Jade Sky

by Patrick Freivald

  "What about your team?"

  He shrugged.

  "What does that mean?"

  He shrugged again. "I don't know, babe. I know Akash has my back, but I'd have bet on Conor, too, right up until I had to kill him. Sakura's all business, but she's insightful and doesn't trust Jeff or Brian, and Garrett . . . . We work well together, but I don't think he likes me much."

  "What if you told them the truth? Showed them the injector-guns?"

  "Yeah. Maybe." He nodded, more for her benefit than his. "I think so."

  "Then trust your gut. Call them."

  Chapter 13

  Jeff Hannes walked into the dry cleaner's and didn't seem to notice when the "Open" sign went dark. He held out his ticket and a twenty-dollar bill, the same transaction he made every Tuesday on his way home from work, and drummed his fingers on the counter as the small Laotian man stepped into the back room. Matt stepped out from behind a suit rack and snatched Jeff's Glock 9mm from the concealed-carry holster under his left armpit.

  Jeff whirled in surprise, and Matt put the barrel under his chin.

  "Do I need this, Jeff?"

  His eyes widened, and he licked his lips. Then he smiled his smarmy, car-salesman's smile and spoke in a low almost-whisper. "Hey, buddy, we all thought you were dead! What the hell happened?" The smile didn't touch his eyes. Not for the first time, Matt wondered if "buddy" meant "I'm lying" in Jeff-speak.

  "I asked you a question."

  Jeff shook his head. "No, man, you don't need that. We're totally cool, you know, if you are."

  Matt brushed the safety back on with his thumb and stuffed the gun in the back of his pants. "I'll hold onto it for the moment, if you don't mind." He plucked Jeff's cell phone from the breast pocket of his blue dress shirt, turned it off, and put it in his front pocket. "That, too."

  Mr. Ketthavong carried in a pile of gray suits, all smiles. Jeff took them, gave a quick smile, and Matt followed him out the door with a polite wave.

  Smile still plastered to his face, Jeff walked to his car, a dull silver BMW four-door from a decade past. He blipped the alarm, opened the back door, and hung the suits from the handles above the doors. He raised his eyebrows at Matt, and Matt nodded to the driver's seat.

  They got in, and Matt set Jeff's pistol on the floor. Jeff started the car, checked his mirrors, and pulled out. Where am I going?

  "Take the expressway south," Matt said, cutting off the unspoken words. "We need to talk." He made a show of unplugging Jeff's GPS and left the cord dangling.

  "What the hell happened?" Jeff put on his blinker, cut over two lanes, and merged with the traffic headed south.

  "That's what I was hoping you could tell me."

  Jeff licked his lips. "When you didn't show Monday, we sent some folks to your house. The place looked clean, like nobody's home, but it was too clean, you know?" He glanced at Matt, and when he didn't respond, Jeff continued. "So we send in a forensics team—just covering our bases—and they find blood traces everywhere. I mean, everywhere. Kitchen, bedroom, hallway, outside. They fly me out there, and your furniture's different. New couch, new chair, new rug. It didn't look at all like that time I visited. We found a piece of shrapnel embedded in your fireplace, and it tested positive for gunpowder. With that helicopter accident in the woods behind your house, we knew something just didn't add up."

  Jeff passed a tractor trailer and skipped the next exit. When he didn't continue, Matt prompted, "And?"

  He threw up his hands, then grabbed the wheel. "And what? We put out an APB for you and Monica—on the down-low—and started checking with our sources. We thought maybe Dawkins's men got to you, some kind of retaliation. We've been shitting ourselves for two days."

  Unconvinced, Matt waited. So what do you say we turn the car around and—

  "We're not turning the car around, not yet."

  Jeff's teeth clacked shut.

  "Take the next exit."

  "Where are we going?"

  "Just drive." He put his hand on Jeff's shoulder to stave off the pending objection. "No, of course I don't trust you. I'd like to, but after what happened—"

  "If you told me what happened—"

  "I may come to trust you, but that's going to take some investigation." Matt squeezed Jeff's shoulder with just enough force to be uncomfortable, then brought his hand down to his lap. "In the meantime, just to be safe, I'm going to assume you had something to do with this. So if you screw with me I'm going to snap your neck and leave your twitching body on the side of the road. If everything pans out, we can be friends again."

  Jeff sighed. "Fair enough, buddy." He took the next exit, and Matt directed him down a maze of back roads.

  Matt timed it so that they pulled in to Walker's farm as full dusk settled in. Matt hoped that the circuitous route they'd taken had Jeff turned around and lost, and that the overcast darkness kept him from recognizing the place, if he knew it at all. Matt shut his door harder than he had to, and Buster's high-pitched, ululating bark answered from inside. A spotlight hit them in the face a moment later, and the screen door creaked.

  Matt stared past it, his eyes compensating for the glare in ways that Jeff's couldn't. Aaron Walker's grizzled face squinted out into the darkness. He held the giant flashlight in his left hand, and a shotgun pointed at the floor in his right.

  "Rowley? That you?"

  "Hey, Aaron," Matt said.

  "Where's my truck, you asshole?"

  Jeff froze in place as his whole body tensed.

  "In a minute." Matt jerked his head at Jeff. "You know this fella?"

  Aaron blinded Jeff with the spotlight. "Sure do. He come round not an hour after you stole my truck, askin'—"

  The whispers slithered through his skull, and Matt struck, blocking Jeff's wrist before the tiny, concealed pistol got anywhere near Matt's temple. He squeezed until the bones ground together.

  Jeff cried out, and the weapon fell from his limp fingers. He dropped to his knees and grabbed for it with his left hand, and his fingers crunched as Matt stomped on them. He gasped in pain and pulled both arms to his chest, curling his legs up into a fetal position.

  With an exasperated sigh, Matt plucked the pistol from the ground. "Don't be stupid, Jeff."

  A shotgun cocked, and Matt looked up past the barrel and into Aaron's eyes.

  "Just what in high heaven is going on here, Rowley?"

  "Well, Jeff here just tried to shoot me. I'd appreciate if y'all didn't go and make the same mistake." He flipped the snub-nosed revolver over so that he held it by the barrel, and offered it grip-first to Aaron. "Hold that for me, would you?"

  Walker set the spotlight on the ground, stepped forward, snatched the gun out of Matt's hand, then tipped the shotgun over his shoulder. Much of the tension drained out of him as he spat on the ground, toward but not quite at Jeff. "What's his story?"

  Matt looked down at the man still writhing in pain on the ground. "Aaron Walker, meet Jeff Hannes. My boss."

  Walker spat again. "I reckon you're fired."

  "Reckon so. Can you get me some ice for his injuries?"

  "He'll keep," Walker said. "First, what about my truck?"

  Matt shook his head. "I can't tell you where I left it, not in front of him." They locked eyes. "It ain't just me they came for."

  Aaron spat again. "My wallet was in the glove box. A hundred in cash inside."

  "Eighty-seven." He reached down and pulled out Jeff's wallet, opened it, and pulled the bills out. "Here's two hundred and sixty. I'm good for the rest of the value assuming I live through this. Either way, take the insurance and run."

  "For insurance, I got to report it stolen, which I ain't done yet on account of who stole it. Then they'll look for it, and maybe find it. I still got the sedan, and won't need to do any real hauling until December. Reckon if I hold off on reporting a couple days they'll still believe me?"

  Matt smiled. "I'd appreciate that." He looked down at Jeff, still fetal, and the smile vanished. An
y plans of letting him go went out the window—ICAP didn't know about Aaron's truck, but now Jeff did. Matt wasn't about to lead them even an inch closer to Monica. "You got any rope?"

  "Just real big stuff. How about bailing twine?"

  Matt shook his head. "Not strong enough. Got any bailing wire?"

  Aaron made a brief nod toward the barn. "Reckon I do."

  * * *

  Jeff jerked his head away from the smelling salt, coughing. Matt pulled it aside and stepped back from the folding chair he'd snagged out of the backwoods motel hallway. Matt had stripped Jeff to his boxers and secured his ankles to the chair legs and his arms behind his back. He'd twisted the bailing wire enough to keep Jeff from wiggling a limb free, but not so much that it would cut off his circulation. Still, it couldn't have been comfortable against the deep bruise on his wrist.

  Jeff looked around the dark room with wide eyes. Matt had taken out the phone, and the nondescript bed and end-table would give him no clues. "Where am I?"

  Matt snorted. "Really?"

  Jeff took a few deep breaths, then met Matt's bland stare. "Look, it wasn't personal. I was just following orders—"

  Matt held up a hand, squeezing his eyes shut against the urge to tear Jeff's head from his shoulders. This wasn't the whispers, just good honest rage. He opened them, now on eye level. "ICAP agents tried to kill my wife. You're going to tell me why, or bless your heart, they’re going to take you out of this room in real small pieces."

  Jeff winced against his bonds. "Do you have any painkillers?"

  "I force-fed you four Advil to help the swelling, and you won't cut yourself if you don't struggle. You'll be fine, if you talk."

  He spoke through gritted teeth. "Look, it wasn't me, alright? LaLonde sold you upstairs, Frahm ordered the hit, I rode along to make sure nothing happened to Monica."

  Bonking him would have ensured Monica's death, but he let the obvious lie go for a moment. "Brian ordered me killed because I asked about a file?"

  Jeff shrugged and winced against the pain. "I'm middle management. They don't tell me anything I don't need to know." The hint of a smirk twisted his lips.

  Matt sighed. "Look, there's no reason to stall. Your clothes weren't bugged. We're hundreds of miles from your car and phone, and while you were unconscious the GPS transponder in your thigh developed a bad case of very high voltage."

  Jeff's eyes widened at this last piece of information. He tried to look down, to see the burn mark.

  "There ain't no cavalry coming."

  For the first time, desperation crept into Jeff's eyes. He licked his lips, cleared his throat, looked around the room. He swallowed, then met Matt's gaze, smirk in full-force. "Let's get real here, Matt. What are you going to do, torture me? I know your psych profile. You're capable of violence, incredible violence, but not torture. You're in deep shit here, and I might be your only friend at ICAP. So what's this going to be?"

  Matt met his gaze. Matt's psych profile literally sat in a folder in Jeff's office, and they both knew that Matt didn't have it in him to torture someone for information. Matt stood. "You got me pegged on that score, Jeff." He walked to the bedroom door. "I don't have it in me to torture a person." He knocked.

  Garrett Johnson walked in, his massive frame followed by Akash and Blossom. Akash set a silver briefcase on the bed and popped the clasps.

  Jeff frowned as his gaze darted from face to face. "Aw, guys, you don't want to get messed up with this. This is between Matt and—"

  Matt grabbed his jaw and turned him so that they looked eye to eye. "Hey, you asked what this was going to be, so shut up and listen to the answer." Akash pulled an autoinjector out of the case and loaded in a phial of clear blue fluid. Matt took it from him and pointed it at Jeff. "This is infrared retinal enhancements. I picked it because of all the Gerstner Augmentations available to ICAP agents, it's one of the least likely to bonk you. Unless Dawkins was telling the truth, of course. That'd mean that you'd be looking at 'when,' not 'if.'" He looked at Akash. "Rastogi, would you mind? The non-broken fingers, please."

  Akash untwisted the bailing wire on Jeff's right wrist, grabbed his fingers and twisted, presenting the inside of Jeff's elbow to Matt. Dark purple bruises marked where Matt had squeezed to get him to drop the gun. Matt tapped the vein with his fingers, then placed the needle against Jeff's skin.

  "Wait!" Jeff's desperate eyes skittered across the needle, then locked on Matt's.

  Matt hesitated. "The ICAP agents that showed up at my house were trying to bonk me on purpose, so they could put me down after I killed Mon and the Walkers and God knows who else. I showed these guys the weapons."

  "I didn't order the hit! I didn't! But Frahm sent me in on the cleanup when they realized you weren't neutralized. They briefed me en route, too late to stop anything."

  "Why?"

  "They think Dawkins compromised you."

  Blossom knelt next to him. "Who's 'they'?"

  "Upper management. I got my orders through standard chain of command, through Director Frahm's office. I had nothing to do with trying to kill you."

  Blossom rolled her eyes up to Matt. "First part is true. Last is a lie."

  Matt raised an eyebrow. "How do you know?"

  "Flash of worry on his face, too fast to see without computers. Unless you're trained. Or pumped up with Gerstner Augs."

  Matt looked back at Jeff. "Okay, so why is ICAP trying to kill me?"

  Jeff's smirk disappeared in a snarl. "Because Dawkins is trying to destroy us, and you're buying his lies. You've been compromised, and a rogue agent is way too dangerous to let live."

  Jeff flinched as Akash's lips brushed his ear. "Which parts are lies?"

  "All of them."

  Blossom shook her head.

  "Dammit, Tsuji," Jeff said. "I'm telling the truth!"

  Matt jammed the needle into his arm, and Jeff writhed.

  "Jesus, no, please don't do this." He looked at Matt with tear-filled eyes. "Please."

  "Three," Matt said.

  "Look, we can make a deal—"

  "Two." He put his thumb on the green button on the back of the injector.

  "Okay! Okay! Just take it out!"

  Jeff gasped in relief as Matt pulled it out. A bead of blood formed on his skin—Jeff's eyes didn't leave it.

  "Last chance, Jeff. Start talking. And if Blossom thinks you're lying, even once, you're going to be able to see heat all of a sudden."

  Jeff shuddered, and then words flowed out of him in a rush. "He's right. Dawkins is right. ICAP controls the world supply of Gerstner carbon. Jade, too. They've got her chained up in a lab in D.C."

  Matt exchanged confused looks with his team.

  "Who's 'her'?"

  Jeff's eyes flicked to Blossom, then Matt. "The source. Gerstner. She's some crazy scientist or something from Germany."

  Garrett snorted. "They chained up a scientist, and she still works for them?"

  Jeff’s eyes widened at the needle. "I don't know. It's something like that."

  Blossom stepped behind Jeff, next to Akash, and signed, He's holding back something. But ask him about the insanity first.

  Matt shook his head. "Don't add up, Jeff. Jade's been a problem pushing ten years, and she's the only one who can make it?" Blossom's nostrils flared and she signed, Insanity? Matt ignored her for the moment. "What is this, Breaking Bad? It’s chemistry. Like following a recipe. They could figure that out in a decade just by watching her work."

  "Not a decade. A lot longer. Hitler's goons used her for their Űbermensch program in the forties."

  Garrett snorted again. "She'd have to be a hundred years old. Older."

  Jeff nodded. "They found her in that bunker in Dresden, strapped to a gurney with metal banding. She was . . . old then, too."

  "Bullshit," Matt said, snatching up the autoinjector.

  "It's true!" Jeff's stared in horror at the needle. "I swear on my life it's true!"

  Matt glanced at Blossom, who signed, "true
." He knelt so that he was at eye level with Jeff, resting the injector on his knee. "And what about the rest of it?"

  "Rest of what?"

  Akash rolled his eyes, still bending Jeff's hand behind his back, exposing his vein.

  Matt patted the autoinjector. "Why you're so afraid of this. It's just IR vision." He stroked the needle down Jeff's arm, eliciting a horrified shudder. "There is no safe dosage, is there?" He ignored Blossom's satisfied, sarcastic grin.

  Jeff squeezed his eyes shut and nodded.

  "You son of a bitch," Garrett said, his hands balling into fists. Matt stopped him with an upraised hand.

  "So you expect us to believe that ICAP created and distributed GS technology, continues to supply the whole world with it, and spends hundreds of billions of dollars on super-soldiers to combat their own supply who they know are going to go insane?"

  Jeff nodded again, his eyes still shut. "They didn’t mean for it to get out, but they’re not willing to stop just because it did. So you're there to curb the problem as much as possible. That's everything, I swear." He continued in the barest of whispers. "You're going to kill me, aren't you?"

  The whispers danced through Matt, urging him to do it. He opened his mouth to ask "why?" when Akash cut him off. "How do we cure it?"

  Jeff licked his lips. "You don't. There's no cure."

  Blossom scowled. "Lying."

  Jeff shrieked as the needle entered his arm, struggling against the wire that bound him to the chair. "NononononoNO—" Matt hit the plunger. The injector emptied with a hiss, and Jeff's protest changed to a mindless wail.

  Garrett stepped forward and slapped him hard enough to wrench his head to the side. "Shut the fuck up." He backhanded him the other way, and Jeff stopped screaming, his face glowing red from the force of the strikes.

  Matt put his fingertips on Garrett's chest and backed him up a couple of feet, glaring daggers, then turned and looked at Jeff, who hung his head. Matt lifted his chin with a finger, and he didn't protest. "You want to go nuts, Jeff? Kill your family, innocent people, until monsters like us put you down?" He gestured at the case, and Akash loaded up a dose labeled Late-Second Precognitive Therapy. Only one in ten thousand applicants cleared for augmentation, and less than five percent of them cleared for precog.