by Jason Brant
Nami moved the cursor over a timeline on the bottom of the video and worked her way through until chaos erupted. She clicked a little further back until everything was relaxed in the window again.
All three of us leaned closer to the screen.
After thirty seconds or so, a group of men in suits appeared at the bottom of a staircase in the upper left hand corner of the screen. Most of them wore gray; one was in black.
“The Man in Black.” My jaw clenched at the sight of him.
“You make him sound like he’s the boogeyman,” Nami said.
“He and I have unfinished business.”
I wanted to punch holes in the walls.
Anger flooded me as I watched the men walk across the platform.
I remembered the brawl I’d engaged in with the Man in Black in the hallway of a hotel. He’d beat the ever-living crap out of me. I’d chocked him unconscious and stomped on his face. Good times were had by all.
That human-waste-of-space had worked as Smith’s right-hand man for as long as I’d been involved in this craziness. His fingerprints were all over everything wrong that had happened in my life over the past year.
Sammy’s blood stained his hands.
Yours, Asher. My blood stains your hands.
I swallowed a knot that had formed in my throat.
A pen on the desk in front of me began to shake.
I watched it, my anger boiling. My vision tunneled as I stared it. Everything around me slipped into darkness.
Let it go, Asher. Let your anger go.
The pen vibrated violently, clattering on the wood surface.
Let it go.
It zipped off the desk and smashed into the wall behind it.
From far off, miles away, I heard Drew calling out to me.
His voice got louder, punching through a fog that had descended around me.
Hands grabbed my shoulders, spun me around.
I glared at him.
“Ash?” Drew shook me. “Can you hear me?”
The rage that encompassed me pulled back a bit. I closed my eyes, forced in a deep, shaky breath.
“Can you hear me?” Drew squeezed my shoulder with his good hand so hard that it hurt. He still had a lot of strength left.
“Yeah,” I mumbled. “I hear you. Stop squeezing my shoulder like it’s little Drew when you’re alone on a Saturday night.”
“What the hell just happened to you?” Drew asked. His grip eased up, though he didn’t outright release me.
I opened my eyes, saw both of them gaping at me.
Drew was concerned.
Nami was scared.
“Sorry,” I said. “Seeing him really pissed me off.”
“You went full Bruce Banner.” Nami watched suspiciously. “And then you mind fucked my poor pen.”
Drew asked, “Did you move the pen on purpose?”
“No... yes... sort of. It started moving without me even thinking about it. It flew off the desk when I focused.”
“I thought you couldn’t control it?”
“Usually I can’t.”
Drew finally let go of me. “You really spaced out there. It looked like you were going to trash the room. What’s going on, man?”
“I—” I thought about it for a second, wondering if I should just tell them about Sammy playing the bongos inside my head. “I’m good.”
“If that’s good, then I don’t want to see bad. You and I have been in the lowest of lows, Ashley, and I’ve never seen you like that before. So don’t give me that crap. Just tell me what’s wrong.”
My resolution returned. I straightened out, squared my shoulders. “I’m good. Just want to catch these bastards. That’s all.”
I didn’t need to be a telepath to see that neither one of them believed me. Drew couldn’t read minds, but he knew a lie when he heard one. The guy was a walking polygraph machine.
After several uncomfortable seconds, they both decided to drop it. I knew Drew would jump on me again when we were alone though. He was a dogged SOB. Guessed he had to be with that whole detective shtick.
Nami had paused the video when I freaked out. She started it again, and we watched Smith’s flunkies walk across the platform. A train eased to a stop and the doors opened.
And then all hell broke loose.
The Man in Black and his Merry Band of Assholes skinned a few pistols and turned the place into the O.K. Corral. They lit up the train with a hail of gunfire. Commuters freaked out.
“Pause it,” Drew said. “Who are they shooting at? Do we have any footage from inside the train?”
“Hang on.” Nami performed more digital fu and another video popped up. “We do, but the quality is ass. Looks like they recorded it on a potato.”
The camera appeared to be stationed in the corner of one end of the train car. It was in black and white and as grainy as a field of wheat.
Drew inched even closer to the screen.
Nami played the video.
There was no sound.
A few people were scattered throughout the car. In the middle sat a man with a thick, unkempt beard. He had the look and style of a former spec ops something or other.
“That’s our player.” I leaned over Nami. “But who the hell is he?”
A woman in a skimpy outfit walked into view, moving away from the camera. She sat across from the man. As she took a seat, we caught a view of her face.
Even though the video had the quality of an 80’s porno, we could all see who it was.
Christie Tolbert, bartender extraordinaire.
“Bingo.” Drew reached into his coat, which he’d tossed across the back of a chair. He pulled out a tiny pad of paper and jotted some notes on it. “The pieces are coming together.”
When the time in the video of the train caught up with the one on the platform, we watched as the man in the car returned fire. He pulled Christie down, and they had some kind of exchange.
The three of us huddled together, giving the monitor our rapt attention. We were kids watching our first horror movie when our parents finally let us stay up late.
The bearded hombre kept speaking to her even as she tried to move away from him. Something passed between them.
“What is that?” Drew asked.
“Looks like a thumb drive,” Nami said.
We rewound the video a few times, but we couldn’t be certain. I wasn’t sure rewinding was really a thing anymore, was it? It wasn’t like we were watching a tape. Man, I probably should check my mail to see if my first Social Security check had arrived. Maybe I could catch an early-bird dinner soon.
Christie and the bearded man each put earbuds in before storming out of the train. He was dragging her along behind him.
Nami switched the video to the security camera on the platform.
The Man in Black had some kind of a device in his hand.
“That must be what they used to transmit the signal,” Nami said. “That’s scary as shit.”
I had to concur. CAIS had created an encryption system that would supposedly protect our cell phones, but that wouldn’t do anything if a maniac could drive down the street with a megaphone and infect everyone within earshot.
At least that would keep the problem local and stop them from getting an entire city at once. I guessed. Seeing the bright side wasn’t easy when dealing with those jerkweeds.
We continued watching as everyone but the men in suits, Christie, and the bearded wonder all went stiff. The man eventually went down under a barrage of bullets.
Christie escaped and called Drew later.
“Balls.” Nami stopped the video. “Guess we should find her.”
Drew was already punching her number into his phone.
He held it to his ear, listened in silence for almost twenty seconds before cursing and ending the call. “Straight to voice mail.”
“If we found out who she is, then you can bet your ass that Smith can.” I pursed my lips. “They might have her already.”
>
“I don’t know what he handed her, but if it was important enough for Smith’s right-hand man to make an appearance, then it must be something big.” Drew turned to me. “I’ll call down to D.C. P.D. and get some officers to her apartment to see if they can bring her in. You get the team together. We need to head down there in case Smith’s men show. I’ll fill Nelson in and get approval for an op.”
I nodded. My teeth were grinding. “Hopefully, our guys are ready.”
“And girl,” Nami said.
“They better be.” Drew grabbed his jacket. “Time to saddle up.”
15 – Passed Out
Christie lathered shampoo in her hair.
The hot water coming from the showerhead washed over her neck and shoulders. Her muscles slowly relaxed, the tension in them finally washing away. She felt a migraine forming at the base of her skull and working its way up. That often happened during particularly stressful times.
The events of the morning had pushed her further mentally and physically than she’d ever gone before. The migraine would probably be one for the record books. She could only hope that a hot shower and a few ibuprofens would dull some of the sharpness.
She stood in the water until the room had filled with steam and her skin had reddened from the heat.
The chirpy sound of her phone’s ringtone greeted her as she stepped out of the tub. Normally, she would have run through the apartment naked to answer it before the caller hung up. It had always been an oddity of hers—that she hated letting a phone ring.
But today, she was just too tired.
Running anywhere, for anything, would have taken a herculean effort.
After toweling off, she brushed her teeth, pulled on a T-shirt and boxers, and promptly crashed on top of her bed. She didn’t bother to crawl under the covers.
Sleep took her within seconds.
She never heard the commotion breaking out in the streets surrounding her building.
16 – Stressed
Bree sat behind Briggs in the third row of seats in a large SUV. He grinned at her over his shoulder, and then faced forward. She tried to return it, but her jangled nerves made it difficult.
Twenty minutes ago, the big man, the one who claimed he could read people’s minds, had pounded on her door and told her they were going on their first mission.
Bree couldn’t believe it.
Just a few hours ago, she’d been at a shooting range, wondering what would happen with her career in SWAT. Now she was part of a secret search-and-rescue team. If that was what it could even be called.
Truth be told, she didn’t know what she’d gotten herself wrapped up in. They’d given her a legitimate DHS badge. She’d spent part of the morning filling out forms to get a Top Secret security clearance.
They’d outfitted her with an all-black, military-style uniform. She had her rifle and a few dozen rounds of ammunition. A .45 caliber sidearm was holstered around her right thigh.
They each had black ski masks to conceal their identities. Nelson had met all of them outside the building before they’d climbed into the vehicle and warned them to keep their faces hidden at all times. He hammered home what would happen to anyone they knew if that Smith guy found out who they were.
It all seemed incredibly implausible to Bree. How could someone have so much power, have so many moles inside the government, that he could get to almost anyone?
Then again, she thought, these people believe in mind control. We’ll probably have to write a wish list for Santa Claus when we get back. Maybe the stork can bring me a baby when I finally decide to retire.
The pilot of the chopper, whose name she’d just learned was Jack Shea, sat behind the wheel. He’d been with the horribly named Psych Ward the longest. He kept quiet for the most part, only responding to questions with one- or two-word answers.
Bree had found out that he was a former Army Ranger and was now a helicopter pilot. And that was about it. His black hair was short, his face clean-shaven. He had a thin, wiry build.
Huxx sat in the front passenger seat. He didn’t bother talking much either.
Beside the affable Briggs was the asshole Tate. He kept scowling back at Bree.
She agonized over the fact that they were about to do something that would most likely be dangerous, and one of her teammates viewed her with open disdain. Knowing that he had zero confidence in her made her wary of what could happen when bullets started whizzing by.
They sat in silence for the most part. Tate grumbled every so often about the stupidity of sending a team into the field that hadn’t trained together.
On that, they all agreed.
The idea that the field of combat was actually inside America’s borders made Bree queasy. She’d wanted this, yes, but now that it was go time, she’d begun to second-guess herself.
All the men in the SUV were warriors. They were total badasses with dozens of confirmed kills. The missions they’d executed came straight out of Tom Clancy novels.
Bree had only fired her weapon in the line of duty once. She’d killed one man in all of her time with SWAT. Did she really have what was required to run with those guys? She closed her eyes, forced herself to relax.
They wouldn’t have chosen her if she couldn’t hang with the big dogs.
The door beside her opened, and the big man slid onto the seat beside her.
“Ready to go, ladies?” Asher asked. He looked at Manning. “No offense.”
“None taken,” she said in her best I’m-not-scared-shitless voice.
The rest of the crew nodded their affirmation to his question.
“Everyone have their masks and comms?” Asher placed a small earbud in his right ear. The cable snaked down his neck and disappeared under the black body armor he wore.
“Not our first rodeo, boy.” Tate slid his earpiece in as well.
Bree did the same. No sound came out of it yet.
Briggs peered back at Ash. “You were an LT? Army?”
“That’s right.” Ash tapped his temple. “Discharged after I took a little bump on the noggin and started hearing voices. Turns out the Army doesn’t want crazy people running around with automatic rifles.”
“So we have a POG and female cop going to war with us?” Tate asked. “I can’t wait to get shot in the back when one of you blows your assignment.”
“Nobody is sneaking up on you when you’re with me, cupcake.” Ash held an M4, the stock of the rifle sitting on the floor between his legs. He also had a .45 holstered against his leg.
Several pockets of a tactical vest held extra magazines.
Like the rest of them, his facemask sat on the top of his head, not pulled down over his face yet.
Tate grumbled something that they all ignored.
“Where are we going?” Shea asked from behind the wheel.
“Get us on 95 South,” Ash said. “Drew will call in the address shortly.”
Shea put the SUV in gear and drove away from the building. They stopped in front of a gate made of chain-link fence and topped with barbed wire. The gate didn’t move for several seconds before sliding open.
As they pulled out of the compound, Briggs turned around as best he could with all of his gear on. “No one told us exactly what we’re doing.”
“Drew, er, Detective Lloyd, got a call this morning from a woman in D.C. He hasn’t spoken to her yet, but we’ve confirmed that she was in the subway this morning when Smith’s men showed up.” Ash adjusted his vest. “The man who engaged with them passed her something and helped her escape before they put him down. We’re going to her apartment building to grab her and whatever it was that the man gave her.”
“She know we’re coming?” Briggs asked.
“We can’t get ahold of her. We’re hoping that Smith doesn’t have her already. Drew has a few officers heading there now to hold her for us.”
“What if Smith does have her?” Bree asked.
“Then she’s fucked.”
Bree grima
ced. She asked herself for the tenth time what she’d gotten involved in.
Huxx pulled down the visor in front of him and looked at Ash in the mirror. “And if Smith’s men show up while we’re there?”
“Weapons free,” Ash said. “They won’t hesitate to shoot us, so don’t extend them the courtesy.” He looked over at Bree. “The plug in your right ear is the comms. All of you have a second noise-cancelling earbud on the left. We’re hoping it will block the signal that was broadcast this morning. If we encounter Smith’s men, make sure to immediately put the other bud in. I don’t care if you’re engaged at the time or not.”
Bree reached inside her collar with a finger, felt around until she found the bud. She wanted to vomit at the idea of suffering from the effects of that damnable signal.
Benson was watching her. “The last thing you want is to go crazy and start shooting up civilians. Don’t screw around with this.”
“So our asses will just be hanging out in the wind without both of these in, but we won’t be able to hear shit if we’re using them the whole time.” Tate brayed laughter. “It figures.”
“It’s a catch-22,” Asher said. “Nothing we can do it about it right now.”
Bree ran her fingers along the barrel of her rifle. It sat across her lap, its cool steel keeping her somewhat grounded. They drove through the main gate of the post and headed for I-95, the largest highway on the East Coast of the United States.
“Why ain’t we flyin’?” Briggs asked after several minutes of silence.
“All air travel around the capital has been shut down.” A wry smile touched Asher’s lips. “That and I’m not allowed within a mile of the National Mall. Or the Pentagon. Or the NSA.”
“On account of your, umm, mutant powers?” Briggs did everything short of using air quotes to show how little he believed what Ash had said.
Bree wanted to give him a high-five for his skepticism.
“Something like that.” Asher’s grin broadened. “You’ll believe me soon enough.”
As they accelerated onto the highway, the traffic heavy, but moving quickly, Bree felt her heart rate quicken. It would take them a while to get down to the city, but that didn’t calm her nerves.