“Sir,” Ms. Krall buzzed in, “your next appointment is entering the building now.”
“Excellent,” I said, “send them in, without any ado, once they get here.” I leaned against the Resolute desk, taking a deep breath.
“Are you planning on using it yourself as long as it doesn’t kill them?” Cassidy asked.
I looked at her, questioning her intelligence before I realized that, once again, this was a human nature question. “Not immediately, no,” I said, adding an aura of patience I didn’t really feel. “I want slightly longer-term results before I inject myself. You mentioned long-term toxicity effects, and it doesn’t do me any good if it wears off in hours or causes eventual cell damage or something of that sort. It needs to be permanent, without any nasty side effects, like death. The purpose is to make things better, and that would only cause chaos in the long run.”
Cassidy nodded, the box shaking in her hands. I stared at it; it was such a little thing, to hold the fate of the world in its plastic sides. I couldn’t keep from smiling as we waited for our test subjects to arrive.
77.
Scott
“You guys left me!” Guy Friday shouted, coming out of a black sedan parked under the White House portico as Scott got out of the SUV. A cold wind whipped through, and Scott shuddered, the Revelen team piling out behind him, Augustus and Reed getting out on the other side. “You just ditched me back in Salt Lake City, didn’t even check to see if I was all right after that house exploded!”
Scott stared blankly at him. Another victim of the president’s lack of concern for civilian casualties, I guess. “I forgot about you, sorry.” He didn’t feel that sorry.
“How could you forget me?” Friday swelled, hulking out in front of him. Scott cast a look at Reed, who was coming around the hood, watching the big man uneasily. “I’m not small! And I’m witty! I’m tons of fun, okay?”
“You’re like one of those sea monkeys,” Augustus said. “We add water and you get all swole.”
“Yeah, like—” Friday’s head snapped around. “I am not a sea monkey!”
“You left one of your people behind,” Director Phillips said, emerging from behind the Sedan that Friday had been waiting in. “That’s disgraceful, Agent Byerly. Cause for severe reprimand and … consequences.”
Worse than having the president of the United States sitting in your brain on the regular? Scott thought, but kept the idea icily trapped in his head. “Sorry,” was all he said, and he went for the door.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with you lately, Byerly,” Phillips said, falling in behind him. Scott could hear the rest of the team following behind, Mac breathing a little too eagerly. He must have been relishing the coming dressing-down. “This operation has been a disaster from the start.”
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me either, sir,” Scott said, keeping himself from saying, Maybe you should take me off the case. “I just don’t feel entirely like I’m myself lately.”
“If you think you’re going to have a future in this agency, you better get yourself in line,” Phillips went on, voice rising as Scott continued to walk with his back to the Director. How much has the president messed with his brain, to make him such an ass? Scott wondered. “Otherwise, you’re going to be out.”
“That’d be a terrible shame, sir,” Scott muttered under his breath.
“What?”
“I’ll try harder,” Scott said as they passed into the secretary’s office just outside the Oval one.
“The president is waiting for you,” the older lady behind the secretary’s desk said, and the Secret Service agents opened the door for Scott and the others to pass.
Scott barely kept from drawing his gun as he entered the Oval office; the president wasn’t the only one inside, and the other—
Well, he knew her.
“I see you recall Ms. Ellis,” President Harmon said to him as Scott twitched; his gun hand had been halted from drawing the new Sig he’d picked up, his fingers trapped in what felt like concrete but was really just empty air.
“Hard to forget. The last time I went to meet her, I got shot,” Scott said, his neck suddenly aching as though he were wounded again.
Cassidy Ellis, for her part, looked away from him. She was holding a little plastic box as though it held cigars and she was ready to distribute them for a party.
“Never thought I’d meet the president,” Mac said, sauntering into the Oval Office like he owned the whole damned country. Scott could see him out of the corner of his eye, and it irritated him even more than not being able to draw his gun.
“Life’s just full of surprises, isn’t it?” Harmon said amiably. “You must be Mac, Joaquín, and Gothric. So kind of you to come help us.”
“We go where we’re ordered,” Gothric said stiffly.
“I’m sorry about your comrades,” Harmon said, not sounding too torn up. “It’s always terrible to lose people in these situations.”
“We might not have lost anyone if your boys had all been in the game,” Mac said with a harsh rumble.
“Tell me about it,” Friday said, sounding like a bitter whiner. “I got stuck in Salt Lake City and had to fly commercial home. I was sitting next to a lady as big as a fridge. I had to shrink down to my smallest size and she still stole my armrest!”
Harmon ignored him. “I understand my team could have performed better—” He paused and looked at Director Phillips, who was standing by the door. “Andrew … would you mind waiting outside? I need to talk to these gentlemen about the mission, and some new possibilities, but … frankly, it’s above your classification level.”
Phillips blinked. “I’m … I’m the Director of the FBI, sir. My classification level is—”
“It’s SAP/SAR,” Harmon said, as though that explained anything. “Special project. You understand. You’re not cleared for it. Please wait outside.”
“Yes … sir …” Phillips looked like he’d been jacked in the junk, but he made his way out the door without another word of protest.
“Good, now that he’s gone, let’s talk meta business,” Harmon said, scanning the crowd. “I have something that will help you catch Sienna Nealon.” He clapped his hands. Cassidy jerked slightly in surprise, then stepped up and opened her little box to reveal several hypodermic needles filled with a green-tinged fluid. “All you need to do is take a dose of this and suddenly you’ll find yourself … a lot more prepared to deal with Ms. Nealon and her shenanigans.” He smiled.
“‘Shenanigans’?” Mac asked, reddening. “She killed three of our people.”
“You think the term sounds too light considering what she’s done?” Harmon asked, looking at Mac without much care. “I understand. This will allow you to equalize things. To aid you in your vendetta against her.” He peered at Mac, and Scott could almost feel the Aussie pause, the mental assault going on beneath his facade. “You should take a dose.”
“I … I’m going to,” Mac said, and thrust out a hand. Cassidy pushed out the box and Mac grabbed a syringe, stabbing it into his arm and injecting it. He blinked his eyes a few times after the plunger had been pushed. “Ooof … I feel a little … ughhh …”
“Mild nausea as a side effect,” Harmon said, sounding like he was noting it for reference. “Helpful.” He turned his gaze to Joaquín, who was watching Mac with something bordering on alarm. “You should try it, too.”
“I don’t want t—” Joaquín blinked, the energy that had been building in his eyes dissipating. “Okay,” he said robotically, and grabbed a needle, jabbing himself in the arm with meta speed. He dropped to his knees a second later, doubling over, collapsing onto the cream-colored pizza-slice rug that held the seal of the United States at its center, moaning. “Augh … .”
“More nausea. Possible balance issues. Okay.” Harmon looked to Gothric. “And you?”
Gothric’s alarm vanished, and he grabbed a needle, jabbing himself without comment. He swayed, but stayed on his feet.
“Sir?” Reed asked, still fiercely determined. “Do you want me to—”
“Let’s just make sure this doesn’t kill them, first,” Harmon said pleasantly. “No point throwing away your lives for no reason.” He paused, seemed to think about it, then looked at Scott. “You—try it out.”
“I don’t think s—” Scott felt himself jerk, that presence swelling in his mind once again, blooming like a storm cloud that suddenly appeared on a clear day. “Okay,” he said, and was suddenly next to Cassidy. He could see her wide eyes as Harmon’s presence receded somewhat in his mind. The command was still firm, still there.
“I’ll help you,” Cassidy said, picking up the needle herself and setting the box down on the desk. She tapped it gently, making sure a small dot of liquid spurted from the tip of the needle, then slid it into the presented vein on his forearm.
Scott grunted, not from pain but from the violation. He held himself still, though, fear of Harmon pushing himself back into his mind enough to keep him steady.
“Shhh,” Cassidy whispered, meta low, low enough that Harmon could not hear—surely not, right? “Keep fighting,” she said, so sotto voce he wasn’t even sure he’d heard her. Then she turned away, taking the spent needle with her, and Scott was left with a feeling like something was squeezing his guts.
He looked around the Oval Office and found the others staring at Mac, who was on his side, on the floor, shuddering. “This doesn’t look as promising as it should,” Harmon said, shaking his head, fingers on his chin, contemplation clear on his face.
“It’s—I don’t—” Cassidy said, her hands, now empty, shaking visibly. Or was that his own body, Scott wondered, doing some shuddering of his own. The pain was intense, was like a giant had hold of him and was somehow plowing fingers into his skin, massaging every single cell—
“AIIIEEEEEEEEEE!” Mac let out an earsplitting scream, and began to shake, foam dripping out of the corner of his mouth.
“Aren’t you glad I waited on you now?” Harmon asked Reed, who didn’t answer. “We might need more test subjects.”
“Wait, you tested something on these guys?” Friday asked. It took Scott a moment to realize that of all the people in the room, Friday was perhaps the only one now unafflicted in any way by Harmon’s control. “Like a flu vaccine?”
“Better than that,” Harmon said, as the pain came crushing in on Scott and he added his own voice to the chorus of screams now filling the Oval Office. There was nothing but pain—no walls, no ceiling, no floor. Scott was in an ocean of pain, drowning in it, being stripped of his flesh one square inch at a time by giant fingers, his head being ripped open and great scoops of his brain being pulled out—
“They kinda seem like they’re dying,” Friday said from between Scott’s screams. How could it hurt this much? How could it be this painful to—
“Well,” Harmon said as the world started to go dark around Scott, “you can’t make omelet without, you know …” He met Scott’s eyes as they started slide shut. “And let’s be honest, Byerly … you were never that good of an egg anyway.”
78.
Sienna
“Oh, wow,” Jamal said over the phone, a crackle in the background as I waited for him to finish unlocking the damned drive. He’d been at it for a while, sending his little electrical pulses over the internet to try and open it up. I’d long ago passed boredom and was now into the realm of “pondering suicide just to end it,” but this was the first sound of hope I’d caught from him in a long time. The sun was almost coming up over Montana at this point, which meant—hopefully—more than one of these long nights I’d been experiencing was about to be over.
“Please tell me that’s a result and not amazement at another wall of astounding encryption,” I said, giving voice to the tedium as I stared out the living room window; we’d exchanged mountains and trees for beach and sun, and I wasn’t loving the change so far. I wanted the beaches and sun back.
“Yeah, no, this thing is giving it up,” Jamal said. “I’m just—boggling at what I found.”
“Care to share?” I growled. I hadn’t heard Taneshia in hours, which I assumed meant she was passed out somewhere on the other end of the line.
“I’m not sure you want to hear this,” Jamal said, and he actually sounded uncertain, like my homicidal menace wasn’t motivating to him or something.
“I haven’t stayed on the phone with you all night because you give good chat, okay? It’s been mostly long silences, and I could do that all by myself—”
“Yeah, all right,” Jamal said, “I’m just trying to make sure I’m reading this right. It’s a little outside my field, okay? This is biochem, not tech. And it’s … damn.”
“Jamal … please. As English as you can.”
“So …” Jamal said, winding up for the pitch, “… it looks to this philistine like Harmon and Cavanagh were working on a serum to enhance a meta’s powers by opening up … I don’t know how to say this in a way you’re going to understand … other skill trees.”
“You’re right, I didn’t understand that. What’s a skill tree?”
“Other powers,” he said. “Like … as I read this, genetic research determined that whatever power you’ve got, there are other, unrealized ones locked in your genetic code. Like … similar genes. Also, boosted ability. So there’s parallel powers available, and also just a flat-out boost of what you’ve already got. Cavanagh was trying to figure out how to make that happen, a serum to unlock all that.”
I covered my face. “Wait. So they already had a suppressant to eliminate powers for a period of time … and a serum to unlock powers in non-metas … and now they were working on—”
“A way to expand powers,” Jamal said. “Along two different pathways—boosting what you got, and expanding to other, nearby powers on the … tree, for lack of a better word.”
“I still don’t quite get this tree thing,” I said.
“They have an example here, maybe it’ll help—flight powers,” he said. “They’re a skill tree. For a boost, you’d be able to fly faster—like twice as fast. Three times, four times. For unlocking a parallel power … flying is just control of an aspect of gravity, so for the parallel tree, you’d suddenly be able to affect other objects—”
“Like Jamie Barton—Gravity—up in New York,” I said, feeling like I might have gotten it.
“Exactly,” Jamal said. “So maybe she’d suddenly be able to—I dunno, fly, which maybe would be next to controlling wind … it’s a little complex, and I don’t see how it all relates. Anyway, it’s a broadening of your powers to … other stuff in the neighborhood. Augustus, for example, if he had his powers broadened, he might suddenly be able to go all Magneto and control metal in addition to earth-based rock and sand and whatnot.”
“Eep,” I said. “That’d just about give him mastery over the physical world, because he can already control glass, too.”
“Yeah, it’s got real potential to open things up,” Jamal said. “I wonder what the parallel powers to lightning are …?”
“Did this serum work?” I asked. “Or was it all just—”
“Looks like Palleton Labs figured out the parallel part, just not the boost,” Jamal said. “They figured out how to do it temporarily at first, then more definite long-term … but they never finished confirming it because their test subjects … well, looks like they might have escaped.”
“Wise choice on their part,” I muttered. Suddenly Timothy Logan’s interest made sense. Those metas he’d broken into Palleton with … they were probably either some of the test subjects in question, or they knew those people. It was all starting to make sense.
“Seems like,” Jamal said. “So … anyway. That give you an idea what Harmon was after?”
I thought about it a second. “What do you think would be more interesting to a telepath, the parallel powers or—” I froze, a chilling thought occurring to me. “Ummm … Jamal?”
“Yeah. I’m with yo
u. The boost, right?”
“What would a boost do to a telepath?” I asked, shivering in the middle of the living room of the rental house. The others were sleeping, wisely, long ago sick of staring at me with a phone up to my ear.
“It’d give him strength, right?” Jamal asked, sounding like he wasn’t entirely sure himself. He paused, and I could hear him reading. “I mean, these boosts they’re talking about on this doc … they’re not small. We’re talking about going from being able to control lightning to … I dunno, generate all the electricity in the world. One hundred billion gigawatts or something.”
“So if it was a telepath, they’d go from being able to control a few minds to …” I swallowed heavily, not wanting to say it out loud.
“If I had to make a guess?” Jamal did a loud GULP! of his own. “Telepathy is reading minds. But this … you wouldn’t just read a mind or five minds or ten minds … you could read … all of them. They have a word for it in the old comic books I used to read …
“They called it an omnipath, because they could read—and I guess, control—every single mind … every single person … in the world.”
79.
Harmon
“How are you feeling?” I asked. I didn’t care about their well-being, of course, but if I was going to use this serum myself, I wanted to make sure it wasn’t going to leave me dead. It would be hard to save the world from itself if I were dead.
“Ughhhhh,” the Australian said, holding his head. He looked up at me, his eyes were glazed. At least he had managed to pull himself into a chair. “Feel like I’m about to chunder.”
“Use the bucket if you feel the need,” I said, sliding a small wastepaper basket toward him. I looked at the gaucho-themed fellow. What was it with these people and their gimmicks? The Australian had a knife, this guy was dressed like a South American cowboy, and Friday wore a gimp mask. Well, he had other problems, obviously, stories in his head that I wish I hadn’t discovered, but … I still didn’t know why all these people needed gimmicks. I never had a gimmick. Being president was enough gimmick for me, I supposed.
Unyielding (Out of the Box Book 11) Page 24