46
Eric Frey, also known as Adam Archibald, removed a gellcap from a steel container and brought it close to the camera so Desh could get a clear view. “Time to begin part two of this interrogation,” he said with a smug look on his face. He popped the pill in his mouth and swallowed. “For this part, I need to know with absolute certainty if you’re telling me the truth or not.”
Frey waited calmly for the effect to hit. Four minutes later it did. Desh could tell immediately from the haughty expression on Frey’s face and the gleam in his eyes. Desh knew Frey would have to create an avatar, a tiny portion of his mental capabilities set aside to emulate a normal, or else communication would be impossible, since Frey was now operating on a level Desh couldn’t begin to understand or keep up with.
Desh fought to maintain a poker face, but was cursing inside. Shit. Frey had gotten lucky. He had chosen the exact right time to enhance himself. He glanced over at a clock by the bedside for just an instant, without realizing it, but this was enough.
“You’re expecting company,” said Frey. It wasn’t a question. “You’re pissed that I took a gellcap just minutes before they’re due to arrive. You still think you’ve got the upper hand, but you’re worried the pill might give me too much of a chance.” He shot Desh a withering stare. “You’re right to be worried.”
“What are you talking about?” said Desh, unable to help himself from lying, even knowing that attempts at deception would be useless.
Frey disappeared from view and returned thirty seconds later with a pair of binoculars. He took over from the autopilot and the yacht made a wide arc that ended with it pointing back toward the San Diego shoreline, much too far away to be visible. He opened the throttle all the way and the craft sliced through the waves at its full speed of almost forty-five miles per hour. Then Frey re-engaged the autopilot.
Finally, he returned his attention to his prisoner. “I’ll be damned,” he said. “What happened to David Desh, Lone Ranger? You actually did something unexpected; something not retarded. Incredible. So you can teach an old Desh new tricks.” He leaned forward intently and his eyes bored into Desh’s with the full intensity of his expanded intellect, which was intimidating on a primal level. “From the air or sea?” snapped Frey.
Desh sat perfectly still and said nothing.
“I see. Air only. Mercs?”
“The best,” replied Desh, knowing his silence wouldn’t keep the information from Frey and hoping to shake his confidence.
Frey just laughed and began scanning the skies with the binoculars.
The ex-USAMRIID scientist had been right about him, Desh knew. He was predictable, and he had been stupid for a long time. As soon as Jake had appeared on the radar he should have begun to beef up his forces. With the loss of Connelly, and given everything else that had rained down on their heads, an army of one wasn’t about to cut it. And Desh knew when going after someone who was ruthless, slippery, and capable of being enhanced, the tables could be turned in a hurry. So he had organized a team of mercs while in San Diego. And they were as good as it got. Having access to unlimited funds made recruitment easy. Pay three or four times the going rate and things happened quickly. He had instructed them to come after him forty-five minutes after the Codon had left the dock, if they hadn’t heard from him by then.
“How many, and what are their orders?”
“Six,” replied Desh with as much bravado as he could manage. “In two large civilian helos. And they have explosives and firepower enough to destroy you and this craft, regardless of how smart you are now.”
While Desh was speaking, Frey spotted the helos far off in the distance, too far away for the blades to be heard over the sound of the open ocean. The sky was a pure crystal blue and visibility was as good as it could be, not a rare occurrence for San Diego.
Frey rushed below deck and threw open the door to the guest room, not even bothering to point a weapon in Desh’s direction. Ordinarily, even with a weapon trained on him by someone like Frey, Desh would have had the upper hand, but he knew that attacking Frey in his enhanced state was useless.
“Here are your choices,” said Desh, forcing himself to stay calm, which was nearly impossible. Facing Frey while he was enhanced was like facing an oncoming hurricane, a force of nature that possessed a power so ferocious it could not be overcome. “You can let me go and surrender. In which case my men will let you live to fight another day. You’ll be captured, but you’ll be unharmed.”
“Or I can kill you,” said Frey impatiently, “and try to fight or escape.”
“You can, but if I’m dead my men have orders to destroy this yacht and kill you from as far away as possible.”
“And if I don’t surrender, even if you are still alive, they have orders to do the same,” said Frey, reading Desh’s next sentence as surely as if it had been spoken. “You told them you were expendable.” Frey titled his head and studied Desh. “I see. But they get a massive bonus if you live through this. Smart. You didn’t want them to get itchy trigger fingers. If they got the same money whether you died or not, they’d just blow us up and be done with it.”
“I’m prepared to die,” growled Desh firmly. “Are you?”
Frey laughed. “I’m prepared to die,” he mocked in an exaggerated, cartoon voice. “I’m prepared to die. Are you fucking kidding me? Where does the world grow people like you?” he barked in contempt. “Thank God misplaced nobility and monumental stupidity isn’t contagious.”
Desh ignored the insult. He had heard worse from his closest colleagues while they were under the influence of one of Kira’s gellcaps. “My team has arrived,” he told Frey. “You have two minutes to make a decision. If you haven’t released me and surrendered by then, we’re both dead.”
Frey returned Desh’s phone to him. “Call them,” he said calmly. “Tell them to hold their fire. I’m surrendering.” He shrugged. “As you guessed when planning this, I’m not prepared to die. And while I calculate I’d be able to kill you and your scary mercs four out of five times, I’m not willing to take a chance.”
Desh touched the screen and the phone dialed. “When we get on deck,” he said, “you’ll have to return my stun gun and let me use it on you. Then I’ll immobilize you and wait until you return to normal before we proceed.”
Frey nodded.
“Hold your fire,” barked Desh into the phone. “We’re coming out. I repeat, hold your fire.”
“Roger that,” came the response, loudly enough to be heard by both men.
The two men emerged on deck. The helos kept a respectful distance, following Desh’s instructions. Desh had insisted that if he needed their intervention, regardless of how frail and harmless Frey might appear, to consider him to be the most formidable opponent they had ever faced.
The ocean air whipped around both men, and Desh couldn’t help but feel somewhat exhilarated by the speed of the large craft as it cut through the Pacific. “Okay,” said Desh. “Give me my stun gun.”
Frey pulled out an H&K .45 and shot Desh point blank in the torso.
The move had been impossibly fast. Then, in another flash of movement, before Desh could even fall to the deck, Frey executed a perfect kick that sent him flying over the edge of the yacht and into the sea below.
“Sorry, changed my mind,” said Frey calmly, rushing below deck once again as the Codon raced on.