The Hidden: Among the Hidden: The Hidden, #4

By Andrew Michael Schwarz

Jerry is loose, hiding somewhere in Jack's vicinity, waiting to strike again. The FBI, however, has a plan, one in which Jack is their star player. But another agency, Hellfire Club Ltd, has a better idea. And a more sinister plot. 

The only question is: how far is Jack willing to go to get his revenge?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Andrew Michael Schwarz
• Release date: Jul 31, 2017
• ISBN: 9781386536413

Book preview

The Hidden

By

Andrew Michael Schwarz

Episode Four:

Among The Hidden

The Hidden: Among the Hidden. Copyright © 2016 by Andrew Michael Schwarz

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof

may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever

without the express written permission of the publisher

except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

First Printing, 2016

Vorpal Blade Publishing

PO Box 3002

Issaquah, WA 98027

www.vorpalbladepublishing.com

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28

The government vehicle swallowed him up. Jonah and the whale, Jack and the FBI. The inside was black as night or a magician’s hat. It gleamed, polished and shiny and totally smooth.

The air tasted filtered clean. The floors and seats were spotless. Jack would have preferred clutter, a wrapper, an empty coffee cup, anything to announce that these men were like everyone else, that they burped and shit and had to brush their teeth, too.

The men mirrored the interior of the car. Their glasses were cut out ovals from the tinted windows, their ties strips of seatbelt. These weren’t men, he decided. They were machines. They were agents sent to do this or that, sent to carry out orders at any expense.

The car cruised so smoothly you wouldn’t know it was moving. The scenery traveled by like a Hollywood movie set. The air outside could have been any temperature, they could have been driving on the moon. The only world was the inside of the government vehicle.

The agent beside him took off his glasses and stared intently at him, a pursed smile on his lips, a knowing in his eyes. The driver navigated north out of town, the opposite direction from Los Angeles.

Where are we headed? Jack asked the agent.

We have a remote field office in Hesperia, he said. About forty minutes from here.

Hesperia, huh? Trucks and cow shit. Kind of odd for you boys, isn’t it?

The agent lightly nodded his head from side to side. This unit prefers to maintain a low profile.

Jack laughed. Flashy surveillance vehicles to the contrary, I suppose? He wasn’t in the mood for G-men claptrap. He didn’t care who he offended.

We’re stationed in an upscale development, the agent said. It works for our purposes.

Mind telling me where my girlfriend is? Jack asked.

Yeah. She’s—the agent leaned forward and pointed at the windshield--in that vehicle ahead of us.

Jack shifted to look out the windshield, where he spotted an identical vehicle to the one he was in. He leaned back.

The agent smiled wanly. Listen, Mr. Fuller, I realize the position we’re putting you in here and I want to dispense with the idea that you are somehow under arrest or the—uh—target of our investigation. You understand? Let me introduce myself and my colleague here. I’m Special Agent Hughes and this is Special Agent Solie. The driver glanced back through the rearview mirror and made eye contact with Jack.

In the car ahead of us is Special Agent Johnson and his partner Special Agent York, and um, Special Agent York is a female, just so your girlfriend’s more at ease.

Jack laughed slightly through his nose. What’s this all about? he said. Why the abduction?

I apologize for the way this was done, Special Agent Hughes said. But, we believe it is in your best interest for you to not have had any foreknowledge of our surveillance.

Surveillance?

Again I apologize, but yes, we’ve been monitoring you and Ms. Luther up there.

Jack felt his neck turn blotchy with embarrassment at the mention of Nikki’s last name. It was the first time he had heard it. He wondered if the agents knew that.

Special Agent Hughes took a deep breath. We study a certain type of individual in society, he said. And in order to do that, we need to practice very careful and non-obtrusive methods of observing both the target and the source of the target. You understand, I’m sure.

Jack didn’t respond. Yes, he understood, he just didn’t know how wise it was to let on that he understood.

It tends to be a very careful investigation conducted over several months and sometimes years, Agent Hughes said.

Years? Jack asked, incredulous.

In your case, it all happened very quickly. Um, not all cases are as clear cut or, well, dramatic as yours.

Is that right?

Special Agent Hughes nodded. Yes, that’s right, he said.

Okay then, supposing I, uh, understand you—not saying I do, of course, just saying hypothetically. What are we doing now, then? I mean, where are we going? This couldn’t exactly be considered unobtrusive anymore.

Not at all. We don’t make contact with either subject until we’re quite certain of what we’re looking at, Hughes said.

Jack squinted at the man, trying to gauge his character, whether he ought to believe that this Special Agent Hughes was the real deal, or if he should play his hand carefully. A part of him said these guys were just fucking with him, that they knew how crazy he had become, the fantasy he was living about another self going around and terrorizing his loved ones. One part of him said that these guys wanted to play into his delusion so that he would let down his guard and tell them everything they wanted to know, a Thorazine drip and weekly electroshock his final reward. He decided he needed a bit more information before he could even think about coming off the defensive.

Are there crimes involved here? Jack asked. Namely, murder, kidnapping, false imprisonment?

Good question, Hughes admitted. The official answer is ‘no,’ if we don’t count what was done to you, that is. We’re not a hundred percent sure of course, and we expect that sooner or later the subject will not be able to control himself and will then commit a capital offense.

"What was done to me?" Jack questioned further.

Hughes nodded. Your false imprisonment.

Jack laughed—really laughed—with a mix of both relief and disbelief. Wait, he said. Let me get this straight. He turned to look Hughes in the eyes—his very human hazel-colored retinas. Do you mean to tell me, Agent Hughes, that the FBI was sitting there watching while I was—and let’s say this politely—being held captive?

Hughes shook his head. No, he said.

Then how do you know I was held captive? he asked.

Well, weren’t you?

Yes.

Isn’t that enough then, sir?

He bit his lip.

Hughes cleared his throat. Look, we’re starting out all wrong here, Mr. Fuller. There are a few basic pieces of information that, um, you don’t have.

Don’t hesitate to fill me in, Jack said. He was feeling now how he had in Dr. Gromwell’s idiotic practice. Back when the aging doctor had told him he had a parasite and yet couldn’t elucidate a single, fucking specific.

Hughes leaned back. They’re not known to kill the host, he said, matter-of-factly. And before we make a move we have to be sure of who is who. But in your case, the situation was well advanced by the time we got involved. We moved as quickly as we could.

They entered a more upscale neighborhood of tract homes and drove slowly down a wide residential street toward a cul-de-sac with an enormous house at the end. All the houses looked similar, some were just larger than the others. They were all made of brick and stucco, all with steeply sloping roofs that were as clean and neat as new tennis shoes, and all with primly manicured plots. They all had dormer roofs off the main roof, they had lion’s head door knockers, three car garages. They, like the FBI car, were spotless. On one side of the development, a house was incomplete, the insulation panels exposed, reading like an industrial billboard for a sheet rock company. There were no cars parked outside.

They drove to the big house at the end. They pulled up slowly into the driveway and slipped unseen through the second garage door. The door began closing as the rear bumper was clearing the threshold. Jack was impressed.

Jack stepped out of his vehicle and found Nikki standing between two agents. It smelled like fuel exhaust and rubber inside the garage. Jack went to her and pressed her to his chest.

You okay? she asked.

Yeah. You?

I’m fine. Did they tell you anything?

A little bit, he said. What did they tell you?

Nothing. They said they would tell us everything when we got here.

All right, he said.

She searched his eyes. You think this is legit? I mean, is this weird or—

He nodded stiffly. These guys are the real deal.

The interior of the house was large and posh and impersonal. The floors were marble, the ceilings high. It seemed to tell you that you couldn’t afford it. The carpet was plush and expensive, cream white with no stains. The furniture was scant: a couch, a chair, but nothing else. No end tables, bookshelves or pictures on the walls, no left over items from a consumer’s emotional purchases.

The rooms were large, they rambled one into the next. Each room hosted a neatly made bed with white bedspreads. Jack could smell the air-conditioning, like canned air from a department store. He could taste the new materials that the house had been made with.

He realized he hadn’t felt the temperature outside since he had entered the car. He and Nikki had gone from vehicle to garage to house, as if this were all one long adventure ride. They’d been escorted the whole way by cleanly shaven