Gregg Hurwitz - The Tower

There was a great deal of agency lore surrounding this man, but it was anybody's guess as to how much of it was true. After he'd lost an eye in a freak accident or an operation, depending on which version one heard, he had taken the code name Wotan, referring to the German god who had traded an eye for knowledge. His remaining eye had grown quite sensitive to light, so he kept the room dimly lit. There was, however, almost as much artifice to his surroundings as there was need, since Wotan enjoyed his status as the agency mystery. By remaining in the shadows, he appeared even more intimidating and powerful, which was precisely what he wanted.

"Sit down, Agent Travers," he said quietly, his voice that of an older man.

Travers sat in the small chair ten feet from the desk, dangling her arm to allow the briefcase to rest on the floor. She stared at the row of blank screens set into the wall. When Wotan took meetings, which was not often, he turned off the video monitors.

"Yes, Wotan?"

"Any leads on Atlasia?"

"Well, sir, we found the speedboat about ten miles offshore. It appears he had set it so it would be headed out to sea, so we can't exactly pinpoint where he got out. He may have drowned. We put out roadblocks and sent search parties through all the beachside towns in proximity to the Tower, but there's nothing so far."

"It appears we have a child in need of punishment," Wotan said softly. "And the Tower?"

"Everyone there died except Claude Rivers, an Eleventh Leveler. The sleeper."

Wotan nodded in recognition. "Peter Briggs himself has ordered Rivers back in there as quickly as possible. Plus, I don't want him mingling with the other prisoners and guards. It puts them in danger."

"I'll inform Warden Banks."

"How'd Rivers survive?"

"It was an unusually high tide, so the water eventually covered up even his cell, but he ripped the U pipe out of his toilet and used it as a snorkel. The water's surface was only about four inches above the top of his ceiling bars. He spent the better part of an hour staring at the rippling air just out of reach before the emergency crew arrived.

"We notified all the prisoners' families, and no one should be a problem, with the exception of Cyprus's mother." She paused and pursed her lips. "She's a real bitch, sir."

Wotan leaned forward and light from the dim lamp fell on his face. Travers saw his bare eye socket, the skin stretched over the hole.

"I called Briggs first thing this morning. We're not going to fool around on this one." Wotan drummed his fingers on the desktop, then stopped. "I want Marlow on it," he commanded softly.

Travers shifted uneasily in her chair. "Sir, can't you give us more time on this? Marlow's a hell of a guy to unleash in this situation- it's like letting a fifteen-year-old loose in a whorehouse, if you'll pardon the metaphor."

"It's a simile. And I want him."

A moment of silence followed, broken when Wotan cracked his knuckles by pulling his fingers down at the joint with the thumb of the same hand, one at a time. He paused between each pop, letting the noise fill the air. When he finished his fingers, he made a fist with his thumb inside and tightened it. His thumb cracked sharply. Then, he cracked the fingers of his other hand in similar fashion.

Travers sat quietly in the chair and waited for this ritual to end. She cleared her throat nervously. "Very well, sir. We'll put out the retainer and update him. Marlow usually works alone when he tracks, but we'll give him the flexibility to take another agent-partner if he needs it. He usually doesn't like the distraction, though."

Travers rose from the chair. "Wotan, sir… we will keep intelligence on it, won't we?"

"Of course. Just don't interfere with Marlow. I want him well-oiled and on course as soon as possible." His fingers traced the edge of the weighty marble ashtray that sat always within his arm's reach on the desktop. "Marlow will bring him in. He always does."

Travers had to lean forward to hear Wotan's final words, his voice was so faint. She snapped her head in a quick nod and left the room as Wotan ran his fingers gently over the bare socket of his left eye.

Allander laughed softly as he wiped the noses of the two children. Their arms and legs were bound with gray duct tape and they lay struggling on the couch. The tape was also wound around their heads several times, covering their eyes but leaving the rest of their faces exposed.

The bodies of their parents lay on the carpet next to the couch. The woman's body was sprawled over her dead husband, her limbs interlocked with his. Their heads, arms, and legs were positioned at unnatural angles. Although Allander had intended them to look like two people holding each other intimately, they looked more like broken action figures.

Before arranging this deadly embrace, Allander had carefully gouged out their eyes with a knife he had found in the kitchen. It had taken him some time to get up the courage to approach the woman. The first thing he had done was to wet a towel and smear the white beauty mask off her face.

Now, he sat on a love seat with his knees pulled up to his chest. He hugged himself and grinned as he addressed the children.

"I'm certain that your estimation of your mother and father was rather hyperbolic anyway. Parents are deified by their children, but as you can see, the idols in the temple have come tumbling down." He extended a foot and touched the woman's corpse.

The little girl choked on a sob. "What did you do to my mommy?"

Allander chewed his cheek and squinted. "Let's just say I did nothing you didn't want to do yourself. I only put your desires into action. You see, that's the worst part about being a child-you're too small to have an impact on anything. Just a confused mind and a weak body with tiny little fingers insufficient to grasp and swing a blunt object."

He took the girl's hand and caressed her trembling fingers tenderly until she jerked them away. They brushed the ragged tape that covered his ring finger and a jolt of pain shot through his hand.

The boy was clearly too petrified to speak. His legs poked out of the large leg holes in his shorts, looking foolishly small and unimportant.

"I'm afraid I'm going to have to dispose of you both for the time being," Allander said.

The girl's chest began to shake uncontrollably and she jerked around on the sofa and pulled at the tape on her wrists.

"Oh no. Oh no no no." Allander threw his head back and laughed a deep, rolling laugh. "I'm not going to kill you. Just move you to the bedroom, away from the watchful eyes of your parents." Standing up, he faced the children and his voice dropped. "They see not what they do."

The girl's bedroom was pink and yellow and splendid. The wallpaper had grand stripes of dancing color, and the bed was adorned with a flowing canopy. Above the girl's desk were several cut-out letters that had been colored with crayons.

The letters were aligned with an ordered sloppiness that only a child's hand could have accomplished. "L-E-A-H." They were proud, bright and confident. Allander stared in fascination at the girl's name, standing with one child tucked under each arm. "Astounding." He shook the girl gently. "Such self-affirmation. To be admired in a budding woman."

He laid the children side by side on the mattress underneath the canopy and unwrapped their wrists, allowing their groping hands to meet and clasp together. Then, he secured their fearful handhold and taped their other arms down to their sides.

After kissing both children on their foreheads, he stood back and admired his work. His fingertips moved lovingly over the boy's face, lingering for a moment on his lips. Running his other hand smoothly down his own stomach, Allander fondled himself. He moved his hand from the boy's lips, across his rosy cheeks to the back of his head and held it there for a moment before turning away.