A Deadly Web (15 page)

“We don’t believe they arrange accidents to trigger psychics. Just that they . . . monitor accident victims searching for psychics.”

“Okay. What about those of us born with this stuff? There are more than there used to be, aren’t there? I mean, generations ago, a psychic was either incredibly rare or amazingly good at hiding it.”

“Information wasn’t as readily available fifty years ago,” he pointed out. “It traveled much more slowly than today. No Internet. No twenty-four-hour news cycles. The world was still a big place. A place where secrets could be more easily hidden than today.”

“Okay. But tell me I’m wrong. There
are
more psychics being born now than there were fifty years ago.”

“We believe so.”

Tasha could feel herself getting tense and she wasn’t
even sure why. Except, maybe, something she felt in Brodie even beneath the calm surface of an ocean he was holding in his mind, and the memory of what Elizabeth had told her. She attempted a laugh that didn’t quite come off. “So what is it? Why so many of us now?”

Brodie looked at her steadily, then spoke in the same calm tone, as if what he was saying weren’t absolutely insane.

“Tasha, we have evidence to support the theory that the other side is breeding psychics. And has been for decades, at least.”

Tasha pushed aside the first thought that entered her mind, and instead went with the second. “How could you—we—know that? What kind of evidence?”

“No courtroom would buy it,” he admitted wryly. “But we have bits and pieces of information some of our psychics have picked up. Not from the other side—the shadows. But from psychics they’ve taken, in the early days, before . . .”

“Before?”

“Before they’re taken or put beyond our reach. Physically, maybe. Psychically. We’re not sure about that. But for a little while, some of them are still able to reach out to us. Are strong enough even through their fear to try to warn us. Tell us what they can. And from what they’ve told us, and a few other sources of information, we’re all but certain one of the goals of the other side is to breed psychics.

“Maybe it’s because we’ve been more successful than they expected at protecting psychics or because they
simply need a lot more than are naturally born or triggered; either way, it seems they decided at some point to embark on a program of . . . eugenics.”

“Positive eugenics,” Tasha said a bit numbly. “Breeding to encourage, not eliminate. Breeding for psychic ability. Which makes a born psychic—”

“Extremely valuable to them,” Brodie finished. “Assuming, of course, that psychic ability is genetic. That it
can
be passed on from one generation to the next.”

“It can,” Tasha said. “At least I believe it can. I did a lot of research years ago when I realized what I was. I don’t know if it’s genetic or something else, but psychic ability does tend to run in families. I didn’t find any evidence of it in mine before me, but that happens too.”

She was remembering what Elizabeth Brodie had told her, that Elizabeth and Eliot Wolfe were supposed to be together, according to him, because they were a genetic match. Both born psychics.

Brodie said, “It’s because that happens that we aren’t sure if they’re choosing psychics based on genetics or something else. We’ve mapped the human genome, but so far no scientist we know of has isolated a gene controlling psychic ability. Probably few if any are even looking. In any case, there are too many families with only one psychic on the tree to be able to declare genetics is everything.”

“Maybe so. But, to them, to the other side, it must still seem like a good idea to match up two born psychics and expect at least some psychic offspring. It’s just common sense . . . breeding.”

“True enough,” he said.

She drew a breath and let it out. “What do they do with the children?”

“We don’t know. Our guess is that the psychic couple lives on the surface a normal life. Probably married, or posing as married. Jobs or careers, a comfortable house or apartment. And they raise their child or children. Whether those children are taught or trained in how to use their abilities, we don’t know.”

“Our side hasn’t located a psychic child?”

Evenly, he said, “Not in time to save them. There have been a few over the years that we learned about, but they vanished before we could get to them. Abducted is usually the police theory. And in every case we know of, the parent or parents seemed genuinely distraught—and nonpsychic. So there’s at least a chance some children born of two psychics are placed up for adoption, for reasons unknown. Maybe to ensure they have a normal life. Maybe to help make them a lesser target for a group like ours, looking for psychics.”

“Adoptions come with documentation, don’t they?”

“Supposed to, yeah.”

“But you haven’t found any?”

“No. We know they’re exceptionally good at altering, even forging, documents. But whether they use that skill in hiding the psychic children they’ve . . . bred . . . is an open question.”

“So we really don’t know how their . . . eugenics program works. We’re just guessing. Theorizing.”

After a moment, Brodie nodded. “It’s what makes
sense, as much of any of this makes sense. But, no, unless they’ve learned to hide them in plain view or else wrapped one of those weird shadow shields around them, to our knowledge we’ve never come across a child born of their . . . program. Or even one of the couples they’ve matched, assuming they live normally
as
a couple, and we can’t even assume that. Still, the breeding idea has become one of our working theories. They aren’t putting all their eggs in one basket, that’s certain. They seem to put as much effort into searching for psychics whose abilities are triggered by some kind of trauma. And as much effort into searching for psychics born of nonpsychic parents.”

“And they try to make them. Breed them.” Tasha drew a breath, wondering when it had become a conscious thing to force herself to breathe. “The Nazis did that, didn’t they.” It wasn’t really a question.

“The Nazis did just about every ungodly thing their evil, twisted imaginations could come up with,” Brodie said. “The paranormal was something they were interested in, so they did various . . . experiments throughout the war. But they weren’t the first interested in it, and they haven’t been the last.”

“Now we have these people. These shadows.”

“Yes. Now we have them. And maybe the driving force behind them
is
eugenics. It seems at least once or twice in every century, there’s a movement or cult or some charismatic leader convinced they know how to make the human race . . . better. Usually by getting rid of whatever subset of humanity they personally believe to be inferior.”

“I know. Scary. And so hateful.”

Brodie nodded. “At least this group appears to be more interested in adding than eliminating, when it comes to their breeding program. For now, at least. Maybe they believe psychic humans are superior. Maybe they believe they’re . . . forcing evolution in that direction. We don’t know, Tasha. We don’t know what’s driving them, assuming they have a philosophy, why psychics are so important to them. We don’t know what their ultimate goal is. All we
know
is that they don’t hesitate to kill someone who gets in their way.”

“Is it the government?” she asked steadily.

“We don’t think so, though they wouldn’t be covering all their bases if they didn’t have ears of one kind or another inside government, state and federal. We know they have cops on the payroll; if law enforcement, then why not government? It gives them access to information, it gives them a certain amount of power, and maybe it gives them leverage when they need it.”

“How about our side?”

Brodie nodded. “We also have people inside law enforcement, and at least a few inside government. We have our hidden aces, just as I’m sure they have theirs. Just as closely guarded and protected, unless and until they’re needed.”

—

Pendragon glided down the sidewalk, right up next to the buildings, unnoticed. Even unseen.

Who sees a black cat at night?

He turned off the main street and onto a side street, where there were still shops popular with both tourists and locals, a street where people walked often during the day, and hardly ever at night.

Except for the little girl.

Pendragon found her where he expected to find her, huddled up against the locked door of a candy store. She was already asleep, her thin arms in their thin sleeves hugging her thin body. Sort of in an upright fetal position, not lying down but sitting with her knees drawn up and her forehead resting on them.

It was how she always slept, making herself as small as possible, always so exhausted from the many household chores on top of the tense waiting for a slap or a shove or a twisted arm.

People could be so cruel to the fragile spirits among them.

So cruel.

Pendragon lifted his nose to test the air, and decided it was too cold for fragile little spirits to sleep in doorways without even anything to help them stay warm. He glided closer, listening to her breathe, knowing she was deeply asleep.

Then he gently wrapped himself around her, enclosing her in soft, warm fur, slipping between her and all the hard, cold surfaces. He wrapped her in himself, and felt her relax, heard a little sigh of contentment.

He kept her warm, that fragile spirit, and he settled in to keep watch all during the dark night.

Pendragon intended to keep her safe.

She was important, this fragile soul.

—

Tasha lifted her hands slightly in a baffled gesture. “Then, what? Are you telling me those secret societies some people and tabloids are always going on about are actually real? I know there’s a novel out every so often about some secret society or other, and movies love the idea, but there are supposed exposé stories and books as well, and TV programs calling themselves documentaries. Some of them trotting out some pretty educated and convincing people.”

“Yeah, I’ve seen a few of those. We don’t know, Tasha. I would have said something as huge as this organization seems to be couldn’t possibly be secret, not for this long. And maybe they’re not. Maybe they’re hiding in plain sight, behind the logo of a Fortune 500 company, with offices all over the world.”

“Jesus.”

“Well, it’s as likely as anything else. Maybe more so. For all we know, the vast majority of their . . . employees . . . don’t have a clue what’s really going on. I can’t speak for anyone else watching, but from what I’ve seen over the last ten years, it looks like their soldiers, the ones who actually commit violent acts, are only a very small part of their operation.”

“Their field operation? Led by Duran?”

“From what I’ve seen, yeah. Very highly trained in any
deadly art you’d care to name, from hand-to-hand to the skillful use of any and every weapon any soldier at war would use. And they kill with the cold and ruthless efficiency of trained assassins, leaving no evidence behind to identify them. I would guess there are similar small groups in other parts of the world conducting the same sort of activities Duran commands.”

“But no idea who he answers to.”

“None. And we have some very good intelligence sources.”

Tasha caught a ripple in the ocean that was hiding his mind from her, and couldn’t help but smile. “You know, you’re too good at projecting something besides your own thoughts to hide them. You had to be taught how to do that.”

“I was,” he replied readily. “By a psychic I worked with for years.” He paused, then added, “She’s gone now. They took her from under our noses while we were watching what we thought was their real target. Duran is very good at that. Sleight of hand. It’s why we always have to question our assumptions about him and his goals.”

Tasha didn’t need to try to look beneath that placid ocean surface to know what dark emotions lay underneath. She merely said, in an abrupt change of subject, “So what’s the plan with me? I can’t stay here indefinitely. In Charleston, sure, even here in the condo, but I have to go out sometimes. I mean, I can have some semblance of a normal life, can’t I?”

“I hope so.” Brodie was frowning. “But . . . that maze
thing, if it was a test, is something I’ve never encountered before, not personally. I don’t know what it means, but if you’re right in believing something about it, about you, surprised Duran, then we need to figure out what and why. What it is about you or your ability, and why it surprised Duran.”

Brodie thought about that, trying at the same time to keep his mind quiet and calm, a placid ocean that wouldn’t distract Tasha. Or himself. “How do you
know
it surprised Duran?”

Tasha considered the question, trying to recall the specific feelings. “Astrid was surprised. She knew Duran would be surprised. I knew it too, somehow. That he’d be surprised. That he wouldn’t like it.”

“Wouldn’t like what?”

“Wouldn’t like it that I got out of the maze. That I had help, that I connected with you, that Astrid couldn’t control me the way they both expected she could. And . . .”

“And?”

Slowly, she said, “And he wouldn’t like that I escaped the maze without first being drawn to the center.”

“What’s at the center?”

“I have no idea. But being drawn to the center, finding whatever was there, I think that was part of the test.”

“A part you didn’t complete.” Brodie’s frown deepened. “I wonder if he’ll repeat the test.”

“No idea.” She didn’t like the thought that followed. “Unless . . . maybe they decide to try when I’m asleep. I get the feeling they do that sometimes. Test psychics who don’t know they’re being tested.”

“So the psychic thinks it was only a dream,” he said slowly.

“More like a nightmare, but, yeah, why not? That’s how it looked and felt, really, and being lost, even in a maze, is a fairly common dream. I was awake and very aware of having gone into your mind, but if Astrid and others like her are strong enough, they could be testing other psychics by getting past the minimal shielding most of us have when we sleep.”

His lean face took on an even grimmer expression. “We’ve always known psychics are more vulnerable when they sleep, just as nonpsychics are. We’ve even had at least one deadly situation when a psychic’s companion was more or less hypnotized in his sleep. That was another time Duran surprised us because he didn’t go directly after the psychic.”

“But the psychic was his goal?”

“Definitely. He made her come to him. Or, at least, that’s the way we read it. He surprised us again that time. He surprises us too much, catches us off guard too often. We need a way to . . . nullify that somehow.”

“But you said psychics can’t read Duran.”

“So far, we’ve never found one who could. And there have been hints from the other side that even their own psychics can’t read him.”

“Would they admit it if they could?”

“The hints came from psychics newly captured. While they could still communicate with us.”

Tasha hated to say it, but she had to. “How sure are you that they’re
ever
able to freely communicate with you, even at the very beginning, after they’re first abducted? Maybe whatever information you believe has come from them came from Duran instead. Misinformation.”

Frankly, Brodie answered, “About as sure as we are of everything else. Which is to say, not very. It isn’t something we’d count on when forming any kind of plan but, at the same time, our psychics are convinced Duran has an impenetrable shield so complete it’s able even to hide his personality, the unique electromagnetic signature we all possess.”

“Maybe he doesn’t have one of those,” Tasha suggested, not really joking.

“Well, he’s real enough,” Brodie said. “I’ve met him face to face enough times to be certain of it. He doesn’t come across as a thug or even as a soldier or any kind of crook. He comes across as educated, wealthy, sophisticated. Very smooth, very polished . . . and deadly as a poisonous snake.”

“You respect him,” Tasha noted.

“I do. He’s smart, he’s ruthless, and as far as I’ve been able to tell, he’s completely unflappable. I doubt we’ll find a weakness in him by catching him off guard.”

After a moment, Tasha said, “Then maybe we’re looking in the wrong place. Maybe the weakness isn’t in Duran. Maybe the weakness we can use against him is in his plans.”

—

Murphy moved through the neighborhood surrounding Tasha Solomon’s condo, keeping to shadows and managing to avoid alerting watchdogs or tripping any motion-sensor security lights.

She had a second sense about the latter, and always had. Or maybe that would be a seventh or eighth sense . . .

Hey, Murphy.

The inner voice was one she recognized. Murphy quickly rounded a corner and pressed herself back against a building where neither the lights of the occasional passing car nor a pedestrian out for a casual walk on these safe streets would find her.

She shifted her inner focus, making it as narrow as possible.

Hey. What’s up?

You knew Duran tested Tasha Solomon?

Yeah. The maze. That was you helping Brodie help her?

He didn’t need much help.

Murphy considered that for a moment.
He isn’t psychic.

Not so sure about that. He connected. Reached out instinctively before I could guide him.

Huh. Okay, so what does that mean?

For one thing, Duran got it—and is worried about it.

Duran worried? That’s something I’d like to see.

I don’t think any of us wants to see that. Or, at least, see what he might do because of it.

Solomon’s in even more danger than we thought?

Duran wants her more than we thought. And unless I miss my guess, he wants Brodie out of the way, and as soon as possible.

As usual.

No. Permanently.

Murphy straightened unconsciously.
Sarah, you know that for sure?

I’m as sure as any of us can be when it comes to Duran. He has some plan for Tasha, an important one, and knowing she connected with Brodie is a threat to that plan.

You still think that’s the major reason he didn’t go after you, don’t you? Because you and Tucker formed a connection.

That plus going public. But I think the connections are the important thing. Maybe what we’ve been missing all along. Two of us connecting that way somehow puts Duran at a disadvantage, or puts us beyond his reach. Think about it. No psychic with that kind of connection, that kind of bond with another person, has ever been taken, right?

Not as far as we know, though like everything else, we can’t be sure. But
 . . .
Okay. How do we use that against them, assuming it is a defense for the psychic? We can’t just start linking up psychics, you and I both know it doesn’t work that way. It’s an organic thing, something that happens naturally, not something we can force. Right?

True enough. The right two people have to click, and it’s always male and female—usually one psychic and one latent.

I never knew Brodie was a latent.

I’m not so sure he was. Is. I think Tasha forged that connection, and not because I had already made contact through you.

Have I mentioned, by the way, how lovely it is to channel you? No matter how much you tone down the wattage, that’s a lot of energy you funnel through me.
Being Murphy, she had to bitch about that.

Headache bad? Sorry.
There was nevertheless a tinge of amusement in Sarah’s mind.
Your cross to bear that you can channel other psychics. Comes in awfully handy when we want to keep another psychic or the second circle of protection a secret.

Why are we doing that, by the way?

This time, because Duran’s too close for comfort. Because he wants Tasha in the worst way. He sent Astrid out tonight. You knew that, right?

Yeah. Suspicious bastard, isn’t he?

Well, he knows at least some of our tricks. And since he always has a backup plan or three, he’d assume we would as we
ll.

So how did you hide yourself from Astrid? I let her sense me, naturally, but what about you?

She didn’t even get close, but even so I . . . made
her
headache quite a bit worse. For which she’ll undoubtedly blame contact with you since I timed it that way.

Thanks a lot. You know, for someone I thought of as a pretty frail flower when we first met, you’ve turned out to be fairly tough and ruthless.

I’ll take that as a compliment.

I meant it that way.
Murphy was honestly surprised it could have been taken any
other
way.

Sarah’s mental laugh was like quicksilver.
Never mind. Just know you won’t have to worry about Astrid for the rest of the night. Duran won’t be happy, but even he knows better than to push a psychic too far, especially one already in pain.

I think you’re giving him too much credit.

Not this time. He needs Astrid. She’s been in Brodie’s mind, established that pathway, and whether or not Duran knows something has changed with Brodie, he’ll still expect that by now Brodie has put up whatever walls he can—and he’s been around psychics for years, long enough to learn some pretty good defenses. One thing I’m certain of is that only a psychic with an established pathway might possibly get through when Brodie puts up his guard, and even that isn’t certain. Duran can’t afford to push Astrid too far.

Why does he need her? I mean, I get that she touched Brodie’s mind and that’ll make it easier for her next time, but what’s the point of getting inside his mind at all? Intel?

Not exactly. I think Duran learned something from Tucker and me. I think he learned that if he wants to get rid of Brodie, just killing him—assuming he could—would damage, even destroy, Tasha. Because they’re connected now. So he’ll need to try something else first. He’ll need to try to sever the psychic connection between them, soon, before it has a chance to grow strong enough to protect them both. And for that, he’ll need another psychic. He’ll need Astrid. She’s strong enough. And ruthless enough.

Murphy felt decidedly grim.
Any way you can incapacitate her for a few more days? Long enough for us to get the both of them out of here and somewhere
not
under Duran’s eye?

No, she’d catch on, and I figure the less she knows
we
know, the better. I’m pretty sure she’s out of commission for the rest of tonight and probably most of tomorrow.

So that’s all the time we have to come up with a plan?

Well, I think maybe it gets worse.

Christ, how could it get worse?
Even as the thought flew from her mind, Murphy reminded herself that things could always get worse. Always.

Maybe not worse. Maybe just more complicated.

More complicated is always worse.

Well, that really depends on who knows what. And considering that Duran sent Astrid out looking for the second psychic despite the fact that she was pretty much walking wounded, I’d say he’s a hell of a lot more than suspicious. I think he needed confirmation of a worrying suspicion.

That we had a second circle of protection and it’s you?

No. You know about our new ally?

Murphy could feel herself stiffen, but years of practice enabled her to keep her thoughts calm.
You think Duran knows about him?

Just after I put Astrid out of commission, I caught something. Murphy, it was the mental scream of a psychic. A psychic being . . . turned inside out. Something beyond torture. Changed in some fundamental way she’ll never recover from.

Murphy could feel herself frowning, even though she struggled to keep her mind calm.
Taken? Who? Someone we were protecting?

Sarah was grim now herself, and her mental voice reflected that.
No, a psychic we weren’t even aware of. But someone else was aware of her, because in that mental scream, she was trying her best to contact him.

You think he’s nearby? In Charleston?

Somewhere close. And I think that’s who Duran more than half expected Astrid to find.

But if you caught it after Astrid was out of commission—Wait. There was another?

At least two others, earlier. Psychics who went missing, psychics he was keeping track of, for whatever reason. The one who cried out is clairvoyant, and she knows there were two others very recently. Two she expected our new ally—oh, hell. Two she expected Bishop to know. He must have made contact with all three of them at some point. And I’m betting one or both of the first two taken also tried to call out to him when they realized they were in trouble. I think they tried to reach Bishop because they knew he could help them. That he was the only one who could.

I think
that
is what has Duran worried. There are people fighting against you, that’s bad enough. And then there are people you really, really don’t want in that fight. People who could seriously hurt your operation. People like Bishop.

—

“No,” Brodie said with a tone of finality.

Tasha wasn’t a woman to accept that sort of thing, even from him and even about this. “Look, I’m not going to hide in this condo for the duration,” she told him.