XGeneration (Book 6): Greatest Good

by Brad Magnarella

  Scott knuckled away the sudden moisture in the corner of his right eye.

  “Never thought you’d shed a tear for Creed, huh?”

  Scott snuffled out a wet laugh. “No, I guess not.”

  To recompose himself, he stood and turned toward the bins of food before deciding he wasn’t hungry. His gaze landed on a coffee machine with a full pot on its hot plate.

  “Hey, can I get you some coffee?” he asked.

  “Sure, black.”

  Scott returned with two cups, even though he wasn’t a coffee drinker.

  “You know, I’m worried about Janis, too,” Tyler said.

  Scott looked up from blowing over his cup.

  “I mean, as a teammate,” Tyler amended.

  “And a friend.”

  Tyler’s eyes met his. Scott knew they were both thinking of the recent misunderstanding. He winced inwardly at the memory of punching Tyler in the mouth in Saudi Arabia.

  “Listen, I don’t begrudge you anything,” Scott assured him. “We’re past all of that. I mean, hell, look around. We’re all the friends we have. The three of us, especially. You, me, and Janis.”

  Tyler nodded. “Yeah.”

  “So … you were saying?”

  Tyler nodded again, but this time as though to reorient his thoughts. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but Kilmer hasn’t been around. Didn’t even communicate with me after what happened to Creed. Something tells me this is Steel’s show up here, and she don’t play soft.”

  “No, she doesn’t,” Scott said, remembering the rifle butt she’d once smashed into his laser and the pistol she’d held to his head.

  Tyler lowered his voice further. “She’s making some kind of move.”

  “A move?”

  “Yeah, for control.”

  “But how would that even happen?”

  “You heard them at that meeting about our evacuation. The way Steel kept bringing up ‘the protocol.’ I get the impression Kilmer was supposed to have evacuated us already, like it was in the rules or something. She might’ve been angling to force him out with that, maybe take his place. But then this shooting thing happened, and she’s not looking so hot, you know?”

  Scott dragged a hand through his hair. He’d noticed the tension between Kilmer and Steel, too, but hadn’t thought it out as far as Tyler. Or applied it to their current situation.

  “So she throws Janis under the bus,” Scott said.

  “Yeah, by convincing whoever Kilmer’s higher ups are that if Janis hadn’t collaborated with Shine, none of this would’ve gone down. You and I know it’s bullshit, but will they?”

  “So what’s our move?”

  “You’re the leader.”

  Scott took a sip of coffee and considered Tyler’s words. He knew Tyler wasn’t deferring to him as much for being a leader as for being Janis’s boyfriend. Either way, it was a classy move.

  “I think we need to get her the hell out of here,” he said at last.

  Tyler nodded. “I agree.”

  29

  A battle loomed in some future mist, but the Witch couldn’t tell against whom or to what end. Neither could she discern the result, which was unusual and maddening. She needed to know more, to see more.

  Hot picks skewered her eyes, throwing the Witch’s head back. Brain fluid sloshed and spilled. Her eyes flew open to a red-hued room, a shriek dying on her lips. She pawed in her chair for her towel.

  Pushed too hard.

  But something was wrong, she thought as she mopped her brow and the back of her neck. It had been decades since she’d come that close to her limits, experienced that kind of agony. It was as though different futures were competing for her vision but canceling the other out, rendering her blind.

  Something like it had happened a few days earlier. In two competing futures, different Champions had been assassinated. In one, Janis Graystone had fallen. In the other, Creed Bast, the fast one.

  And the assassins changed, too. Either Reginald or Shadow, she couldn’t discern which or even why Shadow would have been involved to begin with. She couldn’t ask either one because both had disappeared. She had men staked out at their homes, but so far neither group had reported their return.

  The Witch hurled the wet towel at the darkness and heard it smack against a wall.

  The medicine, she reminded herself, drying her hands on a clean towel. Neither can go far without it.

  That gave her some reassurance. She still controlled their bodies. But what about the integrity of the Scale? Shadow had been growing bolder, testing the strength of the web, challenging the whole.

  A knock sounded at the door at the top of the basement stairs. The Witch peered into the immediate future and saw one of the men she had assigned to Shadow’s house descending. She pressed a button on her armrest and the door opened. Soft soles skipped down the steps. Moments later the man stepped into the light of the room’s lone candle.

  “Something to report?” the Witch asked.

  “She’s returned.”

  “And?”

  “And she wants to talk to you.”

  The Witch peered past his shoulder. “Is she here?”

  The man’s coat and tie seemed to melt together before sliding into a black body suit. His skin darkened while his hair shrank and knotted into corn rows. He became slim and angular.

  “Maybe it’s time you had that sight of yours checked,” Shadow said.

  The Witch ignored the jab, but, yes, she should have seen that it was her. “Shall I congratulate you now for your kill,” she asked, “or wait until I hear what you’ve come to discuss?”

  The web that united the Scale, as well as the Witch’s position at its center, were under threat. Were even one subordinate to start questioning her abilities, all could be lost. She was rolling the dice that Shadow had been the killer, not Reginald. She even gave a knowing smile.

  But if she was wrong…

  “We weakened the Champions in November, grabbing Jesse,” Shadow said. “Now, they’re slower.”

  Something inside the Witch unclenched. She had gambled and won. Shadow had taken out Creed—at least that was cleared up. “Very good,” she said steadily. “And Reginald is safe in your care, I trust?”

  Another gamble.

  This time Shadow smiled. “I know where he is, if that’s what you’re casting about for.”

  “Is there a reason you intervened on his behalf?”

  “Is there a reason you care? You wanted a dead Champion and you got one.”

  “I wanted Janis.”

  “Janis was well protected. Creed wasn’t. I took my shot. If you’re so anxious to see Janis in a body bag, why don’t you put her there yourself?”

  “We had her there,” the Witch countered, “if you hadn’t interfered.” She was employing a simple process of elimination now. In the alternate future, Reginald had killed Janis. “There is a reason I issue the directives I do. Everyone questioned why I retained him. That was the reason. I have the sight. No one else. You would do well to remember this.”

  “Is that how Techie took out Scott?” Shadow scoffed.

  “Techie played with his prey and lost him. He did not follow the directive.”

  “Shouldn’t you have seen that?”

  “I see probabilities, my dear. If he had done as he was told, the Champions would be less tech savvy now, too.”

  “Maybe you need to tighten his leash.”

  “As well as someone else’s, perhaps?”

  Shadow took a step nearer. “Is that so?”

  “Why did you feel the need to insert yourself into an assignment that was not yours? That, as a result, led to a suboptimal outcome?” The Witch pushed energy into her scolding voice. “My sight, which you have the temerity to question, is only as useful as your abilities to act. Perhaps we need to go back to your training.”

  “So what you’re saying is that you’re nothing without us?”

  “We are nothing without one another,”
the Witch amended, stifling her anger. The matrices of the web were what mattered, she reminded herself, the interconnectedness. “Should I have left you in that squalid institution?”

  Shadow’s lithe figure stiffened. It came to the Witch that Shadow’s challenges to her authority were rooted there, in the dark place Shadow had been confined to as a young girl. A place in which she had no control—over her schedule, her movements, her own body. Her impoverished childhood had been one thing, the foster home another. Long ago, the Witch had used the helplessness bred there and inverted it, plying the girl into the assassin she became.

  “I often wish you hadn’t interfered,” Shadow answered coldly. “I would have killed everyone in their sleep.”

  The Witch grinned inwardly. The girl she’d found had been so beaten down, she could hardly raise her voice above a whisper. Maybe it was time to remind her who was in control.

  “Have you come for this?” she asked, holding up a brown vial.

  “Yes, but double the allotment,” Shadow replied, as though issuing an order. “I’ll be handling Reggie’s supply from now on.”

  “You’ll receive the standard. We have no more need for Reginald.”

  “Well, I do.”

  “Then you will both have to experiment with half doses.”

  Shadow laughed sharply. “And how do you think the others will react when I tell them you’re withholding? I can imagine Titan having a question or two, though he’s more of the swing-first type, isn’t he? And he and I go way back.” She paused a moment, as though to let the information sink in. “The Vitrin keeps us here, I’ll grant you that. But the second you start withholding, the second you break that contract, you’ve lost them. I’ll make sure of it.”

  “Can I ask what your interest is in Reginald?”

  “How many shapeshifters do you know besides me?”

  The Witch narrowed her gaze at Shadow, struggling with how to reassert her power. Every time she believed she had gained a modicum of leverage, Shadow kicked it out from under her.

  “Exactly,” Shadow said when the Witch didn’t respond. “A one in a billion phenomenon, at least, and you were ready to toss him.”

  “His sympathies are with the Champions.”

  “Who want to kill him now.”

  “A moment, then.”

  The Witch concentrated into her vision. As the flickering outline of Shadow shifted to a darker red, the Witch’s eyes throbbed. She pushed her vision as much as she dared, but all she could see was that vexing battle again, so mist-covered and indistinct as to be useless.

  She backed off, nodding as though she had discerned something telling.

  “There are probable futures in which he might be useful,” she said, blotting the corners of her eyes with a towel. “I could agree with keeping him around in those cases, grant you the requested allotment. But…” She held up a knotted finger that ended at a razor-sharp nail. “I see another future in which he attempts to abet the Champions. That future is faint for now, it’s probability low, but if it starts to gain strength, I expect you to act. I expect you to eliminate him.”

  Satisfied she had covered her bases and reestablished at least the illusion of control, the Witch sat back.

  “When has that ever been a problem?” Shadow said. “Just ask the men you sent to my house.”

  30

  Champions command and control

  11:01 a.m.

  Director Kilmer was checking his watch for the third time when it began flashing to indicate the live feed was ready. He stood to face the flat-screen monitor on the back wall, hands clasped behind him. The monitor switched from a black screen with the date and time to a lined face recognizable the world over.

  Director Kilmer cleared his throat. “Good morning, Mr. President.”

  President Reagan smiled tersely. “Good morning, Director. I understand we’ve had a situation.”

  “Yes, sir. On Wednesday morning we lost a Champion to an assassin’s bullet.”

  “I was very sorry to hear that.”

  “My head of security was present and is now with the rest of the team at our secure site. She’s conducting an investigation to determine what happened and how it could have been prevented. I expect her report today.”

  “I received the report yesterday evening.” Reagan held up a blue folder marked CONFIDENTIAL.

  “I see, sir.” Kilmer clenched his hands behind his back.

  The president opened the folder, then, licking a thumb, proceeded through several faxed pages.

  “According to the assessment,” he said, “the incident was preventable if certain protocols had been adhered to. Protocols you ignored.” He raised his eyes. “What do you say to that?”

  “Well, sir, not having Agent Steel’s report in front of me, I can only guess she is referring to my decision to not evacuate the Champions when teams Alpha and Beta were targeted.” The anger Kilmer felt at Steel’s betrayal threatened to rise up his throat. “I delayed the evacuation as a precaution.”

  Reagan tilted his head. “A precaution?”

  “The Scale was waiting for us to move, sir. I believed our team would be safer here than out in the open, at least until the security situation could be more fully assessed.”

  The president’s eyes fell back to the report as he flipped over another page. “Your account seems to contradict what’s written here. It says you sent Champions out on what your head of security calls ‘personal errands’ without her knowledge. That you willfully endangered them and the rest of the team.”

  “Mr. President,” Kilmer said, then paused in search of the right words. His future as director was at stake. “Our last team followed protocol and they were eviscerated. I know I drew up the protocols for this team—protocols that would correct the mistakes of the past and give us the best chance of avoiding similar tragedies. But as I’m sure you’re aware, being in a leadership position means assessing shifting landscapes and reacting accordingly. Even if that means going against protocol sometimes. I deployed two members of the Champions team whose unique abilities could give us information on the Scale’s whereabouts. They were not thrown out into the wilderness as the report before you seems to suggest. They had a full security detail, in addition to their potent defensive capabilities.”

  “Were they successful?”

  “They were able to determine that Jesse Hoag, the member who returned last week, defected to the Scale of his own volition. With that information, we knew to place him in—”

  “They communicated with a Scale member,” the president interrupted.

  “One of them did, sir, yes. But that was after I—”

  “And according to the report, this communication led to a collaboration.”

  “That’s my understanding, as well. Yes, sir.”

  “And it was the collaboration that enabled the Scale member to carry out his assassination.”

  The implication sent a charge through Director Kilmer’s chest. This was what Agent Steel had been doing for the last three days. Interrogating Janis and the others until she could construct a version of events that placed him squarely at fault. It was why Steel’s report had bypassed his desk and gone straight to the president.

  “Not having spoken to the Champion in question, sir,” Kilmer said, working to slow his breathing, “or even seen Agent Steel’s report, I cannot verify that to have been the case.”

  “If true, it’s a rather serious indictment of your leadership.”

  “With all due respect, sir, my leadership is only as effective as those in my command. This member of the Scale with whom Janis is alleged to have collaborated is a shapeshifter. Under the guise of a yardman, the shifter was vetted and deemed safe by Agent Steel. It was due to her oversight that the shifter was able to access the neighborhood in the first place.”

  If Agent Steel wanted the gloves off, he would damn sure oblige her.

  But President Reagan was shaking his head, the lines of his face drawing down. “It p
ains me to do this, it really does, but I’m left with no choice. The violations detailed here are just too numerous, too egregious. Effective immediately, you are no longer the Program’s director. You will relinquish all access and levers of command. Pending Agent Steel’s return, you will be confined to your home until we relocate you. I am naming Agent Steel interim director.”

  The room seemed to spiral with the unreality of what was happening. Kilmer set a hand on his desk.

  “Sir, I ask you to hear me out.”

  “I thank you for your service, Director.”

  The monitor went black.

  Kilmer wheeled to his computer and punched in a password to reestablish the link to the Oval Office. The system no longer recognized him. The same happened when he tried to contact Agent Steel through his watch.

  He bared his teeth.

  A knock sounded on his door.

  “Sir?” a voice called from the other side. “We’re coming in.”

  Kilmer heard the magnetic lock—a lock he had always controlled—disengage. The door swung open. Several men, led by Steel’s second in command, entered. They surrounded his desk. One of the men removed a pistol from the second drawer and disarmed it.

  Kilmer raised his hands in a let’s all remain calm gesture.

  Agent Dutch avoided eye contact. “I’m sorry, sir,” he said. “We’re under orders.”

  Kilmer nodded and allowed himself to be escorted from his office.

  31

  Sunday, December 29

  8:04 p.m.

  Janis stood in the center of her cell and studied the solid beige walls. She dropped the strand of hair she’d pressed to her nose and concentrated into the energetic lines that constituted the concrete.

  The walls trembled.

  With enough power, she could pull them in, no question. They would give more readily than the blast-grade metal door, which she couldn’t budge. But the big question remained: what then?

  Being as deep as she was below ground, she might only succeed in crushing herself. And that was to say nothing of everyone else in the facility, including her teammates—teammates she couldn’t contact telepathically, much less surround with a shield. So, no, imploding the room was out.