Deja Vu, Episode II

This is the second story of a three episode arc.  The other episodes are:
"Deja Vu"   by Horseman
"Deja Vu, Episode III"   by Horseman

Police Confounded by “Katana Kid”
By Stephanie Burke
Seattle Journal American staff reporter

Police in five states have been confounded by a vigilante dubbed the “Katana Kid” by local media outlets. A string of ten mutilations by a young man using a Japanese katana sword have occurred over the past year in several states.  In all cases, the victims had their dominant hand cut off at the wrist.  All victims except the first survived the attacks.

Police said the first reported case occurred in Seattle one year ago.  Kendo teacher James Killian was found in his studio, having bled to death from a severed right hand.  The teacher was a highly ranked Kendo champion, and he had sustained other sword injuries in the apparent fight that cost him his life.  At the time, there were fewer than a dozen other Kendo champions of Killian’s skill level worldwide, and none of them were in the U.S. on the day of his murder.  Aside from a few reported sightings of a man carrying a sword on the day of the murder, no further local leads have developed.

The most recent mutilation was reported in the Reno Sun newspaper.  A man who reportedly works for an undisclosed government agency was attacked behind a local pub.  His assailant took the severed hand with him, which was found the following day in a nearby dumpster.  The victim is currently recovering in a Reno area hospital under twenty-four hour police protection.

Police report that two different victim profiles have emerged.  All the victims were male, and six of the victims were in the process of mugging someone on the street when the vigilante appeared and confronted them.  All victims describe their attacker as a lean young man with a ponytail, and wearing a dark trench coat.  Several of the victims stated that the vigilante moved with unnatural speed.

As the murder and mutilation cases cross state lines, the FBI is now coordinating the investigation.

Daniel

Daniel Cornell pondered the events of the past year, and scowled to himself.  One year ago to the day, he had discovered that his psychiatrist of six years, Doctor Gerald Hartford, had been dosing him with special drugs in an effort to create some kind of Defense Intelligence Agency super agent.  And they had succeeded, or would have except for the small little fact that Daniel had never been consulted.  They had just done it to him under the guise of a schizophrenia treatment, which was a complete lie.  Although he had yet to catch up with his “doctor”, he had managed to take out his DIA watchdog, Killian, the same day he had found out.  Since then, he had been on the run from DIA agents while trying to track down that bastard Hartford.  Hartford had disappeared right after Daniel had defeated Killian.

And now that damn media nickname, “The Katana Kid”.  What dim bulb had come up with that moniker?  So he took out an occasional scumbag and an occasional DIA goon, that didn’t make him a vigilante, did it?  Well, he thought, maybe it did.  But even so, he had a hard time envisioning himself in that role.  It certainly wasn’t what he had planned for his life.  In point of fact, he hadn’t planned anything for his life – the drugs had made him directionless, like a ship without a rudder.  All that had changed when he had taken himself off the supposed schizophrenia drugs and his “gift” had emerged.  Now he had a definite direction – to find Hartford and make him pay.  Not just for what he had done to him, but for what he had done to the six other kids, five of whom had died under his care.

Night Patrol

Daniel, dressed in his customary dark trench coat and gloves, waited patiently in a dark back alley behind Fourth Street.  This Reno neighborhood was a favorite of local muggers due to its odd combination of nice restaurants, twenty-dollar-dates, and surrounding urban blight.  He was watching a pair of men in the shadows across the street, who appeared to be waiting for a victim to stroll by.

Contrary to media reports, he never took a hand unless it held a threatening weapon.  In fact, he had had at least at least forty confrontations over the last year, and had taken only ten hands.  As word spread through whatever city he was in, less and less actual combat was required.  Most muggers ran when they saw his sword, and connected him with the sensationalized news reports.

He’d stayed in Reno longer than he’d planned, but eventually he’d decided that this city was as good as any for a final confrontation with Hartford and his DIA goons.  On top of that, the casinos gave him a ready source of income.  All he had to do was get enough notoriety in the paper, and Hartford would come to him.  Of course the plan was risky, since he would be on the defensive.  He was counting on his premonition gift to give him an edge. The FBI was hunting for him as well, but at least the local cops didn’t seem to be a problem.  They had already spotted him on one occasion, even turned a spotlight on him, but they had purposely turned and driven away.  Daniel figured it had something to do with the steep drop in crime that accompanied his stay in the city.

The would-be muggers spotted a couple exiting a nice restaurant, and melted into the shadows.  They had positioned themselves between the restaurant and its parking lot half a block away.  As the couple passed, the muggers emerged and caught up with them in a few strides.  They were confronting the couple when they spotted Daniel casually strolling across the street, and turned toward him as he approached.  One guy was big, at least six-four, two-eighty, and was covered in tattoos.  The other was a thin grease-ball with jet-black hair.

Grease-ball swiped his hand at the big guy, and said, “Hey, get a load of this guy.  Must have a death wish.  Tiny, see what’s in his pockets.”  As he spoke, the couple saw their chance and ran for it back to the relative safety of the restaurant.

True to form, Tiny was the big guy.  Daniel reached over his shoulder, and his Japanese katana sword sang as he withdrew it from its scabbard.  He held the sword out to one side, blade tip down.  Light from the streetlamps glinted off its razor sharp blade.  Although not a standard Kendo position, he had found that holding it that way displayed the threatening blade better.  It was fine as long as he wasn’t fighting someone else with a sword, and that hadn’t happened since Killian.

Tiny stopped in his tracks, and said with a chuckle, “Hey Joey, it’s the Katana Kid.  Let’s see if he’s faster than a speeding bullet.”  He reached into his jacket and withdrew a snub nosed revolver.

Daniel stood relaxed, waiting patiently for the gun to get halfway out.  There was no need of a premonition here; the guy telegraphed his moves like he hadn’t a care in the world.  Daniel’s perception of time altered, and the mugger’s gun draw appeared to slow to a crawl.  With blurred speed born of his gift, Daniel advanced and swung up and through the mugger’s wrist.  The blade barely slowed as it separated bone from bone, and the hand and the gun it held tumbled uselessly to the pavement.  Tiny raised his stump, stared uncomprehendingly at the spurting blood, and fainted bonelessly to the pavement.

Daniel muttered under his breath “Mark 9, verse 43”.

Grease-ball stared in horror at his bloody accomplice, then bolted down the nearest alley and was gone.  Daniel watched him go for a moment, then reached into his pocket and pulled out a small zip-tie.  Suppressing his nausea, he expertly wrapped the zip-tie around the unconscious man’s stump, and pulled it tight.  The spurting blood slowed to a trickle.  Daniel wiped the blood from the katana using the man’s coat, and returned it to the scabbard.  Then he reached into the man’s coat, pulled out the cell phone he found there, and dialed 911.  He hated cell phones, because the 911 operators couldn’t locate the position of the caller quickly.  That meant he had to talk.

“911, please state your emergency.”

In a gruff voice he said, “Send an ambulance to Fourth Street, near the Reno Grillhouse.”  He carefully wiped his prints off the phone, and then dropped it on the man’s chest.  From his pocket he pulled a plastic baggie which he placed over his hand inside out, picked up the severed hand with it, and pulled the bag over the hand. No sense in letting them reattach it - he would dispose of it in a dumpster.  Now his tally was a sickening eleven hands.  Hopefully that would be enough to draw Hartford in.

Bait

Daniel was staying in a bungalow he rented under a pseudonym outside of town.  Most of his neighbors served the various gambling establishments, which meant that rents were reasonable.  Since he had the place to himself, he could come and go with little notice.  He didn’t bother with a car, since that would require him to register with the local DMV.  Mostly he got around on his bike or by walking.  Fortunately Reno was a small city, and it was possible to bike from one end of town to the other in under an hour.

He opened his front door, and snagged the morning newspaper that rested there.  As he opened it, the headline screamed for his attention.

“Katana Kid” Takes Bite Out of Crime
By Graham Scott
The Reno Sun staff reporter

The second hand amputation of a mugger in the past month was reported last night by Reno Police around 10:30 PM.  Two customers of the Reno Grillhouse restaurant say they were returning to their car when they were confronted by two men demanding their wallets. A man matching the description of the vigilante known as the “Katana Kid” appeared and engaged the two men, according to police reports.

The customers escaped unharmed, but witnessed the amputation of one of the muggers’ hands as he drew a gun on the vigilante. The mugger, known on the street as “Tiny”, is currently in intensive care at Reno Memorial Hospital.  The amputated hand has not been found.

Confidential sources at the Reno police department said that there have been at least five other reports of muggings thwarted by the “Katana Kid” in the past month, although none of those five resulted in hand amputations.  The rate of muggings in the city of Reno has dropped forty percent in the past two months, according to crime statistics assembled by the Reno Sun staff.

The story went on to detail some of his past grisly exploits in other cities.  It turned his stomach. The men he fought deserved everything he doled out and then some, but it still made him sick.  At least some good was coming of it, and hopefully Hartford would be lured to Reno.

The Pentagon, C-Ring

Doctor Gerald Hartford sat in a hard backed chair facing newly appointed DIA Director Harold Ross.  He’d never met the man personally before, and he found him intimidating.  Ross wore the uniform of three-star Major General, sported a flat top haircut, and had a precise military bearing.  From Ross’ severe expression, an ass-chewing appeared to be the agenda.

The General stood, and turned away to face out the window.  Without turning back, he said,  “I’ve received a briefing on your DARPA project Omega Child, which the DIA is funding.  While the program has seen limited success, it’s also had monumental failures.  Your experiments have resulted in the deaths of five young men, none of whom gave their consent to participate.  One DIA field agent is dead, and three others have had hands amputated.  Frankly I’m amazed that the program is still operational.  Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t shut you down right now.”

Hartford was momentarily at a loss for words.  A bead of sweat trickled down his forehead as he tried to formulate an answer.  Finally, he said, “Sir, from a medical perspective, we have had a few disappointments while we were working out the drug protocol, one marginal success resulting in a useful field agent, and one extremely gifted subject.”

“Whom you let get away from the program, and now appears to have a vendetta against us.”

“Sir, I---I take full responsibility for the mess I’ve made of it.  Although the drug protocol has now been perfected, my recruitment techniques were, shall we say, less than ideal.  However, we now have a way to develop some extraordinarily gifted agents.  We can’t let this opportunity slip away.”

Ross stood silently looking out the window for a full minute before he turned back to face Hartford.  “The media has picked up on this gifted subject of yours.  They are calling him the Katana Kid, for god’s sake.  It’s only a matter of time before he’s linked to the DIA.  I cannot permit that to happen. You have two weeks to get your gifted subject back under our control, or you are to terminate him.  Failing that, you will be removed.”

Hartford sucked in his breath. “Removed? Sir, what do you mean by rem…”

Ross cut him off. “I am assigning Major Steven Brookings to be your direct liaison to my office. His role will be to report on the program’s progress directly to me.  You will give him full, unrestricted access to all aspects of Omega Child.  Is that understood?”

“Yes Sir.”

“Major Brookings is waiting for you in your office.  Dismissed.”

Capture

While Hartford’s DIA agents were a constant threat, they were also Daniel’s link to finding Hartford.  So far, he had extracted little useful information from the three agents he had run up against.  All he had learned was that Hartford ran a black program for DARPA and the DIA codenamed “Omega Child”.  His patience was running thin, and he decided that it was time for a change in tactics.

Up to now, he had reacted to encounters with agents by instinct, or more accurately, with premonitions.  Those premonitions and his time dilating reaction speed had kept him safe and free.  Tonight he had to lure an agent in, and confront him on his own terms.

Before doing that, though, he placed a call home to his parents.  He hadn’t spoken or written to them in a year, and knew this might be his last chance.  His mother spent most of the call crying as he told her of his adventures over the past year.  His father wasn’t home, but that wasn’t unexpected.  By the end, Daniel was crying too.  He hadn’t realized how much he had missed them, and missed having a real conversation with another human being.  He didn’t tell her his plans because he didn’t want to frighten her.  He promised to call again soon, and kissed her over the phone. 

Now that he had a well established modus operandi, he hoped he could count on Hartford’s DIA agents trying to find him with it.  At 9:45 he arrived at the same dark alley off Fourth Street, near the Reno Grillhouse.  An ear bud led to a radio frequency scanner in his left pocket.  It was an illegally modified device he had bought off the internet, and was capable of scanning far more frequencies than just the police bands. He didn’t have long to wait before he started hearing promising radio chatter.

“Blue leader, position reports.”

“Blue one, in position on alpha building roof.  Subject not visible from this position.”

“Blue two, in position in beta building apartment.  Clear sight of the restaurant.  Subject not visible from this position.”

“Blue three, in position in alley near Fifth street.  Subject in sight and stationary.”

“Blue leader, all weapons on safe.  Observation only unless threatened.  Report movements.”

Silence followed.  It was ten o’clock and time to move.  Daniel straightened, smoothed his coat and tie, and walked onto Fourth Street.  At the corner, he turned and walked leisurely toward the restaurant.

“Blue three, subject has departed, no longer in sight.  I’m moving up to Fourth street.”

“Blue one, subject in sight, approaching restaurant.”

Daniel walked up to the restaurant and entered.  The maître de, a tall, thin man dressed in an immaculate suit eyed him suspiciously, and said, “Do you have a reservation, Sir?”

“Yes.  Cornell, party of two.  I requested a table in the back. My guest has not yet arrived.  I would like to be seated now, and when my guest arrives, please escort my guest to the table.”

“Of course; this way, Sir.”

“Blue two, subject visible in restaurant.  He appears to be sitting down alone to have dinner.”

“Blue leader, I’m going in.  Blue three, take up position gamma.  Continue reports.”

Daniel seated himself with his back to the wall, and with a clear line of sight to the entry door.  A tall, lean woman wearing business attire and a wire in her ear entered and spoke briefly to the maître de.  The maître de looked in Daniel’s direction, and Daniel gestured to him to bring her over.  The maître de said something to her, gestured toward Daniel’s table, and began walking toward his table.  She hesitated a moment, and then followed.

When they arrived, the maître de pulled out the vacant chair, dropped menus on the table, and departed.  The woman was young, maybe a year or two  older than Daniel, with her hair tied up in a businesslike bun. Her face seemed somewhat plain, but that might easily have been an intentional trick of makeup.  “Good evening, my name is Daniel Cornell.  You would be Agent…”

After a brief pause, she said “Dawson.  Agent Michelle Dawson.  You---planned this evening?”

“Yes.  I was hoping to have a word with you.”

“You should know we have a team of twelve agents surrounding the building.  There is no way out for you.”

“That’s not a very polite gesture, Blue Leader.  And from what I’ve heard on your radio channel, your team of twelve is rather---inflated, shall we say?”

Dawson stiffened, only now noticing the flesh colored bud in Daniel’s left ear.  “Why this meeting?”

“The rules we both play under will only leave more handicapped agents if we continue as we have been.”

“We could take you out right now.”

“You could try, but you would fail.  I know what your agents will do before they do.  And you’d make such a mess in this lovely restaurant.  You’ve been briefed on my capabilities, I presume?”

Dawson grimaced, and said, “Yes.  And one of my team is in the hospital with a missing hand.”

“Ah, perhaps I should explain.  My personal rules of engagement only allow me to take a hand when it points a weapon in my direction.  Did your profile say that of me?”

“No.”

“Keep your hands empty, and you will leave with them.”

Dawson paused, and then tilted her chin down toward her lapel.  “Blue leader, blue team stand down, but maintain observation.”

“Thank you.”

“Since you appear to have called this meeting, what is it you want to discuss?”

“I would like to know your orders.”

Dawson sat back in her chair and folded her arms.  “And what makes you think I will tell you?”

“Unless I miss my guess, your orders are simple and obvious.  I’d just like them out on the table.”

“Very well, my orders are to bring you in, or terminate you if that proves impossible.”

“Is Hartford still issuing the orders?”

Dawson frowned.  “How do you know about…”

“Hartford turned me into the monster I am today.  Until I met him, I was just your average pimply-faced teenager.  Do you know that he has killed five other kids by experimenting on them without their consent?”

“That information was not in my mission briefing.  Why are you telling me this?”

At that point, the waiter appeared and asked if they were ready to order.  Daniel ordered a Fillet Mignon, rare, with all the trimmings.  Dawson hadn’t even looked at her menu, and just said “I’ll have a Cesar salad.”

When the waiter left, Daniel said, “After a nice dinner, I’m going to turn myself in to you.  It’s the only way I’ll ever get to meet my maker, as it were.”

Dawson eyes went wide in surprise.  “After all that’s happened, you’re just going to turn yourself in?”

“Yes.  I presume you’re OK with that.  Where will you take me?”

“To our private facility in Bethesda, Maryland.”

“My only condition is that you do not attempt to drug me.  You wouldn’t succeed, and someone on your side would get hurt.  Is that clear?”

“That can be arranged.”  Into her lapel mike, Dawson said “Blue leader, arrange regular transport, one hour.  No tranquilizer.  Out.”
         
Daniel wasn’t sure of Dawson’s loyalties, but for the next hour over dinner Daniel filled her in on Hartford’s program, or at least his experience with it.  The information would do no harm, and he figured planting a seed of doubt about Hartford might be useful.

Daniel paid the bill with cash, and left an extravagant tip. Might as well go out in style, he thought.  Outside, they entered a Crown Victoria sedan that screamed federal agents.

Bethesda, Interrogation

Hartford stood behind the one-way mirror outside the interrogation room.  His intense gaze was on the single subject on the other side of the glass, who was casually eating a lunch from the cafeteria.  He said “Major, this is a delicate situation.  You will not speak to Daniel.  Is that understood?”

Major Brookings said, “I believe DIA Director Ross told you that I am here only as an observer.  I do not take orders from you, doctor.  However, in this case my orders do not conflict with your wishes.”

Hartford scowled at the man, and said, “Fine.  The cameras are running; let’s get in there.”

With that, Hartford left the observation room, went one door down the hallway, and entered the interrogation room.  Brookings followed closely behind.

*****

Daniel looked up as Hartford and a military man entered.  He said, “Doctor Josef Mengele, I presume?  And you even have a military escort.  How nice.  Who is this clown?”

Hartford sat down opposite Daniel, and gestured to Brookings who stood in the corner. “Please ignore the Major here, he’s just an observer.”

Daniel smiled, sat back in his chair, and studied the Major.  “An observer, you say.  Interesting.  My apologies for being rude Major.  So who would you be an observer for?  Unless I miss my guess, the Director of the DIA has taken a special interest in me.  Is that correct?”

Brookings frowned for a moment, turned a questioning look at Hartford, and then addressed Daniel.  “Yes, very---astute of you.”

With an edge of anger in his voice, Hartford said, “Major, you’re an observer, so observe.  Nothing more.  Got it?”

Daniel turned a stony face to Hartford and said, “Hartford, you may leave.  I’d like to have a private word with the Major here.”

Hartford’s face turned bright red. “Daniel, you will talk to me, and only me.  Do you understand?”

Daniel understood all right.  He understood that he had to take control right now, or he might never have another chance like this.  He picked up his lunch fork, summoned his speed, and plunged it straight down into the oak table.  Splinters flew as the tines sank in all the way to the fork’s handle.  A narrow crack shot across the surface of the table with a ripping sound.  Looking directly at Hartford, Daniel said, “Leave.  Now.”

Hartford’s face drained of color.  After a moment, he said, “I’ll be next door if you need me”, and hurriedly left the room.  Daniel knew he’d be on the other side of the mirrored glass, but at least now he could speak with this observer.

Daniel said, “What a bloody coward.  Please sit down, Major, I won’t bite.”  He held out his hand, and said, “I’m Daniel Cornell.  And you are Major…”

“Brookings, Steven Brookings.”  He shook Daniel’s hand, and continued, “You were quite correct, of course.  The Director has taken an interest in you. Your exploits garnered considerable attention from the media.  We could not permit that to continue, as reporters might eventually have made a connection with the DIA.  And now that we have you back, the Director wants a firsthand report on your abilities.”

“And what will you tell him.”

“That you appear to be a rather unstable young man who does not have very good judgment when it comes to using the gift he’s been given.”

“The gift, as you put it, was forced on me by that immoral Doctor Hartford without my, or my parent’s consent.  I was a minor, for god’s sake.  I’d like to return the unwanted gift and get my life back, but somehow I suspect that will never happen.  I hate the bastard for what he’s done to me.  He should consider himself lucky that I didn’t use this butter knife on him.” Daniel picked up the knife, but put it back down when he saw Brookings shrink back in his chair.

“Major, you may be able to help me.  And if you do, you have nothing to fear from me.  Are you willing to listen?”

The implied threat hit its mark, and Brookings replied, “I will listen, but all I can really do is report back to the Director.”

“Will you pass a message to him from me?”

“I am bound by my orders to report on this meeting.  Therefore, the Director will hear anything you care to tell me.  What is it you wish him to know?”

“Tell him…tell him I would like to meet with him to discuss the future of the Omega Child program.  I promise to be on my best behavior.”

End of Episode II

Coming soon:  Déjà Vu, Episode III “End of the Line”