Five Hertz Of Separation (chapters 36-40 Of 61) free porn video

CHAPTER THIRTY SIX Mastiff kept performing outside of our building for several weeks, the crowds slowly growing larger by the day. Eventually, the guards asked him to move because the crowd began to block access to the building. He just moved across the street to the park and continued performing. He kept adding new things to the act, one every week. This week, at the end of the rings, he held all four rings together in both hands, turning them around once while sliding them through his tightly clenched fists. When he was done, they became a single solid ring. I managed to get my hands on one of the single rings after the act. There was no slight of hand involved. What was your classic set of four interlocking rings became a single, solid ring. They never left his hands during the transformation. It was impossible. I took several videos of his act and sent them to some of the performers my father knew from the old days, guys who were either still performing or had kept a hand in the business. None of them had any idea how he was doing it. Two of them actually came to New York to see him in person. Still nothing, other than they each felt compelled to get his autograph after the show. By now, I think almost everyone in the building has seen Mastiff perform. The prevailing rumor is that he's the real deal, a true magician. I can't accept that. I know that sometimes a performer can create a trick so unique that it may take years for someone to figure it out, though, eventually, someone always does. The problem is, Mastiff has at least six of those tricks in his act right now. What will next week bring? * * * *** * * * *** * * * It's getting stronger. Not just the Consortium building but others in the neighborhood are radiating some level of a belief in magic. The level of belief grows as the size of my crowds grows. Right now, the Park police have a couple of officers stationed near my daily lunchtime show, strictly for crowd control. My problem is that all this belief is only present during the daytime. It's concentrated here during the day, during work hours. After work, it dissipates as everyone heads home. There's still some residual belief due to guards and some employees working late but I need more than that to successfully break in, access the internal network, download what I need and get out. This may take longer than I hoped it would. At least my juggling is getting better. Ms. LaRouche has been giving me lessons and I, in return, have been fixing her supper every evening she gives me a lesson. This too has taken longer than I had planned on but it has been all for the best. Not only have I been able to increase the number and intensity of believers in magic but I have also strengthened my magic muscles. I can do more with less now. Nowhere near what I could do on the other side but a lot more than I could do right after getting back to New York. Mrs. LaRouche asked that we eat down in the shop tonight, which is fine by me. It's an interesting place, full of jars and bottles of this thing or that, kind of like an old style pharmacy but instead of making a pill to fix a headache, she mixes a potion to cure a heartache. I thought the place was cool even when I was a little kid coming here with Mom. It was one of the few places she drug us to that wasn't so bad. I was slowly wandering up and down the aisles just as I did as a child when Mrs. LaRouche came in. "What have you prepared for us tonight, Lance?" "Something simple. Pot Roast." "I'll be ready in a minute or two. I've cleaned a spot on the counter. You can set everything there." She returns to the back rooms and I set out plates, cutlery, napkins and glasses along with the serving bowls. I'd separated the roast from the potatoes, carrots and other vegetables. The roast was on a carving board, the vegetables in the bowls. When she returned, Mrs. LaRouche had an open bottle of red wine with her. "Mrs. LaRouche! Are you trying to get me drunk?" "Hardly, Lance. This is a bottle of wine made by my father many years ago. It was his hobby. He was rather good at it." "Don't waste it on me! I'm not much of a wine enthusiast." "Don't worry. There's more where this came from." She pulls two high stools from behind the long wooden checkout counter and we both sit down to eat. She pours a small amount of wine in my drinking glass. It's a clear, dark red with a fruity aroma. I take a sip. Not bad. Very drinkable. She pours more into my glass. "I apologize, Mrs. LaRouche. If I knew wine was on the menu, I'd have gotten the right kind of glasses." "Not a problem. These will do just fine." She pours a small amount in her glass and tips it my way. I raise my glass slightly and we clink rims. "Cheers, Mrs. LaRouche." "Cheers, Lance." I slice several pieces off the pot roast and fill both plates. Just as we start to eat a customer comes in to pick up an order. I'm not sure but I think I recognize her. She may have been part of a group of white witches Mom used to hang with. Mrs. LaRouche had everything already bagged up so she was in and out quickly. "Sorry for the delay," she says as she climbs back onto the stool. "No biggie. It's all part of being self employed. I don't mean this as an insult or anything but do these potions do anything at all?" "You mean, am I a fraud?" "No, it's not that. I just don't get the magic potion thing. I'm pretty sure I understand how magic works." "You're referring to your little parlor tricks?" "Touch?. No, I mean the real thing." She gives me a sideways glance as she carefully slices the meat then dips it in the gravy. "When did you get that experience with 'the real thing'?" "Someplace else, not around here." "Not where, when." "Several months ago." "And now where." I take a bite of potatoes. "That's hard to explain." "I can imagine." We eat in silence for a minute or two, listening to the traffic and crowds as they pass by the shop. I still miss the quietness of the other world. Before I went there, all I knew was the rush rush lifestyle of New York. But that world opened my eyes to another way to live. Slower, quieter, deeper. The little things meant so much more over there. Being back in New York, I find myself irritated a hundred different ways every day. I do my best not to think about Johnathyn and Leeanna but it's impossible. I realize that I've been concentrating on my plate. Looking up at Mrs. LaRouche, I see that she's slowly chewing but looking intently at me. She swallows, then quickly finishes her glass of wine. She picks up the bottle, silently offering to refill my glass. I wave her off she picks up her own glass, slowly pouring the clear, dark red elixir down the inner side until the glass is two thirds full. "Do you know why I rented to you, Lance?" "My trust-worthy face?" "Hardly. It was because you were a mystery to me. You still mostly remain a mystery, though I have been able to discover a few things about you." "Such as?" "I'll save that for later. To answer your question, yes, my potions do work. Not as well as they used to but that isn't the fault of the ingredients nor my fault as a conjurer. The world has changed. There is nothing inherently magical about wheat grass or sailor's wort. Medicinal yes, but magical? No. However, while potions do not create magic, they can carry magic, store magic, deliver magic over great distances. They are like batteries, initially inert but, once charged, they can deliver quite a punch." "Why so many different potions?" "Each one is optimized to accomplish a certain job. A love potion could be used to cure warts but not as well as one specifically designed for the job. Small changes can make a big difference." "So, magic potions don't create magic but they allow the more efficient use of magic. Interesting." "I know why I find it interesting; it's been my life's work. Why do you find it interesting?" "I may have a use for a working potion." "What use is that ... Alex?" Damn it! "Who?" "Alex Thompson. Son of Jackie Thompson. Brother of Terry Thompson." She's sharp. I knew that before I ever came here. I'd be better off admitting it rather than insult her intelligence and talent. "How'd you know?" "I didn't, not until I saw you wandering up and down my aisles, checking out the merchandise. Just as you did when your mother brought you and your brother with her." "That's it?" "It was the final piece of the puzzle. Your aura was somewhat familiar but also different from any that I had experienced before." "Different how?" "Twisted ... turned ... inverted ... reversed ... something but then back to the way it was. I couldn't explain it but once I concentrated on what I could explain, then it became more apparent." "So, using 'Lance Mastiff" as my name ..." "Please. I knew that had to be a stage name of some kind. 'Lance Mastiff'. How phallic can you get?!" "So, now what? You know who I am. What happens next?" She takes a sip of wine. "That depends on why the ridiculous name." "You know what happened to my family?" "Yes. Tragic. We held several vigils for their souls." "It wasn't tragic, it was intentional. I know who did it. I just have to be able to prove it." "Are you in danger?" "Not yet. Probably. If I get the proof I need and the killers know about it? Most definitely. If I was using 'Alex Thompson,' I'd be dead by now." "Why would someone want to kill your mother and brother? Or you, for that matter? They were completely harmless." How do I explain what happened to Mrs. LaRouche and not be branded a raving loony? Even to believers in magic, the concept of a magic driven alternate universe would seem impossible and I have no proof. "They were recruited by someone for an out of town job. It was dangerous and the people on the other side found out about it. They hired a security firm to take them out. Their people were driving the cars that night, the one that hit Mom and Terry and the getaway car." "How do you know all of this, Alex?" "I've seen some of the emails, plus other company things like memos but I don't have copies, nothing I can take to the police." "Would the police even bother to do anything?" "They would if I could find some hard evidence. But I'm not leaving it up to them. They were my family and I'll take care of it myself." "I can't say that I approve of that, Alex. If that is your attitude, why worry about evidence at all?" "Because I want to know exactly who did exactly what. Months ago I wouldn't have worried about collateral damage but now I do. I'm not going to stomp all over a small innocent group to get a few bad guys." "Commendable. What happens when you catch your man?" "I haven't decided yet. I'll worry about that when I get the evidence." "And how to you plan to do that?" "I have to get inside a building and access the intranet there. There are no open contacts between the system and the outside world. My usual hacking skills only kick in once I've gotten inside the building this time." "Why do you need some of my potions?" "Because magic is driven by belief. The more people who believe, the stronger it is. Thanks to my 'parlor tricks' as you call them, I've managed to build a pocket of belief around my target. Unfortunately, that level drops way back at night; most of the believers go home. My magic muscles, so to speak, are much stronger than they were but there's still not enough power for me to do much. However, if I can charge up a few potions when I'm at peak power levels, I can use them at night and get the job done." "I see. Do you intend to kill someone?" "Maybe. I'm not gonna lie to you. If I find the person that ordered the hit, yeah, I may kill them ... unless I can think of something worse. I don't want to kill anyone just to break into the building though. Your potions could give me the edge I need." "How did you learn so much about magic? You were always a non-believer in the past." "I.. uuuhhh, visited a place where there was a much stronger belief in magic, learned some things from the people who lived there. I came back to New York, did some more research and started practicing." "Does that explain the improvements in your appearance?" She doesn't miss much. "Yeah, it does." "Alex, I have been in the potion business most of my adult life, as was my mother before me and her mother before her. I've either met or dealt with every major player involved in the magic subculture in this country plus most of the skilled people in other countries. I can safely say that no one has ever succeeded in physically changing their appearance to the degree you have with just magic. And many have tried. Believe me on that." I lean forward, pulling my hair up and away from my forehead with the palm of my hand. "Hey, you can check me for scars." "I don't doubt your word, Alex. What I do question is where you found the power to do this. Or that someone else may have done it to you." It'd be easier, maybe smarter, to take the out she offered me and say someone else did it but then she'd ask me who, how, when and where could she find her. I could claim it was secret or I was sworn to silence but she doesn't strike me as a person who would just accept that answer. Best fess up. "Mrs. LaRouche, I am the seventh son of a seventh son." She pulls back away from me slightly, her eyes wide. "Oh my!" * * * *** * * * *** * * * Mastiff had promised a new finale for his act last week. Lawson's P. A. Debbie had given me a heads up. I had to see it for myself. From the size of the crowd, it seems that most of the workers on this block felt the same way. Today, he performed most of his early stuff but was much better at it. Practice apparently does make perfect. He also performed that maddening trick with the rings. When it came time to present that series of tricks with the twelve pack of Coke, a number of people had brought their own cartons to the show for Mastiff to choose from, making the tricks all that more impressive. After that last can was done spurting Coke everywhere, he opens another volunteer twelve pack, removing eight cans, lining them up on the table. He picks up two cans, one in each hand and turns to face the audience. "I've been practicing this for weeks but this is the first time I've ever done it in public, so this may be a bit rough. Everyone may want to stand back just a bit." The audience moves back about ten feet and then Mastiff throws the two cans in his hand into the air while grabbing a third can off the table, which he also flips into the air and quickly begins to juggle the cans. He wasn't great but he wasn't bad. There's a ripple of applause. He smiles. "Thanks. Now, Debbie, if you would toss me another can." "ME?!" she squeals. "Yes, just give it an easy underhanded toss. Aim for my chest." She nervously picks up a can, rolling it in her hand. "Are you sure about this?" "You've helped me before haven't you?" "Yeah, but ..." "Go ahead, don't worry about it. Just aim for my chest." "Okay." She sighs loudly, makes a few practice swings, then gently lofts the can towards Mastiff. He deftly catches it, adding it to the three cans he is already keeping in the air. More applause as Debbie hurries back to her friends, giddy from the experience. "Thanks Debbie. Your turn Janice." "WHAT?!" Several people push another woman forward. I recognize her from the office and prior Mastiff performances. She's a friend of Debbie's. He has her do the same thing as Debbie, adding a fifth can to the group. The applause is louder this time. A third woman, Shelly, also one of Debbie's friends, is called out and can number six is quickly added to the flock circling in front of Mastiff. I'm no expert, but I've never seen anyone juggle six items of any kind before but Mastiff juggles six better than he did three. It only takes a few minutes, but after calling out other regular patrons for help, he has eleven cans in the air, his hands moving incredibly fast to keep everything synchronized and airborne. He looks directly at me. "There's one left Ms. White. Think you can handle it?" I step forward. "I can if you can, Mr. Mastiff." He grins, a devilish gleam in his eyes. "Terrible pun. Let's find out. Ready when you are." I snatch the can off the table and fire it at his head as hard as possible. The crowd gasps as the can bores in ... but then suddenly slows, gently landing in his momentarily outstretched hand which instantly adds the can to the circling frenzy. The crowd goes crazy. That was flat impossible. I played softball in high school. Third base. I could throw runners out at first routinely. It's been a few years but I haven't lost that much. He gives me a lopsided grin, almost a sneer. "Well done, Ms. White." I slip back into the crowd, several people reaching out to shake my hand. Mastiff keeps up his frantic pace for another thirty seconds or so. "Here's where things get tricky. How do I stop, you may ask. Unfortunately, I haven't figured that one out yet. I suggest everyone keep their heads up. What's the juggling equivalent of 'fore'?" He steps away from the revolving, whirling cans, dropping his hands to his side but the cans don't stop! They continue to circle in the air, just as before. The crowd gasps loudly, then they applaud wildly and shout. One by one, each can separates from the group, floats over to the table and lands softly, forming a line. Mastiff bows deeply. The ovation is loud and long. I'm too stunned to join in. Someone from the other side has crossed over to my world. * * * *** * * * *** * * * It took at least fifteen minutes for the crowd to return to their offices. I was constantly asked how I did that last trick. It was outside, there couldn't be any wires. How'd I do it? I answered the questions the same way as before. It was magic. The level of belief had jumped after that last trick. Just standing on the sidewalk, I could feel the power growing even as the people dispersed. I take all that new belief and transfer it to the potions Mrs. LaRouche prepared for me. I had stashed them in my prop bag before starting my act and they are practically glowing with magic energy. She didn't give them to me, she had a price. She wanted my word that I would not kill anyone in vengeance for the death of my family. She was certain my mother would not approve of killing in her name. I can think of some people Terry wouldn't have objected too but he was basically a pacifist. She wanted my promise, as the seventh son of a seventh son. I wasn't looking to kill in their names but I didn't want to take it off the table either. I didn't know what I might find if I managed to get the records I was looking for. If there were other deaths, if it was some kind of big plot of some kind, death might be the right thing. After seeing the hidden room in the stables, I stopped feeling bad about taking out Opulessa. Some crimes deserve the ultimate punishment. * * * *** * * * *** * * * I hurry to Lawson's office immediately after Mastiff finishes his performance. Or her performance. If she's from the other side, he would have been a she over there. Mastiff is likely a witch of some kind who managed to cross over somehow. It was my understanding that we had control over the technology that allowed inter-universe travel. If that's true, then Mastiff was brought over by someone in this company. Lawson needs to know that right away. I beat his P. A. back from lunch, which is hardly surprising. I knock at Lawson's office door but there's no answer. I slowly open it, sticking my head in. There's no one there. I approach his desk and look for a calendar or schedule of some kind, hoping to find out where he is but there's nothing. I hear a stage cough from behind me. "Can I help you, Ms White?" It's Lawson, standing in the doorway to his private bathroom. "I was hoping to find you in, Sir." "What is so urgent that you feel the need to break into my office?" "I didn't break in. The door was unlocked." "Do you view any unlocked door as an invitation to walk right in?" "No, Sir. This could be important. I just witnessed the most recent performance of Lance Mastiff, the street magician who's been performing across the street in the park these last few weeks." "I'm familiar with Mr. Mastiff. My secretary won't shut up about him." Lawson sounded just slightly jealous. Wonder what his relationship with Debbie is? "Yes. Well, I witnessed what can only be described as an act of magic." "Hardly surprising, he is a magician after all." "You don't understand, Sir. Not a magic trick but an act of pure, real magic, just like I saw on the other side. No trick, no illusion, REAL magic." "I'm sure that he was impressive but certainly no one here could ..." "No, Sir. I have a great deal of experience with stage magic. This was the real thing. I've seen both and know the difference. If I'm right, then Mastiff could be a witch from the other side, brought here by someone inside the company." "That is some leap of logic, Ms. White." "It is the only thing that makes sense. No one here could have that kind of command of magic." "I thought our world had no magic left, that technology had killed it." "Little magic left. Not zero. A true witch might be able to gather it together in one place." "Is that how it works?" "No one on our side really knows how it works. What we have is mostly speculation. The main point is that we have a subversive inside the company." He walks over to his desk and sits down. "I wouldn't worry about it, Ms. White. Lance Mastiff is no threat to this company." "You can't be certain of that, Sir. A witch from the other side wouldn't just set up camp outside of this office at random. There is a reason that she is here right now!" "Ms. White. I didn't become CEO by ignoring potential problems. I had Mr. Mastiff checked out as soon as I heard about him. He is what he appears to be. A street magician of mixed skills." "But how can you be certain that he isn't ..." "From the other side? I am certain because I had a couple of the people from the lab monitor one of his shows. They checked his baseline frequency. Lance Mastiff is a home grown boy, Ms. White. His baseline frequency is the same as yours and mine. He's from our Earth. No doubt about it. That means no escapee from the other side, no witch, no plot against the company and no problem. Good day, Ms. White." "What about Alex Thompson? He's from our world. He found his own way to the other world. He could have come back and changed his name." "Did you ever meet Alex Thompson?" "Of course I did. My report of that meeting ..." "Not Alexia, Ms. White. Alex." "No, of course not." "We have pictures of Alex Thompson, not very good ones I'll admit. The man was truly paranoid, but good enough. There are some vague similarities between the two men but facial recognition programs only give a 56 to 41 percent match between the two. They are no better than distant cousins, appearance wise. In addition, Alex Thompson was a man who liked to keep to the shadows, kept a very low profile. Hardly the kind of man you would expect to become a street performer with a growing fan base. Why would a person give up ultimate power to return to this world as a regular person? Why completely change his modus operandi? It is not him. Again, good day, Ms. White." He doesn't understand. He hasn't seen what I've seen. No matter what you think it is, you don't know magic until you've actually experienced it. His ego is too big to accept that, particularly if I'm the one saying it. Maybe there's someone else in this company who's willing to listen. * * * *** * * * *** * * * "Thank you, Ms. White. I appreciate you coming to me with this information." When Lawson gave me the bum's rush, I went straight to Stewart Hinkle, CFO and Lawson's chief rival inside the company. He was one of the first few people from the company to spend any time on the other side, though it was only a couple of weeks. That's when we learned that the men on the other side wouldn't take a woman seriously, even though they had been a man almost all their life. "You're welcome, Mr. Hinkle. I know that you spent a little time over there. Mr. Lawson wasn't too receptive." "I can imagine, though there isn't much I can do about it. I'm just the Chief Financial Officer. Lawson is the Chief Executive Officer." "I understand, Sir, but I felt I didn't have any other options. If he's wrong, then we could have unleashed a powerful witch on this world, something no one over here is prepared to deal with. Someone in the upper management of this company needs to be aware of this possibility. I don't think it's too much to ask that we at least consider it. If he's right, then no harm done. I can't prove anything, at least not yet. Just keep an open mind, that's all I'm saying." "That's not an unreasonable request, Ms. White. The likelihood may be small but the potential harm is enormous. I'll check into it." "That's all I can ask, Mr. Hinkle. It's the responsible thing to do." Plus, if it turns out that I'm right and Lawson's wrong, then Hinkle could be the new CEO. If Lawson is right, it'll be me who gets the boot, or worse. Hinkle can't lose if he plays it right. No matter the morality of the situation, Hinkle would be a fool to ignore the chance to take over the Consortium. CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN Midnight is a lousy time to attempt a break in. Four a.m. is much better. It's getting closer to the end of the night shift, every one is tired and ready to quit for the night. They're more likely to blow off that last security sweep, or at least be less thorough. It limits the amount of time I've got to do my job but if I can't get finished before the next shift arrives, I deserve what I get. I should be okay if I can get my foot in the door. As I approach the building, I can see a few lights on in the upper floors. They could be workers or they could be the cleaning crew. I can deal with either one but I'd like to avoid being seen at all, except for the two guards in the lobby. There's a lot of glass on the first floor, not so much on the rest of the floors and what's there is mostly decorative, at least until you reach the top floor. Perks of upper management. The ground floor, however, is more glass than anything else. Thick and bullet-proof but still glass. I can see the two guards as I walk across the street straight towards the front doors and they can see me but they don't move from behind the big, sprawling marble desk in the darkened lobby. Not even when I reach the main door and politely knock on the glass with the knuckles of my right hand. I reach over to the left and press the intercom button by the door frame, then lean in closer to the microphone built into the panel. "Excuse me. I really need to go to the can. Would you please let me in? It won't take long, just a minute or two. I gotta go bad!" They look at each other but neither budges. I rap on the glass again but this time use the large ring on the middle finger of my right hand, extending the finger ever so slightly. The sound of the ring striking the glass is loud and sharp. There's no chance of me breaking the glass but the sound is annoying. I tap several times before returning to the intercom. "Come on Dudes! Have a heart! There's no place open around here for blocks! I wouldn't want to mess up these nice clean steps in front of your nice clean building." That gets the older of the two guards moving. Both are wearing the traditional blue and gray rent-a-cop outfit with some yellow piping on the front of the shirt, a fabric shield with the company's name and logo sewn on the right shoulder and some kind of shiny metal badge on the left front shirt pocket. Neither guard is wearing a hat. The older guy is wearing a failing comb-over; the other has longish blonde hair. Baldy steps up to the door and presses the intercom button on his side. "Get the hell out of here you drunk son of a bitch! I don't care where you go just as long as it's away from here. And, if you piss or crap on my steps, I'm coming out there to rub your face in it, you hear?" I lean over, press the button and respond. "I'm not drunk. I was just performing down the street and the cops broke it up. Someone in there must know me. I've been performing over in the park across from here for weeks." "Who gives a shit?! Move on before I come out there and bust you up." I start to answer him but his co-worker, Blondie, says something which Baldy finds amusing. "A magician, huh? I've seen all your piddly ass tricks before. You can't fool me." "And if I could? Is that worth the price of admission to your facilities?" "My what?" "Your bathroom. Your toilet, the can, Man." Blondie says something again, Baldy turning to listen but he takes his finger off the intercom button so I can't hear anything. He turns back towards me, an evil grin on his face. "Okay, Houdini. Entertain me. If I'm impressed, I'll let you in." He's got no intention of letting me in but that's fine, just as long as he plays along. "Good, take out your wallet and remove the largest bill you have." "Like hell I will." "I'm out here and you're in there. What can I possibly do to you?" Blondie encourages him so he reluctantly remove his wallet from his back pocket, pulls out a bill and holds it up for me to see. It's one of those new $100 Dollar bills, with all the security features. Great. "Alright. Now, hand it to your friend and have him write down the serial number." Blondie searches for a piece of paper, finds it, takes the bill and slowly copies the serial number, eventually handing the bill back to Baldy. I push the intercom button again. "Very good! Finally, crumple up the bill into a ball, place it in the palm of your left hand and close your hand, squeezing tightly. Like this." I hold my left hand up, displaying my empty palm. I then slowly close my hand making a fist and grip hard. Baldy follows my lead. I lean down closer to the microphone. "Are you ready to be amazed, Sir?" He nods his head. "Open your hand." He does, revealing an empty palm. Both guards are astonished. Baldy immediately begins searching the floor, thinking he may have dropped it. "Is this what you are looking for, Sir?" Both of them stare at me as I slowly open my hand, remove and straighten out the crumpled $100 bill that was resting in my palm. I smile, bow and start to walk away from the door. Baldy can't move fast enough, fumbling for his keys as he scrambles towards the door, one hand deep in his pants pocket. I can see him screaming at me but can't hear him clearly through the thick glass. He finally manages to extract the key ring from his pocket and he desperately pokes a key at the lock before successfully hitting the target, shouting all the time as he struggles to unlock the door. There's a loud thunk and the door flies open. "... God damn mother fucking thief! You give me back my money before I ..." He's almost on top of me when I reach out, grab his right wrist and slap the bill into his hand, shaking his hand firmly with the bill pressed between our palms. "But of course, Sir. It is merely a simple magic trick. By all means. Now, about the use of your toilet." He jerks his hand away from mine, checks to make sure the $100 is in his hand, clutches it tightly and stomps back to the door. "Fuck off," he snarls, slamming the door shut, locking it behind him. I stroll back to the door and press the intercom button. "The trick is not complete yet, Sir. Please have your friend confirm that it, is in fact, your original bill." He stops and turns, anger clear on his face. He starts to say something but doesn't, the anger being replaced by confusion. He looks down at the hand grasping the bill then slowly walks back to the desk and hands it to Blondie. There's a brief conversation before Blondie finally takes the bill, holding it in his right hand as he checks it against the serial number he had written down before. I return to the button. "Is it the original $100 bill, Sir?" He looks up at me and nods. "Well done, both of you! Congratulations all around are in order! Shake hands, Sirs!" They both look at their respective right hands, then at each other and ultimately shake hands, continuing to do so until I interrupt them with a knock on the glass and the intercom. "I believe we had an agreement about you letting me in to use the bathroom, gentlemen." Baldy deliberately walks to the door as if in a trance, quickly unlocking and opening the door, holding it for me. "Thank you very much. So kind of you." I walk in but he continues to hold the door open. "I'd close and lock that if I were you." He does exactly that then waits for my next order. "I may be awhile. Certain digestive issues, no need to go into detail. You two should go about your regular duties but don't bother to report any alarms you might hear. I'll be back when I'm finished. Understood?" They both nod again, returning to the desk and resuming what they were doing before I first knocked on the door, completely ignoring my presence in the lobby. Reaching into my pocket, I remove the glass vial with the paper label attached. On the label is one word. Obedience. There is less than a third of Ms. LaRouche's potion left but I wanted to be certain the guards got a full dose when they handled that $100 bill so I saturated it. My magic battery is pretty low but I shouldn't need magic from this point on. Now, I'm back to being a hacker. I quickly step to the elevator, push the up button, jumping in the first car to show up. I head for the top floor, ready to react should the elevator make an intermediate stop. Thankfully, it doesn't. The door opens but I do nothing right away. I hide off to the side and wait for the door to begin closing before I reach out and stop it, look out the door and, seeing no activity; I step out, letting the door close behind me. The room is expansive and open. The outside lights stream in through the windows, dimly lighting the surrounding space. There's a central waiting area with a receptionist's desk, what appears to be a conference room to one side and two large offices on the other side, each with their own desks outside for their respective gatekeepers. I quietly approach the nearest office. The engraved plaque on the large double doors reads "Stewart T. Hinkle, Chief Financial Officer". Maybe some other time. The second set of doors is the one I'm looking for. "Mr. Terence P. Lawson, Esq. C. E. O." I pull my coat open to reveal an array of lock picks sitting in a row of pockets sewn onto the lining of the left side of the coat. Crossing the waiting room, I pass the desk of Lawson's Personal Assistant, the name plate reading "Debbie Jennings". Debbie's been one of my best fans. She's a true believer. Makes a very good volunteer from the audience. Shy enough to keep the others from thinking she's a shill but confident enough to do the job right. If everyone believed in magic as she does, I could take over this world. I remove two picks from the collection stashed in my coat and drop to one knee so that I can easily reach to lock in the door knob. This part is my weakest skill. I've done it before a few times but it takes way too long. A pro could do in 30 seconds what takes me 15 minutes. Can't be helped. I might be able to speed the job up by using magic but I'm better off saving something for emergencies. Either way, if it takes me too long, I can always whip out the magic. Adjusting my position a little bit so I'm comfortable, I reach for the door knob on the right, tools in hand. Just as I touch it, the knob begins to turn. SHIT! Someone's here! I manage to get up and return the picks to their hiding place before the door opens. It's Debbie Jennings, her arms loaded with files, her body silhouetted by the light from Lawson's office. "Lance! My GOD! What are you doing here?!" So much for the reserve. "I'm here to see you. Actually, I didn't expect you to be here. I was just going to leave you a gift." "A gift?" "Yes. I have it right here." I slide over to her desk, blocking Debbie's view with my body, bend down and pick up a dozen roses that hadn't been there seconds ago, sprinkling the last of Ms. LaRouche's potion over them as I turn around. "LANCE! They're beautiful!" I bow slightly and present them to her. "As are you, Debbie." She might be blushing, hard to tell in this dim light. She reaches out with both hands, taking the flowers, bringing them close to her face and inhaling deeply. "I adore the smell of roses!" She takes another deep breath with her face buried in the flowers, getting another dose of Mrs. LaRouche's Obedience potion. I hope there's enough left. Debbie lifts her face from the embrace of the roses. "Lance, how did you get in here?" I strike a stage pose, standing as tall as possible, my arms extended, lifting slightly upward. "I am a MAGICIAN! No walls can stop me! No container hold me! No locks restrain me! No ..." I drop my arms and relax my stance. "The guards let me in. What are you doing here? I expected an empty office. I wanted the flowers to be a magical surprise for you in the morning." She smiles at me, giggling softly. "They're still a magical surprise and this way, I can thank you personally." She steps towards me, still holding the roses. I take her hands gently by the wrists and pull her closer, pressing the bouquet nearer to her face. "Surely you aren't still working, are you? How could your boss ask a lovely woman like you to be out at this ungodly hour?" She beams at me but snorts derisively. "Larson doesn't care how late I have to stay. He walked out at 4:45 today and dropped a pot load of work on my desk, telling me he needed it all ready for him in the morning. The morning!" I sympathetically shake my head. "A cad! Truly a cad. I won't delay you any longer." "OH No! I'm almost done! I just need to sign off, lock up and I'm free as a bird." By Zaphod's great staff! I have to pause a moment to keep from sounding too interested. It's all I can do to keep from laughing manically. "Sign off? What is that?" She chuckles lightly but with just a hint of sleepiness. "Come on, you're joking, right?" "No, not at all, is that one of those computer things? I really don't know much about computers. Perhaps you could show me." She grins at me, her head tilting slightly to the left. "I shouldn't." "Oohh let's be naughty, just this once." She starts to say something but stops, her mouth agape, her eyelids half open, breathing deeply. I carefully push the roses closer to her face. "Just a little naughty, just this once," I whisper in her ear. She giggles again. "Oookaayy. Just this time." I lightly pull her back into Lawson's office, shutting the door once we are both inside. Leading her to a large leather couch, I smoothly set her down, leaving the flowers nestled against her breasts where she can still inhale the fading remains of the potion. Once she's settled, I hurry over to the desk. Miraculously, it is still signed on to the intranet, the Consortium's strictly internal network and it's in Lawson's name! I quickly remove a portable hard drive from my coat pocket and search for a USB port. "Laanncce," Debbie whines, "I thought you wanted to do something naughty." "Oh I do, Debbie. Very naughty. But how about this." I quickly return to the couch, gently pull the flowers from her grasp and drop them behind the couch. They disappear before hitting the ground. I take her head between my hands, cradling her chin in the palms, my thumbs running up her jaw line. I bend down so that we are looking into each other's eyes. "Why don't you take a little nap ..." She starts to pout. "... and while you're napping, you have the sexiest dream you've ever had in your life." The pout instantly turns into a wicked smile. "What kind of sexy dream, Laanncce?" "Whatever you want Debbie. Wherever, whoever, however you want. Your deepest, most forbidden desire. Let it all out." "Right here, in my boss's office?" "That's the naughty part." "Ohh yeah! Okay, I'll do it!" I wink at her. "What a sexy vixen you are, Debbie. Here, let's get you comfortable." I help her lay down on the couch. Whipping off my coat, I roll it up in a ball and carefully put it under her head like a pillow. Debbie lazily runs her hand over the seat back of the couch. "I love leather, Lance. I really love leather. The feel, the smell. Love it. Don't you love it?" "Who doesn't? It's time for your nap now Debbie." "What will you do while I'm asleep?" "I'll just be waiting for you to wake up." "That sounds boring." "Don't worry, I'll find something to keep me busy." * * * *** * * * *** * * * My last command was for Debbie to forget all about what happened this morning, that she was to wake up feeling refreshed, relaxed, rested and ready for the new day. The sun was just beginning to rise as I exited her apartment building and headed home. I skirted Central Park on my way back to Mrs. LaRouche's. I'm not certain if that last command would take. Debbie hadn't gotten a full dose of the potion and it my have begun to wear off by the time I got her home. With luck, she'll mostly just remember her dream. I sure as hell won't forget it. It took me some time to work out the structure of the network and find where the information I sought was being stored. It turns out that it was also encrypted so I had to wake Debbie to get the encryption key. She was a little pissed at that. I could have just taken the encrypted data and try to break the key later but decided to do it all while in Lawson's office even though that would take more time than I was comfortable with. This way guaranteed success and that was more important to me than anything else. While I waited for everything I wanted to decrypt, I had an opportunity to eavesdrop on Debbie's dream. She started with just moans and groans, slowly writhing on the couch, her hands moving around her body, then she'd fall silent for a few minutes and then become more vocal and active again. Eventually, she worked her panties down around her ankles and both her blouse and bra open. She called out my name several times while vigorously rubbing her pussy and kneading her breasts but she also mentioned at least two other men and both her work friends, Janice and Shelly. The name "Rex" came up a few times too after she had rolled onto her stomach and pushed her ass into the air. I didn't want to speculate about who or what Rex is. All and all, a memorable show. It took a little while to get her dressed and presentable before helping her out of the building past the unseeing eyes of the two guards and into a cab for the short ride to her apartment. As I walk by Central Park, I share the sidewalk with the early morning joggers who are headed into the Park to use the walking and running paths. I stop for a moment, feeling the pull of my favorite spot near the playing fields but shake it off. It's the longer route and I've got work to do, including making sure that I put on a good show today outside of the Consortium building. I need to carry on as before, no change in the routine until I'm ready to make my move. I keep walking until I reach Mrs. LaRouche's store. She won't open for another couple of hours but she's an early riser and I'd prefer to get a few hours of sleep before my lunchtime show instead of reviewing my morning's adventures. I manage to reach my apartment without attracting her attention. As soon as I open the door to my apartment, I can smell bacon cooking. "Good morning, Lance. How do you like your eggs?" She's standing in my kitchen, frying pan on the stove, a carton of eggs open on the counter next to her "How did you get in here, Mrs. LaRouche?" "Landlord, remember?" "Ahh yes. Do you visit often when I'm not here?" "This is my first time. I need to know if you kept your word." "You don't trust me?" "I'm concerned about you. The power that you're dealing with is well beyond levels I'm familiar with." "Don't worry. I can handle it, Mrs. LaRouche." "I'd like to believe you, Lance but we're talking about power levels very few have ever experienced." Could I tell her stories. "I'll have those eggs sunny side up if you don't mind," I say as I shut the door behind me. "You didn't answer my question." "Sure I did. Sunny side up." "Fine. You didn't answer the important question. Did you keep your word?" I wave my hand. The cabinet doors swing open as two plates float out and settle onto the table. The drawer slides out and two sets of forks, spoons and knives rise up and join the plates, quickly followed by napkins and glasses to complete the setting. Mrs. LaRouche is impressed. "Yes. I kept my word. No one was even hurt." "Did you get what you needed?" The coffee pot starts up but that's only because I left it on a timer. Not everything requires magic. "I don't know, there wasn't time to check everything. I copied all emails and memos for the last five years. That should be enough to figure out if anyone had a hand in Terry and Mom's deaths. It'll take me awhile to go through them all." "Can I help?" "Thanks, but I'd rather do it myself. That way, I'm the only one breaking the law." She chuckles. "My past isn't exactly squeaky clean." "Better not add to it then." She opens the fridge, takes out a bottle of orange juice and fills both glasses. "I understand that you want to do this alone but I am willing to help. Your mother was my friend too." "If the cops get us both, who's left to bail us out?" She pauses, frying pan in her hand, poised to slide the eggs onto the plate. "Who says I'm bailing you out?" CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT I should have tried to get more sleep last night. The act isn't as sharp as it could be, as it should be. I managed to hit the big tricks, particularly the last one. I just couldn't resist starting on the stolen data and stayed up too late working on it. I didn't find anything useful. As I was packing up, Debbie approached me. I hadn't seen her during the performance but she could have been standing towards the back. She seemed reluctant to speak so I took the initiative. "I missed you today. You're my best 'volunteer lovely assistant'. People are starting to suspect something is up between us." She smiled but chewed on her lower lip for a moment. "About that. Last night ... I had this ... weird dream. At least I think it was a dream." "Were you and I at your office?" "YES!" she gasps. "Did I give you a dozen roses?" "YES!! How do you know that?!" "I had the same dream." "You did? How is that possible?" I shrug. "Sometimes, when there's a lot of magic in the air, two people can get psychically linked. They can share dreams, even thoughts. What am I thinking right now?" "You're kidding?!" "No. Not at all. I doesn't happen very often and not for long. The dreams seem very real." "It certainly felt real. I could smell the roses." "That sounds right. What am I thinking right now?" "I can't read your mind. That's crazy ... isn't it?" "You never know until you try. Go ahead. Concentrate." Debbie closes her eyes, squinting and wrinkling her forehead. She holds that pose for several seconds. "Yooouuurr ... hungry! You can't wait to get lunch!" I clap my hands together. "Exactly right! Very good!" I'd have agreed with practically anything she said. "Ohmygod! I did it! That is sooo cool! How long will this last?" I frown and shake my head. "Not much longer, I'm afraid. It'll probably fade in an hour or so. As I said, it's kinda rare. When I do that big finale, there's a lot of residual magic floating around. It's gotta go somewhere." She's clearly disappointed. "Isn't there anything we can do to make it last?" "Afraid not. It's just one of those unpredictable side effects. I did enjoy sharing that dream with you." She smiles broadly. "Me too, Lance. Maybe it'll happen again." I return her smile. "Perhaps. Who knows? Magic is so serendipitous. I'll see you later." She waives as she turns to head back to work. "Bye, Lance." I waive back, continuing to do so until she looks away. That should buy me enough time to search the data base for the proof I need. If she doesn't ask any questions, no one else will. * * * *** * * * *** * * * *** It took several days to get anyone from the Winthrop Group to even return my calls. If there was any proof required to show how toxic the name "Donna White" is, that was it. "What do you want of us, Ms. White?" "I need to speak with someone about investigating a possible incursion from ...excuse me, what's your clearance?" "Level 5, Ms. White." Level 5. Impressive. That almost guarantees that the person I'm speaking with spent some time over there. "Who am I speaking with?" "Cynthia Ridgeway, Ms. White. You may remember me as Captain Sydney Ridgeway, Don." "Captain! How are you?" "Fine, but I'm no longer a Captain, Ms. White. Those ranks pretty much disappear when you get back home." "Does that bother you?" "A little. We knew the job was temporary when we all signed on but it was a wild ride while it lasted." "And the way it ended?" "Don't remind me." "Do you keep in touch with the rest of your squad?" "Not Really. There are only a few of us left here at the main office in New York. The rest have been assigned to various hush hush operations around the world." Should I tell her that her comrades are likely dead? That the same fate could await her also? Anyone deemed a security risk was to be eliminated after they returned to this world. That was the contract between The Consortium and The Winthrop Group. That Ridgeway was still around may mean she was deemed reliable. "What are you currently doing, Cynthia? Or is that a question you can't answer?" "No, not a problem. I'm waiting for a new assignment. I could be headed to Afghanistan in a couple of weeks." Oooohhh, not good. "I have something I'd like you to look into for me. In an unofficial capacity." "I don't know about that, Ms. White. I don't want to get into any kind of trouble here at work." It probably can't get any worse for her. "Nothing serious, Cynthia. I just need your opinion about a certain street performer." * * * *** * * * *** * * * Still nothing. I'm almost halfway through the data and haven't found any solid proof of a specific order to kill my family. There's been a hint now and then and a couple of emails referring to their deaths. That alone is suspicious. Why would a big corporation care about the deaths of a couple of little people? I'll need more than that. One thing is clear though, the loss of the resources from the other world has put a serious crimp in their cash flow. There have been a lot of discussions about accounting tricks to hide their problems from the market and shareholders. Many of the upper management's jobs are on the line and you can practically smell the desperation in a lot of the memos and emails. There's a certain satisfaction in that. Unfortunately, I've got to load up and go perform my act. * * * *** * * * *** * * * The crowd is as large as any I've seen here before, at least 400 people. Word has clearly spread about Mr. Mastiff's skills. One of the smaller local television stations has dispatched a camera crew to catch the action. We were late to arrive and are stuck in the back. "Why are we here, Ms. White?" I had never met Cynthia Ridgeway before, at least not the female version. She's younger than I expected but smart. Her dossier said that she has degrees in both Mechanical and Electrical Engineering plus extensive intelligence training while in the Army. She's tall, almost 5' 11", fit and attractive, with short, auburn hair and brown eyes. It's a shame that The Winthrop Group believes that she's expendable. "I suspect, Ms. Ridgeway, that the magician performing today is not what he claims to be. My superiors aren't interested in finding out the truth. There was a cursory investigation that provided cover for them to ignore the potential problem. I wanted you to see and meet him. You had a great deal of contact with Opulessa so it's my hope that you can recognize a witch when you see one, even if she's currently a man." She jerks her right thumb in the direction of Mastiff. "You think that guy is a chick?" "Possibly. Would anyone have suspected you were a 'chick' when you were on the other world?" "I see your point. How the hell would he-she have gotten over here? I was the last man across before you set the self-destruct on the Portal Generator on that side and caught the last ride home." "Someone on this side could have reopened that Portal. They've sent teams to other universes, searching for another source of raw materials, but no luck so far. If the Generator is active, it's a small step to return to that universe." "Any proof of that?" "None at all," I sigh. "Besides, one thing the original investigation supposedly did establish was that Lance Mastiff is from our universe, not theirs." "Lance Mastiff? Is that really his name?" "It would seem so. There are birth records, Social Security records, school records, medical records and so on. I'm assuming they hired your company to do the investigation. I haven't seen the actual report." "What about Alex Thompson?" "I thought of that but Mastiff doesn't look like Thompson, at least not any more like him than a distant relative, which is barely more than a random man with the same height and hair color." "What about DNA?" "We don't have any sample of Thompson's DNA to compare Mastiff's with." "But you do have samples of his mother and brother, don't you?" Very good, Ridgeway! "We don't but we can get them! Either from the police or an exhumation." "No judge is going to order an exhumation." "Who says we'll ask?" "You've still got the problem about how Thompson could have gotten back. No Portal." "He could get back the same way he got over there. One of the original small portable Generators went missing over there and was never accounted for. It was presumed destroyed. That presumption could be wrong." Mastiff begins his show so we watch, seeing what we can from where we are standing. Ridgeway is astonished at the appropriate moments, when Mastiff performs a true magical trick. He allows the cameraman to roam wherever he wants, to see everything from whatever angle he desires. No magician I know would ever take that risk. Limiting what the audience sees is a major part of most illusions but Mastiff doesn't seem to care. Mastiff has the Coke cans orbit the cameraman during the juggling trick before returning to the table. He actually fell down trying to record the action. The crowd loved it. So did Ridgeway. "So, what do you think?" I ask. "What do I THINK? That HAD to be magic! There is no way to do half of the stuff he did without magic!" "Actually, any competent magician could perform almost two thirds of those tricks, however, the last third ... I'm forced to agree with you. Which raises some troubling issues." "No Shit!" "Exactly. Shall we meet Mr. Mastiff?" "Are you sure you want to do that? If he's the real deal, I wouldn't want him paying any attention to me. Trust me. I know!" "I'm aware of your history with Opulessa." "You don't know the half of it. If Thompson hadn't taken her out, the rest of us would have." If Thompson had not succeeded, you and your men wouldn't have had any recollection of what Opulessa had done to you. You'd still be part of her sick circus. No need to point that out right now. "Unfortunately, it's that history that makes you a valuable asset right now. Mastiff and I have a bit of an adversarial relationship already. I'm still here so that means either he can't hurt me or doesn't care to." "Or that you haven't pissed him off enough yet." "Another possibility, I agree, but I saw what Opulessa could do and what Alexia was capable of. Mastiff isn't in their leagues." "Yet. Opulessa's power wasn't at a steady state. It went up and down. Not a lot but she had good days and bad days." I didn't know that. "Are you saying you don't want to meet Mastiff?" "I'll do it. I just want to be certain you've considered the possible harm. I don't want real magic to get a foothold in my world, it's too damn dangerous. If we need to stop Mastiff, better now than later because we may not get a chance later." I smile. "We think a lot alike, Cynthia." "Thanks, Ms. White." "Call me Donna, Captain." She returns my smile and nods her head. We start to work our way forward through the thinning crowd. Most of the audience needs to return to work. I've always suspected Mastiff only performs at lunch time because he doesn't want people hanging around after the show is done. He has his donation bucket sitting next to his front table. It's a five gallon bucket and almost two thirds full of bills and change with people still tossing money in. If he does that 5 times a week, 52 weeks a year, he could be making almost as much as I do! We wait for the television reporter to finish her piece before talking to Mastiff. And wait. And wait. The bitch is dragging this out on purpose. She's got her story but she wants more. It doesn't take a genius to see what that more is. Mastiff notices us standing in the background. "Ms. White! I didn't see you at today's performance." Ridgeway and I step forward, blocking the reporter. "We were there, Mr. Mastiff. Impressive, as usual. This is Captain Ridgeway." "CAPTAIN Ridgeway? Not a member of New York's finest I hope. I always try to keep good relations with the local constabulary." She offers him her hand. "I'm not a cop. It's a military rank." He takes her hand, shaking it firmly. They pause after a few seconds but neither lets go. They just stare intently at each other for a few seconds before the reporter interrupts. "I think we have all I need, Lance, though I'd like to see you later tonight, just to make sure there's no follow up." Mastiff releases Ridgeway's hand, directing his attention to the attractive reporter. "I'm afraid tonight isn't possible Carol. I need all the rest I can get to recharge my magic batteries. I can be available this Sunday." "I anchor the weekend news broadcasts so Sunday won't work." "A shame. You have my number. Feel free to call me, I'm certain we can work something out." He finishes off with a devilish smile that would weaken the strongest woman's knees. I can feel it myself and he isn't even aiming at me. Carol just beams at him for a moment before recovering and walking away, the cameraman trailing behind. Mastiff turns back towards me. "Lovely woman. Has quite an interest in magic." "I'm sure she does," I reply dryly. "What can I do for you and the brave Captain, Ms. White?" "Nothing you haven't done before. Captain Ridgeway is in town between assignments so I thought she might enjoy your show." "And did you, Captain?" "Did I what?" asks Ridgeway. "Did you enjoy my show?" "Oh my yes! Very enjoyable! It makes a person wonder how you could possibly do all those tricks. Some seem quite impossible." "For some perhaps. Magic makes all things possible." "Oh come on! It's just us girls here. You can't really believe in magic," she says. "I do, Captain, as do many others. Like Ms. White here. And you. If you'll excuse me, the Park Police only give me a few minutes to clean up, pack up and be on my way. I don't want to disappoint them." "Can we help?" I ask. "No no. Don't trouble yourselves. I'm almost done as it is. Check out the local evening news. With luck, it'll be a slow news day and they can squeeze me in. It'll be a boost for my career." He quickly packs the loose equipment into a large duffle bag with shoulder straps, folds up his tables, slings the bag over his shoulder, grabs the tables by their handles and hurries off into Central Park after a brief wave goodbye, his ponytail bouncing with each step. "What do you think, Captain." "That was magic. No doubt about it." "And Mastiff?" "He sure as hell felt like a witch but he was also a man. I can't explain it. Should we follow him?" "No need. We know where he lives. I just wish we had some other leads to pursue." "What about the DNA tests?" "I can get that started but it'll be up to the techs and my requests aren't exactly a high priority. What kind of pull do you have at the Winthrop Group?" "Zilch. On a good day." "So, we're stuck." Ridgeway pulls me aside. "Maybe not. A couple of weeks ago, someone from internal security came around asking questions. Seems that one of our guns turned up in a meth lab bust. ATF knew that it was originally one of ours; it was registered when the company bought them straight from the manufacturer. Internal security wanted to make sure someone wasn't running their own black market with Winthrop Group guns. The company does that all the time, they just don't want unauthorized competition from inside their own company." "What does this have to do with Mastiff?" "Maybe nothing, maybe something. I knew what gun they were talking about. It was Colonel Willis' personal M4A1. He took it to a gunsmith over here and had it fine tuned and modified. It was match rated. That was one cherry piece of iron. And it never made it back to this world when we evacuated." "How do you know that?" "Because I went looking for it. The Colonel was dead. He had no use for it. Seemed a waste for it to fall in the wrong hands." "The wrong hands being anyone's other than yours." Ridgeway grinned. "Something like that. I double checked every gun that came home. I can guarantee you that one did not make the trip." "Could someone else have taken it?" "It's possible. I couldn't be open about what I was really doing so someone else could have gotten to it before I did but I don't think that's what happened. That gun stayed over there until someone brought it over here and sold it." "Are you serious, Captain?" "How else can you explain that a gun that almost certainly did not leave the other side at evacuation ended up in a meth bust in Loogootee, Indiana." "Wait. Loogootee is the nearest town to the Portal Generator on this side, right?" "It is. Wouldn't it be interesting to talk to the man who had that gun? Show him a few pictures maybe?" "It would indeed, Captain. I think I can rustle up a flight to the nearest airport. I've still got my expense account. Care to join me?" "Sure, I'd love to go. Beats the hell out of sitting around HQ doing nothing but I don't know if they'll let me." "I'll take care of that. You go pack a bag and we're off to Loogootee within the hour." * * * *** * * * *** * * * Why the heck did White bring Ridgeway to today's show? What did she hope to accomplish? That Ridgeway would somehow recognize me as Alexia? Seems to be a longshot on her part. Maybe she's running out of gambits. I hope she's running out of time. The sooner I finish reviewing the data from the Consortium, the sooner I can finish this. I hustle through Central Park but as I get near the playing fields, I stop, feeling an urge to go over there to take a break. Just sit down, watch the kids play and forget all about this. I give it about twenty seconds of serious consideration before shaking the feeling and heading back to my apartment, the feeling fading the further away from the fields I get. It wasn't a bad idea, it's just not the time for goofing off. I'll take a break when I find what I need in those memos and emails. But maybe I've been working too hard. Since getting the data from The