Brink of Dawn (A Chosen Novel Book 2)

by Jeff Altabef

I shrug. “I’m not sure, but I feel it could be soon.”

  Stuart tugs on his beard. “You saw images when you touched the crystal tablet?”

  “Yeah, so?”

  “That’s just a bit odd. Those computers are geared to receive only Alphian brainwaves. If I touched one, nothing would happen. I’m surprised, yes, yes, more than a little surprised that it responded to your touch.”

  “The swords work when we touch them,” says Akari.

  “True, true, but they were specially calibrated for your... your uniquely twisted DNA.”

  Heat flushes my face. I don’t like the look on everyone’s face, as if I’m some type of traitor. “It didn’t work. Not really. I felt a shock and saw a few images. It probably would have happened to any of you guys.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” says Connor. “At least we have a lead now. We know where there’s a Deltite. He could lead us to this Gagarin we need to find.”

  Stuart leans forward on his elbows. “No, no, that would be highly unadvisable. We need to surprise the Prime Elector. This Deltite will know you are nearby because of your unusual signature. Our element of surprise will be ruined and without that....” He frowns and places his hands on the table palm down, his unspoken meaning clear.

  We’ll all die.

  “Signature?” asks Troy.

  “Yes, yes, all living animals have a unique electrical signature, like a fingerprint, but each species gives off a distinct signal. For example, an Alphian can tell all horses just by the signature, and an adept one could identify a specific horse if he is acquainted with that animal.”

  “So we won’t be able to sneak up on the bugger. This cock-up just gets better and better.” Connor smolders.

  “You’ll be able to surprise them for a few moments. That’s our window. It takes time for the Alphian mind to sort though all the life forms around them. If they don’t expect you, they won’t look for you—and that, my twisted friends, is our best chance.” He shoves the last pastry into his mouth. His fluffy cheeks jiggle as he munches the dessert like a squirrel eating a handful of acorns.

  A trumpet blares from Blake’s computer, and I jump.

  “What’s that?” asks Sydney.

  Blake beams. We’ve got a hit for Gagarin’s friend. “His name is Peter Smyth. He’s a Senior Vice President at Swiss Bank.”

  “How does that help us?” asks Troy.

  “Well, I have a plan.” Blake takes his time and stares at everyone before speaking. “But it isn’t an easy one.”

  Gagarin sits alone at a long oak table in a dark windowless room. Light from two tall candles dances across the porcelain plate and crystal wine glass in front of him. He lifts the glass, swirls the Malbec inside, and stares intensely at the heavy liquid coating the crystal sides. After he takes a sip, he lifts a silver knife and fork.

  Before Caleb has a chance to knock on the door, Alex opens it with his mind. He studies the young Deltite as he marches toward him, and knows instinctively that his charge has bad news to report. The young man’s hesitant strides and downcast eyes give him away.

  He stops a few feet from Gagarin and refuses to look at him.

  “Another unexpected visit? My, we are making a habit of these interruptions. What difficulties have you run into this time?”

  Caleb reluctantly lifts his eyes to meet Gagarin’s. “There’s been a break-in at the townhouse on the Upper East Side.”

  Gagarin gently places his utensils on the plate and leans back in his chair. He speaks through gritted teeth, each word slow and rich with tension. “Did they discover the laboratory in the basement?”

  Caleb nods, looks down at his feet and talks into his chest. “One of the vials of our brainwashing drug was taken. But there’s no way they could possibly know what the drug is or what it does.”

  Gagarin steadies his breathing with effort. Steam threatens to escape through his ears, but he wants to stay in control, at least for a little while longer. “And you know who broke in, right? I can tell by your expression.”

  He recognizes the fear in Caleb’s eyes, which could mean only one thing, so he guesses. “One of the hybrids discovered the townhouse, broke in and stole a vial—all because of your carelessness!”

  “I-I don’t understand how she could have found the townhouse. But the video camera caught her on tape and she wasn’t alone.”

  Spit flies from Gagarin’s mouth. “She? Is this the one from Arizona? This Juliet Wildfire Stone who killed Damien! The hybrid he believed to be the Alpha!”

  “That’s the one, but she wasn’t alone.” Caleb stiffens his back. “She brought two other guys, one Native American and one African American. They avoided the video camera by the door, but failed to realize we had another one hidden in the front hallway.”

  Gagarin rubs his smooth head. “We need to find out who these friends are. Put our best people on it. I want them both dead. We can’t afford any loose ends. We will have to kill them and all their acquaintances.”

  “That won’t be a problem, but what about the hybrids? I can take care of them now. Maybe it would be best to eliminate them.”

  “No!” Gagarin pounds the table; his plate jumps and wine sloshes inside his glass. He takes a deep breath and hesitates for a few moments, and does his best not to explode. Eventually, when he feels his temper subside, he lifts his knife and fork and studies his plate. His voice sounds calm and measured. “Where’s Bailey? Are we ready to proceed with our plan for the drug?”

  “Yes, she estimates the mortality rate for the latest version to be twenty-five percent. She’s at the lab in Westchester now and tells me it’s proven to be highly effective. We should have enough made by tomorrow to dump into the water supply.”

  “I’m happy she’s performing to expectations. The cell towers are properly programmed. Once the water’s been contaminated we can send out the pilot signals and test the drug on the entire city. When our little experiment succeeds, we will have a compelling case to take to our leader. He will have no choice but to pick Earth for our next conquest. The other targets will be forgotten, and I will have my victory. I will succeed. We will be one step closer to Alpha, and my glory will have no bounds.”

  “Yes, but how shall we handle the hybrids?”

  Gagarin slices into the meat on his plate. “Have you ever eaten alligator?” He glances at the four-foot alligator pacing in the cage on the floor behind him. The cage isn’t made from steel. It is infinitely stronger—made from pure energy from his mind.

  When Caleb shakes his head, Gagarin says, “You must try it. The animal is a natural born killer. You can taste its power through the blood.” He nods to the table. “Lay your left hand flat on the table by my plate.”

  “My hand?”

  “Yes, just place it flat on the table.” Gagarin could force Caleb’s hand to the table if he used telekinesis, but he’d rather have Caleb lay it down voluntarily.

  Caleb shuffles forward and places his palm on the table, fingers spread wide. Fear flickers behind his eyes and the thin line made by his lips.

  Gagarin swallows a large chunk of meat. “You don’t have to worry about the hybrids. I have a plan—a poetic plan that will give me great pleasure to carry out. It’s already in motion. When your services are needed I will let you know.”

  Caleb nods.

  Without warning, he jabs the knife into Caleb’s hand.

  Thunk!

  The blade pierces the flesh.

  Caleb screeches, but Gagarin jammed the blade so hard it punctured the table, so Caleb can’t move his hand away.

  “Fail me again and I’ll cut it off!”

  “Here’s what I’m thinking.” Blake pushes his laptop away from him, looking relieved his computer investigation panned out and that he didn’t finish last in another race. “Antiterrorist laws require every bank to know who owns and runs the companies they do business with. They need to have information about the key people—who they are, where they live, etc.”

 
“So bloody Swiss Bank knows where Gagarin lives.” Connor takes another healthy gulp from his vodka-filled water bottle. His impatience level climbs with each drink, as he grips the plastic bottle harder and takes bigger gulps than he had before. “How do we extract the bloody information out of these buggers?”

  “Peter Smyth is the key. According to their website, he’s an investment banker who handles private equity companies like Stellar. He became a Senior Vice President ten years ago just when Stellar first showed up. I bet that’s not a coincidence. He has to be the connection between Swiss Bank and Stellar. He’ll have info about Alex Gagarin, including where he lives. No one messes with these laws. They could get serious jail time.”

  Akari finally gives up her vigil over Blake’s shoulder and settles into the seat next to him. “So we grab him and make him tell us where Gagarin lives. Bankers are wimps. I’ll crack him in no time.” She cracks her knuckles, grins, and leans forward with an eager gleam in her eyes.

  “That could work,” smiles Blake. “It’s a little Neanderthal, and Smyth’s apparently in Europe meeting with clients, so that would take some time.”

  “Too long,” I say. “We don’t have that kind of time. Traveling to Europe and finding Smyth would take a week. They’ll have poisoned the City’s water by then, and millions of people would die.” I have an idea that could work though. “I bet Swiss Bank has a branch in the City. They probably keep that information on their computers here somewhere.”

  The switch goes on and Blake’s face lights up as he speaks loud and rushed. “Smyth has an office on Madison and 23rd in their main US building. He’ll keep all his most sensitive stuff on the computer in his office. All we need to do is access his desktop and clone it on a flash drive. Once we have the drive we’ll find some email or other document that’ll tell us where Gagarin lives.”

  “How do we clone his desktop?” asks Troy.

  Blake turns a light shade of pink and fiddles with his computer. “Well, I had a slight problem last year in honors Chem. My teacher kept all her tests on her laptop and she had a sloppy habit of leaving her laptop in the classroom during lunch. I kind of—”

  “You bought a cloning program and stole the final from her computer. Wicked move, Blake. I’m impressed.” Connor grins.

  Blake shrugs, obviously embarrassed, providing a glimpse of the pressure he must feel as the son of two perfect parents. He couldn’t afford a bad grade in honors chemistry for fear he would disappoint them. That’s a heavy burden to lug around—the weight of unrealistically high expectations. He’s probably had to carry it his whole life.

  Stuart pulls up images of Swiss Bank from the Internet and flashes them on the screen. The bank looks impregnable with a vast stone facade, giant steel gates, and heavy glass doors. Inside, armed guards man the entrance and there’s a metal detector for visitors.

  “Is there a back door?” jokes Troy. “We’re never sneaking past that security.”

  “Well, we don’t have to sneak our way in. We could just ask for a tour.” A sly grin sweeps across Blake’s face.

  Akari scowls at him. “What aren’t you saying to us? Don’t make me hurt you.”

  “My parents have an account at Swiss Bank. I’ve actually been inside the offices once with my dad.”

  “If you call the banker, he might give you and your friends a quick tour of the place. Right?” I say.

  Blake nods.

  “Bloody brilliant,” says Connor.

  “Well, that’s the good news. The bad news is the bank’s setup. The private bankers have a floor all to themselves. That’s where my dad’s banker has an office. The investment guys are on a different floor. We won’t be able to march onto Smyth’s floor or office without an escort. They take their privacy extremely seriously.”

  “How does the security work?” Troy asks.

  “They give you a pass when you go through reception and the metal detectors. You take the elevators behind the desks and a person meets you at the floor you’re headed to.”

  “We can’t all go see your dad’s banker. We’ll never be able to sneak away long enough to find Smyth’s office.” Connor furrows his eyebrows. “There has to be another way.”

  All four of us can’t sneak around an investment bank without raising suspicion. We’d stand out like a Rolls Royce on an Indian reservation. “We need to split up. That way some of us can snoop around without an escort. Blake can take one of us to see his dad’s banker and the rest will take the elevator to the right floor. We’ll bluff our way to Smyth’s office, sneak in, and clone his computer.”

  “That’s doable.” Blake purses his lips. “If the banker asks what happened to my other friends, I’ll just tell them you couldn’t make it. He won’t call down to security to check, but sneaking into his office will be tricky. All the offices are made of glass. There’s no way you’ll get into his office with everyone hanging around.”

  “What about the fire alarms?” says Sydney. “If you pull one, everyone has to leave the building, right? You’ll have a few minutes to find his computer and clone it.”

  I hate to admit it, but that’s a good suggestion.

  Stuart jumps in. “Sounds like a workable plan. Blake and Akari should see the private banker while Juliet and Connor bluff their way onto the right floor. When they find Smyth’s office, they will pull the fire alarm, hide until the floor clears out, and then clone his computer.”

  “Why do I have to go with Blake?” Akari’s eyes turn into slender angry knives.

  Stuart strokes his beard pensively. “The cover story is better if Blake brings a young lady to impress. That will give him a reason for coming to the bank. Yes, yes, that works well. You two can pose as a couple and that leaves Juliet and Connor to snoop.”

  “If you try anything, I’ll break every bone in your body,” Akari warns Blake, but her voice sounds light and her face hints at a smile.

  “We’ll have to make it seem realistic,” quips Blake, and she swats him on the arm.

  “What about me? What do I do?” asks Troy.

  “There is no need for you to go with the Twisteds. No, your presence will only make the sortie more difficult. Juliet and Connor will be fine without you. Besides, you do not have any special... qualities to add.”

  Blake says, “It will be harder to sneak five people in and have only two that show up at the banker’s office. Three people wandering around will definitely be more suspicious than two.”

  They’re right. I don’t want Troy to feel left out, but he’d only make it more difficult.

  Akari and Connor both nod along with Stuart and Blake.

  “Sorry, mate, three’s a crowd.” Connor waves his water bottle, and the liquid inside splashes over the top.

  Sydney leans forward. “While they snoop around Swiss Bank, we can keep a watch at the consulate. Our DNA isn’t twisted with Alphian DNA, so the Deltites won’t suspect us. We can blend in with everyone else.”

  “Yes, yes, that’s a good idea. There’s nothing special about you two.” Stuart’s eyes twinkle more than I like.

  “We have to move fast,” I say. “Blake, do you think you can get us in tomorrow?”

  “I’ll find out.” He leaves the room to make the call.

  Sydney tosses a cotton candy smile at Troy. “I’ve never been on a stakeout before. We’ll get a car and find a spot to park near the house. That way we can stay comfortable while we keep a watch on the place.”

  Troy nods, but deep, angry ridges etch into his face and he shifts his body away from mine, as if I’ve betrayed him somehow.

  Blake comes back a minute later. “It’s all set. We’ll see the banker at noon tomorrow. That’ll give us time to get ready. We have other things to do before then.”

  “Like what?” asks Akari.

  “Well, we’ll need to get the right clothes. Everyone has to be dressed like they belong. That means suits and ties for us, Connor, and business wear for you two.” He points at Akari and me.

&nbs
p; Connor groans. “I don’t have any posh clothes. I don’t even own a suit and tie. Never have.”

  “No problem. We’ll go to Brooks Brothers. You’ll look like a banker in no time.” Blake grins.

  I glance at Akari. “We can go to Bloomingdales. We’ll find something there. My mom’s a lawyer, so I know how to dress adult-boring.”

  “One other thing.” Blake stares at Connor. “You have to cut your hair. It’s too shaggy for a bank—you’ll stand out too much.”

  Connor’s face turns red. “Never!”

  “I have some scissors and a bowl in my room.” Blake cracks a smile.

  “Come near me and I’ll show you what you can do with those scissors.”

  We all start to laugh—everyone but Troy. He’s never been left off a team before. He’s always been picked first or second, so this is new to him, and he’s steamed. He’ll get over it, but what bothers me is how quickly everyone else agreed that he shouldn’t go with us to the bank. It’s almost as if they discussed it beforehand and decided he would be a liability.

  The worst part is that I agree with them.

  Most adults look at teenagers and never see beyond the obvious stuff: clothes, hairstyles, tattoos, make-up, or the music they listen to. They get stuck on age, as if that’s a fair measure of maturity, but that’s stupid. Chronological age doesn’t have much to do with maturity; experience does. A twenty-something who has never struggled or faced adversity hasn’t matured much, yet a sixteen-year-old who has fought through life is, in all the important ways, older.

  I feel ancient, as if my back has been bent from a lifetime of troubles, my skin turned to leather, and my face wrinkled like a raisin. This weariness that has seeped into my bones shouldn’t be there. Perhaps I just need a breath, a moment to rest and think, but I have a sinking suspicion no such break will come.

  Troy stayed back at the Inn after we argued for half an hour. He wanted to go to Swiss Bank with us, and was angry we didn’t have a role for him.

  I could see it clearly in his eyes and the strain on his usually carefree face. I tried to make him feel better about it, and explained that, of all the tasks we have to perform, this one is the least dangerous.