Chapter 10 Whipping Boy
Amanda slowed her steps as she saw Percy and Roan standing in the deserted corridor. At her approach they both looked up, their expressions somber. Clasping her hands before her she continued toward them, noting the stiff nod with which Percy dismissed the cleaner.
"Thanks, Roan," he called after him as he strode off down the opposite corridor. Directing his gaze toward her, he nodded as she stopped before him. "I need to speak with you in private."
"Of course," she replied, following him as he turned and turned back toward his office. When he said nothing, she stated the reason she'd come looking for him. "Did the engineer and Birkhoff manage to solve the problem yet?"
"They did," he replied, glancing at her as they came to his suite. "It took some time but they finally got the job done."
"So you're satisfied? We can expect full operation from now on?"
"Hopefully," he sighed, pressing the thumb pad to unlock the door. She strode past him into the office as he locked it behind them, pasting a smile upon her face before turning to face him.
"Good," she said calmly. "He'll need some rest after being holed up for so long."
Percy moved behind his desk and punched the power button on his computer. "I gave him a few days off..."
Surprised, she watched him sit down, his eyes on the monitor. "That's very considerate of you," she stated, wondering why he'd been so generous to Birkhoff.
"Yes I know," he said distractedly, punching something into his computer. "Oh and I killed the engineer."
Stunned, she stared at him in disbelief. When she didn't comment he looked up.
"What, no questions or objections?" he said with a faint smile, returning his gaze to his monitor. "Birkhoff certainly voiced his…"
Her heart thumped wildly as she tried to envision the scene. Why did he kill someone who helped solve the problem with the black boxes? And why let Birkhoff go home, knowing he'd witnessed it?
"Is that why I just saw Roan?" she managed to say.
"Indeed it is," he sighed, typing something that was obviously more important. "Speaking of Birkhoff I may need your help managing him—he did look a little upset."
Reeling inwardly, she wondered how they were going to explain that to Oversight. "Was that really necessary?" she dared ask.
"I'm afraid so…I had to prove an important point, and time was of the essence."
Forcing herself to stand her ground, she lifted her chin. "I imagine Birkhoff was troubled by your decision, which he will no doubt internalize and project onto his own status."
He looked up. "Surely you realize that power, once attained, must be cultivated and wielded in order to be held."
"Holding both men against their will would surely reinforce their perception of your power, Percy."
"Amanda when you're dealing with high IQ personalities a dose of fear is necessary to offset the impression that they're in control," he explained, eyeing his screen yet again. "And I did compliment him, by the way…I told him to go and be brilliant, which I've no doubt he will."
"It's more likely that in the ensuing emotional trauma he'll suffer you may have to deal with compliance problems—"
"What is it about Birkhoff that worries you so much?" he demanded, eyeing her intently. "You're always nervous about his mental state, when the man's obviously got an iron will and seems to withstand the pressure of running Division under my command! I think you need to relax—he's a lot stronger than you think!"
She stared back, crossing her arms. "The general consensus is that power is established more firmly through much more subtle and nonviolent ways than through fear and intimidation. Most of the literature agrees."
He leaned back in his chair, studying her expression. "Maybe you're right, but it's too late now. He's either back in his quarters or halfway to his apartment by now. Would you like to check up on him?"
"That won't be necessary," she sighed though he picked up the phone and called security. She waited while he asked for and got his update before hanging up. "Their logs show him briefly entering his quarters, then driving off in the direction of his apartment."
"So he'll be home," she replied, straightening her shoulders. "I'd like to monitor him, if you don't mind."
"There's no need," he sighed. "Birkhoff will typically lick his wounds, work out in his gym and then play a few hours of video games before retiring."
"I doubt he'll sleep after what he's been through," she stated.
"Oh, and why is that?"
"Well with his IQ, personality and position here he's suffered social isolation, but by sequestering him with a like-minded genius whom you eventually eliminated before his eyes you've sent him the message that he could very well suffer the same fate. I doubt he'll sleep well, which will only compounds the problem of overworking and over-stressing him."
"If he can't handle it then we'll just find someone better to replace him, Amanda," he said coolly, transferring his attention back to his monitor. "But while we're on the subject, why don't we actually monitor his activities and see who's right about him, alright?"
She sighed and sat down, prepared for a long night. "Fine…but I don't think I'm being overly concerned about his mental state."
"We'll see, Amanda. But I do appreciate your efforts in trying to protect our assets," he stated, eyeing her meaningfully. "Let's see what we can dig up on him and discuss just how well he's managing here."
Alex checked her watch again, glancing down into the alley below but seeing no one. Dropping the curtain back in place, she went to check her phone again.
"Where is he?" she whispered, tempted to call him but deciding against it. "No, it's too risky…but he said he'd be here."
With all the recruits out on the town she knew Division would be busy trying to keep track of all them, so when it lit up with Michael's number she was even more concerned. Pressing the green key she heard him yell out her name.
"Alex, it's Michael," he cried above the loud background music. "I'm at Club 42 playing chaperone and
I need your help."
"What's up?" she replied, hoping she didn't sound too impatient.
"I need you to check the apartment across the way," he answered, sounding a bit distracted. "There's a party going on which I'm sure you already know about."
"Yeah, at Nathan's."
"I have the feeling that some of our newbies might have crashed it—can you go see if you recognize anyone? I'm missing two—Sarah and Randy."
"Ok but give me a minute—I'm soaking in bubbles," she lied.
"What?"
"I'm taking a bath!'
"Oh—sorry. But there's no hurry—they still have a couple of hours before curfew."
"Yeah, look I know how it is…I'll call you back if I see them."
"Fine, otherwise don't bother to call back—I need to keep the line free in case they're spotted by the other agents."
"Sure thing," she stated, glancing out her window again for any sign of Birkhoff. "Night."
He hung up without answering, but now she had to leave and didn't want to miss Birkhoff. Moving to the peephole to look out into the hall she cringed at the loud music coming from Nathan's apartment, seeing the door open as a few people left. Waiting until she could account for whatever time she would have needed to get out of her supposed bubble bath and get dressed, she wrote a note for him in case he arrived while she was out.
"At least it'll take my mind off waiting," she sighed, inserting the note into an envelope and looking for the tape. She'd been careful to write it to no one in particular in case anyone else saw it and read it instead. Then she taped it to the outside of her door and stepped out, preparing herself to crash the party and hopefully avoid Nathan.
Percy eyed the security video, comparing it to the logs they'd faxed up to him. Gritting his teeth, he pulled up the repair menu for the cameras and counted how many were out or scrambled. Then he rose from his desk and closed the programs. "I found something off," he announced as Amanda stood, smoothing her dress down her legs. He reached for his coat and headed for the door. "We're going to check this out in person."
"What's wrong?" she wondered, following him out of his office. "Is Birkhoff alright?"
"I think our little genius has been playing tricks on us," he predicted. "There are a lot of inconsistencies with the logs and camera malfunctions surrounding his activities."
"Are you sure? We have had problems with Repair—"
"It's not just that—his tracking device seems to have gone off ever since he left for vacation," he said grimly, marching down the hall toward the garage as she followed.
"Why didn't Security report that before?"
"I have no idea," he breathed, "but we're about to find out. And if he's sneaking around behind our backs I'll just have to teach him another lesion…one he won't easily forget."
Birkhoff gritted his teeth, twisting his hands as he pulled against the straps binding his wrists. Every time he tried turning around to see what they were doing he got muscle spasms in his neck. Now they'd turned up the volume of his DVD player, blasting the bluesy jazz of his Sneakers movie at party volume.
"Look, I can explain," he shouted, rocking the chair as he tried to turn toward them. "All of this is a huge misunderstanding—"
An eerie whistle interrupted him a fraction of a second before something hissed past his ear and struck the table. He jumped in surprise, staring at the leather whip that slid backward off the surface.
"Don't treat me like I'm an imbecile!" Percy shouted over the music. "You've got one too many cameras out in your profile, Seymour, not to mention the fact that your tracking device has gone haywire!"
"What? You're blaming me for that?" he yelled back, struggling against the straps.
"Percy really—it probably has nothing to do with him," Amanda defended, coming to his side as she eyeing him coolly. "We've known for some time how poorly the security contractors have behaved, and Birkhoff's far above trifling with those applications, aren't you?"
"Dinosaurs," he agreed, eyeing her pleadingly as her gaze darkened in sympathy.
I'm afraid I can't help you this time… her expression seemed to say.
"Don't underestimate our little genius here," Percy warned in a voice tight with rage. "He'll do anything to make me look like a fool, thinking he's above obeying my orders!"
"Percy, you can imagine what kind of wiring they put in this building," he added, trying to turn his head to look him in the eye. "Besides that, the cameras in the parking garage are always corroded from the rain and humidity—"
"You were angry about what happened with the engineer," he interrupted, "but I did it for your own good, Birkhoff! You should have realized that his death was for your benefit, and meant to teach you a lesson—"
"Look I know he was a little feisty, but he wasn't used to working as a team—" Birkhoff began before the crack of the whip hit the table, this time grazing his arm and drawing blood. Shaking with fear he fought for the right words to defuse him. "I really think he could have helped us with another problem—"
"You already knew more than he ever did!" Percy argued. "Besides that my decisions concerning staff are none of your concern—"
"Look, I'm sorry if you think I was undermin—"
The whistle of the whip announced another strike, taking his breath as it cut into his right shoulder. He froze as pain shot through his skin and muscles, singing along his nerves and stunning him with its element of surprise.
"I was speaking!" Percy roared at closer range as the whip cut across his upper back. He gasped in pain, shutting his eyes and willing himself to keep from crying out. Amanda called Percy's name, but to no avail.
"I told you that you needed to learn to obey me," he shouted, hitting him in the back of the neck. "Didn't I?"
When he refused to answer he was hit three more times, each more painful that the previous. He fought to breathe, so severe was the pain, and hung his head. He could feel blood trickling down his back, its slow progress seeping into the waistband of his jeans. Leaning forward, he tried pulling his wrists free despite the increase in pain any movement caused. Clenching his teeth he suffered more strikes until his forehead hit the edge of the table as he fought to breathe. Pain throttled him, burning his skin as he prayed they'd leave him alone.
Another strike hit his upper back and he saw stars. He was vaguely aware of the sound of Percy's heels clicking toward him as he tried to swallow and catch his breath. Then Percy's breath whispered into his left ear, making him cringe in horror and disgust.
"Hopefully this time you'll learn," he warned softly.
Birkhoff had all he could do not to turn his head and spit in his face. Grateful for the hatred boiling up inside him he tried to control himself and play dead, thinking Percy would grow bored and leave.
"I really wish it didn't have to be this way, Seymour," he sighed, leaning a hand on the table next to his temple. "Though Amanda objects to my methods, I tend to think of them as productive, don't you?"
He pulled open his eyes and stared groggily at that hand, willing it to leave him alone. He was vaguely aware of someone pounding on his door and voices yelling as if from a great distance. When the hand lifted he felt relief, then the world somersaulted and everything went dark.
Alex saw the flash of an incoming text message on her phone and pulled it out from peeking over the side pocket of her purse. Glancing up, she saw no sign of Nathan or the two recruits Michael had sent her to look for. The other partygoers were involved with each other and she headed for the door, studying the number and knowing it wasn't Nikita. She remembered Birkhoff writing his cell number on a sheet of paper which she'd tucked inside her wallet and decided the call was too similar to ignore. As she crossed the hall back to her own apartment she opened the message, her eyes widening with alarm.
"Dear God!" she hissed, turning from her door and rushing toward the stairs. Her heart pounded with fear as she fled down the staircase and burst through the garage door to get to her car.
"Help me get to him without being seen," she prayed, climbing in and turning the key. Backing up as fast as she could, she shifted into drive and raced toward the exit, already mapping the quickest route in her mind. It would take about 15 minutes to get to him. Checking the empty streets she turned and headed toward his neighborhood. "Please, don't let me be too late..."
Amanda shivered, pulling her fur coat tighter as she walked close to Percy's side. "Do you think anyone saw us?" she worried, glancing back at the dilapidated building.
"Not a chance," he soothed, glancing down at her. "Those kinds of neighbors bang out their protests but rarely show their faces…incidentally that was a brilliant idea, playing his DVD to cover up any noise."
He unlocked the door and she climbed in, looking up at him. "Someone might have seen us sneak out the back," she added as he shut the door.
Shaking his head he rounded the hood and climbed in. Starting the engine, he lifted his phone and pressed a speed dial, waiting until it picked up.
"Roan, I have another job for you—an important one. Get over to Birkhoff's apartment with your medical bag…I had to teach him a lesson and I'm afraid he'll need some tending to…yes, that's the right address…do whatever you deem necessary to get him back to work in two days…and use the side alley so no one sees you. Report back to me when you're back."
Amanda watched him covertly, trying to hide her disgust. The sight of Birkhoff's bloodied back still made her feel queasy, and she wondered how he'd react when Roan showed up at his place.
"He'll think he's dead once he sees Roan leaning over him," she stated in a bored tone.
Percy laughed, shaking his head as he drove from the alley. "That's one expression I'd like to see," he admitted. "Assuming he's even conscious."
"Really Percy, who do you bother whipping him when you're only going to order someone to go patch him up? There are better ways to send a message, without shedding any blood."
"I'm not interested in the psychological aspects of torture, like you are," he stated, glancing at her. "You know that…no, I much prefer a more animalistic approach."
"But that way you leave evidence behind," she smiled, leaning back into the comfortable seat. "Which is certainly more risky."
"Roan will take care of any evidence," he sighed, turning onto the boulevard. "Care to join me for a nightcap?"
She glanced at his profile. "I think I'll take a raincheck…it's been a long night," she sighed.
"It has, but hopefully a productive one."
He came to slowly, the burning pain in his back and shoulders dulled by an overall numb feeling in his upper body. Groaning softly he shifted until a hand press down on the base of his neck.
"Lie still," a rough voice commanded.
Too groggy and weak to fight it, he realized that he was lying face down upon something soft and white. Glancing sideways he focused on the black bag standing open at his side. Flexing his wrists he realized they were unbound, yet he couldn't seem to move his arms. He shivered, trying to unglue his tongue from the roof of his mouth. His throat was parched and burned from thirst.
"What happen—"
"Don't talk and stay still!" the voice ordered. He tried turning his head to see who it was, but only caught a glimpse of a long black coat over a bent knee. "I need to finish your back..."
Something poked between his shoulder blades, which he sensed more than felt. After a moment his mind finally registered that voice. The cleaner! What was he doing here?
"Roan!" he croaked, lifting his head before it was forced back down.
"Hold it—I'm still stitching you up!" he hissed.
Too tired to fight him, he lay flat again as alarm shot through him. Stitches? "Where's Percy?
"Long gone, thank God," Roan mumbled in a frustrated tone. "Look, you need a plastic surgeon but I'm doing my best for now," he complained, tossing a mound of bloodied gauze onto the floor.
Birkhoff stared at it, his condition finally registering. "How bad?" he groaned.
"Bad enough," he said tightly, dabbing something cold along the back of his neck. "He call and ordered me to patch you up so you can report back to work in two days, the bastard."
He struggled to accept the fact that Roan was working on him, a task he usually performed on the deceased. "That's our boss," he sighed, beginning to feel pain begin to creep back over him.
"I remember overhearing you joke about Michael being teacher's pet and you being the whipping boy," said gruffly, throwing down more bloodied gauze. "Never would I have imagined it was the truth."
"He only did it once before," he moaned, closing his eyes.
"Yeah well somebody ought to give him some of his own medicine," Roan stated, bending down to his level. "You're starting to feel more pain, aren't you? Time for an IV."
He clenched his teeth, grabbing handfuls of the blanket as he began to feel burning and the iron like grip of pain. "Yeah," he grunted, feeling the prick of a needle on top of his left hand. Waiting for it like an addict for his next shot, he endured the pinch of the IV without caring what came through it.
"This is a combination of antibiotics, painkillers and electrolytes to get you started," he stated. "You'll need to finish the antibiotics orally to prevent infection— you're highly susceptible at this point so make sure you take them all."
"Thanks, Doc," he sighed, glancing dazedly up at him. "You a real doctor?"
"No, just an Army medic," he answered, lifting the plastic bag over his head and attaching it somewhere.
" …good enough for me," he moaned, closing his eyes.
"Give me a few more minutes, then I'll have to sit you up to dress the wounds. Now hold very still—one last deep laceration to go."
He buried his nose in the blanket, trying to ignore the sick sensation of his back being sewn together and waiting for the local to take effect. He worried about Alex waiting for him, praying that she didn't come looking for him. He plan to make a quick clean escape was no longer viable, yet he couldn't seem to formulate another one to replace it.
"You know, I tried to warn you through Michael," Roan said as he worked. "Nobody ever believes me."
"Sorry," he breathed, too tired to say more.
"I texted Alex a few minutes ago to come get you," he stated, snipping something near his right shoulder. "She'll have to hide you until I can get out from under Percy's radar—"
"What—Alex?" he choked, turning his head before Roan stopped him. "Don't want her involved—"
"Hang on—look, you're going to need someone to change your dressings, and I suggest you both get far away from here and lie low for a while… I'm leaving in a few days myself, unbeknownst to Division—keep that to yourself ok?"
"Ok," he agreed, listening to the sounds of instruments being thrown down before Roan dug into his bag again. "Why help me or her, anyway?"
Roan chuckled, dropping ripped gauze packages onto the floor. "Let's just say I believe in fairy tales…
and I still have a wife out there in the world who thinks I'm dead. The plan is to show her otherwise."
"I highly recommend it," he sighed, feeling inordinately sleepy but less uncomfortable. "Just did the same thing with my Dad…"
"I'll bet he was shocked," Roan sighed, pressing something down across his upper back. "Family's important…now let's get you up so we can finish."
Birkhoff felt his hands slip beneath his shoulders and groaned, managing somehow to lift himself enough for Roan to help him into a sitting position. He shivered and found he couldn't keep his head up. Then he felt hands pass under his arms and cross.
"Hold this," he was ordered as his hand was guided to the center of his chest. A roll of gauze slid beneath his armpits and wound around his shoulders, then across his chest again two more times.
"Unbelievable," Roan sighed, his voice slightly tremulous.
"What'd you give me?" Birkhoff mumbled, feeling more and more drowsy. "I can't keep my eyes open."
"You'll thank me one day," he answered, pressing something over the back of his left shoulder. "There—you're wearing two layers of gauze pads beneath these but it'll still bleed through for a few days. I'll tell Alex what to do since you're pretty out of it."
"Thans…" he sighed before Roan was lifting him, trying to get him to his feet. Once he stood he swayed and was caught. A chair scraped the floor and he was urged to sit. He hung his head and complied as a knock sounded on the door. Roan went toward the door as he turned his head to watch him peer out the peephole.
Curling his arm around his stomach, he wanted to hide from Alex's sight. Then he heard her voice as if coming from down a long tunnel.
"Oh God!" she cried, and then she was kneeling at his side. Her fragrance enveloped him, stirring his senses and making him more alert. He opened his eyes and stared sleepily into her worried gaze. She touched his face with a cool palm as tears filled her eyes. "Who did this to you?" she demanded.
"Percy," Roan answered for him before walking away. "I'll get some of his clothes…"
"Are you in a lot of pain?" she soothed, squatting at his side as he hung his head in exhaustion. "I'm going to take care of you once we get you someplace safe. Then we'll pay back that monster—"
"No," he argued, catching her hand as he forced his eyes open. "Don't go anywhere near him…"
She pursed her lips but didn't argue, and then Roan returned with a pillowcase stuffed with clothing. They buttoned an old flannel shirt around him without bothering with the sleeves, then draped a light blanket over his back. He stood swaying dizzily until they guided him toward the door.
"My pack," he croaked, watching Roan snag it from the floor where he'd left it before turning to Alex.
"We need to hurry," he warned, opening the door and moving him out into the back hall. Close to passing out, he missed a step on the stairs and then Roan bent and lifted him off his feet. He grabbed onto his arm, wincing in pain as a wave of darkness washed over him. Sighing in defeat, he let his eyes close and let go.
c. 2011 by Christine Levitt