The room is abruptly filled with a shrill beeping sound; the smoke has set off the fire alarm.
Charging into the living room, Franco’s vacant eyes dart towards the alarm on the ceiling, and then down to the source of the smoke.
He lunges at Brodie with the blood-soaked knife over his head.
Brodie screams.
In mid-stride Franco freezes, and slams into the ceiling.
Using his short-range telekinesis, Brodie keeps him suspended for a moment before launching him out the window in a blizzard of shattered glass. Franco flails helplessly, screaming and clawing the air in an attempt to prevent the inevitable.
Gravity takes hold and he falls, six stories down.
Brodie hears the sickening impact resonate from the street below; the sound of flesh and bone crashing into pavement, and the horrified shrieks that ensue.
Brodie exhales, letting out a long, shaky breath. “Ciao, Franco.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight – Divulgence
The Basement
Even without manifesting Paige has a swirling energy behind her eyes, dark and piercing. When it comes to unnerving glares no one can rival her sister, but when infuriated, she comes a close second. “There is only one little problem with your story, asshole. If Dia and I were in the future with you, then why can’t we remember it?”
Goto remains impassive, taking a seat on the edge of the desk. “Govinda wondered the same thing. Interesting, isn’t it? He assumed that you suffered some form of amnesia during the transition.”
“That’s convenient,” says Dia, arching her eyebrow. She’s enunciating every syllable, which is usually the first indication that her demeanour is shifting from impatient to livid.
“I honestly don’t know how I can prove that you were in the future, but here is a little bit of information that might interest you.” Goto slips back into the chair and taps the keyboard several times. Some blurred footage appears on the big screen that slowly comes into focus. It’s from a camera mounted on the helmet of one of the SWAT team members that stormed into their penthouse back in New York City.
The shaky video begins with two officers breaking down the front door using a battering ram before storming into the apartment, surrounding Dia. She places her hands on top of her head and turns her back in an act of surrender, but then slices open a portal, releasing a tidal wave from the tear. The wall of water slams into the lens, and the video crackles and fades to black.
Goto pivots in his chair. “I’m sure you recall this moment, Miss Davenport?”
“That was last week,” says Paige squinting at the screen. “How did you get this footage?”
“It’s irrelevant how I acquired it,” he continues, “but what is of consequence is the water that spilled out. Interestingly enough it’s not water – at least not what we know as water now, in the 21st century.”
“So let me guess,” says Dia, biting off her words, “that’s future water, right? But you can’t prove that either, can you?”
“No, I’m afraid not,” Goto replies, doing his best to sound apologetic. “I don’t have a sample; that’s being kept under lock and key in a highly secure location by your father. But I do have this.” Another few taps on his keyboard and a second video appears, this time of the glowing rift in space. The clip is paused, but a tiny red timestamp appears in the top right-hand corner. “Notice the time and date?”
Dia’s eyes flick to the screen. “That’s around the same time that I tore open the portal.”
“The exact time, actually. Now watch closely.” He presses play; the ominous opening flares with energy, widening at the edges as the gulf expands. Tendrils of green fog cascade from the chasm and a bright light pulses at the core as if it’s been angered – or possibly awoken like never before. “The moment you ripped your portal open in New York, the rift enlarged.”
A minute passes as everyone stares, transfixed, at the surreal images on the screen.
“You could be lying,” says Cole, cutting through the silence with his accusation.
“But I’m not,” Goto snaps back, his eyes turning to Paige. “Am I?”
She remains obstinate, refusing to answer. It’s not necessary – her subtle change in expression speaks volumes.
Dia’s mind reels, desperately trying to recover any fragment of information from her subconscious that might lead to a logical explanation – or at least something that could vaguely resemble logic at this point. She’s not sure what to believe, or if she even trusts her own memories. In her manifested state could she have torn open a portal to the future? Was Brodie’s new Plan B serum to blame? She’d never tried it before that morning; never been infused with that much raw power at once. I can figure this out later – first things first. “So where do we go from here, Goto? Let’s say we agree to do the whole hero thing and team up with you and the Collectors. What’s the next step in your brilliant plan?”
Goto stands and straightens his jacket. “We gather additional soldiers. As the rift widens there will be more recruits available, and we train them. When we’re prepared, we launch an offensive against The General and end this once and for all.”
“Whoa, wait a second,” shouts Alison, pushing her way past Dia until she’s face-to-face with Goto. “The US Open is in less than a week. I’ve got physiotherapy booked in Madrid, a one-day photo shoot in Thailand, and then I have to get back to New York for press coverage before the tournament starts.”
“Even if you hadn’t put a sizzling hole through someone’s chest with a tennis ball, the New World Council would still be trying to get their hands on you. Until we sort this out you have no choice; you’ll have to stay here or risk capture.”
“Okay,” Allison replies defensively, “but technically that wasn’t murder because it was an accident, right? I mean, at the time I wanted to kill him, but how was I supposed to know that my ball would turn into a meteor?”
Goto pulls a cigarette from his jacket and lights the end, illuminating the darkened room with a small orange flare. “The Council isn’t interested in putting you on trial, Miss Smith. There will be no due process. You’ll be detained indefinitely; no judge, no jury, and no chance to see a lawyer. Laws are changing, and reverting back to pre-Council standards at an alarming rate. It’s not an ideal situation, but we’ll do our best to get you back to your normal life as quickly as possible. Besides, you’ll be perfectly comfortable here in the meantime. We have training facilities, an Olympic sized swimming pool...”
“Thread count on the sheets?” Allison interrupts.
“One thousand,” he replies without missing a beat. “Egyptian cotton. My esteemed predecessor had us all sleeping on five hundred, which might as well have been sandpaper.”
“I know, right?” Allison lets out a tiny chuckle, pointing her thumb towards Richard. “This dick had me sleeping on the same crap in Japan last year, and it was like spending the night on the floor of a barn.”
“Alright,” says Dia flatly, “before we all get comfy and settled into our rooms at the Bates Motel we’re going to have a very thorough discussion about this. But first I should check back in with the guys and see how they're doing in Paris. I'm long overdue for an update.”
“You won't get reception on your cell down here; use the land line.” Goto motions with his cigarette towards a small desk pressed against the wall. The dark red telephone attached to it is so old that it has a rotary dial.
As everyone continues to stare at the hypnotic footage of the rift in space, Dia calls Brodie's cell phone, and then tries Jens. Neither answers. Franco's phone doesn't even ring – it seems to have been disabled. "Something is wrong,” she shouts across the room. “No one is picking up at the apartment. We need to get back.”
Goto shakes his head slowly, exhaling thin plumes of smoke from his nostrils. “I would strongly advise against that course of action, Miss Davenport. If your base of operations has been compromised then we should stay here until your associates contact us.”
Cole jams the point of his finger into Goto’s chest, his eyes intensifying. “I don't give a shit what you're ‘advising’. We aren't going to stay here and do nothing if our friends need our help.”
“It was merely a suggestion,” Goto replies, raising his hands in the air. “Our guests can stay here while you, Dia and Paige take care of your friends. When you return safely we can all discuss strategy.”
Paige steps forward and stands next to Cole. “I’m not letting Allison and Richard stay in this pit alone with you. I looked into Heinreich’s mind and saw what you did to your last houseguests; their stay didn’t exactly end with a mint on their pillow.”
“So it’s settled,” says Allison, confident in her decision. “We all go together.”
Richard’s beleaguered expression and constant hand-wringing convey slightly less confidence than his client.
Cole looks down at Allison. “I don’t know if I can protect you if things go wrong.”
“I can,” Goto offers. “I’ll bring guards with me and we’ll act as backup. If it’s nothing, we all come back here and regroup. If help is needed, they’ll provide cover while we jump back to The Basement.” He turns to Dia, attempting to reassure her. “Once you’ve been somewhere you can return any time you wish, correct?”
She nods.
“So just bringing you here was a sign of good faith then, was it not? You have no reason not to trust us, and you can certainly use the assistance.”
Paige turns to her sister. “I hate to say this, but he’s telling the truth. He hasn’t lied once since we got here. If we’re going to fight The General we need all the help we can get. Unfortunately Goto is the best friend we’ve got right now...maybe the only friend.”
Dia exhales loudly and scans the faces of everyone around her, brushing her dark hair back with both hands. Paige’s certainty is giving her more confidence, but it’s the reassurance in Cole’s eyes that makes the decision for her. “Alright, let’s saddle up and roll out. We’re on my roof in five.”
As everyone moves towards the elevator Cole clamps his powerful hand on the back of Goto’s shoulder, spinning him around. “One thing you might want to keep in mind,” he says, barely louder than a whisper, “if anything goes wrong out there, I guarantee you’re the first one to go down. I’ll tear your heart out of your chest, even if it means dying myself.”
“I’d expect nothing less,” Goto replies, revealing no trace of intimidation. “So I had better be on my best behaviour.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine – Obliterate
Paris | August 30, 2011 | 2:11 pm, Central European Time
Emerging from the glowing portal, Dia, Paige, Cole and Goto make their way down the staircase that leads from the rooftop terrace into the kitchen. Allison and Richard lag behind, followed by a quartet of Goto’s armed guards.
They’re shocked to find the apartment ransacked, with cabinets overturned and cupboards left open. Broken dishes, scattered files and picture frames litter the floor, and Brodie’s custom-made suitcase sits on the countertop. It has been dented and scratched from attempts to crack it, but thankfully it’s still locked.
Approaching the living room they cover their mouths to avoid inhaling the acrid smoke that permeates the air, stinging their eyes and burning their lungs. Without the broken window letting in a measure of fresh oxygen they would all be in danger of suffocating.
“Brodie!” Cole shouts, rushing to his aid. He’s lying semi-conscious on the floor with a few drops of fresh blood trickling from his nostrils, adding to the existing pool that has collected from the sizable gash on the side of his scalp.
With a quick tug Cole snaps the handcuffs from his wrists and yanks him to his feet. Dazed and disoriented, Brodie stumbles and throws his arm around Cole’s shoulder for support. “It was Franco. He tore the place apart looking for something.”
“Where is he now?” asks Dia.
“Somewhere on the sidewalk,” Brodie replies, holding his head.
Cole becomes frantic. “Where’s Jens?”
Brodie points to the floor next to the couch where his body lays motionless. Through the dark smoke no one noticed Jens sprawled near the coffee table, his clothes soaked with so much blood that it’s now impossible to tell where his wounds are located.
Cole tosses the table aside and scoops his friend from the floor. He’s unresponsive, and a deathly shade of white. “Come on, man,” he begs, shaking Jens gently, “you can’t do this to me. Come back to me, please.”
“Goto,” Paige shouts, “Get us back to The Basement. The police will be here any minute and the Council won’t be far behind.”
Without responding Goto clears a space in the debris and pulls the transporter hoop from his jacket.
One of his guards approaches Jens and opens a small first aid kit attached to his utility belt, extracting a syringe. “This will stabilize him until we reach the med center back in The Basement.” Cole places his friend cautiously on the couch and adjusts a pillow beneath his head, allowing the guard to administer the injection.
Richard is wringing his hands, hovering over Goto as he expands the hoop and prepares it for activation. “Come on, can’t you do that any faster?” he blurts out.
Allison huffs with frustration and slaps her manager sharply across the back of his arm. “Instead of whining like a stupid baby why don’t you do something useful for a change? No one wants to hear your neurotic...”
And before she can finish, Richard collapses.
A bullet sails silently through one side of his neck and out the other, dotting the wall with crimson droplets. He crumples to the floor, and a geyser of blood spurts from the hole that’s been torn through his artery.
Before a scream can escape Allison’s throat several more bullets follow.
One hits a guard in the center of his forehead, exploding out the back of his cranium.
Another lands in Paige’s left shoulder, spinning her like a top.
The transportation hoop snaps from Goto’s hand, sparking with electricity as a slug pierces the metal casing.
Cole reacts by diving towards Allison, shoving her to the ground as several bullets lodge into his back and thigh. Dia follows, taking cover and flattening herself against the floor.
Instinctively Goto and his guards draw their weapons and open fire, shooting blindly out the window at their attackers. Their vision is obscured by the dissipating smoke, and they’re unaware if they’re actually hitting any targets, but their retaliation is able to momentarily slow the onslaught.
“Get us out of here, Goto!” Dia’s screams are barely audible over the deafening sound of gunfire that’s filling the apartment.
“I can’t!” he shouts back, kneeling down as he reloads. “That was my only transportation hoop. The nearest hardwired exit point is almost thirty kilometers from here. Can’t you open a portal?”
“I just manifested a few minutes ago,” she replies, covering her ears, “I need at least fifteen to recharge.” As the words escape her lips a realization sets in; one way or another, this conflict will end well before she’s capable of tearing open another exit.
Two more of Goto’s guards are gunned down, their bodies riddled with bullets. Their Kevlar vests do little to stop the explosive rounds; the shots blast through their armor as if they’re wearing tin foil as protection.
As the smoke finally clears the gunfire ceases from both sides, and several snipers become visible on the rooftop across the street. A helicopter descends from the sky, hovering parallel to the window.
“Dia Davenport,” a commanding voice booms from a loudspeaker somewhere on the street below, “you have one minute to turn yourself over to the New World Council. In exchange The General has agreed to grant your friends a conditional pardon for their crimes.”
Dia stands and approaches the window, glancing down at the street. Police cars and unmarked vans surround the building; enough to occupy the entire city block.
“Get down!” Cole
screams from the floor, motioning frantically for her to take cover.
“If my father wanted me dead he would have just bombed the building.” Dia rolls the options over in her mind, trying desperately to come up with some rational solution. She looks over her shoulder at her sister, slumped awkwardly against the wall as she fades into unconsciousness. Brodie is barely able to stand, and most of Goto’s security detail has been massacred. She surveys the carnage and can think of no alternatives. “This is it,” she whispers. “I’m sorry.”
Closing her eyes, Dia places her hands on the top of her head as a sign of surrender.
“We’re sending up a team,” the thunderous voice responds. “Have everyone lie face down with their hands behind their heads and their legs crossed.”
Curled in a tight ball on the floor, Allison clutches her knees to her chest, her eyes welling with tears. She scans the room to see Goto in a rare state of vulnerability, letting his handgun fall to the hardwood floor. His remaining guard attends to Paige, who seems to have lost consciousness, along with several pints of blood. Her manager is a twisted, lifeless mess; his custom-tailored suit stained red from the opening in his neck. Everything feels surreal, like the last several hours of her life have been a horrible nightmare. She blinks several times, letting the tears stream down her cheeks.
Cole flicks his eyes across the room. He gazes at Allison’s face in the bright shaft of sunlight that pours into the living room, and her tears reflect like tiny crystals. He glances down at Jens, clinging to his life at the hands of the Council. His attention shifts to the helicopter hovering outside the window, and through the cockpit he catches a glimpse of the pilot. He’s smiling. A wide, boastful grin; the self-satisfied expression of a hunter who has successfully captured his prey.
The heat rises in his face. Sadness fades, and Cole is overwhelmed by a blistering, furious hatred – he can taste it on the back of his tongue like a shot of burning acid. He sprints across the living room so rapidly that he seems to blur. He passes Dia and leaps from the cracked window sill, launching himself twenty feet towards the helicopter. His powerful frame explodes through the cockpit feet-first, flattening the pilot’s chest cavity like a battering ram as glass shatters around him.
Relapse (The Vs. Reality Series Book 2) Page 14