No Time to Die (32 page)

T
he look in her eyes chilled Les to the core. He had seen it in prisoners of war, in hunted animals, in the face of the man he had beaten to death—but never in a child. It was the kind of frenzied desperation that unravels sanity.

He stared down the barrel of her gun without flinching.

“Well, look who's decided to show herself.”

“I mean it!” she screamed. “I'll shoot!”

The gun shook in her tiny hands, allowing him to catch a glimpse of its side, where the safety was still on. He smiled. She couldn't fire on him if she tried. Yet she was handing him the perfect chance to get rid of her and her troublesome DNA forever. No one could blame him for self-defense. But what if she had information about the man he needed most?

“Drop the gun,” he said. He rested a hand on his own loaded gun in its holster around his waist.

She gulped a great big breath, her shoulders heaving, her blue eyes wild.

“Drop it!” Benjamin Barrow yelled. “Or we'll have to shoot!”

Les detected a frantic edge in his partner's voice that was galling. If he was scared of a
little girl,
how could he handle a criminal mastermind?

She appeared to hesitate, staring back and forth between them, the gun shaking in her grip.

“You don't want to hit your friend by accident,” Les said, jerking Theo's shackled arms in front of his own body like a shield. The boy struggled and kicked, but Les held him in place.

Her lips parted in horror as Natalie let out a cry.

“Come on, Zoe,” Barrow coaxed, “drop it and no one gets hurt.”

Staring at Les, she lowered the gun.

“Good girl,” he said. “That's right, all the way to the floor.”

She crouched and deposited it at her feet with a thud.

Les heard Barrow breathe a sigh of relief and half turned to him, keeping Zoe in his peripheral vision. His face was haggard, as if he'd just lived through the world's shortest war. The boy hung his head, no longer trying to resist Les's clutches. Natalie stood slouched in Barrow's grip, breathing hard.

“Take these two outside,” Les ordered, pushing Theo to him. “Zoe and I need to have a little chat.”

A trace of fear came into Barrow's face. “Are you sure? I might need backup.”

Les rolled his eyes. “They're
restrained
, for God's sake. Just walk them upstairs.”

He tightened his arms around Natalie's and Theo's elbows so that they formed feeble links on either side of him. “Don't even try to step out of line,” he commanded, hauling them out into the hallway.

As soon as they were gone, Les locked the door. He had Zoe alone at last. She was standing erect with her face flushed, her blond bangs matted to her forehead, her fists clenched at her sides.

“So,” he said, “you were hiding in that cabinet the whole time, huh?”

“They didn't do anything wrong! It's not fair!”

“They'll be fine.” He gave her a friendly smile. “I'm here to help you.”

“I don't need your help.”

“Don't you want to go home?”

“That's not your problem.”

“But it is. I'm here to rescue you.”

“Bullshit.”

He frowned. This girl was tougher than he expected.

“You're confused, Zoe. You've been through a lot. Why don't we talk about it?”

“No.” She crossed her arms and took a step back. He advanced, closing the space between them. She sprinted around him toward the door, but he was quicker; he blocked the way and took hold of her scrawny bicep. She flailed, hollering.

“Let me go!”

“Shut up.” He dragged her to a metal stool next to a counter in the back of the lab and shoved her onto it, but she resisted, kicking at his legs and trying to bite him. As he struggled to subdue her, he felt her teeth pierce his hand. He yanked it away with a howl, then smacked her hard across the mouth. She grunted and grew still, cupping her jaw. Bright red blood dribbled down her lip. Tears shone in her eyes. Taking advantage of her daze, he snatched her wrist and cuffed it to the stool, along with her ankle.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” he barked. “Now my hand could get infected.”

She glared back. “I hope so.” A purplish bruise was darkening her chin.

“You know, it doesn't have to be like this. If you just tell me what I need to know, your friends go free. We all go home happy.”

“What?”

“Where's Galileo?”

In her eyes he saw a flicker of uncertainty. “How would I know?”

“Don't lie to me.”

“I'm not.”

“I can tell. Where is he?”

“I don't know.”

“What kind of friend are you? You're going to let Natalie and Theo go to jail?”

“You think I'm that dumb?”

He inched his face closer to hers. “You know what I think? I think you're a liar.”

“You would know.”

He cocked his head and pulled away. “Listen, I don't blame you for wanting to protect the guy, but you have to realize it's because you've been brainwashed. And it's not your fault. But now we need your help.”

“I'm telling you, there's nothing I can do.”

“Don't you want to be a national hero?”

She gritted her teeth. “What I
want
is for you to let me go.”

“Well, I can't do that. Not until you talk.”

“So you're going to keep me here forever?”

“As long as it takes.”

The desperation in her eyes intensified. “That's illegal!”

“Says who? I'm the one in charge.”

“I'll tell everyone you're a monster! You held me hostage!”

He gave an amused chuckle. “I'll just explain you have Stockholm syndrome and I had to restrain you for your own good. If it even comes to that.”

“What do you mean?”

“I changed my mind. Screw waiting. You better start talking.” His fingers closed around his holster.

Her eyes widened. “What, you're going to shoot me?”

“In self-defense, of course. I already have witnesses to prove you tried to attack me.”

She sneered. “You
are
a monster.”

“And you should never have been born.”

“Go ahead and kill me, then.” Her voice trembled. “I know you want to.”

“So you'd rather die than talk?”

“Don't pretend I have a choice.”

He sighed, removing his gun from its holster. “You really think it's worth dying for a psychopath?”

He walked around her stool in a circle, purposely letting the tip of the gun skim her knees and drag across her back. She tried to recoil, but it was impossible with her ankle and wrist shackled.

“Help!” she screamed, her blue eyes more terrified than ever. “Help!”

“No one can hear you down here,” he said. “It's just you and me.”

As he slid his finger to release the safety, an eerily deep voice thundered overhead.

“You sure about that?”

L
es froze. Zoe's screams faded in her throat. They both looked up, as if expecting to see a phantom floating down from the spot where the voice had boomed. Instead, he recognized the circular grates of an intercom next to a black camera bulb.

“Who's there?” he shouted.

The voice sounded too low to be human.
“You don't know me, Les, but I know you. Did you like my postcard?”

He felt the hair on his neck stand up. “I'm coming for you next, asshole.” He aimed his gun at the camera, poised to shatter it.

“I wouldn't do that if I were you. You wouldn't want your partner to get hurt now, would you?”

“Nice try.” Les rolled his eyes. “He's right outside the door.”

But then the familiar gravelly voice of Benjamin Barrow cried through. “Help! Hurry! I'm in the—”

Static crackled. A smack echoed. Then, silence.

Les's breath caught as he tried to fathom what could have gone so wrong in a few short minutes. But it meant Galileo was close—extremely close.

“Where are you?” he yelled. “Try to tell me where you are!”

“He's dead unless you uncuff the girl and let her go right now.”

Les turned to Zoe. Her expression was blank, as if she were afraid to reveal any stake in the outcome. He twirled the gun in his hand. How could he just let her walk away, knowing the havoc her DNA could wreak on the world? And what did Benjamin Barrow matter anyway? Les didn't need him—unless he could point the way to Galileo, and for that he had to be alive.

A shot boomed through the ceiling, followed by a man's agonized wail. It sounded like Barrow.

“I said now!”

“Jesus, okay!”

He shoved his gun into its holster and produced the silver key from his pocket.

“See?” He waved it at the camera like a white flag.

“Do it!”

He did. As soon as Zoe's limbs were free, she leaped from the stool and scrambled out the door. He had never seen a girl run so fast. Fury overwhelmed him as he looked back up at the camera.

“Happy now?”

“Very. Next I want you to—”

A guttural roar interrupted the voice, and then three quick shots resounded like firecrackers. The sounds of a struggle ensued—grunts, punches, gasps, glass shattering, something heavy falling.

Les stared at the ceiling, transfixed. “Where are you? I'm coming!”

There was no answer—just more sounds of crashing and grunting.

“Barrow, can you hear me? Are you okay?”

The seconds ticked by in radio silence. Just when Les was losing hope that he was still alive, Barrow's breathless voice resonated through the speaker, giddy with shock.

“I knocked him out! Come, hurry!”

“Where are you?”

“In this—lighthouse tower. It's—ah—come outside and look up to the right, up the stairs, the broken window—hurry, my leg is bleeding!”

Les tore out of the lab, sprinted up three flights of stairs and out into the center courtyard, where several helicopters were waiting to take any criminals into custody. It was dark now, but he could see that the squat adobe building next door housed a cylindrical tower on its roof—with one window pane smashed to pieces, its shards of glass glinting in the moonlight. He ran toward it alone. The SWAT team had scattered to the mountains to search. How could they all have missed Galileo hiding just under their noses the whole time?

“Come back!” Les hollered as loud as he could. “Help!”

He couldn't afford to wait for them. He raced into the building and found the stairs, taking them two at a time, winding up and around the flights until he came to a battered door at the top landing and pushed it open, his gun outstretched.

Inside the small tower, Benjamin Barrow was writhing on the floor in the fetal position, clutching his calf. Blood seeped out under his hands, soaking his pant leg. Pieces of glass littered the wooden floor around him. On the wall was a control panel with dozens of buttons and a cracked video screen, as though it had been punched. Two chairs lay overturned, their legs snapped off.

No one else was there.

“What happened?” Les demanded. “Where did he go?”

“Down there.” Barrow moaned, pointing to a spot at the edge of the room where the floor and wall met. “He just got away.”

Les ran to the spot, where a wooden board had been shoved aside to reveal a hole about two feet across. A metal ladder nailed inside it descended into total darkness. There was no telling how deep it went.

Barrow tried to drag himself over on his elbows. “He can't be far.”

“Stay there.” Les hopped onto the ladder and climbed down rung by rung, as fast as he could without slipping. It didn't matter that he had no clue where he was going, or where he would end up, or even that Barrow was badly hurt. All that mattered was one man. He couldn't wait to set eyes on the evasive mastermind at last—and then annihilate him on his own turf.

“Wait,”
came an eerie subhuman voice a few yards above him.

A chill crawled over his skin. He glanced up from the ladder, confused.

Barrow was standing—standing!—over the hole, his tall figure in silhouette. He was smiling, holding a small rectangular device close to his mouth. When Les's eyes widened, he tossed it aside and spoke in his normal voice—a voice that for the first time sounded fearless, steady, triumphant.

“You forgot something,” he said. Then he pulled out a handgun and aimed it down the shaft. “This is from Zoe.”

Their eyes met over the barrel a second before the shot rang out, and Les understood. Not only was he beaten—he always had been. A bitter cry escaped him, but it was too late to flee, too late to fight back.

The bullet flew at his forehead. He closed his eyes and let go.

H
iding in her apartment, glued to the open window, Zoe watched in horror as Galileo came limping into the quad, his lower right leg soaked in blood. He shouted into the loudspeaker she recognized from their evacuation drills, his voice booming across the compound and beyond.

“SWAT team report back immediately! Man down, perp at large!”

It took only seconds before the men in black helmets and masks streamed in from the mountains—six, seven, eight, nine of them, she counted as they returned and clustered around Galileo, who gestured to the Brain. She craned her head out the window to catch what he was telling them:

“ . . . this tunnel, but the perp was hiding in there and shot at us—my partner's dead—he's on the run, I couldn't follow, hurry, go before he gets away!”

In one black swarm, they bounded toward the building that housed the Brain and disappeared inside. As Galileo watched them go, his shoulders appeared to relax. He set the loudspeaker down on a bench and looked around. Two helicopters stood nearby waiting to take away those who would never be found. His gaze swept past them to the row of apartments, darting from window to window, his brow furrowed, until he spotted Zoe waving. Joy lit his face.

She knew her cue. With her backpack loaded to the brim, she ran out the door and into the quad. He stretched his arms out, beaming at her.

“There's my girl!”

She basked in the freedom to hug him—no more disguises, no more acting. Finally they could be real. She detected the relief in his arms as they wrapped around her, and the pain, too. The Network had suffered a wound as crippling as his own. But he would survive—and for that reason, so would it. As long as he was alive, he would rebuild it stronger than before. If she knew the real him at all, she could count on it. He crouched down so they were face-to-face. Already, she could see the undaunted resolve in his eyes.

“Ready to go home?” he asked.

“You might say.”

“Then let's go.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Right now? You don't need to stay and—pretend to search for yourself?”

He smiled. “I'm chief now, and my priority is getting you home.” He started to walk toward the nearest helicopter.

“But your leg! Don't you need help?”

He bent over and lifted up his pant leg, where the blood had soaked through. To her surprise, the skin was perfectly intact, without so much as a scratch. Her mouth fell open.

“Remember the mice I put in my pocket? Turned out I really did need them.”

She gasped. “You killed them?”

“I had to,” he said. “To complete the illusion.”

“But what will Natalie say?”

“There are still a bunch left, and we only need one for proof for the Archon Prize.”

She set her backpack on the ground and opened the zipper with a flourish. “Then it's a good thing I went back and got them all.”

Galileo grinned in surprise as she lifted up the cage, where at least a dozen infant mice were soundly asleep—perennially stuck in their first day of life.

“I knew you were brilliant.”

“You have to promise to get them safely to her.”

He put his hand over his heart. “You have my word.”

“But can I keep one as a pet? They're the only other living things like me on Earth.”

He chuckled. “Sure. I think she'll understand.”

“I wish I could have gotten to say good-bye.”

“I know. But once we rebuild somewhere else, we can all reunite. It's not over—don't even think that for a second.”

“Will Theo and Natalie be safe until then?”

“Absolutely. I made sure they escaped to the RV park, to safety. And you'll be fine, too. Les Mahler will never bother you again.”

The words filled her with relief. “I knew you would come through. You always do. But how could you stand working with him all this time?”

“I had to. I had to get myself appointed to the committee and know every little thing they were doing and pretend to agree with it all—it was the only way I could run the Network without them catching on to me.”

A feeling of warmth overcame her. It was the realization that he was trusting her—and that she was worth trusting. After all, kids weren't good at keeping secrets. You had to be an adult for that.

“Come on,” he said, sticking out his hand. “There's nothing else for you here.”

She took it. Then she picked up her backpack and they climbed several steep steps into the helicopter. Inside, two pilots sat waiting in the cockpit. The rest of the interior consisted of six leather seats, barely larger than a van. While Galileo went to talk to the pilots, she plopped down by the window and fastened her seat belt. He came back a minute later and handed her a headset with padded earmuffs and a microphone.

“For the noise,” he said. “It's loud.”

“So where are we going?”

“To the closest air force base, and then you'll fly with a police escort back to New York.”

“You're not coming all the way?”

He shook his head. “I have to come back and take care of the patients that were left behind. You'll be okay without me?”

As usual, he was two steps ahead—trusting her to trust herself. She smiled at the rightness of it. “Of course. It's fine, I'm a big girl.”

“You're a young woman.”

The ground lurched away and they soared up above the buildings, above the mountains, into the starry black sky. As she watched the compound grow smaller and smaller, she waved good-bye to Natalie and Theo, imagining them tucked into some warm and cozy safe house down below.

Next stop,
she thought,
home.

 

 

It was morning when she shuffled up the steps to her family's brownstone on the Upper West Side, nervous and bleary-eyed, with the police escort at her side. She had spoken only a few words to her parents over the phone before boarding the plane, so she had no idea what kind of greeting to expect. Relief? Ecstasy? Anger? Would they ground her for the rest of her life? What had become of Gramps? She was afraid to find out—and even more afraid of the possibility that no one could tell her.

She rang the bell. A feeling of surreal detachment struck her as her parents opened the door, both of them already weeping. They bombarded her with hugs and kisses.

“My baby,” her father whispered into her hair. “I thought I would never see you again.”

“I'm okay, Dad. It's okay.”

Her mother kissed her forehead, clutching her hand. “Is it really you?”

Zoe smiled, seeing she had to be the strong one. “It's me. I'm home.”

They looked older than she remembered. Her mother's face was lined and drawn, and the creases around her father's eyes had deepened.

“Thank you so much,” he told the cop. “You have no idea how grateful we are.”

“Just doing my job, sir,” he said, giving a little bow. “You all take care now.”

As soon as they closed the door behind him, Zoe turned to her parents in the foyer and braced herself. The truth had to be stated. There was no time like the present.

“I'm sorry,” she said. “I put you through hell and I feel terrible, but I chose to go. I was never kidnapped, and I was never harmed. I didn't tell you because I knew you wouldn't understand.”

Her parents exchanged glances, and then her father surprised her by taking her hand. “It's our fault, too,” he said. “We were treating you like a child.”

“That wasn't fair of us,” her mom said. “We promised ourselves that if we ever saw you again”—her eyes watered—“well, we'd do things over. We'd let you run your own life.”

Her mom's gaze wandered to the stack of newspaper clippings on the hall table, and Zoe inferred from a few of the headlines that they were all stories about her disappearance. A fresh wave of guilt choked her up, but her mom quelled it with a tender smile.

“All that matters is that you're home,” she said, as though reading her daughter's mind. “From now on, we
never
want you to feel like you can't talk to us.”

She looked back and forth between them, her mouth hanging open. “Seriously?”

They both nodded.

“You're the boss,” called a gruff voice behind them.

She felt her heart leap into her throat. Her parents stepped aside.

There, leaning heavily on his cane, stood Gramps. His hair was thinner, the bags under his eyes darker, his wrinkles deeper—but an ecstatic smile was plastered across his face.

“C'mere, sweetheart.”

She dropped her backpack and ran to him, choking down a sob. The fresh lemon scent of his soap filled her nostrils as she threw her arms around his gaunt frame. “I thought you were gone!” she cried, then lowered her voice. “I tried to send you a letter.”

“Oh, I had quite the adventure myself,” he whispered. “Want to take a walk?”

She turned back to her parents, who were holding hands, unable to stop smiling. “We're going to go outside for a bit,” she said. “I need some fresh air.”

“Whatever you want,” her dad said.

She linked her arm through Gramps's. “We'll be back soon.”

It took him longer than usual to walk the few blocks to Riverside Park, but she was happy to go as slow as he needed. There was no rush.

“I was worried sick,” she admitted once they were outside. “Where were you?”

“That makes two of us. I went after you.”

“You
what
?”

“I didn't know if these folks in the Network were safe—I knew you trusted them, but how would I know? The media was making such a fuss about you being kidnapped, so I started to doubt them. Then your parents and I had this big fight—they thought I had something to do with it—so I . . . well, I pulled a Zoe.”

“You just took off?”

“Yep. I took a train to Ohio, where your black Civic had been found in a ditch. It was all over the news. I figured I could go there and ask around, talk to the police myself. But when I got there, no one knew anything. I stayed in one hotel after the next for a month, hoping to stumble on someone who was in the Network. But eventually I ended up in the hospital, exhausted. I'm sure all the nurses thought I was losing it.” He shrugged. “They called your mom and she came and got me. Your parents figured out pretty fast that I wasn't to blame.”

She shook her head. “I can't believe you. And all this time, I was dying to tell you that I was okay.”

“It doesn't matter,” he said. “We're together now.”

They approached a bench that overlooked their favorite garden. The roses and gardenias were in full bloom despite the early autumn chill in the air. Soon only their shriveled stems would remain—but today, they were still beautiful. As Gramps lowered himself to sit, he leaned back and closed his eyes. She admired his restraint in not pressing her for details right away. That kind of respect was a gift. Taking a seat beside him, she lifted her face to the early morning sun. Neither spoke.
So this is peace,
she thought.

“I have so much to tell you,” she said. “I don't even know where to start.”

“Start anywhere. Or nowhere. I'm just happy to have you home.”

“Do you want to see my souvenir?”

“Sure.”

She reached into her sweater pocket and pulled out a tiny docile mouse. Gramps gave a start and scooted away.

“What is
that
?”

She stroked its pink back with her fingertip. It shivered with delight and curled into a tight ball, barely opening its eyes.

“It's a long story.”

“I've got time.”

She bit her lip. Time was exactly what he did not have. Not for much longer—and there was nothing she could do about it. The human trials with the aging treatment would take years to begin, and that was only after the Network could rebuild. But then she thought again—of Theo, of Galileo, of Natalie, even of Les—and realized that there
was
something she could do. If knowing them had taught her anything, it was not to take the present for granted. Because no matter how much time you thought you had, you never really knew.

“You look so serious,” Gramps said. “You okay?”

“I think so.” It was true. She was.

She looked down at the mouse. Its tiny feet were twitching in dreamland.

“He's just a baby,” she said. “He sleeps all the time.”

“Does he have a name?”

“Not yet. But he might be stuck with it forever.”

“Forever, huh?” Gramps lifted an eyebrow, intrigued. “Then you'd better pick a good one.”

The first ideas that came to mind she rejected—no way could she name a mouse after anyone she knew. But it had to be something special, some way to pay tribute to the spirit of wonder and adventure that made his existence possible—the spirit that united her with the people she loved.

“Well?”

Then she grinned. “Your favorite poem. The Tennyson one.”

“What about it?”

“This little guy
is
the knowledge beyond the sinking star. Beyond the utmost bound of human thought.”

Gramps cocked his head and smiled. “Then I guess we know his name.”

The mouse lay in her palm, the picture of contentment. She leaned forward and brushed her lips against his delicate ear.

“Hey, Ulysses,” she whispered. “Welcome to the world.”