by Jade Kerrion
“Killing should never be the default option.”
“It’s worked for me in almost every case. The one time I didn’t take that option, I set Galahad free.”
The muscles around Danyael’s jaw ticked. Yeah, well maybe that was the one time killing might have been a great default choice. It would certainly have made things easier for him.
No Galahad.
Danyael would still be living in New York City, working at the free clinic there, blissfully unaware of his broken past and his undeniable connection to Galahad. He and Lucien would still be best friends.
Danyael would never have met Miriya, who had died to save him. He would never have reconciled with his brother, Jason Rakehell. He would never have fallen in love with Zara.
Laura would not exist.
He turned his head and met Zara’s eyes. “Freeing Galahad was the right thing to do.”
She blinked, visibly startled. Had she really expected him to be angry or bitter about her decision? Perhaps he had been in the immediate aftermath of Galahad’s escape, but now, more than two years past those tumultuous events, he could only recall the panic of watching his life spiral out of control as the city tumbled into the chaos of riots. He hadn’t had any time for anger or bitterness then, and while at ADX, he had been too drugged up and in too much pain to summon any kind of coherent emotion.
Everything had been uphill since ADX, a slow uphill with frequent dips in the terrain, but he was in a better place than he had been a year earlier. He was surprised by how far he had come, even though he knew others didn’t share his perspective. Zara, in particular, was impatient with his apparent lack of progress. Danyael knew better, though; life had to be evaluated with the right measure. Life was not about huge wins, but daily joys. The gratitude of his patients. Making it up the five flights of stairs to his apartment without major cramps, pausing to catch his breath only twice along the way. Quiet nights in his home with leftovers warmed up in the microwave and a book borrowed from the library. Laura’s smile on Sunday mornings when he arrived at Zara’s townhouse—a smile so radiant it made him forget the exhaustion of the eighty-hour workweek and the difficulty of traveling across town on public transportation while on crutches. The joy of watching Zara as she moved around her living room, picking up the mess Laura inevitably made. When the master assassin was focused on something else, she made it easy for him to enjoy being around her, content to merely watch the dazzling display of her vibrant emotions.
Life had been good. It was always getting better.
And John wants me dead.
Danyael glanced at Maya, seated across the aisle. The Sicarii had died once before because of an alpha empath. Maya Serach was everything that reminded him how wrong his life was. That the core of his memories had not changed, that he was still a monster, still driven by pain, still capable of killing thousands of people with his empathic powers.
Maya was right.
His chest ached, the pain stealing his breath. How could he give it all up?
For Zara’s sake. For Laura’s. Otherwise, they’ll never be safe.
Danyael turned his gaze to the window. Enjoy it while I can.
After tomorrow, it all goes away.
His thoughts flashed back to the private conversation he had had with Alex Saunders before departing for Tokyo. Alex’s face on the screen of Danyael’s phone was small, but every facial twitch, every frown was painfully evident. “I…don’t think I fully understand what you’re asking for, Danyael, and this would not be the right time for wrong assumptions.”
“I know I am a threat. I’ve known for a long time, but…the Kivisuo video and now knowing what could happen if John’s plans succeed, I’ve finally realized the enormity of what could happen when I die.”
“Securing you at the Mutant Affairs Council headquarters was never intended to be permanent—only until Zara tracked down the assassin. I never intended for you to live out the rest of your life surrounded by four walls.”
“It doesn’t change the fact that I’m a danger to those around me, whether or not there’s an assassin out to get me.”
“There are ways around it, Danyael. You’re a defense-class mutant. All we have to do is close the windows and lock the doors.”
“But death isn’t going to hand me an appointment card.”
Alex tilted his head. “What exactly are you saying?”
Danyael drew a deep breath. “I want freedom, Alex, but I don’t want to hurt anyone. I don’t want to be the source of someone else’s pain. I did enough of that at Theodore Roosevelt Island. I don’t want to be the reason another John comes along, decades from now, his mind and personality warped by what I did to the people he loved.”
“You want me to lock you up?” Alex’s voice cracked. “Forever?”
“I…need to know that people are safe from me.” Danyael’s voice broke despite his iron-tight grip on his emotions. “The little park in Anacostia where I take my lunch break, the two-block walk between my apartment and the clinic, traveling across D.C. to Zara’s apartment, breathing in the change of the seasons…I treasure all those moments—but then I think about what could happen if I die out there. Things happen, Alex, always when we least expect. I don’t know when I’m going to die, but I know I’ve hurt enough people. It has to end.”
“We can contain you safely at the council headquarters. Interior room, no windows. It’ll be comfortable. You’ll have three square meals a day, as well as the ability to do anything you might reasonably be able to do within the confines of a room. You’ll even have visitors. But that’s not freedom, Danyael. You’d be signing up for a lifetime of imprisonment. Every day in that unnatural prison, isolated from other people, will set you further back from normal. It will be harder for you to rejoin society. Your powers can be a blessing to others. Hiding away, afraid of yourself, that’s not what we trained you for. That’s not you.”
“Hurting others inevitably just by being who I am—that’s not me either. That’s not the legacy I want to leave behind. I finally understand now why you forced me to remain close to the Mutant Affairs Council headquarters. You were trying to keep people safe from me.”
Alex shook his head. “Actually, I don’t think you understand at all. I wanted better for you. I wanted everything for you.”
“John's parents wanted everything for him. He had an infinitely better start than most, and now, he threatens thirty-eight million people. That’s not how I want to be remembered, Alex. I don’t want to wipe out the little good I might have done in my life with a whole lot of bad when I die.”
“That’s not how it has to be.”
“But that’s what’s inside me. We both know it, and we both know that death cannot be perfectly timed, so we should be prepared for any possibility.”
“Have you spoken to Zara about this? She’ll probably have some strong opinions about it.”
Danyael shrugged. “Zara has strong opinions about everything.”
“She has a stake in this situation. In you.”
“I’m doing this for her and for Laura.”
“And that’s why it’s probably a mistake to do so without bringing her along on the decision.”
“She’ll understand. She wants to keep Laura safe.”
“Of course, Laura matters to her, but you do, too.”
Danyael shook his head. Alex was wrong. “Once, she did, but it wasn’t real. And now she doesn’t. It’s simple.”
“It’s never simple or obvious with women, and especially not with Zara. If anyone can complicate a situation, it’s her.”
“I don’t want to hurt her.”
“With that decision, you almost certainly will.”
“I’m trying to protect her.”
“I know.”
“And there are no other ways to definitively protect her. There’s an element of luck in every other option out there.”
Alex grunted, finally acknowledging what Danyael knew for a fact. Every other opti
on depended on luck; luck that he might be indoors when he died; luck that an alpha telepath might be near enough and powerful enough to contain his empathic backlash; luck that only a handful of people, instead of thousands might die.
Luck. Luck. Luck.
Danyael was through with luck. It had never favored him. He had made the tough decisions. Now, he simply had to see them through.
Danyael turned toward Zara, and found her face inches from his, her breath close enough to warm his cheek. Their eyes met, locked, and for an instant, he thought he saw something that might have been desire.
And because it was Zara, it was also loaded with challenge.
A challenge he couldn’t meet, not in that moment. Perhaps not ever.
There was no future with Zara, and he was done with his wishful dreams. He was tired of wondering, weary of hoping, and exhausted of trying to make sense of her emotions. It was over anyway. He had always wanted more than life could promise him, and for a long time, he had been willing to fight for it. But now, with the terrible possibilities looming over him, it was time to admit what he had always been told, what he had always known.
There was no happy ending for an alpha empath.
I love you, Zara. Always.
Danyael stared at Zara as he built a psychic wall between his mind and hers, each brick mortared in place by fragments of his happiness. Color—dazzling gemlike hues—leeched from her face until all that remained was the faint psychic outline of her presence. He could no longer sense her emotions. He was as blind and deaf to her as he was to Maya.
He had hoped for a sense of relief over having finally been freed from Zara’s tumultuous emotions.
Instead, Danyael found exactly what he dreaded.
Cold, colorless emptiness.
An elderly Japanese gentleman met Danyael, Zara, and Maya as they disembarked from the plane. He extended his hand, skin wrinkled and liver-spotted, but his grip was firm. “Fujio Matsuda. On behalf of the Japanese government, welcome to Tokyo. The Mutant Affairs Council asked me to meet you and offer you every possible aid.” His English, subtly laced with a British accent, was impeccable.
“Telepath?” Zara asked.
“Telekinetic,” Fujio said. He smoothed down the lapels of his business jacket. His thinning white hair was fastidiously combed back over his head. He led them through the airport. The crowd thickened as they approached immigration, and it was only the extreme orderliness of the Japanese people and their passion for process that kept the incoming swarm from collapsing into chaos. Even so, the sheer abundance of people and emotions pressing in around him made it difficult for Danyael to hold on to his calm center.
He tightened his psychic shields until the pressure caught his breath. No accidents. Japan could not afford any accidents. Not on the scale at which an alpha empath would create them.
The identification Fujio flashed allowed them to enter a shorter, faster moving line. Even so, clearing customs—the weapons in Zara’s packed luggage required lots of explanations and eventually an override from the Ministry of the Interior—and departing the airport required more than an hour.
Every minute chafed on Danyael’s patience.
The dense traffic, marginally better than New York and Los Angeles, but still worse than many parts of the world, added to the delay. Danyael stared out of the window at the brilliant glitter emitted by the buildings of Tokyo’s downtown, which extended for miles. The night sky glowed a pale blue, polluted by light.
Zara’s quiet side-conversation with Fujio escalated, punching through Danyael’s distracted thoughts. Her irritable tone drew Danyael’s attention. “But the council even called ahead to let you know that John was on his way.”
Fujio shook his head. “We did not find him at the airport, or his associates. Airport security is reviewing the security recordings to identify how he might have slipped past us. The police have been alerted and are combing the city.” He pointed out the window. “That’s the Tengoku Corporation headquarters over there.”
The glass-paneled building rose several dozen stories into the sky before sharpening into two overlapping peaks. Its distinctive shape made it one of the more attractive skyscrapers in downtown Tokyo. Fujio glanced at the Rolex watch on his wrist. “We will be there in time for our meeting with Ryoda Tenken, the head of security for Tengoku.”
Zara scowled. “We need to talk to Kazuo Nakamura, the CEO. We want access to Virtanen’s records.”
Danyael shook his head. “Nakamura’s not going to be able to tell us anything we haven’t already surmised. We have to secure the building against John and the Sicarii.”
Zara glanced at Maya. “How well trained are the Sicarii?”
“For several years, we were trained by the Israeli Defense Force.”
“And the Mossad?”
Maya’s smile was faint. Affirmative.
“How many Sicarii are left?”
“At least fifty, unless I missed a couple of bodies you left lying around.”
Zara’s smile was almost a sneer. “It’s hard to keep track when they keep coming at you.”
“Couldn’t agree more.”
Zara looked at Fujio. “I told Alex to call ahead for body armor.”
Fujio nodded. “Yes, I have it ready.”
“No body armor for me.” Danyael shook his head. “I can’t carry another thirty pounds, not on crutches. It’ll only slow me down, make me more likely to get hit.”
Zara turned to Danyael. “Do you know what’s a win for John? I’ll spell it out for you. He kills you, and then kills himself. He’s already here—somewhere in the most populous metropolitan area in the world—and he’s lured you here too. Whatever isn’t killed by your empathic death throes will be killed by his. If his expands out twenty miles in every direction, it will wipe out millions of people in Tokyo.”
“And that’s why none of us…no one will kill John.”
“And what if he kills you?”
“Drag me indoors. Close the doors. Seal the windows. That’s it, Zara. I’m not hard to stop. This isn’t about me. We have to find John and bring him in. Alive.”
“And you think you’re going to find him at Tengoku? What’s to stop him from standing at the absolute center of Tokyo downtown, at a busy street corner, and putting a bullet in his own brain?”
“He wants to make a statement. Cortez and Faraji weren’t enough. Their governments were able to hush things up. John blames Virtanen, and holds Tengoku Corporation responsible for making Virtanen what he was. John will want to draw the focus back to Tengoku.” Danyael’s attention returned to the distinctive building dominating Tokyo’s downtown. “He’ll want to bring it all back to ground zero.”
14
Ryoda Tenken, the head of Tengoku Corporation’s security team, met Danyael, Zara, and Maya without any pretense of Japanese courtesy. “I don’t have time for rumors and power play. The IGEC—”
“We are not from the IGEC,” Zara said
The former military colonel smirked at her. “The Mutant Affairs Council. The IGEC. They’re all in bed together, with only one goal—to micromanage all genetic, scientific, technological, and economic advancement. Advancement, however, is the domain of sovereign governments.” His crisp Japanese accent added brusqueness to his words. “Our obligations are to our people and to our country, not to empty policies put together by western flunkies frightened of losing their minimal grip on power and influence.”
“I can see we’re going to get along fabulously well together.” Zara’s voice dropped into a seductive purr.
Danyael laid his hand over hers, channeling peace through physical contact.
Zara glared at him—she was obviously aware of what he was doing—but she did not pull her hand away.
“We’re not here on behalf of the IGEC,” Danyael said. “You have a security threat. An attack could be imminent.”
“Our security arrangements are in place. In fact, they are heightened for the Genetics Advancement
Conference that begins today.”
“What?” Zara asked.
Ryoda huffed out his breath. “The Genetics Advancement Conference begins with Mr. Nakamura’s keynote speech at 9 a.m.. It’ll be broadcast live, of course, but we’re expecting well over 50,000 conference attendees in this building. The rest will be joining us from the hotels downtown, where some of the sessions are also hosted.”
“You have to call it off,” Zara insisted.
“Are you insane? The conference has a record 76,000 registrations this year, and it’s expected to rise even higher with on-site registrations. Everything is set up, the exhibitor fair, the main auditorium, the hundreds of breakout rooms. The logistics of this event are staggering.”
Zara rose slowly to her feet. “What will be staggering are the number of people who could die—just in this building—if John Halla succeeds at what he plans.”
“We have swept this building for bombs. There is nothing.”
“John is the bomb, and I mean it, literally.”
Danyael leaned forward. “Will you let us look around? It wouldn’t hurt to have additional pairs of eyes making sure things are all right.”
“You’re insane. That’s a security risk. Letting three strangers wander loose—”
“I will take responsibility for them,” Fujio interjected.
“What?”
“The government is…concerned.”
“There is nothing to be concerned about.” Ryoda scowled. His muscles flexed beneath his starched white shirt. “The conference is the pinnacle of Tengoku’s public relations efforts. We have supplemented our internal security team with contractors from other firms. We have taken every pain to ensure that nothing untoward will happen at the conference.”
“John Halla is not merely a gatecrasher. He is not a hostile journalist. He is like nothing you have ever dealt with.” Zara enunciated her words slowly.