His face softened, despite the pain. “Of course, my friend. Least I can do.”
“Show these bastards what a god can really do . . . Zeus.”
Diego’s eyes focused on something . . . nothing . . . in the distance. Then he grinned.
“Fuck it. Call me Blaster.”
I took two running steps, planted a boot on the wall just above the waterline, and pushed off as hard as I could.
Diego exploded into light. I closed my eyes and the thunder’s shock wave thrust me backward down the tunnel. I hit the water at an angle and slid until I banged into the far door. It didn’t feel good, but I was still breathing.
Blaster was gone. So was the barricade. The accumulated water flowed into the Operations Center. On the opposite side of the OC there was a four-foot hole in the wall. Through that hole I could see another in the room beyond. And the next.
The way out was clear, but I wasn’t going to kid myself with any fantasies of escape. I was powerless and alone. I’d be shot before I even made the parking lot.
I grabbed the grenade launcher from the floor and shook the water off, hoping the ammo magazine was sealed. I ducked through the hole into the Operations Center and turned around, now a safe distance from the partially melted door.
Following Blaster’s path was a death sentence. Going in the opposite direction? No damn better, but at least I’d get to take somebody with me.
I fired a grenade down the length of the tunnel. It smacked against the warped metal and blew up just fine. When the blast cleared, I ran through the shattered doorway to find Tucker.
The doorway opened into a small antechamber with steps leading down to the emergency command bunker—a smaller, more secure version of what we’d just blasted through—buried beneath the floor of the CIA complex.
I stepped through the door at the bottom of the steps and saw four guys with assault rifles looking back. Agent Reyes stood in the middle, two gunmen on either side. He’d ditched the gas mask, although he had a Taser leveled at my chest. No Tucker in sight, which meant I was
done. Finished. No use detonating a bunch of innocent SPS cops. I dropped the launcher.
One of the riflemen looked at Reyes. The big man nodded in return.
“So that’s it,” I said, more disappointed than angry. I waited for the hail of bullets with a single, overwhelming thought, a question
way
more clinical and detached than I assumed final thoughts would be.
I wonder if death hurts.
I never found out, because Reyes grinned and shot me with the Taser.
But trust me, it hurt.
CHAPTER 50
M
y eyes blinked open to blinding light.
I’ll be honest, my first thought was:
Heaven?
Yeah, a little self-aggrandizing considering my track record, but it didn’t last long. Whatever heaven may be, I’m guessing the lights aren’t fluorescent and it doesn’t reek of body odor.
I was seated in a chair, staring at overhead lights. My skull snapped forward and my neck muscles screamed in protest. When I could focus on who was in front of me, my brain did a little screaming as well.
Tucker sat across a wide metal table. His toothy smile radiated triumph, but judging from his three-day stubble and sleep-deprived eyes, it was a recent phenomenon. He didn’t look nearly as put-together as he’d been in the past. Didn’t mean he was any less of a dick, though.
“Welcome back, Mr. McAlister. How are we feeling?”
I lifted my hands to the table and felt the handcuffs for the first time. “Captured.” I smacked my lips to clear the lingering metallic taste from the Taser. “How long was I out?”
He checked his watch. “About ten minutes. Surprising, really. Mr. Reyes said he’s never seen a Taser make someone lose consciousness.”
“Reyes actually spoke?”
Tucker motioned to the side. “Be nice.”
I twisted to see Reyes, his hulking figure blocking the door of our small room, an interrogation area, with a large two-way mirror behind Tucker and twin video cameras mounted in opposite corners near the ceiling. Both had blinking red lights. A powered-down flat-panel
computer monitor sat on the table next to Tucker, screen turned toward me.
I corrected my slouch in the metal chair and found that my neck muscles weren’t the only ones with complaints. Even my toes felt sore. The malaise was mental, too; I knew where I was, knew I was seriously screwed, but I couldn’t seem to focus enough to care. I knew there was one question worth asking, though.
“Why am I still alive?”
“Because we have unfinished business, you and I.”
“You’re taking a big risk, aren’t you?”
“Oh, I don’t think so.” He pointed to the cameras. “Those aren’t the only ones still working. I witnessed your dustup in the hallway outside Operations. Took out that guard with your bare hands. Apparently Mr. Mendoza’s electricity tricks have taken their toll on you.”
Shit. He knows I’m impotent.
“You should be grateful,” Tucker continued. “I would have had you shot the moment you stepped through the door if you still had your powers.”
Didn’t matter if he knew. The arrogant prick had kept me alive—all I had to do was keep him talking until my power came back. Even with my abilities restored, escape was a long shot, but I’d take a one percent chance over a death sentence any day. It was just a question of how long I’d have to wait for my shot.
“I assume the loss isn’t permanent,” Tucker said. “So I’ve taken measures to ensure cooperation, regardless of your status.”
“Sounds scary. Is this the part where you threaten to kill me?”
He leaned forward and flicked a switch on the back of the monitor. The screen blinked to life.
“No, Mr. McAlister. This is the part where I threaten to kill her.”
Son of a bitch.
The screen showed Lyla handcuffed to a hospital gurney, blindfolded and gagged. An IV bag hung from a pole next to the gurney, with a line feeding down to her arm. Behind her, partially obscured, stood a nurse wearing a gas mask. Lyla was dressed like an office worker and had an ID badge clipped to her belt, emblazoned with the CIA seal.
“We caught her twenty minutes before you and Mr. Mendoza showed up. Tried to infiltrate the building with an agent’s badge—sadly unaware that our facial recognition software doesn’t care if you wear a wig and contacts.” Tucker saw my fists clench, and his eyes widened. “You didn’t know she was here, did you?”
“Wasn’t part of the plan.” The words clawed their way between clenched teeth.
“I am so glad you mentioned ‘the plan.’ What exactly was it? Surely you didn’t wreak all this destruction just to get to me?”
I barely listened. I was too focused on the monitor image. Any residual mental fog from the Taser vanished. When I finally turned to Tucker, my face must have scared him.
“Stay calm, please,” he said. “Before you do anything rash, let me show you this . . .” He raised his right hand from beneath the table. Wedged in his fist was a white plastic cylinder. The device had a red button on top, kept depressed by the pressure of his thumb. A dead man’s switch.
“I assume you know what this is?” he asked.
“Yes. Easier to hold than a grenade.”
“True, but no less effective. If I have reason to release this button, the valve of that IV opens. The bag’s contents are rather harsh. She would die. Poorly.”
A bead of sweat ran down my temple. “I couldn’t drop you if I wanted. There’s no need for the switch.”
“I’m sorry, did you think the switch was for my protection? It’s for your cooperation. Speaking of which, let’s talk more about the plan.”
“Why? You’re going to kill us both anyway.”
“Not true.”
I sneered.
Tucker only nodded. “Yes. You can walk out of here tonight. We’d keep Ms. Ravzi, obviously—a guest of the Agency—while you round up Mr. Mendoza for us. I’m surprised he escaped from the superconductor.” He sighed. “Such a waste of expensive equipment. Do you realize how hard it is to get two billion dollars’ worth of funding from
this
Congress?”
“Do you honestly believe I’d deliver Diego to you?”
“To prevent us from clipping Ms. Ravzi’s vocal cords and severing her optic nerves . . . why, yes. I believe you’d do almost anything.”
The interrogation room was quickly turning into Niavaran Palace. Nervous energy made my hands shake so I hid them under the table. Bottom line: I needed my powers before I could try
anything.
Stall. Stall. Stall.
“Fine. You wanna know the plan, I’ll tell you.”
Tucker leaned back in his chair, resting the switch on his stomach. “Regale me,” he said. I hoped he was hydrated, because the last thing Lyla needed was for him to have an inadvertent hand cramp.
“It was a demonstration,” I said. “To show what a fox can do when it decides not to run from the hounds. Diego and I tear apart one of the most secure facilities in the world, pull your ass out of hiding, and make an example out of it.”
“Nice! I like it. What exactly would have happened to me?”
I smiled for the first time since waking up. “You would have died. Poorly.”
Tucker banged his free hand on the metal table. “Bravo! You see, this is why I enjoy our conversations so much. You are a genuine delight.”
“I thought I was a shortsighted moron.”
He waved at me like I’d said something distasteful. “Don’t take it so personally. Can’t you be both?”
I looked at my cuffs. “Apparently. Regardless, after we disposed of you, Lyla wanted to get on with the real work. Changing the world.”
“Ah, yes. The idealist sold you on her idea of a brighter tomorrow.”
“Not really. We’d discussed it back in the day, and I agreed with her then. There was an article we read, about world defense expenditures. Lyla thought we could use the money . . . well, I guess
better
is the right term.”
“I’d say 1.5 trillion buys a lot of baby bottles, right?” Tucker said. He knew the number off the top of his head.
I cranked my sarcasm meter to eleven. “Yep. Feed the hungry, educate the poor, cure disease. Stupid idealism.”
“Misguided. Noble, but still . . . misguided. How did she intend to
accomplish such a wide-ranging goal?”
“Embrace government leaders, get them to divert defense money into a global fund,” I said.
“Which leaders?”
“All of them.”
Tucker chuffed and shook his head. “Every leader. Every country. Did she understand how many people that would take? How long to accomplish?”
“She did North Korea in an hour. Iran took two days.”
“Autocratic states with concentrated power. Try doing that to Germany, or the United Kingdom. Or here.” He pinched the bridge of his nose as though hearing the scope of Lyla’s plan gave him a headache. “Impossible. I should let both of you go just to see how long you survive chasing that pipe dream.”
I held up the cuffs on the off chance he’d cut me loose.
Tucker said, “Sorry. Remember, unpredictability is bad. Can’t have it.”
“Yeah, well, scary thing is I agree with you. It wouldn’t have worked. I tried to tell her . . .” I watched her on the monitor. So powerful, helpless, wonderful, infuriating. I didn’t care about punishing Tucker anymore; I just wanted Lyla off that gurney.
A wave of nausea jumped on me. I almost hurled right on the table.
Tucker saw my color change. “Are you okay?”
Something isn’t right,
I thought.
“I . . . yeah, just need a sec.”
Tucker brought the switch closer to his body.
What the hell?
“Careful, Mr. McAlister.” He assumed my powers were returning, so he reminded me about the price of using them. “Don’t force me to let go.”
Then it just
happened.
Almost impossible to explain. Like when you’ve had water in your ear for so long, you get used to it. You think you’re normal. Two hours go by, the water drains, your ear clears . . . and it’s like you’re hearing sound for the first time. Everything crystal clear. Glorious.
From his post by the door Reyes took a hesitant step in my direction.
I raised my cuffed hands in surrender. “Sorry, just had the urge to vomit.”
If Tucker did relax, it wasn’t by much. I also noticed I wasn’t the only one sweating. I kept talking because silence seemed to make Tucker and Reyes very jumpy.
“Y’know, Lyla’s new powers are amazing. What she can do, how she affects people . . . she’s evolved way beyond her original limits. Crazy thing, though: she was in bad shape when I found her.”
Tucker’s eyes narrowed. “I remember. You said it was sleep deprivation.”
He’s playing along, trying to figure out what just happened.
“Yep. Sleeping pills, sedatives, she even tried knocking herself unconscious once. None of it worked.”
“She was immune?”
“No, no. Those things would put her out like anybody else. Thing was, she wouldn’t dream. It’s not being unconscious that makes you well rested . . . it’s the REM sleep.”
“Fascinating. I’ll be sure to log that in her file.”
“The point is, my power fixed that. Kept her conscious mind down long enough to fall into natural sleep. No drug helped, meditation was useless. Even sleep clinics failed. I was literally the only person on earth who could have helped her. Doesn’t that strike you as odd?”
“Perhaps.” Tucker faked interest well.
“Diego had a weird theory. Said that we needed each other, like a lock needs a key. We could evolve, sure, but we wouldn’t become what we were meant to be without each other. He thought what I did for Lyla proved it. He said I’d ‘unlocked her real power.’ ”
“What did you think?” Tucker wasn’t faking anymore.
“At first, I thought it was bullshit. I’m not big on the metaphysical stuff.”
“You said ‘at first.’ What about now?”
“I think he was onto something.”
Tucker made sure the switch was still in plain view. “Let me guess: you believe Mr. Mendoza was your key.”
“Well, yeah. Except he didn’t unlock anything.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Don’t be. Reyes did it for him.”
And just like that, Reyes dropped to the floor and ripped the pants of
another
perfectly good suit.