Van Hutten nodded. “If not for the negative personality changes that come along for the ride, I would agree with you. What you’ve done is breathtaking.”
“What about this second level of enhancement?” pressed Kira. “It brings out your better nature rather than your worse.”
“Maybe. But you’re the only person alive who’s experienced it. Once. The negative personality changes didn’t hit me until the second or third enhancement. And we can’t corroborate your account. For all we know this level is pure, distilled evil, and your normal self has been deceived. Have you considered that?”
Kira frowned. No one on the team had ever questioned her account until just recently, when she and David had been forced to face this as a possibility, as painful as it was. But van Hutten had seized upon it immediately. His mind was every bit as impressive as they had hoped, misguided though he now was.
She locked onto the physicist’s eyes. “I can’t defeat your conjecture with debate,” she said. “But I know in my heart that you’ve got this all wrong. You’re making a terrible mistake.”
Van Hutten sighed. “I hope you’re right. I really do.”
His expression was tortured for just a moment as he said this, and Kira had no doubt that he was sincere. “You know, Anton, we’ve been worried about making a mistake of our own,” she said wearily. “About recruiting someone with latent megalomania who would undo our efforts for selfish purposes. And yet you, the man who’s come the closest to destroying us, tested as the most decent of us all. Compassionate. Kind hearted. Empathetic.” She shook her head slightly and a wry smile crept over her face. “If there is a God, he certainly has a sense of humor.”
37
Jim Connelly watched for cops while Desh accelerated to over a hundred miles per hour, blowing by highway traffic as though it were standing still.
Connelly knew nothing about the cameras Desh had installed to spy on his own wife, so Desh had to lie and say he spotted van Hutten’s reflection in the mirrored glass of their headquarters building through their security cameras. While Connelly hadn’t seen this, he had no reason to doubt the sighting made by his friend and colleague.
They were headed almost due east, back to Colorado. Wherever van Hutten was going, he wouldn’t be flying there—not with Kira in a straightjacket. And while Colorado bordered seven other states, any of which could be the physicist’s destination, their best bet was to get back to Colorado as quickly as possible until they could get a better handle on his location.
Desh tried to focus on driving and fight off panic. Despite what he had uncovered about Kira—or more accurately, about her enhanced alter ego—he still loved her deeply, and fear and worry were drilling into his head, making clear thinking impossible. Images of her kept flashing into his mind. Kira in a straightjacket, hanging from a meat hook. Kira being tortured, her face a bloody mask as razors sliced through soft skin. Kira being dumped in a lake, water filling her aching lungs as she fought to the end to remove her restraints.
Desh shook his head vigorously. He had to get himself under control. If not, he’d be no good to her.
He cursed himself for not hiring additional muscle the instant he was free from Jake. When they had thought they were off the grid for good, he and Connelly were security and muscle enough. In all the time the group had been around, with the exception of the attack that had killed Ross Metzger, they had had no need for police or military style activity. And no one was ever kidnapped or hunted or in danger. The good old days. A few weeks ago.
But now the shit had hit the fan—repeatedly. He and Connelly needed good men who could respond. If van Hutten was acting alone—for reasons Desh couldn’t begin to fathom—and provided they could find him, then he and Connelly would be able to extract her themselves. Assuming she was still alive.
But how likely was it that van Hutten was working alone? Not very. He was a world-class physicist, not a soldier. Someone had to be pulling his strings. But even so, how they had gotten him to betray Icarus was anyone’s guess.
Connelly’s phone began to vibrate. He glanced at it. “It’s Matt,” he announced. They had left an urgent message for Griffin to call back the second he landed. Connelly threw the call on speakerphone.
“I got your message,” said the voice of Matt Griffin. “What’s up?”
Desh and Connelly quickly filled him in on recent events.
“You sure it was Anton?” asked Griffin. “I’d believe almost anyone before him.”
“It was Anton,” confirmed Desh yet again. “Matt, we need something to go on. Anything. We need your brand of magic, and every second counts.”
“I’m passing a McDonald’s,” noted Griffin. “I’ll grab a table and tap into the airport’s Wi-Fi. I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”
Ten minutes later he called back. “I’ve got it!” he declared triumphantly. “Van Hutten rented an isolated cottage just outside of Rocky Mountain National Park three days ago. For two weeks. And his lack of neighbors wasn’t accidental. He found the rental online searching for ‘Rocky Mountain homes for rent, isolated,” and ‘Rocky Mountain homes for rent, secluded.’”
“That has to be it,” said Desh excitedly, and both he and Connelly traded expressions of relief. They weren’t home free, but their odds had just taken a dramatic turn for the better.
“Great work, as always, Matt,” added Connelly.
Griffin read them the address while Connelly entered it into the car’s GPS guidance system.
“We’re driving there now,” said Desh, “but we have no idea what we’re up against. Grab a supersized meal or two, Matt, on me, and see if you can find out what the hell has gotten into van Hutten. And if we’re likely to run into just one crazed physicist in the cabin or an army.”
“I’ll get right on it,” said Griffin. “I accessed all of his accounts when we were vetting him as a possible recruit, so I’ll have a big head start. If there are any clues to his behavior, I’ll find them.”
“Thanks, Matt.”
“No no, thank you,” said Griffin in amusement. “It isn’t every day someone offers to buy me McDonald’s,” he finished, ending the connection.
Desh pushed the car to one hundred and ten. Van Hutten’s cabin was closer to Denver than to them, but not by much. They were very lucky to be this close, Desh knew. But the acid in his stomach didn’t go away. Because the universe had a way of evening out luck. And you just never knew when yours was about to run out.
38
“I have to use the bathroom,” said Kira.
Van Hutten nodded. “It occurred to me that this might happen eventually. I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to hold it for an hour or two. Hopefully less.”
“Why? What happens then?”
“I have a room set aside for your use with its own bathroom. I need to finish installing a door handle I can lock from the outside. When I do, we can get rid of that straightjacket at least. I’ll still have to keep you strapped to a leash—one situated so you won’t be able to reach the outer door—but it will be long enough for you to use the bathroom.”
“Sounds like heaven,” said Kira, rolling her eyes.
“I’ll make sure you have a comfortable bed and couch within reach. I’ll supply you with whatever food and drink you want, along with books, a computer not tied to the Internet, that sort of thing. I’ll work on other ways to give you as much freedom as possible without risking your escape. If I didn’t have so much respect for your abilities, I wouldn’t have to be this paranoid.”
“Yeah,” muttered Kira. “I get that a lot.”
“I’ll go and finish your room now. I’d planned to have it ready for your, um . . . visit. But I was listening in at your headquarters. And when I learned you’d be alone for the day, I had to act. ”
“Listening in?”
“Yes. I needed you to be alone. After all,” he added with an impish grin, “if I had to engage in hand-to-hand combat, I didn’t want to risk hurting David
or Jim.”
“Very thoughtful of you,” said Kira. “So how did you bug us? New technology of yours?”
“No. Why reinvent the wheel? I just activated the microelectronics from the waistband of one of my Icarus-issued briefs.”
“Glad we could help,” said Kira wryly.
She didn’t really have to use a bathroom, but Desh had trained her to attempt escape sooner rather than later in this type of situation, before the enemy was dug in and had perfected security procedures. “Can I have some water, at least?”
“Absolutely,” said van Hutten amicably. He rushed off and returned a moment later with a cold plastic bottle. He unscrewed the cap and put it to her lips.
Kira bolted up from underneath him—taking the chair she was tied to along for the ride—and angled forward, driving the top part of her head into his lower jaw. Van Hutten screamed in surprise and agony and staggered backwards.
The heavy chair now protruded from Kira’s backside like a wooden anchor. She turned and tried to whip the legs into van Hutten, but given she could barely remain standing, the move was awkward and landing a blow in this manner was hopeless.
Van Hutten was recovering his senses after her first blow, and Kira knew that if she didn’t connect with him in the next few seconds her small window of opportunity would be closed forever.
Out of sheer desperation, she turned her back to him and launched herself backwards, without regard for how she would land or the damage to her body this move would cause. This time the legs and bottom of the chair hit him squarely in the chest and head, and he was driven to the wood floor, dazed.
Kira’s reckless move took its toll on her as well. Bleeding from several shallow wounds and as dazed as her target, she forced herself back to life, drawing on her tremendous will, which had been further hardened by the many attacks she had sustained over the past four years. She fell to her side, taking the chair with her like a turtle with its shell, and twisted awkwardly until van Hutten was lined up, at which point she kicked him savagely in the face, driving him into unconsciousness.
Kira Miller gathered herself and tried to ignore the pain she was in. She took several deep breaths and willed herself to rise. Using reserves of strength even she hadn’t suspected she possessed, she slammed the chair into the brick fireplace wall over and over again, until it broke into small enough pieces that she was able to finally wriggled free, ignoring the stabs from several sharp splintered pieces of the chair that would have penetrated deep into her torso had she not been protected by the tough fabric of the straightjacket.
After several minutes of intense concentration, Kira finally managed to open the door, using her forehead, chin, and mouth, and escaped into the woods. Without the use of her arms for balance, maintaining even the slowest jog across the uneven terrain required all of her athleticism.
She focused her considerable attention on putting as much distance between herself and the cottage as she could, making sure she kept her balance. If she tripped even once, without being able to break her fall, the consequences would not be pretty.
39
Desh and Connelly approached the door to the cottage from opposite sides, slithering through the underbrush in military crawls, guns extended. Their practiced eyes could see evidence that the woods had been disturbed in any number of directions leading to the house. They neither saw nor heard anyone.
Griffin had found nothing that hinted at van Hutten’s motives, but he did learn the man had purchased a used van two days previously. This van was now in sight of Connelly, parked alongside the cottage on a thin gravel road, its hood propped open. Connelly slid up the side of the car and looked inside the open hood. Belts, hoses, and other engine parts had been torn out almost randomly. It wasn’t artful, but it effectively transformed the vehicle from a means of transportation into a lawn ornament.
Desh had progressed to the point where he could see the door had been kicked in, and he and Connelly came to the same conclusion at almost the same time: they were too late. But too late for what?
The two men continued on to the cottage, staying out of sight of windows, and rose on either side of the front entrance, where the door had been almost entirely ripped from its hinges. They strained, but couldn’t hear any noise coming from inside. Desh peered around the corner and then yanked his head back, not knowing what to expect.
No shots were fired in his direction and he had detected no motion whatsoever.
Desh motioned to Connelly and they both bolted through the opening, guns drawn.
The room was deserted, but several windows had been breached and glass was scattered like so much glittery gravel below them. To the right, near a brick fireplace, were the remains of what had once been a chair, but was now just a scattered pile of kindling.
They spread out and canvassed the room, moving as though expecting a trap to be sprung from any direction. Desh crept silently up to a couch and used his foot to drive it backwards.
He heard a groan of pain from behind the couch and had his gun on its source almost instantly.
“Anton?” he whispered to the man sprawled out on the floor in front of him, hogtied with plastic handcuffs. He had tape over his mouth and looked as if he had been used as a piñata.
Van Hutten nodded and then moaned in pain once again from even this tiny exertion.
Eliminated as a possible threat, Desh ignored him. Instead, he and Connelly systematically canvassed each room like the commandoes they were, making sure there were no surprises lying in wait.
Once they had assured themselves the house was clear, they returned to van Hutten. Desh rolled him onto his back and ripped the tape from his mouth. “What happened?” he demanded, keeping his voice to a whisper.
“I only wanted to stop the gellcaps, slow her down,” babbled van Hutten. “I didn’t wish her any harm.”
“What happened?” repeated Desh with such intensity his whisper seemed like a shout. “Where is she?”
Van Hutten shook his head, wincing in pain as he did so. “I don’t know. She—”
Desh slammed a large hand over the physicist’s mouth. “Whisper, or I’ll see to it that you never talk again,” he threatened.
“I don’t know,” repeated van Hutten when Desh had removed his hand, this time with barely enough volume to be heard. “She escaped.”
“How long ago?” whispered Desh.
“I’m not sure. I was just coming to when six men . . . six commandos . . . swarmed in here. They wanted Kira. I told them she’d escaped, and they tied me up and set off after her on foot.”
“When was this?” asked Desh.
“Five, ten minutes ago.”
Connelly knelt down closer to the physicist. “Did you capture Kira alone, or are there other players we should know about?” he asked.
“Alone,” mouthed van Hutten.
Desh considered. They had seen no evidence that the men who had raided the house had been opposed in any way. Perhaps the physicist had been acting alone.
Desh and Connelly traded glances that said, time to go. Desh replaced the tape over van Hutten’s mouth. “Wait here,” he said to the cherubic physicist. “When we get back, you’ve got some explaining to do.”
40
Kira saw movement off in the distance and instinctively ducked behind a tree. The absolute whiteness of her straightjacket—and the fact that she was wearing a straightjacket—stood out like a burning flare.
A young couple was hiking through the woods, both wearing heavy canvas backpacks. Kira breathed a sigh of relief. Finally. This was her chance. But if she didn’t play this right, she might spook them. A battered girl in a straitjacket in the middle of the woods? What’s not to trust? she thought, allowing herself a brief smile at the ridiculousness of her situation.
She took a deep breath. “Hello,” she called out, still out of sight. “I could really use some help.”
She emerged from behind the tree and approached them. They stopped immediately and began inch
ing backwards.
“Hi. Can you help me get this off?” she said matter-of-factly, hoping that keeping her voice even and showing relatively little emotion was the proper pose to strike.
They glanced at her and then each other, unsure of what to do or say, or if they could believe what their eyes were showing them. “Is that a straightjacket you’re wearing?” said the male half of the couple suspiciously.
Yeah, it’s the latest fashion rage on the East Coast, thought Kira flippantly, but aloud she said. “Okay, yeah, it’s a little weird. I know that. I came up here last night with a new boyfriend,” she continued, making the instant decision to put on the persona of a coarse, not-too-bright party girl. “He rented a place a half mile from here. We ended up getting shitfaced last night, and, well . . . you know . . . he kinda wanted me to wear this—so I did. I guess he’s into some weird sex shit. I mean, I know this is some wild, bizarre shit,” she said, gesturing toward the straightjacket with her chin, “but I mean, couples handcuff each other to beds and all, right? And like I said, I was totally shitfaced at the time.” She paused. “Anyway, we ended up getting into a big fight, and the fucker just took off. He just left me in this damn thing. What an asshole!”
The girl eyed her suspiciously. “You look like you’ve been through a war.”
“Yeah. That’s what the fight was about. I thought the asshole was just into bondage games, but he’s heavy into this S&M shit. That’s not my thing. But he didn’t do all this,” she added, gesturing with her head toward her injuries. “I fell down a few times trying to find someone like you to undo this.” She smiled sheepishly. “I guess that’s why hikers don’t wear these things, huh?” She turned her back to them. “I think you just have to undo these straps,” she said.
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