“They’ll interpret that as a threat,” Jefferson pointed out. Hope could hear his heartbeat, yet he sounded perfectly calm. The consummate politician—and a plague on the human race, just like all the others who tried to put their own interests ahead of those of the world. “It won’t make them agree any faster.”
“There’s enough superpower in the Saviours alone to devastate any country in the world,” Hope said. “Tell them to think about that if they start thinking about getting in our way.”
He stalked out of the room, leaving Jefferson sitting at the table. God alone knew what he’d do; probably get back on his plane and start calling New York. Hope found it hard to care; Jefferson might have been a decent man, with decent intentions, but he couldn't hear the screaming. And he couldn't see the men and women who could now walk to the market without fear of being robbed, raped or murdered by the secret police. He threw himself into the air and looked down on the city below. No one was carrying a gun, not even the weaker mutants. The new government didn't care about what whose grandma did to whose granddad; they merely intended to keep the peace.
“I think I messed it up,” he said, as he landed on the mansion’s roof. The Redeemer stood there, staring down at the city below. There were a handful of enemy soldiers remaining in hiding and her telepathy was the key to hunting them down. “They may not be sending much aid.”
He felt her presence at the back of his mind before she answered. “Maybe Jefferson can talk them into it anyway,” she said, wryly. “We always knew that it wouldn't be easy.”
She shook her head. “But you know what? Right now, there is more hope in the city than ever before,” she added. “Whatever the UN says, whatever Jefferson manages to do, you will always have that as your legacy.”
Hope settled down beside her and looked over the city. “By the by, the staff we hired found Fazia’s family,” she said. “I thought that you would like to take her back personally.”
“The girl I saved,” Hope said. He’d saved countless lives, over the years, but he’d never come to grips with the root cause of all of humanity’s problems. “You think I should?”
“I think that it might be a reminder of why we’re here,” the Redeemer said. “Besides, her mind was very informative. Her mother makes a great rice and curry mix.”
Hope winced. “Do you have to go poking in people’s minds?”
“I can't really help it,” the Redeemer said. She smiled up at him; it wasn't a nice expression. “You complain about hearing the screams? I experience everything they go through before they die. If I hadn't managed to learn how to control it, I would have died myself. Your dream of making a better world is all I have left.”
She stood up and kissed him on the cheek. “Take the girl home,” she said. “I’ll still be here when you get back.”
Chapter Eleven
“Shit,” Jackson said. Down below, the DEA agents were being burned alive as Nova’s flame swept through the air. “Captain?”
“Get downstairs, now,” Lane snapped. “Beta Team—go!”
Jackson ran for the stairwell and down the stairs. Behind him, a terrible scream rang through the air, followed by the sound of breaking glass. Siren had screamed at the DEA agents, shattering every last piece of glass in the area. The sound reverberated through his head even though he hadn't been too close to the girl. He’d read her file and even had some experience with sonic weapons, but he hadn't realised just how formidable a weapon it could be until the shit hit the fan.
“Snipers, get ready to take them if you have a clear shot,” Lane ordered. “Nova is going supernova; watch him and Youngster...”
They burst out of the office block as flames started to lick at the walls of the nearby warehouse. The terrible smell of burning flesh greeted them as the DEA agents burned, while Nova washed fire over the ground and their bodies. There was no sign of the drug courier, but there were enough burning bodies for Jackson to guess that Nova had killed him along with the good guys. It would have made sense; if they managed to escape and break contact completely, there wouldn't be anything left leading back to the Young Stars.
Four pressure grenades landed near Nova, detonating with a dull thump. For a moment, his flames were literally blown out, leaving him standing there almost naked. Jackson stared at him before realising that the clothes he’d worn for the drug pickup weren't as fireproof as the silly costume he wore on his public appearances. Nova staggered, probably stunned by so many pressure waves detonating near him, and hit the ground, just as Siren started to scream again. Jackson threw himself at her before she could turn around and slammed her to the ground. Apart from her scream, she was little more than a mundane human. It felt wrong to knock down a girl, particularly one so young, but there was no choice. Her scream could rattle his brains permanently if it struck him directly.
A hand caught him, picked him up effortlessly and threw him through the air. Youngster himself had recovered from his shock and rounded on the two soldiers. Perhaps he would have finished Jackson off, if the snipers hadn't opened fire on him with explosive rounds, forcing him to jump back even though they bounced off his skin. He didn't have any real combat training, Jackson reminded himself, as he crashed into the side of a wall; being attacked so suddenly would have shocked him. Even so, at least seven DEA agents were dead and Team One was taking a pounding.
“Siren’s down,” he said, as he pulled himself to his feet. Youngster had thrown caution to the winds and flown into the sky, only to be targeted by a modified Stinger missile. Jackson had used one in the simulations and had been surprised to discover that they could track superhuman targets almost perfectly, although they had been known to lose their target lock and go after people on the ground. The missile impacted and sent Youngster tumbling to the ground on the other side of the warehouse. Invulnerable or not, that had to shake hell out of him.
“Beta Team, recover Youngster,” Lane ordered. “Is Nova still out of it?”
There was a sudden wash of fire from where Nova had fallen. “No,” Jackson said. Where was Basil? He had a nasty feeling that Nova had targeted him and burned him to a crisp. “Nova is back up and running.”
He checked his weapons and ran back towards the fire. Basil was lying on the ground, badly burned by superhuman fire. Nova was standing just behind him, lifting one finger to point at Jackson, giving him plenty of time to twist against the burst of fire. The idiot was posing! Trapped, almost certainly about to lose everything he had to charges of murder, resisting arrest and drug smuggling, he was taking time to pose. Jackson felt a sudden flash of hot anger as his body armour took most of the fire and deflected it, allowing him to keep running forward until he crashed right into Nova. Whatever made his skin immune to the effects of his own fire, according to the briefing, didn't give him actual invulnerability. Jackson slammed his fist into Nova’s face, followed by a savage punch to the gut. The superhuman staggered to the ground and then went out like a light. His fires followed seconds later.
“Jesus,” Jackson said.
He looked down at his body armour and winced as he realised that part of it had simply melted. If he’d realised that that was happening, he might not have jumped at Nova with such enthusiasm. But then, there hadn't been any other choice. He pushed the thought aside and knelt down beside Basil. The operator was still alive, but it was difficult to tell just how badly he’d been burned.
“Alpha-Three is down and requires immediate medical attention,” he said. “I say again; Alpha-Three is down and requires immediate medical attention.”
“Understood, Alpha-Four,” Lane said. “Medical team is on their way.”
There was a thunderous crash from the direction of the warehouse, where Youngster had fallen. Jackson looked over in alarm and hesitated, unsure of what to do. He wanted to stay with Basil—and secure the two prisoners—but if Beta Team was in trouble, it was his duty to assist them. The Sergeant would have called him if they needed help, wouldn't he? Jackson kept one ha
nd on his weapon as he removed the restraints from his belt and slipped them onto the two prisoners. For Nova, there was also an injection of a drug that should limit his ability to access and use his powers. Jackson had been warned that the drug wasn't completely effective and that it could never be trusted. At least Siren was simpler to handle; he pushed a blob of plastic dough into her mouth, providing an effective gag.
“Alpha-Four, you have incoming...”
The warehouse wall shattered as Youngster powered his way right through it. Jackson was diving for cover before his mind had quite realised what was happening. Even with all the training he’d done since joining Team Omega it wasn't easy to really grasp the true power of an enraged superhuman, or just how difficult it could be to collar one bent on escape. Youngster saw the two prisoners and turned in the air, coming right at Jackson before he could escape...
“Hit him with the sonic projector,” the Sergeant ordered. Youngster twisted, one hand flying up to cover his ears, before shooting off along the ground. “New guy—you all right?”
“Yes,” Jackson managed. A moment later and his head would have been bouncing off the ground. “Thank you, Sergeant.”
“You can stand between me and the Captain,” von Shrakenberg said. He was nursing a nasty bruise on his forehead, a blow that would undoubtedly have killed him if he had been a normal operative. “The bastard has escaped and we’re left holding the bag.”
Jackson nodded as he pulled himself to his feet and looked around. The area hadn't been a very nice area before the fight, but now it was in ruins. Nova’s flames had ignited buildings that should have been condemned long ago, leaving them burning steadily towards the ground, while the warehouse looked to be on the verge of collapse. A dozen bodies lay on the ground and a handful of others were being carted away by the medical teams. Jackson hoped that meant that some of the DEA agents had survived, but if the flames had been hot enough to melt his body armour they would probably have killed anyone without protection. The courier and his van had been burned to ashes...he looked over at Nova and shook his head. Up close, without the costume, he looked like any other teenager on the wrong side of the tracks, sinking into a life of crime without ever really trying to make something of himself. And yet he’d had enough power to nearly wipe out an entire DEA team and threaten the most versatile combat unit in the military.
“I thought the snipers were meant to engage him if he powered up,” he said, carefully removing the melted body armour. There were spares in the van, parked some distance from the actual rendezvous point. “Why didn't they take the shot?”
“They did,” Lane’s voice said from behind him. The Captain looked grim. “The bastard’s flames protected him from the shells. We might have underestimated just how powerful he actually was.”
He didn't sound as if he was assigning blame, which was something of a relief. One of the senior officers Jackson had served under had had a nasty habit of blaming his men when something went wrong, even though it was normally something unpredictable, just one of those incidents that always showed up when military units carried out exercises in real life. Murphy always had his say...and nothing ever went quite according to plan. And to think that most Marine operations had been launched against normal humans, rather than superhumans...
“Chicago PD started screaming at the DEA as soon as the shit hit the fan,” he added. “They want to handle the investigation themselves—never mind that it was the DEA’s baby from the start.”
“They’ll change their mind as soon as they figure out just who was involved in this,” von Shrakenberg observed, cynically. “Are they going to send the fire department over here to put out the fires or do they expect the whole area to be burned to the ground?”
“The fire department wants an escort from the cops before they come here,” Lane said. Jackson wasn't too surprised. Judging from the briefing notes, the entire area had been completely abandoned by the forces of law and order. “They’re still arguing; we need to pull out before they come up with an agreement and send help. Coombs and the DEA can assert themselves here; we may have a worse problem on our hands.”
“Youngster,” von Shrakenberg said. It wasn't a question. “Did the sensors manage to track him?”
“Right up until the moment he flew outside their range,” Lane said. “I’ve got a call in to the local Air Force office; maybe they tracked him, but you know how hard it is to pick out a superhuman target on a radar screen.”
He looked over at Jackson. “Your first real mission,” he said. “What did you think of it?”
Jackson found himself lost for words. A firefight between Marines and enemy soldiers was understandable, even when it started with a sneak attack and there was a period of chaos before the Marines got their shit together and started coordinating a response. This...had been different. They’d done everything right, as far as he could tell, and they’d still failed to catch all three of the superhumans. No wonder there was so much fear gripping the government after the events in the Congo, at least if the internet was to be believed. An army of superhumans could inflict horrific damage before they were defeated, if they were defeated.
“Jesus,” he said, finally.
Lane laughed, not unkindly. “Sergeant, ensure that our two suspects are transported to the holding facility before they wake up,” he ordered. “Have the medics drug them, if necessary; we don’t want one of them trying to break out before we have them in a proper cell. Team Three is on the way; we’ll need backup if we have to storm the hangout directly.”
“That will be impossible to keep out of the public eye,” von Shrakenberg observed. Some commanding officers would have seen it as a criticism. “They have tame reporters watching them at all times.”
“I know,” Lane said. They exchanged a long glance. Perhaps the corporate sponsors would happily throw Youngster, Nova and Siren to the wolves in exchange for allowing the Young Stars to continue to operate; perhaps they were all involved and they were ready to start a fight to keep themselves out of jail. Given what had happened when they resisted arrest, Jackson couldn't see how even the most expensive lawyer in the world could keep them from a long jail sentence at the very least. The DEA would be pressing for the death penalty. “But we may have no choice.”
He walked off, leaving von Shrakenberg to start rounding up the rest of the team. “Keep one eye on the prisoners at all times,” he barked, once the support staff had loaded the two prisoners onto stretchers and started to carry them towards the unmarked vans that had appeared at the edge of the road. “Assume these people are armed and dangerous; keep your eyes on their faces, not on her tits. That goes double for you, David.”
There were some chuckles. Jackson didn't know his teammates as well as he wanted to, but he did know that David had an enviable reputation for success with the ladies. His teammates made fun of it mercilessly. David rolled his eyes, muttering just loudly enough to be heard, and then hefted his rifle as they reached the vans.
“Great,” he muttered. “Now comes the interrogation.”
Jackson looked over at him. “Interrogation?”
“Wait and see,” David said. “Wait and see.”
The drive to the FOB—as Jackson couldn't help but think of it—lasted only twenty minutes, but seemed to take forever. He found himself starting at every little sound, wondering if the next thing he would see would be a superhuman tearing up the van to get at the prisoners inside. Nova had a long IV line running from a bag a medic had set up, with enough sedative—they’d been assured—to put an elephant to sleep for hours. Beside him, Siren didn't seem to have recovered from the blow that had knocked her out. They kept their eyes on her anyway, just in case. It was a relief when they reached the building and could hand their prisoners over to a specialised team from the local FBI office.
“One last thing to do before we get some sleep,” von Shrakenberg barked, once the prisoners had been taken away. “We have to write a report of everything that happened
, so get into the interrogation chambers and answer all the questions as fully and completely as you can. Try not to hit any of them; their superiors make a terrible fuss.”
Jackson joined in the chuckles as he followed the others to the interrogation chambers. He hadn't been in an FBI interrogation room before and he was surprised at how nice it looked, compared to the ones he’d seen in bad movies. But those movies about the SOF soldiers had rarely been accurate either. There was a coffee machine in one corner and a pair of FBI agents facing him, one a tall handsome male and the other a shorter red-headed woman. By the way they leaned together, they were probably lovers.
“Thank you for coming,” the woman said. She had a sharp voice that reminded Jackson of his mother, back when she’d systematically dissected any excuses Jackson had offered for bad behaviour. “I must inform you that everything said in this room will be recorded and possibly entered in testimony should the case go to court. As you are not actually a suspect, you do not have the right to a lawyer, but in the event of charges being brought against you this testimony may be struck from the record. Do you understand?”
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