Cracks in Reality (Seams in Reality Book 2) (8 page)

The headquarters building was just two stories tall but very deep and wide. Brown bricks covered the exterior, but he knew the bricks were just a façade. Behind them were thick, solid walls made of reinforced concrete suitable for a fortress. Some exposed beams hinted at the strength of the structure. Slot windows were so heavily tinted, he couldn't see through them.

A line of trees screened the building which was set well back from the street. Only a small, blue sign indicated who occupied the place, and in Washington, such signs were very common. It certainly didn't look like the home of a powerful government bureau, and that was by design. Only sorcerers and victims of sorcerers had to deal with the BPI.

Blake had been inside a few times. The Sorcerer's Tribunal met in headquarters, and he had gone there for his trial. The most interesting parts of the facility were deep underground behind layers of heavy security. Headquarters was designed to keep out renegade sorcerers even if they were using mind-control. Remote-controlled weapons and surveillance cameras meant guards didn't have to get near visitors. The interior was divided into compartments with checkpoints in between. Daily blood tests were mandatory, and there were probably many other security measures Blake didn't even know about.

He wasn't planning to go inside anyway. He had an entirely different plan in mind.

"Be ready to move," Blake said.

"Yes, sir," his companion replied.

Blake glanced at the man in the driver's seat. He was another member of the small team of assassins that was working for Blake these days. The man had pale white skin and blue eyes. He was missing his left ear, but a leather hat partially concealed the disfigurement. Even though it was the dead of winter, he was wearing a T-shirt which showed off muscular arms covered in tattoos.

Blake looked through his binoculars again. A woman in a blue business suit walked out of BPI headquarters. She strolled through a parking lot full of cars, reached the sidewalk, and continued down the street.

"There!" Blake said. "Carefully follow that person."

The driver started the car and drove north. They passed through a quiet, suburban neighborhood near Washington, DC. Beautiful old homes with generous front lawns looked like a scene from a movie. Every house had a two-car garage at the end of a long driveway. The trees were magnificent.

Blake and the assassin followed the woman to an office building with a brown exterior. A sign for a "Metro" station was above a door, and the woman went straight to it.

Blake nodded. He had known the subway station was nearby, but he had wanted to confirm that members of the BPI used it.

The driver pulled over to the side of the road. Blake got out.

"I'll call when I need to be picked up," he said. "It could be several hours."

"Yes, sir," the driver said.

Blake hurried over to the Metro station. He went inside and took an escalator down. The clean, spacious interior of the station impressed him. The arched ceiling was made of concrete blocks which formed an interesting grid pattern.

He paid for a ticket and went to the train platform. He found a seat in the center where he hoped plenty of travelers would walk past him. He took a paperback novel out of his pocket and pretended to read it.

The Russian Eye was in a pouch under his shirt. He tapped into its power and began to read the minds of people nearby. He didn't go deep. He just wanted to know what they were thinking about and who they worked for. He was looking for members of the BPI.

This part of the plan was a big gamble. The special energy used by sorcerers caused the brain to release metabolic byproducts which lingered in the blood. Agents who failed their blood test weren't allowed into BPI headquarters, and if the circumstances were suspicious, the bureau inquired further.

Blake hoped his light touch wouldn't leave much of a trace behind. By the time the agents returned to work in the morning, the chemicals would be washed out of their system. He didn't think the test was very sensitive anyway, but he didn't really know.

It took an hour for Blake to find a suitable target. His name was Max. He was a man in his thirties wearing a cheap, blue suit. His head was full of numbers, and clearly, he was some kind of accountant. He lived alone. He had just come from headquarters after a long day of drudgery.

Blake stood up. When Max stepped onto the next train, Blake followed him. Max sat on a hard plastic seat, and Blake sat next to him.

Blake took the opportunity to probe a little deeper into Max's mind. Blake discovered Max never took the BPI blood test. He was in the administrative section instead of operations. Paper pushers never went into the secure areas and weren't as carefully monitored. Blake could use as much sorcery as he liked on Max.

Blake found some other useful tidbits. Max was terrified of being buried alive, and that fear would give Blake all the leverage he needed to control Max. The accountant also had remote access to BPI financial records from his home using a secure line.

Several stops later, Max got out of the train. Blake followed and began to exert control over his victim. Max kept his eyes forward and walked a little stiffly.

They strolled through another residential area. Blake stayed as close as he could to Max without getting their feet tangled up. They didn't say a word to each other.

During the walk, Blake asserted increasing control over Max's mind. Blake broke down any resistance he encountered until Max became hopelessly enslaved.

After a ten minute journey, they came to an apartment complex made of red brick. It was three stories tall and had a Colonial architecture. Brown wooden shutters hung on the sides of the windows. Blake and Max went inside.

They walked up to Max's apartment and entered. It was a nice little place which was the perfect size for a single man. A big television hung over a fireplace. The kitchen was part of the living room, and the granite countertops matched a granite coffee table.

"Go to your computer," Blake said. "I want to see all BPI expense reports sorted by location."

Max nodded. He went to his computer and logged in. He needed a special gadget which provided a one-time password to get into the BPI accounting system.

Blake looked over Max's shoulder. Documents and spreadsheets began to pop up, and the grids of numbers made Blake's eyes glaze over.

"That's a lot of expense reports."

"The BPI has around a thousand employees," Max said.

Blake frowned. "OK. Let's try a different tactic. Search for expenses related specifically to child care, like toys and clothes."

Max clicked on his keyboard. After a few minutes, he brought up a series of reports. Blake leaned in for a closer look.

"These are from Aurora, Nebraska. Never heard of it. What's there?"

Max used his computer for a moment. "A foster home run by the BPI."

"Wonderful," Blake said. "That's exactly what I was looking for. Can you find out the names of the kids?"

"No. All I have are the expenses."

"That's fine. The next thing I need are the locations of all known seams."

Max stared at Blake blankly. Blake realized Max probably didn't know anything about sorcerers or seams. That information was on a need to know basis even within the BPI.

"You'll have to do some analysis," Blake said. "Look for odd locations where agents have filed lots of expense reports over a long period of time."

The biggest seams had resident sorcerers to guard them, but there were more seams than sorcerers. Permanent teams of BPI agents protected the small to medium-size ones. Blake expected it was very tedious duty. An agent could spend a decade working in a remote location without ever drawing his gun. Blake intended to exploit the weak security around the smaller seams. The Russian Eye wasn't potent enough for some jobs.

"That will be some work," Max said.

"I understand," Blake said. "Go ahead."

While Max typed on his computer, Blake went to have a snack. He opened the refrigerator and peered inside. The selection was sparse but typical of a bachelor. Blake settled on a container of yoghurt flavored with strawberries. He grabbed a can of vegetable juice for his drink. There were bottles of beer, but he never drank. Alcohol clouded his most powerful asset: his mind.

Max finished his analysis after an hour and printed out a list of fifty locations spread across the United States. Blake knew there were only half as many sorcerers in the same area, so a good number of the locations had to be poorly guarded seams.

"That's all I need from you for now," Blake said, "but I may call on you again in the future. Give me your number."

Max had a dull look in his eyes as he wrote a number on a piece of paper.

"Thanks." Blake took the paper. "Don't tell anybody else about me. This conversation will be our secret."

Blake left the apartment. He grabbed his phone from his pocket and dialed a number.

"Sir?" a man answered.

"I'm ready to be picked up. Here is my address..."

Chapter Four

Blake looked out the window at Aurora, Nebraska. The BPI had probably chosen the town for its remoteness and isolation, and they had done a good job. Aurora was a pimple in the middle of a vast, flat nothing. The surrounding land was divided into a perfectly regular grid of farms. The highway was dead straight out to the distant horizon. There wasn't even a slight hill to break up the depressing monotony.

The town consisted mostly of tract housing with no architectural embellishments. Blake saw few homes taller than one story, and they were small.
Like living in cardboard boxes,
he thought.

One of his men was at the wheel. Blake rode in the back seat, and his inner sight was at full sensitivity. He was hunting for young sorcerers.

He detected a glimmer of energy. "Up ahead!" he said. "On the right."

The energy guided Blake to an isolated house at the end of a road. The pink walls had simple wooden siding, and gray shingles covered the roof. White shutters on the sides of the windows were a homey touch. The house had an "L" shape, and he guessed it had enough space for three bedrooms if they were small.

He detected five sorcerers inside. Their energy signatures were weak and disorganized. He assumed they were children without any training at all.

The house was a foster home run by the BPI. Orphans with talent were kept here until they were old enough to become apprentices. The general rule was kids had to be at least sixteen years old to cast spells safely, and some masters wouldn't take an apprentice until he was eighteen. Sorcery required mental discipline that youngsters simply didn't have.

Blake knew a way to overcome that obstacle. He could turn any raw talent into a fully-trained sorcerer in a couple of weeks. Of course, there was a steep price to pay for cutting so many corners.

"Wait for me," Blake told the driver.

Blake zipped up his coat and stepped out of the car. There was no snow on the ground, but the dirt was frozen so hard, it was like walking on rock. A blast of arctic wind stung his ears and his nose. He pulled a ski cap down to his eyebrows.

He hurried over to the house and knocked loudly. After a minute, a woman opened the door. Her brown hair was frazzled, and she had circles under her eyes. Her yellow shirt had a big stain down the front. Blake sensed no sorcery in her.

"Yes?" she said.

He heard screaming kids in the house. It sounded like they were just playing hard, but it was possible they were fighting.

"I need to see the children," Blake said.

She shook her head. "I'm sorry, but..."

He tapped into the tiny seam inside the Russian Eye, and the woman froze in mid-sentence. He kept the jewel in a pouch near his heart. He exerted his power to control her.

"Step aside," he said.

She mutely moved out of his way.

She was probably a female BPI agent. It would've been better if the BPI had asked sorcerers to care for the orphans, but that was impractical. Sorcerers liked to be near seams, and the foster home was very far from any seam. It was a matter of safety. A kid with talent but no training could get himself into a lot of trouble if he had access to a source of power.

Blake went into the house. Toys littered the carpeted floor, and he had to step carefully. A television was showing an annoying cartoon at excessive volume.

A man in a black T-shirt entered the room. His beefy arms and straight posture indicated he was also likely to be a BPI agent.

"Hello?" he said. "Who are you?"

Blake walked over and controlled the man's mind just like the woman.

"Stay still," Blake said.

He wandered deeper into the house. The loud noise made it very easy to find the children. Two boys and two girls were having a violent pillow fight in a bedroom. Blake guessed they were between six and ten years old. A much younger toddler stood at the doorway and was watching the fight.

All of them exuded black energy. One day, they would be sorcerers, but right now, they were just kids with very active imaginations.

Blake spotted a familiar face.

"Phillip!" Blake said. "Just the boy I was hoping to see."

The pillow fight stopped, and the kids turned to him.

Phillip had straight brown hair and brown eyes. Freckles dotted his very pale skin. Some of his baby teeth had fallen out, and adult teeth were pushing in unevenly. He would need braces. He was wearing a child's sweat suit with a big red "N" logo on the chest. Blake could tell from his energy that Phillip had the most talent of any of the kids.

My new apprentice,
Blake thought. He pointed at Phillip. "We're going on a trip."

"We are?" Phillip said. "Who are you?"

Blake pursed his lips. Now was not the time for formal introductions. He used some light mind-control to make sure Phillip didn't cause trouble. Blake returned to the front room where the two adults were still standing in place.

"I'm taking Phillip out of here," Blake said. "Pack his things. Get him ready to go."

With the help of the BPI agents and a little more mind-control, Blake quietly removed Phillip from the house. The kid was bundled up in heavy winter gear as they walked out the door. Blake carried his small suitcase.