by David Wood
The commando jerked involuntarily and then went for his weapon. Professor had expected something like this, and despite the chemicals clogging up his central nervous system, he was reacting even as the man started moving. He flicked the fire selector toggle to full automatic and pulled the trigger. The compact weapon shuddered faintly in his grasp, the suppressor and the distant jet engine roar masking the sound of the multiple discharges, but the commando went down twitching. Professor released the trigger and thrust the pistol against the woman’s neck. There was a faint sizzle as the hot metal branded her flesh.
“Who are you? Your real name. It’s not Carrera and it sure as hell isn’t Jade.”
The woman started to struggle in his grasp, and given his physical condition, he doubted he would be able to restrain her much longer, so he screwed the suppressor in tighter. “That was me asking nicely,” he growled. “Who are you?”
She grunted and lifted her hands in a show of surrender. “You win.”
“Name.”
She was silent for a moment, then finally said: “Eve.”
“Sure it is. That’s two strikes. You don’t want a third.”
“We don’t use names, okay?” Her tone, both frantic and exasperated, made him think she might be telling the truth. A name—any name—would have helped him establish her nationality, and perhaps reveal the true origins of the Changeling conspiracy, but he had more important questions. “Fine. Eve it is. But you’ve still got two strikes. Do not—” He jammed the MP5S against her again for emphasis. “—lie to me again.”
She nodded.
“That’s more like it,” he said. “First question. Why this charade? What’s changed?”
“Just like I told you. We sent your replacement. Your woman didn’t buy it. She ran. We lost track of her. We need to know what she’s going to do next.”
“How does this phony rescue help you with that?”
“You know her better than anyone.”
Professor laughed despite himself. Evidently his performance had been very convincing, but even he couldn’t predict what Jade might do in such a situation. “You thought she might pull off a stunt like this. Organize a rescue mission.”
A slight nod. “It was a possibility we couldn’t ignore.”
“And my double? Did she really capture him?”
Eve shook her head. “She gave him the slip.”
“Then how would she know where to look for me?”
Eve shrugged. “She’s resourceful. We can’t take any chances.”
The noise of the jet engines seemed to reach a climax, and then settled into a low rumble. “You really are bugging out, aren’t you?”
“Like I said. We can’t take any chances.”
“You’re going to ditch the plane.”
Eve said nothing.
“That was always the plan. Ditch the plane somewhere in the middle of the ocean, where nobody’s looking. Then in a few months, or a few years, some debris will wash up on a beach somewhere and everyone will say ‘mystery solved.’” He shook her. “And the passengers? Are they aboard?”
No answer.
He pulled her head close, shouted in her ear. “You’re going to murder them all?”
The distant aircraft engines abruptly grew louder again. The noise built to a fever pitch and then the tone changed, dopplering away to nothing. The aircraft had just taken off.
“Looks like you missed your flight,” Eve remarked.
Professor gave her a tooth-rattling shake and pushed the machine pistol into her neck so hard that her knees buckled. “Call them back.”
“Can’t. Couldn’t even if I wanted to. Radios are disabled.”
“Find a way,” he shouted. “Call them back or I swear to God, I will execute you.”
For a moment, Eve was silent. Then she said, “You think he’ll really do it?”
“Who are you—?”
The dead commando abruptly sat up. “I actually think he might.”
Professor’s reaction was immediate, outpacing the part of his brain that struggled to process this unexpected twist. He pulled the trigger.
The pistol clicked and shuddered just as it had before. There was even a whiff of burnt gunpowder in the air, but he knew that Eve was uninjured. The weapon was loaded with blanks. The suppressor, which was already designed to absorb most of the gas and energy from a gunpowder explosion, had been further modified to ensure that even a close-range discharge would produce no harmful effects.
Another deception.
Even as he processed this, he felt the woman twisting out of his grip. He swiped the machine pistol at the place where her head had been, but she ducked away, and then lashed out with her fist, striking him in the solar plexus. Professor dropped to his knees, his breath gone, his grasp on consciousness slipping.
“No!”
The denial was like a war cry. He threw himself at her, flailing, and somehow succeeded in knocking her off her feet. The ferocity of his attack took not only Eve by surprise but the ersatz commando as well. The man brought his machine pistol up, either an act of desperation or yet another attempt to bluff Professor into submission, but Professor paid it no heed. He hurled himself across the room, swinging his captured MP5 like an axe, driving it straight down at the man’s head. There was a sickening crunch as the gun’s solid metal frame made contact. The gun was torn from Professor’s hands by the severity of the impact, but he made no effort to retrieve it. Instead, he pushed away from the unmoving man and rushed the still disoriented Eve a second time.
She was on hands and knees, crawling away from him, but there was nowhere for her to go. He caught up to her and grabbed hold of her collar again, heaving her to her feet. She fought, but he was ready this time. He lashed out with one foot, jamming it into the side of her knee. Cartilage and tendons popped and her leg buckled, leaving her without the leverage to resist. She howled in agony, and this time it was no act. He slammed her to the floor and planted one knee in her back, silencing her cries.
“Enough!” he shouted.
In the silence that followed, he could hear blood rushing though his veins, pounding in his head. The bottle of primal fury he had uncorked for this burst of energy was spent, a shot of nitrous oxide that had redlined his engine and left him dangerously overheated. If Eve’s confederates were lurking outside, he would be helpless to resist. No one came in though, and as the seconds ticked away and the head rush gradually subsided, he realized that no one would.
He took a deep breath, then another. When he was able to speak in a steady voice, he leaned close to Eve. “I suppose you would rather die than tell me anything, right?”
A low groan was the only reply.
“That’s what I thought. Happy to oblige you.”
“You won’t,” she rasped. “I know you. You’re not a killer.”
Professor did not miss the note of desperation in her tone. “You don’t know anything about me.” He put his hands around her neck.
“Wait—”
The rest of her plea was choked off, but after a couple seconds, he relented. “Something else you wanted to say?”
She managed a hoarse laugh. “See. I knew it. As long as there’s a chance that I can help you save the people on that plane, you won’t do it.”
There was a measure of truth in what she said, but he did not miss the subtext. “They’re already dead though, aren’t they?”
“You can threaten all you want, but it’s too late to save them. If you kill me, it’s cold-blooded—”
He tightened his grip again, held it until she started thrashing. Her arms curled back, fingers clawing at the floor.
“I can live with that,” he whispered in her ear. “It’s not like your face will haunt me. I don’t even know what you really look like.”
Her struggles continued, growing more frantic with each passing second and then she abruptly went limp. Professor waited a moment longer then let go and flipped her onto her side, into the recovery positi
on. He massaged her neck for a moment to stimulate the flow of blood in the arteries and then felt for a pulse. Her heart was still beating out a rabbit-fast rhythm. He shook her until she drew a single gasping breath, then rolled her over, face down again. Before she could even begin to recover her wits, he drew her tactical vest down halfway, pulling her elbows together behind her back, and then cinched the straps to form a makeshift restraint system.
While it had never been his intention to actually kill her, his rationale had nothing to do with pity, weakness or even an antiquated notion of chivalry. He did not doubt that it was already too late for the passengers of Flight 815. Even if they were still alive aboard the plane—something he seriously doubted—he was out of options for calling the aircraft back. The only thing he could hope to accomplish now was to expose the Changelings, find out just how deep their conspiracy went, and maybe prevent a similar catastrophe. To do that, he needed a live prisoner, not a corpse.
He did a quick pat down, searching Eve’s pockets for useful gear or anything she might be able to use as a weapon if she got free. The magazines held only blanks but he removed them from their pouches and tossed them aside, along with the grenades which were almost certainly duds but had enough heft to be dangerous if thrown or used as a bludgeon. There was a capped syringe in one of her pockets, probably containing a dose of the tranquilizer the Changelings were so fond of using. He slipped it into his own pocket and then moved over to check on the commando. The man was truly dead this time; there was no way to fake a crushed skull. Professor did not bother with the phony combat load, but searched the man’s pockets for anything that might shed light on his identity. There was nothing, save for another syringe which Professor added to his inventory.
Eve was semi-conscious, staring at him through heavily lidded eyes, but she neither moved nor spoke as he scooped her into his arms and then heaved her onto one of his shoulders. The effects of the narcotic seemed to be easing, which meant that either it was nearly out of his system or his body was developing a tolerance for it, but he moved cautiously, as wary of a relapse as he was running into more Changelings. As he approached the door however, he was filled with a new sense of urgency. Waves of heat were radiating off the door, and the smell of wood smoke was creeping into the cabin.
Eve’s accomplice had not been speaking figuratively when he had warned her that things were about to heat up. They’re burning it all down.
TWENTY-TWO
Professor pushed the door open, careful to avoid the blast of super-heated air that rushed in, and was met by a wall of fire. The entire north end of the camp was in flames, the orange radiance so bright that he was unsure whether it was day or night. The conflagration had already reached the row of cabins directly in front of him. Nevertheless, he edged out and skirted along the front of his cabin and rounded the corner. There were a few isolated fires to the south, but for the most part the route was clear. He surmised that the Changelings had set the fire as soon as the plane was in the air, or more probably, just before taking off. Eve’s accomplice hadn’t been exaggerating about the need to hurry.
He wondered if they had actually intended to put him on the aircraft at all. That seemed unlikely since it had not waited around, but it also meant that they had arranged some other means of escaping the fires, which had probably been set to erase all traces of the Changeling camp. Judging by the height of the towering flames, the fire was not merely consuming the ramshackle cabins, but also the forest beyond, and maybe even the town on the far side of the hill—a literal scorched earth retreat.
He quickened his step to a steady jog, running down the narrow alley between the cabins and away from the approaching firestorm, until he reached the southern edge of the camp. There, just fifty yards from where he emerged, he saw something that had not been there during his earlier explorations. A parked SUV.
With some distance between himself and the fire, he saw that it was nighttime, and while the orange glow of the flames provided more than enough light by which to see, the cabins cast nearly impenetrable shadows over the vehicle. He observed it for a few seconds to make sure there was no one lurking nearby and then crossed to it. It was unlocked and the key was in the ignition, so he dumped Eve into the passenger seat, checking to make sure that her bonds were still tight, then turned the key.
The headlights revealed a pattern of parallel grooves in the earth, the tire imprints from a small convoy of off-road vehicles, which converged into a trail that led away to the south. The tire tracks were fresh. Trace evidence of a recent evacuation. He followed the tracks, keeping the SUV moving at a crawl through the rough unfamiliar terrain.
He glanced over at Eve and was surprised to find her staring back at him with eyes full of hate. There was something that looked like a flap of skin—still streaked with camouflage paint—hanging from her face, and under it, another layer of smooth unmarked skin. He considered tearing away the latex simulacrum of Jade’s face to reveal Eve’s true countenance, but decided the unmasking could wait until they were in a more secure environment. Besides, the Changeling’s true face was the least of her secrets that he wanted to know.
“Feeling talkative yet?”
She continued glowering.
“That’s okay. I’ve figured some of this out for myself already. You know how you observe your targets, learning all the little details in order to create a perfect duplicate?” He laughed. “Well, maybe not perfect. But it’s a little like being an FBI profiler. Studying behavior, reading the clues, and putting it all together. While you were observing me, I was observing you. Here’s what I came up with.
“You’ve been at this for a while. Decades. Maybe longer.” He noticed a slight eye-twitch. Okay, definitely longer, he thought. I’ll come back to that. “You’re skilled at the art of illusion. Not just masks and imitating people, but creating elaborate scenarios to manipulate us. Like that fake rescue scene. You could have doped me up with truth serum and asked me anything, but instead you tried to con me into giving up the information. Playacting is like a compulsion for you. A pathological need.”
Eve maintained her stony silence. Professor looked away, allowing the accusation to sink in for a few seconds while he negotiated the narrow trail that wound through the trees.
“I guess it only makes sense. If you’ve got a particular talent or ability, naturally you’d see everything as a problem to be solved in those terms. Like that old saying, when you’re a hammer, every problem looks like a nail. That’s how I can tell that you aren’t working for a national intelligence service.”
She looked up suddenly, evincing surprise at the statement, and inadvertently confirming his statement.
Professor grinned. “A trained spy uses the best methods available to complete a mission. A confidence artist only knows how to run a scam. Now, you’re probably wondering why I’m going on about this. Here’s the thing. Spies are also trained in how to resist interrogation methods. And they know that, no matter how tough they are, if captured, they will eventually break. I’m telling you this so that you know what’s in store for you. You’ve probably heard about ‘enhanced interrogation’ techniques? Those are fun, though they aren’t much good against trained assets. You on the other hand…” He shook his head gravely.
Eve sneered. “It doesn’t matter. Even if I told you everything, you would not live long enough to share it. We are everywhere. We don’t work for some pitiful government agency. We are the governments. We are everywhere. You think we’ve been doing this for a few years? Try a few millennia. We’re everywhere. We’ve always been everywhere.”
Professor listened carefully to her rant and decided that she was telling the truth, or at least what she believed to be the truth, but he shook his head. “Nice try. I hope you can come up with something better than that when I’m pouring a gallon of water down your throat.”
She gave a disdainful snort and turned her head to avoid his gaze. “You wanted the truth. The truth is that there is not a soul on t
his earth you can trust.”
“Then indulge me. Answer my questions. Why take the plane? Why kill Roche? If you’re as powerful as all that, what difference does one crazy guy make?” When she did not respond, he asked one more question. “Why go after Jade?”
Even as he uttered the words, he realized that he had been looking at everything wrong. He thought back to the meeting with Roche, moments before his life had been snuffed out. He had asked the conspiracy theorist a similar question.
Why bring this to Jade?
And Jade had said, You think I can find proof that Phantom Time is real?
Roche had died before answering the question.
“You think Jade is going to find something.” He watched for a reaction, but this time, the Changeling woman maintained a steady poker face. “What? Something to do with Phantom Time?”
He thought he saw a faint glimmer of amusement in her eyes. Okay, not Phantom Time. What then? “Well, you’re right to be worried. Jade can be a regular bulldog when she puts her mind to something, but I guess you’re already figuring that out.”
“It’s not for you.”
Eve spoke so softly that it took him a moment to comprehend what she had said.
“What? What’s not for me?”
She did not answer and he had to turn his full attention back to the matter of driving as the trees thinned and the trail dipped down into a drainage ditch before rising back up to a dirt road. He down-shifted and engaged the four-wheel drive low range, then eased down the embankment. The vehicle nosed down so steeply that he had to make a conscious effort not to take his foot off the accelerator and brace himself to keep from falling. The SUV’s front bumper scraped the bottom of the ditch for a moment, then the vehicle tilted up and it was all he could do to keep his foot on the gas pedal.
When the vehicle was finally level again he turned to Eve. “Will you at least tell me which way to go?”
“That depends on where you’re going.”
“How about we go join the rest of your friends? I’m game if you are.”