Chapter Two

At five minutes to ten, Jack grabbed a beer and settled back on the couch, clicking on the small lamp on the end table. He raised the volume, wanting to make sure he heard everything.

He frowned. “What have they discovered that’s worth devoting their highest rated news show to me?”

The reporter sat behind a desk, her dark business suit a telling sign this was a serious matter. “Good evening and welcome to another edition of NewsLine. I’m Marla Cramp,” she said. “Who is the Scavenger? Tonight, we’ll answer that question. With me is Dr. George Fenmore from ULTRA, the United Law-enforcement Tactical Response Agency.”

Jack stiffened. What the hell? Had he heard that right?

The camera pulled back, revealing more of the studio. “Dr. Fenmore and other criminal psychologists have been appointed by Commander Michael Frailer, to see if this dangerous man can be apprehended.” She turned to the man next to her. “Good evening, Dr. Fenmore.”

George Fenmore pulled at his tie, giving his hostess a nervous smile. “Good evening, Ms. Cramp.”

Jack shot to his feet, shattering the beer bottle in a tightening grip. Liquid sprayed everywhere. Blood ran down his hand and the alcohol burned, but none of it mattered. If not for the man on the television, he and his friends wouldn’t be in hiding, his wife would still be with him, and the past ten years wouldn’t have been hell.

He stood there, staring at the screen. “You bastard!”

Jack still had trouble believing Fenmore had been his toughest rival at ULTRA. In the field, the armor swam on the thin man, making him look like a bookkeeper trying to be a soldier. Now, he was playing at being the nervous doctor, pulling at his tie, smoothing his perfect pants, fidgeting with his small, round glasses. Fenmore’s strength and intelligence had always been underestimated, but Jack knew all about the little man. After all, they’d worked together for nearly six years.

He gave the image on the television screen a mock salute. “You’re still one hell of an actor, George. My congratulations.”

Marla folded her hands on the desk. “Let’s start by telling the viewers a little more about ULTRA.”

George cleared his throat. “ULTRA is one of the larger agencies for dealing with paranormal crime, threats to the world, and terrorists. We headquarter here in New York but have other facilities across the country. We work in concert with other world agencies in dealing with the previously mentioned threats. We’re basically the equivalent of INTERPOL for paranormal crimes. Our current commander is Michael Frailer. He’s done very well ever since he took office five years ago.”

Marla nodded and made some notes before diving right into the heart of the story. “Dr. Fenmore, your group has uncovered information recently about Scavenger, one of the top ten villains in the city. Can you enlighten us?”

Fenmore settled back in the chair. “We believe Scavenger is the former ULTRA field commander by the name of Jack McClennan. I worked with him when ULTRA was still new. Because of my past experience with him, Commander Frailer has asked for my help.” He paused for moment, his eyes sad. “He was the best agent the organization ever had.”

Jack paced in front of the couch, glaring at the television. “Finally got around to revealing my name to the public. It’s about bloody time. It only took you a decade.”

Marla tapped a pencil on the desk. “What supporting evidence do you have?”

Fenmore folded his hands in his lap, sitting up a little straighter. “Thirteen years ago, we discovered someone inside the organization was selling secrets and arms. McClennan’s wife contacted us and turned him in. Because of her information, he was convicted of treason and dealing black market arms.” Fenmore paused. “And her murder.”

“He killed her?”

Fenmore nodded slowly. “I’m afraid so. She never had a chance.” He stared directly into the camera almost as if Fenmore knew Jack would be watching.

“The little weasel’s trying to make me look worse than I really do,” he growled.

Fenmore cleared his throat. “When the prisoners found out he was a former law enforcement agent, he was in constant altercations. One night he was beaten so badly, it was thought he wouldn’t survive.”

She nodded. “What steps were taken to save his life?”

Fenmore leaned forward, laying his arm on the desk. “I suggested he be used for experimental cybernetics. If he died, nothing was lost. If he lived, it would be a huge step toward helping other, more deserving people, and he could serve the rest of his sentence at ULTRA’s prison facility, HighPower.” He smiled a little. “McClennan and I were friends. I wanted to help him.”

“Oh, yeah, George,” Jack said. “We were great friends. We were about as close as rival baseball fans.”

Fenmore nodded his head. “Some at ULTRA felt McClennan should’ve received the death penalty.”

Marla sat forward, a gleam of anticipation in her eyes. “Why didn’t he?”

“His service record,” he said simply. “It gave him life in prison instead of death. As a top agent, he’d made some powerful friends.”

She nodded. “Please continue.”

Fenmore adjusted his glasses. “The surgery was hard on McClennan, physically. His body rejected the implants, putting him in a coma that lasted several months. When he woke, his former supervisor was there, watching over him. He lashed out, screaming about betrayal, and broke the man’s neck.”

“He certainly does a lot of killing, doesn’t he?” Marla said.

Fenmore nodded, a small smile on his lips. “He escaped and we at ULTRA noticed a set of field armor missing.”

“It wasn’t just any armor!” Jack shouted at the images, his hands curling. “It was mine!”

Fenmore continued looking into the camera. “When reports started coming in about heroes and villains missing weaponry, we knew McClennan was putting together his own power base to take revenge. I’ve been working with Commander Frailer to try to bring him to justice.”

“Pretty words, George.” Jack sneered. “How long did you have to practice to say them without choking?”

Fenmore moved his chair slightly to his left. “Here’s a picture of what he looked like thirteen years ago. He’s excellent at disguise, so he may have radically altered his appearance, we’re not sure.”

The picture behind them showed a man with shoulder length red hair, sharp blue eyes, and a lopsided grin. The green ULTRA armor gleamed brightly in the photo, the pride on his face almost cocky.

Marla turned to the camera. “If anyone has any information at all, please call the number at the bottom of the screen.” She looked off camera. “Someone’s already calling? Excellent.”

Jack snatched the disposable cell phone off his desk and dialed the station. “I want to speak to Fenmore,” he growled.

He waited while they set up a line in the studio, seeing his past flash in his mind. His wife lying in a pool of blood, her black hair sticky with it as he held her. The beating in prison where he’d been cornered, and how the guards had turned their backs. Finally, the escape from the hospital, and all the long years on the run.

“If you wanted to get my attention, Fenmore, it worked.”

“Jack, it’s been a long time,” he said, his voice about as soothing as sandpaper. “How can I help you?”

“You know how,” Jack growled.

Fenmore smiled as he shook his head. “You need to turn yourself in. I can’t help you unless you let me.”

Jack laughed. “I know about your plans for me. Now let me tell you something, George. Someday I’ll find you and whoever you answer to. Next time I see you, you’re dead.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way. I’d hoped you’d still consider me a friend.”

Jack threw the phone against the wall, sick of Fenmore’s nasal voice. He grabbed the pistol on his desk and shot the television screen dead center, and threw the gun at the smoking wreck. “Go to hell!”

He yanked open the top drawer and pulled out a creased photograph, the corners dog-eared, the frame missing. A beautiful, black-haired woman smiled at him. He traced her face with his finger, pushing down the grief threatening to consume him every time he looked at her.

“Carol,” he murmured. “I miss you, sweetheart. I wish you were here.” He walked back to the couch and slowly sat down. Running a hand through his hair, he closed his eyes and hung his head. “When did everything get so hard?”

****

“It’s five o’clock, and I don’t have a damn thing to wear!” Misty’s shout was muffled as it drifted to Rena from inside her walk-in closet. Throwing her hand up, she stopped Misty’s clothes in mid-air as her friend chucked clothes out, grateful again for her telekinesis. “Everything in here sucks!”

Rena looked at the growing pile on the floor. “What’s the matter, kid? Nervous?”

Misty stuck her head out. “The last time I was this nervous on a date was my junior prom.”

Rena stepped over Misty’s clothes. “Everything turned out fine for that, right?”

“No. I threw up all over him.”

Rena cringed, trying to hide her grin. “Ouch. Not good.”

“I saw that sneaky smile, Red,” Misty said, scowling. “Watch it.”

Using her telekinesis, Rena grabbed Misty and sat her firmly on the bed. She marched into the closet, pulling out black dress slacks, a white blouse, and a black vest. “Wear this and your black pumps,” she said. “That way, when you’re running for the bathroom, you won’t fall off your heels.”

Misty quickly changed and checked herself out in the full-length mirror. “I look good. You’re a genius.”

Rena chewed her bottom lip. “I’ll send you my bill.”

Misty glanced at her. “I know that look. What are you upset about?”

“I’m not upset,” Rena said, folding her arms and taking a step back.

“Yes, you are. The only time you chew your lip is when you’re worried. Spill it.”

“Oh. Last night after you fell asleep on the couch, there was a news special on the Scavenger.” She telepathically showed Misty the broadcast from the night before.

Misty brushed her hair. “Okay, so ULTRA’s got their knickers in a twist. How’s that different from any other day?”

“Don’t you think their Jack McClennan looks a lot like your Taylor Tremain?”

Misty quickly applied makeup. “A little, I guess.” She turned to Rena. “You aren’t getting all motherly and paranoid in your old age, are you?”

“I don’t know,” Rena mumbled, looking at the floor.

Misty patted her arm. “I’ve got a few surprises of my own if he tries anything. Trust me.”

Rena nodded. “Call if you need me.”

“I will.” She paused, flashing a grin. “Mom.” Using her desolidification powers, Misty slipped through the floor like a ghost.