Ex-Purgatory: A Novel (45 page)

It was good to be home.

Things were chaotic, granted. In thirty-six hours, dozens of rumors had already sprung up about why the new mayor was shot twice and put into a medical coma. A few of them were somewhat close to the truth. For the moment, as runner-up in the election, Richard Lihart was acting as mayor. He made it very clear he’d step down if anyone had serious objections, but for the moment no one had.

The destruction of Cerberus had caused ripples, too. It had been three years since a hero had fallen. Even if no one had actually died, it was a harsh reminder the world still wasn’t safe. If anything, it was a little less safe with the armored titan gone.

Gibbs was under observation. He responded well to Freedom and was coming to grips with the suggestions Smith had planted in his brain. He’d lost most of his right foot when Zzzap burned off the battlesuit’s legs. The lieutenant seemed to be taking it as some sort of penance.

St. George heard a ripple of fabric. He looked down and saw Stealth standing on the tower below him. Her cloak whipped
around in the wind. The corners of it snapped and popped like small whips.

He floated down to her. They hadn’t had any real time together since waking up from Smith’s dreamworld. She reached up and checked the bruise on the side of his face, running a gloved finger along his jawline. “Your injuries are healing rapidly.”

He nodded. “I should be fine by the end of the week.”

“I am glad to hear it.”

“Is it just me,” he said, “or do I get the crap beat out of me a lot for a guy who’s supposed to be indestructible?”

Her face shifted under the mask. He recognized the faint smile. “Considering the battles you become involved in, it is not that surprising.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck. He held her by the waist. They drifted back into the air. “I have missed you,” she said.

“You threw me out a window.”

“To be exact,” said Stealth, “I had Captain Freedom throw you out of a window.”

“Ahhh, well.”

“You were the best choice, George. You have a flexible mind and had already begun to doubt.” She shifted against him. “You were also the most likely to survive the fall if it did not cause you to wake up.”

He chuckled and shook his head. The wind shifted and her cloak wrapped around both of them. It twisted and flexed like a living thing.

“So how much of it was real?”

“How much of what?”

“Y’know,” he said, “you’re the worst person on Earth when it comes to playing dumb. For a number of reasons.”

“I concur.”

“So all that stuff about your parents. Was that all true?”

Stealth shifted her body again. One of her legs wrapped around one of his. “The majority of it,” she said. “A few minor details were changed to better fit Smith’s illusion.”

“Like what?”

Her body tensed and then relaxed. Then it tensed again and he felt a deep breath whisper against his chest. “You once asked me how long it had been since anyone had used my name. You were impressed that I knew it had been twenty-eight months, at the time.”

“I remember,” said St. George. “When we were going down to spy on the Seventeens, just before that first big battle with Legion.”

“Before I told it to you,” said Stealth, “the last person to use my name had been my father.”

“Ahhh.”

“Nine minutes later I killed him.”

They hung in the air for a few more moments. George pulled her closer. She was still tense.

“I’m guessing there’s a little more to the story than that?”

“There is. Do you wish to hear it?”

“Yeah, of course.”

She relaxed. Just enough that he could feel it. “As you have observed,” she said, “my father was not a good man. Killing him was an act of self-defense, although he had committed numerous crimes which would warrant execution.”

“Did you want to do it?”

She looked up at him. “I beg your pardon?”

“Did you want to kill him?”

Her head went side to side. Just once. St. George remembered the thin man in the hotel suite with the round spectacles and the efficient motions.

“He was a monster in several senses,” said Stealth, “and a wanted criminal in twenty-three countries. However, he was my father. I wish he had not put me in such a position. I took no pleasure from it.”

“Why did he try to kill you?”

She pressed her head against his chest. “So he would know if I was ready to succeed him or not. It is an inheritance I have attempted to avoid for most of my life.”

St. George took her in both arms and hugged her. “I would’ve stopped him for you, if I could’ve.”

“You could not have.”

“Hey,” he said, “I’ll have you know I’m an actual superhero. I used to be known as the Mighty Dragon? Maybe you’ve heard of me?”

“You are being foolish in an attempt to distract me from these thoughts.”

“Mostly, yeah.”

“Thank you.”

They drifted away from the water tower and over Roddenberry. The wind shifted again. Her cloak whipped away from them and spread out behind her.

“Speaking of supervillains,” he said, “have you thought about what we’re going to do with … Smith, I guess.”

“I have,” she said. “Dr. Connolly believes she can maintain the medical coma indefinitely, provided we can supply certain drugs she requires.”

“And if we can’t?”

“We have spoken about the possibility of performing an extended cordectomy encompassing the contralateral vocal fold, ventricular fold, and the subglottis. She has never performed such a procedure, but she feels it is within her ability.”

St. George furrowed his brow. “What’s that mean?”

“If we must, we will surgically remove Christian Nguyen’s vocal cords. This should eliminate Smith’s powers.”

He shook his head.

“This bothers you?”

“Of course it does. Christian was a pain in the ass, but she didn’t deserve this.”

“I agree,” Stealth said. “Unfortunately, Smith’s abilities do not leave us many options.”

“I know. I get it, doesn’t mean I have to like it.” He looked at the buildings below them. Light shone up through one of the skylights. “Danielle’s up late.”

“Yes.”

“Honestly,” said St. George, “I’m kind of surprised Smith didn’t have you preprogrammed to kill her or me. Anyone who tried to stop him.”

“He tried,” Stealth said. “Using your own experience with him as a guide, I formed a semantic argument in my mind to keep myself from acting on his commands.”

“How so?”

“Agent Smith ordered me to deal with any potential threats. I knew we were being followed, and had several reasons to believe it was Danielle, but there was no possible scenario where she would pose a potential threat.”

“How could you know that?”

Stealth bowed her head against his chest. The breeze pushed her hood back. “If I was protecting Smith, Danielle would pose no threat at all.”

St. George stared at her for a moment and then laughed.

“Once she had fired the pistol,” Stealth continued, “she was no longer a potential threat, but an actual one. Smith had not ordered me to deal with actual threats.”

He kissed her through the mask. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

“This said by a man who is hovering eighty feet above the ground.”

She took one arm away from his neck and slid off her mask. He kissed her again. The wind shifted and wrapped her cloak around them.

IT TOOK CESAR
most of the day to find her a drafting board, a tall chair, and a full set of tools. Paper had been harder, but just before sundown he’d appeared with a dozen large sheets rolled into a cylinder. They’d been used on one side, but not much. Just a few simple line drawings and diagrams. He promised to get her more tomorrow.

Danielle hadn’t done any drafting with pencil and paper since her undergrad years. Everything had been CAD and 3-D modeling since then. But her laptop didn’t have any of the right software, and the screen was too small anyway.

She taped down the first sheet and set her straight edge over it. A few quick passes with the pencil gave her a border. A few more passes using the edge and a triangle gave her a title box in the bottom right corner. She filled out her name, the date, and then the project title. It had been a while since she’d had to do the Gothic letters by hand.

Danielle looked at the words for a moment. Then she set her pencil to the paper and began to work.

IT WAS IN
the second draft of
Ex-Patriots
that I came up with a bare-bones idea of how I could bring back Agent John Smith. I almost didn’t use it, to be honest. At the time,
Ex-Communication
was a sure thing, but it was already pretty full of story with the return of Max and Cairax, not to mention introducing Madelyn as the Corpse Girl. I didn’t want to waste Smith’s reappearance, so I knew there was no way I’d be able to tell that story until at least the fourth book. And I’m enough of a realist to know that nobody should be planning on any books past the ones they’re contracted for.

By the end of the second draft, though, there it was. A set-in-plain-sight clue that Agent Smith and Christian Smith were somehow going to be up to no good together. By the time I sat down to write
Ex-Communication
, it looked like there was a good chance I might get a fourth book … so I peppered in a few more clues. I have to admit that—as I write this—it’s been two months since that book came out and I’m two-thirds thrilled/one-third disappointed that no one’s noticed them. But I take solace in the fact that you’re probably all going back looking for them now.

Now here we are at book four, with the possibility of a fifth
Ex-Heroes
story dancing in the road up ahead. And maybe a few clues and hints for that one planted here and there. Maybe some of them set in plain sight …

Needless to say, I couldn’t’ve made it here without help from a few people. So, I offer some very heartfelt thanks to the following folks.

David, my agent, made this book a reality, and made sure I was in a place where I could work on it without pressure or panic. Well, not any more than the usual amount, anyway, when you’re re-launching an entire series with a new publisher.

Julian, my editor at Crown, offered many tips, suggested a few things, caught mistakes, and overall made sure I didn’t fall back on the whole logic-cheat of “it’s all just imaginary.” Or that I had really good reasons when I did. If this book impresses you at all, it’s because he didn’t let me get lazy.

Ilya answered some firearm questions for me. Marcus talked at length one afternoon about military hearings, courts martial, and punishments. Mary helped me with emergency-room procedures and terminology. Any straying from the facts in these areas is my own and not theirs.

John and CD read early drafts in record time when my schedule got tight—they’re both amazing.

And of course, many thanks to my lovely lady, Colleen, who continues to offer advice, to listen when I need to think out loud, and to put up with me while I worry and stress out (again) about how I’m definitely going to screw everything up this time.

—P.C.
Los Angeles, September 7, 2013