by Mark Alpert
While Jenna stood there, astonished, Frazier got angrier. He pushed the pistol against her temple so hard that the muzzle dug into her skin. “Bitch! Tell your brother I’m not fucking around! Tell him I’ll kill you if he tries to get into my head again!”
The man whom Jenna had assumed was Derek Powell finally took his eyes off her. He turned to Frazier and gave him a sympathetic look. “You’re right, Lieutenant. You’re enhanced, so your mind is strong enough to defend itself. I got through your defenses last time only because I surprised you. I definitely won’t try it again.”
And at the same time, he spoke soundlessly to Jenna.
Are you okay, baji? Did the stupid pig hurt you?
She was going crazy. In her desperation, she was imagining her brother’s voice. That was the only possible explanation. The constant terror of the past two days had finally gotten to her.
You’re not crazy. This is real. Derek Powell died, and I inherited his body. And I’m very grateful for it. I have so many skills now.
Meanwhile, Frazier had calmed down a bit. He nodded a couple of times and relaxed his grip on Jenna. “You’re damn fucking right! It won’t happen again! Now put your rifle on the desk and back away from it, nice and slow.”
The huge man shrugged and did as he was told. He rested his assault rifle on a fancy antique desk, placing it next to a crystal nameplate with the name VANCE C. KELLER etched into it. Then he stepped away from the desk and backed up toward the wall behind it. A portrait of George Washington hung on the wall, and a few feet to the right was a heavy steel door with some kind of electronic lock on it, like the door to a bank vault.
That’s a panic room. The President of the United States is in there. I know, it sounds ridiculous, doesn’t it? But I’m not joking. While I neutralized all the soldiers who were guarding him, the president ran into that room and locked himself inside.
Frazier relaxed a little more, easing the pressure of the gun against Jenna’s forehead. “You made a mistake, freak. I knew something was off when I saw you after the surgery. You were pretending to be Powell, but you didn’t sound like him. I could tell that something funny was going on.”
This pig isn’t as smart as he thinks he is. He says he was suspicious, but he did everything I told him to do. He went to East Harlem and walked right into the ambush on the footbridge. He’s living proof that genetic enhancement can only do so much. Yes, CRISPR increased his brainpower, but he was starting from a very low intelligence level.
Jenna wanted to scream. Her brother had been silent for ten years, and now she heard him chattering nonstop inside her head. It was a hallucination, a nightmare.
Why are you so skeptical? My illness kept me from talking all those years, but I could still think. I listened to everything you said when you took care of me, all the books and magazines you read out loud to me, all the songs you sang. And I learned a lot just from watching and listening. I grew up and became a man, even though no one could see it.
Frazier took a step toward the antique desk, pushing Jenna forward. It was a taunt, a provocation, a dare. He was getting cocky, reckless. “And I saw what you were doing to Colonel Grant. You were sending your fucking brain waves through the air and torturing him. But it kept happening even after the cripple was dead, and that was your big mistake. That’s when I started to figure it out.”
Here’s the problem, baji. You’re suspicious of telepathy and other psychic phenomena, so you don’t trust your perceptions. But there’s a scientific basis for it. David Weinberg explained it to me when we shared thoughts last night. Brain signals are just electrical impulses. If you make genetic changes that increase the electrical power of those signals, your thoughts can extend beyond the brain and propagate to other people. And under the right conditions, you can transmit all your thoughts and memories to another mind. It’s like transferring software wirelessly from one computer to another. You can transfer an entire consciousness. That’s what I did.
Jenna was crying. She didn’t want to believe him. It was too much, too painful. Even if she could accept the scientific explanation, how could she believe that her brother’s mind had taken over Powell’s body? The Raza she’d known had been innocent and helpless. How could he have transformed himself into this calm, ruthless soldier who’d already killed at least twenty men? Where did he learn to do all those things?
When I jumped into Powell, his brain wasn’t a blank slate. It still had all his memories and reflexes, all his instincts for combat. And now I’m able to use those skills.
She forced herself to silently respond to him, forming the words in her mind.
Use them for murder, you mean?
I had no choice. It was either kill or be killed. You see that, don’t you?
Frazier took another step forward, dragging Jenna along. He was like an executioner clutching his prisoner, or like a high priest guiding a human sacrifice to the altar. “So now I’m here to punish you, freak. You already showed me what happened to your mother on Coney Island, and that was pretty bad. But this is gonna be worse.”
Okay, we’ve run out of time. Whether you believe me or not, you have to follow my instructions now.
Please stop. I can’t take this.
I’m sorry, Jenna, but you have to listen. The lieutenant may be an idiot, but he’s holding a gun to your head. If you want to survive this, you need to do something for me.
What? What do you want me to do?
Just slide your eyes all the way to the right and take a good look at his pistol. I need to see it from your perspective.
She stared at the gun out of the corner of her eye. Frazier held it firmly, not shaking at all. The pistol was cocked, and his index finger was on the trigger. And the lieutenant was breathing evenly, confident that he was in control of the situation.
“Take a good look at your sister, freak. Say goodbye to her, you fucking—”
Now!
Jenna’s right hand reached for the gun. She hadn’t planned to do that. It felt as if an invisible force had yanked her hand toward the pistol at fantastic speed. Her fingers moved of their own accord and clamped around the gun’s barrel and pushed it upward till it pointed at the ceiling. At the same time, she lunged to the side, under Frazier’s right arm, again feeling as if an uncanny force had pulled her body in that direction.
She realized, though, that this feeling was deceptive. The forces actually came from her own brain, specifically her motor cortex, the region that sent nerve signals to her muscles, telling them how to move. Until this moment, the instructions had always come from her own consciousness, but now someone else had taken over this part of her brain. And as a result, Jenna could move much, much faster than normal.
Frazier fired the pistol, and the bullet tore into the ceiling. As Jenna dove sideways, she caught a glimpse of his face and saw the surprise and bewilderment in his eyes. He was so stunned that he hesitated for a moment, unsure how to handle this new threat. But after half a second he bared his teeth and let out an awful roar. He ripped the gun out of Jenna’s hand and lowered it toward her head, preparing to fire.
Then a second gunshot rang out, but it wasn’t from Frazier’s pistol. The lieutenant stumbled backward, shoved hard by the bullet that had just plunged into his chest. Five more bullets struck him in quick succession, tearing five neat holes in the front of his black uniform. He dropped his pistol and landed on his back, thumping against the office’s carpet. His body convulsed as he hit the floor, and bloody froth bubbled out of his mouth.
Jenna looked away and turned toward the antique desk. The giant bare-chested soldier stood behind it, holding the assault rifle that he’d picked up and fired while Frazier had hesitated and Jenna had lunged out of the way. He kept the rifle pointed at Frazier until he was certain that the lieutenant would never get up. Then he looked at Jenna and smiled again.
Praise be to Allah. You’re safe now.
Jenna shook her head. She couldn’t deny it any longer. This man was her b
rother. Raza was inside him. She didn’t know yet whether this was a miracle or a catastrophe, but it was the truth.
After a couple of seconds she heard a mechanical rumbling outside. Looking out the window, she saw three Stryker vehicles pull up in front of the building. A moment later, the soldiers poured out of the armored personnel carriers and sprinted toward the building’s front and back entrances.
Her heart sank. She was afraid of the soldiers, of course, but she was even more scared that her brother would be forced to kill them. “Raza, we have to get out of here. We have to find another way out of the building.”
Don’t worry. I’ve prepared for this. He slung the rifle over his shoulder and stepped toward the door to the panic room. He bent over the electronic lock and stared at its keypad. Earlier this evening I was sharing thoughts with a man named Eli Grant. He was the commander of this facility, so he knew all the security pass codes.
Raza punched the code into the keypad. Then he turned the door’s handle and heaved it open.
THIRTY-SEVEN
Frazier couldn’t move anything below his neck. One of the bullets must’ve severed his spinal cord. But as he lay on the floor and his lungs filled with blood, he took one last look at the man who’d shot him, hating the fucker with all the strength he had left.
The asshole smiled at him. Captain Derek Powell, the man whom Frazier had once respected and admired, was no longer inside that huge body. It was the freak who loomed over him, the crippled kid staring at him from behind Powell’s eyes, eager to watch Frazier drown in his own blood.
Then Frazier’s dying brain shuddered, and the bastard’s face changed shape. It narrowed and sharpened until it became the cripple’s face, with its beak nose and gaping mouth, tilted backward as if he were laughing in delight.
That little fucked-up raghead! I should’ve snuffed him in his wheelchair!
Everything was darkening now. His heart had stopped beating, and his blood soaked the carpet. But his brain shuddered again, and another face appeared on the giant’s body. Frazier was relieved at first, because this face wasn’t nearly as nasty as the cripple’s. It was a handsome young man with blue eyes and blond hair, a husky country boy from southern Missouri. Is that me? Is that my own face? But no, that wasn’t right. The boy looked a lot like Frazier but not quite the same.
Then it hit him. It was Andy. It was his little brother, but at the age of twenty. It was what Andy would’ve looked like if he hadn’t died eleven years ago.
It should’ve been a joyful sight for Frazier, but Andy was frowning. He shook his head slowly, looking very disappointed. It upset and confused Frazier, because Andy was the only person he’d ever really loved. It struck him deeper than any of the bullets that had torn through his chest. He needed to know what was wrong, what had disappointed his little brother so much.
So Andy told him.
You shouldn’t have killed anyone, Rick. That wasn’t what I wanted.
But I didn’t—
And why did you listen to all those commanders in the army? And the politicians? They all lied to you. You shouldn’t have believed them.
Andy! I’m sorry!
No, it’s too late. I can’t forgive you. You really fucked things up, Rick.
Then Andy turned around and opened a door behind him, and the whole ugly world faded to black.
THIRTY-EIGHT
Vance held his breath when he heard the door unlock. Fifteen minutes ago, just before he’d run into the panic room, he’d used his cell phone to send a distress call to Major Weston. The idiot was miles away, chasing brainless gangbangers somewhere in Queens, but by now he should’ve had more than enough time to come back to Rikers. Vance had ordered him to return with at least a hundred soldiers, enough to put down the genetically enhanced beast who’d attacked their headquarters.
But then the heavy door swung open, and the beast stood in front of him.
Vance was beyond fear now. His mind was jumbled to the point of madness. He fell back against the wall and slid to the floor, his eyes fixed on the bare-chested giant. But he didn’t scream for help or beg for his life or do any of the desperate things that might be expected from a man in extreme peril. No, all he could do was marvel at the monster. The soldier’s physique was magnificent. And he moved with such grace and precision, demonstrating the same agility he’d used fifteen minutes ago to slaughter an entire platoon of FSU officers and Secret Service agents. He was terrifying and beautiful.
Standing behind him was a petite, dark-haired woman in wet clothes. She looked vaguely familiar, possibly because Colonel Grant had displayed her photograph in one of his security briefings. She stayed outside the doorway while the soldier stepped into the panic room, but she furrowed her brow. She looked confused.
After a moment she shook her head. “That’s not the president. That’s his son-in-law.”
The soldier looked over his shoulder at her. “There’s been a change at the top. Vance Keller ordered the assassination. Lieutenant Frazier was the one who actually killed the president, but this man here set it up.” He turned back to Vance. “Isn’t that, right? I got the details from your good friend, Eli Grant.”
Vance winced. The situation was distressing, but it was also absurd. Was Grant actually conspiring with this creature? Did the colonel really think he could get away with it? Vance saw an opportunity to turn things around, so he suppressed his terror and gave the soldier a serious man-to-man look. “Listen, I don’t know your name, but I’ll make you a promise. Whatever Grant is paying you, I’ll double it. As you can imagine, I have access to vast sums of money. The entire federal budget, in fact.”
The soldier smiled. He stepped closer to Vance and bent over him. The giant’s handsome face hovered just a few inches away. Perhaps he was ready to start bargaining.
Then a loud, angry voice boomed inside Vance’s head.
I don’t want your money.
The soldier’s lips didn’t move. Vance turned his head left and right, wondering if someone else had come into the panic room, but they were alone. He was hearing voices, which was probably another symptom of his distress. He was imagining what the beast must be thinking.
No, it’s not your imagination. And I’m not a beast. I outsmarted you.
Vance shivered. There was something horribly alien about this voice. It had snaked into Vance’s skull, and now it slithered through his thoughts and feelings and memories. It had penetrated his most private sanctum, a place he’d kept secret since he was a little boy. His stomach churned with shame, and he felt a terrible, helpless fear that he hadn’t experienced in almost forty years. He wanted to shriek and wail and scream for his mother, but his throat was so tight that all he could do was let out a strangled cry.
“Please … please!” Vance held up his hands in surrender. He was willing to do anything now to make this monster go away. “Just tell me what you want!”
The soldier bent over a little farther and locked eyes with Vance. It was as if he were trying to peer into Vance’s head and get a glimpse of the horrible thing he’d let loose inside. It wasn’t just wriggling through Vance’s brain now—it was drilling holes through his thoughts and slashing his mind, amputating all the memories stored there. Vance twisted and cringed, squirming in pain. He lost his memories of his childhood and his marriage. He lost his strongest emotions and deepest secrets. The soldier was dissecting Vance’s consciousness, his identity. He was carving it out of Vance’s skull, severing its connections to the living tissue of his brain, slicing it off as if it were a tumor.
Vance flailed his arms and legs. He banged the back of his head against the panic room’s wall. “STOP! OH GOD, STOP! YOU’RE KILLING ME!”
I’m afraid it’s necessary. At this moment, Major Weston and his men are climbing the building’s stairway. They’ll be here in a minute or so, and they’ll target anyone who’s threatening the president. So there’s only one safe option for my sister and me.
Now Vance was half gone.
The monster had already sawed off millions of thoughts and memories, and he was working on the rest. At the same time, Vance felt a sudden pressure inside his head, an unbearable fullness that was more painful than a thousand migraines. A torrent of strange images and sounds and emotions flooded into his brain and began to reshape its delicate matrix of nerve cells. The new thoughts and perceptions came from the soldier. As he cut away Vance’s consciousness, he replaced it with his own. His thoughts extinguished Vance’s and occupied the brain’s lobes and layers. He was taking control.
Just a few more seconds and it’ll be over. I wish I could say I’m sorry about this, but I’m not. You were worse than all the others, worse than Frazier and Grant and even the president you worked for. And you know why? Because you knew what you were doing. You knew how wrong it was, but you did it anyway.
Vance didn’t understand. He no longer could. He was just a remnant of himself, a bloody stump, a bit of flesh throbbing with fear and horror.
And then that was gone too.
THIRTY-NINE
Jenna screamed. The immense body that had once belonged to Derek Powell—until her brother Raza poured his mind and soul into it—collapsed facedown on the floor of the panic room. He lay next to the wall, sprawled over the suited torso of Vance Keller, who was also unconscious but lying faceup.
She rushed forward and knelt beside them. “Raza! What’s wrong?” She grasped his left shoulder with both hands, getting a good grip on the hard muscle under the skin, and heaved it upward. “Wake up!”
It took all of her strength, but she managed to flip him over. As she rolled his body off Keller’s, his shaved head clunked against the floor and came to rest on its side. His mouth was open but he wasn’t breathing, and his huge limbs were as loose as a rag doll’s. Terrified, Jenna pressed her fingers to his neck—no pulse. Then she pulled back his eyelids. The pupils were dilated, a sign of brain death.
“No!” Bending over him, she pushed the palm of her right hand against his sternum. She’d never performed CPR before, and she wasn’t sure if she was doing it correctly, but she pumped his bare chest anyway, throwing her whole weight into it. “Come on! WAKE UP!”