“At least I’m not blind,” he said, his voice sounding normal enough. He took an inventory and found that the skin on his chest and arms was as pink and as healthy as ever, but that his right arm was lifeless. His right leg was also weak, but at least it would move. He clawed his way up to the bed, and just lay there breathing heavily from the exertion. He couldn’t begin to understand what had happened to him, or how she had managed to do it, or even why. What he did know was that he would not give her a second chance. He had come all this way to protect her from the others, and now he was going to kill her.
He fell asleep again, but didn’t dream. His mind simply shut off and began to repair itself. He lay there for an hour until the awkward position forced him to move. His right arm still refused to work, and once again, ended up beneath him. The pain in his shoulder woke him. When his eyes opened, he found that his vision was back to normal, but that his right side was still weak. His fingers still wouldn’t move, but he could weakly flex the elbow. His right leg moved, and he thought it had enough strength to bear his weight. Sliding off the bed into a semi-standing position, he braced himself with his left arm. He started to walk around the bed, but his right foot caught on the fallen bed linen. He clumsily worked his numb leg and nearly tripped himself. He managed to make it into the bathroom without causing himself anymore harm and began to collect his things. He would have to leave Colorado Springs — no, he could finally leave Colorado Springs. He hobbled around, picking up any evidence that might betray the fact that he had been there. Since he had only been at the Sheraton for two days, not much cleaning was needed. He thought for a moment. What did it matter if the authorities searched his room? They would never find him. He would be long gone before anyone even knew he had been there. His confidence bolstered and his leg growing more reliable, he finished packing.
Ten minutes later, a bag hanging from his left shoulder, Reisch limped out into the snow. A pickup truck with a plow attached to its front end was clearing the parking lot, and he had to wait for it to pass. As he stood there, while the wind and snow found ways under his long wool overcoat, he felt the mind of the police officer. He was being watched with more than just idle curiosity. He surveyed the parking lot and found the cruiser. Reisch focused on the mental connection, and with a shock almost as great as finding Amanda, he realized that the police were specifically looking for him. He saw a long line of parallel tire tracks in the snow, and a large black man trudging through them.
He was stunned by his colossal stupidity. Without a thought, he had driven from the Van Ders’ house directly back to his hotel, leaving a yellow-brick road in the snow for the police to follow. He had avoided capture and even positive identification for almost thirty years; every major intelligence agency in the world had at one time or another searched for him, never really knowing if he existed or not. He was the best at what he did — his longevity had proven it, — and now he was going to be undone by some small-town cops because of tracks in the snow. The absurdity of the situation overwhelmed him, and he laughed out loud.
The plow passed, leaving him in a cloud of snow and exhaust. The cop was waiting anxiously, hoping Reisch would get into his rental car. Reisch felt the excitement pulse through the young officer. He was eager to impress someone. Reisch waited, and the cop’s mind focused in on the face of a large black man, the same man who had followed the tracks to Reisch’s hotel. Rodney Patton was the name that played off the officer’s mind. Patton had told him to stay put, just observe and not to be a hero. Good advice, but Reisch wasn’t going to let the cop follow it.
He hobbled across the parking lot to a snow-covered sedan three cars away from the waiting officer. Painfully, he took the overnight bag off his shoulder and made a show out of laying it down next to the car. He stood for a moment, pretending to survey how much work he had ahead of him, and then with his good arm he slowly began to push the snow off the roof. His attempts were deliberately feeble, and he stopped frequently to catch his breath, his right arm hanging limp at his side. The cop watched every move, and when it became obvious that the tall, dark man needed help, he got out of his car.
The officer walked over to Reisch with a long ice scraper. “Excuse me, sir, can I help you?”
“Yes, that would be nice,” Reisch said with a New York accent. “I had a stroke a few years ago, and this damn arm ain’t good for much now.” Reisch moved to the back of the car, but the young cop skirted him and walked to the front, sweeping the long scraper through the eighteen inches of snow in long arcs. The cop was just about the same height as Reisch, but he was easily fifty pounds heavier, and in much better physical condition. Even if he had use of both of his arms, Reisch couldn’t ensure a quick and quiet kill.
The officer had cleared most of the windshield and hood, and Klaus was pleased to find a BMW underneath all the snow. The god of fate had allocated it for him to use. But first, he would have to dispose of this cop. There were two more inside, and he could just start to feel their minds, so he had to act quickly. He finished clearing off the back window and maneuvered around to the passenger side as the officer was beginning to work on the top of the car.
“I don’t think you and your family are going to get very far today,” the cop said. “Most of the roads are closed. But at least your car is going to be clean.”
“Family?” The question was out of Reisch’s mouth before he was even aware of it. The word sounded unfamiliar, and for a moment, his confusion was obvious.
“I saw the car seat. My wife and I have the same kind.” The cop motioned at the carrier strapped to the back seat, confusion now playing across his face.
“Oh, that’s for my nephew. I’m up here visiting my brother and his family. We drove up to Denver yesterday, and got back so late that I decided just to leave it for the morning.” Reisch sounded convincing, but he knew that the cop had picked up a trace of the lie. Reisch moved closer, pretending to help clear the roof. They bumped elbows, and the young cop smiled, but Klaus felt his mind darken. He was closing himself off as instinct and training began to raise the alarm that this dark man was more than what he seemed.
It was always easier taking control of an unsuspecting mind, but Reisch thought he would have no trouble with this one. He extended his mind into Brian Yaeger’s a moment before the cop asked him for some ID. He struggled briefly, but the German overwhelmed him. Reisch wasn’t interested in playing. He needed to dispose of Yaeger as quickly and as quietly as possible and then get out of this city. He needed time to recover his strength. Reisch began to squeeze the life out of the young man. Yaeger responded by grabbing his head and dropping to his knees. He howled in pain as Reisch focused harder and harder, but he wouldn’t die. Reisch began to sweat despite the cold. Never before had he had so much difficulty. His head began to hurt, and his heart was thundering in his chest. He imagined his hand closing around the cop’s brain, turning it into a bloody mess, but even that didn’t work.Yaeger finally passed out, and the screaming died away. Reisch slumped against the car, panting from the mental exertion. He couldn’t do it. A few hours earlier, he had luxuriated in the murder of George Van Der, taking his time, prolonging the old man’s agony and his own ecstasy. But now, making this simple man pass out was the best he could do. He watched the cop’s breath turn to steam in the cold, wondering what this meant. He felt exposed and vulnerable. She has done this to me, he thought. A blind rage started to build in his mind as the image of Amanda flashed before him. He fought to redirect its energy; he couldn’t afford to lose control now. There were still two more cops looking for him.