So this was the person the Wardens answered to now. Their hero team leader. Chris wondered if he lived in the apartment upstairs when he was in town, too.
Mrs. Clarence motioned to four vacant chairs on the far side of the U-shaped table. Chris felt dozens of eyes on her as she and the other Wardens shuffled to their seats in single file.
“Now that the Wardens are seated, we’ll begin,” a skinny, hard-faced man in an expensive black suit announced. “Most of you already know me, but since Christina has only just joined up, I’ll introduce myself. I’m Albert Turner, Secretary of Evolved Affairs and the man in charge of this department. On the organization chart, you’ll see us under the Department of Defense, with ties to the Combat Support Agency.”
Chris wasn’t sure whether she was supposed to respond so she just nodded, her eyes affixed to the table in front of her. All those stern glares made her uncomfortable, and she imagined the thin ice cracking beneath her feet. Keeping her mouth shut was the smart strategy. After all, if she made the wrong kind of impression, they might send her back to her cell—or worse.
“To my left is Mrs. Myers, Secretary to the President of the United States, and beside her is Mr. Ortega of the CSA,” Mr. Turner continued his introductions, indicating various attendees with small finger motions. “Mrs. Strickland, State Secretary of the Department of Evolved Affairs. Mr. Peters of Homeland Security. And Mr. Quinn, who represents the Defense Threat Reduction Agency.”
There were over a dozen more who didn’t get included in the introduction. It was exactly the kind of situation that Chris had hoped to avoid. Structures, rules, expectations. It’s on you if I screw this up, Athena. The urge to get out of that room and have a smoke was almost overwhelming.
From the next chair over, Emily gave her a nudge and an encouraging smile. Somehow it made Chris feel just a little bit better.
She glanced to her other side. Noire wore her perpetual frown, casting an annoyed look over her entire face, while Overdrive wiped his palms on his thighs, smoothing the creases in his trousers.
Do the others know what this meeting is about? Chris wondered. Back in her prison cell, she had been briefed by the Covenant heroine Athena about the impending mass panic that was about to take over the world. But she still wasn’t sure how much the other Wardens knew.
“…creation of the Wardens, the US-based hero team, shortly after the Covenant was founded to oversee Evolved relations at the international level,” Mr. Turner said.
Chris realized she must have zoned out. Jeez, get it together, she chided herself. It was for her benefit that everyone had to listen to this recap.
“The main purpose of the Wardens was, and still is, the assurance of peace and stability throughout the United States when it comes to dealing with Evolved powers,” Mr. Turner continued.
Beside Chris, Noire stifled a yawn.
Mr. Turner shot her an annoyed look before continuing. “So far, in part thanks to the Covenant and the President’s good relations with the UNEOA, you’ve had little to deal with that wasn’t handled by our regular police forces.” There was a pause as he looked at each of the four Wardens in turn. “This is about to change,” he finished.
He turned his head in the direction of the Counselor, who pushed himself to his feet and walked to the projector screen at the front of the room. Once again, his eyes darted over each of the other Wardens.
The Counselor got right to the point. “We have strong reason to assume the off-grid disappearances on the American continents are caused by a powered serial killer,” he flatly stated. “At this point we don’t have enough information to even guess at their identity. The UNEOA and the international community want this solved now, but we all know the Covenant already has its hands full.”
That’s the understatement of the year, Chris thought, recalling the scandal that had erupted when the Covenant’s former leader, Radiant, had gone rogue.
The Counselor looked over the other Wardens until his gaze landed on her. “That’s why you, Wardens, will help me solve this. Starting right now.”
4.2 Investigation
San Francisco, USA
Friday, the 8th of June, 2012
11:37 a.m.
The Counselor’s announcement didn’t come as a surprise to Chris, but she was curious to see how the other Wardens would react to the news that they were finally expected to get their hands dirty. Up until now, their agendas had been filled with ribbon cuttings and photo shoots—not exactly ‘saving the world’ type of events.
Emily frowned at the blank projector screen, as if there was something there only she could see. Noire had settled back in her chair, her arms crossed over her chest as her own frown deepened. Overdrive’s smile of satisfaction spread across his face, proving that he alone was moved by the news.
He’s actually looking forward to this, Chris realized. It’s obvious he’s the only one of us here who wants to be a hero.
For the briefest of instances, her heart went out to the guy. Did he actually believe the Counselor and the others had come all this way to ask for their help just to solve some missing person cases? Yeah, right. As if Evolved lives mattered to anyone here. Chris had witnessed enough of Evolved politics to know that the North American authorities were relieved to have fewer Evolved—and thus fewer security risks—on their books. So what did they want?
She looked to Mrs. Clarence for a clue, but the therapist avoided her gaze, focusing her attention on picking lint off her blouse instead. Chris would just have to wait for the other shoe to drop.
The Counselor tapped a key on his laptop, and the projector screen lit up to display a mug shot of a shiny haired young man whose skin tone and eye shape suggested Native American heritage.
“Chayton Wallace, also known as the Burrower,” the Counselor announced in a solemn voice. “The first off-grid disappearance, reported on April seventeenth of this year. The most notable feature of his powerset was, you guessed it, his quick underground movement.”
He tapped the keyboard to change the screen image to a map of the US, marked with a red dot near the southeastern border of North Dakota. “Chayton was a member of a Dakota Sioux tribe, living independently outside the reservation.”
Another keystroke brought up a picture of a plain middle-aged woman with a freckled face. “Sarah Atkins, listed as Morpher. Her disappearance was reported on April twenty-ninth. Her body transformed at random, making a normal life impossible for her. At first it was assumed she disappeared from her special care home and committed suicide, but her body was never found and some evidence suggests otherwise. I’ll get to it in a moment.”
Nothing points to a serial killer so far, Chris mused as she watched the projector screen.
The screen brought up the map again, this time with a second dot somewhere over Iowa. She sank into her chair, hoping this wouldn’t be the kind of presentation that dragged on for hours, thinking how the oppressive feeling of authority in the room would choke her before long.
The next picture showed an obese teenage boy whose eyes had sunk deep into his red swollen face.
“Timothy Valentine, also known as Newal. His powerset was rapid healing and recovery from injury and disease, but with serious mutations as a side effect,” the Counselor continued in a monotone voice.
He’s on autopilot or something, Chris thought.
“Timothy was reported missing on the sixteenth of May, disappeared somewhere in the state of Arkansas. Neighbors reported that he left his home for the first time in a week, but he was never seen again.”
A touch of the keyboard brought up the map again with a third red dot, and another photograph appeared. “Paul Bobeck, or Dreamcatcher. Classified as a Visionary with the ability to project hallucinations into the minds of others. He was reported missing by the state of Texas on May twenty-third.” This time, when the map appeared, a red line connected all three dots. It revealed a pattern of steady movement south with a bend to the east.
Maybe it re
ally is a serial killer, Chris deduced, staring at the path revealed on the screen. She wasn’t sure she had the skills and experience for this kind of task. Murder investigations were the FBI’s domain. They had the tools and experience to find the killers. She and the other Wardens had no training, no skills in this area, nothing.
She looked over at Overdrive, who was eagerly leaning forward in his chair. The way he sat made it look as though he wanted to pose for photographs with some hero groupies.
“The last two disappearances were recent,” the Counselor continued, bent over his laptop, his face glowing with an eerie blue sheen. “On the twenty-ninth of May and the fifth of June. A Technician and a Wildcard, missing from Central and South America respectively.”
Two photographs flicked across the screen in quick succession, showing an attractive middle-aged woman and a smiling twenty-something male.
The Counselor straightened to face the audience. “Note how the killer’s trail extends farther south. I should add that the last case, Duende, was an applicant to the South American hero team. He was a teleporter who could teleport himself to a few locations in or near his home town.”
The Counselor switched to the next map slide. This time the red line traveled down to Uruguay. “Six cases in total,” he said, directing his observation to the Secretary of Evolved Affairs.
Damn. That’s almost a third of all Evolved in the Americas. Chris could see now why the higher-ups and the Covenant would be concerned enough to make an appeal to the President.
“As you may have noticed,” the Counselor continued, addressing the whole group now, “the time span between each disappearance became shorter and shorter. At the same time, our perpetrator’s movements have sped up.”
Chris examined the map. Indeed, the killer’s speed was increasing by a factor of four.
“We’re sure these disappearances aren’t linked to the ones in Europe?” one of the government officials asked, leafing through her brief.
The Counselor nodded. “We’re certain. They follow completely different patterns.”
“If I may ask a question,” another one of the suits whose name Chris couldn’t remember spoke, raising a hand. “I’m sure these disappearances are an issue of great concern for the Department of Evolved Affairs, but I’d like to understand why the DTRA and CSA were asked to attend this briefing. I don’t see why the Army would be involved.”
Good question, Chris thought. It doesn’t look like there’s any indication of weapons of mass destruction. But if this guy’s going international, it’s out of the FBI jurisdiction.
The suit glanced at the row of assembled Wardens. “I understand Evolved individuals can be quite … destructive. But nobody knows enough about the killer to be sure they’re not just an average citizen with a gun.”
Chris felt her face get warm. It looked like prejudice was just as alive and well here as it was in her old high school. She considered saying something, but clenched her jaw shut instead. She wasn’t interested on appearing on anyone’s radar.
“A valid question,” the Counselor agreed, interrupting her thoughts. “And one I was just about to get to.” He pressed a key on his laptop and the map disappeared, replaced by the green-and-gold UNEOA logo. Two phrases had been superimposed over the lightning bolt emblem. The first was in a language Chris couldn’t even guess at, and the second one in the presumed English translation.
THE MARTYR RISES IN THE WEST, REMEMBERING ALL WRONGDOINGS. HE TRAVELS FROM NORTH TO SOUTH, GROWING AS HE DEVOURS.
“You may remember this,” the Counselor said. “It’s one of the Oracle’s older prophecies, translated from Palestinian Arabic.”
That caught Chris’s attention. When she read the translation again, her mind immediately went back to the map of the Americas as its red line bled from north to south. Holy shit. So the serial killer thinks he’s some kind of martyr.
Beside her, Emily reached for her hand and squeezed.
“This particular prophecy was never fully understood until recently,” the Counselor continued, gesturing at the screen, “because the off-grid disappearances weren’t interpreted as murders right away. Instead, it was suspected that someone—or something—may have blocked Queenie’s tracking powers. It’s happened before.”
“But if the world’s second most powerful Visionary can’t track them,” one of the representatives said, referring to Queenie, “then wouldn’t that give away the fact that they had died?”
“There was no reason at first to suspect murder since there weren’t any bodies, no blood, and no signs of a struggle,” the Counselor said.
“And there’s not any proof they’re linked to some cockamamie prophecy, either,” came a female voice. The President’s assistant, Chris remembered.
The Counselor lifted his hands, palms up. “Perhaps. But if these cases are linked to the Oracle’s prophecy, then we might be looking at something like a super-surge in the future. The shortened intervals between kills and the increased movement speed hints at power growth.”
He travels from north to south, growing as he devours. Chris replayed the phrase in her mind. A silence descended over the room as the assembled representatives made the connection for themselves.
“Then why hasn’t he, or she, or it revealed itself?” the President’s plump assistant asked after a moment. “With that kind of power, why live in hiding?”
“May I respond to this one?” Mr. Turner asked, turning to the Counselor. It was the first time the Secretary of Evolved Affairs had spoken since the introductions.
The Counselor gave a relieved nod, settling back in his chair.
“We don’t have an answer to your question at present, Mrs. Myers.” Mr. Turner directed his response to the President’s assistant. “But I assure you, finding the answer is high priority. The UN and the Covenant have passed everything of relevance to me, and I have personally filled the Counselor in on the details. For now I can assure you that the Counselor will have all the resources he needs to lead this investigation to a successful end as fast as possible.”
And by resources, I guess he’s talking about us. Chris’s thoughts drifted to the packet of cigarettes in her pocket. So close, yet so far. Nothing else was available to distract her from the pressure building inside her chest. The expectations would be great, as would be the repercussions if she somehow screwed this up. Not even the world’s most powerful hero team had been able to resolve this on their own.
“How often have these ‘prophecies’ been reliable?” one of the suits on Chris’s right interjected.
“As we all know, the wording of some of these prophecies can be ambiguous,” the Counselor replied from his chair, ignoring the bureaucrat’s caustic tone. “Saint is considered a martyr by some. That parallel sparked some confusion, and then all attempts at interpretation were abandoned. Perhaps that’s why this one has remained off our radar for so long. But to answer your question, all of the prophecies that could be interpreted with some degree of certainty have turned out to be true so far.”
Chris hoped the Oracle was wrong at least some of the time.
“Is there a prophecy about the identity of the killer?” asked a pale balding man with thick glasses. If Chris had to guess, she would label him as an accountant. “If not, why doesn’t someone just ask the Oracle?”
A few snickers came from the assembled group.
“The Oracle isn’t able to respond or react to anyone,” the Counselor said, passing his eyes over the assembly without batting an eye. “She has been comatose since her transition, and she utters her prophecies at unpredictable intervals.”
The DTRA representative raised his hand again. “The documents we received made mention of some kind of…” he rifled through his briefing book, looking for the word. “Antithesis,” he finally supplied. “Some kind of end bringer. Could there,” he indicated the projection screen with a ruffle of his fingers, “be a connection?”
God, I sure hope not, Chris reflected. The pressure
was building. This couldn’t all be on her shoulders, could it?
“We can’t rule the possibility out,” the Counselor said.
She reached for the cigarette packet, wondering if she could find an excuse to sneak out for just five minutes, but Noire sent her a sharp look so she put her hand back on the table.
“But I don’t believe that to be the case in this instance,” the Counselor added.
Chris felt herself relax. No one raised any more questions, though no one looked satisfied, either. As far as she could tell, the suits were all brooding, looking through their notes or exchanging whispers with neighbors. Maybe they were assessing how much this whole situation affected their job security and potential for promotion.
Must be nice to worry about a promotion bonus other than worry about fighting this thing. This was one of the reasons Chris preferred not to deal with authorities and bureaucracy. Too much talk, not enough action.
The Counselor triggered another slide change and a dark nondescript image appeared on the screen. Chairs creaked as attendees shifted to take a closer look.
Huh? Chris squinted at the vague image. It was a hole in the ground with some half-submerged pieces of clothing sticking out. A dirty sleeve, part of a red bandanna, the heel section of a shoe. I don’t get it.
Beneath the table, Emily’s small hand grasped at Chris’s fingers. The girl’s small face wore the same perpetual frown she had since the beginning of the meeting.
“Hey, it’s all right,” Chris whispered, brushing her thumb across the back of Emily’s hand.
The girl looked up, startled, almost as if she was drawn from some kind of daze. “Oh, poop. Sorry.” She pulled her tiny hand back onto her lap and diverted her gaze.
Chris wanted to ask what frightened her, but the Counselor’s voice drew her attention back to the front of the room.
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