“This jet will take you back to Aeterna.” He indicated the stern men and women around them. “These people are the Keeper's security detail, they'll fly back with you, and Rolly will join you.”
Rolly appeared through a side door and approached them. “The guys are securing the captive. You'll be good to go in a bit.”
She tilted her head slightly in question.
“The jet we came in is still in the next hangar. That's where the rest of our people went. I'm taking it and them with Jennison’s man.”
The question in her eyes did not change.
“Time they knew.”
He didn’t have to say more. “Be safe,” was all she said.
He smiled and winked, “this is the easy part.”
Adam waited while Aelia walked up the stairs, closely guarded, and as the second security detail filed in, with Rolly in the rear, giving him one last wave before closing the door. As the hangar doors opened, a satellite above changed focus and Aeterna's control center issued a go, and the jet with the First on it rolled out. Adam watched it pick up speed and take off, and then walked into the adjacent hangar. Fifteen minutes later the second jet took off, carrying him and the captive, and the defense unit that had helped free Stan Shell.
On the top floor of a skyscraper in New York, no one was standing at any of the windows enjoying the magnificent view of the city outside. All those present in the large conference room were intent on the matter at hand. For them, at that specific moment, nothing else was more important.
Nothing at all.
Jennison sat alone at the front of the plane. He moved uncomfortably in his seat. These weren’t the luxurious accommodations of one of the organization's executive jets. He had chartered this simpler one to avoid the records that went with the organization's formal flights, as part of his attempt to keep what he was doing from the board.
The three wounded men were flown separately to the facility. They would be treated on the medical floor there, under the guise of having been injured on a legitimate mission. The others were sitting well away from him, obediently quiet. He had already debriefed them and heard how other than the six who had been in the building with him and had actually made it to the attack on the targets, the rest were all intercepted either on their way into the building or while still positioned around it, virtually all at the same moment, which did not allow them to alert one another or him. None had seen their captors before they were captured or would be able to identify the masked men, and none had been hurt by them.
Jennison rubbed his eyes. He'd taken good men, none of whom had trained with Kyle, and yet Kyle seemed to have been one step ahead of them. If only more men had made it into the room he had that professor in, maybe they would have managed to at least hurt Kyle, or the woman, and if that damn sniper had done his job, it might all have turned out differently. He thought he had it all planned. He and the professor in that first floor room, the sniper ready to fire if need be, four of his men rushing the targets in the room and killing Kyle and hopefully the woman, with two following immediately, as a redundant addition, he'd hoped, and the rest stationed immediately outside and ready to act if anyone else tried to interfere. He'd even taken the risk of remaining in the room, where he himself might get hurt in the mayhem. Just to see it end.
He seethed with anger. Not only were Kyle and the woman not even hurt, they just walked out of there with the professor. And one of his men. This was supposed to be easy—fifteen trained men against one of their own, albeit the organization's best, an untrained woman and a chubby old professor. And yes, them. Kyle obviously brought help, better people than Jennison had expected, but whoever they were, they weren't in that room. At least that part of his plan should have worked.
He breathed in deeply. He had to get himself under control, there was no room for mistakes now. He needed to concentrate. He was already thinking of a cover story, a training mission gone wrong. And the men would not talk, not if they wanted to advance. And, well, live. Yes, there was still a way to salvage this. There always was.
Adam stopped in an isolated corner of the lowest level of the underground parking lot, and got his captive out of the car. The guy, the sniper Jennison had brought with him, was already tied up, but now Adam connected the knots he'd prepared for this purpose in a way that restricted the captive's movements, and stood still behind him. He could feel the guy's fear. He was trying to turn his head within the restraints, desperate to get a look at his captor. And this guy knew who Adam—whom he knew as Kyle—was. He was looked up to in the organization, respected and feared. Everyone knew who he was.
Adam waited, motionless, letting the guy's panic rise. Then, at just the right moment, he stepped forward until he nearly touched him, and, as the captive involuntarily jumped, pulled at the restraints just enough for the guy to know what would happen if he made a wrong move. Then he warned, his voice low, “Try something and you're dead. Play it right and you'll live to tell all about it.”
The captive chuckled bitterly. “Yeah, right, you mean live for Jennison to kill me.”
“I'm not taking you to Jennison,” Adam said, and felt the guy relax a bit.
The captive did not resist when he led him toward an elevator. Adam knew the building well. He'd been here before countless times, most of them as part of a protection detail. Which was how he knew just which systems Rolly's expert who'd accompanied them throughout this mission had to remotely disable in a cascading sequence, and which entrance to drive in through at just the right moment. The camera and the security alerts in the elevator Adam chose were disabled too, at just the right time for him to enter it with his captive and to allow him to pull out the control panel and rig the override control so that the elevator did not stop on the way up to the building’s top floor.
As the elevator doors opened again he pulled out his gun and, using his captive as cover, led him out before him, stopping so that he himself stood between the doors, which he rigged to remain open. The operatives stationed on this floor drew their guns and aimed, but Adam only said quietly, “Tell them I'm here.”
He stayed where he was, the armed operatives surrounding him at a safe distance, confused at the situation before them. They knew him, each and every one of them. And while he'd recently been flagged as a security risk, a rogue operative to watch out for, these were all veterans who'd known him for a long time, trained with him and relied on him in missions, and all respected him for the man he was. None of them, he knew, would shoot him unless he made a move against them first.
The door to a room on Adam's left—the security control room for this floor—opened and a man came out. Adam knew him. Jon Melake, the organization's officer responsible for the protection of its more sensitive ranks, and these operatives' direct commanding officer. He would be here for the meeting of the organization's governing board, of course. Melake was the first officer Adam had served under in the organization, back when Melake was in charge of breaking in new recruits. He was a fair, no-nonsense man, and Adam had worked closely with him over the years in protective missions.
Melake walked over and stood facing Adam and his captive, but looked directly at Adam, disregarding the guy he had at gunpoint. The two men assessed each other. And then Adam did what none of the operatives around him expected him to do—he put his gun away.
The operatives around him moved, but Melake ordered, “Stand down.” The surprised operatives stopped advancing and looked from him to Adam and back, unsure what to do. Gesturing for them to fall back, Melake turned, walked to the conference room door and entered, closing the door behind him. A short moment later the door opened again, and the board members came out, gaping at the sight before them.
Adam stood still, letting them have a good look at him. He said nothing. He'd made his point. Then, abruptly, he allowed his captive to fall on the floor—which caught everyone's eye—even as he himself stepped back into the elevator. He hit the button down to the underground parking floor and bef
ore anyone had a chance to stop them the doors closed and the elevator began descending. As soon as it did Adam opened the ceiling hatch and pulled himself through. Standing on top of the elevator car he counted the floors down, and on the first floor he jumped onto the edge of the outer elevator doors, holding on to a cable. He pushed up the latch beside the outer doors to release them, and came out, allowing the doors to close behind him again.
He moved quickly toward the staircase. They'll follow the elevator to the underground parking level he'd set it to go to, he knew, where the car he had come in was. But he had no intention of returning to it. He exited the staircase on the lobby floor, nonchalantly buttoning the jacket of the meticulous suit he'd changed into on the jet, knowing he would not look out of place with it here. Then he simply walked out through the front doors of the building, where none of its security guards were alerted about him. Not an oversight, he knew, just the organization not wanting to attract too much attention to itself and maybe too sure that he would be where they expected him to be. Although Melake, he was good at his job, the best, Adam thought as he walked down the street, then through an alley to where one of the SUVs waited for him. Melake wouldn't have missed him walking out of the building like that. Unless he wanted to.
Richards looked with distaste at the man at his feet, and from him to the closed elevators doors. He then turned around and looked from each board member to the next, reading on each an expression identical to his.
“What the hell is going on?” he hissed, then turned to Melake. “Get that thing up and bring him inside.”
Melake gestured and two of his men rushed forward, untied the captive and helped him into the conference room and into a chair, where he sat cowering under the stern eyes of the board. Standing at the head of the conference table, Richards nodded at Melake, who sent his men out, closed the door and approached the seated man.
“Who are you?” he asked, his voice low.
The youngish man cringed.
Melake's eyes narrowed. This man was wearing an outfit of the kind issued to the organization's field operatives on black missions. He was obviously one of them, as Melake already suspected because of the identity of the man who had brought him here, and the fact that Kyle had in fact brought him here.
Melake stepped closer and commanded in a harsh, clipped voice. “Stand up!”
The man stood up automatically, coming to attention and confirming Melake's assertion. “State your name!”
“Sam A. Jones, Sir!”
“Your role?”
“Sniper, Sir!”
Melake frowned. “Where are you stationed?”
Jones didn't respond.
“Answer me!”
“Sir, I was given orders, Sir!”
“By whom?”
He didn't respond.
“Who is your commanding officer?”
No answer. Melake's frown deepened. Hierarchy at the organization was strict, especially in its field ranks. Melake had on the civilian suit he was wearing the organization's insignia indicating his position in it. This man should have answered him without hesitation.
“Do you know who that man is who brought you here?”
Jones hesitated. “That is the target, Sir.”
Melake paused. This was odd. “Who gave you this target?”
The man was silent.
Melake frowned again. He took another step forward.
“Do you know who I am?”
Jones's eyes flickered to the insignia on Melake's jacket. “Yes, Sir!” Came the obedient answer.
“And these”—Melake indicated the men and women behind him—“are the organization's governing board. Your commanding officer's bosses. My bosses. Everyone's bosses. Do you understand me?”
Jones nodded, the fear clear on his face.
“There is no question that you will not answer in this room,” Melake said menacingly.
“S-Sir,” the man stammered, “he'll kill me, Sir.”
Everyone in the room leaned forward expectantly.
“Who?” Richards asked.
The man's eyes moved from him to Melake, as if he didn't know who to fear more, and he finally answered, “Mr. Jennison, Sir. This was his mission.”
The room was silent except for the man's frantic breathing.
“Talk!” Richards ordered.
And Sam A. Jones did.
Chapter Twenty-Two
A second SUV picked up the men who had flocked from their strategic positions around the building immediately after Adam exited it. The two vehicles rendezvoused with a third one that held the systems expert who had cleared the way for Adam inside the building, and now had eyes on all municipal and non-municipal systems. He was ensuring they were not being followed, and blocking recognition and tracking of the SUVs. They made it back to the airstrip without incident and were soon on their way back to Italy.
The men caught up on much needed sleep, but Adam couldn't rest. This had to work, he thought. But then, with Melake there the chances of this move of his achieving its purpose were far greater than he could have hoped. Melake would know there had to be a reason for what he did. And the board, Adam had met them, some he'd spent prolonged time with. These people weren't stupid, and they took their jobs very seriously. What Jennison was doing, they would never allow it if they knew the extent of his actions and the risks he took.
At least Adam hoped they wouldn't. He knew enough now to understand that they had motives he hadn’t been aware of, and he expected that he, Aelia, and the Firsts would have to continue dealing with them, and with the organization they controlled. But he didn’t want to deal with Jennison anymore. The board might have sent him after Aelia, but he was pretty sure they never would have bombed the cathedral, and they certainly never would have taken Stan Shell the way Jennison did. They were dangerous, infinitely so, and yet this wasn't the way they, and the organization under them, did things. Jennison was out of control, bordering on irrationality, and the idea was to stop him before he came up with another disruptive idea that might hurt someone.
And Adam really wanted him out of the way.
In Aeterna, the cars approached the great house. Those in the front and in the rear, the augmented security due to the First having been outside Aeterna, and without the Protector beside her, continued to the belowground parking of the security vehicles, while the car holding the First stopped at the main entrance. Rolly, in the front passenger seat, quickly got out to open the door for Aelia but she already did so herself.
Glancing up at the great house, Aelia marveled at the difference between her return now and the first time she arrived here. If then she was a stranger to this place and had come here lost, seeking answers to the sudden twist her life had taken, now she returned here as the Light and future leader of these people, and this was her designated home. Where then bits and pieces were only beginning to awaken within her, now she was whole. And she could feel her people constantly, all of them, as if her very soul was connected to them by countless invisible threads, as if their existence formed the backdrop of her awareness. And right now she felt their worry.
In going back to the United States, she had made a choice. She could have let Adam go alone with Rolly and with Aeterna’s defense unit. The latter were, she knew, the elite of the Firsts' defense force, and Jennison's operatives would be no match for those trained to protect the leaders of the Firsts. But she chose to face Jennison, the man who had done this to Adam, to the Firsts, to her. And she chose to be there herself for the man who had helped her all those years ago, who had stood by her like no one had. She couldn’t just send others, because she would not allow even the possibility that Jennison might, seeing that Adam came alone, hurt Stan.
But that meant that she had left Aeterna. And that had sent a ripple among the Firsts there, a ripple that had already begun reverberating among Firsts worldwide as word got out. A ripple of worry, of the fear that comes with uncertainty, and she felt it clearly. The Light had only b
een back for a short time, and they needed to know that she was here to stay, here for them, as was in the past. Instead she had left, exposed herself to danger, had run the risk of being gone again. That she could not die, this her people knew. But they had also thought that the Light would not leave them, and yet she had disappeared for so very long. They had thought she would be among them, protected, when she was eventually born again, and yet now they knew that the girl had been taken from them so easily, and years later it was a woman who returned, one who had not lived among them as should be, as always was. And so their hope was interlaced with old fears, along with new fears she herself had added to by leaving Aeterna.
But while her people were uncertain, she was not. The Light saw past and present, and understood their impact on the future as no one else could. With every day that passed she was growing stronger, and was seeing more of that which was and that which was to be, the path to walk. Not all, no one could foresee that much of the future, free will was too much of a factor to allow that. But she knew enough to understand that the Light that she was would need to play a different role than her predecessors did. No, not different, more encompassing, with active boundaries, she thought. A Light like never before. And she knew she would need to reassert her people’s confidence in her presence, so that she could give them the guidance they would need.
Standing there now, beside the car, looking at the great house before her, Aelia knew that it was time to move forward, to leave behind who she had thought she was and be who she was born to become. And this also meant shifting her focus away from what had happened these past days, and placing Jennison and the organization, and their attacks on her, those that were and those she knew would come, at the fringe of her attention. Her life would now be in the hands of the Protector, and the Firsts’ in hers.
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