I’m aware of a tree close by exploding, splinters of bark hitting my face, but it’s a secondary awareness, like muzak at the grocery store. Instead my main focus is on the trees ahead of me, the branches, the roots, visualizing them as taxis and buses and cars on a busy Manhattan street, pedestrians up on the sidewalk, horns blaring, construction off in the distance, exhaust and ozone thick in the air, and there I am on my bike, pedaling as fast as I can, trying to make the deadline while at the same time taking in everything around me-litter in the gutters, a hot dog stand, a homeless guy parked just outside a bank, holding a misspelled sign-and I’m doing it all here, noticing it all, soaking it in like a sponge, ignoring the man shooting at me, knowing that he isn’t going to hit me, that he can’t hit me, and then before I know it I’m well within range, close enough that I’m comfortable aiming the rifle and firing.
The man doesn’t go down, not at first. I’m no expert with a firearm by any means, but I understand the basic principles. The guy starts to run toward the building for cover, and I keep squeezing the trigger, aiming for him, then aiming ahead of him, toward the space he’s going to be in the next second, and one of my bullets cuts him down before he reaches the building, his body jerking once before falling to the ground.
I pause then, breathing heavily, blood singing in my ears, surprised that I’m still alive.
I glance back over my shoulder but Ashley’s gone, now headed toward the truck. Good. That’s good. And it’s also good that I’m still alive. I even pat my chest, my legs, expecting to touch blood, a bullet hole, something, but nothing appears to be out of place.
Just then, less than one hundred yards away, the garage door starts to rise.
sixty-six
“No,” Matheson said, petulant, crossing his arms like a child, “absolutely not. He must come with us.”
It took everything Zach had at that moment to keep his composure. He caught a warning look from Hogan and nodded slightly, acknowledging the fact that he knew what was at stake. Matheson was no longer the big cheese he liked to believe he was-his role in everything had come to an end years ago-but he still carried some weight and had the ear of several important people, almost all of those in the Inner Circle and even higher, so those on Zach’s and Hogan’s level knew better than to disrespect him. Most times. Times when their own lives and the possibility of exposure weren’t at risk.
“Fine,” Zach said, “but we need to hurry.”
Hogan started for the door. “I’ll head up top and secure the area.”
Zach nodded and started after him.
Matheson asked, “Who’s going to bring him with us?”
Shit.
Zach turned, his hands balled into fists, the nails digging into his palms, hard enough to draw blood. He didn’t bother answering. He just moved quickly, hurrying over to the bed, undoing first the straps keeping Eli’s feet to the bed, then his hands. He stood back, ordering Eli to stand up, keeping his distance because even though the man was much older than Zach, he wasn’t going to take any chances.
Another blast then, causing the building to tremble just like before, except this time the sprinklers in the ceiling went off, a steady patter of artificial rain.
Watching Eli carefully as Eli swung his feet off the bed and started to stand, Zach extracted his cell phone from his pocket and dialed Tyson.
“Yeah?”
“Another blast just occurred. Unless there’s a fire upstairs, it turned on the sprinklers. Can you override the system and shut them off?”
“I can try, but it’s doubtful. The sprinkler system hasn’t been updated in a few years. It’ll have to be done manually.”
“Forget it. Any word on that trooper?”
“He’s on his way, but it’ll be at least ten minutes before he gets there.”
“What about the local news and police?”
“We’ve created distractions for them both, but it won’t hold forever.”
Zach disconnected the phone, shoved it back in his pocket. Eli was on his feet now, staring at him as he blinked away the falling water.
“Turn around and put your hands behind your back.”
Eli did as he was told. Zach circled the bed, taking one of the straps and using it to secure Eli’s wrists together. He took Eli’s arm and steered him toward the door, Matheson following behind them.
Zach pushed Eli out into the corridor. Farther down he saw the two staff members getting the children together. None of the ten children were reacting to the flashing red LEDs along the corridor or the sprinklers. None were crying. None were even showing any kind of fear. They were quiet, passive, their spirits having been broken long ago. They did as they were told because that was their nature.
“Where are the surrogates?” Eli asked.
“What surrogates?” Zach said, then remembered he shouldn’t waste a breath on this man. He turned back and waited for Matheson to steer himself out of the room, all too conscious of the seconds counting down on his watch, and then they started down the corridor.
The two staff members were women. Zach asked them, “Either of you have a gun?”
One of the women handed him a Beretta.
He nodded his thanks and pushed forward past the children, his one hand gripping the gun, his other hand gripping Eli’s arm.
“Why are there children here?” Eli asked.
“Shut up.”
They came to the elevator. Zach smacked the button. It lit up briefly, then went out.
Behind him, Matheson said, “It won’t work in case of a fire.”
The door leading into the stairwell stood beside the elevator. Zach kicked the door open, turned back to face the scientist.
“Can you walk at all?”
“No.”
Of course not.
Zach shoved Eli face first up against the wall, tore the bindings off his wrists, spun him back around, and pushed him toward Matheson.
“Carry him.”
Eli nearly tripped over his own feet, almost went down right into Matheson, but managed to catch himself on the arm of the wheelchair. He stared at Matheson for a long moment, then stood up straight and turned back to Zach.
“No.”
The LEDs still flashing red, the sprinklers still raining down water, those seconds ticking off on his watch as palpable as anything else in the world at that instant, the knowledge that John fucking Smith was responsible for all of it, Zach momentarily lost control of himself. His fist slammed into Eli’s stomach, and the old man doubled over, falling to his knees, wheezing. Zach wasted no time-he grabbed Eli by the back of his soaked sweatshirt, yanked him to his feet, and pressed the barrel of the gun into the side of his head.
“I’m not telling you again. Carry him.”
sixty-seven
The garage door opens. Almost immediately an engine growls inside. Headlights flash on, tires squeal, and a car is racing toward me. It’s the same car that entered the garage twenty minutes ago, the windows tinted so I can’t see the driver or anybody else in the car, but right now none of that matters because it’s almost reached me, intent on running me over.
I dive out of the way at the last moment, rolling into the grass and dropping the rifle in the process. Scrambling back to my feet, grabbing the rifle again, I watch as the car brakes hard and fishtails. The passenger’s side window lowers and a man leans out, gun in hand. I fire at him before he has a chance to fire at me, and it gives me an extra second of breathing room, that’s all, before the guy just points the gun out through the window and starts shooting blind, or at least not completely blind, seeing me through the tinted windshield while I can’t see him.