To Kill a Priest - The Priors, Episode 1 Page 2

  He prodded the keyboard with urgency, saving the file to his computer and portable hard drive. Unplugging the drive from the computer, he slipped it into his jean pocket and disabled the connection. Jed slid the mobile computer into a duffle bag and set it next to the door.

  “Better safe than sorry,” he had always said.

  Jedd grabbed the appropriate cash from the dresser and slid it into the payment terminal on the wall. There were too many ways for hotel owners to track you down, so the key was to never give them a reason. He had enough people looking for him already, and they needed no help. He cautiously peered out the peephole and slipped on his hat, a random purchase made at a local gas stop. Along the brim it advertised for McCartey Racing, a common favorite in the local circuit.

  Opening the hotel door, Jedd hefted his bag over his shoulder and stepped into the dry, El Paso air. After that close call, he wasn’t about to take chances. His eyes were plastered on the area around him. He didn’t want a gun-toting PASTOR agent to suddenly appear from around a corner. Seeing no one lurking about, Jedd stepped across the parking lot. He paused to glance at the kids shouting and splashing in their bright bathing suits.

  Altran continued past the sport bike without a glance, surveying the occupied spots for a new mode of transport. Rule number one: Never be predictable. Keeping the same vehicle would be asking to get pulled over. He spotted a sleek but modest car and pulled out another of Koiyo’s inventions. Slipping what looked like a penknife into the sedan’s lock, Jedd slipped a pair of black, leather gloves on while waiting as the blade cycled through digital combinations. Within seconds, it found the right sequence. He smiled as the door opened beneath his hand. This was the invention he prized most.

  The owner won’t be happy to find the vehicle missing, but considering the reputation of the hotel and its temporary occupants, they probably won’t report the theft. At the least, any report they file will be pure lies, thought Jedd. This was why he chose these locations. The people that used them normally desired discretion.

  After placing his bags in the trunk, Jedd slipped into the front seat and started the engine. It was time to find another place to lay low. The best location that came to mind was a local coffee shop with free Internet. He had grown quite fond of the cafés, but had to limit his visits. He didn’t wish to become predictable. Predictability would lead to disastrous consequences, most of which included his death, and this time there would be a real body in the casket… his. Over the years, he had discovered a lot about the PASTOR program. Most politicians would deny any knowledge or association with it, but he knew better.

  Altran pulled out of the decrepit hotel and left the stuttering vacancy light behind. From the car dashboard, the fuel gauge flashed at him expectantly. He would have to fill up on his way. He coasted down the road, meandering through traffic.

  Jedd pulled out the computer hard drive and synchronized it with his cell phone. He could have used the car monitor, but didn’t want to leave a trail. He began scanning the screen as he drove, sifting through the file using voice commands. To take the next step, he needed more than his gut feeling and 89 percent; he needed proof.

  After scanning the file for a few minutes, he found what he needed. There was a reference to the trauma she suffered before her capture and the subsequent memory wipes… more than one. The vicious nature of her parents’ murder had become a recurring nightmare. Reading further into the document, he noticed that other than her patient number, 914, there was only one mention of a name, Madelin.

  How would someone deal with the loss of all childhood memories? he wondered. Is she still the same beautiful child I remember? Jedd dismissed the question the instant it came to mind. If she were different, pained, hardened to reality, then it was because of PASTOR. They kidnapped her and wiped her memory. There was nothing she could do.

  His hatred grew, infusing him with adrenaline as a flash of memory took over his senses. Before she disappeared, he last saw her huddled alone in the driveway, watching her house burn with her parents inside. She wavered back and forth as Jedd watched through the flames, out of sight of the PASTOR operatives milling around the front lawn. That day, they looked like flies in their black, Kevlar outfits, hovering around the fire and Madelin, but never coming close enough to touch her.

  The dingy, white nightgown clung to her sweaty body. She clutched her ash-covered teddy bear to her stomach as though it were her last link to sanity; she had named him Deedee. Jedd hadn’t seen her since, but vividly recalled tears streaming down her face as the flames danced across her soot-blotched skin. They left dirty rivers of carnage streaking from innocent, green eyes. It was as if the sight was trying to singe itself into her memory forever, like it had his… and her green, tear-filled eyes; he always felt as if they were nearby, peering over his shoulder, but she was always just out of sight.

  Jedd again felt the emotional uselessness he had known that day. Perched atop the hill overlooking the riverfront house, he watched Madelin through his binoculars. It pained him that he couldn’t aid her in the presence of so many armed men.

  “There’s never been a more heartbreaking sight,” he muttered just as oncoming headlights drifted in front of his eyes. Startled, he caught the wheel of the car and swerved back into his lane. His heart rate tripled, but as he sped down the asphalt road, the organ resumed its normal pace.

  Punching the door’s control pad at random, he smiled as the window lowered to admit a comforting breeze. He had to stay focused, but as the car motored on, his thoughts again drifted to Patient 914. This was his Madelin, and it seemed that the same memory was also haunting her.

  What have they done to you? Even after the wipe, if the memories are persisting, what PASTOR is doing should be reversible. But how can such a thing be done…? First thing’s first, though… There has to be a way to find you.

  Pulling into the gas station, he wiped a few tears from his face, then stepped out of the car and slipped his new badge over the payment reader. The monitor responded, “Thank you, Vanessa Carlisle.”

  So far so good, was all that came to mind as he pocketed the handy ID with the reflective bar code. Setting the pump to auto-fill, Jedd leaned against the car and massaged his bloodshot eyes. How do I reach her?

  Another memory came to him, one of Madelin sitting on his lap at the age of three. This is a more pleasant one, he thought before his mind began searching for clues to his next step.

  The memory reappeared, and questions came to mind. How, at such an early age, did she speak so clearly? She said a lot, but barely moved her lips.

  He was sitting in the worn, brown sofa chair that had always been Lane’s favorite. He remembered watching football and soccer in that living room, with its rustic, western feel. Throughout the years of friendship he and the Boatweit family had cherished, they enjoyed numerous conversations and parties in that room. On game nights, the chair was always reserved for Lane, a tall lanky man with a jovial smile and wit that would put a professional comic to shame. Earlier in their friendship, he wouldn’t have imagined that smile leaving Lane’s face, but over the last few months Lane had adopted a more somber demeanor.

  Her father wasn’t there at the moment, though, and the television was silent. Jedd had been asked to watch Madelin while her parents were out. It was only later, after Lane’s drastic change, that Jedd had been told about PASTOR and the threat looming over his goddaughter’s life. Eventually, Lane told him of Madelin’s extraordinary gift. Thinking back on it and reliving a pleasant memory of Madelin’s early childhood, it seemed to click. He hadn’t made the connection until now, but as he remembered sitting in that old, worn chair, it became clear how she said so much with so little effort.

  As the memory played through his thoughts, he watched Madelin’s lips. Nothing was said other than “Uncah,” her endearing name for him. He had always assumed she said more, but as he played back the scene like an old DVD, he wondered if his subconscious were imagining things.

&n
bsp; It would explain a lot, but seems unlikely, he concluded.

  In the memory he knew what she wanted, which book she wanted him to read, and automatically knew when to refill her sippi-cup. Thinking back to other memories, it became more and more likely that her abilities that manifested later weren’t the first. If telepathy were another one of her talents, maybe it worked both ways. He might be able to speak with her.

  But if this works, what do I say? Will she even know who I am anymore or what she can do?

  Based on his investigations of abducted children, they rarely knew who they were or anything about their pasts. Knowing what he would find, he suppressed the likely outcome. He preferred to bet everything on the solitary hope that she would retain one memory of her loving godfather.

  The pump retracted, and Jedd jolted from his wistful thoughts as a prerecorded voice spoke up from the pump. “Thank you for visiting. Have a nice day.”

  He pulled into the street and continued to the coffee shop. At this time of day, it would be busy, with a host of customers filling the lounge chairs and tables. Most people would be glued to their laptops, accessing the café’s server. This would help to hide his electronic footprints. A small smile crept onto his face as he considered the next step, assuming his vain hope worked at all.

  At the café, ‘Cup o’ Jo’ was barely visible on the sign above the storefront. Jedd ordered a hot mocha and desert to calm his nerves, swiping his ID as payment at the automated teller. The earthy tones of the café were relaxing and pleasant, and the uninterrupted expanse of tinted windows left him with a great view of the parking lot. He smiled inwardly as the machine thanked yet another generous philanthropist for shopping at the establishment. He could feel the PASTOR agents’ noose loosening as his trail became more difficult to follow.

  Gathering his meal, he found an uninhabited corner with a leather, lounge chair, seated himself, and peered out the window. The coast was still clear. It would be morning before a report was made about the car, assuming the authorities were called at all.

  Pulling his phone out, Jedd started his rerouting software and synchronized it with the portable hard drive. Then, he logged onto the public server. After an hour, he found what he was looking for. The first obstacle was to break the encryption on the F&M Architecture and Contracting Firm’s server. The company was hired to build the research facility where she was being held… another tidbit he’d discovered earlier.

  In an astute decision, PASTOR had chosen a less than desirable location. Building on top of the abandoned site where the original atomic bomb was tested would certainly deter any curious visitors. White Sands, New Mexico, was known for its albino sand dunes, and few would question the selection of such a site for a government-run mental-health facility. Everyone knew the government was thrifty when it came to health-care expenditures.

  Once he knew where to look, discovering the exact location became easy. From then on, the majority of his time was spent obtaining data files on current employees at the institute and the various security systems the facility had in place. Surprisingly, the system server was easier to crack. Thanks, you damned overconfident dandees… Having obtained the digital layout of the complex and an assortment of employee files, he was certain he could free Madelin from her prison.

  Jedd took a generous bite of his cooling Danish, logged out, and finished his coffee before grabbing a refill from a young waitress. Then, he accessed earlier files he had obtained on other test subjects. He scanned them for references to strange abilities. If Madelin turned out to be unaware of what she was capable of, then he would have to teach her whatever he could. The waitress returned a moment later, and he slid the card over the edge of the tray. Holding her eyes in his, a coy smile on his lips, he muttered an affectionate, “Thank you,” while waiting for the payment to process and the screen to clear. When it had, he dismissed her with a wave and turned back to his research.

  She stalked off, flustered.

  Time passed quickly. His steaming coffee turned cold as the sun crept below the barren mountains outside. Its light cast a pale hue upon sparse clouds, illuminating the horizon in pink and orange. The shadow of night loomed over the city and its rocky guardians. Jedd massaged his chin, smoothing the edges of his goatee as he stared at the screen. Consumed by the task, he was oblivious to the fading light around him. However, as the hours wound on, the fading pastels tempted his eyelids to droop and lured his chin to his chest. Soon, a subtle snore was all that escaped his corner of the world.

  Chapter Three

  Undiscovered Talents

  Many of the customers had left or been replaced by new clientele. The traffic along the sidewalk outside slowed as other stores closed for the evening. While Jedd’s unconscious mind wondered, he dreamed about Madelin and where she might be. His thoughts went to the facility imprisoning his beloved goddaughter. Though he had never seen it before, an aerial image solidified in his thoughts. He had seen the blueprints, and the layout looked right.

  Gazing down upon the research facility, he sought her out with a wistful sigh. A moment later he felt himself moving downward, through the meager clouds and into the confines of the building itself. He gained momentum as his mind focused on Madelin. He knew she waited inside. Within seconds he passed through the brick-and-mortar outer layer, into the crawlspace and vents. Unable to stop, Jedd slid through the ceiling and into a hallway.

  A young nurse in a white, fitted uniform meandered through the sterile hall, and he again tried to stop, but only managed to slow himself down. After gathering his bearings, Jedd looked at the oncoming woman. It was odd. After so many years of researching the agency’s heinous crimes, he was astonished that a PASTOR employee could look so… normal. Instead of a sinister smile, this woman walked with a composed, professional manner, as though she were about to diagnose a child with a runny nose. The white lab coat and her cordial smile gave her the look of a family doctor. Perusing her notes, she strolled further down the hallway without noticing him. It was as though she were oblivious, even with Jedd less than an arm’s length away. She smiled to someone in an open doorway and nodded her head before continuing around the corner. Her shoes almost left tread marks on his forehead, yet she hadn’t seen him. The thought baffled Jedd.

  The limitless opportunities of the dream brought a crooked smile to his face while he drifted through the multistory structure. He floated along corridors and into rooms, at times even drifting through the building’s various occupants.

  After consideration, it occurred that the details of these people and the building itself were too real to be his subconscious at work. Their faces were perfectly flawed and too well defined.

  If this isn’t just a passing dream, he thought, then it’s probably the best reconnaissance ever discovered. He was positive he would recognize the people upon waking. Passing through a multitude of sterile passages, he slowed to a stop in one of the rooms. The whole place looks like a modern-day hospital, from the outside in.

  Once he had emerged from the room’s ceiling, Jedd peered down and found the eyes of a bedridden patient staring up at him. The young man was strapped to the railings of his bed, his eyes fixated on the retired computer programmer. The look stunned him and stopped his progress. It took a moment for the shock to wear off. The boy looked familiar.

  Jedd’s memory served him well, pulling up a file he had once come across in his search. Although they had never met, he remembered the boy’s picture. There were a few marked differences, though, the most obvious being that the patient’s head was clean-shaven, with fresh razor burns along his skin. His time at the facility had allowed the dark tan in his picture to fade, leaving him pale as a ghost. He also had a sunken complexion, as though he just stepped out of Auschwitz. The sheets covering his thin arms and legs moved up and down, but the patient’s icy, blue stare seemed uninhabited, vacant, which disturbed Jedd most of all.

  What the hell did they do to you?

  The earlier photograph was of a y
oung man in his late teens, whose eyes danced with exuberance. The unblinking gaze supported his suspicion; the very tests they used to develop these children into competent agents, also sapped their souls.

  Tears welled in Jedd’s eyes. He wiped them away, but found nothing present. Looking down, he could see his hand, but as he attempted to touch his cheek, it unnervingly passed through his face.

  No matter how vivid this is, he reminded himself, it’s nothing more than a dream.

  His thoughts turned to his goddaughter with growing concern. Without warning, his form angled southward, building momentum as it went. The boy’s lifeless gaze drifted from view, and Jedd felt a weight lift from his shoulders, only to be replaced by something ten times larger.

  An uneasy feeling grew in his stomach, and he frantically scanned the rooms for his goddaughter. Sinking further into the tall building, he came to a stop in a room like the rest. Much like the other patient, this one was pale, but fared better. She seemed healthy, but something about the sight tugged at him. Her wrists were tied to the bed railings with short straps, a more common sight than he liked. Even with her eyes closed, Jedd knew his goddaughter within seconds. Relief found him, and the angst that accumulated during his thirteen-year search began to ease. He had given up his life for her over a dozen years ago.

  An instant after the thought crossed his mind, a picture of his loving, yet distraught wife appeared. Leaving her was a decision he hadn’t made lightly. He had chanced to follow her once after his feigned death and found her bowed low in the heat of the noon-day sun. She had fallen to the ground in a city parking lot. Her legs protruded from under her disheveled skirt like a small child, unaware of social graces and expectations. But unlike an eager and curious, little girl, her fragile hold on reality had fractured. She sobbed uncontrollably, screaming his name. Onlookers gawked from the entrance to the big-box retail store, but no one rushed to her side. It was as though her guttural shrieks could be heard the world over. Driving away and leaving her on the blistering asphalt was the hardest thing he had ever done.