“Sit me down,” she breathed hard, her eyes dazed. I brought her back to her table where she joined her friends. Tucked her underwear into my pocket. She gave me her phone number, dorm room and hall, begged me to call her.
I smiled, promised I would, and promptly forgot her as I returned to the corner booth with Parker. His three companions had left and we were alone.
“You work fast,” he commented. “Feel better?”
“My balls ache.” I shifted; my jockeys were uncomfortably tight still.
“You still got a boner? That chick was hot.”
“Lots of hot chicks here,” I returned. Spoke French.
“You ready to go? Orientation starts at 6 AM tomorrow.”
I shrugged. Plenty of pussy in the dorms, too. Wondered where that thought came from as Parker led me out into the dark alley between the bar and the parking lot. Stopped near the big pickup on the corner near the burnt out light pole. Heard his voice coming from far away as my senses dwindled in the outer persona and sharpened to the inner one, the one I knew was the real ‘I’. Saw an image of the surrounding area through a strange lens, a strange greenish glow like night vision. Yet when I turned my/our head, it was to a 260° angle. I heard unnaturally clearly, looked down from the rooftops of the bar where I perched on an overhang. Screech owl. I was in a screech owl, and could see everything, down to the glint of a gold ring on the dark-haired man’s pinky, the black high tops on my feet, the three men waiting in the darkness. Mice skittering and squealing under the dumpster as their hearts raced sensing the presence of danger.
I swooped down on my wings making no noise, no subtle movement of the air, yet I/me heard me/bird.
My head swiveled and I/owl flew into the waiting group of men; hitting them with my/our outstretched talons. Slashed, saw bright greenish black blood spurt in the darkness. Heard their cries of pain and terror. One of them tried to snag me, but I opened my wings wide to stop, twisted and slipped to the left on two strong wing beats. Saw the glint of a gun and dodged as a soft pfft! broke the air near my tail feathers.
“Don’t shoot!” Parker yelled and shoved my body down to the disgusting pavement covering me. Above, I banked keeping to the darkness where they could not see me. The men ran off. Parker waited. Asked breathlessly, “you okay, Daniel?”
The body that was me pushed him off, jumped up and tried to go after them sputtering in rage. “Those were the dudes that were sitting with you, Parker! They shot at me! ”
“No, Daniel. At some kind of bird.”
“Screech owl,” I corrected. “It was a screech owl. They don’t attack humans.”
I stared into darkness straight at me. It felt weird, looking at my own eyes and knowing I wasn’t in there. “Who?” I asked and the bird’s voice echoed, ‘Hoo. Hoo.’
Parker did something, he slipped a loaded syringe into my neck and I collapsed onto the pavement at his feet. Parker pulled out an expensive phone and dialed. As soon as my awareness shut off, I was drawn out of the owl before I could blink. Found myself back in my vault with my own consciousness bleeding away.
Chapter 20
Mitchell Gaines was troubled. He sat at his desk in his office, looking out the window of a high-rise on the Dallas skyline and wondered again why he had a sinking sensation in his belly over his son. He called the dorm twice already and both times, Danny’s roommate said Danny was out, and would call back. He hadn't. The two weekly calls they had received had been on the house’s answering machine, it was as if Danny only called when he knew both of them were out of range or out of the house.
On impulse, he left the office and told his PA he was going for pizza and he descended the building to walk across the street to the local pizza parlor, a real brick oven, family-owned jewel that was part of the eclectic downtown Dallas.
Ordered a New York style with extra cheese and mushrooms and dialed on a throwaway generic phone he’d kept from the old days when he was in HS and still paranoid. He’d dug it out of the attic where it had waited since his accident.
Dialed a number from memory. It rang ten times and belatedly, he remembered the time difference on the East Coast. Apologized when a sleepy voice answered grumpily. “Who the hell is this?”
“Mitchell Gaines,” he said.
“Gaines! Jesus, I thought you were dead or something! Where are you? What are you doing? Why are you calling me?” Jake James bitched.
“What you mean, you thought I was dead?”
“Well, hell, man. We heard you were killed in a car accident right after a major lab fire in that fancy building you worked in. Your house was sold, your wife moved away. Nobody saw or heard from you in years. Till now. Where are you?”
“Dallas,” Mitchell said slowly. Out of the blue, “you ever solve the Senator’s son’s murder? Or find his body?”
“No. Poor guy, he was devastated. The only thing they kept him going was his crusade against crime. You can walk downtown DC today and be safe. He’s cleaned up the city. He’s going after terrorists next.”
“Can you fax me the files on the case?”
“Why? You got a tip? Call the FBI and MPD,” James returned. “What have you got?”
“A hunch,” Gaines replied his head suddenly aching. “Oh, never mind, James. I’m acting stupid, picking at straws. Bye.” He hung up and stared at the pizza, his stomach churning in waves of nausea. Frantically, he dialed Danny’s number and it went straight to voice mail. Next, he called Jasmine’s phone and reached her.
“Hey, babe,” she chirped. “How are you? You hear from Danny? Funny, I tried to call him and got no answer, just his roommate and his voice mail.
“Jazz, what’s the name of that social worker we met Danny through?”
“Why?” She sounded instantly suspicious.
“Someone was asking me if they knew where they could adopt a kid. Special needs, one no one else wanted. I thought of her.”
“Horowitz, Hemowitz, something like that. Jane. Her first name was Jane. I might have the number of the agency. The name of the agency will be on the adoption papers.”
“Where are they?”
“In the safety deposit box.”
“Thanks, Jazzy. I’ll be home early. Bye.” He called his PA, told her he was taking the rest of the day off and walked the six blocks to his bank.
When he breached the safety deposit box, he found the papers, his and Jazzy’s wills, birth certificates and a digital copy of Daniel’s. He unfolded it and scrutinized the French paperwork, was able to read and translate. Danielle Defreaux was born March 25, 1997 to a Camille Angelou and Jean-Pierre Rochefort. The adoption agency was called The Society for a Better Life out of Lucerne, Switzerland. The adoption decree looked official, was signed and witnessed by a Jane Hemowitz and Doctor Martin Mendoz, Esq., notarized on heavyweight papers, some four in all with the clauses he’d only skimmed over when he’d signed below Jasmine’s name.
He read it again, carefully noting the line about continuing Daniel’s therapy with Doctor Cohen and only Doctor Cohen, that Daniel was not to be taken out of state without express written permission by Doctor Cohen, and that he was not to be given any drugs except on her okay, no piercings, or tattoos. If he was to be injured in any way requiring hospital, or medical care, she was to be notified immediately before 911 was called even in a life-threatening situation. Some of them seemed downright silly and others vaguely threatening.
Mitch folded up the papers, stuck them in his breast pocket and closed up the box. He exited the vault room, thanked the teller and left the bank, walking slowly back to the overhead garage and his pickup truck. Wasn’t surprised when he saw the neatly attired man standing next to his truck and knew instantly who he was.
“Colonel,” he said flatly, wishing he were armed. He looked around for backup. Saw no one. “No uniform?”
“I was curious to see what you remembered?”
“You. You offered me a job. Undercover.”
“Deep undercover. So deep,
you didn’t even know it. What triggered your memories?” He asked curious.
“Call it a father’s intuition. Only, I’m not his father, am I?”
“To all intents and purposes, you are. You raised him for the last four years.”
“And Senator De Rosier had him for fourteen.”
“Dantan De Rosier died in that lab at Spook-Land, Mitchell. Two scientists named Everett Hawthorne and Marian Cohen killed his personality through a…brainwashing technique using electroencephalogram waves, biofeedback and drugs. Then, they programmed in a whole new persona. Two, in fact. One for you to raise and the other that Doctor Cohen slowly and carefully nurtured in her therapy sessions until he was grown up enough to activate.”
“He was right,” Mitchell said. “He said she was bad, she scared him. I went to confront her.”
“You were breaking your programming. She went in and the tweaked you so she’d be more comfortable with her, and the therapy. And she gave you something else to focus on, Daniel’s sexual maturing. What a time she had keeping that in check!” He breathed out. “Whoo! We had to hire a hooker for him so his hormones wouldn’t jeopardize the downloads.”
“You’re going to use him to spy on the White House,” Gaines remembered.
“That and other things. Question is, what are you going to do?”
“I am, as I seem to recall, an NSA agent. What’s my assignment now?”
“Are you two close to him, Mitchell? We need a control officer. He’ll be going to the farm for training in covert skills.”
“He’ll recognize me.”
“You’ll be operating him out of NSA headquarters. You’ll never see each other. You’ll just be a voice directing him. Our first missions will be test to see how far his control is.
“You know, last night, he managed to scare off three of my men. With an owl.”
“And afterwards? I seem to recall after, he collapses.”
“Not this time. He was ready to get up and go after them. Quite the foolhardy hero, this program. He can be anything we program him to be,” the Colonel admired. “We’ll just forget about your little research mission, shall we? No more phone calls to Agent James, no more lying to your luscious wife and no more poking into Daniel’s adoption. We both know it’s all an agency run operation. Quite expensive, so don’t fuck around with it, Gaines. You in or out?”
“In, sir,” he said.
“Good boy. I‘d hate to have to shoot you.” The Colonel made an obscene gesture and across the parking structure on the same rooftop height of the next high-rise, Gaines saw the sniper stand up, pull down his rifle and salute before he disappeared. The Colonel took his hand out of his pockets and Gaines saw the shoulder holster. Empty.
“Start carrying again,” he said curtly and left the NSA agent leaning against the pickup door.
Mitch peered under the chassis, opened the hood slowly and checked for anything obvious. Then, he backed up behind a concrete wall and pressed the self-starter button on his key ring and flinched.
The beeping and throaty hum of his Triton V-8 greeted him and only then did he sink his clenched butt cheeks onto the plush leather cushions. When he arrived home, even then he wore caution like a Kevlar vest.
Chapter 21
I was vaguely aware of Parker, dragging me into a car I didn’t know he had, and belting me in. He pulled my eyelids up and stared. “You out, kid?” I felt like two people. Part of me remembered the girl in the bar and part of me was the one in the owl. “Dude, you weren’t supposed to take out the guys. Just go to sleep till we get there.”
“Where?” I managed to ask.
He put the clutch in and peeled out to the road into traffic. I heard the sounds of Dallas highways, the humming of tires and reached for the door handles, but fumbled without feeling much of anything.
He and the interior became a kaleidoscope of dark and light, movements up and sideways until I felt myself being lifted into an air-conditioned box and floated up towards the ceiling and bright lights. Saw Cohen. She stuck me with her needles and it all went away.
*****
Danny. Danny, wake up now.
I opened my eyes. Was in a room, with big commercial windows that looked out over the prairie. No mountains, no horizon lines just rolling hills that stretched forever. Grass all around in green and golden tones. Big blue skies with puffy fat clouds. My head felt as fat and soft as they looked.
Parker was in this room with a generic couch, chairs, and a coffee table. It looked like a waiting room.
My sleeve was rolled up and a fresh needle mark was on the elbow crease. Black and blue around it. Another was on my neck near my collar. I was in Dockers, and a blue dress shirt, my windbreaker on the couch. My feet were up on the cushions.
Marian Cohen and another man were standing behind Parker, who was seated opposite me.
“What’s going on?” My throat was tight, sore as if someone had gagged me or I’d been screaming.
“What do you remember, Daniel?” She asked.
“Doctor Cohen. Parker. The bar, fucking the girl, going outside. Three guys waiting to attack me,” I said flatly.
“How did you know they were there, Daniel?” The man asked. I’d never seen him before, he looked military, a jarhead with razor cut, gray hair. Electric blue eyes, trim, neat build and ramrod straight. He chilled me.
“I went somewhere else. In something else, his eyes. Saw them hiding in the dark,” I answered.
“Was it an owl, Daniel?”
“Yes. Screech owl. It was hunting for mice behind the dumpsters.”
“Good, Daniel,” he said and held up a picture of a yellow Labrador retriever. I knew her name was Sassy.
“Go to her and tell me what she’s seeing, Danny,” he ordered.
I felt them retreating from the other me that stood behind a locked door, waiting to take over. ‘Sassy’, he thought and suddenly, I was him, was in the Labrador as she padded to the house, an old country house in the middle of 40 acres of pasture.
A woman’s neat legs in shorts passed my head and stroked me. “Sass, want to go out?” We heard the far-off rumble of a familiar vehicle, barked and loped painfully to the door to await arrival of our master.
“Mitch coming home, Sassy?” The woman asked, and flung the door open as the 4 x 4 F 250 drove up to park behind the Audi SUV.
The man who exited the vehicle was 6’2”, broad and handsome, with dark hair and just a glint of gray at the temples, blue eyes. He looked grim as he strode down the graveled, flagstone path to the house.
“You’re home early, Mitch,” she called and we loped out to weave around his legs.
He stopped, regarded us, and pulled the woman by the arm into the house, leaving us outside.
We barked and scratched at the door but no one opened it. Went around to the porch window where the kitchen was, and looked in. Dropped, trotted around to the back sneaking for the yard and the sliding doors that were nearly always open. Mitch closed it in our nose and stared through it at us. Herded the protesting woman into the interior of the house. We sat down, laid with our head on our paws.
Searched the skies. A crow sat nearby in the old live oak, the bedroom window was open to let the slight breeze cool the upstairs.
I shifted, momentarily distracted by the thrill of flight, dive bombing and doing aerial acrobatics before I aimed my beak for the window. Was abruptly startled as I saw another crow in front of me and banked until I realized I was seeing myself in a mirror.
Flying inside the house was tricky, sharp corners and walls, depth perception was different. I landed on the top railing of the stairs and heard their voices. Couldn’t quite make out the words even with my acute hearing.
Slipped off the railing to glide closer and reached a hallway where out of the corner of my gold-rimmed eye, I saw a broom come swinging. It hit me, knocked me out of the air to land on the floor where I fluttered my wings feebly. My head wouldn’t straighten, my heart raced over two hundred be
ats a minute and I felt no pain, save for that initial shock when the broom hit. Heard him say, “Its neck is broken.”
Warm hands picked me up, my head hung limp, bent backwards in a pose not conducive to living. His voice became a blur as death crept up the bird’s nervous system. I let go.
*****
“Holy Christ, Daniel? Daniel, can you hear me? You have a heartbeat, doctor? Shall I call the infirmary? This is Colonel Pierce, I need a complete medical team in the auxiliary lounge, room 2206 immediately. Cardiac arrest.” Daniel lay slumped, half on the couch, and half on the floor, his face, gray, fingers and lips turning blue. Parker pulled him off to lay flat on the floor, ripped open his shirt as he went around to the head and shoulders of the unconscious teen. “No pulse, no, respirations,” he said and breathed two quick breaths into the upturned mouth, pinching off the nostrils. Doctor Cohen thrust and counted to thirty. Within two or three minutes, she was sweating as they exchanged places.
“Colonel, is there a de-fib device nearby?” She gasped between breaths. Five minutes brought the med team in, who took over with equipment and drugs. She’d stepped back and let the corpsman handle it as Daniel was hooked up to a cardiac monitor and blood pressure cuff.
“No pulse, no respirations,” the medic announced. “Adrenaline in, charging 300 joules. Clear.” They him with the paddles and his body lifted as a small jolt as electricity flooded his heart. “BP is coming up, 40/20, pulse weak and thready,” he said. “80/40 sinus rhythm is back to normal. Let’s get him to the infirmary. What’s his name?”
“Daniel. Daniel Atkinson,” Cohen said as they lifted him onto the gurney.
Chapter 22
Confusion ranged through me. My chest felt like I’d been rammed by an SUV, I wasn’t sure if I was in a hospital or clinic. Remembered the bar, the girl, the owl. Attacking the three men. Gasped. Flew up from the bed in a panic and met the restraining arms of a nurse, doctor, or orderly. Cohen was there and the man she’d called the Colonel.
“Take it easy, Daniel,” he said and I twisted to look around the room. It looked like a doctor’s office and a hospital room.
“Where am I?” I glanced at the BP cuff on my arm as the cardiac monitor beeped busily away in a normal rhythm. My BP was 110/60, pulse sixty-five and respirations, thirty-two. I was hyperventilating.