Completely encircled in his grip, all I could do was turn my head and look at his assembled crowd. “Uhh...how is that different from y – yahhhhhh!”
He lifted his smoky black appendage up, very slowly, twirling and coruscating around me, and my feet left the ground – well, the water. He extended his black appendage skyward and I went along for the ride until I was twenty, thirty feet up in the air.
“You...cannot stop me,” Smokeskin rumbled, then braced himself, his tendrils wavering as he moved them in his equivalent of a pitcher in baseball winding up to throw.
I braced myself. I knew what was coming, and this was going to hurt.
Smokeskin whipped his tendrils with me in them, and I flew across the reflecting pool toward the far side. I crashed down into the concrete end some two thousand feet later, rolling and skipping until I crashed into the steps of the Lincoln Memorial.
There I lay, staring up at the sun-tinged sky, until I closed my eyes.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE
Chapman
CHALKE: She can't stop this thing.
KORY: Look! It's leaving!
And it was, Chapman saw. The hostage mob that it had held scattered, running in every direction, as the smoky, gooey creature itself seemed to go insubstantial, vanishing around the World War II Memorial. Where it went after that, he couldn't see on the surveillance cameras, but he sent a quick ping to Devin to get him to trace the path. He wasn't hopeful on an answer.
CHAPMAN: This has been eye-opening.
CHALKE: I think you mean “a catastrophe.”
BYRD: lol u guys she got rekt
KORY: Uhh...shit.
Chapman rolled his eyes. Drama again.
KORY: You know how reporters gossip amongst themselves? Like all day, every day in our own Slack channels? Well, one of my people went to the Washington Free Press about eight months ago, but they still keep in contact with some of my other reporters, and they just told my peeps...Morris Johannsen just died in his office. Heart attack.
CHALKE: Wtf?
BYRD: brutal
FLANAGAN: Damn.
Jaime blinked, taking in this news. Well, that was a bit of a time saver. But...
CHAPMAN: In a way, this is good. Johannsen was about to be a liability.
A thought occurred, and Chapman hurriedly checked the Escapade app – no, Johannsen was not shown as logged in. Okay. Whew. That was good. All the Network members were forced to use a passcode on their phones rather than any biometrics, so there was no chance of someone logging in under his name. All the same, Chapman flagged the account, banning it, just as he had Bilson's following the man's death, and set up an alert to let him know if someone tried to access Escapade using their credentials.
CHALKE: I agree it was bad that he was doxxed, but he was the editor of one of the most influential newspapers in the country. He had a role to play in our plans.
KORY: If you mean the Julie Blair coverage, I think he's probably set that in motion for a few days at least, so that will continue without him. If we can continue to feed interesting follow-ups, I can pretty well promise it'll go on for a while. I can help drive that, even without Johannsen.
That was fine with Chapman. He hadn't been thrilled with the seeming over representation of press people in the Network anyway. Having a tighter circle now, when they'd transitioned to direct action and hard power, seemed like the smarter move.
There was a click at Chapman's door, and he looked up to find Chase Blanton's bob haircut peering through at him. “Sorry to disturb you, sir, but Veronika and Phinneus just made it back.”
“Give me two minutes, then send them in.” Chapman frowned. “What happened to Frost and Kristina?”
“No clue about Kristina,” Chase said, “but I checked Frost's social media and it looks like he's on his way back to New York. Posted on Instaphoto an hour ago, a shot from North Jersey looking to NYC, captioned it – well, it doesn't matter. It was pure CYA garbage anyway, like he was trying to show he'd never left.”
Chapman's eyes narrowed. So Frost had quit on them, and Bonner had – what, died? “Fine, send in the survivors.” He didn't wait for her nod, he was already back in Escapade.
CHAPMAN: Good. Let's keep running down Blair.
He flipped back to the window of the surveillance cams. Paramedics were swarming around Sienna Nealon now, and the crowd was filming all of it. He glanced at the TV screen and saw a similar feed, so he exited out of the surveillance cam system. There was nothing else to see there. He pinged Devin with a quick instruction to let him know about the results of the facial recognition scan, and if anything else developed, then logged off. Any alerts on that would go to his phone.
CHALKE: Can we review real quick? Because while I'm fine with the Blair thing and have already sent agents over to interview her, that's more of a 20% project than an 80% one, IMO. Talking Pareto here. We have that black smoke monster stealing our secrets, declaring war, our attempts to assassinate the president have failed – twice – and our lone operative is also investigating us, because she doesn't know she's working for us.
CHAPMAN: We have more operatives than just Nealon.
CHALKE: Maybe *you* do. But they're a little too new and they've already failed one too many times for me to be excited about their prospects thus far.
Chapman nodded. That was a good take. Pragmatic. Still, he had a defense.
CHAPMAN: I agree, today has gone sub-optimally.
KORY: Plus, if anyone's counting, we're now down two members. Both targeted, admittedly in different ways, but both dead. It's not looking like a great time to be a Network member.
CHAPMAN: Hey, look, other than the two dead guys, I think we can agree I've lost the most over the last few days. But I'm not disheartened by any of this. You know why?
There was a knock, and the door opened, admitting Phinneus and Veronika. Chase lingered, holding the door, apparently undecided on whether to enter or stay back.
“You know what we're going to be talking here, Chase,” Chapman said with a lazy smile. “Either you're in or you're out.”
“I'll stay on the outside for a little longer, if that's all right,” Chase said. “I don't care – but I'm not sure I'm in.”
Chapman shrugged, then looked back at his screen.
CHALKE: So what are we going to do about it? Nealon threw a monkey wrench in our plans twice today, and I don't have a lot of faith she'll stay on the sidelines. The president is locked down in the bunker and isn't coming out for the foreseeable future. And this thing is after us, and operating in our blind side. What do we do about...well, any of this?
Chapman smiled. Of course they came to him for the answers. He solved mightier problems than this for his job, after all.
CHAPMAN: Simple. We slice and dice the tasks to a manageable level. Cut it up into smaller problems and deal with them one at a time. One – Nealon. Two – Gondry. Three – this slime/smoke meta.
CHALKE: We have been trying to deal with Nealon in our way for a year. Today we tried to deal with her in her way.
KORY: Agreed. I know no one's invincible, but she's built Ford frigging tough, man. Actually, tougher. What's that product brand they proclaimed invincible?
CHALKE: The Energizer Bunny?
FLANAGAN: Timex?
KORY: Whatever, doesn't matter. Point is – everyone tries to kill her, no one succeeds. And they all die trying, pretty much. I'm not down with dying. Call me a convert to the Church of Not-Wanting-to-Die-By-Nealon, but while I want the president out of the way, I don't want it bad enough to die trying.
BYRD: agree w/ kory this is knife edge stuff and i dont want to dance there u know lol gondry was fine but nealon is uber problem i dont like her any better than the rest of u but not here 2 die lol
Chapman smiled. Of course they were scared.
CHAPMAN: The problem with Nealon is that she's powerful, and she's a hell of an improviser. That's how she wins. Lack of planning is a hallmark, both for her and the people tr
ying to kill her. They're always leaving a back door open, and she takes that tiny crack, whatever's offered, and just slams through like a champ.
CHALKE: Having seen her in action, I concur that's what she does. Sometimes she's underestimated, but sometimes...she just flat out pulls off damned miracles. It's absurd and infuriating. She's less than five and a half feet of pure fury that seems to survive insane situations almost on spite alone. But she does survive.
CHAPMAN: Until she doesn't. Look, these are strengths, and her weakness is getting caught in plans with holes in them. These people know her at a distance. We know her, after this last year, intimately (for lack of a better word). So what do we do? We look at those weaknesses. We plan.
Chapman looked up at Veronika, at Phinneus. “Just one second. I'm finishing up a meeting.”
CHAPMAN: We lock down the back door. We consider every possibility, then construct the situation and location so that she has no chance...and then trap her in it. We play against the weaknesses we know she has. We look at things that have almost worked to kill her, and we copy them, taking care to eliminate the flaws she has exploited. We just saw her taking a beating in real time; she's not invincible. That smoke meta could have killed her if he'd been of a mind to. She's weak.
Chapman looked up at Phinneus. “You took some bullets today, huh?” They weren't obvious, except for a little gauze sticking out of the man's collar.
Phinneus's rugged face reddened slightly. “I did. Not fond of the sensation.”
Chapman smiled. “Looking for a little payback with the person who caused it?”
Phinneus's mouth twitched. He almost smiled. “I wouldn't turn it down. But she's trouble. Real trouble.”
“I agree,” Chapman said. Veronika was pretty passive, but Phinneus looked ready to spit nails. “In fact, I see her as the chief obstacle to our original plan. And I'm all about removing the obstacles.”
Phinneus's jaw tightened. “Remember those friends I mentioned? They're on their way to town. Got some nice skills to them.”
“Oh?” Chapman asked, glancing back at the Escapade conversation. It was still going, but he didn't want to poke back in yet.
“Yeah,” Phinneus said. “Magnet powers on one. Earth moving for another. A Steelskin for some heavy lifting, plus a vampire and an Achilles. All folks I've known a good long time that won't shy away from a rough assignment, let's say.”
Chapman nodded. “That'll be good, having them available – you know, for the next swipe at Gondry.”
Veronika hesitated. “We don't want them for taking another shot at Nealon?”
“No,” Chapman said, turning his attention back to the chat box. He skimmed what had been said as he'd ducked out of the conversation. It wasn't important, really, just the lemmings running in circles while they waited for someone who knew what they were doing to take the lead.
CHAPMAN: I know one area that she'll be incredibly weak, as we already proved today. Now...let me tell you how we're going to do this.
And he did.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO
Julie
“Chris Byrd's on in two minutes,” Dom said, breaking Julie's focus as she was finishing up writing out her recollections for the lawyer. He'd reached out to her after their meeting for a follow-up, which was good. He'd laid out his own thinking in the email, and asked her to take this basic step of writing out her memories, and now that she was able to put a little more focus on things, she'd laid it all out as clearly as she could.
The false accusations.
The meeting with Betsy before her firing.
Finally, the one that culminated in her firing.
All the other stuff...she didn't know what to do with. She didn't drink – well, much, anyway. And never at work! As to the other allegations – they were complete bullshit, and who knew where they'd come from?
“I'll be right there,” Julie said, finishing her paragraph. The kids were already tucked in – she'd actually been able to partake in the bedtime ritual tonight, which was nice. Chris Byrd's show had been a fixture of Dom and Julie's early life in DC, before she'd gotten the White House job and lost all the hours of the day.
This would be nice, she reflected, shutting her laptop. Catching up on official Washington, seeing what was percolating outside her own personal scandal? It'd be a relief after the hours she'd just spent trying to defend her reputation against these scurrilous attacks.
Julie ached for a glass of wine, but was cognizant of Dom's eyes on her as she pulled a glass out of the cupboard. She settled for water, ice rattling in the glass and the filtered water hissing out of the fridge dispenser.
She settled on the couch next to Dom, but he didn't put his arm around her. She looked at him out of the corner of her eye as her heart sank, but he was focused on the TV, where the theme music for Byrd's show had just played.
“Hello, America,” Chris Byrd said seriously as the title card cut to his face and panned in to a close-up. “I'm Chris Byrd. We've got a fantastic lineup for you tonight. We're monitoring the situation that unfolded at the Lincoln Memorial earlier tonight, and will cut to breaking news if any happens. Until then, we have a live update on the current negotiations over the crime bill, a retrospective feature on the life and impact of the incredible editor of the Washington Free Press, Morris Johannsen, and we've got analysis and opinion from former presidential candidate and senator Robb Foreman. But first–”
Byrd turned as they shifted cameras, and he looked with great seriousness at his viewers, though obviously he couldn't see them. Dom sat up a little straighter. He really got into Byrd, especially when the pundit got on his soapbox. “He just says things so reasonably,” Dom muttered under his breath.
“Tonight's top story is one that's unfolding even now,” Byrd said, his perfect eyebrows inclined, the slight wrinkles on his forehead indicating the seriousness of his concentration. “It's a quintessentially Washingtonian story – but one that affects the course of honor, integrity, and all of America, really. I'm speaking, of course, of the unfolding tale of former Gondry administration official Julie Blair–”
“Ohmigod,” Julie said, all the air rushing out of her at once.
Dom's shoulders sagged, and he looked at her accusingly.
“We have confirmed with two highly placed sources in the administration that as of today, Julie Blair is under investigation by the FBI.”
Julie's jaw dropped.
Dom's eyebrows knitted together. “What did you do?” he whispered, a pure knife of accusation.
“I didn't do anything,” Julie whispered, her heart taking an abrupt plunge in her chest.
“While we can't be certain of the crime yet,” Byrd went on, staring so very seriously into the camera, “what we can confirm is there exists the stench of malfeasance around this woman. In a time when our president is under attack, we need loyal servants of our nation. But this woman appears to be all about serving herself. Our government is the thing that makes our lives possible, makes us better, is charged with helping our general welfare. Every act such as this undermines its ability to do the job. Betrayals cannot be countenanced and should be punished fiercely.”
Byrd changed cameras again, and was looking straight into this one, on cue. Julie had never really noticed it before, but now, detached from what she was hearing in a dim, sick sort of way, it was impossible to miss the theatrical elements as this man called her out for being the worst person in the world.
“I can tell you this: we pursue this story to the truth, one way or another. Because that's the job of an honest press. To shed light on the failures of our system and demand accountability, so that we can fix the flaws – and rise together. Discovering the truth behind the crimes of Julie Blair is just such a mission. Other than protecting the life of the president, I can't think of any higher calling right now.”
He moved on to the next segment, but Julie sat in stunned silence with Dom, Byrd's words fading as their relevance to her did the same. Her thoug
hts were churning at top speed, and she was torn between wondering what had prompted her favorite on-air personality to come after her with such thunder, and what Dom could be thinking right now.
A knock at the door stopped her before she could ask the question forming in her mind, to find out what was on Dom's mind.
He popped up first from the couch, hurrying to answer it as if it provided escape from that unasked, uncomfortable question, and when he opened the door–
Two men were standing on the front step in suits.
“Mr. Blair?” one of them asked, and flipped open a badge. “I'm Agent Dominelli, this is Agent Burton. We're with the FBI.” He looked right past Dom and his eyes found her on the couch, watching, knowing what the next words were going to be before he even spoke them.
“We're here to talk to your wife.”
CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE
Sienna
I opened my eyes in a bright room, and there were faces over me. Familiar faces.
Or at least one.
“Oh, good,” President Gondry said, staring into my eyes, “you're awake.”
“Yeah, I do that, eventually, after a harsh ass-kicking,” I said, glancing 'round the room. “Shouldn't I be in a hospital or something? Usually I wake up in a hospital.”
“You're in the White House bunker,” Gondry said, waving his hand. A slew of Secret Service agents and one guy I suspected was a doctor retreated without a word. “They debated bringing you to the hospital, but someone pointed out...” He waved a hand.
“I don't need hospitals,” I said. “But they keep sending me to them. Surprised my insurance company doesn't deny the claims on that basis every time they get the bill.”
Gondry wore a ghost of a smile. “If that area of law had caught up to metahumans, I'm sure they would.” He looked a little banged up, wore a bruise at his hairline, a spot of purpling that he hadn't had this morning at Andrews before we'd started our odyssey through Washington. “I'm glad you're all right. You took a real hammering out there.”
Control: Out of the Box (The Girl in the Box Book 38) Page 22