Second Thoughts and Last Chances
By
Latikia
Edited by
The Old Fart
Copyright © 2007,
2008
Chapter 26
It was still early in the evening, but in winter, on the east coast, it gets dark pretty quick. The sky was a dull, almost incandescently overcast gray color, just marginally brighter than the ground below. As I glanced around it was difficult to make out more than silhouetted shapes, even with my better than average night vision. The wind was blowing slightly; damp, chill air tossed my hair around my face, briefly obscuring my view.
Several high intensity lamps came to life all of a sudden, bathing the area around the plane, and me in particular, with beams of intense white light. I narrowed my eyes, and squinted out into the blinding glare, trying to see beyond to their source.
The plane was surrounded by bodies spaced about six feet apart, each one dressed in dark, bulky, quasi military style equipment, and every one toting a chopped down AK-47 style rifle. From the nose of the aircraft two figures approached; one small, blond and slightly built, the other much taller, darker and quite a bit broader.
“What have you gotten us into Ike?” David Jones rasped.
“Hello David…Anya. The cargo is inside the plane. Don’t let anyone in there but me.”
I started to step away, but Mr. Jones managed to get around in front and put one large scarred hand in the middle of my chest.
“Your man said this was a job, no one said anything about a war.” he growled in his best rock crushing, no backing up and taking shit from anyone voice.
I looked down and let the flames rise up behind my eyes.
“Three hundred thousand dollars for three weeks. You have my word. Now get out of the way David. There’ll be no war. My word on that too.”
He glared at me briefly, opened his mouth to speak and then changed his mind, dropped his hand and stepped aside.
“There are snipers on the roofs of the three closest hangers, but not this one.” he said as I moved past.
I nodded my understanding. “Lilly’s in there with them.” I said and moved beyond the ring of bodies, walking directly towards the bright lights and massed formation of government vehicles and troops I could feel waiting for me some sixty five yards away.
My bare feet slapped the cold concrete with each step, sounding to my ears like blocks of ice cracking as they impacted with one another.
I got to within forty yards when a bullhorn amplified voice blared:
“Ike Blacktower, by order of the Attorney General of the
I stopped walking and stood still, shifting my eyes from side to side, trying to determine where they all were. I could feel them, each and every one, but I couldn’t quite tell where they were, relative to my own position.
What now?
I could have killed them. Well, most of them anyway. Those whose shapes I could vaguely make out with those bloody damn lights stabbing at my eyes. But I couldn’t see the snipers. There was no doubt in my mind but that they’d get me. There was nowhere to hide. Not in time.
So killing was out. At least for the time being.
Time…that was the real problem. I didn’t have a lot of it to waste.
And if I couldn’t kill them all, then I couldn’t very well turn them all either.
Then again, I didn’t have to turn them all. Not all at once.
So I dropped to my knees on the icy cold concrete, put my hands behind my head and waited.
Less than thirty seconds passed before I heard the sounds of booted feet coming at me, accompanied by the rattling of weapons…a sound I knew all too well.
Thru the glare of the lamp light I counted ten bodies, all in full tactical gear. Helmets, face shields, body armor, weapons harnesses, black BDUs, small arms…the works.
Their advance slowed when they got within ten yards. I waited motionless while they closed the distance between us…and then I linked with the lot and hammered home the rings.
“Which one of you is the commander?” I asked, keeping my voice pitched low.
“That would be
“Have your men encircle me and move in close.”
He spoke softly to the men next to him, and they in turn passed the word to the troops next to them. Soon I was completely surrounded on all sides. Human shields in body armor. The best I could do right then to protect myself from the snipers.
I gave them a stripped down version of the speech before turning my full attention on their commander.
“What’s your name?”
“Lieutenant Jeff Harmon sir.”
“Harmon, who’s in overall command of this cluster fuck?”
“That would be Special Agent Boykin.”
“Boykin? Never heard of him. Alright, get him over here. And see if you can’t get someone to turn those fuckin’ lights off. They’re giving me a headache.”
Harmon turned away and jogged off back the way he’d come. My new fan club and I waited patiently for Harmon to return with FBI Special puke Boykin. They waited patiently. I endured the cold creeping thru my knees up into my thighs and struggled to hold my temper in check, trying very hard not to light myself on fire before a live audience twice in the same day.
I used the time to work with my growing sensitivity, doing what I could to isolate individual emotions and feelings from the hoard that was now available to me.
There were literally millions of people out there that I could sense, each one generating dozens of emotions every few seconds. Granted, not all of them were of the powerful and nasty variety. Most people require specific circumstances and conditions for those emotions to make an appearance. But there were more than enough.
Enough. How much is enough? How much would that be in gallons, miles, tons or years?
I’ve got the ability to amplify one single emotion to the point where it can destroy a thirty foot tree. Why the hell did I need millions more?
Recalling my final night in LA, a troublesome thought occurred; I didn’t actually need millions of emotions to do things with. Fifty would have been plenty. There had to be some other reason, some other function served by turning me into a goddamn reservoir.
Batteries. The darkness had harped on and on about recharging.
…hang on!
Recharging wasn’t the only term he’d used. ‘You eat more often to fuel the body so it can complete the process…But in your case, let’s just say you haven’t been eating enough of the right stuff.’
Great…just fuckin’ great! My so-called talent had turned me into an emotional vampire.
Unfuckingbelievable.
I suppose it could have been worse. I could have ended up like Peggy’d been when I first met her; stealing positive emotions to feed her personal void.
At least I figured I’d be able to survive on negativity. Unless I lost control, like I had on the plane, and inadvertently killed myself. Of course there was always a solid supply of love waiting for me at home, right? With a little luck that might keep my new diet from being the death of me.
The ring of black clad men around me began shuffling their feet and the noise brought me out of my reverie. The sounds of two men coming towards me reached my ears.
About damn time too…but those fucking lights were still turned on, shining directly between two of my new bodyguards and hitting me right in the eyes.
A blast of cold fury surged up for a brief instant, until I felt something rather unusual flaring behind me.
More precisely, I tasted something rather unusual flaring behind me.
“So this is the CIA’s famous Doctor Death.” one of the two figures approaching announced, as if I were a prize specimen he’d captured on safari. His was the voice I’d heard coming thru the bullhorn.
I’ve been able to taste emotions almost from the beginning; though in all honesty I’ve kinda given taste short shrift. This much I know; some are more…I don’t know, pungent. Some people’s emotions feel and taste stronger than others…no, that’s not quite right either. Some people’s emotions feel different, some taste different…no, that’s wrong too.
How can I put this into terms a run-of-the-mill John (or Jane) Doe might understand? Do I even understand what it is I’m trying to say here?
“He doesn’t look all that impressive, does he Lieutenant?” the annoying voice that belonged to FBI Special Agent Boykin continued braying.
“If you say so Mr. Boykin.” Harmon replied neutrally.
Boykins took a couple of steps closer to the ring of men surrounding me.
“Ike Blacktower, I’m arresting you by order of the Attorney
General of the
What bugged me most about the whole thing was the childish glee he took in doing it. Standing out there on the taxi way, spot lights on us as though we were performers on a Broadway stage, with himself in the lead of course; brave, noble, heroically erect in the way only an androgynously good looking actor could be.
I didn’t much care for the way his smarmy self-importance resonated off my ear-drums either.
Where was I? Taste and feel, right? No, the thing is…everyone’s emotions feel and taste differently. Mostly they vibrate a little differently…that’s the feel part. Taste is altogether other.
See, while all emotions feel like what they are, not all of them taste like what they are. Different emotions from different people taste, well…different. And not all of them have a sufficiently strong or memorable taste.
The combinations, the mixture of felt, felt and tasted and…there was something important there I wasn’t paying enough attention to.
“Do you understand these rights as I’ve explained them to you?” Boykin asked, not looking at me, but playing to the audience of fellow agents behind his back. Someone was bucking for a promotion. And maybe even a commendation or medal to go with it.
I really didn’t care much for the way his emotions tasted…kinda like poorly prepared eel served in a dock-side Arabian all-you-can-eat sushi bar. (Best not to ask.)
I tilted my head to one side and lowered my eyelids. I was almost able to make out what the man looked like, but those damn lights were just too bright.
I could see him well enough to link though. Question was; what kind of ring should Special Agent Boykin get?
Decisions, decisions.
“Are you going to turn those fucking lights off, or not?” I asked.
“I asked you if you understood your rights? Are all CIA mooks as retarded as you?” The man had no class. None at all. He felt slick and oily as well. It wasn’t a hard call.
“Your choice then, asshole.” I hissed between my teeth and slapped the man’s ring in place.
“Call the snipers in, get all your people in close where I can see them and shut those goddamn fucking lights off!” I snarled.
While Boykin scrambled to do as I’d commanded I sat back on my heels, lowered my hands and considered taste and feel.
I’d tasted a flaring emotion behind me. Distance? No idea really, but not far. It was a familiar taste too.
Human beings generate hundreds of emotions every day, most of them innocuous and unremarkable. The only way I might find an emotion truly familiar was if I’d been in close contact with it and the person behind it. And to find a specific emotion that tasted familiar…? We’re talking very close contact.
Millions of people. I could sense millions, each one giving off a handful of changing emotions every few seconds. Would it actually be possible to tell one person from another, based on something as erratic and changeable as their feelings?
Fingerprints and retinal patterns are used as a means of identification, but in order to use those methods an enormous amount of data has to be stored, kept available and constantly updated.
How the hell would you even go about digitizing emotions and feelings so they could be stored on a computer? They were so much more complicated and esoteric than images or sounds. There was nothing on the planet with that much memory.
Except maybe…me.
I made a mental note to discuss it with Lucy, once things settled down.
The spot lights shut off with an audible clicking sound and seconds later Boykin returned; a mob of some forty odd individuals at his back.
I blinked rapidly, adjusting my eyes to the soothing darkness. There were still lights on all over the place, primarily on and inside the aircraft hangers, and those provided all the illumination I needed.
I slowly got to my feet and stood upright. All of the men positioned around me were close to the same height; six feet tall, with minor variations. I could easily see over their heads.
Boykin stepped forward, preening and looking for approval. “Here they are sir.”
He looked as smarmy as he felt. A little above average height, slender, fair hair, unremarkable facial features and an annoyingly clipped Ha-vad accent; the man was a living, breathing poster child for Civil Service recruitment. How the hell did someone like that end up in charge of anything more important than office supplies? Probably kissed one hell of a lot of ass and stabbed twice as many backs.
I took a deep breath and pulled in even more emotions from the endless supply around me.
Then I performed the largest single mass turning of my life in less than a millisecond. Giving the speech, by comparison, took infinitely longer.
“Boykin, you stay right where you are. Lt. Harmon and his team will come with
me. The rest of you will return to
wherever it is you report to and quit your jobs. Offer no explanations, no justifications…no
nothing. Just quit and go home. In three days time, each one of you will go
to CIA Headquarters in
The mob dispersed quickly in groups of three or four, leaving only Boykin, Harmon and the men that surrounded me.
“Alright gentlemen, form up on Lt. Harmon and wait here, I’ll be back shortly.”
“Sir, where are we going?” Harmon inquired as his men moved away and lined up beside him.
“
“Aye-aye sir.”
I lifted one eyebrow. “You trying to be funny Mr. Harmon?”
The young man, probably a couple of years younger than me, was nonplussed.
“No sir. Sorry sir, force of habit. Ex-Navy. We all are. Navy SEALS.”
SEALS? Oh well, I had one of almost everything else, why not a team of SEALS?
I nodded, turned on my heel and walked back to the plane.
The Attorney General was not going to be pleased. I’d just stolen a good sized chunk of his operational muscle right out from under his nose. Not enough to do any significant damage, not by a damn sight, but more than enough to get his attention.
Like I needed more attention from that quarter.
I stepped between two of David and Anya’s crew and headed for the plane’s open doorway. The husband and wife team stood on either side of the hatch/steps.
“Did you just do what I think you did?” Mr. Jones asked.
I didn’t stop, putting one foot on the lowest step. “Yup.”
I climbed up, poked my head and shoulders thru the entryway and looked around.
Lilly stood there waiting next to Lucy and the co-pilot.
“Grab what you’re bringing and let’s go.” I told her.
“What about us?” Lucy asked as I made to back up.
“David and Anya will take you folks to the safe house. I’ll come for you once all the necessary arrangements have been made.”
I backed down off the steps and waited for Lilly.
“You remember the farm house in
“Yeah, kinda hard to forget. I had to clean up the mess you left there.”
“Take everyone aboard, except for the flight crew. No one gets near these people but me or Eric Watson. No one.”
“Who’ve you pissed off this time Ike?”
“NSA, AG, FBI, ATF, the Senate, the House…maybe a few others.”
Mr. Jones whistled between his teeth.
“Who are these people?” Anya asked, jerking her thumb towards the plane.
“Computer hackers.”
“You’re going thru all this, putting us thru all this, for a bunch of hackers?” David growled.
Lilly came pounding down the steps, one small travel bag in hand, making more noise than I had, and I weighed more than one and a half times what she did.
“These are very special hackers. Look, I’ll explain everything later, I swear. Right now we have to go.”
I put my hand on Lilly’s back and propelled her along towards my new SEAL squad.
“This is what you were worried about?” she remarked snidely as we got closer.
“This is what’s left. I sent the rest home.”
Lilly tightened up inside. “What’s that mean?”
“It means I sent them home.” We came to a halt in front of the line of black clad men. “Gentlemen, my wife Lilly. Lilly, Lt. Jeff Harmon and his team. They’re going to take us to the hospital.”
Harmon and his men snapped smartly to attention. “Ma’am.” Lt. Harmon said by way of greeting.
Lilly pointed over Harmon’s shoulder, to where Special Agent Boykin stood alone and unmoving.
“And him?”
“He’s nobody; a minor problem. Forget him.” I said.
Harmon formed up his men around Lilly and I and we began walking in the direction of their transport, two tricked out black semi-military Hum-vees.
As we passed by Boykin, I could feel his imploring, adoring gaze. Feel the absolute love and devotion I’d put there inside the man. It made my skin crawl.
“Who is he Ike?” Lilly asked again.
“He’s what stood between us and the children.”
Anger still filled me. It had never really left, not even after Lilly had brought me back to my senses. It wasn’t alone either. My emotions would apparently never again lack company. I didn’t much care for the direction that realization took my thoughts, but there wasn’t much I could do about it. It was what it was.
Interestingly though, at that moment I realized something even more disconcerting. I hadn’t spoken with the darkness since that night in LA. Hadn’t even heard from him. Not a peep.
But the way I’d reacted on the plane, becoming so irrevocably focused on a single thought…that was him. That was exactly the way I would have expected him to react. Live in the moment and fuck the consequences.
In a way, things were a lot easier when there were the two of us. I could let him rage and stomp, while standing apart and acting morally superior. Letting him take the blame for thoughts, feelings and desires I didn’t want to admit were mine.
Lilly had forced me out of that frame of mind, made me see that I couldn’t afford to indulge myself like that. Not like that. I had to stay in control. Had to think, had to reason. Feeling alone wouldn’t get things done, not the way I wanted them done.
Reason was all well and good…cold reason…I recognized that part as well. That was the second voice I’d met in LA. Logical, focused, goal orientated and demanding. But too much reason led to inaction. In that respect it was far too much like humility. Reason needed passion in order to get anything done. And passion needed the guiding hand of reason or chaos was inevitable.
I’d felt the coldness emerging when I first left the plane. It had only gotten stronger, and it was easily a match for the fiery anger that suffused me; a tight, firm hand on the neck of the beast, holding it in check, waiting for the right moment to release and guide.
Slowly, but surely, I was integrating the disparate parts of my psyche into a unified me.
Was this the person I should have been all along? If Izzy hadn’t left me, if Carlie hadn’t been killed, if I’d never gone off to war, never met Lilly or Peggy, never gone to work for the CIA, never had four children?
The air around us grew colder; Lilly and the men surrounding us all shivered violently in response. Tiny little flakes of snow began falling from above, hard, icy little daggers, not the fluffy, friendly fat flakes the children liked to watch from the windows, or play in out on the front lawn.
No…there was no should have! There was no going back. I was what I was, who I was, because those things had happened. There is no meant to be, only what is. Life occurs as a cumulative sequence of events; we’re the sum of our experiences, of each and every moment of that life. You can’t subtract the bits you’re not happy with, erase the sum and recalculate to suit your wishes, dreams or fantasies.
And while it’s true that you are who you’ve been, it’s also true that you can never be the same person two days in a row. We almost never notice the changes as they accumulate moment by moment, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t going on. Everyone changes. Change is inevitable.
I looked back over my shoulder at Boykin, still standing where I’d told him to. Unmoving. He wasn’t like me. Like the rest of us. He wasn’t going to change anymore. I’d seen to that. What I’d done to him was a great deal worse than what I’d done to Anya, all those years ago. Infinitely worse. I’d given her a mission, a goal, a reason to live. I’d taken everything from Boykin, and in return given him nothing but aimless and unending love.
Could I change that…back things up and give the man a reason to live?
Sure. Why not? I had plenty of power, and time wasn’t much of a factor. It wouldn’t have taken more than a second. Unfortunately for him, I actively disliked the man. I didn’t hate him; that would have been a waste of both my time and energy. I just couldn’t muster up the compassion it would have taken to repair the damage I’d already inflicted.
So I amplified the emotions I’d taken in during the previous half hour, linked and shot it all into him.
There was a muffled pfffft and the man vanished amid a brilliant burst of crimson mist. The effect was much the same as if a balloon filled with colored water were pricked by a pin. One instant he was there, and then he wasn’t. Nothing remained but a fine-reddish spatter/spray, some two and a half feet in diameter.
Problem solved.
We ran every light and stop sign between Andrews and the
Her feelings shifted rapidly between anger, fear, annoyance, irritation, desperation, guilt, sadness and hopeless helplessness. Emotionally she was screaming at the top of her lungs. Her silence was giving me a migraine.
I’m not sure why, but despite the headache I was as calm and collected as I’d ever been at any time in my life. There was no reason I should have felt that way. None at all. The impression I’d gotten from Eric was that my children were dying. That alone should have had me climbing the walls, but I wasn’t. I had no idea what I was going to do, no idea what I could do. I assumed it would be along the lines of what I’d done with Izzy when she’d gone into withdrawal, but I couldn’t be certain.
It didn’t matter. When the time came I’d know what needed to be done and I’d just do it.
Simple as that.