Jaden Baker (56 page)

He blinked and shook his head, dragging his eyes from her chest to her simpering face. “Sorry,” he said again, rubbing his cheeks.

How many times had she caught him staring at her today? He had to get better at it. Use more discretion. The obvious smoothness of her skin, how her round breasts curved and cast a shadow on her slender waist... Up. Look UP!

“So,” she said, slapping some envelopes into her palm. “You can take the boy out of the world, but you can’t take the world out of the boy.”

“Huh?” he asked, his eyes seemed to be magnets, and her chest a metallic alloy.

“Stop staring at my breasts,” she said.

“I’m sorry,” he said, snapping his eyes to hers.

“Do I need to wear a jacket?” she asked, fighting a smirk.

“No,” he said, shaking his head, his eyes drifting south again. “Maybe.”

She laughed. In her living room was a fresh load of laundry, dropped onto the couch earlier in the afternoon. She pulled on a hooded sweatshirt, then returned to the kitchen. Jaden watched the muscles in her calves flexing, how tan her legs were.

“I’m not putting on sweatpants,” she said, standing behind the counter and raising her eyebrows at him, “So please keep the eyes in this region,” she said, motioning to her face.

“Yes, I’ll do that,” he said, putting his back to her to hide his flushed face.

“It’s okay. Back to dinner. I can make scrambled eggs and toast. I love breakfast for dinner, so if you’d like that too—”

“No,” he said, turning around. The memory of the last time he had scrambled eggs came rushing from the buried archives of his mind. “No eggs.”

His panic must have been clear, as her playful mood was replaced with concern. “Okay.”

He tried recovering. “Let me get dinner. I have cash.”

“That’s okay,” she started, but Jaden cut her off. He pulled the cash out of his pocket and put it on the counter, pushing it toward her.

“Please,” he said. “Please take it. I don’t want to take from you.” He shoved it to her now, making her pick it up. “Really, it’s the least I can do.”

She nodded and took the money and without even counting it opened her mouth to say something.

“I know how much it is. Please just take it,” Jaden said to her, and so she couldn’t give it back, he went into the living room and sat on a chair, staring at the mountains.

Libby went to get dinner. He wished he could have gotten it himself. He thought of just leaving while she was out. He wasn’t sure what he was thinking, staying here. It made perfect sense less than five minutes ago, but now a sense of disconnect settled on him.

Yet, when he got up from the chair and thought about slinging his backpack over his shoulder and leaving forever, something pulled on him. It was warm here. Cozy. And anyway, he couldn’t leave without saying goodbye.

Estimated flight time from San Francisco to Seattle was just over two hours. Drive time at under twenty hours. The flight was so short, no one bothered with business class
—
everyone flew economy. No meals were served. Low fat crackers that resembled tagboard in both taste and appearance were handed to everyone with ice filled plastic cups of complimentary beverages, and a napkin.

Patience was Joseph Madrid’s most valued virtue. If something took five hours or five years, he would wait. What mattered was getting it done correctly the first time. There was no need to rush. It’s what made him so good at what he did, on the record, and off the record.

But the flight felt long. It was as though the gods of time toyed with the hands of a clock, watching him squirm. His team also watched him, checking for cracks. But he gave no hint of impatience. To his team, Joseph Madrid was as sturdy and as calm as ever.

The phone call this morning from the central call center had been unexpected. Over the past ten years he had wondered what had happened to his project to the point of obsession. After the incident with the helicopter, the boy had vanished. There had been no rumors of strange activity from authorities. Archcroft had checked homeless shelters, prisons, under bridges, everywhere. Baker was gone.

Honestly, that’s exactly what he’d expected. Joseph Madrid knew everything about his project: where he was born, who he was born to, where he lived, what he had done as a child. It’s what made him so paranoid about any chance of escape. The street, the gray world of society which most people only thought they knew, was Baker’s home. He had grown up in violence, in a haze of chemicals. Slipping back in would be easy. The challenge for Baker was conventional culture.

Jaden Baker was also patient. He lay in wait, ready to strike when the moment was right. Dalton had almost paid with his life. He was stubborn, resolute, a consummate survivor. Determined to regain control, the boy had resorted to suicide. Giving up control, letting Madrid take him: Baker had not done it willingly. Foolish people like Dalton believed the boy, came to like him as a pet. Endearing as he may have been, Madrid knew Jaden Baker was a weapon waiting to be deployed.

The boy was clever in ways Madrid had not foreseen. Afraid someone would make a mistake, Madrid had ordered a tracking device be put inside the boy. If he were to escape, they could find and retrieve him. But Baker cut and removed the device, then threw it away.

But Madrid was a thorough man with back-up plans. He didn’t let the same thing happen twice. Jaden was not the first project he’d lost, though he was the first to be spotted again.

The plane landed in the early afternoon. A fleet of cars waited for them. He didn’t expect to find the boy today. He may have already left the city. After taking the call this morning, he received word that Jaden had left the hospital, dressed like the doctor he disabled. A lot of work lay ahead of them.

This time there were leads. Clues of the life Jaden had lived here in Seattle would hint to where he was going next.

Dr. Clarkson, a first year resident in internal medicine, sat in an upper-floor office of the hospital. He had not returned to his rounds since the incident this morning. Instead, he was dressed in his own clothes, waiting for Archcroft’s team to arrive.

Madrid wanted to speak to him personally. Clarkson was the first to come in contact with Baker and thus held interesting information. The rest of his team could interview the staff, in hopes of gleaning any interesting side facts about the John Doe admitted this morning.

He found Clarkson sitting on a desk, drumming his fingers on his thighs. When Madrid came in, the doctor stood at attention and reached out his hand to shake. Joseph gave it to him, shook it firmly, then asked the doctor to sit in a chair.

Joseph did not sit behind the desk. Madrid wanted the conversation to be friendly, as details tended to flow more smoothly when there wasn’t too much pressure. He sat in a chair opposite Clarkson.

“Wow, it’s so nice to meet you, sir,” the young doctor said, grabbing the armrests and giving them a squeeze.

“Thank you,” Madrid replied, smiling politely and bowing. “It’s nice to meet you. May I call you Brian?”

“Absolutely,” Clarkson said.

“Good. I hear you had a busy morning. Why don’t you tell me about it.” Madrid took a sip of his coffee and held the cup in both hands.

Dr. Clarkson related the tale to Madrid, how he scanned Baker’s arm and found the document with the emergency information; how he was about to call the mainline when Baker woke and he and Amanda, a nurse who had come to help, had been locked in a chokehold until they lost consciousness. Then Baker swapped clothing and was gone.

Madrid knew that most of that story was false, having been briefed with different information. He did not care. He understood Brian wanted to sound more powerful than Jaden, that he’d been overtaken rather than coerced. No one knew Jaden Baker like he did. Madrid had seen the boy at his most vulnerable and his most powerful. In some ways the boy was like a rattlesnake: he gave warning, would flee rather than fight, but would strike with venomous power when threatened. To the doctor and nurse, Madrid was certain, Jaden would have given warning.

“He can be dangerous,” Madrid remarked, allowing himself a knowing smile and friendly nod to Clarkson. “You would’ve had no chance of taking him alone.”

“I think you’re right,” Clarkson answered.

“What did he look like?” Madrid asked.

“Homeless. Long hair and beard.”

Joseph nodded. “Were his clothes clean or dirty? How did he smell?”

Clarkson thought for a second. “Clean. He didn’t smell.”

“How tall was he?”

“Just under six feet, I’d say.”

“Build?”

“Slender, but strong. I saw muscle definition through his shirt.”

Madrid already had a sketch artist ask Clarkson and the nurse all these questions. The two renderings together gave them something to go on, but not much. By now Jaden had cut his hair and shaved off his beard, making the lower half of his face unrecognizable.

“Thank you so much for your cooperation, I know it was a difficult time. If I may ask a few more questions, and then I will leave you to your work. I hear you’re quite the resident here.”

Clarkson smiled confidently. Flattery was the best way to grease the wheel.

“Was he a quiet man or loud? How did he react to you?”

“He was quiet. We didn’t realize he was awake until after. He never raised his voice. He was calm. Well, sort of. When he saw the information on the computer he destroyed it and said it wasn’t our business.”

“He saw his file?” Madrid asked, arching an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” Clarkson said.

Then Jaden knew Madrid’s name and Archcroft’s. That changed the game. He had been careful and clear with the staff that Jaden was never to hear his name. To fully control a person, he had to be in total control, the other could have none at all. Madrid knew his name, Baker did not know his. It was a finer detail.

“Did he do anything out of the ordinary?” Madrid asked, his final question.

“I’ll say. He broke glass without touching it. Is that why Archcroft is interested in him?” he asked, leaning forward in his chair, eager to hear more.

“Yes. That’s why we’re interested.”

Computers kept records, even when the user tried deleting them. This was true of the X-ray machine. Neither Dr. Clarkson nor nurse Blithley admitted to scanning Jaden’s head and finding the array inside. Confronting either with the lie was pointless, so he didn’t waste his time. Even if he did confront them, they would inquire its purpose. If Madrid did not ask about it, and neither admitted to seeing it, they could not ask questions, and he wouldn’t need to lie.

The films of Jaden’s brain were developed. Comparing it with the last film from ten years ago, he was pleased to see the array had adjusted with Jaden’s brain and had not, as some feared, interfered with activity. Having a view of his developed skull would enable them to accurately render an even better image of Baker’s face.

“Hospital staff said a John Doe was picked up at a drugstore here in town,” said Loren Dillard, coming into the office after the doctor had been dismissed. “He collapsed in the store with seizure-like symptoms, and bleeding from the nose and ears. Once in the hospital he seemed asleep.”

“We know that already. We don’t have anything new.” Madrid said, pacing. Indeed, preliminary reports said the same thing. That Dillard simply confirmed it did not add value to the investigation. They needed clues, hints as to where he was now, where he came from, where he was going.

“We do have something new,” said Dillard, smiling.

His trademark smirk piqued Madrid’s interest.

“What is it?” he asked.

“He didn’t come in alone.”