Chapter 51

 

Donna took the Amtrak high speed rail to Washington. When she arrived at the cavernous, ornate Union Station she went directly to a phone stall. Removing the yellow pages directory, she fingered through the motel section. Her objective was to find a motel within a short distance from the CIA compound. She found a motel that seemed to meet her objectives in McLean, Virginia; she called asking the clerk how close it was to the CIA headquarters. 

The clerk said, “Oh, it’s only a five minute drive, and if you give me a minute I’ll tell you the price of the room.” 

Satisfied it was within the range of effectiveness for her psychic powers, Donna said, “Cost is not a factor.” She reserved a room. 

Being a fugitive had a labyrinth of negative issues. The first was her fear of being recognized. She resolved that by using an assortment of different color wigs, body altering makeup and various costumes. She was a petite 110 pounds, 35 years old, with thick flowing blonde hair and a symmetrical face that, from a beauty criterion, would easily qualify her to be a Hollywood actress. But now, with latex padding placed at various areas of her body, and a wig which added years to her age, she had become an elderly gray-haired woman, who had lost her body tone to age decades ago. Her dress size had artificially ballooned from a muscle-toned size six to a bulging fourteen. 

She hailed one of the station’s numerous queued taxis. Each driver was patiently seeking customers, hoping their destinations were some distance from the terminal, which would provide them with a source of reasonable income. Donna only had one dress in her present reconstructed configuration; the artificial hair that was part of her flimsy inexpensive wig was already starting to come detached from its skin colored latex base. She told the taxi driver that she wanted to go to Tyson’s Shopping Center and wanted him to wait for her until she completed her round of shopping. The driver was pleased; this was the perfect customer since the meter continued to run while he leisurely read the Washington Post. 

Ironically, Donna walked down the aisles of the huge stores, almost retracing the steps that Maureen had taken a few days earlier. Donna could vaguely sense the past presence of Maureen and Fred just as a dog can detect the scent of a quarry that vacated an area sometime ago. Donna found what she was seeking and returned to the cab.

She would have preferred to drive her own vehicle, but rental agencies required a credit card for security. And that was a dangerous transaction in her present situation. 

She thought about how she would eventually relocate to a place where the cops would never find her, but first on her priority list was the elimination of Maureen and Fred Harris. She deemed it unfortunate that her sister had failed to eliminate Maureen, but she considered Sue a rank amateur. 

Once Fred and Maureen had been taken care of, she planned to take care of her partner. There was no way she could let him keep his freedom, but for the present he was still useful to her. He did most of the shopping for her and he had taken care of renting her condo unit while she remained in the background. If I have to relocate quickly, she thought, he can find another site for me while I remain undetected.

Donna had recently added a cane to her disguise, and she had manufactured a slight limp befitting someone of her advanced age and slight arthritic condition. 

The cab pulled into the circular drive adjacent to the motel’s lobby. She paid the cab driver, including a significant tip. She said, “If I need you again, I want you to come right away.” 

Looking at the size of the tip, he said, “Anytime at all, lady, I’ll be at your beck and call.” 

The run-down motel was not one that she would have selected under normal conditions, but these were not normal times. As she entered, the motel clerk noticed her slight limp and offered her a room on the bottom floor. 

She didn’t care where her room was; her only objective was to pick up mental signals from Fred and Maureen. She had no idea how her brain was able to do that, she only knew that she had to be relatively close to her targets, otherwise the signals would be either too diluted or so weak as to be non–existent. 

Donna had watched the movie Ghost a few years earlier, where Whoopi Goldberg was portrayed as a legitimate psychic. In the movie, Goldberg had attempted to explain how the process worked, but in actuality she had no clue. She had the capability without the knowledge of how or why it worked as it did. Donna didn’t know how hers worked, either; she just knew it did. 

When she first had the device installed over four years ago, she had trained herself to be more and more effective in its application. At first she could mentally insert herself into others as a vaporous fog would invade an area without leaving any tangible trace of its physical existence. But after awhile, she had advanced to the point where she could literally take over a victim’s higher mental processes, creating false memories and altered values. She knew that not everyone was a good subject and it took her time to find those that were. Some could protect themselves with mental blocks just as a well ordered military could protect its flanks with a refined defense. 

She had found Maureen to be an easy subject to manipulate; Fred, a difficult one. Before she had been captured four years ago, she could enter Maureen’s mind at will. She had created false impressions and vivid memories of events for Maureen that had never even occurred. 

Donna knew she had to re-train herself to reach the level that she had previously ascended to. It had been only a short time since she had her insertion operation, and she needed more development time. At her current level she could still enter minds, but she didn’t yet have the sophistication to deposit her special pictures. That will come soon, she thought. 

Her trip to the D.C. area was to find out where her adversaries were and determine if there were vulnerabilities that she could exploit. She could sense their nearby presence just as a hungry lion could detect with absolute certainty the vivid scent of a nearby vulnerable prey.

* * *

Fred woke up in what was the CIA’s version of intensive care. He had an IV hooked up to his left arm; as his eyes cleared, Maureen came into his vision.

“How are you feeling, baby?” she asked with concern.

“Like I’ve been hit by a truck, but overall not so bad, I guess it must have been a small pickup—maybe a mini-Cooper.”

Maureen smiled; at least, Fred had not lost his sense of humor. “The IV contains some pain medication,” she told him. “They said you will be in some minor pain for a few days, but they can control it.”

“I thought the brain can’t feel pain.”

“That’s true, it can’t; but parts of your head can.”

Dr. Factor entered Fred’s field of vision. He’s an ugly bastard, Fred thought.

“How’s my patient?”

Fred hated it when he was spoken to in the third person. 

“Your patient feels like he is hurting a bit; was the operation on the patient successful?”

“It went swimmingly; we’ll keep a close eye on you for the next three days. After that you’ll go to a regular room. Late tomorrow we’ll test you to see how the device is working.”

A distant disembodied voice registered in Fred’s mind as a nail would be drawn to a magnet. “I’m going to be late for lunch with Sally; she’s going to be mad as hell again.”

“Then you should go,” Fred said.

“What?” the doctor asked, “Go where?”

“Go to meet your wife for lunch.”

The doctor might have known how to insert a paranormal device into a patient and fuse all of its critical connections; but he obviously wasn’t prepared to witness the dramatic effect of its operation.

“I didn’t say that out loud!” he said in a shocked tone.

Fred was too tired and too medicated to understand the magic of the moment. He could only mumble, “Well, it sure sounded like you said it out loud.”

And with that, Fred immediately fell asleep.