Second That Emotion
by
Latikia
Copyright © 2006
Chapter 27
(Author’s
Note: Thanks to Razer
for his suggestion and my apologies for not working it in sooner.)
The helicopter landed on the roof of CIA headquarters thirty nine minutes later (more or less…I wasn’t wearing a watch) and Dr. Wills and I headed down to the lower levels.
When we were both seated in his office, he pressed his hands together so it looked as if he were praying. He pressed his two index fingers to his lips and looked as if he were about to speak. I waited patiently.
Finally he heaved himself back into his leather chair and tossed his hands into the air.
“This mess is getting so far out of hand I’m not sure what we can do to control it, much less stop it.” he said at last.
“Start at the beginning and tell me what you’ve found that I don’t already know about.” I suggested.
“The woman and the two men were still at the farmhouse where
you told us you and the ladies were taken.
They’re pretty much useless. Even
their fingerprints didn’t show up in the national data base. We’ve got Interpol checking them now. The four dead men were also still there. They’ve been more informative…after a
fashion. All four are ex-military and
ex-FBI. All of them were dismissed from
the FBI, according to the records, for illegal drug related activities…which
covers one hell of a lot of possible sins.
The farmhouse is owned, or rather was
owned, by the FBI as a safe house, but they sold it two years ago to an individual
named Gatz.
Mr. Gatz has a home of record in
“Neat. Very tidy and well thought out. Did we get an ID on the man in the car that hit me?”
“Yes. Wilson MacGruder, also ex-Army, but this one was ex-CIA as well. He was a field agent with the Central American branch, listed as killed in the line of duty five years ago during a Colombian drug operation.”
“Quite a coincidence, don’t you think?”
“Quite.”
“Well, let’s hope our little assassin can tie things up for us, otherwise I’m going to have to pull it out of the congressman, and that won’t go over at all well. On a totally different topic, I have a list I could use some help filling. Most of it is for the girls. And I’d appreciate it if you could contact Colonel DeBerg at Walter Reed and let him know Lilly and Peggy are alive and well. One of these days I’d like to take him out there so he can see how they’re doing.”
“How are the ladies?”
“Very well, all things considered. The absolutely adore the ranch house. They want me to talk with you about buying it. Little Peggy has been adopted by the horses. She’s decided she wants to raise horses herself, and maybe even become a vet.”
Dr. Wills smiled broadly. “Excellent. You know, we bought that ranch at government auction some years ago and have never had much use for it. Some of the big brass go out there on occasion for a weekend, or use the property to house visiting dignitaries, but most of the time it sits empty. I think we can arrange to transfer the title to you without any problem.”
“That would solve one of my problems. Thank you.”
“What other problems can I help you with?” he asked, a sly grin on his face.
“All my stuff, as well as Izzy’s is, or was, in a hotel room just outside Andrews, along with my car. And I believe Lilly and Peggy’s things are still being kept at Walter Reed. My wallet, along with my military ID, driver’s license and credit cards, seem to have gone missing. And if possible I’d like to access my bank account. That is unless our friendly congressman and Senator haven’t already put a lock on it.”
Wills opened his desk drawer, removed something and tossed it to me. My wallet.
“We’ve rounded up your personal possessions from the hotel, along with everything we could find belonging to your ladies. You can take them back with you this evening. Leave your list here and we’ll have it filled while you interview our ‘guest’. I’ve taken the liberty of transferring your bank balance to an offshore account. We’ll have your military pay checks direct deposited there and your government checks will go there as well. Oh, and Mr. Jones moved your car to our parking lot. We’re still working on getting you an assigned parking space, but it’ll be safe enough where it is for now.”
I raised an eyebrow. “You’ve been busy the past couple of days.”
“Just trying to make up somewhat for our earlier mistakes.”
I nodded. “What have you decided to do about your former secretary?” I asked.
He leaned back in his chair and eyed me. “Just for the sake of argument, what would you do about her, if the decision were yours to make?”
I thought about it for a few moments. “I believe I’d have her moved to another civil service position, someplace where she’d never again have access to classified material of any kind, and have a red flag placed in her personnel file emphasizing her status. I’d also wait to shift her until this mess with the congressman is finished. No need to let him know we’re on to him just yet. She screwed up, but I see no reason to destroy the woman or her family over it.”
He blinked slowly. “She could have gotten you killed.”
“Perhaps. But I prefer to save my vindictiveness for those directly responsible.”
“Interesting. I’ll give it some thought. Well, let’s go interview the young woman, shall we?” He got to his feet.
“Let’s. I’ve been working on something special just for her. It should be fun.” I said, rising to my feet.
“Mr. Jones has been speculating on how you planned to deal with her. He doesn’t believe she’ll respond to the method you used on our friend ‘Ivan’.”
“I agree with Mr. Jones. She’s much tougher mentally as well as physically. Like I said, I’ve been working on something special just for her.”
I handed him my list and as we exited his office he passed it on to his new secretary and asked her to see to it.
We took the elevator up to the first floor and walked out thru the metal detectors. A couple of the security guards recognized me and had their hands resting on the butts of their guns. I smiled warmly in their direction.
We left the building and got into a waiting SUV.
“Good morning Mr. Jones.” I said to the driver.
“Good morning, sir. No trouble with security at the ranch, I trust?”
“None so far. I even spent a little time watching a few of your folks on patrol.”
“I take it they didn’t see you.”
“No. They were focused on the outside perimeter, so I wouldn’t have expected them to be looking for me.”
Mr. Jones drove us out of the main gate and headed into D.C.
Forty minutes later we arrived at the very same house where I’d conducted my first CIA interview.
Once we were inside the house we sat down in the living room.
“Alright, son…how do you want to handle this?” Dr. Wills asked.
I grinned. “If Mr. Jones would lend me one of his world famous throw-away pistols and give me about five minutes I’ll be ready to begin. I assume you’ll be monitoring from behind the window?”
“We will. There will be no taping. I seem to recall you don’t much care for video archives.”
“In my place, how would you feel?”
He smiled tolerantly, shook his head and left Mr. Jones and I. Jones reached into his jacket and brought out a very nice looking, very old .32 caliber semi auto pistol. He handed it to me, butt first.
“The only safety is the back strap. Tighten your grip and the safety releases.”
I examined it carefully. “This thing’s a museum piece, and I mean that in the finest sense of the term.”
I popped the clip out and shucked the shells free, laying them on the coffee table, and reinserted the clip. Then I jacked the slide twice and caught the expended shell and set it with the others.
He gave me a cockeyed look. “Psychological warfare, Mr. Jones. I’ll go wait downstairs. Bring our guest in and tell her escorts to be very careful. I don’t want her injuring anyone else.”
I stood and headed for the stairs that led to the basement. Everything was the same, from the wide two way mirror on the false wall to the metallic table and the three chairs. I shoved one of the chairs beneath the mirror and sat down in the chair farthest from the stairs, and put the little pistol in front of me on the table.
I didn’t have to wait long before three large men frog marched our stringy haired guest down the stairs and planted her thin body in the chair on the opposite side of the table from me. The three of them backed up once she was seated. Mr. Jones came down the stairs and waved them out.
They filed out and left the three of us.
“Hello darlin’. Remember me?” I asked her. She lifted her head, tossed her dirty looking hair out of her eyes and peered across at me. Her upper lip curled into a vicious snarl, exposing slightly yellowed teeth.
“Good, you remember.” I picked up the pistol and jacked the slide then pointed it directly between her eyes. “Mr. Jones is going to remove your restraints. If you move so much as a muscle before I say you can I’m going to put a bullet into your face. Nod your head if you understand me.”
She nodded slowly, the snarl never leaving her lips.
“Mr. Jones, if you would be so kind?” I linked quickly, my eyes never leaving hers, never so much as blinking.
Mr. Jones removed her leg cuffs first then took off the heavy shackles from around her wrists. He stood up and backed away.
“Thank you Mr. Jones. Lock the door on your way out, would you?”
When I heard the door close and the locks click I set the pistol down on the table in front of me and stood up.
“Let’s start with something simple. What is your name?”
She remained silent, her upper lip quivered with barely suppressed rage. I turned, walking around the table, keeping several feet between us and monitoring her heartbeat and pulse. With the exception of the snarl on her face I would have been hard pressed to tell the difference between her current state of agitation and anyone else sleeping. Her self control was truly impressive. Calm and completely under control; no racing pulse, no increased heart rate, no feelings of impending movement or anticipation. And then, with absolutely no warning, she moved.
Almost quicker than I could see, she leaned forward; her hand shot out, plucked the pistol up off the table and pointed it at the center of my body. Her snarl turned into a brief disdainful smile, and then flashed back into a snarl. I moved towards one of the actual basement walls and leaned against it, favoring her with a patronizing smile of my own.
“What is your name?” I asked again.
I heard the hammer land on the firing pin with a loud click. Her eyes narrowed with anger and she threw the empty pistol at me and followed it, springing from the chair, hands raised in tight fists.
I caught the pistol with my left hand and hit her with the combined force of three women’s orgasms.
The look on her face was priceless. The snarl was instantly replaced by one of absolute amazement. Her muscles went slack; she stumbled and one leg collapsed beneath her body weight as she hit the floor hard, landing on her shoulder, trying to turn her fall into a roll. Twitching, her hands thrust between her thighs and she groaned loudly.
I kept the feelings constant and strong for a count of twenty then cut them off. She rapidly got to her feet, prepared to attack again. I amped the feelings up a couple of notches and hit her again. She shuddered and screamed loudly, falling back down on the floor, panting like a dog on a hot summer day.
“What is your name?” I asked her again, loudly enough to be heard over her rapid and harsh breathing.
“Huy tebe v zhopu!” she spat thru clenched teeth.
I looked over towards the mirror and raised an eyebrow. “Is Jill available?” I said loudly before returning my attention to the girl on the floor.
“Tell me your name.” I repeated slowly.
“Na huy!”
“Oh well…”
I increased the amplitude and hit her again. Her body bent backwards, looking as if she were trying to touch the back of her head to the bottoms of her feet. The expression on her face was one of extreme anguish.
I looped the emotion and locked it in place then returned to the chair behind the table and sat down. I set the empty pistol down in front of me and leaned back. It was a good thing she was in such good physical shape, because the interview looked like it was going to take a while.
I watched her thrash around, rolling from side to side, her eyes shutting tight then opening wide, tears flowing down the sides of her face.
“I can keep this up for a very long time.” I said conversationally. “I wonder what the permanent effects of such an intense and prolonged orgasm on your nervous system might be. Guess we’ll find out, huh?”
The crotch of her orange jumpsuit was soaked, as were the armpits, although I doubted they were the same sort of stains. Her face was slick with sweat and tears and she had begun to cry as well as moan, groan and grunt.
She lay on the floor and I sat watching her for about half an hour when there was a loud knocking on the basement door.
“Come on in!” I called out, “It’s safe!”
The door opened and Mr. Jones escorted Jill the translator in.
“Hello Jill, nice to see you again.” I said, getting to my feet.
“Mr. Blacktower…interviewing again?”
“I’m afraid so. But no blood this time, I promise.”
I told her what the girl had said, as well as I could remember and repeat the words and Jill laughed.
“She’s a tough one, huh?”
“Yes she is. Can you tell me what she was saying?”
“Oh sure, it’s Russian… ‘Huy tebe v zhopu’ means, more or less, a dick up your ass. Think of it as not just ‘no’ but ‘fuck no.’ ‘Na huy’ means to hell with you…another form of ‘fuck no’.”
The girl on the floor went limp. “She’s passed out.” I said, cutting off the flow of emotion, but maintaining our link.
Jill eyed me as I sat back down. “I don’t think she’s Russian, her accent is
all wrong. There is an underlying hint
of
“Maybe she’s been conditioned to respond under stress with Russian.” I suggested.
Jill brought the chair from beneath the mirror over and sat next to me.
“Can I ask why you’re interviewing her?”
“She tried to kill me when I was in the hospital. I want to know who sent her, who she works for. I’m not going to hurt her, if that’s what you’re wondering.”
The girl on the floor showed signs of regaining consciousness. She began muttering and tried to get to her feet.
I watched her closely, feeling her anger build, the strength of that emotion growing in power and intensity. I’d managed to crack her control.
Getting up, I moved around the table and knelt next to her, pushing her back down on the floor. Her eyes opened wide; fear and anger merged into one powerful emotion and she lashed out. Her body was weakened but there was nothing wrong with her reflexes. Blocking her fists with my forearms I reached inside her and ripped out her anger.
“No, no…no more of that.” I growled. In place of the anger I flooded her with desire. Her pupils dilated and blood rushed to her face.
“Please…please…” she rasped, choking on the words.
“What is your name?”
“Anya…Anya Rasmussen. Please…make it stop!” she begged me as her body began to shake.
She wasn’t lying, that much I could tell. I eased back on the desire and increased the flow of hyper-orgasm. Her shaking increased.
“Who sent you to the hospital Anya?”
She shook her head violently. I flooded her nervous system with pleasure and increased the level of her fear at the same time.
Leaning close, I held her face between my hands and forced her to look at me.
“Anya…listen to me. I can make you feel like this for the rest of your life. It will never stop, not for a second. You’ll never be able to think straight, you’ll never be able to feel anything but this for as long as you live. It will never, ever stop. Is that what you want?”
Fear gave way to terror. The terror beat back the desire and pleasure for a brief instant, then collapsed and gave way to resignation and acceptance.
Then I did something that I’m not very proud of, something that haunts me to this very day.
I ripped out her terror, her fear, her ambition and personal drive and replaced them with a spark of love.
“You are nothing without me, Anya…I am the reason you exist. I am your god, your life, your passion. Everything you do from now until the day you die, you will do for me.”
I blasted her with passion, lust, admiration, adoration and love, amplified, magnified and locked into her until three weeks after doomsday.
She screamed out loudly and thrashed about, pounding her fists on the floor, kicking her bare feet, trying desperately to escape the fate I’d decreed for her.
“You belong to me, body and soul Anya. Anything I want from you, you’ll give me willingly. Your life belongs to me!”
‘Finally!’ the darkness inside me crowed with delight.
Justice is what I say it is.
I burned my commands into the girl on the floor, bending my words around the powerful emotions that seared themselves into the essence of her being.
“Who sent you after me Anya?”
“Senator Wilma Mortenson!” she coughed wetly, her body going limp.
“Why does she want me dead?”
“She doesn’t want you to work for the CIA. Too dangerous.” she said weakly. I stopped the flow of emotions. Anya was as limp as a wet noodle and lay quietly on the floor, her face still captured between my hands.
“How many other people has she sent to kill me?”
“Only me and the man. I don’t know his name. We never talked. I didn’t trust him.”
I released her face, picked her up off the floor and sat her in the chair opposite Jill’s and mine. I remained standing next to her.
“How did the Senator contract your services?”
“Thru the Director of the CIA.”
That brought me up short. Wheels within wheels and all of them looking to grind me into mulch.
“You work for the CIA?”
“Yes.”
“How long?”
“Six years.”
“How were you placed on the Psych Ward? Someone had to know why you were there.”
“The Senator has influence with someone on the staff, someone who can alter the records and files. I don’t know who.”
I flinched inside. Please, not him. I liked the man; I trusted him and had linked with him. I’d shown him what I could do to help people.
‘You can only be
betrayed by those you trust.’
“Thanks very much for that useless bit of aphorism.”
I stood up and faced the mirror.
“I think we have enough for the time being.” I turned to Jill. “Would you please take Anya upstairs and show her to the shower? Let her get cleaned up and into some regular clothing, if we have any available.” Jill nodded her agreement.
I leaned down and put my palms flat on the table. “Anya, I want you to behave yourself, don’t hurt anyone, and don’t try to run away. Stay with Jill until I come get you. Alright?”
“Yes sir.” she said in a small voice.
“Anya, do you still want to kill me?”
She looked up at me, adoration on her face, in her eyes and boiling inside her.
“No. I’ll never hurt you. Never!”
I smiled and her heart jumped, a tiny hint of pleasure flared up. I felt sick to my stomach. “Good girl. You go with Jill and do as she says.”
“Yes sir.”
I stood up. “Okay, Mr. Jones, you can unlock the door now.”
The three of us stood, moved to the door and waited. A few moments later the locks went ‘snick’ and the door opened inwards. Jill put a hand between Anya’s shoulders and directed her up the stairs.
Mr. Jones watched the pair of them climb away from us.
“Are you sure she’s safe?”
“Jill? She’s safe. Anya won’t hurt her.”
“I meant Anya.”
I sighed. “No, she’s most definitely not safe. Muzzled might be a better description.”
“What did you do to her?” he asked.
“Something unforgivable; I took away her free will.”
“We were prepared to dispose of her once you finished your interview.” he said.
“I know. That’s one reason why I did it. The other reason is justice. She was sent to take my life, so now she’ll spend what’s left of her own protecting me.”
“You made her a slave?”
“Yeah. I’m not feeling too good about myself right now. Let’s get the hell out of here, huh?”
Mr. Jones and I met up with Dr. Wills in the living room. He was sitting in front of the fireplace staring into the flames of a freshly started fire.
“I knew the Director resented the hell out of my little kingdom, but I had no idea it had gotten to this point. Why come after you and not me?” he said softly, thinking aloud.
“Maybe he doesn’t see you or your department as a threat. Maybe it’s just me. If I were the ambitious type, the politically ambitious type, I’d be worried about me.”
He pondered that for a few moments. “You might be right, son. Political types do tend to attribute their own motives and ambitions to everyone else.”
“So we have a Senator, a congressman, the Director of the CIA…how many others, do you think? And how much higher up?” I asked rhetorically.
“We need confessions. Very loud and very public confessions. The Director of the CIA along with two members of Congress have tried to kill a twenty two year old war veteran. This can not be allowed to happen.”
‘Justice…’ the voice in my head snarled.
“No mercy…no compassion…” my voice rasped hoarsely.
‘…no appeal!’
“They’ve tried to kill me…and they have nothing I want.” I hissed.
‘I don’t know…the senator and congressman might make a nice example for the rest of their overly ambitious brethren. But the Director…fuck that politically appointed piece of shit!’
“Agreed.”
I looked up into the eyes of Dr. Wills and Mr. Jones.
“Any chance of a meeting with the Director? Or should I use that sniper rifle you left me at the ranch?”
Dr. Wills blanched slightly. Mr. Jones eyed me steadily.
“Given the choice, I’d rather take him out in person. There’s less mess, and less of a trail for some clever coroner to latch onto. Either way, I am going to kill him. And as far as I’m concerned, the sooner the better.”
“You could always send the girl, Anya, and have her take him out.” Mr. Jones suggested.
“No…as tempting as that is, I want her alive. She’s going to be my assistant for a while. And I’m going to have her teach my girls to defend themselves. If push comes to shove, I’ll have her defend them. No…and as much as I’d like to be right in his face when it happens, it’s not necessary. Just get me close enough so I can see him.”
“You can project that kind of power from that far away?” Dr. Wills asked, his voice weak and strained.
“Come on Doc…you’ve known from day one that I’m a projective empath. Just like I’ve known from day one that you’re an empath as well. Maybe not as strong as me, but still…”
He seemed surprised. “I can’t project my emotions. And I can’t link the way you appear to be able to. I have to have actual physical contact with a person to make my links work.”
“I figured as much, from the way you reacted the first time we met, when we shook hands.”
“Yes…so much power in someone so young. I confess to a severe case of jealousy, my boy.”
“If I could give it to you, I’d do it in a heartbeat.”
He looked hard at me, as did Mr. Jones. “I believe you mean it.”
I held out my hand to him. “One way to be sure.”
He laughed and held his hands up in the universal gesture of surrender.
“Ike, for someone like me, touching your kind of power is far too much like an addict getting a taste of his favorite drug and then having to walk away from the source. If I weren’t sure of you and your motives, I would never have brought you into this mess in the first place.”
“So you’ll get me someplace where I can get a look at the man?”
“Yes. I know just the place. This Director is a little too punctual and predictable for his own good.”
I smiled coldly. Now if I could just figure out what to do about the rat bastard prick in the hospital.