Vika’s Glock smoked. Wisps of smoke curled from it like a lit cigarette.
“What about moving a muscle didn’t you understand?” she said to the corpse.
Michael breathed heavily. “Where the hell did you find a silencer?”
“I kept the one from Ostafal. I thought it might come in handy.”
Vika patted him kindly with the weapon. It felt very strange to be comforted by the muzzle of a gun that had just killed someone. “How many times is it that I have saved your life now?” she asked nonchalantly.
“Only five.”
“You aren’t counting the USNN safehouse.”
“That was a team effort.”
“Five and half then.”
“Fine,” Michael said grudgingly. “Thanks.”
Vika smiled. Michael wished she would do it more often. Her beautiful white teeth bloomed before his eyes like a time-lapsed flower. “You’re welcome,” she said.
Michael smiled back reflexively. It was frighteningly easy to ignore the dead giant on the floor with Vika staring at him. “You do realize this is all totally backwards. It’s the guy who is supposed to be saving the beautiful girl.”
She smiled even more broadly, a twinkling appeared in her eyes. “Get used to it. There’s probably a lot of things backward about us.”
“Us?” Michael stammered.
“Us,” Vika said, leaning in. “Thank you for being pathetic.”
“What is that supposed to mean—”
Vika cut him off. She pressed her body firmly against his and kissed him.
Michael felt his eyes roll back in his head as her lips enveloped his. It was as if everything else in the world had disappeared. All he could think of was the feel of her arms around his back, her succulent lips caressing his, her hair lightly brushing his face. Firecrackers exploded in every single one of his nerve centers. He had imagined kissing her since the moment they met, but the feeling surpassed his wildest dreams. He didn’t ever remember a kiss that consumed him so completely. All other kisses in his life had been a means to an end—and he knew that going for that with Vika would be a death sentence. This kiss was an end in itself—the best end he’d ever experienced.
She pulled away, his bottom lip still gently in her teeth. “Help me with this body.”
Michael couldn’t think straight, he simply grabbed an arm and pulled. The guy had to weigh 150 kilograms. They struggled, but managed to drag him to the far back stall and stuffed him into the corner.
“Let me get this straight,” Michael said, “of all the places you choose to kiss me, you pick the men’s restroom on top of a dead guy?”
Vika raised an eyebrow.
“Don’t get me wrong…” Michael stuttered, “It was fantastic. I mean really fantastic. But I guess… what I’m trying to ask is why? What about this,” he waved his hand at the dead security guard, “made you want to kiss me?”
“You think too much. I like saving your life. Now we need to clean that floor again.”
#
Bill peered over the edge. Two guards were helping a single engineer repair one of the rooftop antennas. Just like the government to overwork a couple of underpaid employees so that the bureaucrats could do less and make more. Guards should be guarding, not holding a ladder and the safety rope. Damned cheapskates.
Not that they deserve to live either. Bill thought. Helping to keep the people oppressed and misinformed should be an automatic death sentence.
“Please don’t kill them,” Qwiz said, seeming to read his mind.
Bill stared at him in shock.
“I know that look. You get the same look in Devolution when you are planning to charge in stupidly and try to kill everything.”
“It’s your job to protect me,” Bill said grinning.
“You usually die when you try that.”
“Because you don’t heal me enough.”
“This isn’t a game. I don’t have aphotic shield. And these men didn’t do anything wrong.”
“The hell they didn’t. They protect an agency whose sole job is to spread lies.”
“Stone, I don’t think they see it that way.”
“But I do. They’ve done such a good job that even you believe in global warming.”
“And everyone else besides you,” Qwiz said, a touch of irritation in his voice. “The computer models and simulations are irrefutable. Even you have to see that.”
“Have you ever seen the code for the programs that run those worthless simulations?” Qwiz was probably the only person on earth that knew that Bill had actually studied computer science.
“No.”
“Guess what the retards left out?” Bill didn’t wait for Qwiz to respond, “the SUN. Don’t you think changes in the goddamned sun would be more important to temperature than how much you exhale? Or did you know that they give carbon dioxide six times the impact the actual data shows? But you never hear about that shit because it’s never reported.”
“Bill, this isn’t the time,” Qwiz said.
Bill frowned, it was never the time for anyone to hear about the truth. But they were the ones who drank unfiltered water, drinking all those sedatives every day kept them docile, less prone to revolt. Or maybe Qwiz was right—about the part that they didn’t have time to discuss it.
“Remember the plan,” Bill said as he scuttled around the edge of the building.
Bill couldn’t see him, but knew Qwiz was climbing over the edge. Any moment now. Just wait for it… Bill heard shouting.
“Wait! Who are you?”
“Another engineer, they sent me to help.”
“Did you ever hear about them sending another one?” the guard asked to his partner.
“No,” the other man replied. “Why did you come up over the edge? Why not through the door?”
“I, ah, was already working up here, it seemed easier just to climb up,” Qwiz stammered. The boy was an awful liar. Not that Bill had any desire to change that; he loved Qwiz’s honesty.
“I’m going to need to get a CPI scan and confirm it,” the guard said.
Bill’s turn. He climbed up over the edge, carefully counterbalancing against the 126 on the lip of the building, pulling him backward. He stepped up silently on the roof—right behind the unsuspecting guards. Bill’s arms shot out, gripping the nearest man in his best sleeper hold. The guard began to thrash wildly, but Bill’s grip was locked in, there was nothing the man could do about it.
The other guard who had been advancing on Qwiz wheeled around at the sound. He drew his pistol. “Stop right there! Let him go.”
Bill had no intention of doing any such thing. Besides the guard had no shot, he would more likely hit his partner in the head or chest than hit Bill. The struggling continued within Bill’s vice-grip, but the guard was quickly weakening.
“Drop your gun, and I let him go.”
“Drop Mason, and I let you live,” the guard replied.
Bill shuffled toward the edge, dragging the expiring guard with him. “New deal,” Bill said casually, “you drop the gun or I drop your buddy.”
The second man froze, gun wavering in his hands. After a moment of indecision, the weapon fell from his fingers to the roof. Qwiz snatched it, albeit awkwardly. I definitely need to teach him about gun-safety Bill thought. He’s holding that thing like it’s a rabid hamster.
“Thank you,” Bill said to the unarmed guard. “Now over this way, no sense in gettin’ dead tonight.” The guard obliged, slowly shuffling toward Bill.
Bill jerked the man in his sleeper hold brutally, choking the last breath from his lungs. He spasmed, and then slumped limply in his arms. Bill had done that enough times to know he wasn’t faking. He dropped the unconscious guard and grabbed the end of the safety rope. “I’m going to tie you up. So long as you don’t resist, I won’t shoot you.”
Bill grabbed the yellow cord and began to wrap it around the conscious man’s hands.
Before Bill finished the first loop, he
jerked free, grabbed Bill’s arm and flipped him over his shoulder. Bill’s back slammed painfully against the hard roof. Bill reached for his gun.
“No, Stone! He doesn’t need to die!” Qwiz shouted.
Bill froze, trying to make the right decision. During his hesitation, the guard kicked at the gun, sending it tumbling away.
Bill cursed, but reacted quicker than the man expected. He grabbed the man’s foot with his other hand and twisted brutally. The guard flipped to the ground, giving Bill a chance to stand back up.
The other man bounced back up dexterously. He threw a quick punch, knocking Bill in the jaw. Bill returned fire, with a blow to the gut, comboing into a haymaker to the face. The man spun, but didn’t go down. They exchanged more punches, Bill wasn’t fast enough to dodge most of them. Bill had never been very good at dodging or blocking, but happened to be excellent at taking a punch. Most men exposed themselves right after they connected; no one ever seemed to suspect a guy to ignore the pain and immediately strike back. His current opponent was no exception. Every time the guard landed a punch, Bill got at least one back in return.
They circled each other, a meter from the edge of the building. The guard slammed him hard in the kidney. Bill ducked and crushed the man’s chin with an uppercut. He stumbled backward and Bill kicked him hard in the stomach, hoping to knock him over enough to get a choke hold on him. But the man left his feet completely, as if kicked by the Vanguard himself. He sailed through the air for several meters until his feet clipped the lip of the building. He flipped erratically head-over-heels over the edge, screaming as he flew. Bill ran, but could only watch the helplessly flipping man as he plummeted to the street below. His screams grew fainter as he gained speed. Bill winced as he saw a tiny red splatter appear where he met the illuminated concrete.
Qwiz approached quietly, and Bill hung his head. “I didn’t mean to kick him that hard Quence, honestly. I don’t know where my strength came from.”
“I think I do,” Qwiz reached over the lip of the building. He came up with the orange BOGs Bill had used minutes earlier to violate Earth’s gravity. “You kicked him into this thing’s influence,” Qwiz said softly. “It’s what sent him off the edge. Not you.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t even think about it. I know you didn’t want anyone to die.”
“It’s not your fault. You did your best.”
“Thanks,” Bill picked up his phone and dialed Luthor. “Hurry, it won’t take them long to figure out where we are… A guard thought he could fly.”
A weak voice unexpectedly spoke from above them. “What are you going to do with me?” It was the engineer, still clipped into the mast of the antenna he had been working on all along.
Bill moved the extension ladder away and laid it on the ground. “You can just sit tight, unless you’d prefer getting tied up.” The man squeaked an assent Bill didn’t understand, and gripped his safety carabineers a little tighter.
“We promise not to hurt you,” Qwiz assured him, “and we won’t be long.”
“What are you doing up here?” asked the helpless man.
Qwiz looked up with the same honest expression he always had. “Saving the world,” he said.
#
After cleaning up Vika’s mess, they rejoined Luthor and Tanya. Michael could tell from their expressions that they’d found something. Tanya led them to the secure lift. The elevator ratcheted them up to the 65th.
“What do you think “TSD” means?” Tanya asked holding up a paper with office numbers on it. “That someone has dyslexia?” Michael offered.
After a moment, Tanya gave him a satisfyingly flat stare, exactly the reaction he’d hoped for. Vika mirrored the expression, but it was so much sexier coming from her with those full lips.
“Even if he does not have the code,” Vika said in her unbelievably arousing accent, “I can make him tell us who does.” Michael didn’t doubt she could still brow-beat just about anyone into doing just about anything, shot-up arm or not.
The four fake janitors exited the elevator as casually as possible. Instantly, they all knew they were out of place. The 65th had a very different feel than all the other floors. Rich oak and mahogany desks were scattered around various offices with permanent walls instead of portable cubicles. There were far fewer people, but the ones who braved the late hour were dressed in tailored suits and sat in executive swivel chairs. Michael could almost smell the money in the room—that is, if the digitized units of one’s carbon allotment could have a smell. It had a palpable air of importance, he could tell this was where big decisions were decided, the difficult choices chosen. He picked at his overalls, trying not to stand out.
Tannya led them to the windowless office she had mentioned. Sure enough, blazoned in gilded lettering across the door read, “Transmission Security Director.”
Upon receiving nods from the women as well, Luthor carefully turned the knob. The well-oiled door opened silently into a spacious office replete with custom wooden cabinets, plush carpet and a luxurious matching corner desk. Framed degrees and awards dotted the walls and a high-backed leather chair faced a half-meter monitor that even Qwiz would have envied. A quick glance at a framed degree told him the woman’s name was Shawna H. Kerchoff. Luthor quietly shut and locked the door behind them.
The chair turned around.
Chapter 26:
USNN Tower, Chicago, United States of the West
Qwiz wasted no time and began physically circumventing the firewall on the USNN broadcast dish. It had been more laborious than difficult, given the hardware at his disposal. Normally fiber-optics were annoyingly difficult to splice into, but Qwiz had a handy little gadget that automatically did the work for him. With that in place, the hack was quite simple since he had physically circumvented the firewall.
Bill watched the restrained guard and the stranded engineer, allowing Qwiz to focus without being disturbed. It looked odd to see a man, with purpling facial bruises, guarding two relatively unharmed men.
“Stone, do you think Stalker really wants to destroy all Luthor’s research?” Qwiz asked.
Stone scratched his beard. “I didn’t see that one coming. This whole time I thought it was the dirty French trying to bend us over.”
“But is he telling the truth?”
“Maybe, he didn’t have any reason to lie to us till we crumpled up his panties along with the rest of that safe-house,” Bill said, “but from my experience, the real truth is a couple steps removed from the first place you look.”
“What else could it be?” asked Qwiz.
“I haven’t had time to do any good research, so I’m just pissin’ in the smog right now.”
Qwiz had absolutely no idea what that meant. “Well, could you take a guess?”
“Let’s look at the possibilities,” Bill said, doing a passable impersonation of Luthor. “Maybe he told the truth. Maybe he wants to blow up China. Or it could be something else entirely.”
“Any of those possibilities not involve aliens?”
“Damn it boy, if you go asking for my theories don’t go putting restrictions on them!”
Qwiz laughed. “Whatever Stalker wants, it won’t matter in a few minutes. The hack’s complete.”
Qwiz readied the prerecorded interview and the research data, ready to send it off as one file. If Luthor could get him those codes, then with the push of a button he could instantly send a special report all over the globe. Every TV in the world watching USNN would be given the data about element 126, how to synthesize it, and how to use it to create unlimited energy. It would set in motion a worldwide change more radical than any since the industrial revolution. Qwiz’s fingers quivered with expectation, never before had he held so much power at his fingertips. No more hiding in the dark, behind aliases and IP scramblers, to do tiny quanta of good. Now, as soon as he got those codes, he—Qwiz—could literally save the world.
But there was of course, the other outcome. No codes. No saving the world. Th
e logical half of Qwiz imagined that was a far more likely scenario. The combined forces of the world’s carbon enforcement were being leveled at them through Stalker. If it became known what they were trying to do before Luthor stole the codes… Qwiz knew he would probably never see the outside of a cell again—if he was lucky. All of the amazing power coursing through his laptop would be reduced to a single, pathetic uncensored email without those codes. They would start cutting it off as soon as the first packet of information was sent.
So, he waited.
#
Luthor froze as a middle-aged woman regarded them. She had short, styled hair with flecks of grey, a lean build, and the expression of one who is used to being in charge.
“And who might you be?” said the woman.
Tanya, never missing a beat, took a step forward. “We are the new janitorial team for this section of the building. We came to introduce ourselves,” she said with a smile.
“And you did so without knocking,” said the woman. “Curious. How do you intend to make a good impression on your new boss whilst barging into her study uninvited?”
“Oh my, how stupid of us,” Tanya said, trying to salvage the immanent debacle. “I apologize sincerely. It must have slipped our mind. It is our first day on the job you know.”
“No, it isn’t,” the woman said evenly.
Tanya’s eyes widened.
“I am always notified of new hires.”
“There must have been some mistake,” Tanya said.
“No there wasn’t. I think I would have been told of four new janitors who bear a striking resemblance to a group of four terrorists on the Most Wanted list. One of whom has a clear bullet wound on her arm.”
Vika said nothing, but held her bandaged arm closer.
“A coincidence—” The woman cut Tanya off.
“Don’t be stupid, and beware the mistake of assuming I am. I know you are here with another purpose entirely,” she paused, folding her hands on her rich desk. Luthor felt the strong temptation to hide, this woman still felt in control, despite being alone, against four armed people attempting to take highly classified codes. “You intend to steal something from me and as such I notified the building security 30 seconds ago. They will be here in five minutes.”
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