. If you have anything to say that would cause me to question the appropriateness of these orders, you better speak up now.”

The prisoner stopped clenching his teeth and took a deep breath.

“Guards, remove the handcuffs,” Sam ordered. “Has he had anything to drink today?”

“No, sir,” said one of the guards.

“Dave, get some water from the fountain and give it to Mr. Darby.”

The cuffs were removed, and Marcus massaged his bruised wrists. His hands trembled slightly as he reached for the cup of water and gulped it down. Only then did Marcus look directly at Sam. Contempt filled his expression.

“Guards, wait outside. Dave, I’ll speak to Mr. Darby privately for a few minutes.”

Everyone but Sam and the prisoner left the room. For a while, the two men allowed silence to soften the tension. After a while, Sam sat forward in his chair with his arms resting on his desk. “What’s your version, Mr. Darby?”

Marcus snarled in an Irish accent, “Like the report says. I planted some bombs.”

“You intended to kill a lot of people. Why?”

“What the hell difference does it make?”

“Probably none. But lately I’ve become more interested in the why of things. If we knew the cause, maybe something could be done to prevent it.”

“Like bloody hell! You American bastards, you just walk into wherever and take whatever. And if anyone gets in your way — ” Marcus slammed one fist into the palm of the other. “Bang, right between the eyes with a thirty eight.”

“Can you be more specific, Mr. Darby?”

“I’d rather not waste my breath. Like your government gives a bloody damn! Americans have gotten very good in covering up and disguising their political maneuvering as so-called humanitarian programs. Nothing but lies and deceit. To hell with you all!”

Sam sat back and gave Marcus a few moments to calm down.

“Mr. Darby, if you’d explain yourself, at least that much will go on your record. Your attempt to bring some injustice to the forefront will be documented. Right now, it’s assumed you’re some kind of lunatic or fanatic. Which do you want on record? The military’s suppositions or the truth?”

“You’ll record my truth?”

“Word for word, and you can sign it if you wish.”

Marcus thought for a moment. “All right. It’s a deal.”

“Put this comlink onto your shirt. Your report will be directly transcribed word for word. State your name.”

Marcus followed Sam’s instructions and told his story.

“The American and British armies took over my country. Desperate for more farmland, they said. They killed anyone and anything that got in their way, including my family.”

Darby bent over as though he was in pain. He told of the callous way survivors were treated and his single-minded focus in making the aggressors pay. Sam surmised that Darby worked alone in his failed attempt to bomb the naval base.

“There you have it, Captain.”

Sam nodded. “Your report is disturbing, but it doesn’t change the fact that you’ve attempted to commit murder. Is there any reason you shouldn’t receive the death penalty?”

Marcus sat silent for a while. “Yesterday I was glad to die for the sake of justice. Now, it all seems so pointless. So, what am I in for, Captain?”

“The execution?”

“Aye.”

“Tonight you’ll be brought to the ship’s deck. Death will be quick by firearm, point blank range to the head.”

Marcus became pale, like a beaten man. “I’d like to sign that report.”

Sam keyed in the print command. While waiting for the report, he poured two cups of coffee and gave one to Marcus. “Take yours black?”

“Aye. Don’t normally have the luxury of a cup of coffee. Thank you, Captain.”

“Is there anyone who should know about your capture?”

“No, not a bloody soul. Had nothing. Now I got no one, all been killed by those bloody Yanks and Brits. I know farmland is scarce but, Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, why are we being killed for it? We never did have much in Ireland, but now, there’s no Ireland. Just territories claimed by whoever has the most gunpowder.”

“Marcus, there are better ways to settle such conflicts.”

“Like bloody hell, Captain. When was the last time someone killed someone you loved? And no law to bring the culprits to justice?”

Sam remained silent.

Sam was clearly distracted during Sidney’s afternoon interrogation and not in any mood to play hide and seek. His first question was direct.

“Explain precisely what happened once you arrived at the base.”

“I waited until it was safe to go down the tunnels to the missile room.”

“Not so fast, miss. You’re taking me down the same path as you did Captain Butchart. I won’t accept that answer. I want the truth.”

“That is the truth!”

“It was about oh-one-hundred hours in the morning when you reached the missile room. Where were you from the time of the interview with the admiral’s staff until arriving in the missile room?”

Sidney shot back her answer. “I waited!”

Sam stood and paced behind his desk. “Where?”

“In the stairwell.”

“Why did you need to complete an application form?”

“To get into the building.”

He pounced at her. “A goddamned tourist could have gotten a pass to get into naval base administration building, most of it anyway. You needed to see the admiral’s office. What were you looking for?”

Sidney had thought she’d made a breakthrough with the captain at the breakfast meeting, but now he was back to the old routine. It was frustrating. She was again losing her battle with anger. She continued to evade the question.