“Murdock is the most powerful telepath in the world.”
I held a hand up. “Care to explain what the hell you just said? Espionage? Terrorism?”
“Murdock was a covert agent operating in Afghanistan. He disappeared three months ago. Because we were unable to ascertain his whereabouts or status, we assumed him to be dead.”
“Dead? If he was a spy, wouldn’t it be just as likely that he’d been discovered and captured?”
“A man of Murdock’s unique talents is difficult to capture and hold.”
More code.
“You’re using telepaths as covert agents?”
“Correct.”
The implications of what Smith revealed had me reeling again.
A government with a group of mind readers at its disposal would have an incredible amount of power. The practical uses were limitless.
How many terrorist attacks could be thwarted? How many plots foiled?
Having a telepath scanning the minds of suspected terrorists would reveal untold volumes of information. Entire networks of insurgents and Al-Qaeda would crumble. IED locations could be discovered before they were detonated.
We would know what the Iranians and Chinese were doing at all times.
The possibilities for peace and prosperity had no bounds when you knew the objectives and desires of your enemies. And your allies, for that matter.
The capacity for abuses of that power were troubling.
Someone who could read minds could sway the stock markets with a single, massive trade. Presidential candidates could be blackmailed out of, or into, races. CEOs would have their best-laid business plans destroyed because a telepath hired by a competitor passed him on the street.
What did Spider-Man’s uncle tell him? Something about power and responsibility.
It had been my experience that those in power were more concerned with lining their own pockets than taking responsible action.
And now Smith was telling me that one of these telepathic power brokers had disappeared. That didn’t sound too promising.
“So you figured this guy had kicked the bucket, yet he’s standing in the middle of Washington D.C. watching a senator shoot himself.”
“He murdered the senator and his family.”
“Murdered? The senator committed suicide.”
“Murdock is more than just a telepath. He also has the power of suggestion. Strong suggestion.”
My stomach constricted. “Are you telling me that he can control someone’s mind?”
“Yes.”
“Bullshit.” I dismissed him with a wave.
“Is that not the same response you would get from someone if you told them that you could hear their thoughts?”
He had a point. What he was saying though, went far beyond anything I could do. We were out there in science-fiction land.
“Mind control. What about telekinesis? Remote viewing?”
Smith frowned. “None of that is possible, as far as we know. Murdock is the only one who can even manipulate thoughts. We’ve never encountered anyone more powerful.”
I stood from my chair and walked over to the one-way mirror. Who watched from the other side? What was the end game here? Smith was dropping bomb after bomb on me, but I had yet to hear why. If he was telling me all of these things, what was he holding back?
The fact that he would spill such highly classified information on me raised even more concerns. The operation he ran was far above your typical top-secret classification. He shouldn’t have told me any of it.
I stared into the mirror. “Assuming you aren’t lying, why would a spy of yours pop up in D.C. and kill a no-name senator?”
“McArthur sat on the Senate Select Committee on Intelligence. He provided our funding. Besides President Thomas, he was the only politician who knew about us.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.” I went back to my seat.
“We believe Murdock is seeking retribution. All of our agents operate under the knowledge that we will disavow all affiliation with them if they’re captured.”
“So he was working for you, they caught him, and you left him to die? Now he’s escaped and coming for you.”
“That’s an oversimplification of a complex situation, but yes.”
I paused for a few seconds, holding his gaze. “You still haven’t told me why I’m here. You want me to help you, but in what way?”
“We need you to help us locate Murdock.”
“What? How?”
Smith turned toward the mirror and nodded at it before focusing on me again. “Telepaths are able to detect one another when they’re within a few hundred yards of each other. We call it The Bridge. You’ll feel his presence, his mind, when you get close enough. You’ll be able to communicate with each other without muttering a word.”
“I’ll be able to hear his thoughts, and he can hear mine?” I felt as if I’d done nothing but ask questions since he walked through the door.
“Yes, if you choose to. He won’t have access to your thoughts unless you allow it. If the Bridge forms a pathway between your minds, then your mental defenses are akin to a tollbooth. You allow access when you choose.” He closed the folder. “All we need is for you to get close enough to inform us if Murdock is in the vicinity. After you’ve confirmed his presence, we’ll take over.”
“And why should I help you? He killed an asshole who left him to die in the middle of the sandbox. I’ve been there. I don’t blame him for being pissed.”
“Murdock didn’t just kill the senator. He made McArthur murder his own family.”
A sigh slipped from my lips. He had a point.
Smith continued, “Murdock is just getting started. He’s a sociopath. We were able to aim him, to use his tools to our advantage. Now that he’s gone rogue, he presents a clear danger to our entire system. He could topple everything.”
I wasn’t sure that would be a bad thing.
To say that I had no love for our government would be an understatement of biblical proportions. Having a bunch of sadistic, self-righteous assholes running for their lives didn’t sound too bad to me.
Guilt still had a stranglehold on me too.
I’d joined the military because of the events in September of 2001. I’d wanted to make a difference, to fight terrorism, and to avenge the deaths of the innocent lives lost in New York that day.
Instead, I searched homes in a country that had no bearing on 9/11.
They forced me to kick in doors and confiscate guns. I ran checkpoints on meaningless roads that did nothing to ferret out the bad guys. We executed inconsequential missions because our command had a certain number of raids they had to perform per month.
I watched two good men die because we had to search an empty house.
Barker’s blood still covered my hands.
My guilt.
Could I blame a disillusioned spy for wanting revenge?
Did I want to stop him?
Smith squinted at me. “McArthur’s girls did nothing to deserve their murders. Their birth to a senator should not have sealed their fates. Our job is to protect innocent lives, not stand around while they’re snuffed out. You believed in that once.”
He’d done his research on me. Smith knew how to pull my strings.
Three heavy knocks pounded against the metal door.
“What?” Smith asked.
The door opened, and the man who’d jammed a needle into my shoulder stepped inside. We locked eyes for a second before he turned to Smith. The son of a bitch smirked at me.
“Sir, we’ve located Murdock.”
Smith stood, his hard eyes softening for a moment. “What? Where?”
“A retinal scan just matched his in the DC3 building. He’s somewhere inside right now.”
“He’s in the building?” The incredulous look on Smith’s face almost made me laugh.
The man’s face tightened. “He’s gained access to the upper floor.”
“Jesus Christ.” Smith looked at me and motioned with his hand. “It appears that your services may not be required, Mr. Benson. Follow me while we figure this thing out. If we’re able to apprehend him right now, I’ll send you on your way.”
I got up and followed them out of the interrogation room.
We walked down a long, bare hallway, hanging a left at an intersection. No one else roamed the halls. The walls were white and plain, giving away nothing about the building or the operation inside of it.
After passing through a door on the right, we entered a large room with banks of monitors covering one wall. Two men sat before them, manipulating keyboards and mice. Security camera footage played on the three largest screens.
They were the other two jerkwads who helped kidnap me. I waved at the one I’d kicked in the crotch. “How’s the twig and giggleberries?”
“Fuck you.” His face reddened and he spun around, looking as if he was going to stand up out of his chair.
I hoped he would. We had unfinished business.
“Where is he?” Smith asked, impatience coloring his words.
“He’s going up the elevator right now.” The man turned back to the monitors, his sour expression giving me great pleasure.
“I trust you’ve warned our team?”
“Yes, sir. We’ve dispatched agents, but the beltway is congested with an overturned eighteen-wheeler. They aren’t going to make it in time.”
“What about a helicopter? Christ, Mills, we can’t leave them defenseless over there. They’re computer techs—they can’t handle Murdock.”
“They’re cycling up the bird now, sir, but it doesn’t look good.”
“What’s going on?” I asked. “What’s DC3?”
“The Cyber Crimes Center,” Smith said. “We have the upper floor of the building. It’s used to crack intel and equipment provided by our agents.”
One of the monitors changed over to the inside of an elevator. A bald man north of sixty stared directly into the camera.
I leaned closer to the monitor, inspecting the video. “That’s not the same guy you just showed me a picture of.”
“Murdock is a spy.” Smith stepped behind one of the men. “He can disguise himself with ease.”
What had I gotten myself into here? Disguises, spies, and telepaths. Insanity.
“What about the guards stationed there?” Smith asked.
One of the men punched away at his keyboard, and a new video feed appeared on the big monitor. Two bodies sprawled across a sidewalk. Pools of congealing blood encircled them.
The video feed changed back to the man in the elevator.
He winked at the camera.
Smith turned to me. “This, Mr. Benson, is why we need your help. You’re about to witness the murder of at least a dozen innocent people.”
I forced my eyes back to the monitor.