I, Weapon Page 21

  “But it doesn’t matter for now.” She would lull him; play him as he thought he played her. She turned her chair toward a painting on the wall, one of a pod of killer whales swimming past a submerged iceberg. The painting showed an interesting play of white, blue and killer whale black. She faced Max again. “Yes, keep your men in position, and kill the assassin if you have to. I think it is time I called my father. Gemmell—Bannon is in San Francisco. The Controller would want to know that and will possibly send you to apprehend him.”

  Max watched her like a confused Rottweiler uncertain whether to whine in submission or to bite the hand that fed him. He seemed to shut down his emotions, sealing them behind his stoic mask of a face, but she knew the feelings were still there. Men fooled themselves when they thought they were stern and uncompromising. It only drove the emotions deeper, making the man oblivious to the forces that motivated his choices.

  Parker made a sweeping motion with her fingers. “Get back into position, or whatever it is that you’re doing out there. I’m going to call my father and see what he thinks about the latest development.”

  With an angry motion, Max was out of the chair and heading for the door.

  Parker watched him go. Then she took out her cell and made the call.

  -35-

  Gemmell sat in the silver Nissan in the airport parking lot. Another jet climbed into the sky. It didn’t seem as if the plane should be able to do that. Somewhere once Gemmell had read that bumblebees were aerodynamically unable to fly, yet they did. Apparently, it was the same with the jet.

  He’d been sitting here, trying to reason out how he’d gotten to San Francisco. The last he remembered…

  Gemmell shook his head. That was the problem. He hardly remembered anything. He needed to get back to work in Sacramento. He had jobs lined up—

  You’re supposed to go to Santa Clara. Dr. Parker wants to see you. She’s so pretty.

  He rummaged in his pockets for the car keys, but couldn’t find them. Then he knocked his forehead with the heel of his left hand. He saw the keys. They were already in the ignition, well, the one was. His eyes strayed from them and he noticed the gunmetal-colored recorder lying on the glass panel. It had masking tape with words written on it. He picked up the recorder and read the words.

  PLAY THIS IMMEDIATELY!

  Curious, he clicked PLAY and held the recorder next to his ear. “Hey,” he said. “It sounds like me.”

  He frowned after saying that. It sounded like him, but it didn’t. The voice was serious and the things it was saying…

  Gemmell cocked his head and he listened more closely.

  “…some of this is going to sound strange to you. Maybe it will sound impossible. First, after you call Dr. Parker, don’t call her again until you’ve listened to the entire message. That’s very important. No. I take that back. It’s a matter of life and death, yours.”

  Gemmell laughed nervously. That was dramatic. He continued listening. The things he said, or the things the person said who sounded like him became increasingly strange. Soon his head began to throb. He listened until the pain made his hand shake. He refused to let go of the recorder no matter what. He was going to listen until he finished the message.

  ***

  Parker called her father to give him the news, finishing with, “I told you I’d get him.”

  “Dear,” Griffith said. “I demand precision even from you. You do not ‘have him’ until he is in your custody.”

  “That will be soon enough,” Parker said.

  “Listen carefully. You spoke to him via a cell phone. Do you have a link to it?”

  “Of course,” she said.

  “Have you fixed his location?”

  “I’m working on it now.” Parker slid out the top center drawer of her desk. She began to type. “I’ve rerouting the signal to you.”

  “Yes, that’s a good idea. Ah, one of my people has it. He’s—what this?”

  “What’s wrong?” Parker whispered.

  “How long ago did you give Bannon his orders? According to what I’m seeing, he’s still at the San Francisco Airport.”

  “It’s been a few minutes. He should already be on the road, though. I gave him explicit orders.”

  “He isn’t on the road,” Griffith said, becoming quiet. Maybe he was listening to something one of his people said. “Do you think the Gemmell persona will hold?” he asked over the phone.

  “Of course,” Parker said.

  “Call him. Find out why he isn’t obeying. In the meantime, I’m alerting TSA and airport security. They can find and apprehend him through using the cell signal.”

  “I’m calling Gemmell now,” Parker said.

  ***

  Gemmell shook his head as the message ended. He’d been in a daze during part of it. Now, the cell phone on the passenger-side seat began to buzz, maybe had been buzzing several times already.

  The buzzing stopped as he reached for the cell. He picked it up anyway and checked MISSED CALLS. Dr. Parker had phoned. He checked the time. It was a little past noon. He…he was supposed to hurry to her office in Santa Clara.

  You have to get out of here.

  Gemmell sat up and he glanced at himself in the rearview mirror. For a moment, he didn’t recognize the eyes staring back at him. They were cunning with a wolfish ruthlessness that would stop at nothing to reach its objective.

  Gemmell shuddered, and he looked away. When he looked again, he saw his normal self staring back at him. That was weird. He should call Parker and tell her about it.

  No!

  Gemmell didn’t look back up at the mirror. He was too afraid at what he might see. There was a word for this…for split personalities.

  Do you want to see your wife?

  “She’s dead,” Gemmell said.

  No. She’s alive. We have to save her.

  Gemmell groaned, and he put his face in his hands. He shook his head. He didn’t want voices in his mind. He wanted to be normal. He wanted to go home. First, he had to see Dr. Parker. She had phoned. He should phone her back.

  Put the phone on the blacktop and drive away.

  “I’m not listening to you,” Gemmell said.

  Do it or I’m going to have to kill again.

  Stubbornly, Gemmell shook his head. He never wanted to kill or to allow one of his other personalities to kill. He had to stop the badness in him. He had to tell Dr. Parker about this. She would know what to do.

  The wolf in him snarled in frustration. Then it became cunning. Do you realize we’ve killed many times already?

  Nausea filled Gemmell. There was a hall of memories in him, and down that hall were littered corpses, people the wolf in him had slain. That’s why he had all these strange tattoos between his fingers.

  I’ll show you more unless you listen to me.

  “What am I supposed to do?” Gemmell asked, nearly in tears.

  Put the cell on the blacktop and drive away.

  Cell phones cost money and this one looked expensive. As Gemmell examined it, the cell began to buzz.

  Don’t—

  Gemmell pressed a button, “Hello, Dr. Parker,” he said in relief. He had to tell her what was happening. She would know what to do.

  “Gemmell, where are you?” she asked, a little too sharply, it seemed to him.

  “In the SF Airport parking lot,” he said.

  “Are you feeling well?”

  He opened his mouth.

  Don’t do it. You’ll never see Jocelyn if you do.

  “…I’m fine,” Gemmell lied and he felt terrible doing so.

  “Why haven’t you started for Santa Clara yet?” Parker asked.

  “I got tired,” he said, and he used a wheedling voice that he didn’t like to use.

  The doctor chuckled, although it sounded forced. “You’re doing fine, just fine. Yes, I imagine after this test that you would be tired.”

  “You’re not angry with me?”

  “Why would I be?” she asked.


  “I don’t know. I—”

  Gemmell saw the men then, three of them in the distance wearing white shirts and each of them with a holstered pistol. One used what looked like an iPad, studying the screen.

  It must be a tracking device, the voice inside him said. They’re using the cell phone network to track us.

  The other two security men had their hands on their gun butts. They were outside the terminal buildings and walking in his direction.

  “What do I do?” Gemmell moaned.

  “What did you say?” Parker asked.

  Don’t panic. I’ll show you.

  Gemmell nodded, and an icy sensation came over him, blanketing the fear. He acted more coolly than he ever had in his life. It surprised him even as he did it. The doctor spoke to him over the cell, trying to calm him. He hung up and got out of the car. He realized he’d noticed out of the corner of his eye a car slowly moving down his lane. A young man drove the vehicle.

  Gemmell put the SF Giant’s hat and sunglasses on. Then he strode briskly in front of the slowly approaching Toyota. It braked hard, even though it wasn’t going that fast. The window rolled down and the young man leaned his head out. He had red hair and freckles.

  “How about watching it,” the young man said. “I nearly hit you.”

  “Sorry about that,” Gemmell said, moving to the window. “I was thinking about something else. Here, no hard feelings.” He held out a twenty.

  “What’s that for?” the kid asked.

  “Go ahead. Take it. I’m sorry about what happened.”

  “Okay, sure.” The young man reached out and gripped the twenty. As he did, Gemmell leaned closer even as he held onto the bill, not letting the kid pull it away. The young man looked up in confusion. “I thought you were giving it to me.”

  “Right,” Gemmell said. He released the twenty-dollar bill even as he slipped the cell phone onto the man’s back seat with his other hand. As a distraction, Gemmell slapped the edge of the open window, startling the driver. “No hard feelings?”

  The driver shook his head, stuffing the bill into his pocket. He gave the Toyota gas and it lurched away from Gemmell.

  Walking away, Gemmell didn’t bother looking back. Several seconds later, he heard running feet and shouts. He passed a big truck and immediately ducked low, moving fast now along a row of vehicles, gaining distance. He tossed the SF Giants hat under a car, as that was the easiest marker to remember and see. He took off his jacket next, wadding it up and tossing it under a different vehicle. Then he straightened. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw men running at the Toyota. There were more than just the three now, more like ten. Some carried submachine guns.

  “Are they going to kill him?” Gemmell whispered.

  They’re trying to kill us, the wolf told him.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Gemmell saw the Toyota stop and the security men converge on it. One of them flung open the door, reached in and threw the young man onto the blacktop. The security man with the iPad stepped up. A moment later, he reached into the car and picked up the cell phone, showing it to the others.

  Two security people hauled the protesting youth to his feet. One cuffed him. The other propelled him to a fast approaching van.

  We have to get out of here now.

  With horror, Gemmell realized Dr. Parker had lied to him. He— “I want to go home,” he said.

  Then go to sleep. Let me take over. I know how to deal with liars like Dr. Parker.

  “She only wants to help us,” Gemmell said.

  That’s why she sent those men after us, right? She’s tricking you. She’s always been tricking you. She has my wife!

  “Our wife,” Gemmell said.

  Yeah…our wife. What are we going to do about that?

  “Find her,” Gemmell said. “Rescue her if she really is alive.”

  Go to sleep. Let me do this.

  “Okay,” Gemmell said.

  -36-

  Bannon walked through the airport parking lot. He was already far from the incident. Looking back, he saw police on foot searching parked cars.

  He kept going and worked his way through the lot in a circle, heading back toward the airport but staying well away from the police and searching security.

  Bannon’s features were flinty with resolve. He had dared to make the call and Parker had tripped wires in his mind. They had been in there as he’d suspected. He had become docile again, but the recorder had worked just enough, even though for a short time he had been trapped inside his own body. What a frustrating experience, to have a well-meaning but idiot-self running him.

  Am I immune now to their code words? Have I inoculated myself with this?

  He could feel Gemmell inside him and he could rummage through all of Gemmell’s memories. This had been going on for longer than he thought. Unfortunately, he still didn’t have any recollection about his training. His past—or his ability to remember his past—only reached so far and then no farther. He couldn’t remember anything about his childhood or teenage years. Jocelyn’s face…it was hard to see sometimes. What infuriated him the most was that he couldn’t see anything about his daughter other than blonde curls.

  “You will pay,” he whispered.

  More TSA officials appeared and SF police cars raced in.

  Bannon walked briskly as if he had an appointment. He moved along a sidewalk under the arches of the terminals. His feet echoed and so did the voices of people hurrying inside and others walking out. Taxis pulled up. Car doors slammed and trunks opened. Gasoline odors mixed with the occasional squeal of tires. This was a busy place and it wouldn’t stop simply because the police acted nervously. There weren’t any roadblocks going up yet and he didn’t see any police cordons.

  “Can I help you, sir?” a man with a neat turban and with a Middle-Eastern accent asked, appearing before him.

  “Yeah,” Bannon said. “I need to get to San Jose.”

  The cabbie nodded, opening the taxi’s back door closest to the terminal building. Bannon tossed the daypack that held the SIG, silencer, knife, recorder and remaining cash into the vehicle. Then he climbed in, shutting the door behind him.

  The cabbie climbed in front. “Airport security is out in numbers today.”

  “It’s a crazy world,” Bannon said.

  “Maybe a terrorist plot has just been found.”

  “Maybe,” he agreed.

  “Yes,” the cabbie said with a nod. “We are all busy. I understand. What is the address, sir?”

  Bannon gave him one. Then he lay back, refusing to turn around even though the Gemmell in him was itching to see what was going to happen next.

  -37-

  The Santa Cruz Memorial doctor had been right and the Homeland Security man wrong about interrogating Susan Bither. She had lost too much blood and the bullet had done greater damage than the surgeon had initially believed. She flatlined as her heart stopped.

  The Pakistani-born doctor—Mohammad Singh—had feared Max and he’d feared the two killers with him. The doctor was appalled to discover that his charge was dead.

  Mohammad Singh loved life. It’s why he had become a doctor. The senseless destruction and mutilation of life in his own country and then here in America with its gang violence and the drug culture—

  Dr. Singh went to work on the woman. He used a defibrillator, shocking the heart. He shot a compound of epinephrine into her. He worked on the body and she gasped, the EKG flatline changing to show her heart’s erratic beat.

  “You did it, Doctor,” a masked nurse said in admiration.

  Dr. Singh stepped away from the patient and pulled down his mask. He was smiling. He didn’t know why those killers had interrogated this lovely woman so intensely, but he wasn’t going to give them a second chance if they should return.

  “Move her to Room 235,” Singh said. “And I don’t want anyone else to know about it.”

  “Yes, Doctor.”

  “She needs rest,” he said. “No one
is to disturb her. If those men show up again…”

  “I’ll warn you, Doctor.”

  Singh nodded. He had left Pakistan because of the violence of his country. He had left because armed men often appeared and did exactly as they wished, believing their ideals gave them a divine right to do as they pleased. Dr. Singh wanted nothing to do with such a place. He believed in laws, ones that people obeyed, even the authorities who governed their lives. Now, it seemed, the evil of might-makes-right had come to America, his adopted land. The men with guns and worse, some of those in power, were becoming corrupt, even to the taking of innocent life.

  “Check on her every fifteen minutes,” Singh said. “This is one I want to win.”

  ***

  From his dais in the main chamber, Griffith watched his people search for the elusive Bannon. That trick in SF Airport galled him. It was just like Bannon to skate so close to capture and yet elude it. Computer screens glowed in the dimly lit chamber as the ATS operators searched the internet, listened in on SF police and TSA dispatches, tapped into NSA data and ran logic programs, trying to predict Bannon’s next move.

  “What about roadblocks?” a lean operator asked Griffith. “We can cordon off the entire airport—”

  “How quickly can we do that?” Griffith asked.

  “Twenty minutes and—”

  Griffith laughed. “Bannon won’t wait around for your cordon. In my estimation, he’s already left the airport.”

  A stern-faced woman with red hair looked up. “The STEN program agrees with you, sir. His options are limited at the airport and he’ll recognize that no matter what persona he is.”

  “Our responses are also limited.” Griffith meant his instructions from the head of Homeland Security and the severe restrictions Martinez had put on him. He’d already stretched that by bringing TSA into the fray. It was the logical response, of course, and Martinez would surely recognize that.

  “Given that Bannon has fled the airport,” Griffith said, “what are the highest probabilities concerning his actions?”

  “In terms of transportation?” the red-haired woman asked. Her name was Doris and she had been on the team since ATS’s inception.