Murray Hill || A Superhuman Tale - 1

Chapter Fifty-Nine

Tommy walked the 30 feet to the conference area. He had no control over how people perceived him, but the blue jeans, running shoes, and green and blue tie-dye t-shirt he wore over broad shoulders might lead a person to believe he was a pizza deliveryman or some kid who had just wandered in from the street.

An attractive, fit-looking woman of about 35, sitting at the far end of the table, was the first to notice the advancing Tommy and greeted him with a forceful, "I'm sorry, you're not supposed to be here, young man." She glanced to a small young woman to her left. "Magda, go make sure the door is shut."

"That really won't be necessary, Cynthia. I'm just here to get Ms. Mettouchi and to find out where you've taken the other people you've abducted. I'll be gone in two shakes of a duck's tail after that."

The woman jumped to her feet and drew her sidearm in a single smooth move. "Get your hands on your head and get on your knees," she shouted.

There was something about Cynthia's tone and posture that made Tommy think she might otherwise have been a good police officer. Covering the distance between them and seizing her weapon would've been easy, but there was no sense in hurting her as he had Zach. Besides, he needed her help, otherwise, things might end badly.

Tommy didn't break stride but walked wide of the conference table to ensure he was the only one in the line of fire.

"Stop or I will fire."

He continued walking as the bullets impacted him harmlessly. Five rounds struck him before he reached Cynthia and gently relieved her of the weapon. She'd retreated several feet by then and had her back against the wall. A look of horror and shock marred her handsome features.

He touched her left elbow in a comforting fashion. "Are you okay?" he enquired. "I know something like that can be quite a shock." Behind him, he heard running feet and glanced back to see Jason come to a halt at the conference room doors. There was no sign of Philly. "Why don't you catch your breath," he told Cynthia.

Tommy turned and walked to where Jason stood at the door. He disabled Cynthia's pistol along the way.

"Jason, brother, I only had one task for you," he said with disappointment. But the agent had a worried look on his face to which Tommy knew he needed to respond. "Your boss got a little emotional. Everyone's fine."

It was then that Jason seemed to notice the bullet holes in Tommy's shirt. The agent's eyes locked onto the holes as if he were in some sort of trance.

Oh, fucking great, Tommy thought.

From the conference room, emanated the slow, loud clapping of a single pair of hands.

"Brilliant, Bravo." The speaker, a cadaverous man of about 50, was clad in a starched white shirt, conservative tie, and a set of dark suspenders. There was an expensive suit coat on the chair next to him. The man's voice was remarkably deep and rich for one so scrawny. The horn-rimmed glasses perched on the man's nose were the thickest bifocals Tommy had ever seen.

The man clapped several more times and moved around the table from where he'd been sitting to Cynthia's immediate right. He now brushed past the supervising agent without comment. The man's tone was outwardly buoyant and confident, but Tommy sensed the contempt in his voice.

A former military officer if ever there was one, he thought.

"Kyle Wigand, I presume." The man's tone suggested that tidbit of information should surprise Tommy. "I've heard a great deal about you, young man ... or not quite so young man."

Jason still stood near Tommy, but by that point couldn't be depended on for even the simplest task. The others were arrayed around the room, standing and sitting, in various degrees of shock and fear. Glancing over to Cynthia, it was clear she'd recovered her composure somewhat.