“Exactly,” Kilmer said. “Their memories are foggy, but Shockwave and Minion recall Shadow warning the Witch about a trap—she had her sources, Shadow apparently told her. But that’s in the past. We have a handle on it now, and we’re going to get to the bottom of it. That’s problem number one.”
“One?” Scott said warily. “What’s number two?”
Reginald stood forward again. “Schwartz knows we hijacked the disbursement codes. He says if Viper doesn’t get them back by midnight, he’s going to shut down the Champions Program.”
“Can he do that?” Janis asked.
“He can’t,” Reginald said, “but President Reagan can and will. Schwartz knows the precariousness of the president’s position, ours being a clandestine program, operating without congressional approval.”
Scott thought about what last night’s busted mission meant. Without access to Viper’s or the other defense companies’ disbursement routes, there was no following the money trail. The identity of the Scale’s kingpin would remain shrouded. And now that they were being blackmailed into returning the codes, it was only a matter of time before the Soviets would receive that money and cloak their nuclear arsenal.
“I could try something else,” he offered, his mind racing for ideas. “Maybe plant a Trojan horse in their system, one that would piggyback on someone else’s access.”
But Kilmer was shaking his head. “Too risky, Scott. They’re going to be vigilant over any attempted intrusions, and Schwartz really does wield the sword of Damocles right now. If the Program were to be axed, we would lose everything—agents, transportation, our information infrastructure. We’d be helpless to head off a Soviet attack, if it came to that.”
Scott gave a reluctant nod. It would’ve been a long shot anyway.
“Can we assume you have a plan?” Margaret asked their director.
“The priority remains finding the Scale’s kingpin,” Kilmer said, “shutting down his operation. We have a strong suspicion our man might be Schwartz.”
“The CFO?” Scott asked.
“He has the motive,” Kilmer explained, “and as CFO of one of the world’s most profitable enterprises, the means. It would explain why he’s gone through so much trouble to hide those disbursements. Gabriella hasn’t had any more luck cracking the algorithms, but she was able to ascertain that the crypto-modems are proprietary to Viper. Every company that sends money to those lobbying firms uses the same system.”
It sounded good enough for Scott. “So, what’s stopping us from taking Schwartz down?”
“Confirmation,” Kilmer said. “We need to be absolutely certain.”
“Titan,” Janis said from beside Scott.
“That’s right,” Kilmer replied. “He’s the only one among us who knows the kingpin’s identity.”
“I didn’t think he was talking,” Scott said.
“He hasn’t been talking to us,” Kilmer agreed. “His mental defenses are too stout. But he started opening up to Jesse last week. He claims the Scale has a second unit, a backup squad. He’s trying to convince Jesse to spring him so the two of them can join the squad, become leaders of a resurrected team.”
“I don’t get it,” Margaret said. “What would be in it for Jesse?”
“Nothing, of course,” Kilmer replied. “And Jesse knows it. Titan’s making the same appeals as before. Trying to play on Jesse’s deep-seated desire to be his own person, live by his own rules. Until now, we’ve been telling Jesse to let him talk, to see what he’ll divulge.”
“Anything useful?” Janis asked. “A name? Location?”
“He might not look it, but Titan’s cagey,” Kilmer said. “He’s playing the if you come with me I’ll show you angle. So … we let Jesse spring him.”
Kilmer held his hands up to the protesting murmurs. Scott was pretty sure one of the murmurs had been his own. He’d gone up against Titan before and had no interest in a rematch. “It’s risky,” Kilmer said. “But Jesse’s on our side, and they’ll both be under surveillance. Titan’s going to need money and somewhere to hole up to regain his strength. He’ll have no choice but to contact the kingpin. When he does, we’ll have our man.”
“When is this going to happen?” Scott asked.
Kilmer consulted his watch. “Tonight. Eight p.m. It’s cutting it close to Viper’s deadline, but I wanted to give them—and the surveillance team—the benefit of darkness.” He dropped his eyes to Janis. “Which means we need to get started on those agent interviews.”
18
Janis watched through the one-way glass as a just-vetted agent left the small room, and a new agent entered. The room was one of many in Oakwood’s reinforced-concrete warren—a world Janis had only experienced in disconnected segments. The area they occupied was in the vicinity of the Barn and appeared to have been designed for interrogative purposes. Two chairs, one table, zero frills.
The new agent took a seat at the table, opposite Director Kilmer, whose back was to the one-way glass. The agent was another in a long line of nondescript men and women, which was how the Program liked them. Janis recognized the man more by his aura than his face.
“State your name and position,” Kilmer said.
“Agent Saldana, special security forces, sir.”
With barely a thought, Janis inhabited the man’s mind.
“And when were you recruited into your position, Agent Saldana?”
“July, 1974.”
“Have you ever disclosed the nature of your work or that of the Program to anyone on the outside?”
“No, sir,” he answered.
“Have you ever shared sensitive information for ideological reasons or in exchange for money, goods, or services.”
The agents eyes didn’t waver. Neither did his thoughts.
“No, sir.”
“Do you know anyone who has?”
“I do not, sir.”
“You were involved in the operation at Viper Industries yesterday.”
“Correct, sir.”
“At any time did you share details of the operation with anyone outside of the Program?”
“No, sir.”
Kilmer was proceeding through a standard list of questions. If one of them triggered a suspicious thought, Janis was to alert Kilmer and he would dig deeper. But this agent, like the dozens before him, wasn’t hiding anything from Janis’s probing mind. He was an open book, down to his penchant for binge watching Little House on the Prairie reruns on TBS.
No flags, Janis informed Kilmer when she had finished. He’s telling the truth.
Kilmer stood. “I appreciate your time, Agent.”
“Thank you, sir,” Agent Saldana replied, shaking Kilmer’s offered hand.
Janis, who had been standing the whole time, listened to the tendons in her knees snap as she squatted to the floor and back up. Twisting her torso, she checked her watch. They’d been at it for over four hours.
Who’s left? she asked.
Agents Dutch and Steel, Kilmer replied.
It didn’t take being a psionic to pick up the tension in her director’s stance. He was talking about his head of security and her second in command. Both were privy to a crapload of sensitive information. When the door to the interrogation room opened, Janis caught herself craning her neck.
“Afternoon, Agent Dutch,” Kilmer said.
“Director,” Dutch answered, taking a seat and scooting himself in.
Agent Dutch had occupied the head of security position a few months before, when Agent Steel had undermined Kilmer’s authority and almost gotten him canned. Dutch was tough as nails but personable. Janis would have been more than fine with him keeping the position, but Kilmer had his reasons for restoring Agent Steel.
Janis cleared her thoughts and eased into Agent Dutch’s mind for a preliminary read. The agents’ mind-shielding chips had been deactivated, and they had been instructed not to exercise any mental defenses, which would be considered admissions of guilt. Nothing jumped out a
t Janis except Dutch’s concern that someone under his command had been compromised.
Kilmer proceeded through the list of questions. Dutch, with his serious face and studied gaze, answered them all succinctly. The room fell silent.
Janis? Kilmer prodded.
Oh! He’s good, he’s clean.
She had gotten caught up in the implications of his being clean. If all of the agents thus far, including Agent Dutch, weren’t hiding anything, a simple process of elimination dictated that the one who remained was the mole.
“Thank you, Agent,” Kilmer said, standing. “You’re free to go.”
Janis lowered herself to a metal folding chair facing the window and clasped her hands. A cold forced stirred the astral plane. A moment later, Agent Steel entered the interrogation room, her slate-blue uniform immaculate, boots glossed to a black shine. The fluorescent lights buzzed over her cropped platinum hair and cast her face in the white of porcelain. Except for the scar pulling the left side of her mouth into a slight frown, she wore no expression.
“Agent Steel,” Kilmer said with a tight nod.
“Director,” Steel replied, her lunar eyes fixed on his.
They sat at the same time, Steel efficiently, Kilmer having to scoot his chair back and forth until it was positioned where he wanted it. Janis shared his tension, the escalating thuds of his heartbeats.
Kilmer cleared his throat. “You know how this works.”
Steel nodded.
“State your name and position.”
“Agent Steel. Head of security.”
That prompted Janis to enter her mind. But Janis’s own mind was still performing acrobatics, trying to come up with a way in which Steel being the mole made sense. She had always seemed pathologically committed to the Program. But had her ouster of Kilmer back in January been the first step in an attempt to compromise the Champions, to put them out of action?
“And when were you recruited into your position, Agent Steel?”
“October, 1973.”
Moving through Steel’s mental makeup was like exploring a fifties-era government building, one built for function, its rooms and corridors a blah beige. Janis expected pushback from Steel’s mind, or at least some form of resistance. When she experienced none, she pressed deeper. The utter sterility of the environment was astounding. Steel’s façade wasn’t for show, Janis realized. The woman was as devoid of emotion as she appeared.
“Have you ever disclosed the nature of your work or that of the Program to anyone on the outside?” Kilmer asked.
“No, sir,” she answered.
“Have you ever shared sensitive information for ideological reasons or in exchange for money, goods, or services.”
Steel’s gaze flicked toward the one-way window before returning to Kilmer’s eyes.
“No, sir,” she answered, her mind revealing nothing.
“Do you know anyone who has?”
“No, sir.”
“You were involved in the operation at Viper Industries yesterday.”
Agent Steel nodded.
“At any time did you share details of the operation with anyone outside of the Program?”
Another negative.
Kilmer hesitated. He was waiting for Janis to give him an indication of whether or not Steel was being truthful. Janis spread herself into every corner of Steel’s psyche. She had made no mistakes with the others. They had all been clean, which meant Steel had to be hiding something, right?
But…
I’m not finding anything, Janis said after another moment. And then: Wait!
It wasn’t something she felt, not at first, but rather something observed. Agent Steel’s pale eyes remained intently on Director Kilmer’s, but the muscles around the hinges of her jaw had begun to tense. Of all the agents, Steel was the most practiced at mental defense. And now, with Janis pushing deeper, Steel was straining to keep something hidden away. At last, in a deep basement level, Janis found it: a trapdoor. With a thought, she tested it.
Locked tight.
She’s concealing something, Janis said quickly.
“Agent,” Director Kilmer said. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”
“No, sir,” Steel answered.
Janis pulled harder. The effort on Agent Steel’s face moved from her jaw to the skin around her eyes, which winced slightly as though she were fighting off a stomach cramp. The trapdoor remained sealed.
Janis had a couple of options. She could stun Agent Steel with a low-level mind blast, forcing her to relinquish her grip on the underside of the door, or she could simply overpower her. Either one wouldn’t be hard. But even though Janis had no reason to go easy on the woman—not after the several times she had been on the other side of similar interrogations—she hesitated. With the powers she wielded, either option could do serious damage to Steel’s head, especially with the kind of resistance the woman was putting up.
Instead, Janis increased the force gradually.
“Agent,” Director Kilmer said, his voice now low with warning.
“I have nothing more to say,” Steel answered, her own voice thin and straining.
She’s not letting me in, Janis said.
“We talked about the rules at the outset,” Kilmer reminded her. “We said that putting up mental barriers would be tantamount to an admission of guilt. I’m going to ask you again. Is there something you’re not telling me?”
“No,” Steel repeated. Janis noticed she had jettisoned the “sir.”
Janis also noticed that the trapdoor had begun to tremble. Agent Steel was losing her hold. Janis pushed a little more energy into her effort. The edge of the trapdoor separated from the floor.
“Enough!” Steel cried, pushing herself from the table.
The near-shrillness of Steel’s voice shocked Janis from her head.
“I’ve answered your questions. I’m not the mole.” She shifted her gaze to the one-way window, almost finding Janis’s eyes. Reclaiming her former iciness, Steel said, “It seems there is one left who has not been interrogated.”
Anger erupted in Janis’s head. Steel meant her.
Oh, what bull—
I know, Janis, Kilmer interrupted. He seemed to take a mental breath.
“I’m sorry, Agent, but we’re going to have to detain you until we’re sure we have all of the answers.”
A part of Janis wanted to rejoice. After all, it had only been a few short months earlier that Agent Steel had subjected her to a four-day-long interrogation, trying to pin responsibility for Creed’s death on her and Kilmer. Steel had even had her electroshocked at one point.
But Janis didn’t rejoice. She was bothered. Not only at the prospect of Agent Steel being the mole, but more so at her own inability to come up with a logical explanation as to why.
It didn’t make sense.
Kilmer spoke into his watch and then stood facing Agent Steel at an uncomfortable angle. Two agents arrived. Wordlessly, they cuffed Steel’s wrists behind her and took an elbow apiece. Agent Steel complied stiffly. As they started toward the door, Agent Steel looked at the one-way glass a final time, frost in her eyes, and then aimed her gaze toward whatever fate lay before her.
19
That night
8:02 p.m.
“Let’s go,” Jesse whispered.
As he pulled on Titan’s upper arm, his fingers sank into loose flesh. The man who claimed to be his father had definitely lost muscle during his confinement. That would make Jesse’s task easier. He didn’t know why the Champions felt the need to put security detail on them. In Titan’s sorry state, Jesse could waste him with his left thumb.
He tugged Titan’s arm again. “C’mon.”
Titan snorted in surprise and shifted beneath his sheets. “Ungh?”
“We’re getting outta here.”
The statement appeared to penetrate Titan’s murky thoughts. With a heave, he pushed himself onto the side of the bed. He fixed his eye patch and squinted through h
is one eye, first around the room, which was illuminated by a pair of yellow nightlights embedded in opposite walls, and then at Jesse. He ran a hand through his tousled pile of gray hair, pausing to scratch a spot on the top of his scalp.
“What’s going on?” he asked.
“I’ve taken care of security.” Jesse held up a badge with a metallic strip on the back. “We’ve got a ride to the top floor.”
Titan’s lips broke into a smile. “Knew you’d come through.”
“Put this on,” Jesse said, helping him into a black duster.
“Hey, where’d you get—”
“Shut it. We’ve gotta hurry.”
Jesse fastened the duster in front so it concealed Titan’s orange prison jumpsuit. Jesse was wearing his armored Champions uniform under his own coat—but Titan didn’t need to know that. Jesse got an arm around Titan’s back and helped him up. Titan staggered briefly before finding his legs. The gas had been shut off before Jesse entered the cell. Jesse helped steady Titan while the man pushed his giant feet into a pair of slippers beside the cot.
“I’m all right,” Titan said. “I can stand.”
Jesse released him and then watched a moment to be sure. He grunted for Titan to follow him out the portal he had entered by. Against the walls of an antechamber lay two guards, made up to look as though they’d been battered by Jesse’s fists. Titan paused to look them over.
“Not bad,” he remarked.
Jesse motioned for him to keep moving. After four months of incarceration, Titan was no doubt suffering from violence withdrawal. It would do no good for him to use the guards to scratch that itch. Jesse yanked the side of Titan’s duster. “We’ve gotta clear out before reinforcements get here.”
After a moment of deliberation, Titan pulled his gaze from the guards. He allowed Jesse to lead him through a blast door and into a corridor, where more guards were sprawled. Jesse had to hand it to the Program. They were selling the scene well.
Keeping a balled-up grip on Titan’s coat, he guided him down the corridor to an open elevator door and shoved him inside. Their combined bulk took up the entire compartment. Jesse contorted himself to slide the guard’s badge through a scanner and punch the button for the top floor. The elevator door slid closed.
XGeneration 7: Dead Hand (XGeneration Series) Page 10