"Adam," the officer said with a sly smile, and Adam couldn't believe it. The officer walked toward him, removing his gun from its holster and holding it inside his jacket. The smile on his face was a predatory smile, as if he'd just cornered his prey and was moving in for the kill.
The cop was one of them. He was working with the soldiers. Then Adam remembered the words spoken through the radio of the soldiers who'd almost found him.
call in the clean up crew...
Maybe this was that crew? But they were cops and firefighters! Adam wanted to curl into a ball and just dismiss all of this as some twisted nightmare. He wanted to be with Mae again, to save her from being taken. He wanted to escape this place, to run away, but the pain throbbing in his body was too much, and he just didn't have the energy.
I'm going to die, he thought, and it made him sad to think that. But he had known better than to get too involved with Mae. Even years ago, nothing good had come from knowing her.
The officer held out the hand that wasn't clutching the gun, and made as if to embrace him. Adam saw the officer remove the gun from under his coat, pointing the barrel at him as he drew closer, but using his body to block anyone from seeing it.
"Who are you?" Adam croaked, almost screaming. "What more do you want?"
The officer reached around Adam and pulled him close. Adam felt the gun pressed into his chest, sticking in his ribs, and he did the only thing he could think of. He collapsed to the ground in a heap and wailed.
His fall surprised the officer, who tried to catch him, but was too late. Adam hit the pavement and caught the attention of a paramedic.
"We've got a live one!" she screamed and rushed to his side. She pushed between him and the police officer, never noticing the gun. Another paramedic came, and it all became a blur of light and sound.
"What's your name, bud?" the first paramedic asked. His head lolled, but he managed to mumble his name.
"Adam."
"Well, Adam, looks like you had some excitement here tonight."
He laughed, but his laugh turned into a cough.
"Understatement, huh?" she asked, listening to the sounds in his chest. "Just lie still, ‘kay?"
Adam nodded and could feel her hands on his body. He absently heard her speaking to another medic who jotted notes on a clipboard.
Streams of water sprayed the flames, and the smoke and snowflakes mingled in the sky. People were running and shouting as the paramedics worked on him, ripping his shirt away and pressing hard on the wound in his shoulder. He watched the police officer who'd wanted to kill him disappear into the crowd—yes, he was sure of that now—the officer had wanted to finish what the soldiers had started. But the police? The thought that the police were somehow involved in what had happened to Mae terrified him.
Someone close by was talking about the tanks of heating oil, how they'd caught fire and exploded. Adam looked back to his wrecked car and saw the police officer who'd wanted to kill him pulling the body of the soldier from the car and zipping him into a black body bag. He watched as a van that had SWAT marked in big white letters along the side pulled to a stop near the cop and the body of the soldier. The driver climbed out and helped the cop with the body. No one was looking at them. No one noticed them.
"Hey!" he shouted and pointed. The female paramedic gently lowered his arm and continued working on his shoulder, finishing the bandaging and checking for more bleeding. Adam couldn't stop shivering.
"He's in shock and hypothermic."
The driver got back inside the SWAT van and it pulled away slowly. Adam's teeth began to chatter, and his muscles ached from the constant shivers that racked his body.
Shouts came from the house, and with immense effort Adam turned to see firemen exiting the house and yelling for help. They were carrying a body between them on the stretcher.
It was Ryan, Adam thought, had to be. He tried to think back if he'd seen Ryan being taken from the house with Mae, and he didn't think so.
"He's alive!" one of them shouted, and medics swarmed as they placed him in the back of an ambulance.
Adam started to get up, but the paramedics pushed him back to the pavement. He struggled against their hands, trying to get to his feet.
"You've got to lay still, just for a minute longer," the paramedic said.
"With him," Adam said, pointing to the ambulance with Ryan, his arm trembling.
"Get him in," the paramedic said, nodding toward the ambulance. She stayed, holding his arm. It felt like he was floating when they lifted him from the ground. His body was racked with shivers so intense that his bones hurt. His vision blurred, and he just wanted to go to sleep.
"Hang in there, buddy," she said, patting his good shoulder. He thought it was Mae standing beside him, and he smiled. She was safe, so he was safe. The world grew fuzzy and dark and he just wanted to sleep.
Chapter Nine
The door to ANONX^17's apartment cracked down the middle with the force of the mobile battering ram, and the pounding echoed through the tiny apartment. Less than a second later, the ram slammed into the door again, and it exploded inward along the crack. Splinters of wood skittered across the hardwood floors, then the apartment fell silent once again. Looking through the dust, three figures stood at the entrance to the apartment, weapons raised and red lasers of light extending from their muzzles pointed inside. Each was wearing a pair of military grade night vision goggles, pulled on over black ski masks that covered their skin entirely.
One of the figures, a man named Jay Sorenson to his friends and family but known only as the Sergeant to his squadron, pointed forward and motioned both right and left. The two on either side of him stepped through the broken door and into the kitchen and living room while the Sergeant covered them from behind. The apartment was dark, except for a soft glow from the bank of computer screens along one wall of the living room. Otherwise, there was no furniture, and there were not many places where someone could hide.
Together the soldiers searched every nook and corner in the small area, then moved down the hallway toward the bedrooms as the Sergeant entered the apartment. Pieces of wood cracked under his boots as he stepped lightly into the living room, focused on the computers.
Earlier that day, their orders had been sent via a scrambled text to their phones. The Sergeant had been enjoying an afternoon barbecue with his young family and the family from across the street. He had been standing at the grill, flipping burgers, when the text had come through on his work phone. After the several seconds it took to decrypt the message, he turned around to the group gathered around the swimming pool.
"Something has come up at work," he had said, handing the grill tongs to his neighbor. "You mind taking over on the burgers? I've got to run."
He'd left them there on the patio, but his wife followed him inside, demanding to know what was so important as to interrupt their weekend together.
"It's work, babe," he'd said, landing a quick kiss on the corner of her mouth.
"Do you have to go?"
He shrugged as he pulled an already packed overnight bag from the closet. He kissed her again and whispered into her ear that he loved her.
"Give the kids a hug and kiss for me. I can't imagine being gone for more than a few days."
Sorenson tossed his overnight bag into the passenger seat of his sports car and drove away. That's how it was in his line of work. When the orders came through, he was expected to drop everything and report. His wife thought he worked for the United States Drug Enforcement Agency on covert operations. Although the line of work was similar, he had very little to do with the U.S. government. But it was a good cover, and it kept his family from asking too many questions.
Now, it seemed like a thousand years ago that he had been enjoying his sunny patio, the sounds of the kids splashing in the pool, and the smoky aroma of meat on the grill. Now he was sweating in his combat gear, despite the cold, and wondering why his orders had not been accurate. As always, the orders h
ad been exact, down to the minute at which they would enter the apartment and the amount of time they could spend inside. The girl would be alone, by her computer, and should be killed without hesitation, cleanly and quietly. The orders were very explicit, however, that the computer memory drivers were to remain unscathed. All drives, discs, tablets or other devices were to be retrieved.
But the girl was not at the computer, as the orders had indicated she would be, and that was the first red flag. The apartment was dark and appeared empty, which raised a second red flag. The elimination of the girl was carefully orchestrated to coincide with elimination of another hacker in a different location, but if either one of them had realized what was going on, the plan would be ruined.
"First bedroom, clear," Lieutenant Reed said. She was the only woman on his team, and she earned her keep. Thought not built specifically for hard combat, Reed was a remorseless and poisonous snake. Perfect for this kind of job.
"Second bedroom is also clear," Lieutenant Bloom echoed. Bloom was a convicted killer, plucked from the system only days before he was to be executed for his past misdeeds. Given a new chance at life, Bloom gladly accepted the role as muscle in their little outfit. They weren't military per se, but because most of the soldiers had been trained with the military, they kept the basic structure. The Sergeant headed up their crew and was the direct contact with the higher-ups in an organization they knew next to nothing about. But they didn't need to know anything. As long as the job got done without any questions, the deposits to their bank accounts kept coming.
"Both bedrooms clear, Sarge. She's not here," Reed said through the radio. Both she and Bloom joined the Sergeant in the living room, where they stood in front of the bank of computers.
"Check the windows, make sure all exits are secure," the Sergeant said, and began rifling through the computer equipment on the table. It only took a few seconds to realize that there was nothing there besides USB cables, a couple of Bluetooth keyboards, track pads and an external disk drive. He prodded beneath the computer table with the barrel of his rifle but knew there wasn't enough space for the girl to hide.
Then where was she? The girl must have known they were coming. He crossed to the window in the living room. It was open just a crack, and he could feel the cold air pressing in. He set his gun on the windowsill and lifted the glass, allowing more of the cold winter air to blow inside. The Sergeant stuck his head out of the apartment and looked down. There was a ledge just under the window, but beyond that was a three story drop to the pavement below. A drop like that would have hurt the girl badly, and he doubted she would have been able to keep moving. The ledge was clear on either side of the window, but disappeared around the corner of the building. He pulled back into the apartment and saw a window that would open on the other side of the corner.
"The apartment is clear," Bloom said over the radio, and his tone was final. "There is no one else in the apartment."
"She was here," the Sergeant said, and he heard a clatter on the pavement below. "She can't have gone far."
He stuck his head out the window again and looked down at the concrete. He saw bits and pieces of something that had fallen and shattered, but because it was still too dark, he wasn't able to make out what it was. He was sure that it hadn't been there before.
The Sergeant caught movement from the corner of his eye, coming on the ledge from around the corner. He jerked toward the movement, and instinctively pulled back inside the apartment. His hunch had been right—she'd been waiting for him on the ledge beyond the corner of the building. As he pulled inside, a dark shape swung at him. He lifted his gun and pointed it at the girl, but it was too late. A heavy boot kicked him in the face, and he sprawled backwards into the apartment, dropping his gun. The figure swung through the window clumsily, almost falling herself, then jumping down from the windowsill and rushing him.
"Reed, Bloom!" the Sergeant yelled as she swung the bag she was carrying at his head. It crunched against his face and knocked the goggles askew. The sudden change from the green glare of the night vision was disorienting, but the Sergeant recovered quickly, scissor kicking at the girl's legs and knocking her on top of him. She grunted as she fell, but drove her knee into his groin. Pain exploded throughout his body and he doubled over.
Reed and Bloom pounded down the hallway, rushing toward them. He felt a tug on his Kevlar vest as the girl snatched one of the grenades clipped to his belt and lobbed it down the hallway. He swung his fist punching the girl in the face, and she let out a scream and scrambled to her feet. He grabbed her leg and pulled her back to the ground. He pressed hard on her Achilles tendon and she screamed.
The grenade rolled against the hardwood floor and came to a stop in the middle of the hallway. Reed noticed it first and backed away, but Bloom was too late. The apartment rocked with the bright and deafening explosion of the percussion grenade. Bloom was thrown against the wall and fell to the ground, and would have died, but for his body armor and helmet.
The girl kicked at the Sergeant's hold on her, again connecting with his face. He let go and she darted toward the kitchen.
Reed was the first to recover from the grenade. She shouldered her rifle and fired off three quick shots at the figure fleeing in the dark. The first two shots missed, the bullets punching a hole in the refrigerator and blowing away one of the kitchen cabinets. The third bullet clipped the girl on the shoulder, throwing her into the wall. She stumbled through the doorway and disappeared.
The Sergeant climbed to his feet, retrieving his rifle as he stood. He was seethed with anger and humiliation. She'd surprised him, and they had failed in their mission. Correction, they hadn't failed yet.
How had she known they were coming? Who tipped her off? The questions screamed in his mind. But none of that mattered. They had a mission to do, and she needed to be killed.
"Get her," he said through gritted teeth. Reed and Bloom left the apartment, tearing down the hallway with their guns raised.
Chapter Ten
Harrison ended the call with Dr. Whaler and stood at the floor-to-ceiling window that lined the wall of his office. He reflected on what the good doctor had told him. Apparently his subject had grown up, and with her increase in age came an increase in her abilities. He wondered if the girl's mother had had anything to do with that. Maybe they'd practiced and honed her ability.
No matter. The mother was dead, and the girl was once again his and on her way to realize the full potential of what she could be, what she would be to the world. The reporter had been right with his story about the attack in Miami.
A bomb without a bomb, he'd so aptly called it, and in reality had no idea how close to the truth he really was. But the girl was more than a bomb—she was unidentifiable chaos. She was nameless destruction. And she belonged to him. To Il Contionum.
He studied the high, snow capped cliffs that glowed in the moonlight against the clear night sky and watched the fallen snow swirl in gusts of wind that blew through the rocks. The cliffs rose all around him, surrounding the luxury hotel set deep within the Rocky Mountains of Colorado like a fortress against the outside world. Harrison looked past the jagged cliffs and stared at the Carina-Sagittarius Arm of the Milky Way. Once again, he noted how the sky and the stars looked so much clearer and closer at the higher altitude.
Harrison enjoyed watching stars and the movement of the universe around him. Innumerable galaxies and stars spread across an unknowable expanse of space in the pastiche of chaos. He thought about the violent and explosive beginnings of stars, birthing from giant clouds of hydrogen and helium, then collapsing inward on their own gravitational pull. Heat and pressure compounded in the imploding material until the atomic nuclei fused, igniting the star in a burst of heat and light. The same process happened countless times over and over in the ever-expanding universe, and the result was something beautiful beyond human comprehension—the perfect example of order from chaos and of the nature of the universe. Always chaos before order and bea
uty. Savage destruction and devastating violence before the brushstrokes of creation began taking shape.
Harrison shivered despite the warmth in his room, feeling those tingles of overwhelming awe spread through him as he studied the ordered chaos of the universe and considered his own place in random creation. A meaningless speck on an insignificant rock, yet he existed, and the world existed. From somewhere deep in the cosmos, something had sparked the chain of events that set the earth in motion, extracting order and life from chaos.
Despite the knowledge of humankind's paltry existence on a random rock, Harrison was not dissuaded in the magnitude of his mission at the upcoming Summit. The world would be changed, and Mae was the catalyst for that change. A godman—woman—in her own right.
He knew that nothing he did would affect the grand scheme of the ordered chaos, but his mission was to bring a piece of the universe's beauty to the world. He was a creator, using the same tools that nature used to forge the beauties of the universe.
And it was just so exciting.
Usually, when he had the opportunity to study the sky on a night as clear as this one, he would take full advantage by using his Ritchey-Chrétien telescope to study and photograph the violent cosmos, but not tonight. He had work to do, and plans to set in motion.
He lingered for a few seconds more, peering into the clear night sky, the color of deep ocean, speckled with light. That brilliant orb above the high mountains, the unfolding heavens. After several moments, he returned to his desk and the matters at hand. He opened his leather attaché and removed a legal pad, setting it in front of the two computer monitors. He typed a command, and a map appeared on one monitor, depicting the location of Dr. Whaler's convoy. They were still in New York, not far from where they'd apprehended the girl, and the status indicated that they were refueling before continuing their jaunt eastward to the Rocky Mountains.
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