THE 4400® WELCOME TO PROMISE CITY

by Greg Cox

  He tested his telekinesis, summoning a teacup from the table. Ryland’s inhibitor had worn off quickly, as the Marked had discovered to their chagrin. At least I can defend myself if I have to.

  “Who is Willard?”

  A scrawny, hippyish-looking man entered the living room. A graying ponytail hung down his back. A pair of granny glasses rested on his nose. He wore a loose macrame poncho over a long-sleeved T-shirt and jeans. His sandals padded against the hardwood floor.

  “Meet Willard Trice,” Jordan said. “Willard is a talented forensic sculptor, formerly employed by the Seattle Police Department to reconstruct the faces of murder victims. Back in the eighties, he helped identify many of the victims of the Green River Killer. He used to work in wax and clay, but, since the Great Leap Forward, he’s found an even more rewarding medium.”

  Richard waited for Jordan to get to the point. “That’s very interesting, but what’s it got to do with me?”

  “It’s very simple,” Jordan said. “Willard is going to give you a new face.”

  “What?” Richard wasn’t sure he’d heard Jordan right. “A new face?”

  “For a brand-new life, safe from the most-wanted lists.” Jordan seemed amused by Richard’s startled reaction. “I’m quite serious. Willard can sculpt flesh and bone as easily as he once molded clay. He can readily give you a whole new identity if you’re interested.”

  “Better than plastic surgery,” the sculptor boasted. “And much more painless.”

  “I confess,” Jordan divulged, “that I had intended to use Willard’s gift to help you carry out your vendetta incognito, but I suppose it can serve as a parting gift as well.” He laid a hand on Richard’s shoulder. “You’ve suffered much, Richard, sometimes because of me. Allow me to make amends before we go our separate ways.”

  Richard thought about it. He had to admit that he was hardly looking forward to spending the rest of his life on the run. And thanks to his exploits in Rome, he was now an international fugitive as well.

  He regarded Willard’s hands warily. “Does it hurt?”

  “Not at all,” the artist promised. “The process deadens the nerves while the tissue is being reshaped.” He stepped forward and raised his hands toward Richard’s face. “Think of it as psychic Botox.”

  Richard flinched as the man’s warm fingers touched his cheeks. He started to back away, then thought better of it. As long as he had this face, he would always be looking over his shoulder for Ryland and Sterling and people like them. Maybe Jordan was right, and this was his best chance for a fresh start. “Go ahead.”

  “Good man,” Willard said approvingly. “This won’t take long.”

  Calloused fingers, strong from wrestling with clay for decades, began by massaging Richard’s face. At first he seemed to be simply exploring the planes and contours of Richard’s lean countenance, but then, rather disturbingly, the bone and tissue started to shift and slide beneath his touch. A moist, syrupy sound put Richard’s nerves on edge as Willard poked and prodded his face, which suddenly seemed to have the consistency of Play-Doh. It was all too easy to imagine the gooey flesh falling away onto the floor. Or what if Willard moved things around too much? I could end up looking like the Elephant Man … or worse.

  “Would you like a mirror?” Jordan asked.

  “No!” Richard blurted. The sounds and sensations were bad enough. He didn’t need to see his face being turned into some sort of distorted work-in-progress. It was too late to back out now. He had to let the artist finish, or else spend the rest of his life looking like a melted wax sculpture.

  Willard whistled while he worked. He clearly enjoyed his craft. It took Richard a second to place the tune.

  “Funny Face.”

  The process seemed to go on forever. Just when Richard thought he couldn’t take any more, however, Willard stepped back to admire his work. “Excellent,” he declared immodestly. “My best yet!”

  Richard’s hand probed his face. It felt solid enough, thank heavens. The mouth, nose, and eyes all seemed to be in the right place, more or less, but everything felt subtly different. Is that really my chin?

  Jordan proffered a hand mirror. “Take a look, Richard. You have nothing to fear.”

  Easy for you to say, Richard thought. He nervously accepted the mirror, then braced himself for what he might see. His mouth went dry. He took a deep breath and looked in the mirror.

  A stranger’s face looked back at him.

  The reflection belonged to a decent-looking man, whose features were somewhat broader and flatter than Richard’s. Care lines had been erased, giving him a slightly more youthful appearance. His ears were smaller and set more closely against the sides of his head. A square jaw bore a distinctive cleft. Even his eyes seemed slightly farther apart.

  Not even Lily would have recognized him.

  “I’ll have new ID and travel papers prepared in a matter of days,” Jordan stated. “You’ll have to be careful about leaving fingerprints and DNA behind, but with a new face that’s unlikely to be an issue.”

  Richard figured he could keep enough of a low profile to avoid any complications. “Thank you,” he said to both Jordan and Willard. “I appreciate this.”

  Curiosity showed in Collier’s eyes. “What will you do now, Richard?”

  “Start over, I guess. Just to find a little peace and quiet somewhere.”

  Preferably somewhere warm. Hawaii maybe, or Jamaica.

  “I wish you luck, Richard. I really do.” Jordan smiled ruefully. “You may find, though, that such an idyllic retreat may not be possible.”

  Richard frowned. That was not what he wanted to hear. “What do you mean by that?”

  “Just that these are volatile times. An epic conflict is brewing, one that will determine the very destiny of this planet.” Jordan claimed to have witnessed that struggle firsthand, during a temporary sojourn through time. “The future chose you to play a part in this struggle, along with the rest of the 4400. Frankly, and forgive me for saying this, I doubt that you will be able to retire from the fray forever.”

  Richard prayed that, for once, Jordan Collier was wrong.

  “Give me that BlackBerry,” Diana told her daughter. “And, by the way, you’re grounded for the rest of the month.”

  Maia looked up from the smartphone in dismay. She was sitting at the kitchen island at home, texting her friends while simultaneously killing off a microwaved bowl of macaroni and cheese. Buttery yellow walls gave the kitchen a cheery feel. Magnets pinned school bulletins to the refrigerator.

  She clutched the phone. “How come?”

  “I don’t know,” Diana answered sarcastically. She braced herself for the battle to come, which she had been putting off for several days now. “Maybe because you went straight to Jordan Collier with your last vision. And I’m guessing that wasn’t the first time.”

  A flicker of guilt passed over Maia’s face, followed almost immediately by a sullen pout. “Who told on me? Meghan? Marco?”

  Diana didn’t want Maia blaming anyone but her. “They’re just worried about you, honey. Because they care.” She sat down at the other end of the kitchen island. “This is dangerous stuff you’re getting mixed up with. That message you sent Jordan? People got hurt, even killed, because of it.”

  “But I saved the world, didn’t I?” Maia protested. “I stopped a war.” She stabbed the macaroni with her fork. “The future picked me for a reason. Jordan understands that. Why won’t you let me be part of everything that’s happening?”

  Because I don’t want you to end up like Kyle Baldwin, Diana thought. She had seen how Collier’s Movement had come between Tom and his son. And how totally devastated Kyle had been by what he had been forced to do at the plasma center the other night. He had looked like a lost soul when he’d staggered out into the rain after killing those people, rejecting Tom’s love and support. She guessed that his part in the bloodshed, on top of everything else he’d done in Collier’s service, was going to sca
r his soul for the rest of his life. His life was being ruined by his obsession with the Movement, not to mention his relationship with his father.

  I’m not going to let that happen to Maia, she vowed. Even if it means she thinks I’m the worst mother in the history of the world.

  “Because I’m your mother and I say so.” She reached over and confiscated the BlackBerry. “One month. No exceptions.”

  “Whatever!” Brimming over with adolescent attitude, Maia hopped off her stool and stalked toward her room. She paused in the doorway to get in one last shot. “You can’t stop me, you know. I’m going to do what I’m meant to do.”

  Diana stood her ground. She placed her hands against her hips. “Is that a vision, or a threat?”

  “Wait and see,” Maia said.

  She slammed the bedroom door behind her.

  Kyle lay awake staring at the ceiling. The display on his alarm clock read 4:20 A.M. He had been tossing and turning for hours now, unable to catch a moment’s sleep. Sweaty blankets were tangled about his body. Fatigue weighed him down, and he felt more dead than alive, yet sleep remained tantalizingly, frustratingly elusive. He had never felt so tired.

  “Another bad night, lover?”

  Cassie materialized in the bed beside him. She rolled toward him under the covers. The warmth of her body did little to dispel his misery.

  “I just can’t get to sleep,” he moaned. “No matter how hard I try.”

  This was rapidly becoming a nightly ordeal. He hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep since that ghastly nightmare at the plasma center. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw himself gunning down Abby and “Danny.” Their agonized expressions and glazed, lifeless eyes haunted him. Their violent deaths were seared into his synapses. Even when sheer exhaustion overcame him, and he finally managed to snag a few hours of uneasy slumber, he relived the entire hellish experience in his dreams, over and over again. The sharp pop of the gun echoed endlessly in his ears. The harsh smell of the gunpowder scorched his lungs. Hot blood washed over him like a ceaseless tide.

  Sobbing, he threw his arm over his eyes in a futile attempt to block out the awful images. Guilt twisted his stomach into knots.

  “You have to accept what happened.” Cassie rested her head upon his pillow. “Don’t push it away. Embrace it. Let it make you stronger, harder. More like the warrior you need to become.”

  Who says I want to be a warrior? He rolled over, so that their faces were only inches apart. “But I killed two people, Cassie. How am I supposed to live with that? Don’t you understand? I ended their lives!”

  That didn’t seem to bother her. “Creation and destruction are two sides of the same coin. As a shaman, you should understand that. We’re changing the world, Kyle, but we can’t succeed until you truly face the difficult sacrifices required.”

  A single generation of sacrifice, in exchange for Paradise. That was what Abby had said, quoting Jordan, right before he killed her. It seemed like a fair bargain, and yet …

  “I don’t want to hurt anyone else.”

  She gently stroked his face. Wise green eyes offered him absolution. “That’s not the way it works, my love. The sooner you accept that, the better you’ll sleep.”

  Deep down inside, he knew she was right.

  TWENTY-TWO

  “SO YOU STILL claim you knew nothing about what Grayson and Abigail were up to?”

  Tom and Diana confronted Collier in his office downtown. It had taken over a week to arrange this appointment. Tom wondered if that was because Collier had needed time to dispose of any evidence linking him to the operation. A good cover-up required plenty of attention.

  “Emphatically,” Jordan stated. Along with Kyle, he was once more engaged in redesigning Seattle via his holographic blueprints. A new skyscraper was apparently destined to rise above the razed and sterilized earth formerly occupied by the Pacific Plasma Collection Center. “Mind you, I confess that the late Ms. Hunnicutt provided me with useful intelligence on NTAC’s operations. I would have been a fool not to take advantage of such a well-placed source. But this horrid business with your nephew’s body … I had no part in that.”

  “You see, Dad,” Kyle said. Heavy circles under his eyes suggested that he hadn’t been sleeping well. He had been ducking Tom’s calls for days. “I told you Jordan was clean.”

  His son might have been inclined to give Collier the benefit of the doubt, but Tom was less convinced of the man’s innocence. “And this so-called Global Outreach Committee? That was part of your Foundation, wasn’t it?”

  “Our organization has grown exponentially since the Great Leap Forward,” Collier stated with irritating self-assurance. “Alas, I’m afraid that rapid growth has outstripped my ability to stay on top of every new program and initiative. Grayson and Abigail were misguided devotees who grossly exceeded their authority. Clearly, more effective oversight is required. You have my word that this will be a top priority.”

  Diana got in Jordan’s face. Barely controlled anger colored her voice. “That’s all you have to say, after what you did to my sister?”

  NTAC had informed them that April Skouris was no longer employed by the federal government—and why. So far she had refused to answer Diana’s calls and emails. They weren’t even entirely sure where she was living these days.

  Jordan was not surprised by Diana’s outburst. No doubt he had been anticipating such a response. “I make no apologies for that regrettable incident. Your sister forced my hand.” He turned his attention back to the holographic skyline. “And, just to be absolutely clear, I had nothing to do with that genocidal conspiracy you so effectively thwarted. I’d offer you both a medal if I thought you’d accept them. Forcing promicin is antithetical to everything I’ve always espoused.”

  The truth or yet more plausible deniability? Unfortunately, there was no way to know for certain. Both Grayson and Rosita had refused to implicate Collier. April Skouris might have been able to pry the truth from them, but, for better or for worse, Collier had taken that option off the table. And what if we did manage to pin this on Collier? Tom mused unhappily. That would just give Dennis the excuse he needs to declare war on Seattle.

  It was a lose-lose situation.

  “That’s right,” Diana said acidly. “You don’t believe in playing God, except when it suits your purposes.”

  Tom admired his partner’s restraint. If Collier pulled his vampire act on Meghan or Kyle, I’d probably take a swing at him. Guards or no guards.

  “Believe me, Tom, Diana,” Collier asserted. “I would never unleash an airborne version of promicin on the world—except, perhaps, in retaliation for a military attack on Promise City.”

  Was that a confession? Or a warning?

  Tom couldn’t shake a sense that Collier was playing a very dangerous game.

  At least I’m still promicin-negative, he thought. A blood test had confirmed that the U-Pills had protected him from infection. If that damn prophecy is right, Collier can’t win until I take the shot.

  And that wasn’t happening anytime soon.

  Later, after dropping Tom off at headquarters to brief Meghan on their inconclusive meeting with Collier, Diana took care of another loose end. She shoved open the door to Kevin Burkhoff’s laboratory at The 4400 Center. There was still the matter of those stolen blood samples to be dealt with.

  “Kevin? Dr. Burkhoff?”

  To her surprise, she found the lab stripped bare. All of his equipment and files were missing, aside from a solitary laptop sitting open atop an acid-scarred counter. There was no sign of either Burkhoff or Tess.

  What in the world? She had called in advance to set up this appointment. Kevin should have been here. For a second, she feared that Collier had abducted Burkhoff again, just as he had several months ago, in hopes of stopping Kevin from perfecting his promicin-compatibility test. Shawn and Tess had rescued Kevin from Collier’s clutches then, but perhaps the master of Promise City had tried again?

  But why lea
ve that laptop behind?

  Diana gave the computer a closer look. A screen saver featuring aerial views of the Space Needle occupied the monitor. A Post-it note was stuck to the keyboard. “Play Me,” it read in Kevin’s distinctly cramped handwriting. Stray sunflower seeds had infiltrated the keys.

  Diana hit ENTER.

  Streaming video replaced the Space Needle. Kevin Burkhoff appeared upon the screen. He looked tired and at the end of his rope. His voice issued from the speakers.

  “Hello, Diana. I’m sorry I can’t be here to meet you as planned, but Tess and I are going away for good. There’s a war brewing and we don’t want any part of it. What happened at the prison was the last straw. Tess has already suffered too much. I can’t let anything else happen to her.

  “On this computer are all my notes on the compatibility test to date. You and Shawn are the only people I trust with my findings. Please thank him for all his hospitality. I wish we didn’t have to sneak away like this, but we couldn’t take the chance of you or Shawn or NTAC or Collier trying to stop us from leaving. The rest of you will have to work things out without us. We’re through. Goodbye and be well.”

  Tess stuck her head into the frame. “Don’t try and find us.”

  The video clip ended.

  How about that, Diana thought. Kevin and Tess had gone AWOL again. Granted, she couldn’t blame them for wanting to opt out of the never-ending conflicts surrounding the 4400 and Collier’s glorious crusade. Heck, Diana had once tried to do the same, running off to Spain with Maia and a shiny new fiancé, only to be sucked back to Seattle. The fiancé was history now. She wished Tess and Kevin luck. Hope your escape lasts longer than mine.

  She couldn’t help worrying about those missing blood samples, though. Was there another hidden lab out there, looking for yet another way to re-create Danny Farrell’s terrible gift?

  Only the future knew—and they weren’t telling.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Like every other 4400 fan, I was disappointed by the TV show’s premature cancellation, so I was thrilled to get the opportunity to continue the saga in this novel. I want to thank my editor, Margaret Clark, for enlisting me once more—and for waiting graciously for this book while I wrapped up another project. I also want to thank Paula Block at CBS for approving the book, and my agents, Russell Galen and Ann Behar, for handling the contractual details. In addition, I need to acknowledge the input of Dave Mack, whose upcoming novel, Promises Broken, will pick up where my book left off. Dave and Margaret and I worked closely together to make sure our stories meshed and that we shared a common vision of the future of Promise City.