“You okay?” asked Nikolai. The fierce-looking man broke his usual silence and gave Calvin a look of concern. Calvin wondered how long Nikolai had been watching him as he’d stared out the window with a frown on his face.
“Yes, I’m fine,” said Calvin, clearing his throat. He opened up the binder of documents he’d brought along and resumed prepping himself for the interrogations he was going to conduct. The security preparations had been made and his people were maneuvering into position to make the arrests he’d ordered—though some of the people on the list had yet to be found. Calvin had confidence in his teams, however, and wanted to be prepared. Despite how much work there was to do, Calvin had difficulty focusing. He ran a larger organization than he’d ever imagined he would, and he was always surrounded by people, yet feelings of loneliness persisted like never before.
“It’s your mum, isn’t it?” asked Nikolai.
“What?”
“That’s why you’re so down,” his eyes narrowed and he looked at Calvin knowingly. “It’s all right,” he said. “I’m a total momma’s boy myself. No shame there.”
Calvin wouldn’t have described himself as a momma’s boy. He loved his mother, of course, and would try to call her and write to her whenever he could—and he thought to do it—but he often forgot, could never remember her birthday, didn’t usually spend holidays with her, and saw her probably only twice a year. Not because he had ill feelings toward her, truthfully she was the only family he valued, but his lifestyle growing up on Capital World, especially with a working mother and no father around, had taught him to be independent. And he was used to not having her around. But now that she was gone, he’d give anything to have her back. He wished he hadn’t forgotten to call her on her last birthday, and he swore to himself he would find her, somehow, and that she’d be safe. The trouble was, he didn’t know where to begin.
“Take it from me—” said Nikolai. He was interrupted by the screech of brakes and burnt wheels as the car swerved suddenly and came to a stop.
“What the hell?” asked Calvin. He couldn’t see through the front of the car, the panel separating him from the driver was shut, and he couldn’t see much out the side window. A crowd of on-lookers was gathering and then, like a herd of animals catching sight of a predator, they scattered. Fleeing every which way. Some people trampling over others.
Calvin drew his pistol and reached for the door handle. Nikolai stopped him.
“I’ll find out what’s going on, sir,” he said.
Calvin nodded.
Nikolai opened the door and, the instant he did, he lurched back in pain and grunted. Blood appeared on his left shoulder and soaked through his coat.
“Get down!” Calvin yelled. He reached out and pulled Nikolai down into cover just as another bullet whizzed by, this one sinking deep into the upholstered bench. It’d been aimed for Nikolai’s head. Together, they forced the door closed. A third bullet crashed into the bullet-resistant window but failed to penetrate it. Calvin looked at the spent bullet, trapped in the armored glass like it was a museum piece in a display case.
“New plan, stay here,” said Nikolai. He pressed his right hand firmly down on his left shoulder, trying to stall the bleeding as best he could.
“Are you hurt bad?” asked Calvin. He searched the car for something to dress the wound
“First aid kit, under the seat,” said Nikolai through gritted teeth.
Calvin found it and flipped it open. He recalled his Intel Wing training and, though his medical knowledge was nothing beyond a basic emergency technician, he knew he had to do all he could to help Nikolai until they got him to a higher echelon of care.
He placed a sterile pad firmly over the wound and wrapped it thickly with bandages. Nikolai closed his eyes tightly but bore the pain without a sound. Next Calvin checked for an exit wound, it would do no good to treat only half the injury.
“Bullet… struck bone,” said Nikolai with difficulty. “No exit…”
Calvin checked him over anyway, just to be sure. Nikolai seemed to be right. “Now we wait here until the police take care of it, then we’ll take you to a hospital. Just hang in there a bit.”
Nikolai grunted. “Don’t worry about me. I’ve had far worse.” He looked out the window and the expression on his face changed for the worse.
Calvin looked too, wanting to see what had startled Nikolai. At first he didn’t see anything, and then he looked up and spotted a man on a third-floor balcony. He raised a large black object and pointed it down at the motorcade. “Is that what I think—”
A rocket roared to life, glowing bright red, and soared down toward the middle car—the one carrying the decoy Calvin.
“Oh shit!” said Calvin, scrambling away from the window. There was a deafening explosion and fire and debris flew everywhere.
“Go!” said Nikolai “Now!” he shoved Calvin toward the far door. Calvin didn’t argue. He fumbled with the lock and then opened the door. He knew that once he was outside he’d likely take fire from snipers but, compared to becoming a fireball, a bullet didn’t sound so bad.
He crawled out of the car and took cover, heart racing, and immediately scouted for where to go next. Nikolai followed him out. His left arm was clutched against his chest, where he was trying to keep it immobilized, and in his right hand he held his pistol. Between his handgun and Calvin’s, both of them knew they were heavily outgunned and flight was their only option.
Fortunately their enemies, all of whom seemed to be on the opposite side of the street, were focusing on the other two cars. The middle car was a smoking, burning ruin, and everyone that had been inside it was dead. Now the passengers in the front car, bodyguards equipped mostly with small arms, were fleeing out into the open to escape a second rocket attack—this one aimed at their vehicle. There was an exchange of gunfire and most of the bodyguards dropped to the ground. Calvin saw a high-caliber exit wound rip open one of their heads. Just then the second rocket struck the lead vehicle and it ignited like the middle car, throwing flaming debris everywhere.
“There,” said Nikolai. He nodded toward an alleyway not far behind them.
Calvin didn’t argue. The two of them stood up and bolted. Calvin was too afraid to look back. He breathed hard, feeling panic seize his throat; his heart pounded in his chest like a machinegun. He forced himself to focus on the alleyway. Must get there!
Somehow Nikolai managed to keep up. As they turned the corner, Calvin heard the ricochet of gunshots slapping the pavement and walkway. Peppering where he and Nikolai had just been. Another deafening explosion told them that the third car—their car—had just been blown up.
Knowing they weren’t in the clear yet, Calvin and Nikolai kept running. Not even slowing as they approached the fence that separated the alley from a cul-de-sac on the other side. Calvin helped Nikolai up onto the dumpster and from there the injured man was able to climb over. He dropped to the ground on the other side and rolled, landing on his injured shoulder. He yelped in pain but then got to his feet and kept going. Calvin followed closely behind.
“Where to?” asked Calvin.
“Government building,” said Nikolai.
The sound of emergency sirens in the distance, converging on their position, was comforting. All they had to do was survive a little longer. Calvin felt sick as he ran, but he didn’t stop or slow down. And most of all he tried not to think of all the people in his motorcade who’d died protecting him. Especially his body-double whose only crime had been looking too much like Calvin.
Chapter 21
“… it is not known at this time if the newly appointed Executor of the Empire, Calvin Cross, was slain in the attack. What we do know is that at least twelve people have been confirmed killed, and that number seems to be growing as new reports come in.” A news anchor’s voice could be heard while the Special Report featured video footage of the assault on the Executor’s motorcade. It had been recorded by a witness and was only a few seconds long. On the bo
ttom of the screen flashed the words, Warning: Violent Images. May be Upsetting to Some.
In trembling hands, the camera recorded the sight of several men pouring out of a car and exchanging gunfire with assailants who were out of frame. As they started dropping, a rocket soared down and crashed into the lead car. There was a distorted sound of a loud explosion and then the camera about-faced as its owner raced for safety. The clip looped repeatedly, once in normal time and once in slow-motion, as the news anchor spoke. Zane sat on the edge of his seat and listened.
“Witnesses say the attack began at exactly three o’clock local time and lasted for only a few minutes. Police have since shut down the Riverside District, as well as the Capitol District, and are out in force. When asked if the attackers were still at large, they refused to comment. This reporter’s advice is to stay inside tonight, and keep your doors and windows locked.”
Zane was mesmerized by the violent images and tuned out the reporter as he watched the bodyguards drop and the car explode over and over. Brutal but effective, he supposed. It wasn’t his style to be so ostentatious and… obvious, but at least they’d gotten the job done.
“This just in,” the reporter said, the energy in his voice caught Zane’s attention again. “The Executor has survived the attack. I repeat, the Executor has survived the attack. The Akira House confirms Mister Cross is safe in an undisclosed location. His condition is listed as good but there has been no word on possible injuries. Authorities still believe Executor Cross was the intended target of the attack, and that his escape is largely thanks to the use of a look-alike riding in the main car as a decoy. This man,” the image of a young man who bore a striking resemblance to Calvin Cross appeared in the corner of the screen, “Ollie Jenson, aged twenty-six, was hired by the Akira House only days ago. Tragically, he was one of the many killed in the attack today. He leaves behind a wife and two daughters. A spokesman for the King has said the Akira House will make certain—”
Zane switched off the display. After all that expense and effort, Calvin had survived? Those dumbasses had reported a successful mission. Zane felt his blood boil. But, unlike his brother Caerwyn, Zane’s blood boiled cold. And his expression showed none of the anger he felt. Nor was it detectible in the tone of his voice as he called his people and told them to cut the Khan soldiers loose. Let them fend for themselves in the streets. They were inept. There was nothing connecting them to Zane, nothing the police or the Office of the Executor would uncover—even the Khans themselves didn’t know who they were working for— so there was no danger in letting them take the fall for their own mistakes. Zane would not protect people who didn’t deserve protecting.
He cursed inwardly and tried to decide what to do next. If only Blackmoth could have been persuaded to take the job. He certainly wouldn’t have been fooled by a decoy. And Calvin would now be dead and no longer a problem. Oh well… at least Blackmoth had taken the other job. A lot of people on that list. But what were numbers to Blackmoth? He could kill everyone on the planet if his “god” told him to. If only Blackmoth believed that Zane was his god, things would be so much easier.
***
“Are you all right?” Kalila burst into the room, flanked by two of her bodyguards. Calvin looked up from where he sat on the floor. He’d been staring at nothing trying to black out the images of the attack from his mind. Two of his bodyguards were at his sides but not Nikolai, he’d been taken to the hospital and it felt strange not to have him around.
“Yes,” said Calvin automatically. The screams, and the popping gunfire, and the glowing rockets followed by the terrible explosions… it wasn’t the first time that somebody had tried to kill him. But it was the first time that so many others had died in his place, including a man whose only job was to look like him.
Kalila approached him and, when she was only inches away, took his hands in hers. He looked down into her vibrant, searching eyes. Probably wanting to see for herself that he was telling the truth—that he was in fact okay. Unfortunately he wasn’t, not really.
“Listen to me,” she said. “We can’t stop now.”
Calvin didn’t say anything.
“I need you to be strong. We’re close. I can feel it. But time is running out. We have to soldier on. Can you do that?” she tested him.
“Yes,” he said evenly. He wasn’t about to abandon his efforts to unravel the conspiracy and save the Empire, but he would be lying if he pretended the attempt on his life hadn’t rattled him. Such a high-profile attack on Capital World was unheard of, and he’d been the target. Not the King. Not a Member of the Assembly. Him. And now that so many people had died for him—racing into the afterlife, or oblivion, or whatever-the-hell awaited the dead—so that he could persevere, it would dishonor their sacrifice not to keep going after the Phoenix Ring. Though Calvin doubted his meager life was worth the price that’d been paid. Why me? He wondered. Why me? Suddenly he felt so inadequate for the burden that’d been placed upon him. Of all the people in the galaxy that could be here, it had to be him.
“Good, I’m glad to hear it,” said Kalila. Calvin felt her warm hands, still not letting go of her, and resisted the urge to pull her in to a tight embrace. He knew it would not be appropriate, so he fought the instinct. Eventually she let go. “If you need anything, tell me. I’ll see that you have it immediately.”
Calvin nodded. His mind was still reeling from the shock of what he’d just experienced, but another part of him was already trying to disseminate all he could about the attack and fit this new development into his growing investigation. It gave him a headache and he wanted nothing more than to lie down somewhere quiet for a while.
“I’m going to triple your security,” said Kalila with fire in her voice. But, at least for the moment, Calvin didn’t care about his own security. If he’d had triple the security today then maybe there would have been three times as many deaths. And for what?
“I need to lie down,” said Calvin. “Somewhere quiet.”
“Of course,” said Kalila. “My personal escort will see you safely back to your estate.”
***
She whispered in his ear. It sounded like the wind. He couldn’t make out the words. Her breath tickled him and he smiled. He turned over, reaching for her. Wanting to embrace her warmth.
His hands found something cold and he opened his eyes. A ghoulish face looked back at him, cold, blue, and dead. The sunken eyes stared through him and the mouth—a mouth that had once been so beautiful and inviting—was rotten and decayed. He lurched back in a start, letting go of the corpse lying beside him.
“Why?” the corpse asked him. It sounded like two voices were speaking. Christine’s and one that was deeper and darker. “Why did you let this happen to me? Why do you make me suffer?”
Panic seized him and he rolled backward, trying to get away. As he fell off the bed, he plunged face-forward into a swirling abyss. Images flashed by, haunting pictures of men being shredded by gunfire. Cars exploding. Rockets soaring, swirling all around him, dozens of rockets. Hundreds of them. All circling him, in faster and faster orbits, growing in number.
As the tornado of red rockets spinning swiftly around him became so numerous that he could see nothing beyond them, they transformed into the glowing red eyes of Remorii. A haunted horde of them, staring at him, reaching for him, ready to send him to Christine.
He embraced them. “Do it!” he yelled into the abyss. “I’m ready!”
A hand parted the sea of Remorii and reached out for him. He took it, not knowing who it belonged to, but it was warm and alive and human and welcoming to the touch.
The instant he did, everything changed. The chaos dissipated and he felt solid ground beneath his feet. He was now in a bright, almost blindingly white room. It felt clean and… safe. He looked at the stranger whose hand he held and saw pale blue eyes and fiery, untamed red hair. She smiled at him. And he felt peace.
***
Calvin awoke from the dream to find that an
icy sweat had glazed his chest, and his sheets were tangled tightly all around him, like he was in a spider’s web. He blinked several times, trying to get his bearings, and then freed himself from the confining linens. He climbed out of bed and stood. It felt good to feel his feet touch solid ground, the dizzying feeling of free-fall had subsided but he still felt light-headed and weak.
His heart beat erratically and waves of anxiety coursed through him. He stumbled to the far side of the room and found a water bottle. He wrenched free the cap and drank, drank like he’d never tasted water before. It eased his parched throat but did nothing to sooth his upset nerves. He shivered. And then his eyes spotted the translucent orange bottle sitting on the nightstand.
There was one way he knew he could forget the nightmare of the attack on his motorcade, and silence all the sounds, images, and terrified feelings that swirled within his mind. He went to the bottle and picked it up, staring at the white pills inside it. They were of varying sizes, meant to be taken in a sequence to eliminate his dependence on the chemical, but he knew two or three of the smaller ones were roughly the right mass for the dose he craved.
The Phoenix Crisis Page 22