Hybrid - Forced Vengeance (18 page)

Sarina returned the look without wavering. “Earlier this evening, Mr. Knight paid my father’s club a social call from which we will be cleaning up and rebuilding for weeks.” She turned to the president and added, “He is a most impressive man, is he not, Mr. President? He sent six of my best warriors to the hospital and a seventh to meet Allah this night.”

Erik shrugged. “Your men were given fair warning.” He raised a brow. “They intervened at their own peril.”

Sarina walked behind Monique’s chair and placed both hands on her shoulder. “This child is the reason you’ve come here. You believe that we wish to harm her.”

“Correction,” Erik paused. “Believed, past tense.” He removed his jacket, revealing his array of personal weapons.

“Excuse me?” both the president and Sarina said simultaneously.

Erik sat in the nearest chair and reported. “Mr. President, you’ve been duped. We’ve all been duped.” He raised a weary face. “Those I saw tonight vehemently deny any involvement in the two attempts on Monique’s life. I read the entire room in both locations.” He glanced at Sarina. I just read Miss Fahaad a minute ago, and her establishment has no involvement in this and no knowledge of who does.”

“What do you mean by ‘read’?” Sarina asked.

“Impressions, emotions,” Erik replied, openly staring at the voluptuous woman. “I can sense changes in emotion and thought patterns. It’s a useful method for detecting whether someone is, shall we say, being less than truthful or hiding certain facts.”

Erik would not to let them know the full extent of his capabilities. The less they knew about his Esper abilities the better it would be in the long run. “Your associate, Errol Martin, was most persuasive. I assume you called ahead and warned several places that I was coming.”

“I did,” she answered as she sought her seat.

“Erik?” the president asked, “can you read all of our thoughts?” The president was clearly alarmed at the implications of being so close to a telepath.

“No Mr. President. I’m not a mind reader. I can sense impressions and thought
patterns
, not individual thoughts.” Erik didn’t want anyone wondering if he could sift through their innermost, private thoughts, though in Esper mode he could read minds. He needed these people to trust him, not to be uncomfortable or even reluctant to be around him.

He walked over to Sarina and extended his hand. “I’ll forgive the last two attempts on my life in Saudi Arabia if you’ll let this evening pass.”

She blushed. “You know about that too?”

“Yeah.” Erik averted his gaze.

Sarina accepted his proposal. “You are a most remarkable man, Agent Knight. You have my respect.”

“And you, mine, Miss Fahaad.” He gave her a smile.

“Now that we are all warm and cozy,” Sarina began, “how can we root out the real cause of this mess?”

“I would strongly suggest that we each contact our respective agencies and review our facts and intelligence. Between our three groups we should be able to ferret out the real source of the threat.” President LaSalle suggested, still studying Erik.

“What about Miss LaSalle’s party, the one coming up in a few days?” Jean-Paul asked.

At the alarmed look on his daughter’s face, the president replied, “We continue planning as before. The threat is still there even though we don’t know the source. We need to be even sharper now.” He glanced back at Erik. “Our enemy has been laughing, watching us go at each other. I would greatly appreciate turning the tide.”

“I can offer several good men as sentries, if you would have them,” Sarina said, “as a gesture of good will.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Erik replied.

“I insist,” Sarina countered. “Whatever’s going on has direct repercussions on our organization. We were all set up for a fall and I demand …” she paused as if to find the right words, then continued, “formally request that we take part in uncovering this plot.”

The president sent her an appreciative glance. “We will gladly accept your help. Let us part ways for tonight then; we all have contacts to reach.” LaSalle rose and headed toward the hallway to retire then he suddenly turned around. “Mr. Knight, would you please be so kind as to escort the mademoiselle back to her nightclub?”

“As you wish, Mr. President.” Erik had risen at the departure of the president then canted his head at Sarina and asked, “Shall we go?”

* * * *

Nancy Bertoni walked into her office amid buzz and confusion. The news of her boss’s tragic death was everywhere. Try as she might, she couldn’t avoid the endless plethora of gossips that wanted to know what Michael Sparks was working on and if she had any idea who may have done such a thing to the crusty OSA investigator.

She opened the door to their private suite and rushed in, exhaling a huge sigh of relief once the door was closed. The place was as she’d left it the day before. Nobody seemed to have penetrated their office – yet. She locked the door then went into Michael’s office, heading straight for his safe. After fifteen years of service, Michael trusted her enough to share the combination. Nancy bit her lower lip. She had betrayed that trust and now hoped to make amends by ‘spilling the beans’ with details about what Michael had been working on.

Nancy was convinced she was next on the government’s list to expire. She required the insurance contained in Michael’s files to stay alive. Her fingers shook as she dialed the combination and her first attempt to open the safe failed. She swore in frustration. On her second attempt the heavy door popped open. She hungrily reached for the stacks of files and placed them on the nearby conference table.

Where was that particular folder that pertained to Erik Knight and the corporation? Buried within that file she hoped to find an address where the agent could be reached.

“Bingo!” she whispered as she plucked the folder from the pile. She opened it and located what she required. She took out her cell phone to take several pictures.

She fought another spasm of guilt. Michael had bought her the phone as a joke, because she had made fun of the ‘techno phone’ he was so fond of using. She never imagined that she would actually be using the camera feature for this type of work, just like a real spy would.

Nancy leafed through the file and several other files; there was just too much information to photograph all of it. She spotted the papers on Operation Homegrown and took pictures of those pages, then photographed nearly all of the pages of the Pendelcorp contract awards. She had snapped over forty pictures and now the phone displayed a full memory chip.

But there was still much more information that would be of use to her so she took several of the files, along with Michael’s field notebook and squeezed them into her oversized purse – chosen that morning for that purpose. She carefully placed all the other papers back in the safe and locked it. Her body was beginning to betray her with rapid breaths, clammy hands and regular waves of nausea as she reached her own desk.

Nancy logged into the database, utilizing Michael’s access codes and copied several files from the system and from her own computer then compressed the data onto a digital data disc. She slipped the disc in her purse and then reformatted the hard drive, hoping to effectively wipe out all the data stored on the computer. Then she went back into her boss’s office where she removed a magnetic file holder from Sparks’ desk and placed it directly on his desktop system.

Not privy to the access codes for her boss’s PC, Nancy knew he kept a detailed log of all of his case notes and other information pertaining to his investigations. She straightened and smiled in satisfaction, hoping that the magnet would have enough time to do its job. Whoever would have an interest in those notes would get nothing.

She walked out of his office and closed the door, remembering the good years she had spent there working for a good man.

“Good bye, Michael. I am truly sorry.” She departed, closing the door to the suite as she closed the door on that part of her life forever.

Now she was running a race against time. She had to get to the small suburb town of Hopedale before agents of the United States government got to her. She needed the protection of a CIA/OSA cleaner named Erik Knight and she hoped that he would carry the evidence up the chain of command to ensure that whatever sinister things were happening – in government several layers over her head – would be stopped.

Nancy reached the bus stop and then boarded the local number seven; from there she would hook up with a Greyhound Bus out of Washington then catch a connection to Boston.

Her cell phone rang and she nearly jumped out of skin. ‘
UNKNOWN CALLER.
’

It was him, Michael’s killer. She shouldn’t answer the phone but couldn’t help herself and opened the lid and spoke into the receiver.

“Hello?”

The connection was severed.

Nancy felt a sharp pain in her stomach and a cold shiver up her back. What if they could trace her whereabouts through the cell phone? Taking no chance, she turned the power off and popped out the microchip that contained the photographs she had taken.

A man occupying the seat next to her was snoring incessantly. She turned her phone back on, muted the ringer and slipped the cell in his jacket pocket. Let them follow a complete stranger around; she was determined to stay one step ahead of them.

A few minutes later, the bus stopped to pick up more passengers. Nancy got off and hailed a cab. She climbed in the back and paused to gather her thoughts.

“Where to, ma’am?” the driver asked.

“The Greyhound Bus Depot outside the beltway,” she replied, noticing several maps scattered haphazardly across the front seat of the cab.

“Do you have a map of Massachusetts up there by any chance?”

The driver fumbled in the clutter for a few seconds and then slipped a folded map through the partition. “Here ya go,” he replied as he merged into traffic.

Nancy opened the map and scanned the index. She spotted Hopedale in the map index and followed the key coordinates. Now she could plan her escape.

* * * *

Shanda Knight slowly opened her eyes; the mind-numbing pain she had endured was gone. She noted that she was lying on a hospital bed hooked up to several pieces of equipment and intravenous drips. She tried to move but felt an unusual tightness in her abdomen. She carefully lifted the covers and looked down at her naked form. Her stomach seemed to be swollen, and the skin stretched taut. She gently rubbed her abdomen seeking assurance that her child was still inside her.

Long ago, she had realized that something was abnormal about her pregnancy; she hadn’t been showing. Since the bout of intense pain she looked swollen with child. She didn’t feel the weakness and disorientation she had experienced when she awoke from her long five-week sleep, so she ruled out that she had been unconscious for any great length of time. She recalled several doctors rushing to her aid, and the panic they shared tending to her. She also remembered the blood, endless amounts of blood that had seemed to be pouring out of her body.

“Don’t exert yourself too much, Mrs. Knight,” the woman doctor who had examined her earlier instructed. “You’ve been through hell the last several hours. I don’t think your body could survive another trauma.”

“I feel better, thank you.” Shanda was afraid to ask, but did so anyway. “May I ask what happened to me, and what the hell is going on?”

The doctor stood up from the corner sofa and approached Shanda’s bedside. She pulled up a visitor’s chair and sat next to the bed. Shanda noticed the woman’s white medical garb was covered in blood, and another greenish type of fluid that she couldn’t identify.

“May I call you Shanda?” the lady doctor asked.

“Of course,” Shanda said, but she was nervous as hell.

The doctor smiled warmly. “Excellent, please call me Allison.” She reached inside her lab coat and pulled out a brown, large envelope. “Shanda, your child is not developing at a normal rate. He is unlike any other baby we’ve ever encountered. I can only assume this is due to his unique lineage. After forty plus days of seemingly normal gestation, your son decided to skip the rest of that trimester and move into the second trimester.” She paused. “Your body reacted in the only way it could, a miscarriage. That’s where all the blood came from.”

Shanda felt ill. “I miscarried?” she asked in stunned disbelief.

“No, your baby is still safe inside your womb, it’s just that your womb has undergone some extensive changes,” Allison continued. “The membrane encasing your baby is not a normal human membrane nor is the amniotic fluid completely human in origin. We were able to extract a small sample of the fluid and ran some tests on it. We still can’t fully comprehend the composition of the stuff and it dissipated shortly after we finished the tests.”

The doctor opened the envelope and handed several pictures to Shanda.

“These are ultrasound images we took of your child, a male child. We were unable to penetrate the epidermal layer so we only have an outline of the child’s form. It looks human enough with the exception of its eyes. They seem to be developing in a manner unknown to us.” Allison flipped through the pictures for her patient.

Shanda felt nauseous, not from her pregnancy, but from what the doctor had just revealed to her. Tears ran down her cheeks despite her efforts to keep calm. Her child wasn’t going to be human. She was carrying an Esper, right down to the inhuman glowing eyes. He would be an Esper hybrid, just like her husband.

“My baby,” she whispered. “My poor little boy.”

“Shanda, you have to be strong,” Allison urged. “I’ve read the reports about your husband; the transformation capability could be inherent in your child also. You must have faith.”

“How can I have faith when I know my husband will never see our son. That bastard Ross will claim my child as soon as he’s born! He’ll use him like a guinea pig or a lab rat.”

* * * *

Allison had no reply; Shanda was accurate in her assumption, and they both knew it. Anything Allison said to the contrary would be an outright lie. Shanda Knight was much too smart to buy into any lie.