McAllen leaned forward. “Mr. Cotton, I’m the deputy secretary of Homeland Security. My name is William McAllen. I’ve informed the BTC that you’ve decided to turn informer and are now under our protection.”
Cotton’s eyes went even wider, and he nodded to himself.
“The BTC thinks you’ve betrayed them. I think you’d be wise to help us bring them down.”
What came out of Cotton’s mouth next surprised them all. He took a deep breath and spoke calmly and evenly for the first time in Davis’s memory. “This is unfortunate timing. It really is.”
“Mr. Cotton—”
“I know you think you’re helping, but it’s actually going to ruin everything.”
McAllen held up calming hands. “I can offer you protection, but only if you give us the structure of the BTC organization—who’s in charge, details of their facilities.”
Cotton sighed and shook his head, looking at Davis. “Is he serious?”
Grady cast a confused look to Davis.
Cotton turned his attention to Grady. “I don’t know how you got away from them, Grady, but you’d better damned well go straight back. If we all go back to the way things were, there’s a chance—a slim chance—that we might not be dead come morning.”
McAllen sighed impatiently. “Mr. Cotton, there isn’t going to be any bombing trial. We know you’re not a bomber, and we know there aren’t any bombing victims. What we need to find out is where those people are and who’s running the BTC.”
Cotton laughed ruefully. “No bombing victims? Well, you’re wrong about that. The harvester teams only take the people they want. Everybody else gets killed.” He studied their reactions. “No, not by me.”
Grady felt crestfallen. “So… my partners are dead?”
“I’m sorry to tell you that, but listen to me…” Cotton leaned forward in his chains. “You’re about to join them. We all are if you don’t stop this and put me back where I was.”
“Mr. Cotton…”
Cotton suddenly struggled against his chains, shouting. “Damnit! I had this all worked out until you idiots screwed everything up. I should be in Stateville!” He started banging his helmeted head against the bulkhead.
Grady grabbed Cotton’s bulletproof vest. “You’re saying they’re dead? Tell me!”
“Yes, they’re dead. Don’t look at me; I didn’t kill them. I haven’t killed anybody, but they’re not about to grab useless people. They grab the best and kill the rest. That’s their motto.”
McAllen eased Grady away from Cotton. “Look, we need to know everything you can tell us about Graham Hedrick.”
“Oh, man…” He shook his head vigorously. “You have no idea how far ahead of you these people are.”
“What was your deal with them?”
“The deal was I got to live if I was useful. That was the deal. But I had other plans—plans you idiots have well and truly fucked up. I need to get out of here.”
“We can protect you.”
Cotton laughed bitterly. “Look, I’ve been crawling around in their world for a decade. I know what they’re capable of—and that’s why I want to get the hell out of this Styrofoam cup you’ve put us all in.” He gazed around at the armored vehicle.
McAllen nodded to a Marine captain nearby. “Get us under way.”
“Yes, sir.”
Cotton laughed again. “Under way? I’m sure that will stop them from frying our brains from orbit. Hey, did you talk to the others who’d tried to take down the BTC?”
“Others?”
“Oh, that’s right. You couldn’t. BECAUSE THEY’RE DEAD!” he screamed at the top of his lungs. “Now unchain me, and get me the hell out of this coffin!”
Suddenly all the lights went out. Electric motors whined to a stop in the blackness around them. Silence. No emergency lights came on. It was so black, Davis realized, it made no difference whether her eyes were open or not.
Cotton groaned again in the darkness. “There’s the HEMP. Great job, guys…”
Davis asked, “What’s a HEMP?”
“High-altitude electromagnetic pulse. They would have fired it from the edge of the atmosphere. Out there, the X-ray and gamma ray radiation interact—creates a massive free-electron maser. Any microelectronics within fifty miles are for shit now.” He listened carefully. “Don’t hear any fighter jets now, do you?”
“FBCB2 is down, sir!”
McAllen’s voice: “Captain, get this rear door open!”
“There are hatches over our heads, sir…” They heard banging around. “Hang on…”
Cotton’s chains rattled as he held forth. “You have no idea what you’ve done. If you brought ten thousand people, you couldn’t protect me. Just put me back! Let’s go back to the trial! It’s not too late. Come on—back to prison…”
Just then moonlight entered the vehicle as the staff sergeant opened an overhead hatchway up front. The captain opened another one near the rear and stepped up to look out, shouting down to someone. “Lieutenant, do they have power over there?”
There were muffled calls as Davis frowned at Cotton, who was busy groaning fearfully.
The captain came back down. “Power’s out in the entire force. And there’s thick fog coming in.”
Cotton nodded. “They’re lowering the dew point to mask their advance. And you no longer have night vision. Are you happy now? We’re all going to die. And I nearly had this solved. But you had to go and ruin it, didn’t you, Davis?”
She scowled at this strangely alien Richard Cotton. “Ruin what?”
Suddenly horrific sounds—like the fabric of reality tearing—reached them through the armored walls of the Stryker. Automatic gunfire erupted outside, with intermittent shouts and explosions. Then booms from a .50-caliber machine gun.
And then the deafening roar of a whole marine company opening fire shook the Stryker.
The staff sergeant poked his head up through the hatchway, shouting down, “We’re under attack, Captain!”
“From what direction?”
“I can’t… this damn fog. I can’t even see the tracers.”
Cotton nodded. “You’re blind, and they see everything. We’re sitting ducks in here.” He shook his chains. “Unchain me, damnit.” He looked to McAllen. “If we survive this, I’ll talk, I swear it—just get me out of here!”
Davis grabbed his arms. “Calm the hell down, Cotton. No one’s going to reach you in here.”
Already outside the gunfire had gone silent.
“There. They might have driven them off.”
Cotton just shook his head sadly. “You have no idea what’s coming.”
Then a blinding light and searing heat cut through the cabin—slicing the marine captain in half lengthwise even as it cauterized him. The last two feet of the Stryker fell away, the edges glowing red, as tons of steel and composite armor collapsed onto pavement. Night air swept onto the stunned faces of Davis, Grady, Cotton, Falwell, and McAllen.
Outside, they could see thick roiling fog and soldiers lying motionless on the asphalt. It was suddenly eerily quiet. No aircraft overhead. Not even the sound of crickets.
Davis turned back to see half of the marine captain twitching on the bench. She coughed at the combination of ozone and burned flesh and looked away, drawing her Glock pistol. Falwell and McAllen did likewise. The staff sergeant grabbed an M4 from a weapon rack and aimed it out into the fog.
He shouted toward the driver. “Captain’s down, Ricky!”
“What the hell hit us?”
“I don’t know!”
Davis glanced back to Grady and Cotton, only to see them both staring in horror out into the fog. She turned back again. “Thomas, we have to get Grady and Cotton out of here.”
Falwell shook his head. “This is insane. I don’t understand…”