Corrector (42 page)

“Let’s go,” Carlson commanded, and the four of them headed off after the fleeing men.  Carlson stopped briefly by the body of the man she had shot and verified he was dead and retrieved the small unit he had been reaching for.  It was powered off, and she dropped it in a pocket while pointing the others after the two men.

A short distance down the hall they could see footprints in the dust of the cannery floor indicating the way the men had gone.  They were headed into the final packing area where large machines and numerous old conveyor belts had carried the cans and boxed products to shipping.

As they stepped cautiously into the room, a short burst from an automatic rifle raked the wall knocking out chips and sending whining ricochets around the room.  One round caught Evans in the thigh, and he stumbled heavily to the ground.  Laney pulled him back out of the line of fire.  Carlson fired a couple of rounds in the general direction where the shots had originated, but none of them expected the shots to have any effect.

. . . . . . . .

“Not in there,” Jake said, pointing to the door Evans had been about to go through.  “They are waiting across the room.”

“How could you know that?” Evans asked.  He still hadn’t figured Jake out or what he was able to do.  He kept coming up with information he shouldn’t have. 

Jake pointed about where the men were hiding and Laney led them toward another entrance.

“Uh-uh,” Jake said as Laney pointed.  “They anticipated that.  They killed both you and Evans going in that way.”

“What do you suggest?” Carlson asked.

“After they shot Laney and Evans, you and I were able to slip in through the small door over there,” he said pointing.  “It loops around and comes out on the far wall rather than going directly into the bay where they are waiting.”

Evans was looking at him strangely trying to make sense of the conversation.

“Lead the way Jake.  You’ve been through here before,” Carlson said.

This time the four of them made their way through the back route.  They could hear a pitched battle taking place outside the building where Farmer and his men had gone.  Finally they reached the far end of the narrow hallway.  Jake pointed out where the two men were waiting in ambush for them on the far side of the door.

Jake pulled open the door and the three agents piled out in rapid succession.

“FBI!” Carlson yelled loudly.  Okay, Jake decided.  Sometimes she did engage in such stupidity.

The two men had started to turn almost immediately, and failed to heed the warning.  Carlson shot the one with the handgun in the leg, and Evans and Laney both put a pair of rounds each into the man with the rifle.  That one died before he hit the floor.  The one Carlson had shot was squirming in pain on the floor, his handgun lying on the dusty concrete momentarily forgotten.  By the man’s actions Jake suspected he was more of a technician than a fighter.

Carlson nodded at the two other agents to go and arrest the wounded man, while she pulled out her radio and called Farmer.  The sounds of gunfire had died away while they were finishing up here.

“All secure,” Jake could hear over the speaker of Carlson’s radio.  “We have a couple of wounded, but nothing serious.  We surprised them by coming at them from the rear.”

“How many of the suspects survived?” Carlson asked.

“Two are still alive,” Farmer replied, “but I’m not sure how long they will last.  They weren’t willing to surrender even when it was clear they had no chance.  I think they knew what they were in for given what they had been attempting.  Oh, the bomb disposal team is here now.  Can I send them in?”

“Your team at the U-Haul is still secure?” Carlson asked.

“There’s been no more activity there.”

“Send them in.  We will be heading back that way as well”

The bomb was set up identically to the first one, so the disarming went quickly.  They waited until the final moments to see if a repeat of the remote activation would occur, but this time everything remained inert.  It appeared there were only two bombs, but everyone still held their breath until the fateful time had passed. 

It took several hours before matters settled down completely and they could leave.  Jake had returned the Kimber to Carlson unfired shortly after the shooting was finished, and now they were headed back to the safe house.  In the morning there would be a debriefing.  Then Jake would learn what his future might be.

Jake tried to make sense of where he was.  The last thing he could remember he’d been in bed in Atlanta.  He, Carlson, Laney and Evans had been back at the safe house.  Then Carlson had been called into town to the FBI office to make a secure call back to the director.  He’d been allowed to call Karin to tell her the good news, that the disaster in the southern city had been averted, and after a few drinks had gone to bed, knowing that the ordeal for him was yet far from being over.  There was still the matter of his previous activities as Mathews that needed to addressed.  Jake had seen enough policemen to know that just because he’d helped them out, all wasn’t necessarily forgiven.  He’d been very tired with a residual headache that he discovered could be the price of multiple back-trackings, even when they all had been short ones. 

Now he was absolutely certain he was on a boat.  He could feel the gentle motions of the waves as the waves outside moved the vessel in the familiar patterns of an unmoving watercraft.  Had the vessel been moving, then sensations would have been much different.  There was no way to determine if the boat was docked along the shore or anchored somewhere.  He couldn’t hear the sound of waves, but inside the closed up stateroom that didn’t mean anything.  Not knowing the size of the vessel, he couldn’t make a valid judgement as to the size of the waves.  Either the boat was large or the waves relatively small as the motions were gentle and tended to lull him towards sleep rather than generate a sense of discomfort, which for him wasn’t difficult.

What Jake was having trouble sorting out was how he’d come to be here.  Clearly he’d been brought against his will, and almost certainly unconscious or he’d have some kind of memories of the transfer.  So he’d been drugged as he slept.  Now he was inside a closed stateroom with only a small porthole that he’d belatedly noticed on the far wall.  It was daylight outside, so they’d had time enough to bring him a great distance.  He was cuffed to a stout ring set into the wall.  Did they do this often, or was this a new feature prepared just for him?

What disturbed him most was the fact he realized he couldn’t back-track.  There was no sense of his earlier self inside his head where the sense usually resided.  Was it the distance or the drugs?  Jake sincerely hoped it was the latter.  If so, once the drugs wore off he would be able to remedy his current predicament.  If it was distance, then he was screwed, and would be at the mercy of a normal rescue, if such a thing might be possible.  This was the second time recently he’d been in a situation where he’d been cutoff from his ability, and he found the feeling very disconcerting.  He’d gone years, since he’d first realized what he could do without that happening, and now it was becoming annoyingly frequent.

But where exactly was he?  Why had he been taken?  Who had abducted him?  More unanswerable questions.  He’d been at a safe house manned by several FBI agents.  How could he have been taken from there so easily?  For a moment he wondered if the agents themselves had somehow been responsible, and this was a means of dealing with a unique problem.  They knew what he could do and this might be their way of isolating him and preventing him from avoiding what they hoped to learn.  Jake rubbed his head with his free hand.  He knew that didn’t make sense.  He’d established a certain mutual respect with the agents.  He just couldn’t think clearly with the residual drug still in his system.  He could only hope his captors didn’t realize what he could do if they allowed his system to purge the offending substance, and felt confident now that they had him safely locked away here.

They must have a concealed camera that allowed them to watch him.  Within five minutes of his becoming aware of the situation, the stateroom door was unlocked and pushed open.  Two men walked into the room.  Both were in their early thirties and in excellent shape.  One was Black, the other Caucasian.  Jake could imagine them as military by the way they held themselves. A certain confidence shone through, and despite the fact they weren’t wearing uniforms, he could sense the discipline they each revealed.

“It took you a long time to wake up,” the black one said.

“Where am I?” Jake asked, curious whether they would answer any questions.  If he could get an idea if he was out of range, that would be a major piece of intelligence.

“You’re where you won’t be found and where we can ask you whatever questions we want.  You will tell us how you knew.”

“How I knew what?”

“About the plan for Atlanta.”

“You were behind that?” Jake asked surprised.  He had assumed it was some sort of plot by one of the nation’s enemies in the Middle East.

“Our superiors felt it necessary for the American people to be motivated to take more direct action.  The country has been far too lenient with its enemies of late.”

“What makes you think I know anything about whatever you are referring to?”

The black man smiled.  “You were there.  You are not FBI, yet you were involved.  Besides, we have people inside the organization who have provided us with such information, including where you were being held.  It’s unfortunate their information was not more timely, but of necessity the link to us must remain tenuous and we were understandably busy.”

Jake suddenly wondered about the health of Laney and Evans.  Carlson was more than likely still in town when they had taken him, but the other two should have put up some resistance.  For all he knew they might be dead.  He considered asking, but knew he couldn’t trust any answers he received from these two.  They would more than likely tell him they were dead even if it weren’t true simply to discourage any hopes he might have.

The black man turned to his partner.  “Go and get the doctor.”

The other man nodded and left the room, returning several minutes later with an older man who carried a small medical bag.

“We’ll do this the easy way,” the black man said.  “A little of the special stuff the doc has, and you’ll be willing to answer any questions without the usual resistance.  Of course, it makes you a little stupid and we have to be careful what we ask, but we’ve done this before.  It’ll also leave you spacey for a long time afterwards, but that’s okay as well.”

“Hold him still,” the older man they’d referred to as doc said.

There was no way Jake could put up a reasonable resistance, and he found himself held solidly in position as the doctor slid a long needle into his arm.

“That’ll take a moment to take hold,” the man said.  “Then he’ll be cooperative and I can control how much of the drug to give him as you ask your questions.”

Jake felt all resolution leave him, and his mind drifting far away.  He could no longer see the men or the room, his eyes refusing to pass the images for some reason.  He felt at peace, and relaxed.  He could tell they were asking him things and he was answering, but he couldn’t make any sense of either the questions or the answers.  It seemed that the floating sensation lasted for days, but finally his sense of awareness returned.  He was alone in the room.  His mouth tasted as if someone had shit in it, and his head throbbed painfully.  Well, he was more used to that than most people.  He lay like that for what felt a very long time, but he’d lost the ability to be sure.  Finally they came for him.

He was allowed to use the restroom, then he was returned to the cot.  They looked at him oddly, but neither said anything beyond simple directions.  He was given food, but after a couple of bites his stomach revolved and he tossed it back up.  Briefly he considered that it might be drugged, but then had discarded the notion.  If they wanted him drugged, they didn’t need to be tricky.  They’d demonstrated that a bit earlier.  He couldn’t move away from the cot because of the restraint, so was forced to endure the smell of the vomit that he’d left on the floor next to where he was chained.  He moved as far away as possible and curled into a ball and tried to sleep.  Maybe that would help purge his mind.  He still didn’t know if he’d recover his ability if his body found a way to cleanse the drugs.

Somehow, he slept.  In the morning, he assumed that’s when it was, he felt marginally better.  He could focus his thoughts somewhat, but still couldn’t back-track.  That was disturbing.  If they repeated the process from the day before, it would suggest he would never regain enough of his mental acuity to be able to escape.  Some time later, the same two men returned.

“You appear to be alert once again,” the white one said.  “We’ve passed along your strange story to our employer.  I won’t say they believe you, but they’ve decide we should seek verification the old fashioned way.”

Jake had a pretty good idea what that meant.  “Tell me what I told you, and I’ll tell you if it’s correct.  I have no idea what you asked me yesterday.”