Unyielding (Out of the Box Book 11)

by Robert J. Crane

  “Uhm, Mr. President,” Director Phillips said, as dully as always. Scott stared at the big man; Phillips’s emotions seemed to be on perpetual mute. He hadn’t worked with him for very long, but Scott was left wondering if the man ever cracked a smile. He had his doubts.

  “Yes, I know, Director,” Harmon said. The president seemed less charming, less amused than the last times Scott had met him. “She’s back. Like a loaded dice, she keeps giving us snake eyes.” He turned his attention to Scott. “Anything to say for your misstep in Wyoming this morning?”

  “That was Reed, sir,” Scott said, feeling strangely possessed to unburden himself. “He shot first without confirming the target.”

  “Let’s not kid ourselves,” Harmon said. “He shot first, second, third—all the way to sixth, as I understand it, without confirming his target.” The president did not sound amused.

  “You wanted us to take her out, sir,” Phillips said, and Scott had a vision of him trying to cover his ass ineffectually with both hands, “she’s not easy to take out without lethal measures.”

  “Without shooting first, you mean,” Harmon said.

  Scott felt that dull scratching in the back of his mind again, that feeling like he was overwhelmed, a sick sensation in his stomach trying to claw out. He bent slightly forward and sucked in a breath of air. It was cool and fresh, and it helped not at all.

  “Is there something wrong with you, Mr. Byerly?” President Harmon asked, fixing him with a strong gaze.

  “I just, uhm …” Scott said, not daring to look away from the president. “It was a tough day.”

  Harmon’s eyes narrowed. “You’re thinking about that child, aren’t you? The one that was shot?”

  Scott felt his breath catch in his throat. He could still feel the last traces of the plug of blood, nearly dissolved, now. He was holding on to that last little bit, even at this distance. Stirring it enough to keep it from coagulating, from clotting too heavily. His hand shook at his side. “That was our screwup, sir—”

  “That was Mr. Treston’s screwup,” Harmon corrected. “He got a little aggressive. His heart was in the right place—”

  “His heart was in the place where he thought killing his sister was the best course of action,” Scott said, mouth suddenly dry. The world was too bright around him, daylight filtering in through the white sheers that covered the windows of the Oval Office.

  Harmon stared at him, assessing. “That bothers you?”

  “Of course not, sir—” Phillips started.

  “I don’t recall asking you, Director,” Harmon said evenly, and Phillips shut up.

  “I don’t know,” Scott said, and looked away. He couldn’t stand looking into those eyes anymore. He felt like a rat staring into the eyes of a snake, like Harmon was chasing him around the office even though the president was still seated. “It just doesn’t seem … right.”

  “You told me when we first met that you were on board,” Harmon said. “That you were looking forward to clashing with Sienna Nealon—”

  “I was,” Scott said, staring at the rug beneath his feet. It was the presidential seal, the eagle with wings spread, arrows clutched in one hand and an olive branch in the other.

  “But you’re not anymore?”

  “That baby …” Scott said, not even consciously trying to answer Harmon. “I mean, he …”

  “Listen,” Harmon said, soothingly, “I understand. You saw something terrible this morning. I wish law enforcement was a simple business where nothing bad ever happened, but you are tasked with chasing down the worst people in the country. People who challenge the very fabric of our society. They push at the rules, break them at will, and it seems so simple to say that with all the crime out there, letting one or two slip without pursuing them to all ends is a small matter. But it’s not a small matter at all. No, we can’t catch every criminal. But when one comes along as brazen and terrible as Sienna Nealon, one that thumbs her nose at established order, we owe it to ourselves to pursue her with everything we have. Yes, a terrible price was paid this morning, but I’m asking you to pay it—to live with those consequences—knowing if you don’t continue on the path, a worse price will be exacted later. Do you understand me?”

  Scott looked up. Harmon’s eyes were on him, slitted and angry. “I … I …”

  “All right,” Harmon said, standing up abruptly. “Director … pull your man together.”

  “But, sir,” Phillips said, “I haven’t briefed you on—”

  “I’ve seen everything I need to,” Harmon said. He glared down at Scott. “I trust your associates, Mr. Coleman, Mr. Treston and Mr … J.J.? I trust they’re not flagging in their enthusiasm for this mission?”

  “No, sir,” Phillips answered.

  “Good,” Harmon said, never taking his eyes off Scott. Scott watched him, or at least his tie. No, the others weren’t doubting like he was. They were still as firm in their belief as he’d been when he’d first sat across this desk and taken the job. He’d felt so damned certain he was doing the right thing, then.

  What the hell was wrong with him now?

  “Get him out of here,” Harmon said, waving, and Phillips grabbed Scott by the arm and tugged him toward the door, which was opened by a Secret Service agent who had apparently been peering in through the peephole. “I’ll see if I can get you some additional help.”

  “Much appreciated, Mr. President,” Phillips said. Scott couldn’t see his lips reach all the way to Harmon’s ass, but the sentiment was plainly there. The doors closed behind them. “Get yourself together, dammit!”

  Scott drew a hard, ragged breath. All he could think about was that baby, the sound of its plaintive cries, waking up without a mother … it was squirming even now, trying to settle but unable. “He knows,” Scott whispered. He knows his mother is gone. Something about that tore at the corners of his eyes.

  “If Sienna Nealon hadn’t run,” Phillips said in a rough voice, more full of emotion than Scott had ever heard him, “that baby’s mother would still be alive right now. She’s a menace, and more people will die if you don’t do your damned job and bring her to justice.”

  A cold feeling trickled down Scott’s skin, like someone had poured cold water over him and it was tracing lines over his flesh. “You’re …” He straightened. “… You’re right.”

  “Of course I’m right,” Phillips said, back to dreadfully dull. He slapped Scott on the arm. The secretary was looking at him cautiously, as if afraid he might start blubbering right there on the carpet. Scott looked back. The Secret Service agent at the door was watching him, too, but not obviously. “Get it together.”

  “I’m … together,” Scott said, standing fully upright, spine straight. “I’m … fine.” How had he gotten so lost? Phillips was right, this was all down to Sienna. Her fault, not his, not Reed’s. She was the most dangerous person on the planet, and she’d run. They had to catch her, or else more people would die. More babies would lose mothers. His resolved tightened, he nodded once at Phillips. “I’m sorry. Won’t happen again.”

  “Good.” Phillips didn’t seem put out by his struggles. “Let’s get back to it.”

  17.

  Harmon

  I’ve always hated watching people work through excess emotion. Don’t get me wrong, I’m good at feigning empathy, especially for a live studio audience or a political rally. I didn’t get re-elected twice to the highest office in the land without being able to project some humility and to feel the pain of others in a way that seems normal rather than the response of a sociopath. I’m not a sociopath, by the way. I really do feel the pain of others, and quite acutely; I just don’t enjoy wallowing in it the way some do. Useless people, getting paralyzed by emotion. Emotion gets nothing done, it only gets in the way of getting things done.

  “He was a mess,” Cassidy said, slipping quietly back into the Oval Office.

  “He’ll pull it together,” I said, rolling my eyes. Innocent babies and their mothers died
every day, and for considerably less reason than because someone thought they were Sienna Nealon. Car accidents, cancer, disease, random acts of violence. “It’s a cold world, and Mr. Byerly is young. He lacks experience in pragmatism. He’ll get there.”

  “You seem certain of that.”

  “Just as certain as I am that you’ll accomplish what I’ve set out for you to do,” I said, turning my attention to her. I rubbed my forehead lightly; a headache was coming on. It had been a long day, and I still had to browbeat some congressional idiots into embracing my education bill. Cassidy almost gulped in reply to my statement of faith in her. Not quite the reaction I was looking for, but not a stupid one.

  “I don’t have enough to work with,” Cassidy said.

  I didn’t blink at her. I knew what she was talking about. “I can get you some help, too,” I said. “Access to … outside resources. Ones that haven’t been folded into the main project yet.” I sighed. Decentralization was so annoying. I liked to have control over everything, to have it all at hand, but some of my associates hadn’t cared for that approach, at least not in this matter.

  “I could use it.”

  I walked over to my phone and dialed Ms. Krall. “Get me the premier of Revelen.” I hung up; she’d connect the call once it went through. “As to the other thing … I’ll make some enquiries. There are certain other avenues we’ve attempted to pursue, though they’ve come up dry, as far as I know.”

  “You would know,” she said, her gaze flitting around the room. “Why didn’t you turn it all over to me sooner?”

  “It’s a big project,” I said. “I gave you the majority. There are problems associated with trying to get the rest.” I sighed for the thousandth time that day. “I left this in the hands of a capable man, but one who decided that decentralizing everything was for the best. He was usually very careful about covering his tracks, but unfortunately …” I shrugged. “Time catches up with us all.”

  “Or Sienna Nealon, in this case.” I didn’t even bother to scowl at her. It was true, after all. “Throwing a bunch more trouble her way doesn’t seem like it’s going to do much more than slow her down.”

  “All I need is her slowed until you can finish the main job.” The phone rang, and I answered it. “Madam Premier! Sorry to bother you this evening, I know it’s late in Eastern Europe, but … I’m calling about that diplomatic partnership you proposed … Specifically, I’d like to take you up on that offer you made regarding the loan of certain … military assets … or metahuman resources, I guess you called them …”

  18.

  Sienna

  Once I was safely back in my apartment, behind the bolted door, I felt like the rush of adrenaline the fight in Vegas had given me was making everything that had seemed so hazy as I sat in the dark this last month suddenly clear. Where before I’d been stewing, not even reactive, now I felt like I was ready to step up and go on the offense. Or whatever football people call it.

  They’re all after you, Zack said worriedly.

  They’ve been after her all along, Wolfe said with something approaching excitement.

  “But now I’ve shown them I’m still out here,” I said, silencing the voices in my head as I strode forward. I’d showered, I’d cleaned up, and now I was pacing in shorts and a t-shirt, my mohawk still wet and strung over my shoulder. “This problem … it’s one of scale.”

  What? Zack asked.

  “It feels like the world is against me,” I clarified. “Because I’m in the US and every cop and federal agent is looking for me.”

  Which is why you ran, duh, Bastian said.

  “It’s why I hid,” I said, not quite liking the word run to describe my actions. “Figured I’d let the world spin on for a while without me. Well, it’s still the same, still against me, and it’s not going anywhere. And neither am I.”

  Unless they kill you, Zack said.

  “What’s a girl to do?” I murmured, ignoring the useless pessimism.

  Tear them apart, Wolfe suggested.

  “Kindasorta not really,” I said, striding back and forth in front of my TV. The guts of the phone I’d taken apart were still sitting on the table. I’d vaporized the SIM card and the rest of the phone would be torched later, where it was less likely to set off all the smoke detectors. I’d probably have to go to the desert for that. All the rest of the phones were off, all lined up nicely on the end table. I didn’t need any news alerts from them right now, the cable outlets were scrolling silently in the background. It was all Vegas coverage, breathless as usual and stupid as always. “I’m going to take my foes on—the real ones—one at a time, not by shredding them into ribbons like you might hope.”

  What pieces are you talking about? Eve asked.

  “I’m talking about threads,” I said. “Unsolved mysteries.” My eyes narrowed, and I looked at the north wall of my apartment. “Timothy Logan. Palleton Labs, in Portland. There’s a vault in that building, some secret that’s hiding out there.”

  What does that have to do with you? Bjorn asked.

  “Maybe nothing. Maybe something. Logan brought it to me for a reason.”

  So what are you going to do about it? Gavrikov asked.

  “I’m going to find the secret, obvs,” I said, not even slowing my pace. “That’s first.”

  And then? Bjorn asked, a little hungrily. He was clearly warming up to this.

  “There’s a task force after me,” I said. “Likely as not, they’re going to be setting a trap soon. They’re not stupid, and they do know me, so they’re probably aware that I can’t help but rush in where angels fear to tread.”

  You’re a real fool that way, Eve snarked.

  “Seems like that’d be a good chance for me to figure out what the hell is up my brother and Augustus’s asses.”

  And Scott’s? Zack asked tentatively. He was one ex asking about another ex, after all.

  “I know what’s up his ass,” I said. “A bug the size of El Capitan because I stole his memories of our relationship.” That was an annoying truth. If we make our own demons, I certainly had my fair share of blame for this one. “Can’t entirely fault him for that.”

  But he’s hunting you, Zack said. He let your house burn down, FFS.

  “Shit happens,” I said, ignoring that. The house-burning-down thing had stung, I couldn’t deny it. Some of the other things he’d done had hurt, too, and I knew I was going to have to deal with him at some point. I had an idea for it, too, but it involved whooping his ass in ways he wouldn’t find favorable. Not that he’d ever found pain enjoyable. Probably why we were such a bad pair.

  “Palleton Labs,” I said, making my list, “then the FBI task force.”

  You think they’ll just come out and face you? Easy as that? Eve asked.

  “Not a chance,” I said. “It’ll be an ambush. They’ll throw the kitchen sink at me, along with the countertops, the dishwasher, and probably the can opener. But I’ll be ready.”

  Oh, good, Eve said, and here I thought you were just going to fly stupidly into it like every other time.

  “Oh ye of little faith,” I said, still pacing. “I wonder if I can find Timothy Logan?”

  I wonder why you’d want to? Zack asked. He betrayed you.

  “Everybody has betrayed me, dude,” I snapped back, lightly. “I’m a little short on allies, and last time I saw ol’ Timmy, he was standing like a whipped dog in my office door offering to spill some secrets.” I slightly regretted not taking him up on that offer, but at the time I’d been so furious, I was trying to avoid ripping his spine out and beating him into oblivion with it. “Suddenly, his betrayal doesn’t seem quite so terrible as it did when it happened. You know, compared to what followed.” Compared to my entire team siding with the government against me after I’d blown up a street in Eden Prairie. It was self-defense, honest. Or Gavrikov defense of self. Something like that. I doubted lawyers had a category for it, really, but that was okay, because I hated lawyers these days almost as much
as I hated reporters.

  You think you can find him, though? Zack asked.

  “Maybe,” I said. “We won’t know until we look, but I’ve got other things to do first.”

  Such as …? Wolfe asked.

  “I told you,” I said, pulling a pair of secondhand, holey jeans out of my dresser drawer, and following them with a pair of socks. “Palleton Labs. The giant safe on the upper floor.”

  Gavrikov answered, with rising alarm. That is locked. And thick. One of my kind attempted to burn her way through and failed even with hours to work.

  “I know this,” I said, pulling on my socks.

  But you are going to succeed where they failed? Gavrikov sounded befuddled, and I could sense the vague worry among the rest of the souls in my head. They didn’t get what I had planned. That was okay. Few understood me, even in my own head.

  “I am.”

  But how? Gavrikov asked.

  “Because I’m me.”

  That’s not an answer, Eve said. The light was starting to fade beyond the horizon. I estimated it was a few hours yet until sundown, but I was already chomping at the bit. It’d take me a little while to make the trek to Portland anyway.

  “You’ll see,” I singsonged, in a much better mood than I’d started the morning. The air seemed fresher, cooler, more full of life.

  Uh oh, Zack said, and the sentiment was echoed in my head by the others.

  “You don’t need to say ‘uh oh,’” I said, unlocking the front door as I slipped my shoes on and pocketed my keys. I grabbed the hoodie and wig bundle, and readied myself. “Everyone who’s facing off against me should be saying that right now. Though I kinda doubt they are.” I ticked a few items off in my head, debating. There was a common thread to my problems, and while I wasn’t quite sure how to handle him just yet, I was ready to add his damned name to my list of things to deal with.