I, Weapon Page 27

  This was so sick, she wanted to vomit.

  Jocelyn struggled to break free of the helicopter’s seat restraints. She was cuffed, though, with her hands behind her back. The seatbelt kept her from moving out of the seat.

  A groan from the floor alerted her, fixing her eyes on the figure there.

  Slowly, Max moved on the floor where he lay. Blood oozed from his scalp. His rifle lay nearby.

  Leaning in her seat, Jocelyn looked through the bay door. She saw Bannon. She saw her husband. He limped out of some trees about sixty yards away. He gripped a gun, dragging his left foot as he headed for the helicopter. His face was sweaty and streaked with blood.

  Jocelyn’s heart beat wildly. Should she shout to him? He hated her. He thought she was Parker.

  Max coughed, drawing his hands closer to his chest. He cleared his throat, pushed up against the floor, twisted his head and spit. He stiffened then. He must have seen Bannon.

  Jocelyn sucked air, and she shouted, “Bannon! Max has a rifle! He’s going to kill you!”

  Several things happened at once. Max’s head swiveled so he stared at her. Blood dripped from a gash in his forehead. He grinned a second later and spit a gob of blood on the floor. Outside the helicopter, Bannon continued to drag his left foot, covering ground faster than he had a right to. His gaze had fixed on them.

  Jocelyn shuddered. The look in Bannon’s eyes…the Angel of Death would have more mercy. It pained her to realize she had helped forge him into a merciless killer.

  “I have you, Superman,” Max muttered. “Your ass is mine.” The cleanup man grabbed his rifle and thrust himself to a kneeling position. He raised the ugly weapon, nestling the butt against his shoulder.

  “No!” Jocelyn shouted.

  “Crazy woman,” Max said, as he sighted through the scope. “I thought this is what you wanted.”

  “He’s my husband!”

  Max paused—for too long, it turned out. Bannon’s gun boomed from outside and Max Malone crashed backward, with a gaping hole in his chest.

  “No way,” Max said. He tried to rise, failed and took a wheezing gasp of air. Then he tried again and reached a sitting position, with the rifle in his lap.

  Jocelyn and he looked outside the bay door at the same time. Bannon was about twenty yards away.

  “I beat you before,” Max said. “This is crap. I beat you.”

  Jocelyn doubted Bannon heard Max, but her husband did see the killer sitting up. The gun in Bannon’s hand rose. Another boom ended it, knocking Max flat on his back and sending whatever soul he had into the next world.

  After that, Jocelyn watched her husband limp toward her. His eyes were hard and filled with vengeance.

  He came to the edge of the open bay door. “You’re handcuffed,” he said.

  Words failed her and tears brimmed in her eyes.

  He stepped back, looking right, left and behind him before facing her again. “What’s your game this time?”

  She shook her head as tears dripped down her cheeks.

  “Where’s my wife?” he asked.

  “M-Me,” she said.

  “What?” he asked in a hard, clipped way.

  “Bannon, they did the same thing to me that they did to you. They controlled me. They turned me into Parker, a Parker the Controller wanted.”

  “You’re not making sense,” he said.

  “We drove to LA together, don’t you remember?”

  He shook his head.

  “You and me and Parker, we went together.”

  “You’re Parker,” he said.

  “That’s what I’m trying to tell you. There was a car crash and Parker died. My father couldn’t handle that. So he made me into his daughter.”

  “You’re trying to tell me that you’re my wife?”

  Jocelyn nodded as the tears kept flowing.

  Bannon stared at her. Finally, he turned and glanced at the body of William Frances. “Who was that?”

  “The director of the sanatorium,” she said. “He helped my father—he helped my stepfather commit these atrocities. He did this to me and you.”

  “That’s insane.”

  Jocelyn nodded. “Oh, Bannon, I can’t believe this. I’m back, and it has been so long. You have to get us out of here. You have to get us out of my stepfather’s reach.”

  “I’m going to kill him,” Bannon said.

  “And I’ll help you. First we have to stay free.”

  Bannon climbed into the helicopter, found the keys and freed his wife. His mind became fuzzy and it felt as if dams burst in his memories. He looked at her and remembered his wife for real. It all became clear. Then they hugged. They kissed. And finally they fled.

  ***

  Having learned to fly a long time ago, Bannon took them airborne. He went south instead of north to Reno. He piloted the helicopter all the way to Mexico. After landing and liberating a car from a mall near Mexicali, he and Jocelyn disappeared into Central America.

  -48-

  Several days later, Griffith brooded in his office. His bloodshot eyes stared at a digital portrait of Parker and Jocelyn when they had been eighteen and nineteen. Each had been a beauty.

  Griffith’s experts had combed over the Pacific Heights Sanatorium. Director William Frances had died from bullets fired from Max Malone’s rifle. No one had found Max’s body. Griffith believed Bannon and…and…

  “No,” he whispered.

  He refused to think of her as Jocelyn. He believed he knew what had happened. William had failed him by being stupid. Max had killed William and Bannon had killed Max. Probably, by that time, Parker had been in a vulnerable state.

  Yes, Bannon must have found her at the wrong time. He had kidnapped Parker. He had his daughter.

  You know who she really is. You must admit it to yourself at last.

  Griffith sat frozen for a moment. Afterward, he shook his head stubbornly. She would always be Parker to him. He would make her be Parker forever. He would find Bannon—or his best operatives would—and they would kill him slowly. They would make Bannon suffer. Afterward, they would return her to him. If she needed medical attention to reroute her memories and personality, so be it. He had to have his daughter back. He would get her no matter what it took. Nothing was going to stop him.

  Griffith sighed, turning elsewhere. He shook his head as he redirected his thoughts. The repercussions from Justice Blake’s murder still reverberated throughout DC and the country. Talk show hosts made speeches. Lawyers demanded new laws to fix the problem. The Director of Homeland Security had helped push another gun law through Congress. Right and Left argued on TV and argued on the blogs about who was responsible for the heinous act. The FBI studied the clues and it was said their Director told the President grim tales of government manipulation.

  The ATS assassinations would have to stop for a time. Well, all but one assassination attempt would stop.

  Griffith smiled grimly. He could taste the coming retribution. “Soon,” he whispered. “Soon it will be your turn to weep, you murderous shit.”

  -49-

  Three months later in Brazil, Bannon and Jocelyn bounced along an Amazon jungle trail. Leafy fronds whipped overhead and the raucous cries of toucans filled the air.

  A sharp turn appeared ahead. Bannon braked and downshifted. “Hang on!” he shouted.

  Jocelyn smiled at her husband. She gripped handholds and wore a tight seatbelt. Then she watched the road. They hit a hole and she lifted up in the seat, her restraints helping hold her down. Jocelyn wore a safari hat and she had become deeply tanned. Her sleeveless shirt showed off her well-toned arms.

  “Sorry!” he shouted.

  His foot had healed, as had his many abrasions.

  “We can’t be late!” she shouted.

  He nodded, focusing on the road. The trees and ferns thinned as the roar of a waterfall rose above the engine noises. High grasses rose like walls on either side of them. Bannon took another sharp turn and there was something in the
road.

  “Look out!” Jocelyn cried.

  Bannon cranked the wheel and hit a wall of grasses, knocking down a path. Even so, the right rear wheel passed over a sharp object. The tire blew. It was a loud sound.

  “Hang on!” Bannon shouted. He gave the vehicle gas, plowed through more grass and reached the rutted road. When he was back on it, he came to a stop and shut off the engine.

  “What now?” Jocelyn asked.

  “We fix the tire,” he said.

  Bannon climbed out. The waterfall was hidden but loud. Spray misted over them, creating rainbow colors.

  He pulled out a two-by-four and jack. Putting the wood on the muddy ground, he set the jack on the two-by-four and ratcheted upward. Before the jeep began to lift, Bannon took out a wrench and loosened the wheel’s lug nuts.

  “We have ten minutes leeway,” Jocelyn said, checking her watch.

  Bannon nodded. They had hired guides to help them find a jaguar. Jocelyn had always wanted to see one since she had been a little girl. It was something her real daddy had always promised to show her. Now, Bannon was going to show her. These were fussy and unusual guides: Amazon natives who kept to a strict timetable.

  Bannon worked the jack, building up a sweat. Every time he looked over his shoulder, Jocelyn smiled at him.

  He pulled off the flat tire, hefted it and heaved it into the back of the jeep. He yanked the spare free and rolled it into place. With a grunt, he set it on and put the lug nuts onto each screw. Soon, he lowered the jack, put it away and pried the two-by-four out of the mud.

  “Ready?” he asked.

  “It’s so peaceful here,” Jocelyn said. She sat in the jeep, using both hands to hold onto her left knee. “I think I’d like to see the waterfall.”

  “We can do that,” Bannon said. “But then we might miss our guides.”

  “You can win them back with a few more dollars.”

  “They might take offense if I just fan bills in their face.”

  “I’m not worried,” Jocelyn said. “Are you?”

  Bannon shook his head.

  Jocelyn let go of her knee and stepped out of the jeep, moving beside him and winding her arms around his left bicep. Together, they moved through the tall grass until they came to the edge of the riverbank, which plunged straight down ten feet to the rushing water. Thirty feet away the river roared over the falls.

  “Can we get right beside the falls?” Jocelyn asked.

  “Sure,” he said. “Take my hand.”

  She did, and they walked toward the falls.

  As they did, Bannon knew this idle time couldn’t last. The Controller must be insane to do what he had done to his own stepdaughter. The man couldn’t let it rest. But that was fine with Bannon, because he wasn’t going to let it go, either.

  He had nightmares about shooting people, no, about murdering them. Henry Griffith had a lot to answer for and someday soon, he was going to kill Griffith for what he’d done to Jocelyn.

  “Honey,” Jocelyn said. “Your face—”

  Thoughts of vengeance vanished as he smiled at her.

  “What were you thinking about that makes you look so grim?” she asked.

  He shook his head.

  “If you don’t tell me, I won’t tell you my secret,” she said.

  “What secret?” he asked.

  “You tell me yours first,” she said.

  Bannon sighed and he made a helpless gesture. He didn’t want to talk about his plans for Griffith and ATS.

  They shared moments of silence, until she said, “Okay, I’ll tell you mine anyway,” as she rubbed her stomach.

  “You’re hungry?” he asked.

  “No, silly.”

  “What then?”

  She looked up into his face. “I’m pregnant.”

  Bannon grew still as a chill swept through him.

  “Say something,” she whispered, with fear in her eyes.

  “Pregnant?” he asked.

  She nodded.

  He swallowed. “I’ve been bouncing you through the jungle and—”

  “Are you angry?” she asked.

  “What?” He laughed and hugged her tightly. “You’re sure about this?”

  “I’m going to have your baby.”

  Bannon laughed even louder. He had his wife and now he was going to get his baby girl.

  The End

  If you enjoyed I, Weapon, you might also like Artifact. Read on for an exciting excerpt.

  Artifact

  -Prologue-

  “Do you hear that?” Claire whispered.

  Andy, her assistant, shook his head.

  Claire heard it, all right. It was a persistent hum, a maddening background noise. She was among the two percent of humanity that could hear a low frequency humming, rumbling or droning when everything else was quiet. No one knew the reason why a few could hear and most could not. Hums had bothered Claire ever since she could remember as a child growing up in Houston.

  She heard a hum now on the grounds of Angkor Wat, the ancient Buddhist temple in Cambodia. The orange-robed monks observed their customary moment of silence, having bid everyone else to do likewise. Out of respect for this ritual, nearly every human-generated noise had stopped. Along with the other tourists in the courtyard, Claire stood quietly. Many of the tourists held up their cellphones, recording the ancient ceremony.

  I must be the only one hearing this, Claire thought, watching the others.

  She’d come to Angkor Wat because of persistent reports of some tourists complaining about a hum. Claire belonged to the University of Hawaii’s Geology Department. She had one of the two experimental TR-1010 devices specially made to locate the epicenter of the event causing the hum. Well, theoretically anyway.

  The so-called “mad scientist” Nikola Tesla had inspired Claire’s friend to invent the TR-1010. Tesla had known about the Earth’s vibrations long before anyone else had. Now it was true that some natural phenomena caused some hums: mating fish near coastal cities or hidden mining equipment for example. After eliminating those possibilities, there were still unexplained hums, such as the one here at Angkor Wat. Two of the most famous were the Bristol Hum in England and the Taos Hum in New Mexico.

  As unobtrusively as possible, Claire turned on her TR-1010, a twenty-pound piece of equipment hanging from her neck by a strap. She slowly extended a long antenna, getting a dirty look from a large German woman in front of her.

  The TR-1010 recorded and calibrated many separate phenomena. One of these was ELF waves, Extremely Low Frequency radio waves. Lightning and natural disturbances in the Earth’s magnetic field often generated those. Interestingly, ELF waves could penetrate seawater, making them useful for communicating with submarines. The TR-1010 was also an EMF meter, reading electromagnetic fields. It could also detect an ambient wavefield known as seismic noise, the generic name for a relatively persistent vibration of the ground.

  As quietly as possible, Claire clicked on the device, adjusting it with several taps to the control screen. The TR-1010 vibrated with power. She rotated the device, keeping the antenna up so it wouldn’t bump against anyone else.

  Andy gave her an anxious glance. He’d been against doing this during the grand silence ceremony because it might upset the monks.

  Claire’s heart began to pound with excitement as she saw a pulse on the screen. This was amazing. She hadn’t even been able to get a blip in Taos, New Mexico. She made a few quick manipulations, trying to fix the source.

  At that moment, the hum intensified in Claire’s ears. She winced, never having heard it this loudly before. In the past, it had always been a background noise, stealing her peaceful moments, often waking her at night, making it impossible to get back to sleep.

  She glanced around. No tourist showed the slightest sign of annoyance of hearing anything disturbing. None of the shaved-headed monks changed their serene expressions.

  Claire studied the TR-1010, and she almost cursed aloud. The signal had spiked whil
e she’d looked away. She tapped the screen too forcefully and elicited another ugly stare from the German woman.

  Frowning, Claire shoved the device toward Andy. He glanced at her with confusion.

  “Do you see it?” she whispered.

  Andy got a frightened look. The head monk had explained in patient detail the importance of the five-minute silence, that no one make a sound during the ceremony.

  Claire pointed at the indicator screen.

  Andy shrugged, acting as if he didn’t understand.

  Claire understood the significance, however. An extremely low frequency radio wave was riding a magnetic crest, coming from underground directly beneath Angkor Wat. What would cause—?

  The German woman dropped her cellphone. The courtyard began to fill with clicking sounds as the other tourists began releasing their phones and other devices, letting them hit the ancient bricks.

  A few of the monks must have heard that. Two of them lost their peaceful gazes, turning toward the tourists.

  Claire no longer touched the TR-1010, but it still hung from her neck. She began to feel heat from it through her blouse. She noticed the German woman blowing on her hand as if it was hot. What could have caused all this?

  “Do you see that, love?” a tourist asked in a low voice.

  Claire looked over at an English tourist, a tall man in his fifties. He spoke to a small woman, his wife, no doubt. She was shaking her head.

  “There’s another,” the Englishman said, pointing.

  Claire followed the gesture in time to see a sparrow slam against the nearest wall of Angkor Wat. That was weird. Another sparrow did the same thing a moment later, crashing against the wall full tilt. The little creatures tumbled to the ground, not moving. Claire wasn’t sure if they were dead or had simply knocked themselves out.

  “What’s going on?” Andy asked her.

  Other tourists began to speak, a few shouting. Several pointed at the sky, the rule of keeping quiet during the ceremony apparently forgotten.

  Claire noticed the head monk opening his mouth. She wondered what he was going to say, but instead of waiting for it, she tore her gaze from him to see what everyone was shouting about.