The Unseen (24 page)

Lucas backed out of the Web browser and checked the workstation's clock.

The next Creep Club meeting was in less than an hour. The regularly scheduled evening meeting.

He was sure the Chinese version of the CIA was now after him, and he had Saul to thank for it. If he could back up, maybe start over with the club, he could explain the situation with Saul, convince them to help him bring it all down. But that was all out the window now; he couldn't very well show his face to them again, especially in light of his recent publicity.

Still, he had nothing else; going to the Creep Club meeting was the only thing he could think of to do, and he needed to do
some
thing
. Quitting, leaving, dropping out of sight, and doing nothing wasn't an option. He felt a . . . well,
Connection
was the right word, wasn't it? That indefinable, extrasensory something that tied him to certain people over the years. He felt the Connection now, stronger than ever, more imperative than ever, and even though it wasn't tied to a specific person, he knew he couldn't cut it.

He sighed as he stood. Time to creep the creeps, as Saul liked to say. He needed to build a makeshift observation deck at the new building, hide away and find out what he could.

Maybe he'd be lucky.

TWENTY-THREE

LUCAS WATCHED AS THE CREEP CLUB MEMBERS SLIPPED INTO THE building—some through the broken door, some through old windows, some, he was sure, through entry points he couldn't easily see—and he felt a longing in his heart.

Here were people who should welcome him, who should understand him, who should accept him as one of their own. Or, maybe more appropriately, here were people he should welcome, he should understand, he should accept as his own.

And yet, as much as he understood one side of them—the side that hid an insatiable hunger to seek out other people, an uncontrollable need to feed the Dark Vibration—he was repulsed by their unseen side.

The side that simply watched while other people suffered.

He wasn't one of them. Couldn't be one of them. The Dark Vibration that thrummed in his bone marrow didn't demand the suffering of others.

Did it?

He pushed the thoughts from his mind and hefted his new pack onto his back. Like it or not, he needed to find out more. Maybe he could use something he found out as a lure for Saul, a bargaining chip.

It had been several minutes since he'd seen anyone enter the building, and his TracFone told him it was now about a quarter past the hour; after looking at the time, he powered down the phone and slipped it into his pocket.

A quarter after. For him, it was showtime.

He would have preferred to arrive early, set up ahead of time, carefully conceal himself. Time hadn't allowed that, so he'd have to wing it, hope for the best.

No matter; he couldn't stop now. The front door, hanging loosely, had more than enough space for him to enter. He noticed, as he slid through, yet another CC scrawled into the surface of the door. Evidently the Creep Club folks were starting to feel at home.

He climbed the stairs, going to the next floor. He paused at the end of the hallway, noting the light spilling from room 227 about halfway down. He stayed silent, pressed against the wall as he listened. Murmurs from the room where they were meeting, but nothing else. He'd go to the adjacent room this time, as he'd done in the other building, try to overhear what they were talking about.

He stepped out of the shadows and began to move down the hallway, being careful not to make a sound. But after a few steps, he stopped again, shocked by who he saw step out of room 225. His Bad Twin. The Bad Twin looked at him with his eyes, smiled with his mouth, held a finger to his lips for a quick
Shhh
. . . and stepped back into room 225, slamming the door shut behind him. The sound reverberated down the hallway, and Lucas heard scrambling inside room 227; without hesitating, he started to turn and run, but just as he did, he felt something solid hit him on the back of the head. He crumpled to his knees, dazed, caught a glimpse of the figure who had hit him running down the stairs.

Also his Bad Twin.

Two of them? He'd been set up, tricked, by two people who looked exactly like him. Impossible, yes. Unless he was becoming a split personality. Delusional. That wasn't so hard to believe.

He started to rise, but he knew it was already too late, even before he heard the mechanical click of a revolver's hammer being pulled back just behind him.

“I think you can stay on your knees right there,” a woman's voice said.

He did as he was instructed.

“Put your hands behind your back,” the voice said.

Once again he did as he was asked and felt a plastic tie-down slip around his hands and tighten.

“Stand up and turn around.”

He turned, and the whole Creep Club was in the hallway with him. The woman closest to him kept her revolver pointed at his head. Snake, just behind, stood smiling. Down the hall, he saw a couple of people picking the lock on room 225's door.

“Well,” Snake said. “You know how to make an entrance.” Then to everyone else: “Okay, let's go back and talk about this.”

The people began filtering back into room 227, and the woman motioned with the barrel of the gun, telling him to follow.

Inside the room, all was quiet as every set of eyes stared at Lucas. He shifted on his feet uncomfortably; he wasn't used to being the subject. Only the viewer.

“Odd,” said Snake. “Here we were talking about how to track you down, and you save us considerable trouble by walking into the meeting for us.”

Another man, whom Lucas recognized from the previous meeting as Hondo, spoke. “So where's Donavan? Was he one of the others with you?”

Lucas stayed in the doorway, returned the man's gaze. “I'm here alone,” he said.

“Funny,” Hondo said. “We saw one guy hightail it down the steps, another climb down the side of the building and run away.”

“Did you get a good look at them?” Lucas asked.

“Why? Who are they?” Hondo returned.

“That's what I was going to ask you.”

Hondo looked like he had something sour in his mouth. He pursed his lips, and Lucas thought for a moment he was going to spit. But he stayed quiet.

Lucas let his gaze slide back to Snake. “Seems like you're our favorite topic, Humpty. Had a special meeting all about you last night, and now this one tonight. Everyone still wants to talk about you. I don't suppose you have a project to show?”

Lucas held the gaze a moment. “I do, as a matter of fact.”

“Really?”

“In my backpack. Some tapes I think you'll want to see. A man who's a double agent, trying to infiltrate the Creep Club.”

Snake glanced at the red-haired woman who stood behind Lucas, keeping the gun pointed at him. “What do you think, Clarice?” he asked. “Should we let his hands free?”

Snake looked back at Lucas. “Sorry,” he said. “Clarice says we can't untie you.”

Hondo spoke again. “Yeah, I bet there's an agent trying to make it into the club,” he said. “And he's standing right in front of us.”

“Now, now, Hondo,” said Snake. “We don't know that at all.”

Hondo stood. “That's just it. We don't know
anything
. We never even had such a thing as open membership until we let Donavan in a few years ago. And now, just by coincidence, he comes dragging this guy in.” Hondo gave him a dismissive wave. “Who's now here to tell us he can save us from some big federal investigation. Timing seems a little convenient.”

Snake seemed to actually be enjoying the exchange. “Hmmm. Interesting point. So what do you think we should do, Hondo?”

Hondo didn't hesitate for a second. “Shoot him.”

Lucas swallowed, tried not to show any emotion. This wasn't what he'd expected—these folks loved secrets, after all, so why wouldn't they be slobbering all over themselves to see what he had on Saul? But surely someone else would speak up.

“Shoot him,” Snake repeated. “A good possibility. Anyone else have an idea?”

Lucas looked around the room, expecting an argument of some kind to start. But all he saw in their eyes was that Dark Vibration, wanting violence.

Hondo, sensing he was on the verge of something big, continued. “This isn't the Elks Club. You don't get voted in. You were either there in the beginning, or you weren't. Never should have taken in Donavan, and good riddance to him anyway.” Hondo sat back down, a satisfied look on his face.

Snake walked back and forth in front of the room. “So the proposal is, we have Clarice take him out and shoot him now,” he said.

“Anyone opposed?”

Lucas watched as they all stared, saying nothing. Looking, but not seeing, he thought. Just watching. After several seconds, another woman raised her hand.

Finally, Lucas thought. Someone's going to talk, start making sense.

Snake looked at the woman, nodded. “Yeah, go ahead, Mya.”

Mya spoke. “When Clarice shoots him, someone's gonna tape it, aren't they?”

Nods and murmurs. Another man chimed in: “Yeah, I think I could use something like that in the project I'm finishing up.”

Lucas stared in disbelief. He'd convinced himself, deep inside, that these people were like him—family, in a way. They did all this because they were driven by a compulsion, but they were human, and decent, underneath it all. He had been sure he could appeal to that human part of them, get them to realize that they were under attack, show them the evidence he'd collected against Saul, enroll them in a fight—a revolution—to save themselves.

But he'd been wrong. These people weren't human, and he didn't share anything in common with them. He was, after all was said and done, a true orphan.

“Sure, I think we could arrange that. Kennedy, you want to do the honors?” A man sitting in one of the chairs rose and walked toward the door, nodded at Lucas. As if they'd just been picked for the same dodgeball team or something.

“Don't you want to see the tapes, the files? Hear what I have to say?”

Snake smiled. “I'm a bit curious, speaking personally. But this is a democracy.” He swept his arm, indicating the others in the room. “Majority rule.”

Lucas turned to make a move, trying to drop his shoulder and bowl Clarice out of the way. But even before could do that, he felt his legs come out from under him and her body move away. Somehow she'd avoided his lunge while doing a foot sweep on him.

Unable to protect his fall by putting his arms down in front of him, he came down hard on his stomach, the cold tile floor knocking his breath away and immobilizing him.

She was on him now, the gun pressed tightly into the back of his head and her breath hot and sticky at his ear. “Don't make me shoot you right here,” she hissed. “We don't even have a camera set up yet.”

Someone else, Kennedy maybe, slipped a dark hood over his head. He tried to struggle again, tried to fight for his life, but then he felt an arm around his throat, constricting his air, stealing his breath until stars danced in front of his eyes
(lights from the city, they look like
lights from the city)
and the world faded to black.

LUCAS AWOKE, HIS BODY A TANGLE OF ACHES AND PAINS. HE KEPT HIS eyes closed, tried not to move, until he got his bearings. He was in a moving car, obviously. Front seat? Back? Hard to say, and even harder to figure out, because the bag was still over his head, and his feet were now bound as well.

He concentrated, putting his body into a deep state, and heightened his senses, listening as carefully as he could.

Two people in the car; he could hear two distinct breathing patterns, even though neither one spoke. And both of them were in front of him, which meant he was in the back.

The car was moving slowly, and the lack of a high whine from the tires meant they were probably on a street rather than a highway—judging by the lack of other traffic sounds, he was guessing a suburban street.

He felt his body shift to the left as the car made a right turn and slowed to a stop. Ahead of him, both doors opened, activating a
ding
ding ding
for a few seconds before both closed again. The door next to him opened, but he waited.

“You're awake. I can tell by the way you're sitting.”

Clarice's voice. At the thought of her name, images of the Creep Club meeting came flooding back to him.

Yes, this was Clarice. She had brought him here to shoot him and dump him. End of story.

He felt a hand on his shoulder. A few seconds later, he felt a tugging at the binding on his legs, and then his legs were free. Hands pulled away the bag on his head, revealing Kennedy standing at the door, knife in hand. Just behind him, Clarice watched, gun pointed at him. It was dark now, but the parking lot where they had stopped was well lit by sodium lights. Everything looked flat and dusty in their harsh orange glow.

Kennedy clicked the knife closed and put it back in his pocket.

“Follow us,” he said, and turned to walk away from the car.

Clarice kept the gun trained on him until Kennedy was in the clear, then slipped it into the back of her pants and waited for him to get out of the car.

He refused to move. “You're gonna have to shoot me here,” he said.

She looked at him, rolled her eyes. “I'm not gonna shoot you anywhere,” she said.

“You wanna take me in that building over there, set up a camera, and pump a couple slugs into me. And you're gonna tape it all so you can get your jollies.” He stared hard at her. “But you're gonna have to shoot me here,” he repeated.

She leaned down. “And I already told you, I'm not going to shoot you anywhere. You don't have any idea what's going on here, so maybe you should just shut up and pay attention before you try to go all martyr.” She produced her own knife, clicked it open, and cut away the binding on his hands, leaving him completely free. That done, she turned and began following Kennedy.