Echoes (9 page)

Nami stopped typing and looked up at me. "He did say that Murdock wiped out his entire organization. Maybe he doesn't have much to work with?"

"He managed to get you transferred over from the NSA in less than a day and give you access to an intelligence satellite. How did he get so many people in the assault at the cemetery?"

Sammy took a seat on the bed by me. "I've got it! We need to go into business together!"

"Uh, what?" I asked.

"You can read minds, right? Well, my dad owns a restaurant!"

Nami and I looked at each other, wondering what she was talking about.

"And?" I finally asked.

"I know how to run a business! My dad taught me. You and I should open a palm reading shop together! You can read people's minds, and I'll run the business! We'll split the profits sixty/twenty."

So kind, so beautiful, so dumb. I decided to look at her boobs for awhile, rather than instigate the conversation anymore. Nami decided to keep the ball rolling.

"Sixty/twenty?"

"Sorry, I meant sixty/thirty."

Nami looked back and forth from Sammy to me in disbelief.

"Sixty/thirty?"

"Well, what is it then?" Sammy asked.

Nami put her face in her hands and shook it back and forth.

I decided to continue as if that little chat didn't happen.

"Anyway, some of the information Smith gave us isn't adding up. When I got close to Murdock our minds formed some kind of weird bridge where we were able to communicate with each other mentally. He didn't seem to have any idea who I was. I mentioned him trying to kill us with a rocket and capture us using the police. Again, he didn't know what I was talking about. I couldn't tell if he is just so crazy he didn't remember, or if he really was confused."

They both sat there staring at me while they thought through the ramifications of what I said.

"Didn't Smith say that they think Murdock could control people up to three hundred feet away?" Sammy asked.

"Weren't you hiding in the bathroom when he said that?"

"That door might as well be made of cardboard. I could still hear everything. Isn't that what he said? Three hundred feet?"

"Yeah, that's why those people at the funeral didn't kill me; he ran out of range."

"So, when he releases someone, they stop what he was forcing them to do, right? They don't keep going?"

Smith had conveniently left that part out. She was onto something. Maybe there was some hope for her after all.

"I think so. When he let go of Carol Brady – uh, the mom – during the gun fight she had no idea what was going on."

Nami whistled as she sat back in her chair. "So he couldn't have been controlling the men who blew up your apartment. If he had been close enough to manipulate them, you would have felt his presence."

"Maybe. I was drugged out my skull at the time."

"He couldn't have sent the police after us either," Sammy said.

I should have seen this earlier. Everything happened so fast that I never had a chance to sit down and analyze everything I had been told. If Murdock didn't even know who I was, let alone try and kill me, why was Smith convinced it was him? Or did Smith lie about everything from the beginning?

"So who blew up our building?" Sammy asked.

"If I had to guess, I'd say Smith."

They both looked at me in shock.

"He managed to save us in the nick of time, claiming Murdock sent those men to kill us. He must have known that wasn't possible, so he lied about it. They also fed us way too much classified information. Even though the circumstances are extreme, there was no reason to tell us so much."

"You think everything he told us was pulled out of his ass?" Nami asked.

"Not all of it. Obviously he used telepaths in some kind of intelligence program. He knew about my abilities and background. Murdock did kill a senator and a bunch of government agents. Like any good con man, Smith mixed a lot of truth and lies together. The hard part is deciphering what's true or not."

Sammy put her fingers to her temples, trying to concentrate. "Why involve you at all then? Why would he shoot missiles into our place?"

That was the million dollar question. My hatred of our government wasn’t a secret to anyone that I served with. Because Smith had done a lot of digging on me, he knew I was a telepath after all – then he must have known there wasn't a snowball's chance in hell I would have willingly joined any government program.

"Maybe he really did need me to help him find Murdock. The guy is a master of disguise and he can get people to do anything he wants. If all the other telepaths working for Smith were dead, then he would need me. Since their files on me are so detailed he knew that I wouldn't have volunteered to help. Maybe he orchestrated this so I wouldn't have a choice."

Nami didn't look like she bought it.

"You think he acted like he saved you so that you would help him? You think he set up the warrants for your arrest as well? Holy ridiculous conspiracy theory, Batman."

It did make me sound like a nut. Nothing else seemed to fit though.

"If Murdock doesn't even know who I am, and it wasn't Smith, then who?"

"Why get the police after us? Do you think he set us up so that we couldn't call them after he kidnapped us?" Sammy asked.

"Maybe? It does seem like a good way to limit our options."

"And you’re saying that after going to all that trouble to get your help, he let Murdock escape from the cemetery intentionally?"

"If Smith's entire plan consisted of you keeping an eye on him from a satellite and sending a team of armed men to their doom, then he's incompetent. That doesn't seem likely to me."

We sat in silence for a few minutes, trying to wrap our heads around everything.

"God damn it, you might be right," Nami said. "Before Smith left us here, he told me to make sure that you knew the police were after you. He was very adamant that you not run away. If what you're saying is true, then I think we're about to get kicked in the fart box."

I had no idea people actually talked like that.

"What are you talking about, Natalie?"

"After your arrest, Smith said he was sending someone over to relieve me. That doesn't sound so good all of a sudden."

"I think we should get out of here," I said. "Did he issue you that computer or did you bring it with you?

"Smith gave it to me."

"Leave it here; your cell phone too. Don't take anything they could track us with."

"Thank God. I thought I was going to spend the rest of my life in this stupid room," Sammy said.

Nami's feet didn't touch the floor while she sat in the chair, so she had to hop down. She pulled a Sailor Moon backpack out from under the table and began to root through it.

"I just bought this damn thing too," she said as she threw her phone on the bed. "Now I'm going to lose all my Angry Birds progress."

"Nice bag. Did your mom buy it for your first day of school?"

After fumbling with the strap on the gun holster around my waist, I pulled the pistol free. I hoped we could get clear of the hotel before someone from the goon squad showed up, but I wanted to be prepared just in case.

"You know what? I don't care how much bigger you—" Nami started to say as I reached for the door knob.

When I opened the door, Chuck was standing on the other side.

He made a play for his shoulder holster. If the gun hadn't been in my hand already we would have all been dead. His speed was unbelievable. By the time I had my pistol pointed at his chest he had managed to remove a Desert Eagle .50 cal. from the inside of his jacket. It was best described as a hand cannon.

"Drop it. Now. You aren't that fast."

Surprisingly he did. The weight of it caused a loud thud as it hit the dirty carpet. His eyes never left mine.

"Didn't expect to see me, did you? Kick it over to Neena," I said.

After Nami put the gun in her kiddy sized backpack, I motioned for Chuck to back out of the room.

"We're taking the stairs down. You guys go ahead of us. Chuck Norris and I are going to be right behind you."

Slowly we walked down the hallway toward the stairwell, my gun pressed against his back. Behind us, at the end of the hall, the elevator dinged as it passed our floor. A dirty used fork sat on the floor outside a room on our right. As Chuck and I walked under the dim exit sign and into the stairwell, I could see Sammy and Nami disappear under the overhang of the steps, almost a floor beneath us already.

Now was my chance to find out the truth. Letting my mental defenses down, I latched onto his mind, sifting through his memories. What I saw proved worse than anything I could have imagined.

"You craz—"

Chuck became a blur as he spun around and grabbed my wrist. He slammed my hand on the railing hard enough to make me drop the gun down the stairwell. Twisting my arm with his left hand, he punched me in the chest with his right.

The pain was immense as I fell back through the door and into the hallway. The carpet didn't provide much padding as my ass landed on the floor. The buttons on my shirt, already stretched to their limit, burst open. Stumbling up, I walked backward on the balls of my feet as Chuck followed.

Sammy and Nami started calling my name from the bottom of the stairs.

"Run! Don't come back up here!" I yelled as loud as my aching chest would allow.

The elevator was behind me, but on a different floor. The stairs were beyond him. I had no choice but to stand my ground. Unfortunately, I couldn't win this fight if he was in a wheelchair and I had a chainsaw. Judging by the smirk on his face, he knew it too. He was too advanced of a fighter for me to use my ability on him to predict his movements. Highly trained fighters react on instinct, they don't follow a predetermined set of moves.

He feinted forward, then threw a right cross that flew past my face as I moved sideways, into a left hook. My equilibrium went to hell as I staggered into a door with a do not disturb sign hanging from the knob.

"Read the sign asshole!" a male voice yelled from within.

Chuck threw a side kick at my face which I barely managed to avoid. The impact on the door caused it to splinter and bow inward.

"Jesus!" the man in the room cried. The damage to his door must have persuaded him inside. "I'm calling the cops!"

Wary of Chuck's power, I resumed backpedaling toward the elevator.

As we squared off again I figured a good offense might be the best defense. Throwing a jab-cross-hook combination, the best I've got, had me swinging at air. Faster than I could react he moved to my right, punching me in the temple. He followed that with a spinning back kick that nailed me in the stomach. It felt like someone hit me with a sledgehammer.

I tried not to focus on the fact that I just ate a spinning back kick thrown by a Chuck Norris lookalike.

My limited boxing training didn't extend to defending kicks. His next blasted my left knee, crumpling me to the floor again. The leg began to stiffen at once. I started crab walking away from him, my limb dragging on the floor behind me. My left hand fell upon something small, cold and metal – the fork I had seen earlier. It wasn't a chainsaw but it would have to do.