Fear (15 page)

To:
All Personnel

Prepare to abandon medical station alpha. You have fifteen minutes to destroy all notes and reach minimum safe distance.

Getting sent home by Gaia made him feel like a kid that had been sent to bed while the adults stayed up to watch the good TV shows.

ED WALKED INTO HIS ROOM
and tossed the skateboard onto the bed. He had found the thing all the way down by Sixty-sixth Street—which just showed what good bearings and low-bounce wheels could do—but he hadn't ridden it on the way back.

Before the accident, boarding occupied at least fifty percent of his thoughts. And during the first few months in the chair, he had ached for that feeling of freedom he got when the wheels were under his feet instead of his butt.

Only now that he was actually able to ride a board again, it didn't seem like as much fun as it used to. Being done with the crutches was great, being on his feet was almost as good as sex, but the board. . . the board was just a thing to do, not a reason to live. There were other things that were more important. Things like Gaia and whatever weirdness was going on in her life.

Ed wasn't a complete idiot. He knew that there was a lot going on with Gaia that she kept secret. He had no idea why she wouldn't open up. All he knew was that getting sent home by Gaia made him feel like a kid that had been sent to bed while the adults stayed up to watch the good TV shows.

He dropped onto the bed and idly spun one of the skateboard wheels with his finger.
Sorry, Tony Hawk, I guess I'm never going to go pro.

It wasn't until he had been sitting there for a few minutes that he noticed the light blinking on the answering machine. Ed reached for it, hoping to hear that Gaia had changed her mind, but knowing that he would likely hear an ad for cheaper long distance.

“Ed? It's me. Heather. I'm. . . I don't know what I am. Sick, I guess. I took this. . . drug. To be different. Not like me. And I guess it worked, only not like I thought it would work and now I'm sick and Ed, I think I'm in big trouble. I tried to call the guy that gave it to me, but he won't. . . won't. . . hello? Who is there? Hello? Hey, why did you call me if you're not going to talk? I'm hanging up now, you jerk. . . you. . . Ed? Ed, are you there? Ed?

It's Heather. I'm scared.”

Before the message ended, Ed was already out the door.

THE BOAT SKIDDED OVER THE
waves, threatened to tip, then pointed down its nose and jetted to the west.

“Do you think you can slow down a little?” asked Tom.

Natasha stood at the controls, her hair whipping back in the breeze. “I'm just trying to get away from Loki's men.”

“We have a better chance of doing that if the boat doesn't flip over,” said Tom. He clutched the side rail as Natasha made another sharp turn.

“Don't worry, I know what I'm doing,” she said.

“Don't talk to me,” said Tom. “Talk to my stomach.”

They had been lucky enough to make it out the mouth of the cave and sneak along the coastline to a boat dock. They had paddled one of the boats well out to sea before they dared start the engine. So far, they seemed to have gotten away with it, but Tom was sure the missing boat wouldn't go unnoticed forever.

Tom squinted at the darkness. He thought he saw a spot of light out there, then it was gone. A moment later it was back. “Someone's behind us,” he said.

“Are you sure?” asked Natasha.

The point of light turned away for a second, then turned back again, following the wake that Natasha had left behind. The light seemed quite a bit brighter now.

“They're following us,” said Tom. “And they're catching up.”

“Hold on.” Natasha pushed the throttle lever all the way forward. The little fiberglass boat bounced across the tops of the waves, its hull barely touching the water. The speed was enough to make Tom grab for a handhold, but it wasn't enough to outdistance the other boat. The light was still getting closer.

“They're going to catch us,” he called over the sound of the engine and the water. “Be ready.”

While Natasha relentlessly drove on, Tom went to the back and picked through the items on board. There were no weapons. No guns. Not even a decent club. There was a grease-stained towel, an empty bucket, and a couple of five-gallon gas cans. Tom picked up one of the cans and sloshed it back and forth. About half full. It had possibilities.

Something smacked against the rear of the boat. Tom looked down. It wasn't until a chunk of fiberglass tore from the gunwales that he realized someone was shooting at them.

The other boat was close. No more than a hundred feet behind. More shots kicked into the water on the starboard side.

Tom ran back to the front of the boat and scrambled through the little glove box near the controls. It took only a few seconds to come up with a box of matches. “Get ready,” he said to Natasha. “When I tell you to, slow down.”

“Slow down? But they'll catch us!”

“That's the idea.”

Tom rushed back to the stern of the boat. He ripped the towel in half and stuffed each piece into the mouth of one of the gas cans. With spray coming down all around him, he pulled out the matches, struck one, and lit the rag to the first can. “All right,” he shouted. “Slow down.”

“I hope you know what you're doing,” said Natasha. She chopped the throttle back to half speed.

Immediately the boat behind them closed to within a dozen yards. It was a larger boat than the one Tom and Natasha had stolen, a long, narrow craft with a powerful inboard motor. Tom could make out figures on board. One of the muscle guys was at the controls. The second leaned across the railing with a rifle in hand. At the nose of the boat Carlo steered a searchlight with one hand and held a pistol in the other. Even at a distance the look of pure hatred on his face was clear.

Tom leaned back and swung the can of gas toward the larger boat. The can arched through the air and hit the side of the boat. There was a sudden gust of flame, and yellow fire spread along the port side of the boat, but the can fell into the sea. Moments later the fire was out.

Gunshots answered Tom's attack. Holes appeared in the stern and in the sides of the boat. Bullets bounced from the housing of the outboard motor. Natasha ducked as a shot tore through the plastic windscreen.

“Tom!”

“I know! Keep going!”

He grabbed the second gas can and lit the rag with tired fingers. This time it had to work.

“Stop!” he called to Natasha.

“What?”

“Stop!”

The engine dropped to nothing and the small boat stopped so abruptly, it seemed to have reached the limits of a chain. The larger boat plowed on toward them through the waves. At the last moment the guard at the controls tossed the boat left to avoid a collision. That was when Tom threw the second can.

He stood up as he threw it, and he stayed up, watching the can curve through the air toward the big boat. From the corner of his eye he could see that the people on the boat were also watching the can. He saw their heads come up. Saw Carlo open his mouth. Then the larger boat was swallowed in a cloud of rolling orange fire.

“Go!” shouted Tom. “Go now!”

Natasha pushed the throttle from full stop to full speed. The little boat surged across the waves. Behind them there were two explosions, very close together, as the fuel tanks on the large boat added their own energy to the fire.

Tom sagged against the bottom of the boat. “You have any idea which way we should go?” he asked.

“Northwest,” said Natasha. “We're bound to hit something eventually.”

Water was gurgling up through a hole where a bullet had clipped through the bottom of the boat. Tom covered it up with his hand. “You're the captain. Take us home.”

“THIS CAN'T BE THE PLACE,”
said Gaia. She looked at the unmarked gray door in disgust. “That bastard lied to us.”

Tatiana grabbed the door handle and gave it a tug. “It's locked,” she said. “Maybe this is the wrong place.”

Gaia shoved her hands into the pockets of her jeans and looked around. It was almost dawn, and the streets were about as deserted as streets in New York ever became. They had come all the way back down here, following the spy's directions, but now it seemed the directions were worthless. “You want to go back to the park and break a few more fingers?” she said. “Maybe he'll give us the truth the second time.”

Tatiana's lips pinched down to an
invisible line.
“You think what I did was easy? You think I enjoyed that?”

Gaia started to say something, stopped, and shook her head. “Sorry. It's been a long night, and that was a cheap shot. I know you're just worried about your mom.”

The other girl nodded. “Let's go look around,” she suggested. “Maybe there is another entrance to this building.”

Together Gaia and Tatiana started around the corner of the building. They had gone only a few steps when the unmarked gray door opened and a man in a white lab coat popped out. The man was older, with a salt-and-pepper beard and round-framed glasses. He had a bundle of papers clutched in his hands and a worried expression on his face.

“Hey,” called Tatiana. “Wait there!”

The man glanced over, saw the girls, and bolted in the other direction.

Gaia started to go for the man but changed her mind. Instead she went for the door. With a last-second jump she managed to wedge her sneaker into the frame before the door could close.

Tatiana came skidding up beside her. “Should we chase him?”

“I don't think so,” said Gaia. “We wanted to get inside. Now we have a chance. Come on.” She held the door open while Tatiana stepped in, then followed her.

The outside of the building might have been plain, but the inside was definitely impressive. Behind the door was a hallway so long, it seemed to vanish in the distance. As far as Gaia could see, there was only one way to go—
down the endless corridor.

“What is this place?” asked Tatiana. She took a couple of steps down the hall, then turned back to Gaia. “Have you ever seen anything like this?”

“Never,” said Gaia. She let go of the door. “Probably means we're in the right place.”

It took five minutes of walking down the hallway before they came to the first door. It was locked. So was the next one and the one after that. The corridor began to branch and turn and there were doors on all sides, but they were all guarded by locks or numeric keypads. Gaia was beginning to lose hope that they would learn anything at all when she pressed on the handle of a door and it opened.

The room on the other side was small and mostly empty. The walls were hung with curtains, one of which was ripped and barely dangling from its support rod. There were a couple of tables, some office chairs, and a few scraps of crumpled paper. Electrical cable with a frayed end dangled from a ragged hole on the wall. In the middle of the floor was a computer monitor with a shattered screen.
The air in the room smelled like hot metal.

“Looks like somebody got out of here in a hurry,” said Gaia. She stepped around a chair and pushed the torn curtain aside. A glass window covered most of the wall. Beyond it was a large room that more than anything else reminded Gaia of a pet store. There were shelves lined with clear glass cages. Most of them seemed to be empty, though a few still held what looked like rats or mice. None of them were moving.

Tatiana looked over her shoulder. “What did they do here?” she asked.

“Research,” said Gaia. “Something medical.”

“What kind of research?” Tatiana brought her face up close to the glass and stared at the rows of cages. “What does this Loki do?”

“Anything you can think of,” said Gaia. “If it's nasty, he's probably doing it.” She moved to her left, pulled open the next curtain, and found herself face-to-face with Loki.

For a moment she was stunned. Her next reaction was pure rage.

Gaia grabbed one of the chairs, hefted it, and swung it like a baseball bat toward Loki's face. The big man didn't move. He stood there calmly, waiting as the base of the chair sailed toward his nose. A fraction of an inch from his face, the chair bounced from a sheet of something that was as clear as glass, but a whole lot tougher. Gaia braced herself, pulled the chair back, and took another swing. This time the wheels on the chair managed to make a light scratch on the window, but Loki still didn't move.
Gaia dropped the chair, leapt into the air, and delivered a kick that would have stunned a horse.

The window boomed like a huge drum and the clear surface bowed in, then out. It didn't break.

“Destruction,” said Loki, his voice made thin by the layer of glass between them. “That's all you ever think about.”

“No,” said Gaia. “But for you, I'll make an exception.” She jumped and delivered another kick. This time a trickle of plaster dust fell from along the top of the window. “Where is my father?”

Loki laughed. “Am I my brother's keeper?”

Tatiana stepped past Gaia. She looked at Loki with
an expression that would have frozen a polar bear.
“Tell me where to find my mother,” she said.

“Your mother.” Loki folded his arms and smiled. “A lovely woman. Truly lovely. It's really a shame.”

The anger on Tatiana's face was replaced by a sharp fear. “What's a shame?”

“A shame that she should cross me. A shame that she should get involved with someone like my brother.” He shook his head with mock sadness. “It's too bad that she had to die.”

Tatiana recoiled from the word as if Loki had punched her in the face. Tears swelled in her eyes, and she stumbled back. “Die?” she whispered.