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  “We’ll split the money and then I’ll drop you off wherever you want. We’ll leave her out on the highway somewhere. She hasn’t seen me or the way into this property, so I’m safe.”

  Helen heard Brody cough, and then sputter, “Well, she seen us! She dint have a sack on her head when she saw us! What you think bout that?”

  Matt yelled, “Yeah, whaddaya think bout that, Aaron?”

  She heard Aaron laugh. “Settle down. You guys look like all the other drugged-out losers on the street. Sorry, guys, but it’s the truth. You’ll blend in any big city.”

  “I should punch yer face in fer that.”

  “Try it, Brody, and I’ll kill you without batting an eye. As you know, I’ve killed before.”

  “Yeah, big man. How I know you kill fore? You jus pumpin yerself.”

  Helen heard the sound of a fist hitting flesh, then a thud on the floor.

  Then, Matt gasping. “Why you do that? He jus kiddin you.”

  “I’ll do it to you, too, Matt, if you question me. In fact, I’ll do worse to you just for the fun of it.”

  She heard the rustling of a package, and then the flick of a lighter.

  Aaron again, his tone impatient. “Matt, you can’t fuckin light that butt up in my house. Go outside. Around the side of the house there’s an old milk can you can use as an ashtray.”

  Footsteps, then the sound of a screen door opening and closing.

  Helen heard Brody’s voice coming from down on the floor. “Hey, she know yer name, too, Aaron. Can’t be too many Aarons in these parts. You own this house—they track you.”

  “No, Brody. I’m smarter than that. My real name isn’t Aaron—that was just for you boys to call me something.”

  “Oh.”

  She heard footsteps tracing to the other end of the room. “I’m gonna call him now. Be quiet in the background. He’ll ask to speak to his wife, so I’ll put her on for a second or two.”

  Then, Helen heard him yelling over to her. “Lady, you be careful what you say when I put you on!”

  Except for the beeping of the phone as the keys were being punched in, there was only the shallow breathing of Brody. Helen took another deep, soothing breath and held it for a few seconds.

  Then, the sound of the phone being dropped roughly back into its cradle. Followed by a piece of furniture crashing into the wall.

  “Christ! A fucking voice message! No one home! His wife has just been kidnapped, and there’s no one to answer the phone, not even the police!”

  “Jus our luck.”

  Helen heard footsteps coming towards her. Then, she felt a slap across the sack covering her face. It was hard and, because she didn’t see it coming, she wasn’t braced for it. She felt her neck stiffen up from the jolt, and tears began rolling down her cheeks from the stinging pain.

  “What kind of husband you got, lady? Aren’t you important enough for him to stay home and wait for our call? What kind of bullshit is this?”

  She felt another slap—but this time she was ready and her head rolled with it.

  Suddenly, she felt fingers against her chest, examining the beautiful cross pendant that Willy had given her on their first anniversary, decades ago. It was her favorite piece of jewelry and she hardly ever took it off.

  Aaron started laughing. “Are you a Jesus freak or something, lady?”

  He yanked on it, causing the chain to break. The force of his hand pulling downward caused the buttons of her pretty red blouse to pop off, exposing her, right down to her waist. Even though it was a hot night, Helen could feel a cool draft against her bare skin. Or…perhaps it was just the sudden feeling of vulnerability that caused her to shiver.

  He laughed again. “Well, you better pray to Jesus that your husband answers the goddamned phone next time I call.”

  He cursed and threw the pendant onto the floor. Helen could hear its tell-tale tinkle as it skittered along the hardwood.

  Helen started worrying about what might happen next. Aaron, while sounding intelligent and under control most of the time, was clearly a psycho who could be set off by the slightest provocation. First it was Brody, then Matt, and finally a simple voice message. Helen feared that she was now going to be the outlet for his psychopathic anger, especially since he’d already hit her twice and ripped open her blouse.

  Brody’s voice. “Hey, man, we try ta phone gan in a few minutes. Best leave her lone, so she talk kay on the phone.”

  Helen could feel Aaron’s warm moist breath as he brought his face down close to her chest. She felt helpless, but she knew there was nothing she could do, except…as Aaron had suggested…pray.

  Then, the breath was gone and she heard him take a couple of steps away from her.

  Perhaps, if she was lucky, his moment of explosive anger had passed.

  For now.

  Helen took another slow, deep breath through her nose and held it for as long as she could this time. She slowly exhaled through her mouth and welcomed the lightheaded feeling that came with the mild hyperventilation.

  She decided that perhaps she should do this a few more times, and do them more rapidly. Fainting into unconsciousness might be her best escape right now.

  Her only escape.

  Chapter 28

  Wyatt steered his police cruiser off Highway 3A, and went north along Doukhobor Road. He was following the exact route he’d seen them drive along when he was ‘remote viewing’ from above. He’d floated right along with them in his vision, the detail so definite that he’d actually been able to see the odd puff of exhaust from the tailpipe of the Jeep.

  He sensed that he was being watched. He turned his head towards his dad in the passenger seat. He was indeed staring at him, a look of both compassion and concern on his face.

  “What’s wrong, Dad?”

  “Considering what we’re doing, that’s a funny question to ask me.”

  “Yeah, but you’re staring at me. What are you thinking about?”

  Willy turned his eyes back to the road. “Are you sure we’re doing the right thing? You’ve left your entire police force behind back there. You haven’t told them where you’re going. There’s no back-up, nothing. Just you and me.”

  “There’s an old expression, Dad. ‘Less is more.’ Sometimes more can be accomplished by just a few.”

  “I don’t know if two people can be described as ‘a few,’ Wyatt.”

  He went silent for a couple of minutes. “You’re right, I’m not sure at all. I’m not sure about anything anymore. I discovered that my own dad has freaky powers and that his DNA was changed by some surreal experience during the war. Then, the awareness that some of that change would eventually appear in me because I inherited your DNA.

  “Then, lo and behold, it showed itself with some weird ‘remote viewing’ power that I didn’t even know I had. And, now, I’ve used it for the first time to track down my mother’s kidnappers.

  “So, yeah, right now I’m not too sure about anything. Is that surprising?”

  Willy rubbed Wyatt’s shoulder.

  “Fate has a funny way of working sometimes. None of this would have happened if I hadn’t been in the studio the night those boys showed up; if I hadn’t been exhibiting that weird transparency when they were there.

  “Once they discovered I was a local celebrity, they saw me as a gold mine. Ripe for the picking. The perfect mark to extort. Then, they happened to meet someone else who had more grandiose plans than just a mere five thousand dollars. He somehow convinced them that kidnapping was more lucrative.”

  Wyatt lit a cigarette. “Yeah, fate may be the only way to explain this weird turn of events. But, we have to look at it this way—fate is actually helping us now. This newfound power I inherited from your genes is leading us to Mom. So, that seems like it was almost planned. It made its appearance at the right time, didn’t it?”

  Willy nodded. “But, back to my first question—will the two of us be enough?”

  “It’s going to have to b
e, Dad. We’ll do this ourselves. A half dozen police officers out here could only make things worse, anyway. The more people there are, the more mistakes. The kidnappers could panic and hurt Mom…or worse.”

  “They may have already hurt her.”

  Wyatt shook his head, and whispered, “Don’t think that."

  Wyatt turned off onto a dirt road—the same road he had seen in his vision. It was already dark outside, but he couldn’t take the chance any longer of leaving his headlights on. He flicked them off and followed the road by the light of the moon. He wouldn’t have far to go, from his recollection.

  Suddenly, he applied the brakes and pointed. “There, through those trees. You can see the lights of the farmhouse.”

  “Yes, I can see them. Are you sure that’s the house?”

  “Absolutely. I’ve followed the route in my mind exactly.”

  Wyatt pulled the car off into a clearing in the trees.

  Then, he faced Willy. “I want you to stay here for now, Dad. Let me do some reconnaissance and determine the lay of the land. Then, I’ll come back to get you and we’ll formulate a plan.”

  “Do you promise?”

  “Yes, I promise.”

  “Then, I’ll abide your wish. I’ll wait.”

  Wyatt squeezed his dad’s shoulder, then quietly slipped out of the car and gently eased the door closed.

  He followed the lights of the house and the light of the moon. Keeping low to the ground, he edged closer and closer to the large farmhouse.

  Creeping from tree to tree for cover, he finally reached the front portion of the house. It appeared as if all of the blinds were closed, the light from inside glowing through the slats.

  He scanned the area—no sign of anyone outside. Then, he saw the vehicle parked off to one side of the house and, if he hadn’t known before that moment, he sure knew now that this was the right house. The black Jeep Cherokee that he’d watched from above.

  He snuck over to the car and peeked inside to make sure one of the drug freaks wasn’t curled up in there in a stoned stupor. All clear. He laid his hand on the hood. Warm.

  Wyatt then advanced on the house. He reached under his jacket and pulled out his Smith and Wesson 357 Magnum. He released the safety and held it aloft as he carefully mounted the steps to the front porch, cursing himself that in his rush he hadn’t remembered to change out of his Oxford shoes and don some soft, silent joggers.

  Crouching low, he moved to the first window and examined all of the slats. Drawn tight. He moved across to the next one and noticed that there was one slat which hadn’t drawn tight. He put his eyes up against the glass and peered through the small opening.

  During his years with the Mounties, Wyatt had observed more than he cared to remember.

  Scenes a lot worse than this one.

  But, seeing his wonderful mother sitting in a chair, head covered with a burlap sack, chin resting on her chest, hands tied behind the chair back, blouse ripped open, shook Wyatt to his core.

  He blinked several times to clear his eyes of the tears that were welling up.

  And, he fought back against the overwhelming urge to vomit.

  Seeing victims of crime was one thing, but seeing his own mother in such a degrading and submissive condition was almost too much to bear.

  Wyatt shook his head and forced himself to recover.

  He looked away.

  Then, he moved away, down the porch stairs and onto the front grass again. He had to find out how many more doors there were. Coming in through the front door probably wouldn’t be too smart. He had no idea if there were any weapons inside. It could be a suicide mission.

  He crept along towards the southeast section of the house. He was just getting ready to round the corner when his nose caught a familiar scent.

  Cigarette smoke. Faint, but distinct.

  He lowered his Magnum, held it in both hands, and pointed it straight ahead of him at chest level as he slowly rounded the corner of the house.

  Then everything went black.

  But, before it did, he was aware of something heavy and metallic connecting with his forehead.

  The last sound he heard before the darkness engulfed him was the deafening gunshot from his unforgiving Magnum.

  Chapter 29

  Allison watched Clint closely as he guzzled a good half of his beer. She looked at him differently now—now that she knew what was going through his head. Suddenly, he didn’t appear so jovial, so friendly. She knew that was just the façade of a killer.

  Clearly, Hartford trusted him. They appeared to be very comfortable with each other. Little did John know that the papers his bodyguard had brought along for him to sign were just a Trojan horse.

  “So, what’s going on back at the office, Clint?”

  “Well, John, everyone’s running around like chickens with their heads cut off. This Farmington story is developing a life of its own. The press are sitting on our doorstep, and the phones are ringing off the hook. Luckily, you own this house under a corporate name, so you can’t be found. Your apartment in Burlington, however, is on their radar. They’ve camped out there, too.”

  Allison jumped in. “I wasn’t aware you had a place in town, John.”

  “Yes, I keep it just to have a home close to the office. And, at times like this, it acts as a great decoy.”

  Clint snapped open his briefcase, and pulled out a pile of documents.

  “As they say, the best defence is an offense. So, our suggestion to you, Johnny-boy, is to sign these registration papers, and then just get on with announcing your candidacy. That shows confidence and that you have nothing to hide. We can set up a public event for your announcement speech—we’ll do it right in the town square in Burlington. Hometown boy and all that crap. I’ve taken the liberty of instructing Stephen to get your speech drafted.”

  Hartford glanced over at Allison, then back at Clint. “Any security concerns?”

  “No, none that I’m aware of. We’ll maintain the usual tight ring around you—I’ll get my usual crew to back me up.” Clint smiled reassuringly. “Hey, you’ve known me for over a decade, John—you know I’d take a bullet for you.”

  John nodded. “Yes, I know you would. I hope it will never come to that.”

  “Well, when you’re president, you’ll have the Secret Service protecting your precious ass. You won’t need me anymore.”

  “I’d still rather have you, Clint. I’ll find a spot for you.”

  Allison wondered if maybe her telepathy had been wrong. These two seemed so close, and Clint seemed so sincere. She popped her ears again and waited for the words or images to appear.

  No images this time. Only thoughts: “I’ve already got a spot for you, old friend—down at the bottom of Lake Champlain.”

  No, the telepathy was accurate. No mistake. She wondered how he was planning to do it, and how much time they had. The wheels in her head were spinning fast—she had to get John away from Clint, so she could talk to him and convince him to find a reason to leave the house—either with her, or by himself.

  But, would he listen to her? He’d already been skeptical of the story she told him, and expressed the worry that Allison herself may be the assassin. He’d known Clint a lot longer than he’d known Allison. Would she be able to convince him that Clint was about to betray him, to kill him? And, about to kill her, too, just for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

  Why would he listen to her? How could she explain it? That she’d popped her ears and Clint’s thoughts came into her head? That she’d inherited this power from her dad’s DNA being downloaded to her? And, that her father had become a superhuman from being zapped by a strange craft while cruising on a British Navy vessel?

  Sure, all that was believable. Right. Hartford’s first phone call would be to the local mental hospital to come and pick her up.

  As John was signing the documents, Clint went to the kitchen and got himself another beer out of the fridge. “Allison, John? Do you guys
want anything?”

  They both shook their heads.

  John kept signing and Allison kept thinking. What were her best options?

  As she saw it, there were three.

  The first was to get John alone and try to convince him to run for it. That seemed the best option, but also the least likely one to succeed. John wouldn’t buy it.

  The second option was for her to just run for it herself. Get herself out of danger. Find an excuse to leave and then just leave. And, hope against hope that after Hartford was killed, they wouldn’t bother tracking her down. But, that seemed weak—she was a loose thread, and the last one to see John alive with Clint. Allison was convinced that she was stuck here now—that Clint wouldn’t let her leave under any circumstance.

  So, that left only the third option…

  Clint came back and sat down, this time in the wing chair facing the fireplace.

  He said, to no one in particular, “You know, I wish it were winter—it must be darn pretty out here with all the snow. With this massive fireplace on, it would be nice and cozy.”

  John looked up from his papers. “It is, Clint. I’ve invited you out here before for some snowmobiling, but you’ve never been able to swing it. Let’s do it this winter, for sure.”

  “Yeah, and let’s get a couple of nice loose women out here with us!” He glanced at Allison. “Oops, sorry Allison. That doesn’t make me sound too good, does it?”

  She smiled at him. “That’s okay—boys will be boys.”

  Now or never.

  Allison got up and went into the kitchen. Her eyes scanned the room, and landed on a large cast iron frying pan sitting on the stove.

  It would have to do.

  Keeping her back to the men, she picked up the pan and held it down low. Then, she turned and walked slowly into the living room, holding it in her right hand behind her back.