About The Phoenix Variant: The Fifth Column 3

Sophia: former black operative, current enemy of the state.

Moments before a catastrophic hurricane hits New York City, a terrorist attack vaporizes a museum and a large chunk of the Upper West Side. Almost caught in the explosion, Sophia gives chase to a suspicious figure running from the blast zone.

Amid the chaos, Sophia recovers a rare meteorite from a black operative and is quickly ensnared in a hunt between clashing factions of a labyrinthine covert government known as the Fifth Column.

The meteorite contains traces of the ancient Phoenix virus. The effects of the virus are unknown to Sophia, but she soon discovers it is more powerful than she dared imagine – and that the Fifth Column will stop at nothing to get it.

Unarmed and outnumbered, Sophia and her allies hurtle towards a confrontation that will determine not only their fate but that of all humanity.  

Comets are an ideal vehicle for sustaining and transporting a variety of microbes, including viruses, from planet to planet and even from solar system to solar system. In consequence, when these organisms are deposited on a world already thriving with life, genes may be exchanged, the evolution of new species may ensue, or conversely contagion may be unleashed, and disease, death, and plague may spread throughout the land.

Comets and Contagion: Evolution and Diseases From Space, 2010

by Rhawn Joseph, neuropsychologist

and Chandra Wickramasinghe, astrobiologist

Chapter 1

Ekne, Norway

1944

The moment Denton sat down, he identified the most dangerous man in the room.

‘We’ve reviewed your request for the transfer of Victor,’ the Colonel said.

Denton had noticed poor Victor, the German mineralogist, on his way in. He was a prisoner at the camp, but they seemed to treat him well in exchange for his specialized work.

‘That’s why I’m here,’ Denton said. ‘Victor will be very useful for our team.’

When Denton arrived at the Norwegian boarding school turned Nazi prison camp, he’d been asked to hand over his Polish Viz pistol for the duration of his visit. It put him on edge, and he enjoyed it.

Denton smoothed the lapels of his SS coat. He had to give it to the Nazis, they sure knew how to make a uniform. Turning slightly in the metal chair, he checked the edge of his vision and observed the posture of the guards standing by the door. His threat assessment was complete.

‘I’ve noticed an irregularity in your records, which complicates things,’ the Colonel said, taking a seat at his desk in front of an ornate marble fireplace. The Colonel’s head was shaped like a watermelon. He had a receding hairline and a smirk that irritated Denton.

‘Irregularity?’ Denton asked.

‘You’re an American spy.’

Denton kept his breathing slow. ‘I can see how that might complicate things.’

Standing by the Colonel’s shoulder: Greyleg, the chief prison guard. His eyes gleamed at Denton. Watching.

The true influencer in any group was not always the person with the highest rank.

The Colonel cleared his throat and leaned forward. His stomach pressed his uniform taut.

‘Here is what will happen, Lieutenant Denton, Office of Strategic Services,’ the Colonel said, pushing his chest forward in small increments. ‘I’m short on test subjects for our experiments. You’re going to fill that. A strictly short term arrangement.’

There was that smirk again. Denton ignored it.

Greyleg was circling. He knew why.

‘If it’s all the same with you, I prefer the spy thing,’ Denton said, grasping his armrest. ‘Plus, your uniforms are fantastic. It’s a shame this Hugo Boss fellow doesn’t make suits.’

The Colonel touched the oak leaf on his collar. ‘One of many shames.’

While Denton might’ve looked like his focus was on the Colonel, his attention was riveted to Greyleg.

One look at the man and Denton recognized someone unburdened by humanity’s weaker emotions. He was free to operate at his full potential. And that involved shooting Denton, shooting the guards, and shooting the Colonel. Greyleg would blame it on Denton and receive his promotion.

Denton knew this because that’s what he would do.

Greyleg approached Denton’s nine o’clock, where the guards couldn’t see him draw. The Colonel was busy showing Denton how deep his voice could go, and hadn’t noticed Greyleg’s movements.

Denton stood. Greyleg went for his Luger P08 pistol. Chair in hand, Denton slung it into Greyleg’s midsection. The chair’s leg knocked air from his lungs and dropped him to his knees.

Denton closed on the Colonel.

The smirk was gone, but there was a glint of oxide steel. A Luger, identical to Greyleg’s. The Colonel drew his Luger. He should have drawn the pistol close to his chest, punching out and firing. But like many soldiers Denton had killed this year, the Colonel tried to swing the pistol from his hip. The barrel struck the edge of the desk, slowing his draw.

Denton reached the desk and slid under it. The Colonel brought the pistol across his body, hunting for a target. Denton emerged beside the Colonel, deflected the arm as the trigger squeezed.

The round discharged, clipped Greyleg in the arm. Much to Denton’s amusement.

Greyleg’s firing hand fell limp, his pistol skittering towards the slowly reacting guards. Denton twisted the Luger from the Colonel’s bulging fingers and used the Colonel’s body as a shield against the guards.

The guards advanced, trying to move wide enough for a shot around the Colonel. Denton applied trigger pressure to the base of the Colonel’s skull and they hesitated. The round would not only punch through the Colonel’s brain but, if he was lucky, strike one of the guards.

From the edge of his vision, he saw Greyleg recover.

Denton took aim over the Colonel’s shoulder and killed one guard. The second guard aimed, unsteady finger moving over the trigger. Denton dropped to the floor. Shots punched above him, through the marble fireplace. Denton lay under the desk, watching from an upside-down perspective as the guard’s legs moved closer. He fired a round through each leg, waited for the guard to drop, then continued firing as he collapsed. Through his chest, through his neck, through his nose.

At the same time, the Colonel slumped beside Denton, catching the poorly aimed rounds from the guard.

Greyleg’s boot crushed Denton’s pistol-wielding hand, pinning it to the floor. Denton was about to move in closer but he saw the knife early, just as Greyleg kicked the pistol across the floor. Denton pulled back, flipped the desk onto him. It glanced off Greyleg’s head, but didn’t slow the man down. 

Denton appreciated the challenge. Engaging with Greyleg made the adrenalin burn sweeter. He brought his hands up, ready. Let’s see how Greyleg does without a firearm, he thought.

Greyleg leaped over the table in one stride, but then tripped on the Colonel’s body. Denton sidestepped as the man stumbled into the fractured marble shelf. A sharp edge tore Greyleg’s neck as he fell. He shuddered, hands clutched over scarlet.

Greyleg collapsed on top of the Colonel and bled out.

Denton lowered his hands.

‘That was disappointing.’

Chapter 2

Bavaria, Germany

One month later

Denton’s foot plunged into the snow. It struck something slippery and he fell on his back.

‘Fuck.’

For a while he tried to decide whether he’d bother getting back up. This was more interesting than what he was supposed to be doing.

The sky was as white as, well, everything. The ground was white, the pine and fir trees were white, the Bavarian rooftops of the town below were white. Even the turrets of the ancient keep before him.

He pulled himself to his feet, brushed snow from his woolen greatcoat and started back to the castle.

New York mightn’t be much warmer, but at least it had sidewalks and toasted three-deckers with roast beef and ham. The Americans might be fighting too, but they still had a homefront. The idea of being at the heart of the war excited him, but this backwater village was much less exciting. The biggest thrill so far had been his encounter with the Colonel and Greyleg in Norway.

The castle did offer a pleasant view, he admitted. Rocky cliffs and winding valleys parted below. They revealed a village of half-timbered cottages and roads dusted in snow.

The gate sentry was dressed like him in a greatcoat and all-black uniform. Denton gave him a nod and he parted the gate with matching enthusiasm.

The snow over the garrison lawn looked like frosting on cake. He stomped through the white to an inner courtyard laced with hemlock. Once he reached the Hall of the Knights, he hung his greatcoat on an iron rack and stamped leftover snow from his boots.

His father, Alastair Denton, glared from over the grand dining table, now used as a workbench for the Ahnenerbe institute. Alastair was a virologist, although he often referred to himself as more of a paleontologist. He spent all his time searching for fossils. Of course these particular fossils were in rocks from outer space or something.

Alastair was there because he’d found strong links between the Tunguska impactor in 1908 and the Spanish flu in 1918. He had proven to the Führer’s men that the influenza virus originated from the sky. A comet called Encke sprinkled the virus into the atmosphere, where it had infected birds, which had in turn infected humans. The Nazis were searching the world afar for evidence of Aryan purity. In doing so, they uncovered a few things of interest to Denton’s father. For one, not all viruses clogged you with mucus.

‘I hear the institute in Ulm discovered the fountain of youth serum,’ Denton said. ‘Now that’s something useful. Why don’t we do something like that?’

‘Because,’ Alastair said, ‘there are several versions of the serum, not all of them were improvements.’

‘All you need is one.’

Alastair ignored him. ‘Give it one tooth more,’ he said in German.

He was instructing Victor, the German mineralogist Denton had plucked from Norway. 

Denton walked the length of the table. Alastair had acknowledged his presence and wouldn’t do so again. He was busy with Victor and Victor was busy mixing fragments of the rock with liquids. Victor seemed surprised when nothing happened. Denton wasn’t.

For a moment, Denton thought he might go back out and lie in the snow. Instead he strode past them, boots echoing off the stone floor.

‘If you’re thinking of visiting the wine cellar, you needn’t bother,’ Alastair said, still in German. ‘I’ve had the wine moved.’

Denton turned just enough to talk over his shoulder to his father. ‘I wouldn’t think of it,’ he said. ‘Although wine is of course how knights maintained their daily fluids.’

‘Fortunate then that you’re an OSS officer,’ Alastair said in English.

Not that English mattered. Everyone here knew who they were.

‘My apologies,’ Denton said. ‘Your list of housekeeping duties had me thinking otherwise.’

‘Just because you graduated from the school of mayhem and murder doesn’t mean you’re above making your own bed.’

‘Assassination and elimination program,’ Denton said. ‘And I sleep in a hammock.’

‘Of course,’ Alastair said. ‘Well, I cannot have you intoxicated when the director visits today.’

Denton raised an eyebrow. ‘I thought that would be advisable.’

Both his father and Victor stared at him.

Denton felt his stomach knot. ‘He’s standing right behind me, isn’t he?’

‘Yes,’ Alastair said.

Stepping to one side, Denton locked gazes with the director. ‘Standartenführer,’ he said. ‘Your mustache is especially waxed today. Is this a special occasion?’

Sievers, the Director of the Ahnenerbe, stared down his nose at Denton, which was difficult since Denton was the same height. Colonel Wolfram Sievers was wearing his white uniform today, contrasting against the coal black of his two SS bodyguards. He still maintained a beard, his hair carefully combed with Brylcreem. Sievers had fewer wrinkles today and Denton wondered if he was wearing makeup.

‘You tell me,’ Sievers said, also in English.

Sievers and his bodyguards migrated past him to the long table. Denton decided to remain where he was, on their periphery, so he could leave later without anyone noticing.

‘We’ve found something,’ Alastair said.

Sievers seemed as unimpressed as Denton, but that didn’t deter Alastair.

‘We’ve identified and tested the virus,’ he said. ‘The prisoners are alive and in good health.’

Sievers clasped his hands at the small of his back. ‘Were they sufficiently exposed?’

‘Twice,’ his father said. ‘And this was from the mountains in Tibet, correct?’

Sievers didn’t respond. Denton inched closer, admittedly a bit curious. He watched Sievers leaf through the ancient Chinese textbook, kept as usual at his father’s elbow. The silk pages and matching German translations lived in rigid plastic sleeves. Sievers’s expedition team had discovered the cache of texts two years earlier. They’d since translated the lot into German. The books were two thousand years old. They covered everything from military strategy to mathematics, archery to music, ritual to meteors. The meteor textbook in particular was the reason they were here. Although twice Denton had caught his father reading the translations on military strategy. Perhaps he’d regretted his career choice as an expert on the sniffles.

‘What makes you so sure?’ Sievers said. ‘There are twenty-nine different types of meteorites in this book. Twenty-six of them bring plague and disaster.’

‘And three don’t,’ Denton’s father said.

‘Der Phönix,’ Victor said.

The Phoenix.

‘Those three were observed at pivotal points in history,’ Alastair said.

‘We are at a pivotal point in history now,’ Sievers said.

‘This rock you found in Tibet, I’m certain it has what I’m looking for,’ Alastair said.

‘Have you observed any promising behavior from the prisoners?’Sievers said.

‘Not yet, Colonel.’

‘Then why are you so sure this is your rock?’ Sievers asked. ‘You said this about the previous five samples I gave you.’

‘This rock,’ Alastair said, gesturing to the pieces of dissected rock and the equipment they were using to analyze it, ‘has a dangerous history.’

‘I need specifics,’ Sievers said. ‘Why is this rock so dangerous?’

‘In the thirteenth century, a Mongol General conquered more countries than anyone else in history,’ Alastair said. ‘He coordinated armies hundreds of miles apart. He took Hungary and Poland in forty-eight hours. He conquered China. And he did all of this after narrowly missing a meteor fragment that fell from the sky. He wrote about this and it’s on record. He considered it an omen.’

‘Centuries ago, a large comet burned through the sky,’ Sievers said. ‘It was seen by many people and later inspired the swastika symbol. But that does not make the comet or meteor itself special.’

‘But it does,’ Alastair said. ‘Another man. An alchemist from China, hired by the Emperor to make him immortal. The alchemist was studying a skystone when the Mongol General invaded the capital and found him. The alchemist had no combat experience and possessed nothing that might injure a man, let alone kill him. And yet, he alone killed the most dangerous General in the world. With an axe through his back. Well, almost.’

‘A master tactician killed by a wizard?’ Denton raised an eyebrow.

‘An inch deeper and he might’ve died. Some accounts tell of the alchemist using his mind to control the General’s soldiers. One of the soldiers attacked the General with his axe. They were all found dead. The alchemist went missing.’

Denton suppressed the urge to smile. ‘Mind control?’ he said. ‘Sounds like some crazy Nazi experi—never mind.’

‘The alchemist escaped to Tibet, where he continued to study his skystone. The General came for him years later, invading the country to kill him. But he never found the alchemist. Or the skystone.’

‘The alchemist died?’ Sievers said. ‘I don’t understand the point of your ramblings—’

‘The alchemist survived. He joined an insurgent force rebelling against the Mongol-ruled dynasty. He rose through the ranks rapidly and became a commander, fusing with the Red Turbans and allying with the White Lotus. Soon, he became a General. He drew a staggering amount of followers and specialists who helped him reunite China and overthrow the dynasty.’

Sievers gave Denton’s father a slow, measured nod. ‘You believe he was the first Phoenix?’

‘He declared himself the new Emperor of China. The skystone he was studying—’ Alastair turned to the pieces of rock on the table ‘—I think this is it.’

Sievers turned on one heel, his gaze falling on Denton.

‘Agent Denton.’ His tongue lingered on each word. ‘What do you make of this?’

‘Not much, to be honest,’ Denton said.

He kept his hands behind his back. ‘You are not like these people here. What makes you different?’

The question caught him off-guard. ‘It’s hard to pinpoint but I’d say it’s my charisma and appreciation of wine.’

‘And why did you come here?’

‘I was assigned—’

‘That is not my question. Why did you accept this assignment?’ Sievers said. ‘What took your interest?’

‘Right now, this country is the center of the universe.’ Denton ran a tongue across cracked lips. ‘I wanted part of the action.’

Sievers almost smiled. ‘I had quite the mess to clean up in Norway after your visit.’

Denton shrugged. ‘It’s what I know. And I enjoy it.’

‘That is what makes you different.’ He turned to the others. ‘The people at our institutes are here for one reason. They go out of their way to avoid military service. Everyone who works for me is an intellectual criminal.’

Denton watched his father’s face curl with frustration.

Sievers strode toward Denton. The gray edge around Sievers’s eyes had disappeared. They seemed a lighter brown. Perhaps he’d stopped drinking so heavily.

‘You’re different,’ Sievers said. ‘Like I was, once.’

‘Well,’ Denton said, ‘at least let me buy you a drink first.’

‘What do you think of this meteorite?’ Sievers said.

‘I think it’s a waste of time,’ Denton said.

Sievers picked up the largest chunk of the meteorite, inside its container, and tossed it to Denton. He caught it in both hands.

‘Then you decide,’ Sievers said. ‘Do you disrupt the schedule and continue to pry at its secrets? Or do you look for our Phoenix viruses in the next rock, which arrives tomorrow?’

Denton watched a vein quiver under his father’s neck. He smiled, hurled the container across the hall. It smashed into a wall near an archway. The meteorite cracked into smaller chunks, skittering across the stone floor.

Alastair exploded with anger. ‘What about the Phoenix viruses?’

Sievers glared and Denton watched his anger mellow. 

‘I don’t believe they are in this rock,’ Sievers said. ‘We have an expedition returning from Iceland. They are bringing meteorite samples from several recent impacts. If one of those rocks carries any of the viruses in this book—’ he gestured to the silk text ‘—you will find it.’

Alastair opened his mouth to speak but decided on nodding instead.

Sievers turned to Denton. ‘Life is just a dream,’ he said. ‘Only the eternal life is the true life.’

With that, he left.

Denton met his father’s glowering stare. ‘Should have left the cellar door open,’ he said.

Chapter 3

Denton settled the mostly consumed wine bottle on the table and stacked the trays of prisoner food to his chest. There were only six, fortunately. He started down the observation tower’s stairwell, metal lantern hanging from two fingers. The stairwell took him to the dungeon. Each cell contained two prisoners, limbs whittled and eyes faded.

He dropped the trays on the floor and pushed them under the cell doors with his boot. The trays contained a bowl of soup, sometimes brown, sometimes green. His father had made an effort to add bread rations, wanting the prisoners in better shape if a Phoenix virus did emerge. Denton hadn’t been hopeful but he kept the bread on the trays because he couldn’t be bothered removing it.

He placed the last trays before the third cell and noticed one of the prisoners standing. That’s new, he thought. The man was no older than himself. He had greasy, knotted hair and dirt-filled fingernails.

‘You are different from the others,’ the man said.

His words were barely louder than his breath.

Denton pushed a tray in. ‘So I’ve heard.’

‘Why is an American helping the Nazis?’ the man said.

‘Why not?’ Denton kicked the other tray in. ‘The food’s great.’

‘You don’t help anyone,’ the man said, louder this time. ‘Unless it helps you.’

Denton considered knocking the man down but it was too much effort to open the cell door. He hadn’t finished that bottle of wine yet. ‘Is this a new discovery you’ve been working on?’ he said.

‘You were betrayed.’ The man frowned. Confusion seemed to pass over him like a shadow. ‘You weren’t meant to come back.’

Denton was on the edge of walking away, but he found the feeble man curious. ‘By who?’ he said, scooping up the square-shaped lantern from the ground.

‘I don’t know.’ The man’s gaze dropped to the trays of soup.

The conditions in this place must have driven the man to madness.

‘It might be the soup,’ Denton said.

‘But you are angry,’ the man said. ‘Like smoke in the air. You are restless. There’s an itch—’

‘That I can’t scratch. It’s on my left just here—’ Denton pointed to his lower back ‘—do you think you can get to it?’ he said.

‘It’s worse than you think,’ the man said.

‘Are you some kind of witch? You know, they used to burn witches in this castle. We could rekindle that for you.’

‘I’m just a tailor,’ he said. ‘Or I was. I don’t know what I am now.’

‘Nothing,’ Denton said. ‘Nothing anymore.’

The man seemed confused. ‘You talk of yourself?’

‘Yes,’ Denton said. ‘But I’m also quite drunk.’

His hands closed around the bars of the cell. The lantern clanged against the iron. He needed some wine. Well, more wine. But he lingered at the cell for a moment. ‘What’s your name?’

‘Yiri Novotný,’ he said.

‘Eat your soup, Yiri.’

Denton left the deranged Yiri to eat his nutritionless soup and returned to the kitchen. Bottle in hand, he walked through the Hall of the Knights, past the long table and toward the senior officers’ quarters. The meteorite fragments had been cleaned up—no doubt his father, a hoarder if there ever was one, had stowed them somewhere safe. The silk text was still on the long table, untouched since Sievers’s visit that afternoon. The light of Denton’s lantern scattered across its hard plastic cover.

He opened it, almost ripping the front page from its binding, and flicked through. The primitive drawings of each comet looked more like branches sprouting from seeds in the ground. He knew as they breached Earth’s atmosphere they became meteors. Beneath each circle—or meteor head—an annotation: a thin strip of Chinese characters. On the opposing page, Denton could see the matching words in German.

Comets are vile stars.

They wipe out the old and establish the new.

Maybe it was the viruses, sprinkled with comet dust or dispersed from a nearby meteor impact. Maybe the viruses helped the evolution of new species.

Fish grow sick, crops fail, Emperors and common people die, and men go to war. The people hate life and don’t even want to speak of it.

‘Vile stars,’ Denton muttered as he leafed through the pages.

If this text was to be believed, everything from smallpox to the common cold could have come from space. The silk stories certainly explained his father’s obsession with the Spanish flu and good old Encke.

He reached the final pages and noticed the word Fenghuang and, next to it, Phönix.

The last leaf had pictures of three comets under the title Di-Xing, the long-tailed pheasant star. The three comets connected by three drawn lines. A single character labeled each. He checked the German translations.

The Detector

The Recognizer

The Scryer

The character in the center of the comets was not for any comet but rather the group, or the combination of all three. He peered at the dark ink. It was older than those with which he was familiar, an ancient seal script. It was less rectangular, more decorative in appearance. The character looked like a man with a sharp spike emerging from his head. It translated to The Controller.

Below the illustrations were streams of Chinese characters. The translations described three Phoenix comets as rare, and made of otherworldly metals.

Denton turned the final page to discover more German translations.

The Detector — a shaman with high sensitivity to the aroma of people; a fragrance or smoke that betrays words, mood, health and humanity.

Denton smirked. ‘That’s loony-town.’

He swilled the last of his wine and planted the bottle on top of the plastic cover. He checked his watch. It was still early, half ten, so he decided for another visit to the wine cellar, re-opened by his disgusted father. Just half a bottle tonight: he’d save the rest for the morning.

Lantern in hand, he walked the open grounds of the terrace to the cellar. The stark, primal drawings of the meteors were imprinted in his vision as he looked at the stars. The night’s air was chilled, silent. He stopped walking. The calls of the owls he’d grown used to were absent. He looked over his shoulder at the machine-gun sentry on the parapet walk. The machine gun sat on its tripod, glimmering in the moonlight. The sentry was missing from his post.

There was always a snugly dressed soldier on the machine gun.

Denton’s heart kicked.

He broke into a run. Back for the hall, one hand gripping the lantern, the other reaching for his Polish Vis pistol. An explosion rang from the terrace, the sound rippling and bouncing off the castle walls. The hall windows shattered from the pressure of the explosion. He ducked inside. It took a moment to figure out where the explosion had come from. It was surely the southern wall, which faced the terrace. But there was a precipice below the southern wall, just as there was a precipice on the western wall and a steep drop on the north. How could someone even attempt to access the castle from such a steep angle?

Gunfire cracked across the terrace.

‘OK, so definitely the southern wall,’ he muttered.

Snuffing the lantern, he crouched and moved for the nearest window. He hoped to catch a glimpse of the attacking force and their strength. He knew his Polish pistol wasn’t quite up to the task. He watched seven soldiers move whisper-silent across the snow-coated terrace grounds. They moved for the senior officers’ quarters—right where he kept his rare MP 41 submachine gun and magazines taped in pairs.

The soldiers hadn’t spotted him at least. They wore dark wool jackets, small packs over their shoulders. They were carrying belt kits with holstered pistols, but no webbing. The soldiers were traveling light with mixed weapons, mostly M1 carbines.

Maroon berets.

Paratroopers, he thought. British.

They were supposed to be in France. So much for retrieving the submachine gun then. There was only one way out and that was through the gatehouse and over the moat.

He crawled across the floor, reached the long table and snatched the silk text. The bottle fell from the table. He lunged for it. The bottle landed in his palm. His fingers clamped over it. He breathed for the first time in a minute.

He could hear distant shouts in German, some faint scuffling and single pops from a pistol. Leaving the bottle on the ground, he clenched the silk text under one arm—the plastic too rigid to roll or fold—and moved for the keep.

He aimed his Viz pistol at the figure in the dungeon. Yiri’s cell was already unlocked but he was still hunkered inside.

‘What are you doing?’ Denton hissed.

His father turned to face him, his own Colt .45 pistol in his hands. ‘You’ve been drinking. Lower your weapon.’

‘Someone blew my cover in Norway,’ Denton said, pistol still aimed. ‘Was it you?’

‘You’ve been drinking,’ Alastair said. ‘I needed Victor, why would I endanger that?’

‘Then why isn’t Victor here with you?’ Denton said. ‘Not valuable enough to save?’

‘Sometimes we make sacrifices.’

Denton lowered his Viz to his father’s legs, but no lower.

‘What are you doing here?’ Alastair said.

‘Same as you, it seems,’ Denton said. ‘Taking our Phoenix virus with us.’

His father had a small leather bag slung over one shoulder. Denton knew the meteorite fragments would be inside.

‘Looks like you finally got what you asked for,’ Alastair said. ‘A little bit of excitement.’

*

Denton ran through the snow, pushing Yiri ahead of him.

The sharp breaths of his father from behind helped measure how far away he was. Twenty feet.

‘Keep Yiri back!’ his father hissed.

Denton ignored him. If any paratroopers were ahead of them, he hoped they’d see the prisoner and hold their fire. If they saw a German soldier they were unlikely to take prisoners even if he surrendered.

A jeep roared to life, headlights splashing them.

‘Halt!’ a British voice yelled.

Denton held Yiri in front of him, turned back and fired from his hip. The rounds caught his father somewhere across his midsection—he couldn’t be sure in the dark. But his father slowed, then stumbled. The snow was dotted scarlet.

Denton held his Viz to the moon. ‘American!’ he shouted, ‘American!’

He tore at his collar with his free hand. ‘OSS agent!’ he yelled again.

Silhouetted in the moonlight, two pairs of British soldiers moved around him. He dropped his Viz in the snow so they could see it. One pair stayed on him, carbines aimed at his face. The other pair disarmed his father, who now lay in the snow.

Denton gestured to Yiri. ‘This man is very important to the Allies,’ he said. ‘He must be kept alive.’

The pair of paratroopers helped Yiri up and into the jeep.

Before Denton could follow, someone kneeled before him, a scarf wrapped across his neck. The barrel of his carbine glinted in the moonlight. ‘Identify yourself.’

‘Lieutenant Sidney Denton, Office of Strategic Services,’ Denton said. ‘Special Operations.’

The barrel lowered. ‘Trained by the best.’

Denton recognized his own British Security Coordination instructor.

The BSC was a covert organization set up in New York by the British Secret Intelligence Service. A couple of years earlier, the OSS had sent Denton to Camp X in Ontario, Canada. At the camp Denton had learned assassination, sabotage, managing partisan support, recruitment methods and demolition. Sir William Stephenson was his chief instructor.

Denton pulled himself to his feet. ‘Sir.’

Stephenson escorted Denton to the jeep. ‘Captain will do. I’m attached to the Special Raiding Squadron, 1st SAS.’

‘What are you doing here?’ Denton said.

‘We moved heaven and earth to find this place,’ Stephenson said.

‘Why?’ Denton said.

An SAS soldier called out from his father’s body. ‘The rocks aren’t here, Captain. They’re not in his bag.’

Stephenson’s gaze fixed on the body. ‘Move to the castle, have everyone sweep the grounds.’

Denton watched a rivulet of blood melt the snow before him.

Chapter 4

Last message received: 07-Jun-1987.

HUGH: Guys this is bad

OWEN: What’s the problem?

HUGH: What isn’t the problem?

HUGH: This is getting crazy. I SWEAR they’re following me.

OWEN: It doesn’t matter. I need you to keep it together. Are you secure?

NAVEEM: DIE UNSTERBLICHEN

HUGH: As secure as possible, yeah. You got the lowdown?

OWEN: Everyone’s on the line. Guys, report in …

MAY: Just call it online, Freeman, not on the line. I’m on point in Denver. Valentina’s in the nest. Ready to blaze.

[TERI CONNECTED]

TERI: hiya guys

NAVEEM: DIE UNSTERBLICHEN

HUGH: What the fuck, Naveem?

OWEN: Naveem is gatekeeper at Desecheo. He’s off the line though, must be a glitch.

MAY: Offline.

HUGH: Off the hook more like.

OWEN: Teri, ready to download?

TERI: on the line in Brooklyn, born ready

HUGH: You mean Crooklyn.

OWEN: For the record May it’s two against one. On the line.

MAY: Whatever, my heart’s racing. Can we just do this?

OWEN: Just waiting on Nav.

MAY: Okay. Might pee my pants. Just a warning.

TERI: WOW thanks may, keep a diary for us!

HUGH: There was a van out the front of my place today.

TERI: and?

HUGH: Pretty sure it was there yesterday. They know about the Akhana, man.

TERI: that what we’re calling it now?

HUGH: That’s what Owen is calling it, yeah.

TERI: what the hell does it mean?

OWEN: Akhana is the female aeon of Gnosticism. It stands for truth.

TERI: fancy I like it

MAY: Is everyone … you know, ok with this?

TERI: having second thoughts may?

MAY: Fifth thoughts. What happens if things go south? We’re toast.

TERI: don’t think about that. don’t ever think about it.

HUGH: Death, man.

MAY: Ya think Hugh? Because I didn’t sign up for that.

TERI: yeah well who did

HUGH: They’re psychopaths, all of them. You’ve read the research, right? Owen transcribed it to English, he knows better than any of us.

HUGH: Nothing is off-limits.

MAY: Is there any way to restore them? You know, make them human.

OWEN: No.

[NAVEEM CONNECTED]

NAVEEM: DIE UNSTERBLICHEN

TERI: goddammit Naveem will you stop blazin that shit

NAVEEM: ???

HUGH: Ok let’s change the world brothers!

HUGH: And sisters.

TERI: you’ve always been the sister, H!

HUGH: Breaking my heart here.

MAY: Yep, one marriage at a time

TERI: right on

OWEN: Naveem, are you ready?

NAVEEM: Just setting up guys …

NAVEEM: Sorry I’m late. Couldn’t attract suspicion, had to be cool.

OWEN: We’re all here. Tell us when you’re ready.

HUGH: Do you think Denton knows?

TERI: unlikely

HUGH: He knows everything. That man is crazy on wheels.

TERI: he’s not a man

HUGH: I hear that.

MAY: Cleaned your ears this morning Hugh?

HUGH: No but I actually hear something. Just the wind I hope. You in the lab?

MAY: Yeah. Graveyard shift with Valentina. OpCenter is a little too quiet.

HUGH: At least you’re not home alone with strange noises outside.

TERI: been smoking again, H?

MAY: No seriously guys if Denton finds out we have the virus code we’re done for.

OWEN: Now is not the time to scare yourself. Stay focused. Stay on task. Everyone.

NEVEEM: OK, it’s raw and ready.

TERI: i bet

OWEN: May, enter your access with Valentina.

MAY: Standby.

HUGH: If this is the end, I just want to say I love you guys.

TERI: shut up H

TERI: we love you too

NAVEEM: DIE UNSTERBLICHEN

HUGH: I swear Naveem will you stop with that German shit!

TERI: is he telling us to die? not cool

NAVEEM: I told you, it’s not me.

NAVEEM: I’m not doing it.

MAY: And … we’re in!

OWEN: Naveem you see clearance?

NAVEEM: No. I don’t.

TERI: great

NAVEEM: Disregard that, I have it. I’m in.

OWEN: Excellent.

NAVEEM: OK, ready to transfer.

TERI: waiting for it baby

MAY: Um, guys?

HUGH: What??

OWEN: Is everything fine?

MAY: Not really. I’m seeing activity from under Grand Central terminal that isn’t Naveem.

HUGH: What the hell does that mean? The OSS base?

OWEN: Is it ours?

MAY: Definitely not. 

OWEN: Have Valentina kick them from the mainframe. Now.

MAY: OK on it.

OWEN: Naveem, I’ll need you to check the logs after.

NAVEEM: Will do.

MAY: OK we booted their ass. You’re good to go!

HUGH: Let’s blow this taco stand!

HUGH: I could go a taco right now.

NAVEEM: Sending. Teri, you should see it soon.

TERI: I see it alright

TERI: wow this is some crazy virus

HUGH: You can read that?

TERI: no not really

HUGH: Outer space. I bet it was aliens.

HUGH: Siberian aliens.

MAY: It is not aliens, Hugh. It’s from a mountain in Siberia for God’s sake.

TERI: two decades of analysis

TERI: Denton gonna be pissed!!

OWEN: He’s already been assigned to a new project.

TERI: how do you know that

MAY: We aren’t Owen’s only friends on the inside, Teri. He knows other people.

TERI: oh so betrayed right now

MAY: What project is ol’ Denton on?

OWEN: Project Genesis. Another enhanced soldier program.

MAY: Like Phoenix? His father’s project?

HUGH: Hey, if you believe the rumors, his father is actually him.

TERI: shut up H. yeah except this project isn’t based on some fairytale written on silk

HUGH: So, not like the Bible then?

TERI: would be funny if this Phoenix code we’re risking our lives for didn’t even do anything

HUGH: Yeah. Hilarious, Teri.

MAY: We can’t risk Denton testing it.

OWEN: We can’t risk Denton even knowing he had it in the first place. He’s been hunting them since WWII.

HUGH: Hey the Phoenix virus could just be the flu!

TERI: shut it H

HUGH: Yeah that is definitely not wind outside

HUGH: I’m going for the safe.

MAY: The safe?

TERI: he has a revolver

TERI: ok I think I have all of it

TERI: that’s all of it Owen

OWEN: Naveem, check and shut down.

OWEN: Forget the logs.

NAVEEM: Ok if you say so.

MAY: I have activity again guys

MAY: Definitely Grand Central

TERI: Denton?

NAVEEM: Shutting down now.

OWEN: Good.

NAVEEM: Gotta book, catch you later.

[NAVEEM DISCONNECTED]

HUGH: so I can’t remember the combination to my safe

TERI: hahahaha well done H

HUGH: It’s not funny. Or well timed.

TERI: like most of your jokes I guess

OWEN: Teri, what’s your progress?

TERI: packaging now. might take a sweet while for May to get it across the pond.

OWEN: OK. Keep me posted.

HUGH: what are you doing with the code?

OWEN: I can’t tell you the answer to that, Hugh.

HUGH: You need to!

OWEN: It’s for your safety. No one can know.

HUGH: Hey man it’s alright for you on the other side of the world, we’re the ones in the line of fire.

HUGH: Speaking of fire,

HUGH: what the fuck was tt4grsu78bgv c

[HUGH DISCONNECTED]

MAY: Um.

TERI: fuck

MAY: well that doesn’t sound good

TERI: let’s hope he just fell over and banged his knee on the power switch

MAY: or something

OWEN: How much longer, Teri?

TERI: packaged

TERI: hey may are you seeing this

MAY: interference

MAY: weird

OWEN: Keep reporting guys.

MAY: received the package looks good

TERI: hope those cables under the pacific can handle this

NAVEEM: DIE UNSTERBLICHEN

MAY: yep totally FUCKING CREEPED OUT NOW

OWEN: Never mind the glitch. Are you sending?

MAY: in the dead drop now posting

TERI: great now im hearing sirens

MAY: its brooklyn isnt that normal?

TERI: maybe

TERI: they got naveem didnt they

MAY: it took you that long to figure it out

TERI: shut up

OWEN: Don’t think about it now. We need to finish this.

MAY: still posting to the board and holy shit this virus is big ive never shunted this much code before

TERI: you know denton was trained by james bond right

MAY: yeah right

OWEN: He was trained by the man on whom James Bond was based. Not quite the same thing.

MAY: youre actually serious

TERI: told you

MAY: sending the whole damn Phoenix virus 50 seconds to go

OWEN: Patience.

MAY: oh no

MAY: This is not good

TERI: ???????

OWEN: What’s happening, May?

MAY: theyre here

MAY: blue berets they shouldnt be here

MAY: fuck it

MAY: weve locked ourselves in

MAY: emergency seal why not right

TERI: can they get in

MAY: not yet

MAY: 35 secs

MAY: SHIT THeyre everywhere

NAVEEM: DIE UNSTERBLICHEN

OWEN: Cancel it.

OWEN: Wipe the computer. You can deny everything and live.

TERI: oh my god

OWEN: I don’t want you to die for us. We can extract you.

MAY: valentina says goodbye

TERI: send it

TERI: FUCK THE FIFTH COLUMN

TERI: FUCKING SEND IT

MAY: they have Naveem its too late to turn back

MAY: im seeing this through

MAY: lets break the devils dishes

TERI: im crying

MAY: 10 secs

TERI: this cant be happening

MAY: 5

OWEN: You did good, May.

TERI: are you there

TERI: anyone

[MAY DISCONNECTED]

OWEN: It’s just us now, Teri.

TERI: what happened

OWEN: My guess is they’re waiting for the Blue Berets to take them now.

TERI: ok

TERI: i dont know what to think

OWEN: I have the virus. She got it out just in time.

TERI: guess it was worth it

TERI: was it worth it

OWEN: Teri, this is worse than I thought.

TERI: is there another phoenix virus

OWEN: If I’m reading this right, there are three. And the Fifth Column already has the second one.

TERI: what?? where?

OWEN: They’re collecting them right under Denton’s nose.

TERI: he doesnt know

OWEN: Not yet, anyway. But that’s not the worst of it.

TERI: what the hell is then?

OWEN: We have a live one.

OWEN: A child from Czechoslovakia. Blood work. Zophia Novotný. Three years old. Denton has her on some sort of list.

TERI: what a psych out

TERI: knock on the door

OWEN: Denton has been waiting for this.

TERI: which denton

OWEN: That doesn’t really matter anymore.

OWEN: But he’s been waiting for a long time.

TERI: knock knock

TERI:

[TERI DISCONNECTED]

[TERI CONNECTED]

TERI: Owen Freeman. Hello.

OWEN: You’re too late.

TERI: Teri really is quite the screamer, you know.

OWEN: Goodbye, Denton.

TERI: You can’t take this.

TERI: Not from me.

OWEN: I just did, mate.

TERI: I will track you down.

TERI: And I will pry it from your dead hands.

OWEN: Good luck with that.

[OWEN DISCONNECTED]

Chapter 5

New York City

1998

The last time Denton had set foot in this bar it was a private function at the opulent office of an American financier. While the other attendees listened to a recital, he was invited to the balcony. It was here that a five-star US Navy Fleet Admiral offered to recruit him to an agency he’d never heard of. An agency that would remain nameless until 1963. That same admiral was awarded a sixth silver star, promoting him to the rank of Supreme General. The General had coined the agency’s unofficial name: the Fifth Column.

The bar was mostly wood and mahogany, and mostly empty. A woman sat alone at a table. She was in her late sixties, with curled gray hair, pearls and a flash of gold. There was one other customer, sitting at the bar, a man in his mid-fifties with slicked hair and square glasses that pinched his nose. He wore a dull gray suit that pulled across his swelling midsection. Both hands clasped a glass of mostly ice.

Denton found the balcony occupied by a single person—Gabriel Denton. His son. Denton indicated for his bodyguard, a young former Navy SEAL, to wait below the stairs.

‘Father,’ Gabriel said. ‘I was expecting—’

‘I used a false name,’ Denton said. ‘Sorry to mislead you, but I need to be careful.’

‘You’ve been missing a week now,’ Gabriel said. ‘They think you’re one of the traitors. The Akhana.’

Denton shrugged. ‘The Akhana want me dead, so I doubt that. Why do you think I’ve been in hiding?’

A shadow fell over his son’s face. ‘You’ve used the Nazi serum,’ he said. ‘To rejuvenate your aged muscle stem cells.’

‘Yes, I have,’ Denton said, removing his overcoat and hood. ‘Not too shabby, sixty years off and I couldn’t feel better.’

‘You’re—’

‘Not an old man?’ Denton said. ‘Yes, that’s quite apparent now, one would hope.’ He flashed a grin. ‘I could pass for your brother.’

His son stared at him for a long moment. ‘You could pass for me.’

‘That could work,’ Denton said. ‘Unfortunately it’s not quite permanent.’ He sat down in a plush armchair and inspected the menu. ‘Well, things have certainly gone up in price since the forties.’

‘What are you doing?’ Gabriel said. ‘That’s unauthorized use of the serum.’

‘Trust me when I tell you it was necessary.’

‘Why?’ Gabriel said.

Denton paused as a bow-tied bartender entered, scooping nuts from a silver bucket. ‘Fresh nuts?’

Denton glared at him. ‘We are in abundance, thank you.’

‘A Gibson please,’ Gabriel said.

‘Cancel that,’ Denton said. ‘Two Old Fashioneds.’

‘Certainly,’ the bartender said. ‘Are you brothers?’ He grinned. ‘You look almost alike. Except only one of you has hair.’

Denton gave him a curt nod. ‘You’re very observant.’

The bartender, pleased with himself, left them in their privacy on the balcony. His son glared at him.

‘If you put vodka in a martini I will shoot you,’ Denton said, running a hand over his shaved head.

In truth, he didn’t want his son ordering a clear beverage.

‘Shaken or stirred,’ his son said, ‘you’ve done it for less.’

The shoulders of his son’s suit were bunched and ill fitting. Another off-the-shelf Denton tried to ignore.

‘Listen to me carefully,’ Denton said. ‘Someone inside the Fifth Column has the Phoenix virus. From the Nazis.’

‘It was destroyed,’ Gabriel said. ‘We recovered it first, but it was destroyed from the inside. Owen Freeman and the Akhana.’

‘I’m not talking about the Phoenix virus we lost in the castle. I know he destroyed it; the prick did it right under my nose. Destroyed the sample and stole our analysis.’

‘So why are you asking me?’

Denton’s bodyguard arrived with both drinks, handing his son one first. Denton took his and noticed the slight difference in color between them.

His son sniffed it and pushed the glass across the table. Denton’s bodyguard returned to his position downstairs, leaving them alone.

‘Sugar crushed with bitters,’ Denton said. ‘And three fingers of rye. Try it.’

His son’s nostrils flared as he raised it to his mouth.

‘Not just yet.’ Denton leaned in and took the glass from him. ‘There’s a second virus that no one knows about. Someone inside the Fifth Column is in possession of a second Phoenix virus.’

‘And how did you come to this conclusion?’ Gabriel said.

‘The Nazis recovered a total of seven samples. All seven were the same particular class of meteorite.’ Denton placed his son’s glass back on the table. ‘My father—your grandfather—only tested six. We never saw the seventh. It never made it to the castle.’

‘The castle was overrun before it arrived,’ Gabriel said.

‘The seventh sample,’ Denton said. ‘It wasn’t lost. Where did it go?’

‘What makes you think I know?’ His son reached for his glass. ‘And what makes you think it contains another Phoenix virus?’

‘Because I think you have it,’ Denton said.

Gabriel drew the glass to his lips. ‘How did you draw that conclusion?’

‘Because you’re a terrible liar.’

He grimaced, lowered the glass. ‘I’m good,’ he said. ‘Some say better than you. I’m in charge of a project now.’

Denton laughed. ‘And what project is that?’

Gabriel’s lips pursed together. A vein flickered across his forehead. ‘Something more important than your toy soldier program.’

Denton almost took the bait, but thought better of it. ‘I don’t care what you’re doing with the second Phoenix virus. What I care about is the Akhana getting their hands on it. They already got to one. They’re inside the Fifth Column. They’re everywhere.’

The younger man shook his head. ‘Is this more Cold War paranoia?’

‘You’re my son,’ Denton said. ‘And you’re the only person I can trust right now.’

‘Now you trust me?’

‘I trust you to do the right thing.’

‘And what’s that?’ Gabriel asked. ‘Move it? Even if I could, I would be discharged.’

‘And if you don’t you will be killed. And so will I. The clock’s ticking. The Akhana cannot be allowed anywhere near this. And they certainly cannot possess all three.’

‘That’s not possible: they don’t have one, let alone three.’

Denton raised an eyebrow. ‘They have our analysis. They’ve had it for years. It’s possible they can rebuild the virus. And if they take this one, they will have two. It’s a shame you haven’t read the silk manuscripts.’

‘I have read them,’ Gabriel said.

Interesting, Denton thought.

‘They can’t get the third,’ his son said. ‘It doesn’t even exist.’

‘Yet,’ Denton said. ‘Once they do, they have the world. And they’ll do a lot worse to this planet than the Nazis ever could.’

‘Weren’t you helping the Nazis?’

‘No, they were helping us,’ Denton said quickly. ‘That’s a big distinction.’

‘How many … Akhana are in the Fifth Column? Are there any moles in my project?’

Denton looked thoughtful. ‘Depends. Which project?’

Gabriel brought his glass to his lips. ‘Phoenix.’

Denton didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. His son would draw his own conclusions.

‘This is bad,’ Gabriel said. ‘This is worse than I thought.’

Denton leaned in closer and watched his son drink. He didn’t just take a sip, he drank the entire glass, leaving only the large ice cube.

‘Where is the sample?’ Denton said.

His son gathered his breath. ‘I can’t tell you that.’

‘Gabriel, I need your help.’

‘Father, I can’t—’

‘The Akhana are too dangerous now,’ Denton said. ‘We need to destroy them.’

‘Their value outweighs—’

‘We’re running out of time,’ Denton said.

Gabriel slumped in the armchair. ‘The project’s cancelled.’

‘What happened?’ Denton said. ‘You just told me you’re running Project Phoenix.’

His son’s fingers tightened across his empty glass. ‘I’m off the project now. I don’t know what’s happening but the orders came from high up.’

‘The General?’ Denton said.

His son shook his head. ‘I don’t know. But they’re locking it down. Research has been suspended. I’m taking over another project—Seraphim. They’re entering the human testing phase.’ His gaze flickered to the stairwell. ‘You don’t know this but your bodyguard downstairs, he’s one of the test subjects.’

‘Seraphim was supposed to be mine,’ Denton said.

‘Project GATE was supposed to be yours,’ Gabriel said. ‘If you don’t want GATE I’ll gladly take it,’ he said. ‘We can swap.’

‘It’s doing quite well, actually.’ Denton’s hand tightened around his glass. He should have both projects. And if he couldn’t have both, he wanted influence over both. ‘Do you still have access to Phoenix?’

His son coughed, then shook his head. ‘No. Not anymore.’

‘Where are the samples? Gone?’ Denton said. ‘Did the Akhana get to them?’

‘Grand Central,’ Gabriel said finally. ‘There’s one sample in Grand Central.’

‘Still?’ Denton said. ‘The base was decommissioned last month. Everything else is at Desecheo Island now.’

‘There’s a lower level,’ Gabriel said. ‘Storage only. No one goes in, no one goes out. It’s only for the Defense Sciences Division.’ He leaned in to whisper. ‘I mislabeled one of the samples on purpose. No one knows it’s the Phoenix virus. I don’t know where the General sent the other samples, but the mislabeled sample is still in Grand Central.’

‘What’s on the label?’ Denton said.

‘Violet plague,’ Gabriel said. ‘Dated November 22 1998.’

Denton sank into his armchair and filed the date away for later. ‘Good,’ he said, finishing his drink.

Gabriel nodded and coughed some more. It quickly turned into a coughing fit.

Denton placed his empty glass on the table and reached over, taking the wallet from inside Gabriel’s untailored suit. While Gabriel continued coughing, Denton found his ID and badge and slipped it into his own pocket. Blood stained Gabriel’s collar.

‘Gabriel Denton,’ he said, leaving a fifty on the table. ‘You’ve been reassigned.’

On cue, Denton’s bodyguard reached the top of the stairs. He’d heard Gabriel coughing.

‘DC,’ Denton said. ‘Take care of him.’

Denton took his overcoat and left DC to deal with his son.

The second Phoenix virus will have to wait for now, Denton thought. He needed to do a few things first. He needed a better position. As he left the bar, he thought of his test subjects in Project GATE. Their programming had been a success. He thought of one test subject in particular: Yiri’s granddaughter, Zofia.

Now she was Sophia.

Denton stepped out onto Vanderbilt Avenue and pulled on his overcoat. He had two Phoenix viruses almost in his grasp now. He looked up into the night sky, felt the breeze on his younger face.

All he needed was the third.

Chapter 6

Baltimore, Maryland

Present day

Sophia pulled her rucksack open on the motel bed. On casual inspection, it was a discreet black ruck with a bare fifteen liters of capacity. It was in fact the perfect ruck for her. Waterproof, military grade, slim against the contours of her back. Inside, she had two field packs and three rows of webbing fitted with essentials.

On the top row of webbing she kept a small torch with a red lens filter. She liked it because it had a dedicated strobe button and it took AA batteries she could source anywhere. Next to it, a monocular. Beside the monocular she kept a cheap GPS with a color touchscreen. It ran happily off two of any civilian GPS services at any time: American GPS, Russian GLONASS, European Galileo and Chinese BeiDou.

On the second row of webbing she kept a pair of compact night-vision goggles, generation two. She pulled the door wedge from under the motel room door and slipped it between her goggles and baseplate compass. In the next motel room, glasses clinked and someone laughed. She ignored them. On the end of the second row, her black oxide multitool in a pouch. Wedged in behind it were a few strips of plasticuffs. Next to the multitool she had a second multitool. It was a present for Aviary; her birthday had been the week before.

Sophia had removed the Velcro from all the pouches and sewn in press-studs. She’d converted one of her field bags into her trauma kit. Trauma bandages, tape, burn dressing, a scalpel and a tube of Dermabond. Aspirin for pain relief or fever reduction, metoclopramide for nausea, loperamide (an anti-diarrheal agent), an EpiPen (adrenalin auto-injector), morphine auto-injector, two sachets of QuickClot and a spare tourniquet. A tourniquet was the only medical kit she carried both in her ruck and on her person, usually secreted in her jacket.

She kept a hard, water-resistant Pelican case the size of a smartphone. It was identical to the one issued to her in Project GATE, just small enough to stuff down her jeans. She’d customized the contents quite a lot, given the urban environments she was now operating in. This time, she didn’t bother with a wrist compass. They were inaccurate to the point where she never bothered using them. And she hardly needed one when Nasira the human compass was around.

She neglected to insert a small multitool into the Pelican case because she already carried a larger one. The issued flint-and-striker combo barely worked. She used a cigarette lighter and waterproof matches as backup. The laser pointer went—as an operative she hadn’t used it once. She’d filled the gap with iodine tablets and ten foot of paracord. And a hypodermic needle and vial she’d taken from Dr Cecilia McLoughlin. The vial McLoughlin had almost injected into her.

Sophia had planned to destroy it when she was ready but she hadn’t gotten to it yet. Every time she packed her ruck and checked it over, she found herself distracted by the tangerine liquid. She didn’t know why she hung onto it. If injected, it would obliterate her conscience. To her, that was almost suicide. Or worse than suicide. She tucked it behind the waterproof matches so she couldn’t see it through the Pelican’s transparent lid.

In the ruck’s interior zipped pockets she kept a few other items. Small headsets with earpieces and throat mikes; an old iPod Aviary had passed down to her. It was an unapologetic red that Aviary had probably bought to match her hair.

Sophia also kept her essential toiletries in her ruck, along with hand sanitizer, water, some dried food, a pair of cheap sunglasses, sewing needles and safety pins. She also kept a full set of lockpicks and a small tin of WD-40—good for erasing fingerprints and DNA. And of course secondary batteries and chargers for everything. She lived out of her bag so it was always packed and ready to go. One spare pair of jeans, six T-shirts, one sweater that she wore mostly in her room. Seven pairs of underwear, six light support bras, two sports bras and five pairs of socks, a cluster of elastic hair ties, all zipped into a compact washbag so they didn’t get in the way when she was groping for tools.

In the interior pocket that ran across her back: a single flashbang and two Glock mags, upright so she could grab them. In the exterior pocket against her back she stored another two mags.

Depending on the environment, her clothing and the level of danger she was walking into, she either carried her Glock 17 pistol in her waistband or in the interior pocket of her ruck. But she always carried her Gerber Mark II fighting knife. She could reach for either the knife or the pistol quickly without having to take the bag off her shoulders. Naturally, the pistol was already loaded. She also carried a cleaning kit in the ruck, and her backup Gerber knife, which she was planning to give to Aviary for her birthday.

Fastened to the ruck’s carrying handle were two carabiners. One was a non-locking carabiner, the other locking. She’d connected them with forty foot of paracord. She’d wrapped the paracord over the locking carabiner to the point where she couldn’t even see it. Handy in case she needed to do any climbing. Or falling.

On her person she kept very little. A slim wallet, a burner phone, a waterproof watch. And her own version of the cumbersome escape and evasion kit she’d once been issued. Her new kit was as thin as a credit card and not much longer than a toothpick. It wasn’t really a case at all, just a few items bundled together. A single handcuff key, kevlar rope, a shim and her pair of mini lockpicks. She could walk through any metal detector without arousing attention. With this kit secreted in slits cut in the waistbands of both pairs of her jeans, they would also go unnoticed in a casual body search.

She checked her wallet. Various dollar bills, false license and false debit card. Behind them, a photo of Leon Adamicz. Behind that, a photo of Owen Freeman. Behind that, a photo of Benito Montoya. They weren’t her own; they weren’t taken by her or anyone she knew. They were photos she’d printed at an internet café after a quick Google Image Search. They were photos she should have burned by now. In fact, they were photos she should never have had to begin with. Accompanying the photos, a motel business card. On the back she’d written the names of her sister, her brother, her mother and her father. To anyone else they didn’t exist, but she needed them to exist for her.

The motel room next to her thumped soft music from someone’s phone or laptop. She could hear voices chatting and laughing: she counted at least four. They weren’t packed and ready to go. They weren’t concerned with who might be tracking them, or how many exits this motel had, or who knew their real name. They didn’t have the laces on their sneakers pre-tied. They just laughed, talked excitedly, told each other stories, poured drinks.

She closed her ruck, turned her burner phone on and lay down on her bed, wondering for a moment what it would be like in that room next door. Listening to a story that didn’t involve the Fifth Column or a deniable project. Laughing, holding her cup steady as someone refilled it.

It wasn’t the first time she’d lain on her bed awake. In whatever motel, hotel or apartment she’d rented for the night she listened to conversations next door. She liked the concerned murmurs, sparks of gossip, pop music while they showered, cable television they watched, gasps for breath.

The hardest thing about being an operative in exile was the time. She had too much of it. And all she could do was think. About everything. It might explain why her ruck was so well organized. She had little else to do.

It had only been a week since her new ally, Aviary, had found someone talented enough to pinpoint and remove the genetic marker McLoughlin was using to keep tabs on her. McLoughlin was dead now, but Sophia couldn’t be sure who else might take over the tracking. For two months she’d moved daily, stayed mobile during daylight and hardly slept at night. It was hard to break the habit now, even though she no longer needed to go to such extremes.

Her burner phone buzzed across the carpet floor. She’d only just turned it on.

The number was stored as A.

She almost let it ring out but decided to pick up.

‘Hey, what’s up?’ Aviary said.

Sophia sat upright, phone to her ear. ‘Hi.’

‘Yeah, um, actually calling people is weird. I have something to show you. Do you want to meet? I’m—’

‘Don’t tell me where you are,’ Sophia said. ‘When are you thinking?’

‘Um, as soon as you can. This Friday?’ Aviary said. ‘I’ll send you the address tonight.’

Sophia had been training Aviary over the past six months, on and off. Aviary knew not to send anything direct. The address would appear on the front page of a company website they’d agreed on. Aviary would hide the meeting address in the source code. Sophia could reveal it using the inspector tool in any web browser. Following Sophia’s instruction, the numbers in the address would be offset by twelve. 108/170 Broadway would become 120/182 Broadway. The time would not be offset. But if Aviary needed to communicate a red flag, the last two digits would both be 9. That was all Sophia needed.

‘What time tonight?’ Sophia said.

‘When I finish my shift,’ Aviary said. ‘I have to go now, but tell me if you can’t make it.’

Aviary ended the call. She was using a burner phone too, as much as she detested it. She’d vowed to convert Sophia to a smartphone made sometime in the last decade but Sophia didn’t trust them. She’d been out of the loop with technology since defecting from the Fifth Column.

She checked her watch. It was already past ten at night so she decided to wait until first thing in the morning. Friday was still a few days off.

Chapter 7

Sacred Mountain Range, Peru

Nasira drew to a halt along the rocky path. Her lungs screamed to catch up and her legs burned. The path had led her higher into the mountains. High enough that clouds shimmered before her, tempting her to the unknown.

She’d reached the Forest of the Clouds.

After spending a few days in Cusco, a town below the mountains, to acclimatize herself to the altitude, she had started her trek through a less explored region of the Incan empire. And she had still a way to go.

The tops of the rocky mountains were swathed in haze. She’d clocked another thousand meters of elevation today, reaching an uncomfortable 5,000 meters above sea level. And it was starting to show. She had to stop every twenty paces to catch her breath.

She wielded two staffs fashioned from small tree branches along the way, using them to transfer some weight from her knees to her shoulders. Her arms could handle the fatigue but her lungs were really slowing her down. And it was starting to piss her off.

She took the moment to sip from her canteen and watch the clouds drift between the mountains and past a flock of grazing alpacas. They jerked their fluffy, unshorn heads in her direction and hummed. The cloud drifted over them, coating the yellowed grass and low bush.

She wanted to reach the summit before sundown and lay up overnight. She started moving again, able to breathe calmly in through her nose and out her mouth. She used her wooden staffs to help herself across some rocky steps and around a sharp bend. The side of the mountain dropped sharply below and she had to be mindful not to stray too close to the edge.

The last hours of the afternoon slipped behind her as she thought of Sophia. With each passing week Sophia had withdrawn. She still acted like everything was cool and nothing had changed. But everything had. She was struggling and Nasira could see it in her eyes.

With Sophia’s tagging mechanism removed, she could afford to slow down and move as she pleased. But she never did. Even her plans to fight back against the Fifth Column seemed to evaporate. Nasira knew they were still there, but she stopped talking about it. She hadn’t mentioned Denton in a while.

That wasn’t the problem.

The problem was Sophia didn’t speak of anyone. Not Freeman. Not Benito. Not even DC. If he had been in contact with Sophia she certainly hadn’t told anyone. It annoyed Nasira because Sophia had the support of her friends to help her do what had needed to be done. At Desecheo Island. In the Philippines. And in Denver. And then she had just shut down.

Sophia was supposed to be here with her. In the mountains. But she’d used some bullshit excuse of putting people at risk by being here. That she might lead the Fifth Column to a remote location in the mountains and put a village in danger. Even though the tracking mechanism was gone and that wasn’t possible anymore. They both knew it wasn’t the real reason. Sophia just wanted to be left alone.

So Nasira had left her alone.

Nasira reached the summit between the two mountains and fought the urge to collapse where she stood. She wiped sweat from her face. Her lungs struggled to pull enough oxygen and it took a few minutes before she felt normal again. As normal as you could feel up here.

The mountains in the distance were a faded blue. Between them and her, an ocean of cloud. They were beneath her now. Soon the sun would move under the clouds and darkness would coat the summit. Nasira set up camp in a clearing, erecting a hammock and tying her waterproof poncho overhead to keep the rain off. She sprayed the ends of the hammock and the two trees with bug spray before curling up inside and listening to the night.

At this altitude the sound of wildlife was sparse. Most of the nocturnal activity was far below now. She kept her Gerber Mark II fighting knife in the hammock with her. It dug into her side if she kept it in the scabbard so she held it, sheathed.

She wondered what Jay was up to and whether he was thinking of her much, if at all. Where Sophia had slipped, Jay had improved. A large part of his improved day to day function was because he worked with Damien now. The fools were almost brothers. Although Jay still called occasionally and asked about Sophia. But it wasn’t why he called.

Last week Jay had floated the idea of a reunion, just the four of them. Grab some food at the diner, nothing fancy. He was on for a job in New York next week, which was only one state north from where Nasira was supposed to go anyway. Talking Sophia into it would be another thing.

A light rain dusted the surface of her poncho. The sound reminded her of thunderstorms rattling her roof when she was young. She drifted to sleep.

*

The blizzard swept flakes of snow into Nasira’s eyes. She pulled the hood on her waterproof jacket to one side, compensating for the angle of the wind. The snow was hard underfoot, crunching and sliding with each step. At 6,000 meters above sea level, she walked among the mountaintops—peppered with snow like choc chip and vanilla ice cream—drawing closer to her final destination. The cold air made her cheeks sting and her head painfully numb. She checked the touchscreen on her GPS, grateful she could use it with gloves on.

She stopped.

It should be right here, she thought.

But there was nothing. Just snow, mountaintops and more snow. And the blizzard.

She ran her gaze in full circle, returning to find thin gray shapes ahead of her. The blizzard rippled through the air and the gray shapes took sharper form. At first she thought they were pillars, the remains of the Incan fortress rumored to exist in these mountains. But they were irregularly shaped and their tops were bumpy. She realized she was looking at the heads and shoulders of people. Three of them standing before her, hooded and cloaked in dark gray to protect them from the blizzard. They didn’t say a word. They didn’t move.

Nasira reached for her knife. She opened her mouth to speak but couldn’t find her breath. She didn’t know her legs had given way until her face hit the snow. She couldn’t feel the cold anymore.

Darkness.

Then snow again. She was being rolled over. The blizzard was a soft pattern of white and gray. She breathed. Something plastic fogged in front of her. She noticed a small oxygen tank next to her.

White became gray, black.

*

Light danced across the wooden beams in the ceiling. Nasira sat upright and noticed a fireplace burning before her. She felt strange. It took a moment for the details of her surroundings to soak in. She tried to gather the threads of what had happened up to this point but her head ached and the threads fell loose.

‘How are you feeling?’

Nasira looked over at a woman standing in the doorway. She was twice Nasira’s age, with dark chocolate hair and concerned lines drawn around glacial blue eyes.

‘Been better,’ Nasira said.

Nasira’s voice warmed in her chest as she checked her clothes. She had everything on her except her knife and ruck. The woman noticed her concern and pointed to a corner of the room. Her things were there, almost hidden behind other satchels and rucks.

‘Your knife and other belongings are here,’ she said. ‘You are very lucky.’

‘What the hell happened?’ Nasira said.

‘Hypoxia,’ the woman said. ‘Oxygen deprivation.’

She stepped into the room and nudged another ruck with her mountain boots. ‘You’re lucky because I always carry an oxygen tank.’ Her blue eyes focused on Nasira. ‘You wouldn’t have lasted for long.’

Nasira rubbed her eyes. ‘I was feeling fine.’

‘It comes on quick; there’s no warning.’

‘Thanks,’ Nasira said. ‘I owe you one. Uh, you have a name?’

‘Lucia.’

Nasira blinked. ‘Excuse me?’

‘You asked for my name,’ she said. ‘It’s Lucia.’

Nasira nodded slowly. ‘Gotcha.’

Lucia approached Nasira and the bed she had been lying on. Nasira realized she was waiting for her name.

‘I’m Nasira,’ she said.

‘Now tell me, Nasira, why have you come here?’

Nasira stood slowly and found her balance. ‘Where is here?’

‘Our village.’

Nasira moved for her ruck, her socks almost slipping on the polished concrete floor. She found her GPS and checked the coordinates. The woman who called herself Lucia watched with growing curiosity.

Nasira confirmed the coordinates of her location. She lowered the GPS and met Lucia’s gaze.

‘I’m here,’ Nasira said.

‘We’ve established that,’ Lucia said. ‘But what do you seek?’

Nasira felt overwhelmed. Just the thought of why she had come, weighed on her.

‘I came … I came to speak with the relatives of a young woman,’ Nasira said. ‘Another Lucia. Lucia Carpio.’

Something twitched behind the woman’s eyes. ‘This Lucia, what are you to tell her relatives?’

Nasira swallowed. ‘Lucia passed away. Last year. She was a friend of mine.’

‘I see,’ she said. ‘How did it happen?’

‘She was killed in Belize,’ Nasira said. ‘It was a quick death, painless.’

‘And who was responsible?’

‘The Fifth Column,’ Nasira said. She was about to continue with the story but had to remind herself this woman had no clue who the Fifth Column were. ‘They’re an intelligence agency, sort of. And a shadow government, sort of.’

‘Are they American, like you?’

‘No, and no,’ Nasira said. ‘I’m not American, it’s just my accent. I was born in the UK. I’m African-Caribbean.’ She cleared her throat. ‘I used to work with Lucia. Do you know her relatives? I’ve been trying to find them.’

The fire warmed Lucia’s dusty skin, flickered in her eyes.

‘I am her aunt,’ Lucia said. ‘She was named after me.’

Nasira swallowed. She wasn’t good at this kind of thing. ‘I’m sorry.’

Lucia sat on the end of the bed. ‘What sort of work?’

Nasira walked to the fire. Embers crackled over chopped logs. ‘This man called Denton,’ she said. ‘He enlisted hundreds of kids into this project. Their parents thought they were enrolled in some cool scholarship.’

Lucia’s mouth parted. ‘You were one of them.’

Nasira let the question sink in. She finally nodded.

‘My niece—’

‘All of us,’ Nasira said. ‘Brainwashed.’

‘That is quite a story.’

‘It’s not an easy one to tell,’ Nasira said.

‘It’s not an easy one to hear,’ Lucia said.

There was silence for a moment. Then Lucia went on: ‘And you came all this way to tell us what we, in all honesty, already suspected. That she was dead.’

‘I wanted to tell you how,’ Nasira said. ‘Sophia warned me off, said you shouldn’t know all this—’

‘Sophia is your friend?’

‘Yes,’ Nasira said. ‘We had an argument before I left. I wanted her to come but she didn’t—she thought this would make it worse.’

‘Do you think it made it worse?’

Nasira shook her head. ‘Hell no. That’s why I’m here, ain’t I?’ She paused. ‘Has it … made it worse?’

Lucia seemed to stare through her. She took a long time to answer. ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘She used to roll through the snow, laughing.’

Nasira watched tears wet Lucia’s face. She was smiling.

‘It was only yesterday. But it was so long ago. Sometimes I have to remind myself that she was a real little girl and that she lived here. I miss her. Was she happy?’

The question caught Nasira off guard.

‘When … when we were deprogrammed, we were free,’ Nasira said. ‘We were happy then.’

‘This must be hard for you,’ Lucia said.

‘Hard for Sophia,’ Nasira said. ‘We all looked up to her.’ She looked down at the GPS unit in her hand. ‘I should probably be going.’

That seemed to surprise Lucia. ‘Where?’

‘Back to my friends, to Sophia,’ Nasira said. She started for her ruck and paused. ‘Thank you for saving me.’

She shoved her shoes on, tied the laces and plucked the jacket from her ruck.

‘There is a snowstorm outside and it’s past sundown,’ Lucia said. ‘Very bad time to leave.’

‘I’ll be fine,’ Nasira said, tightening the ruck over her shoulders.

She zipped her jacket and found her own way to the front door of the cabin. She took a deep breath and opened the door, stepped through into a blast of snow and wind. She knew it would be harsh, but she braved it and punched through, pulling the hood over her head.

Something burned through the sky. For a moment the entire village was illuminated. At first she thought it was a flare, but then she realized it was something much larger.

The ball of fire plunged through the sky. It seemed to shimmer through the blizzard, passing right over her head. A fiery meteor. She watched it burn silently through the storm and disappear from view. The night was dark again.

Something crackled Nasira’s ears. She thought it might’ve been the meteor’s impact, but it seemed to come from around her, not a great distance. It overwhelmed her. Her balance was gone. She couldn’t stay upright. She dropped to her knees, hands over her ears. Everything was spinning. Ringing. Buzzing. She screamed into the night. It was soundless in the blizzard.

*

Nasira sat on one side of the bed. She held her hands in front of her, watching them shake. She tried to steady them but it was no use. How could her body go crazy like this? She had things to do. She didn’t have time for this.

Lucia entered the room from wherever in the cabin she had been.

‘You should rest,’ Lucia said.

Nasira let her hands drop to her knees.

Lucia handed her a mug of tea. Steam wafted from it so Nasira didn’t try to sip just yet. The smell of mint filled her nostrils.

‘Coca tea?’ Nasira said.

‘Muña tea,’ Lucia said. ‘My ancestors have used it for thousands of years. For stomach trouble, digestion, energy, circulation. It helps with the altitude.’

Nasira nodded. ‘I could’ve used that before I passed out.’

The only sounds now were the fire crackling and the blizzard whistling outside.

‘The fire should last the night,’ Lucia said. ‘If you need anything I’ll be just down the hall.’

Nasira flexed her hand. It was still shaking a little. ‘Thanks.’

Lucia nodded and left.

Nasira wanted to leave as well, but that wasn’t an option right now. She’d be fine in the morning, she hoped. And besides, it was the middle of the night. And the middle of a blizzard. She could wait until tomorrow. She had to.

Nasira undressed herself and climbed into the bed. There were three heavy woolen blankets but she only needed one with the fire burning. She left the other blankets at the end of the bed in case it cooled in the morning. She drifted to sleep wondering if she’d done the right thing coming here.

Chapter 8

The light from the fire flickered over Owen Freeman, the leader of the Akhana, etching deep into the lines on his face. He waved an unlit cigarette in the warm night air.

‘You’re our Phoenix, Sophia,’ he said. ‘You rose from your own ashes.’

‘I never asked what you meant by that,’ Sophia said.

The lines in Freeman’s face ran deeper. ‘You know what I mean.’

Sophia was shaking her head. ‘No. Tell me what it means,’ she said. ‘I need to know.’

Freeman’s face started to flake away before her, glowing like embers and turning to ash. Beneath the peeled face, a new one. Denton’s. His eyes burned into her.

‘You’re the lucky one,’ Denton said.

Sophia woke. Her body shuddered beneath the musty quilt. She gathered her breath and made for the bathroom. She intended to splash her face but ended up vomiting in the sink.

She showered, checked her ruck, and left.

The library opened at seven and she was there by five past. She found a computer and checked the address hidden in the webpage—it looked to be an apartment in Williamsburg, New York. The apartment seemed odd. And a bit fancy for Aviary. Usually they would meet publicly, either at a busy diner or an empty subway platform.

It was only a short walk from her motel to Penn Station in Baltimore. She booked a seat on the Amtrak to New York using some cash from her car fences. With her ruck on her back and her Glock and Gerber knives stowed inside, she boarded the train that would take her along the northeast corridor. To another Penn Station, this one in New York. She wasn’t happy about landing right in the heart of Manhattan. For someone in her position, it was the worst place she could wind up. But she kept breathing: she’d be on and off the island in no time.

Finding her seat against the window, she kept her ruck between her legs, wrapping a strap around her knee in case she dozed off. Which she never did. The ride would take two and a half hours so she settled in as the train prepared to leave the platform. The woman next to her pecked at a laptop on the fold-out tray. The tray rattled with each key press. Sophia tried to ignore it. Eventually she gave in and reached for Aviary’s iPod, choosing a playlist at random.

With her earphones in and the volume low enough so she could hear around her, she watched the train pick up speed and tear past the local stations. She wanted to go home. Except there was no home. In the last couple of months she’d travelled through more cities than she could recall, some for just a day, others for weeks, but none of them felt like home. She’d been doing it for so long she’d started to lose focus of what she wanted. America had been a country of changes for her.

Maybe she’d never feel like she’d belong anywhere. That’s OK, she thought. There was nothing wrong with that. It was just what it was.

Her thoughts drifted to Nasira, who was somewhere in Peru right now seeking out Lucia’s family. Nasira had become strangely fixated on finding everyone’s family. Well, not her own.

Damien and Jay, on the other hand, were busy doing babysitter work. Guarding moderately wealthy and powerful clients. Without an official military history it was of course difficult to prove their skills and experience, so the work came from other places. Organized crime, not-so-organized crime. Anyone who was paranoid enough to require outside protection, if they trusted that outside protection.

She thought of DC. Not for the first time either. He wasn’t on her side, but she treated him as though he was. And she wasn’t sure why. Not that it mattered—she hadn’t seen him since she put a round through him in Denver. She doubted he’d be pleased to see her again. Not that he ever has been, she thought, recalling his impromptu rescue in a Tokyo shipping yard. She hadn’t needed his help, but he had been there and it was nice having it.

It wasn’t long before the train got to the tunnel and then emerged in New York’s Penn Station. Sophia hit the street and headed east for a subway line that would take her closer to Aviary’s meeting point. The buildings around her seemed impossibly high and dense. It was fractionally cooler in New York than in Baltimore and she appreciated the warmth her jacket offered.

As she cut a path through the crowds, everything looked the same as it had during her last visit. She had to remind herself this country was in a state of seemingly permanent catastrophic emergency. The nation’s regular government had been discreetly replaced by an ‘enduring constitutional government’, which she supposed was just a more direct line for the Fifth Column. But as she walked the streets, no one seemed concerned by this. Or at least not aware.

Sophia didn’t stop until she reached Thirty-Fourth Street–Herald Square station. A flatscreen was perched above the subway entrance, advertising a crime TV series. She had trouble telling them apart so she assumed they were all the same show that her motel neighbors watched over dinner. She took the stairs and purchased a new MetroCard from one of the ticket machines. She didn’t know how long she’d need it, so she inserted a twenty-dollar note to be safe.

The train was packed and she stood near a man who made duck noises for most of the ride. After the train crossed the Williamsburg Bridge to make its first stop, he stood, looked at his hat, and said, ‘Really?’ And then he left.

The next stop was hers. The walk to Aviary’s meeting point was short. She’d arrived almost an hour early so she used the time to check the building. It was a new apartment building with eight levels. Maybe Aviary just moved in, she thought.

It had a car lot underground with one entrance at the front and one exit at the back. The lobby had three elevators and a door to the stairs that would connect with the car lot below and the levels above. She circled once, stopping to watch for surveillance—a simple matter of looking for anyone who was stationary for too long. Satisfied no one was, she moved for the lobby.

A woman not much older than her walked a few paces ahead. She swiped her fob and opened the glass lobby door. With half an hour to spare, Sophia decided to follow her in. There weren’t any cameras in the lobby or the elevator. She got out of the elevator on the same level as the woman but moved in the opposite direction. Once Sophia was sure the woman was inside her own apartment she doubled back for the stairs. Above the lobby, she didn’t need a fob for anything. She climbed two more levels until she reached the apartment Aviary had specified. She listened out the front for a few minutes but heard nothing except the muffled clang of kitchen utensils from next door. She reached under one arm, unzipped her ruck and found the grip of her Glock. With no cameras in the passageway, she moved the Glock to the front of her jeans.

She thumbed the lockpicks from her waistband and got to work seating the pins. The lock wasn’t terribly secure: she raked most of the pins and tapped the last one into place within a minute. She heard the cylinder turn so she gently tried the handle. The door opened.

Aviary’s apartment was larger than she expected. The living area was more a study area with two desks lined along the wall. She counted three laptops, their cables strewn across the desks and carpet underneath. One desk looked to be used primarily for electronics work. It was cluttered with smartphones, a digital multimeter, soldering station, pliers and tweezers. In the corner, a thick gas pipe ran from floor to ceiling, heating the apartment.

The couch and coffee table were bare, the television starting to collect a fine layer of dust. There was a balcony on her left, although there was really only enough room out there to stand. On her right, a neat kitchen, also with bare surfaces. There was a bookcase that ran along one side of the apartment, with no books in it. One shelf was dotted with ornamental candles, unused, but the others were empty.

Sophia locked the door behind her and drew her pistol. She moved through the apartment to the single bedroom at the end, clearing the apartment with her pistol held close. The powder room was untouched, just a toilet and basin and a packet of unopened toilet paper in the corner. She reached the bedroom and continued inside, moving along the wall, aiming her pistol to clear the far side. She found her barrel aimed at herself. The other side of the bedroom had mirrored closets and an en suite off to one side. The bed wasn’t made and the bedside table was littered with empty cups and cables. On the floor she noticed some discarded clothes. She recognized one of the T-shirts.

This was most definitely Aviary’s apartment.

She checked her watch. Still another twenty minutes.

Why would Aviary invite her to her own apartment? Sophia had taught her to be more careful. Standing in the bedroom, Sophia ran through as many scenarios as she could before realizing she desperately needed to pee. The en suite was cramped and filled with more personal cleaning products than she’d thought existed. She turned the light on and was almost blinded by a naked bulb that buzzed at her intrusion. She switched it off and sat in the dark—the light had kicked in the fan. She wanted to hear if someone entered the apartment.

Returning to the kitchen, she placed her Glock on the stone bench top, barrel facing the door, and looked around some more. There was a sponge in the sink. It was dry. A frypan on the stove, clean and dry. No utensils were out of place. A coffee-bean grinder with coffee grounds in it. She sniffed and quickly realized it wasn’t coffee grounds at all but iron oxide. She checked the dishwasher. It had a few plates and some cutlery. Aviary seemed to eat out a lot.

Taking the pistol, Sophia shed her jacket and sat on the couch to wait for Aviary. She imagined this is what normal people did, sitting on couches when they were waiting for someone. They probably watched television while they waited or played a game on their smartphone. Or checked their email online—on the line as Freeman used to say.

Sophia did none of those things so she sat patiently and thought of the possible reasons Aviary wanted to meet her. Her fingers ran through her wallet, checking its contents, revealing her photos once more.

*

The door closed, startling her awake. She grasped her pistol and aimed it one-handed at an intruder with fire-red hair.

‘Why are you already—?’ Aviary rolled her eyes. ‘Never mind. Sorry I’m late.’

Sophia lowered her pistol and stood. She checked her watch. ‘Twenty minutes.’

‘Trains were redirected.’ Aviary kicked off her sneakers and paused. ‘You didn’t black out, did you? That shouldn’t be happening anymore.’

‘No. I guess I dozed off.’ Sophia slipped her pistol back into her waistband. ‘Is everything OK?’

‘Yeah,’ Aviary said. ‘I mean, I’m fine. My shift ended late and I was really hungry and I wanted nachos but then I remembered the festival tonight so yeah, that’s my cool story.’

‘OK,’ Sophia said.

‘How’s Nasira, still in Peru?’

Sophia looked out the balcony window. ‘Haven’t heard from her. When she’s done, she’ll be back.’

Aviary emptied her pockets on the kitchen bench top. ‘And the boys?’

‘Running jobs,’ Sophia said. ‘The less we ask, the better.’

‘Why don’t they do some honest work, like you?’ Aviary said.

Sophia forced a smile. ‘Stealing cars? Trust me, their work pays better.’

Aviary grinned. ‘That’s because you’re stealing the wrong cars.’

Sophia noticed her wallet was sitting on the couch, part of Leon’s photo visible. She reached down to collect it.

‘You should never invite a terrorist into your home,’ Sophia said.

‘Really?’ Aviary said. ‘Because I’ve been doing that for weeks.’

‘I’m serious.’ Sophia noticed Aviary’s license on the kitchen benchtop. ‘Your name is spelled like a—’

Aviary raised an eyebrow. ‘Like a large enclosure for birds? Yeah, my mother liked birds. Really liked birds.’ Aviary quickly circled the couch to her desks. ‘I have to show you this.’ 

Sophia noticed an assortment of colored iPhones and HTC Ones on the desks.

‘I’m not using a fucking iPhone,’ Sophia said.

‘I knew you’d be receptive.’ Aviary laughed. ‘That was kind of a half-hearted pun and I need nachos.’

Aviary flipped open one of her laptops. Sophia barely recognized the operating system, Kirin, developed by the Shadow Akhana a few years back. It looked like Aviary had made some significant changes of her own. But she didn’t mention it and instead pulled up a new window.

‘Google Maps,’ Sophia said. ‘Yeah, I know how to use that now.’

Aviary snorted. ‘Hang on.’ She hit a few more keys and buttons until she was satisfied. ‘Look at the overlay.’

Sophia stepped closer until she was beside Aviary. The map had zoomed out to encompass the United States. There were dots sprinkled across different states.

‘OK,’ Sophia said.

Aviary zoomed out more, until half the planet was visible. There were more dots across Europe. She zoomed in on one of the dots, somewhere in northern France. She kept zooming in until she could make out the building number and the street name.

The dot moved fractionally to the left, then stopped.

‘It’s live,’ Aviary said.

‘You’re tracking someone,’ Sophia said, leaning in.

Aviary couldn’t hide her grin any longer. ‘Not just someone.’

Sophia’s heart kicked up a few notches. She stepped back, fingers moving over her pistol grip. ‘Where’s this data coming from?’

‘The Fifth Column,’ Aviary said. ‘I’m pretty good,’ she added quietly.

Sophia just stared at the screen for a moment, trying to get a handle on what she was seeing. ‘This is … this is incredible.’

‘You said you wanted to find them, right?’ Aviary said. ‘And with all the Akhana spies dead, because people killed them and stuff, that was going to be kind of hard. The operatives’ RFID implants aren’t just passive tags. They also contain geolocation broadcasting capabilities. So presto, you can see where they are anywhere in the world.’

‘And it’s live? The whole time?’ Sophia said.

‘Yeah,’ Aviary said. ‘Well, it drops out sometimes, but not for long. Dependent on the Fifth Column satellites that track them.’

‘How many operatives are here? In this country?’ Sophia said.

Aviary didn’t need to look. ‘Thirty-nine.’

Sophia nodded. ‘More than I thought.’

Panning the map back to the US, Sophia noticed at least a dozen on the eastern seaboard. They were clustered; six in Washington, three in Philadelphia and three only ten miles east of her, in Newark. That made her uneasy.

Aviary reached for one of the phones on her desk. ‘Something else.’

Sophia shook her head. ‘Don’t even try,’ she said. ‘They’re too dangerous, and they’re unnecessary. I might as well check in with Denton on FourSquare.’

‘You’re kind of embarrassing. No one uses that anymore,’ Aviary said. She showed her the iPhone, wrapped in a powder-blue rubber case. She peeled back one side of the case and popped the SIM card tray with a paperclip. The tray was empty.

‘No SIM card,’ Aviary said. ‘No IMSI number. No voice. No text. Just data. Sexy, sexy data.’

Sophia glared at it. ‘So it’s an iPod. I have one of those already.’

‘You don’t have this,’ Aviary said, pressing the home button. ‘But you’ll want it.’

The screen warmed to show the usual rows of icons. It looked just like any iPhone screen. With her finger, Aviary pulled up the control center. The icons and labels looked somewhat more sinister.

‘This first button toggles hijack mode,’ Aviary said. ‘Try it.’

Sophia knew it was just easier to get this over with so she pressed the circle that had the little wifi icon inside. The circle lit up and underneath it said Searching …

Aviary tapped and a full list jumped out.

The Promised LAN

blizzard

Wi-Fi 4G-58A1

Michael’s iPhone +1 (940) 603-8 …

NetComm Wireless

00:18:0f:c5 …

Pennsylvania 6-5000

BlackBerry 9700 +1 (267) 210-4 …

Jessica Hyde +1 (212) 294-1 …

attwifi

Abraham Linksys

The LANnister Always Surfs The Net

‘You can pick one manually if you like.’ Aviary was grinning again. ‘Someone’s phone. It can pick up anyone who has wifi—Wireless LAN—or Bluetooth turned on, which, let’s face it, that’s pretty much everyone.’

Before Sophia could choose, Aviary picked one herself, Jessica Hyde’s phone. The list disappeared and the word Searching changed to Connecting. A few seconds passed and it said, Connected, highlighted in pale green.

Aviary swiped the control center away and tapped another icon that Sophia didn’t recognize. A browser window popped up with a Google search. ‘Secure browser. You’ve—’

‘Hijacked her phone,’ Sophia said. ‘And she doesn’t know?’

‘No clue.’

Sophia felt her eyebrows rise just enough that Aviary would’ve noticed. Without saying a word, she’d admitted she was impressed.

‘Once it has connected to one network, it will connect to two others in the background—usually in opposite directions if possible. Covers you if you have to move off quickly. Think of your connections like spider legs. That way, your connection will never drop,’ Aviary said. ‘And! It measures the fastest of the three connections and automatically preferences the fastest one! And if they are all slow it uses multiple connections. Does a small transfer and latency test. Saves you paying phone bills too.’

Sophia nodded. ‘That’s actually really good,’ she said. ‘But what if there are no other phones around? What if I’m out in the mountains?’

Aviary swallowed. ‘Well, it won’t connect automatically but—’ She swiped on the control panel again and hit the icon next to it, an antenna icon. ‘It can connect to cell phone towers and use false IMEI numbers. I have it on a five-minute changeover but you can reset it manually if you suspect you’re being tracked by someone who is trying to kill you and stuff. But this really should only be used as a last resort. And actually especially not in a remote region because—’

‘I’d be triangulated in a heartbeat,’ Sophia said. ‘I know, I used to track people for a living.’

‘Yeah, the old-fashioned kind, gotcha. But they’d have to notice the new IMEI numbers that keep popping up, which is like counting hats in a crowd. Not easy. So GPS is safe but it’s not accurate since it uses the coordinates of the phone or modem you’re hijacking. Unless you connect to a cell phone tower, of course. And it goes without saying not to log into a website that connects to you in some way. Then you’re just waving a big red flag at the Fifth Column. Unless you plan to high tail it out of there after they come hunting.’

Aviary turned the phone up, revealing a second headphones jack. ‘Don’t stick your earphones in there. It’s a hidden wide-angle lens. You can take photos or record covertly. And my camera app even records from three angles at once, so you can cover yourself in every direction by looking at your screen as you walk—or run the feed to someone else like me, or someone using one of these phones.’

Aviary hadn’t drawn breath for that entire explanation and inhaled rather suddenly.

‘OK,’ Sophia said.

‘I’m glad we talked about this too,’ Aviary said.

Sophia tried to spot the lens but it was difficult to see.

‘The lens records 4K video, one-twenty-degree view,’ Aviary said. ‘Combine that with the two cameras already built in, you have a 360 view that is so fucking fabulous it’s off the scale.’

Sophia turned the phone over in her hands. ‘Off the scale,’ she said. ‘I guess I could give it a shot.’

Aviary’s eyes lit up. ‘Great! When Nasira’s back you can give one to her as well. And if you see the boys at all.’

Sophia watched Aviary pour half a dozen phones into her own ruck. ‘Sure.’

‘I was wondering,’ Aviary said. Her gaze flickered. ‘If I give you this location data for the operatives, I was giving some serious thought to maybe you training me some more.’

Sophia felt a knot in her chest. ‘What sort of training?’

‘I don’t know, operative stuff,’ Aviary said. ‘I mean, the Jaguar Knights—the Force Recon guys—they taught me some weapon handling and movement, maybe you could teach me some more? Of that stuff. The stuff I just mentioned.’

Sophia handed the phone back to her.

‘Or other stuff,’ Aviary said.

‘I’ve already taught you some pretty high-level anti-surveillance and security,’ Sophia said. ‘That’s more than most soldiers know. And a lot of field agents.’

‘I know, but I’m not prepared for everything. Not like a—’

‘A black swan event,’ Sophia said.

Aviary wrinkled her nose, confused. ‘Yes, how come I’m not prepared for a black swan event and other cool things?’

‘It’s an event with no precedence or warning,’ Sophia said. ‘You can’t deal with that, not yet.’

‘Don’t you think it’s a good idea if I could?’ Aviary said, waving the phone dramatically between them. ‘I mean, you have Nasira helping you all the time. Wouldn’t it be nice to have someone else as well? Someone with cool hair maybe.’

Sophia didn’t know what to say.

Aviary pointed at the map on her laptop. ‘Is that why you want them? Only operatives can handle black swans? I wouldn’t be useful.’

‘You are useful,’ Sophia said. ‘You found the map, for starters.’

‘I’ve read the Akhana’s survival guide for humans,’ Aviary said. ‘I know it inside and out. I know every type of psychopath, I know all about the Fifth Column, I’m on the operative ketogenic diet. I think I would make a very good operative. No one ever suspects the weird Hawaiian girl.’

‘I’m not an operative,’ Sophia said. ‘And neither are you.’

Aviary chewed the inside of her lip. ‘And you’re the authority on that?’

‘It’s dangerous, hacking into the Fifth Column,’ Sophia said. ‘You shouldn’t have done that.’

‘I just granted you your wish!’ Aviary said. ‘And you don’t want it anymore?’

Sophia felt the heat build inside her. ‘This isn’t a game!’ she yelled. ‘One mistake and I find you in the bathtub with your brain splashed across the ceramic!’

‘I don’t make mistakes!’ Aviary paused. ‘And more to the point, I don’t have a bathtub.’

‘But you have this!’ Sophia said, trying to bring her volume down. She gestured to the couch, to the kitchen, the apartment as a whole.

‘Yeah, and it’s boring as hell,’ Aviary said. ‘Your life might be dangerous but it’s exciting.’

‘This is something real,’ Sophia said. ‘Your life is real. Mine’s just … I don’t know, like some passing reflection in the glass. I’m there one minute and then I’m gone. That’s how it is.’

Aviary’s hands uncurled. ‘You’re not going anywhere,’ she said. ‘I have plans tonight and you’re coming.’ She handed the phone back to Sophia. ‘To something real.’

Chapter 9

Sacred Mountain Range, Peru

With her ruck on her back, Nasira opened the door and stepped across the hard snow. The blizzard was gone and for the first time Nasira could make out the village. Only it seemed very different from what she expected. The buildings were Incan stone walls with new roofs and doors. Some new huts were sprinkled around the outskirts made only of timber and metal sheeting. Their walls were painted more colorfully than the stone.

A trio of kids played near the center of town in colorful ponchos and snowshoes. The bare ground beneath their feet seemed almost visible in the snow, but the more Nasira looked the less obvious it became.

She paused mid-stride and tried to focus. The light from behind the clouds seemed different now. And the darker patches in the snow seemed deeper, richer. She didn’t know what she was seeing and it didn’t make any sense.

‘Are you OK?’ Lucia said. ‘Would you like more potato soup?’

Nasira shook her head. She removed her hood and knelt on the snow. She pinched the fingertip of her glove and pulled it off, touched the snow with her bare hand.

‘Is something wrong?’ Lucia said.

‘The snow’s changed,’ Nasira said.

She looked up and noticed the snow extend through the village to the mountains. Then a pair of legs obscured her view.

It was an old man. She looked up. He was short, thin and only seemed to have a few teeth.

He said something to her, but it wasn’t in English or Spanish. Then he nodded to himself and continued a nimble walk through the snow. As he moved from her field of vision, she could see the shape of the earth. But it wasn’t quite the shape.

The kids were chasing each other, laughing. One girl crashed into another and they toppled into the snow. She could see the collision. Not the girls, the collision itself.

The girls started to laugh hysterically. They climbed to their feet, gasping for air.

Lucia stood beside Nasira, watching her curiously.

‘I can see the magnetic field,’ Nasira said, turning to her.

‘I thought you couldn’t see it,’ Lucia said. ‘You told me—’

Nasira massaged her temples. ‘That buzzing last night. Don’t know what the hell it was, but it’s like that. Except it’s focused.’

Lucia had her hands on her hips. ‘I guess that makes you some kind of superhero.’

Nasira’s stomach crawled at the thought. ‘What did he say to me?’ she said. ‘That man?’

‘Oh,’ Lucia said. ‘The world is as you dream it.’

‘Yeah, right,’ Nasira said.

Lucia smiled. ‘I’ll take you to the trail.’

She led Nasira to the edge of town, occasionally passing other residents who stared at Nasira. She gave them an awkward nod, which they returned with enthusiastic waves and gleaming smiles.

They soon reached the outskirts of the village. Nasira could see the snow continue for a distance before breaking. It made way for the sharp tips of the mountains that surrounded them. Lucia indicated southwest, where the trail would take her back to the path she knew, under the mountains.

‘Thank you,’ Nasira said.

‘You came a long way,’ Lucia said. ‘For that one story.’

Nasira pulled the hood over her head to keep her ears warm. ‘It was an important story.’

‘And I’m glad you could tell it.’

Nasira nodded and started towards the trail. She stopped. She couldn’t just leave it like that. Lucia was already walking back to the village.

‘Wait,’ Nasira said.

She walked back to Lucia. Her mind fumbled for the words. She didn’t know how to start this part of the story. Maybe there wasn’t a way to start it.

‘Your brother. And your sister-in-law,’ Nasira said. ‘Lucia’s parents.’

‘Yes,’ the older Lucia said.

‘You told me you knew how they passed away,’ Nasira said.

Lucia nodded. ‘Their store was robbed. They died from gunshot wounds.’

‘The … As children we were programmed,’ Nasira said.

She was doing it now. There was no turning back.

‘The first operation is to … We … They’re taught … fooled into thinking someone is a terrorist. Or some sort of bad guy, you know.’

Lucia watched her, silent. Nasira could tell her mind was working, decoding Nasira’s words quickly.

‘The first operation … it was to kill … it was meant to complete your programming. If you were successful, there was no doubt.’

Tears were running down Lucia’s cheeks. She saw it coming.

Nasira couldn’t stop now. She had to go through. She had to see this out. ‘Our first operation was to kill our own parents.’

Lucia’s mouth was open. She tried to scream but no sound came. Nasira moved for her but Lucia flinched, stepped back. She hunched over, gasping.

‘But it wasn’t her,’ Nasira said. ‘Lucia didn’t do that. The people who programmed her did that.’

Lucia straightened up, eyes glassy and cheeks flushed. She said nothing. Just stared through Nasira.

‘Did you kill your own parents?’ Lucia said.

‘No,’ Nasira said.

‘Why not?’ Lucia said. Her words struck Nasira with venom. ‘Were you too good for that?’

Nasira swallowed. ‘I was an orphan,’ she said. ‘I was given a different assignment.’

Lucia glared at her. ‘Go.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Nasira said.

‘Just go.’

Nasira felt the sting of tears in her own eyes. She turned, her hood up, and walked for the trail. Her legs seemed unwilling to walk anywhere. Not now, not after that. She didn’t want to go anywhere. But she certainly didn’t want to stay there a moment longer.

She found the trail, a meticulous row of stone steps that led as far down the mountain face as she could see. She blinked and wiped her face, clearing the older Lucia and the village from her mind. She was finished now and she could return to Sophia.

She wished she had her wooden staffs to take the pressure off her legs but she’d left them behind when Lucia had rescued her. It took her an hour to make it to the bottom of the stone steps and into the foothills.

And that’s when she heard it.

Yelling in the distance.

It sounded like someone shouting a warning, or giving orders. And, more interesting still, it sounded American.

The noise had come from the west, farther along the mountainside. She could see the ground drop off sharply ahead. Well, she couldn’t see it at all, but she knew the contours now.

Ordinarily she would have circled around the voices and continued on her way, but she was curious. She decided it was best to identify the speaker, make sure they were just mountain climbers and that no one was in any danger and then move on quietly.

She moved quickly through the snow, each step squeaking. She carefully stepped towards the sharp drop, planning to negotiate her way around it, but she stopped in her tracks when she caught sight of what was far below.

It was a temporary camp, and it looked new.

But this was no ordinary camp. Nasira couldn’t help but notice the security perimeter. She dropped to her stomach, removed her ruck and searched for her binos. She wriggled forward, slowly, until she had just enough space to get a visual. With the magnification of the binos she was able to identify a silver half-pipe shelter that wrapped around a dome-shaped structure. It looked like a donut. The half-pipe was large enough to drive a tractor through, and the dome tent was the size of an Olympic swimming pool. But what lay inside, Nasira did not know.

The perimeter of the base was fringed with coils of razor wire, except for one entrance. And she could already make out three pairs of soldiers in white camouflage. Their attention was focused on the entrance. They watched people in white, baggy uniforms walk out of the base. On closer inspection, Nasira realized they were wearing contamination suits with hoods and visors removed. Some of them carried crates, others shiny black bags.

The soldiers in white carried M4 carbines. There had been no effort to camouflage the carbines for the snow, although it did make her wonder if there were surveillance and sniper teams in the forest or higher on the mountain.

Yeah, time to get the fuck out of here.

But the core of the base drew her. She didn’t know how to describe what it was doing, but it riveted her attention. It burned.

Her fingers started to shake. She balled them into fists.

What the hell was happening?

She calmed herself. Thought it through. Tried to figure out the many possible explanations for this base. But her mind wandered to the rear of the perimeter. A part of her had already planned a way inside.

Hypothetically, of course.

If she were to go in, there was a door at the rear of the half-pipe. Her hand touched the belt around her waist. The knife wasn’t the only thing she carried. She had lockpicks too, and a door like that would only take a minute, maybe two.

Without patrolling sentries, it could be done with minimal risk. The soldiers at the front seemed fixed in position. But inside the base was high risk. She had no idea what was in there. The chances of being seen once she was inside increased from ten percent to fuck off don’t even think about it percent.

It was a real stupid idea.

And she was already moving. Behind the ridge line, out of view. Through a finger of forest. Her breathing quickened as she padded through the snow. She knew the fall of the land before she placed each step, so she never tripped or misjudged the depth of the snowfall.

That’s coming in handy, she thought.

And then she was there. At the rear of the base.

No sentries.

Just the razor wire and a large empty space between the wire and the base. She fished for her multitool from her ruck and snipped through with just four cuts. She held her boot over the final coil before it could retract along the fence. She knew she couldn’t leave sign of her entry. If they found the village they might interrogate Lucia. She didn’t want that.

She stepped through the gap in the razor wire and unthreaded paracord from one of her boots. She used the paracord to draw the wire back together. So close that it looked intact from a distance.

Her boot was tight enough that she could still walk on it, but she moved carefully through the deeper patches of snow, trying not to accidentally lodge it and have to make the rest of her trip with a missing boot.

With no sign of sentries on either side of the base’s rear, she moved in a direct line for the door. If there was a surveillance or sniper team watching from above there weren’t too many places for them to position themselves. She’d checked as she moved into position. But if they found a position to surveil then she was about to get sprung. And she had only her knife. So a confrontation with any carbine-wielding sentries was not high on her to-do list.

She reached the door and, mouth open, listened for a moment. There was no point scrambling to get inside from a sniper. If there was one, she’d be dead by now. And rushing this was not a great idea. When she was satisfied she couldn’t hear anything in her vicinity, she inserted her rake lockpick—the one with three triangular bumps—and used her other lockpick’s end, which doubled as a torque wrench.

She started raking and in two strokes she’d seated most of the pins. She used the rake lockpick to feel out each pin, slowly working her way from the end towards the front of the lock, testing each pin and lightly guiding it out of the shaft. With each seated pin, she felt the lock turn just a fraction more.

Footsteps.

Squeaky footsteps.

They were coming from around the donut curve of the base. The stride was purposeful but not too purposeful. They weren’t looking for someone, but they did seem to be patrolling. Well, one of them was. She couldn’t hear a second set of boots in the snow. Any moment now, the sentry would see her and have enough distance between them to drop her where she stood, or capture her. Either wasn’t ideal.

She worked hard on the second last pin. It felt seated but the door was still locked. She could move away from the sentry, work her way around the base. But she would soon run into another sentry. It was open ground out here in the snow.

Her only way out was through.

Last pin.

The footsteps squeaked closer.

Nasira’s eyes were on the edge of the base. Her fingers worked independently of her vision. She tried to listen to the pins, to hear the last pin seat. To hear the click as the lock turned.

She heard the sentry sniff with a runny nose.

Her hands were shaking.

Not now, she thought, not fucking now.

She almost lost grip on the rake lockpick. The footsteps were very close now. The sentry was one, maybe two steps away. adrenalin iced through her.

Click.

The lock turned.

She palmed the lockpicks, stepped inside and looked down to notice she was missing a boot. She spotted the boot in the snow behind her. She opened the door, just wide enough to reach out, and plucked the boot. She pulled the door back in quickly, then slowing as the door reached the frame and—painfully slowly—closing the door with the handle turned. She released the handle last, very slowly.

Then she held her breath.

The footsteps moved towards the door.

She reached for her knife, positioned herself beside the door. There was no one around her, no one to see her. She didn’t move.

The footsteps continued past.

She waited a moment and then exhaled.

The half-pipe tent was surprisingly bare, lined with white vinyl and two continuous strips of fluorescent lights. It was like a fridge in there. Microwave-shaped heaters were suspended from various points in the ceiling, but they weren’t turned on. She exhaled again and saw her breath curl in the air.

Along the sides of the half-pipe she could see tiny rectangular windows. She kept under them as she moved through. One side allowed her to look out into the snow, and she didn’t want to be spotted by a wayward sentry. The inside looked in to the dome-shaped center.

Nasira moved to the first window and peered through. It was eerily lit by purple light, and only in certain places. The rest of the dome was bathed in darkness. She could make out a smaller dome inside. It looked like a semi-transparent bubble; the colors of its contents were blurred and smeared. Outside the bubble there were banks of equipment and what looked like a row of study workstations, self-contained like cubicles.

But it was the bubble that drew her attention. It seemed to almost agitate its surroundings.

Her breath fogged the window. She wiped it away with her sleeve. She knew she had to get inside. But through the clean window she noticed someone in a white NBC suit. It was a one-piece body suit with matching white boots and gloves. The person was unarmed and looked to be a civilian contractor, not one of the sentries from outside.

Nasira moved deeper into the half pipe and found a door that connected to the inner dome. That was where she wanted to go. She took care to open the door slowly, listening for sound. There was an in-between chamber and a door that connected to the inner dome. She opened it slowly as well.

She set foot in the inner dome. She relied only on her lack of movement to avoid detection. There wasn’t much cover she could use to cross from there to the bubble in the center. The inner dome, like the half-pipe, lacked cameras. The base must be extremely temporary, she figured, if there were no cameras.

She spotted the white-suited civilian behind the workstation cubicles, bent over to collect something at his feet. She checked the edges of the inner dome and was pleased to find no one else lurking. She breathed in slowly and exhaled halfway.

Then she moved. Quickly.

For the other side of the cubicles. This close to the bubble, she could almost feel it humming. From her end of the cubicles she listened to the footsteps of the civilian. His boots squeaked on the vinyl floor. He moved away from the bubble to the edge of the inner circle. As he did so, she carefully moved around the cubicles, keeping them between her and the civilian. She heard him open a door and move through into another portion of half-pipe. He’d left the dome. She was clear for now.

Turning to face the cubicles, she realized they weren’t cubicles at all. They were square containment cells. In the cell before her, a crumpled human body in a powder blue hospital gown. Spidery blue veins worked along his neck. His eyes were a dull white, pupils wide. Blood had dried across the Plexiglas wall in mid-drip, leaving long crimson fingers.

In the cell adjacent, a second human body in a gown lay in the fetal position. Thin arms curled over knees. Underneath, a pool of dark deoxygenated blood. Nasira stepped back from the row of five cells, struggling to draw breath. She could see a third body, limbs mottled in purple bruises. A fourth, the same. But the body at the end was different.

Nasira pushed herself closer, to the fifth cell. To the body that sat upright, hands clasped in her lap. Although just as dead as the other poor fuckers, she seemed less distressed. There was no blood. No mottled skin. No sign of illness. Sitting in her hospital gown, she looked perfectly healthy.

New footsteps.

From Nasira’s right. She was completely exposed. She darted past the cells and took a position on the end, hidden from the footsteps as they approached the cells. These footsteps sounded slightly different, but only slightly. The civilians were wearing boots so it was hard to tell them apart. And the echo through the inner dome made it tricky to pinpoint the location of the boots as they moved around. Nasira drew her knife and kept it below her waist.

The bubble in the center drew her focus. She had to blot it out with her mind and focus on the ground, on the contours of the earth. She could see its magnetic field slide away from her. Although see wasn’t the right word. She just knew it was there.

The person—civilian or sentry—fizzled into her awareness. He was behind her, near the other end of the containment cells. She turned to the containment cells and noticed a certain distortion in the wall of the cell. But it wasn’t the cell at all. It was through the cell. The person on the other side. And through the indistinct shape, she knew he was carrying a long weapon, a carbine. He was definitely a sentry.

And he was moving towards her.

She circled around the back of the containment cells, each step carefully placed with the outside of her feet first, then the inside. It helped her avoid stepping on things that might make an unexpected sound, like the empty blister pack in front of her, discarded after someone finished their medication. She stepped off the blister pack without applying any weight and continued until she was on the other side of the dome from the sentry. And completely exposed to the dome’s main entrance.

The sentry continued along the containment cells, perhaps inspecting them as he went. She wondered whether he was as disturbed as she was, or interested, or perhaps didn’t give a shit either way. That was the worst of the three, she decided.

He seemed to spend some time in that position before continuing on. She could feel his movements. They were indistinct—she had a general idea of his position and his movement, and she could almost see him move across the ground behind her.

He emerged at the end, where Nasira had been hiding only moments ago. She matched his movements, placing herself at the other end of the cells. She caught sight of his back. She watched him continue in the same direction with a degree of purpose and increased speed. He moved for the very doors she’d come through.

Nasira didn’t move from the end of the containment cells. She kept herself low to make herself smaller and waited for the door to close behind the sentry. Then she made her move.

She moved for the bubble and reached an open zipper. She was closer to the source now. And it made her hands shake. Pressure welled inside her head. It spread to her body and buzzed across her. She clenched her teeth and stepped through the open zipper.

Inside, another much smaller bubble, only this was sealed up tight. It was completely transparent, unlike the other bubble, and she could see everything inside.

Rubble. Just rubble in a bubble.

But there was something about the rubble. It shimmered, looked like honeycomb had fused with liquid silver. It seemed to pulse around her. She recalled the meteor that passed overhead the night before.

‘Just a big chunk of rock.’ She shrugged to herself. ‘And RDX explosives in a ring around—’ Nasira paused in mid-step. ‘Oh shit.’

Inside the smaller bubble she noticed a rectangular timer with a display.

00:00:41.

Nasira sheathed her knife and rolled her eyes. ‘Great.’

She stepped from the bubble and broke into a run. There was no one in the inner dome to see her escape. They had the good sense to escape already. She moved for the same doors she’d come through, hoping that sentry hadn’t lingered. And if he had, she gripped her knife.

She ran for the doors, noticed something different.

She felt it. It was blunt, fuzzy. Near the door. A sudden chill fired from her stomach to her lungs, stealing her breath. In mid-run, she spotted a trail of wiring that weaved its way through intervals of square boxes the size of a house brick.

The buzzing made sense now. She was sensing another demolition charge. Not just the bubble, the entire base was wired to blow.

She ran harder.

Her vision widened. Blood shunted through her limbs. She shouldered through the connecting chamber and into the half-pipe, a new release of adrenalin almost knocking the doors off their hinges. She moved at double speed. No one was in the half-pipe. She kept moving. Ran for the door at the rear. She stuck to the exit she knew.

She opened it without hesitating. There was no time to check. She sprinted through the snow towards the severed razor wire at the rear of the base. She felt the snow cold against one foot and realized she’d lost a boot. She couldn’t go back for it. She kept running.

Her back warmed suddenly. Heat knocked her face first into the snow. Debris singed the air above. She didn’t move, stayed pressed deep in the snow. Her ears rang with the explosion. Her body felt the depths of the charges roll through the earth, shaking her. Searing hot air roared overhead. Bits of the base’s exterior rained down around her.

She couldn’t hear anything. She got to her feet, checked her body for injuries. No bleeding. Her limbs worked. But she staggered, collapsed. She got to her knees, her feet. She felt her body sway. She stepped in every direction to compensate but her body was unsteady and just kept toppling. She collapsed again. Her balance was fucked.

She lay in the snow, breathing, thinking. What did she do now? Her ears were still ringing from the explosion, only now she could actually hear the ringing. Worse, she could feel the presence of people nearby. And voices. Muffled at first.

She tried to move, went for her knife. But it didn’t happen. She lay there, disoriented and immobile. She cursed herself. She hadn’t gotten far enough away from the detonation in time. She realized just how stupid she was to have ventured in there, even with almost no staff and few sentries.

The voices hummed into focus overhead. ‘Whatever they had here, it’s gone. The meteorite too.’

‘What about her?’

‘Plain-clothed. She’s one of Denton’s,’ he said. ‘We take her with us.’

Chapter 10

New York City, NY

She was sharp and exquisite. Everything about her was unapologetic. Despite her chipped ear and missing eye, Denton thought she was perfect. Her name, after all, translated to perfection. And he knew why.

His assistant, Czarina, looked past the glass-encased limestone statue. In her red jacket, she watched a frantic man push past a distracted couple and linger to apologize. The man stepped inside the Spitzer Hall of Human Origins and made a precise line toward them.

‘I see you have excellent taste, sir,’ he said.

The man’s face glistened. He must have run the entire Museum of Natural History to reach them.

‘I haven’t seen her since Germany,’ Denton said. ‘Just as I remember her.’

‘Yes, it’s normally displayed at the Neues Museum in Berlin,’ the man said, gathering his breath. ‘You saw her there?’

Denton shook his head, unable to take his gaze from the statue. ‘No, in a bunker,’ he said. ‘Hitler showed me.’

The man laughed.

‘Her elongated skull is particularly interesting,’ Denton said.

‘Skull deformation was not an uncommon practice,’ the man said, his chin almost disappearing into his neck. ‘Even as recently as the Middle Ages.’

Denton tapped the glass cube. ‘Not exactly. Her followers deformed their skulls, yes,’ he said. ‘Vulgar imitations. Hers was … you can alter the shape—’ he tapped his own shaved head ‘—but you can’t make a skull grow three times its volume.’

The man winced. ‘Well now, I’ve never seen a large skull in person.’

Denton frowned. ‘Yes, they’re usually classified. I often forget.’ He moved for his ID. ‘I’m a specialist with the CDC. Infectious diseases.’

He imagined the sweat on the man’s face turn cold as he stumbled a response.

‘Is there … something wrong?’ he said, failing to register the badge.

Sometimes Denton wondered why he even bothered arranging accurate IDs. ‘Follow me,’ he said.

He strode off through the hall into the circular chamber at the end of the museum, passing a pair of security guards. He stepped into the Ross Hall of Meteorites without a word. The man followed, waiting for an explanation.

Glass cabinets of meteors spiraled upward into the center, where a truck-sized meteor was perched under an array of lights. Denton wasn’t interested in the truck-sized meteor. He checked the appearance of each specimen as he strode past. The man pumped his arms to catch up while Czarina paced herself behind them in jeans and black sneakers.

‘One of your samples was recently reclassified,’ Denton said. ‘CM1 class. Extremely rare.’

The man finally caught up and pointed to a glass case at the top of the spiral.

‘Yes, I know the one,’ the man said.

Denton couldn’t be bothered walking around the spiral so he leaped over the handrail to reach it. Behind him, the man hesitated to consider the same maneuver, but apparently thought better of it and took a more proper walk around the spiral.

The meteorite looked similar to the rock he’d encountered in the Bavarian castle during World War II. It glistened like honeycomb covered in molten silver. During the war, the Nazis had recovered a total of seven meteorite samples, CM1 class—Carbonaceous Chondrite Type 1—from Siberia, Tibet and Antarctica. They had been found during expeditions that would fuel conspiracy theories of Nazi secret bases for decades to come. Since the war, the Fifth Column had classified 38,660 meteorites.

Only sixteen of those were CM1 class meteorites.

The most recent meteorite discoveries were in northern Africa and Nevada. The fragile matter he was looking for in these almost unattainable meteorites could survive entry into the Earth’s atmosphere but once it crashed and fragmented, it was vulnerable. Exposed to the desert heat, the virus would perish in two to eight hours. The Nevada meteorite was not observed at the time it landed and had been buried in the desert for some time, so Denton didn’t bother to dispatch a team for it. This meant it became the first CM1 class meteorite to become available to the public.

The other fifteen CM1s, however, had landed in the Antarctic, where the cold temperatures had hardened the outer coating of the virus into a rubbery gel that protected it from deterioration. Unfortunately, the fifteen meteorites did not contain a virus. But this newly reclassified meteorite was a new addition. While other classes of meteorite might have brought plague and disease, either sprinkled from above or after impact, Denton knew the CM1 class carried greater promise.

Since the castle in Bavaria, instrumentation advances had come a long way. Denton had had teams of cosmochemists on standby to analyze the meteorites for many years.

In the seventy years he’d spent hunting the CM1 class meteors as they fell, he had only ever seen known of one other Phoenix virus in the hands of the Fifth Column.

The sample was kept in right there in New York, in an old OSS/Fifth Column base beneath Grand Central terminal. The same base he once worked from, the same base his father once worked from, and the same base his son once worked from. His son had mislabeled it on purpose. No one knew it was there except him.

Denton recalled the Czech prisoner, Yiri, who he’d plucked from the SAS assault. He’d made sure Yiri survived the war. Yiri had stayed briefly at the OSS base in Grand Central, where some testing had taken place—albeit fruitless, since the Fifth Column’s science, although decades ahead of anything mainstream, had still been crude by today’s standards. Yiri returned to Prague and started a family. Denton had kept tabs on Yiri’s descendants while he waited for each meteorite to fall.

Just that week, a rare CM1 meteorite had landed in Peru. Denton’s team scooped it up immediately and ran the tests. The heavens had looked fondly upon him because it matched the precise Phoenix virus he’d lost at the castle, the same Phoenix virus he’d lost with Sophia’s defection. And it was, at that very moment, on its way to New York.

Denton checked his watch. Within the hour, he might well have all three viruses. By the time the Fifth Column realized what he’d accomplished they would be too late to do anything about it.

Timing was everything.

‘We had quite a few meteorites come through here lately,’ the man said, finally rounding the spiral to reach Denton. ‘So many meteorites the last few years, we’re running out of room!’

Denton didn’t want to look up from the unmistakable honeyed crystal of the CM1 meteorite. ‘Yes, the sun’s dark twin slings them through here every cycle,’ he said. ‘Like a cosmic pinball machine.’ He chuckled at his own joke.

The man’s face creased under the lights. ‘The sun’s what?’

‘Ah,’ Denton said. ‘Something I read on the plane.’

He looked around the chamber. Since they’d posted security at both entrances to the chamber, Denton, Czarina and their new friend were the only ones present.

Czarina stood at the bottom of the spiral. For a moment she looked like a fixture on display as she inspected the chamber walls. She peered up at them from under her Cleopatra haircut. He quite liked her deep red lipstick. It matched her ruby leather jacket and cinnamon skin. It wasn’t often operatives wore lipstick. But this was an unusual circumstance.

‘What temperature do you have this room set at?’ Denton said.

‘Sixty-five degrees Fahrenheit,’ the man said. ‘And fifty percent relative humidity.’

Denton nodded. It was extremely likely that this CM1 meteorite had never reached room temperature; only the shell would have heated when crashing through the Earth’s atmosphere. If it had contained the Phoenix virus when landing in the Antarctic, the virus could still be intact and dormant. The very idea sent a shiver of excitement through his fingers as he ran them across the glass.

‘This could be the one,’ he said.

‘Oh dear,’ the man said. ‘Do we need to evacuate the building?’

Denton took a moment to respond. ‘No. Not yet,’ he said. ‘But we’ll have to bring a prelim team in to check it out. There’s no need to concern ourselves yet, but if you’re as cautious a man as I am, you will keep anyone from entering this wing.’

The man nodded. ‘I can do that. It’s a good idea.’

Denton turned to him. ‘That’s a nice suit.’

The man tried to conceal his pleasure as he extended his arms. ‘Oh this, just a Hugo Boss. Tailored, of course.’ His smile faded. ‘If you don’t mind me asking, back at that statue, how did they get the skulls that big?’

‘Maybe she was born with it, maybe it was Maybelline,’ Denton said.

The man blinked and, at a loss for words, left Denton alone with the meteorite and Czarina. Denton waited for him to completely disappear before turning to Czarina. She hadn’t moved since he arrived; her attention diffused across the chamber.

‘Can you do it?’ Denton said.

Czarina gave a single nod. ‘We’ll need a large amount,’ she said. ‘A very large amount.’

‘The explosives under Grand Central should do it,’ Denton said. ‘Don’t use it all though.’

‘Shall I bring in the cosmochemists?’ Czarina said.

Denton returned the nod. ‘Have everyone else stand by,’ he said. ‘If this is it, we have to do it right.’

Czarina turned and walked out of the chamber, leaving him alone with the meteorite.

He touched the glass that surrounded the meteorite. ‘Perfection.’

Chapter 11

Giant colorful feathers brushed Sophia’s face as a line of drummers shuffled past her. Thanks to Aviary, Sophia was in the center of a colorful stampede of dancers, faces half-painted as sugar skulls, colors from dresses and suits swirling into her vision.

Sophia stood near East Harlem at the corner of Central Park, shoved enthusiastically forward by Aviary into Dia De Los Muertos, the Day of the Dead festival. Percussion and the chirp of woodwind instruments guided the costumed through a progression of traditional Aztec and folkloric Mexican dances.

Sophia stepped aside to avoid a woman in a cream corset decorated with large fiery marigolds. Her face made Sophia flinch, —it was painted sparingly with delicate black lines. Large circles around her eyes were shaded in violet and dotted with multicolored jewels that glinted in the setting sun. Skeleton teeth were painted over her lips and dark daggers across her nose.

She felt Aviary’s hand on her shoulder. ‘Keep going.’

Sophia checked her iPhone. There were no pulsing dots. She zoomed out and still found no dots. Not even in Newark. She seized Aviary by her arm.

‘They’re gone,’ Sophia said.

Aviary took her phone and thumbed the control center. ‘It’s dropped out. Give it a few seconds.’

Sophia nodded and took the phone back.

They passed a boathouse on their right, beside a lake. She noticed their path was flanked by makeshift altars covered in cloth and decorated with fruit, candles, wild marigolds and other flowers. Aviary pointed to the edge of an altar as they passed and Sophia noticed packs of cigarettes, shots of alcohol, bottles of water, soda and even hot cocoa.

‘For the weary spirits, when they arrive,’ Aviary said, adjusting the ruck on her shoulders. Although she hadn’t said anything, it looked like she’d purchased the same ruck Sophia carried.

‘Remind me why I’m here again,’ Sophia said.

‘Because I want to eat food and drink alcohol,’ Aviary said. ‘And by extension you will also eat food and drink alcohol.’

Sophia continued with the flow. People in stilts loomed over her, faces painted entirely as skulls: white with black around the eyes, nose and mouth. Men dressed as women and women dressed as men, other mourners dressed as skeletons and still others as demons.

The altars changed. These were decorated with candy and toys. Tiny white skulls covered in colorful icing, ornaments and bejeweled eyes. Aviary called them sugar skulls; they had large ones for adults and little ones for children. They each represented a departed soul. Aviary quickly added that you’re not supposed to eat them, not that Sophia was planning to.

Tables offered food people were actually eating, however. Mounds of fruit, peanuts, plates of chicken mole—the smell was strong and reminded her she hadn’t eaten since the morning. There were also tortillas and some sort of large bread Aviary called pan de muerto.

As the sun began to set over New York, they passed a collection of grave markers. The markers looked like miniature houses painted in lavender, blue, a pale yellow and some in pink. All were lit with candles inside.

Soon they reached Aviary’s friends, although it was hard to recognize the four jaguar knights through their makeup and costumes. She had to suppress a laugh at the four rigid-framed knights, ex-Force Recon marines, as they curtsied for her. Like most of the attendees at the festival, their faces were half painted as skulls. But what she found most delightful was they were dressed—rather elegantly, she thought—as women, each wearing an adorable white dress and wielding not a carbine but a white lace parasol. The three Hispanic knights looked completely unfazed while the fourth, an African American knight she recognized from their operation in Denver, seemed fractionally self-conscious.

‘That’s an interesting costume,’ she said to him.

‘Yeah,’ he said, twirling his parasol. ‘But you know what? It’s kind of liberating.’

‘Shots!’ one of the knights yelled, spiraling into the group with a cluster of tall shot glasses.

Sophia found herself cradling a glass—or plastic as it turned out—as the knights cheered, yelled, ‘To the dead, salut!’ and emptied their glasses—delicately so as not to smear their face makeup.

She watched them drop into the procession, dancing like lunatics. Aviary raised her glass to Sophia and drank half of hers. It didn’t look pleasant because the redhead winced afterward.

‘Mezcal,’ she said, pointing to the glass in Sophia’s hand.

Something cracked nearby—a gunshot. Sophia dropped to one knee, reaching for the Glock under her jacket. Fireworks blossomed above, followed by more cracks and bursts. She relaxed and stood, conscious of nearby stares, including Aviary’s. Her glass of mezcal was now half-empty. A line of drummers passed by, banging faster. Sweat dripped from their skull-faces.

‘So tell me why we’re really here,’ Sophia said.

Aviary flashed a smile. ‘To laugh at death and show we’re not afraid.’

More fireworks exploded above. Sophia didn’t flinch this time. She lifted her glass with Aviary.

‘Salut,’ she said.

It burned her throat. Before she could recover, Aviary plucked the plastic shot glass from her fingers and tossed it into a nearby bin, then pulled her farther into the crowd. Everyone had started moving south along the eastern edge of Central Park. The path curved left and they walked between two giant walls of candles. Aviary told her, above the cacophony of drums, that the candles would guide the deceased loved ones.

The drums stopped and the candle flames quivered in the breeze. The pace of the procession slowed suddenly and Sophia felt uncertainty crawl inside. Everyone walked slowly now, in silence. Sophia suppressed the urge to check for her pistol again. She heard church bells ring in the distance. Incense smoke rippled through the air. Everyone around her seemed excited. She didn’t share the sensation.

‘What’s happening?’ she whispered into Aviary’s ear.

‘The dead are coming,’ her friend said. ‘And we’re waiting for them.’

Aviary took her by the arm and guided her between the walls of candles. The procession diverged from the park out onto Fifth Avenue, now shut off from traffic for the festival. Around them, people carried sugar skulls and candles; others grasped framed photos of loved ones. The flames of the candles encouraged them forward. Sophia remembered the photos in her wallet and her stomach tightened.

As an operative she had been trained not to think about death except from an operational standpoint. It was what happened when you died. If you did your job right and drew on your training then you stayed alive and it wouldn’t be an issue.

They reached the end of the procession, outside a museum. Altars glowed in the night, large and vast enough to receive the festival’s guests; together they approached one.

Aviary moved forward, tentatively, and placed a photo upon a bouquet of flowers. The photo was of a young man Sophia didn’t recognize.

‘My brother, Calvin,’ her friend said. Her eyes shimmered.

Across from them, Sophia could see the shapes of jaguar knights in their dresses. One of them was arched forward, trembling. Another’s hand rested across his back. They were crying.

‘I shouldn’t be here,’ Sophia said.

She broke away. But Aviary reached forward, her arm on Sophia’s. ‘You can be wherever you want,’ she said.

‘Can we go somewhere else?’ Sophia said.

‘How do you feel?’ Aviary said.

Sophia swallowed. ‘OK,’ she said. ‘A bit strange.’

Aviary’s green eyes glittered in the candlelight. ‘Your loved ones are here now, with us.’

Sophia pressed her jaws together, keeping her mouth firm. She tried to think of other things but the memories came flooding back. Dancing with Leon in Italy. Swimming in a river with Lucia and the rest of her team in Belize. Helping Owen Freeman with the Akhana. Drinking coffee in the Philippine mountains with Benito.

She felt it build inside. Her vision blurred and she knew she hadn’t stopped it in time because Aviary moved closer, steadying her.

She swallowed again. God, she was losing it. She didn’t want to do this. Not here. Her cheeks burned red. Tears spilled down. She couldn’t keep her mouth closed. She couldn’t stop it any longer. She broke down.

She sobbed violently before the flower-adorned altar. All she could see was a blur of candles. She held onto Aviary’s arm tightly. Aviary was there when she dropped to her knees.

For a moment there was clarity as she drew things together. She opened her mouth, her eyes, and took a deep breath. Blinking, she cleared her vision. She tasted salt across her lips. Her breathing slowed and the candles came into focus. She sniffed to clear her nose.

‘Would you like to put some photos on the altar?’ Aviary asked. Her voice was whisper soft. ‘The ones in your wallet?’

Sophia didn’t want to take them out of her wallet. But it was almost too difficult to explain why she couldn’t. Instead she found herself nodding in silence. Her hand closed over her wallet and she looked down, fingers moving under her false driver’s license. Tears dripped onto the leather. She wiped them away and found the photos. Three photos and the motel business card with her family’s names.

She stepped forward and rested on one knee, staring at the altar. Just the thought of finding a place for her photos was overwhelming. Aviary moved to help but she pushed herself forward. She didn’t want help. Leon sat on a bunch of orange marigolds, calmly watching over her. She reached for her next photo, Owen, and placed him beside Leon. They knew each other to some degree; Owen would have rescued Leon from the Fifth Column in the early days. So they should be together, she thought. On the other side of Owen she placed Benito. He would have known Owen, perhaps even met him at some point.

In her hands, the card with the names of her family. She cried on the card, ashamed she had no photos of them. The only reason she hadn’t taken a photo with her to Project GATE was because she hadn’t liked the ones they had and wanted to take a better one when she returned. Instead she’d killed them.

‘They’re your family?’ Aviary said, her hand closing over Sophia’s.

She felt the mezcal warming her. She nodded.

‘What are they like?’

Sophia shook her head. ‘They’re gone.’

‘No they’re not,’ Aviary said. ‘They’re with you now.’

‘How do I know?’ Sophia said.

‘Your heart will tell you.’

Sophia gripped the card tightly, then placed it above the photos, on a larger bouquet.

‘Now they’re here, what would you like to tell them?’ Aviary said.

She wished the questions would stop. She should never have taken the photos. She should never have kept them. This was awful. She thought about the question for a moment. What could she say? What did you say to the people you love once they were gone?

‘I’m sorry.’

‘They know,’ Aviary said. ‘They know already.’

Sophia sniffed. She felt dizzy, uncomfortable. Everything about this was uncomfortable.

‘I’m very thankful,’ Sophia said. ‘For their care.’

Aviary nodded. ‘They know that now.’

‘And … I guess—’ Sophia wiped her eyes ‘—I’m sorry,’ she said to Aviary. ‘I’m not used to doing this. I wish my family knew that I love them and I didn’t want … anything to happen to them.’

‘I understand,’ Aviary said from beside her. ‘I feel like that too.’

She could see tears brimming in Aviary’s eyes as she looked down at the photo of Calvin, Aviary’s brother. Sophia was reluctant to admit it, but she felt the missing were there with them, even if only for a moment.

Chapter 12

Damien led his client, Frederick Jensen, up the stairs to the elegant lobby of the Waldorf Astoria Hotel. Without looking, he knew Jay was behind Jensen. On top of the stairs, between two silver vases, security had installed a metal detector and a table for receiving firearms from attendees.

While the security officer looked on, Damien unholstered his SIG Sauer P226 from his shoulder holster and pulled the slide back, catching the round in the same hand. He pressed down on the decocking lever and ejected the magazine. He took a moment to thumb the ejected round back into the magazine. Satisfied, he handed over his weapon, followed by two more magazines.

The security officer motioned Damien through the metal detector. He was pleased his belt didn’t set it off—and neither did his titanium lockpicks and plasticuffs. Unfortunately neither of those were weapons.

Jensen passed through the metal detector behind him. Then they waited for Jay to begrudgingly hand over his pistol and magazines. Damien checked the people sitting on the nearby art deco chairs before continuing through the lobby. Their polished shoes echoed on marble as they walked along an intricate design of maidens and flowers.

Moving between two rows of pillars, he waited for someone to notice he’d snuck into the world of the privileged and escort him smartly out. The tuxedo he wore felt odd, but it was required attire for the event.

The lobby was lit by table lamps and decorated in dark wood and gold. He walked around a tall octagonal clock carved in bronze. A tiny golden Statue of Liberty sat atop the clock. At least I haven’t decapitated that version, he thought.

‘Level three,’ Jensen told him.

Damien already knew but Jensen liked to repeat himself.

He led Jensen through the silver corridor of the third floor—fringed with potted palms and candle-lit chandeliers, and a black-and-white tiled floor that reminded him of chess. They reached the doormen, who checked their IDs and swept them with handheld metal detectors. Damien and Jay came through clean and were permitted entry to the cocktail reception. Damien cleared a path for Jensen.

Soaring four levels high, the two-tiered grand ballroom teemed with nearly one thousand guests in gowns, suits and various states of sobriety. On his right he noticed red curtains drawn across an elevated stage. He slowed and checked over his shoulder for Jensen, who pinched a flute of champagne from a passing waiter and nodded to him.

‘You can back off a bit tonight, champ.’ Jensen placed a hand on Damien’s shoulder. ‘I have some business. Just, ah, do what you do best, huh?’ He pointed two fingers at Damien’s eyes as though he were privy to a secret sign language. ‘Keep an eye on things.’

‘If you need us—’

Jensen was already leading with his chest through the crowd until he reached a colleague. Damien watched for anyone else who might be paying Jensen some attention but no one gave notice. Their boss’s charisma was well oiled tonight.

‘If he calls you champ one more time,’ Jay said under his breath, ‘I’ll save them the trouble and shoot him myself.’

Damien turned to see Jay brush over a particular area of his chest—where his pistol should be. ‘Relax,’ he said.

‘Easy for you to say,’ Jay said. ‘Stop playing with your bow-tie.’

‘I wasn’t.’

Damien straightened his bow-tie again.

He could count on one hand how many times he’d worn a suit. Most of them were dress rehearsals in Project GATE. He wasn’t used to it and his neck felt tight. Jensen had rented them well-fitting tuxedos for the night. He’d assured them that, despite the firearms-free zone through the entire hotel, security would be excellent, and they were merely here to protect him in transit. Still, Damien was being paid and he wasn’t about to take any chances. He’d ensured Jensen wore a covert ballistic protection vest under his shirt, just to be sure. It would at least stop pistol rounds.

He turned to Jay in time to see him pluck a salmon wafer from a passing waitress. She was dressed like some sort of light infantry soldier circa Roman Empire. She glared at Jay and Damien as she wafted past. Her eyes were impossibly white against gold-dusted skin. She wore a black helmet and golden armor that covered her chest and shoulders. There was even a bow slung across her back. Unusual weaponry for a Roman soldier, but they were known to have assumed the tactics of those they defeated, archers included.

The curtains on stage parted and music trickled softly through the ballroom. Damien looked above, dizzied by a gargantuan chandelier shimmering high overhead.

‘For the record, this is a terrible idea,’ Jay said.

Damien shrugged. ‘At least we can make it through one job without you shooting our client.’

‘Hey that happened once—’ Jay reached for another passing salmon wafer ‘—OK twice. And they were both dicks,’ he said. ‘Big dicks.’

Damien realized the music stopped and the surrounding guests heard Jay say ‘big dicks’ quite clearly. Damien intercepted a tray of champagne and took two flutes.

‘This could be a long night,’ Damien said, drinking an entire flute.

Jay reached for the other flute but Damien was already drinking it. Jay grumbled and ran his hand across his empty holster again.

‘Last I heard it’s a mandatory evacuation tonight.’ Jay checked his watch. ‘This shindig should be winding up early.’

Damien took comfort in that, but he didn’t admit it.

The music returned, and this time the stage curtains parted to reveal two rows of performers. They each rested on one knee, dark helmets lowered. The drums built with intensity and they unfurled to full height, weapons across their backs.

‘Why couldn’t we carry a sword instead?’ Jay whispered.

‘They’re blunt swords, Jay,’ Damien said. ‘They’re just props.’

‘You mean the swords or us?’ Jay said, his eyes searching for another tray of food.

The performers began to dance, intertwining as pairs and breaking off again. Damien found himself enjoying it. Their movements were slow and mesmerizing. He reached for another flute and realized he’d already broken his rule of no alcohol on a job—although it was a rule he’d set more for Jay than himself.

*

Sophia stood silently with Aviary before the altar. She spent most of the time—how much time?—trying to keep herself together. It seemed a while before the tidal wave inside her finally settled.

Aviary reached down to take Calvin’s photo. ‘We can’t keep these,’ she said. ‘We need to let them go.’

Sophia breathed slowly, deeply, and retrieved her own photos and the business card. She couldn’t think clearly enough and was grateful Aviary led her beyond the altars to a cluster of small fires in Central Park. People were drawn to them. They stayed for a time, mesmerized, and then left. Sophia realized why when Aviary held Calvin’s photo tightly between pressed thumbs. The flame revealed dried tears on Aviary’s face.

‘Calvin Keli’i,’ Aviary said, placing the photo in the fire.

Sophia watched the flame pour over his face and consume the photograph. Aviary stepped back and Sophia felt herself hesitating. She looked down at the photos in her hand and realized she didn’t want to let them go. She wanted to hold onto them forever. She wasn’t stupid—she knew she couldn’t bring her people back, but she couldn’t … She couldn’t even think right now. She stepped closer to the flame. She placed a photo onto it.

‘Benito Montoya,’ she said.

The flame consumed him. He was gone.

‘Owen Freeman,’ she said.

Her eyes were filling with tears again. She swallowed, stayed focused.

The flame consumed him.

‘Leoncjusz Adamicz,’ she said.

In an instant, Leon dissolved. They were gone now.

She held the card with her family’s names, stared at it for a moment. Everything came crashing forth inside her. She held it all back just long enough to throw the card into the fire.

‘Lenka Novotný,’ she said. ‘Antonín Novotný.’ Tears poured down her face but she didn’t care anymore. ‘Tereza Novotný. Petr Novotný.’

She said goodbye to her family.

There was nothing more to say.

She closed her wallet and pocketed it. She felt Aviary beside her. The flame licked the night, impartial to her offering. Sadness filled the night, but it felt clear. She hated it less.

As the tears dried on her face, Aviary suggested they have their faces painted. A renewal. Sophia was ready to object but she didn’t have the energy. She followed Aviary on weak legs to a stall where painters were turning regular people into skeletons.

Sophia was the first to sit down. She wiped her face with a tissue Aviary had given her, dampening it with her own tongue. Once it was clean, she looked up to see the woman with the cream corset who had startled her earlier. The woman’s painted face was incredibly well crafted, and jeweled too. It was no surprise that’s what she was here to do.

‘I’m Xtabay,’ she said. ‘A demon from Mexico.’ She curtseyed.

If Sophia was supposed to feel comforted by that, she wasn’t. ‘I’m … Sophia,’ she said. ‘I’m not a demon.’

Xtabay smiled and dabbed a brush in white paint. Sophia could smell the paint distinctly. It mixed with the artist’s perfume. The paint was cold but the touch of the brush felt reassuringly warm.

Aviary watched from a distance, arms folded, occasionally checking the crowd as it filtered through toward the museum. Sophia figured there was some sort of ceremony or concert inside. She wondered if Aviary would take her in there next. She made a mental note not to cry over her face paint.

She closed her eyes and relaxed for the first time in months. She almost lost track of the time, but by the time Xtabay was finished they’d accrued a crowd of children who sat cross-legged, fascinated by the brushstrokes. As soon as she had finished around Sophia’s lips, Sophia smiled and waved to them. They waved back and whispered to each other.

Xtabay retrieved a mirror so Sophia could see her work. When she saw it, her jaw dropped. Or at least a skeleton jaw dropped. The paint was detailed, with subtle shadows and gradients, and a deep metallic purple encircled her eyes. Xtabay had even painted the skeleton teeth past Sophia’s lips, wrapping around her jaws. The far edges of her jawlines were black, giving the illusion her skeleton teeth disappeared into darkness. It was disturbing, yet breathtaking. Xtabay started plucking sticky jewels from a tray and adding them to Sophia’s face, around her eyebrows and under her eyes until they formed a perfect circle. She added some to the ends of her cheekbone strokes and curled lines on her chin.

Aviary hadn’t seen it yet; she was staring fixedly at her iPhone, her face lit up by its screen. Sophia stood and waited for Aviary to look up. She looked distracted.

‘You’re very pretty,’ Xtabay said. ‘Do you like it?’

Sophia felt her heart kick faster. The way Xtabay smiled made her blush. She could almost feel the demon woman’s adoring gaze. No, she could feel it.

Sophia touched her chin. ‘It’s magnificent.’

‘Life is just a dream,’ Xtabay said. ‘Only the eternal life is the true life.’

The demon woman winked at her, then walked over to the children. Sophia didn’t know quite what to do so she made her way over to Aviary.

Aviary looked up. ‘Looks great.’

‘I think … she has a crush on me,’ Sophia said.

Aviary sniggered. ‘Did she give you her digits? I mean, number,’ she said. ‘Poor choice of words.’

‘No,’ Sophia said. ‘It just felt different.’

‘That’s good,’ Aviary said. ‘You’re becoming normal.’

The crowd seemed to ripple past them.

‘You know, like a real person with feelings,’ Aviary said.

Sophia caught Aviary’s wry grin but was too focused on the crowd. For a moment she was worried her synesthesia had returned to mix up her senses but they all seemed in order. Food smelled like food. Colors looked like colors and the faint tang of mezcal tasted like it should. She could feel just a little more.

‘Everyone’s so … happy,’ Sophia said. ‘I’m not used to feeling this.’

Aviary looked up from her phone. ‘They don’t look happy.’

‘No, but they are. I can just tell.’

Aviary was staring at her now. ‘Are you OK?’

Sophia swallowed. ‘I don’t know.’ She focused on Aviary. ‘You’re worried. I can feel it.’

‘Yeah, a bit,’ Aviary said. ‘Wait, you can feel it?’

‘I’m not worried about me,’ Sophia said. She snatched the phone from Aviary’s hands.

It was the same map Sophia had been checking on her own phone earlier. Aviary had zoomed out to fill most of upper Manhattan. Only now it was covered in blinking dots.

Sophia felt a chill sweep over her. She cast a quick glance around the crowd, checking for faces.

‘There’s no one here,’ Aviary said. ‘But—’

‘How long have they been here?’ Sophia said.

Aviary shook her head. ‘Fairly recent. We only lost our connection a half hour ago.’

‘They’re operatives, Aviary. They move quickly,’ Sophia said. ‘Where are your friends?’

‘Huh?’ Aviary was still inspecting the blinking dots. ‘They went home. The festival ends early tonight because of the hurricane.’

Sophia recalled snippets of news over the past few days about a hurricane moving through the Caribbean. She kept her television-watching to a minimum, mostly because it drove her insane.

‘We should get off the island now.’ Sophia said, looking up at the brooding clouds in the previously clear night. ‘And this … off my face—’

Aviary was already walking. In the other direction.

Sophia took off after her, moving against the crowd. She kept eyes on Aviary so she wouldn’t lose her. Aviary made her way through to the grass in Central Park, her ruck on both shoulders. By then Sophia was running. She caught up with Aviary at a big lake farther south. The lights of the city encircled them, reflecting off the water’s surface. Aviary stood at the edge, looking at her phone.

‘What do you think you’re you doing?’ Sophia said.

‘Look.’ Aviary shoved the screen in her face.

There was one dot moving just below the lake, heading west.

Aviary looked up at Sophia. ‘One operative. Right near us.’

Sophia zoomed out on the map to reveal a cluster of operatives on the upper west side, all moving in close proximity, next to Central Park. They were just on the other side of the park.

‘They’re converging,’ Sophia said.

She looked over the dark lake, thoughts racing.

‘On what?’ Aviary said.

‘Not sure yet,’ Sophia said.

‘Your earpieces and microphones,’ Aviary said. ‘They work on the phone I gave you.’

‘Not now, Aviary.’

Aviary was already running. Alongside the lake, south.

‘Shit,’ Sophia said.

She was going for the operative—why? So Sophia could deprogram the operative and expand their forces? A hundred yards from another eight operatives, in the path of a hurricane? What could possibly go wrong?

Sophia thought of trying to catch Aviary mid-run but they were too close to the operative. Growling to herself, she dropped her ruck to the grass and dug into the front pocket. She found an earpiece and slipped it in one ear. She pulled at the microphone cord, ran it under her T-shirt, clipped the microphone to her bra, and clipped the button to the hip pocket in her jeans. She plugged it into her iPhone and dropped that in her jeans pocket. Ruck back over her shoulders, she sprinted.

As she ran, her phone vibrated. She slowed enough to pull it from her pocket and see the incoming call. She hit the green button.

Aviary’s breathing filled her eyepiece. It was working, as she’d promised. ‘I’ll be there soon,’ she said between breaths.

‘Stay back!’ Sophia shouted. ‘Stay—’ She hit the button. ‘Stay back!’

She hoped the channel was as secure as Aviary claimed. Since it was using an encrypted data stream instead of an actual radio channel, it certainly should have been.

‘I have the eye,’ Aviary said over the noise of traffic. ‘I repeat, I have the eye.’

‘Keep your voice down,’ Sophia hissed, reaching the end of the lake.

A busy road cut through the park: the Eighty-Fifth Street Transverse. Sophia switched back to the map and watched the operative move along the western side of the transverse.

Sophia had been training Aviary how to conduct anti-surveillance, and now she realized in doing so she’d inadvertently taught Aviary surveillance as well. But getting eyes on an operative—that was a whole other level. Operatives were a different breed of target entirely, trained to notice what people could not. Aviary was a quick learner, and sharp, but she didn’t have the level of awareness she needed to do this. That would take a long time to instill and refine in her subconscious.

‘If you get the eye, disengage!’ Sophia said into her T-shirt. ‘Can you hear me?’

Sophia crossed the transverse and moved into a softball field. From there she started to run again, reaching the other side of the field and ducking into trees and undergrowth.

‘Yeah,’ Aviary said, breathless. Softer this time.

Sophia stopped short of the park’s edge and checked her iPhone. The cluster of operatives was right before her. The map told her it was the American Museum of Natural History. Only now the cluster seemed to be dispersing. One operative was coming right for her. The others moved outward in different directions.

‘Moving north along Central Park West. Female, red jacket, scarf, black hat,’ Aviary said. ‘No company.’

‘Get away from the museum!’ Sophia hissed into her microphone. ‘They’re spreading out. Go north!’

Sophia saw the figure moving in her direction. She wasn’t sure if the operative had any genetic vision enhancements so she continued walking parallel to the main road, along one of the pathways inside the park. She kept her hands in her pockets and didn’t dare look in the operative’s direction. She wasn’t near a lamppost so her face would be difficult to make out. The operative moved swiftly, crossing in front of her. He registered her face before he crossed over and Sophia realized all he would’ve seen was the painted skull on her face. He kept moving, didn’t glance back. Sophia kept going in the same direction.

Once the operative disappeared into the forest she changed direction and made for the museum. It was lit brightly in the night, large enough to take up an entire city block.

‘What’s your locstat?’ Sophia said.

‘Central Park West, heading north,’ Aviary said. ‘Passing West Eighty-Fifth. Just picked up a ruck—I repeat, just picked up a ruck from another person, a male. Moving fast, almost got hit by a cab. Shit, just passed the ruck to another operative. Black hat, red jacket. Why are they—? She has something in that ruck. It’s on her back now!’

‘OK,’ Sophia said quietly. The last thing she wanted to say was ‘copy that’ in a public area.

She started walking toward Central Park West. She checked her iPhone again, taking the brightness down so her face remained as dark as possible. All the operatives had dispersed from the museum, including the one who had passed right by her and the one who Aviary was tracking.

Sophia’s fingers trembled. ‘Oh shit. Aviary!’ she yelled. ‘Get below gr—’

The museum exploded.

Sound rattled everything inside her. A large ball of flame pushed out from the museum entrance, another at the northeast wing, and another at the southeast.

Night became day, an orange surreal day.

The museum rippled with multiple detonations.

Sophia hit the ground, pressing her chest against the grass. She moved to a wide old tree nearby and crawled between its roots as debris and glass dropped beside her. A taxicab rolled past, narrowly missing her leg. She hugged herself tighter, using the old tree for cover.

She peered around the trunk. Balls of fire raged into angry black plumes. The trees closer to the blast had been slung to the ground, torn from their roots. Cars littered the scorched grass.

A black swan event.

Chapter 13

A deep rumbling sound shook Damien. He thought it was the music at first, but then he saw champagne swill and bowls clatter on tables. He turned to Jay.

‘Did you hear that?’

‘No,’ Jay said. ‘But I felt it. Sound system is ace.’

Damien swallowed. ‘I think it was something else.’

‘Earthquake?’ Jay said.

Damien noticed Jensen separate from a colleague. ‘Sounded like mortars to me. Or an explosion.’

Excited murmuring spread through the crowd. People were looking at their phones.

‘What’s going on?’ Jay whispered. ‘Looks like they’re checking the information superhighway.’ He nodded at Damien, knowingly. ‘You know, the internet.’

Jensen slipped through the nervous crowd to reach them.’

He smoothed his collar. ‘Gentlemen,’ he said.

Damien resisted the urge to pull at his own collar. ‘Is everything OK, sir?’

‘Of course.’ He flashed his teeth: a beacon of hygiene. Or oxidation, Damien wasn’t sure which.

Jay was watching the crowd. ‘Looks like they’re starting to evacuate early,’ he said. ‘Something’s going down.’

‘My attendance is required on the eighteenth floor,’ Jensen said. ‘Quickly, if you will.’

Jay moved nimbly around Jensen, silently mouthing the word champ. Jay led Jensen from the ballroom, sticking to his ten o’clock; Damien took up his own position at the opposing side, Jensen’s five o’clock. Their movements compressed as they worked through the crowd to the cocktail reception. Jay strayed past a tray of food and Damien noticed him suppress the urge to take something.

They walked the long silver corridor into an idle elevator. Damien was embarrassed to feel a bit tipsy as the doors closed and the floor number ticked upward. It settled on the eighteenth floor with a chime and the doors parted. Jay was first out, checking his sides. Jensen ignored him and stormed forward through a rotunda and into another foyer. Damien remained close, turning his head slightly to check their surroundings. The floor was apparently uninhabited.

‘Straight ahead,’ Jensen said, even though he’d already moved past Jay.

Jay had to quicken his pace to overtake their charge, leading them into another large ballroom, only this one was completely empty. Floor-to-ceiling windows ran the length of the opulent space, and large glass lattice doors at either end led onto rooftop terraces. Damien looked up at the ceiling. It was entirely glass, sapphire blue with an intricate art deco pattern. At the center of each partition, a deer or winged horse.

Between them and the glass ceiling there was a balcony for a mezzanine floor. Figures moved into view, standing at the balustrades. They looked down on Damien, Jensen and Jay. Damien realized they were dressed in the same costumes as the performers in the ballroom downstairs.

‘Who are you meeting here, sir?’ Damien said.

Jensen stood precisely in the center of the ballroom. ‘I never said.’

‘That would be me he is meeting,’ a voice said from the foyer they’d entered through. Her accent was distinctly Jamaican.

Damien turned to watch the woman enter, accompanied by a pair of soldiers, but not the modern soldiers he’d expected. He could see them more clearly as they stepped through the center of the three archways.

One woman, one man; they wore oxide-black Corinthian helms that reminded Damien of an iron-age Batman. They’re certainly more menacing than Batman, he thought, though they were not carrying any firearms or prop weapons. He noticed their belts carried sheaths for puglios—a weapon he’d briefly learned of in Project GATE. They were unmistakable: compact Roman daggers with a wavy edge. Their right arms were encased in some sort of gauntlet. They wore royal breastplates in rich indigo and sheaths on their hips for longswords.

The Jamaican woman wore a pearl-white Corinthian helm. It covered her face except for narrow circles around her eyes and a thin strip that ran from her nose to her neck, revealing her lips. Her sword’s sheath was etched with a headless serpent. She wore a purple cape and black boots. Blue eyeshadow streaked from one eye like fire.

‘Greetings,’ she said. ‘How you feeling this evening?’

Jensen shot her a Hollywood smile and gestured with open hands. ‘Ah, I was beginning to think you were showing me up.’

She didn’t return the smile. ‘Me boss would not allow it. Did you bring the delivery?’

Damien maintained his position behind Jensen, watching the others on the balcony through his peripheral vision. They hadn’t moved, but he noticed one of them had a bow slung over her back. They wore Corinthian battle helms—these were golden, smooth and round. They looked like something out of a science-fiction movie rather than a historical item of clothing.

Jensen adjusted a button on his tuxedo. ‘Exactly as requested. I trust you are satisfied?’

The woman stepped forward. Jensen almost leaped behind Damien.

‘Everything cool,’ she said.

Jensen turned to Jay. ‘Stay where you are.’

Damien watched as Jensen stepped around Jay and walked halfway toward the woman. A gesture of trust, he assumed. But another Corinthian soldier strode through the foyer toward them. Damien tracked him from the corner of his eyes. The soldier did not move for Jensen, but Damien kept an eye on him.

The soldier instead approached the woman and whispered something in her ear. Damien read the soldier’s lips but it wasn’t English. He watched the woman’s reaction carefully. She showed very little shift in her expression, which was already difficult to observe through her pearl helm, but it didn’t look to be pleasant news.

‘This look fishy still,’ she said. ‘You bringing the authorities?’

Jensen shook his head. ‘That would be a … poor business choice for everyone involved.’

‘Looks like you a man never hear me too good,’ she said. ‘I never said bring the authorities. They downstairs in the lobby causing a big fuss.’

Damien saw Jay’s neck stiffen.

Jensen’s arms were out, palms open. ‘I honestly have nothing to do with that,’ he said. ‘And it’s likely it has nothing to do with us.’

‘Me patience starting to disappear,’ she said. ‘Best you hand over the package now.’

Jensen moved to one side, taking refuge under an archway. Damien tracked two more soldiers through another archway on his left. They moved behind Damien and Jay and remained at a safe distance.

Damien took two careful steps forward so he was in line with Jay.

‘Is there a problem?’ Jay said.

‘Everything is everything,’ she said. ‘You be who we came for, gentlemen. Please relax now.’

Jay exchanged a glance with Damien that conveyed something between alarm and annoyance.

‘Look, whoever you think we are,’ Damien said, ‘we’re not them. We work in security. That’s it.’

She smiled for the first time and took a step closer, her dark helmed soldiers matching her movements.

‘Why are you looking for us?’ Jay said.

‘What we going to do now is put you in bindings,’ she said. ‘Little from that, we take you from here.’

‘What the hell you want from us?’ Jay said.

‘Your DNA,’ she said, ‘is a untapped market.’

‘You know what else is an untapped market?’ Jay said.

The woman blinked.

‘Yeah, I have nothing,’ Jay said.

She turned to the soldiers on the mezzanine floor. ‘Prepare them.’

STAGE 1
EVACUATION

Chapter 14

Sophia left the tree and ran for the street. The explosions had rippled beyond the museum and disintegrated city block upon city block across the upper west side. The devastation was like nothing she’d seen before.

She hit the button. ‘Aviary,’ she said. Her ears were ringing. ‘Aviary!’

There was a crackle, then a voice. ‘What … the hell was that?’

‘Where are you?’ Sophia said.

‘Sub … Eight-Six—’ Aviary said.

Aviary was cutting out. If she was in a subway station that would explain that. Wifi and cellular would cut out once her phone was deep enough in the subway station, and there weren’t any hotspots in the New York subway.

Sophia checked her iPhone again. The operatives were long gone, but she knew if she kept an eye on them they would likely regroup. And that would be interesting. On the map, she checked the corner of the subway station and found the operative Aviary was chasing. The dot was stationary for now, and Sophia worried that her friend had been spotted.

Sophia started running again, heading north for the subway station. She weaved around the vehicles that had rolled over onto the grass and crossed from the park itself to Central Park West.

The air was loaded with fine debris, making her cough. Embers and ash flakes wafted around her. She ran through it all—the discarded vehicles, the crumpled corpses, the moving bodies, the dazed and injured wandering amongst the wreckage bleeding and muttering. One man sat on the curb, face covered in blood, and began to comb his hair. Sophia ran past him, reaching the edge of the blast zone and closer to the subway station.

She pushed through the gathering crowd. She was on the corner of West Eighty-Fifth Street. Aviary had been there just moments earlier. She checked her iPhone. The operative was moving west from the station. Sophia scanned the streets. Black hat, red jacket—nowhere to be seen. West Eighty-Fifth was a small one-lane, one-way street. Cars were parked on either side and some of them were SUVs so it was hard getting visibility around them.

Then she saw Aviary, her vibrant red hair in stark contrast to the darker colors moving around her. She was walking west. That meant the operative was ahead of her, moving west along Eighty-Fifth. Sophia stuck to her side of the road and continued with them. Moving diagonally to a target on foot was the best position, so Sophia stayed on her side.

The whole fucking area had just gone up in flames.

She couldn’t believe it. She didn’t even know how many blocks, but it must’ve been quite a few. In any case, all that mattered right now was pulling Aviary out of harm’s way. She didn’t have the training and she was going to get herself killed. Or tortured, and therefore Sophia caught.

‘I have the eye,’ Aviary said. ‘West on West Eighty-Fifth, heading toward Columbus Avenue. Red jacket. Still carrying the ruck.’

Sophia consulted her phone, checking that Columbus Avenue was ahead of her. It was.

Aviary was fixated on the ruck. Sophia was curious too, but with so many operatives around she didn’t want to be seen, let alone involved. Unless I could capture and deprogram this operative … she thought. No, the risk was off the charts. She needed to get off the island. She settled on her plan. Get Aviary and get out. End of story. Forget recruiting operatives—she couldn’t handle those numbers. She could re-evaluate, try to figure out what the Fifth Column was trying to achieve with this attack, and she could do it from a safe location.

‘Standby standby!’ Aviary said, hurting Sophia’s ear. ‘The eye is in a cab. Shit.’

Sophia looked across the road and saw Aviary flag down a cab of her own. It took her a moment but she was quickly inside and moving. Sophia started running, searching for a cab herself.

‘Don’t follow!’ Sophia said.

‘Follow that cab!’ Aviary said.

Sophia saw the cab move off, heading west along the one-way street. There were no cabs behind. She thought of hijacking someone but the cabs weren’t moving terribly fast. She decided to just sprint it. The street was mostly empty, the buildings on each side were four-story apartments and they looked expensive as all hell, though after the explosion their value might drop somewhat.

The two cabs were just in her vision ahead. On her iPhone she confirmed the operative wasn’t too far along, about to hit Columbus Avenue. On her right she spotted a drycleaners and a hotel entrance. The cabs containing the operative and Aviary had stacked up at the intersection.

‘Waiting in traffic at Columbus Avenue,’ Aviary said. ‘First cab off the rank, I’m tow-barring.’

That told Sophia the operative was the first vehicle in the line. Tow-barring meant Aviary had no cover while stationary—she was right behind the operative.

‘Get out of the cab, Aviary,’ Sophia said. ‘She must have seen you by now. Walk away.’

‘What the fuck?’ Aviary said.

Sophia slowed when she noticed two gray SUVs stack up behind Aviary’s cab. With particular timing they each disgorged four men, all in black fatigues and helmets, all carrying carbines and wearing protective black masks that looked like hockey masks.

Sophia checked the chamber of her Glock and moved toward the back of the SUVs.

The masked men moved past Aviary toward the first cab. One of them smashed the rear cab window while another hurled a grenade inside. Smoke filled the cab. Another grenade went in. This one went bang. They weren’t going for Aviary at all: in fact they didn’t even realize she was following the operative.

Sophia took cover in a basement courtyard beside some stairs. Through the wrought-iron fence she watched the operative roll out of the cab. The red-jacketed operative stayed low and tangled one of the masked men’s legs, dropping them. She unfurled, attacked another and was caught by CS spray as the third masked man blocked her in. She collapsed, spluttering and groaning.

The masked men closed on her, cuffed her, then hustled her back into the front SUV. The SUV drove around Aviary’s vehicle, nudging both cabs out of the way and grinding along the parked cars. The second SUV followed suit. They both took a left on Columbus Avenue and disappeared.

It was over.

Sophia checked her phone. No operatives in sight except the one who had just been abducted. Sophia checked behind her for any backup teams or surveillance, then rushed to Aviary’s cab. Aviary was unharmed but in shock.

‘Hey, you with me?’ Sophia said, snapping her fingers in her friend’s face.

There was a moment of pause before Aviary focused on her. ‘What …? Fuck.’

Sophia pulled her out of the cab. ‘Well, that was interesting.’

Aviary breathed heavily in response. ‘Uh, yeah.’

Sophia pointed to her phone, to the blinking dot being whisked down Columbus Avenue. ‘Can you tag this operative?’

Aviary stared blankly at Sophia for a moment and then finally switched on. She looked at Sophia’s iPhone and tapped the dot. A little bubble popped up with the operative’s code number, which Sophia didn’t understand. Aviary pressed the arrow next to it and chose Bookmark. Then she chose Follow. Siri offered turn-by-turn directions.

‘Shut up, Siri,’ Aviary said.

‘Good,’ Sophia said. ‘Get back in.’

‘What? I thought you didn’t want—’

‘You heard me,’ Sophia said, helping the driver out of his cab. ‘Are you alright?’

The driver, hands shaking, nodded. ‘What the goddamn hell just happened?’

‘I’m borrowing your cab,’ Sophia said, jumping into his seat. ‘That’s what’s happened.’

Before he could protest, she closed the door and started the engine. She checked that Aviary was still in the back before taking off down Columbus Avenue, weaving through traffic.

‘We’re still following her?’ Aviary shouted from the back seat. ‘I thought you didn’t want to!’

‘That was before she was abducted by soldiers in black masks.’

‘Oh good, I thought I imagined the masks thing,’ Aviary said. ‘Hey, can we get back to the part where I ask what the hell you’re going to do?’

‘Not before I ask what the hell you were thinking going after an operative.’ Sophia glared at her in the rear-vision mirror. ‘Do you have a death wish?’

‘No,’ Aviary said. ‘I’m sorry. I just, I just got really excited. I thought we could use another ally. You know, because Nasira isn’t here. Your best buddy.’

‘Deprogramming takes time,’ Sophia said. ‘Before they can be an ally. Plus, it’s been a while.’

She moved her legs together enough to stop her iPhone from slipping off the seat. She glanced down at the screen to track the operative.

‘But you can put them in slave mode!’ Aviary said. ‘Place them under your command.’

Sophia watched her in the mirror again. ‘How do you know that?’

Aviary looked down. ‘I read your notes on deprogramming.’

‘Yeah, well, slave mode isn’t recommended for any length of time,’ Sophia said.

‘OK,’ Aviary said. ‘So what now?’

‘Whatever’s in that bag, it has something to do with the detonations. If we’re in for a second round, I need to stop it.’

On her left, the evening sky was thick with black smoke. The devastation had reached quite a distance west of the museum.

‘I’m sure they have people to stop that, right?’ Aviary said.

Sophia looked at her concerned face in the rear view mirror. ‘You mean like operatives?’

‘Yeah.’

Sophia took a left onto Broadway, searching the traffic ahead for sign of the gray SUVs. ‘They’re the ones who tend to start it,’ she said. ‘Remember the operative you just tried to track? Remember why I left the Fifth Column in the first place?’

‘Oh,’ Aviary said, quickly putting her seatbelt on. ‘Right.’

‘I think I see one,’ Sophia said, mostly to herself as she pushed forward.

She changed lanes to move around the traffic, bouncing from chute one to chute two to chute three and back again. Sirens wailed behind her, but they converged on the museum behind them.

‘Don’t you want to be discreet?’ Aviary said. ‘They’ll see us coming.’

‘We don’t have time for that,’ Sophia said. ‘And I’m in a cab. I mean, erratic driving should blend me right in.’ She put her foot down and rammed the cab in front of her.

‘Is that what you mean by erratic?’ Aviary said.

It was the only way through. Sophia pushed in beside the cab, scraping along the door panels and tearing off her side mirror. She ignored the enraged driver and pushed past, forcing herself into the center lane. She was behind the second SUV with one cab for cover.

‘Operative’s not in this one!’ Aviary called from the back seat. She was checking her phone too.

Sophia risked a glance at her phone. It told her the operative in the first SUV was a block ahead of them. ‘Yeah.’

‘What are you going to do? Go past this one?’ Aviary said.

‘Not yet. Just need to take it out of action for a little while,’ Sophia said, moving carefully into the left lane with her indicators on.

Her cab was scratched and dented, but anyone inside the SUV looking through the side mirrors wouldn’t notice much out of place. Sophia crept closer, lining her front up diagonally with the rear of the SUV.

‘Rubies!’ Aviary yelled.

Sophia saw the lights shift to red. The cab in front slowed, brake lights on. The SUV pushed faster.

‘You’re not getting away,’ Sophia said.

The SUV punched through the lights, gaining distance between them. They were probably completely unaware of her presence, but they’d pushed through to catch up with the vehicle carrying the kidnapped operative.

Sophia pulled hard on the wheel and struck the corner of the cab in front of her. She pushed through, hearing metal grind and glass shatter. She didn’t know whether it was the cab’s taillights or her headlights and she didn’t really care.

She made it into the SUV’s lane. The SUV was already halfway through a busy roundabout and Sophia had a fresh red. She pushed through the red light and realized the roundabout was actually a large, heavily congested traffic circle. She saw the SUV winding around to the right.

Weaving around the other cabs, Sophia guided her cab straight through the center. Aviary shrieked and clung to her armrest. Sophia drove onto the footpath, through the center of Columbus Circle. She hit the horn to clear people around her, then dodged a monument and made for the other side. The SUV came into her view from the right. She aimed straight for it.

Aviary screamed from the back seat.

‘Hold on,’ Sophia said.

She kept her arms bent and accelerated, shooting the cab off the footpath and back into the traffic circle. She missed a passing car on the inside lane, clipped another in the second and smashed perfectly into the side of the SUV, just behind the rear wheel. Her body whipped back and then forward, restrained by the seatbelt. Her cab spun, facing the wrong way.

Sophia checked her rear vision. The SUV she’d struck had spun and collided with a car in the adjacent lane, slowing to a halt. It was about to take off again but another car rammed in behind it. The SUV was pinned into place, at least for the moment.

‘That should do it,’ Sophia said under her breath.

She reached under the steering wheel and snapped it to the left, pulling the cab around to avoid an oncoming vehicle. She went hard over a curb and down 8th Avenue. It wasn’t the street she wanted but it would do.

She heard Aviary exhale with relief from the back seat. Sophia spotted the leading gray SUV. It was five vehicles ahead. She closed as fast as she could.

‘You’re insane,’ Aviary said quietly from the back seat.

‘Sorry,’ Sophia said.

‘No, it’s awesome,’ Aviary said. ‘Don’t stop.’

Sophia looked down at her phone but it slipped off her seat.

‘First left, here!’ Aviary shouted, excited. ‘Get back on Broadway. The SUV’s about three blocks ahead. On 55th.’

‘Got it.’

Sophia took the left, cutting off a sedan. The driver hit his horn and yelled. She ignored him and weaved around a bus that lumbered in front.

‘Is this Broadway?’ Sophia asked. She didn’t have time to check the signs or get her bearings.

‘Yes!’ Aviary said. ‘Right! Right! Turn right!’

Sophia turned and hit gridlocked traffic.

‘Oh,’ Aviary said. ‘The hurricane evacuation.’

‘And the explosion,’ Sophia said.

‘Yeah,’ Aviary said. ‘Maybe I should’ve taken you around here.’

‘Yes, maybe you should’ve,’ Sophia said.

‘Now what do we do?’ Aviary said. ‘Actually, I’m afraid to ask.’

‘I can still get us around,’ Sophia said.

She hurled the cab onto the wide footpath beside them and accelerated, horn blaring. A man and his five bags of shopping leaped into a printing shop to avoid her. She crossed a small intersection and Broadway was still locked with traffic. Fuck it, she thought. She hit her horn again and continued on the footpath, negotiating pedestrians and smashing through tables and chairs. Maybe she’d just stick to the footpath the whole way.

She drove past a few banks and dodged a FedEx van before hitting a dead end. The footpath disappeared just beyond a RadioShack: temporary walls were erected to block off a new construction site. So much for that idea, she thought.

She pulled the cab off the footpath and completely destroyed the front of a parked Mercedes. Aviary cheered from the back seat.

Sophia was back on the road, driving over a turning lane.

‘Straight ahead?’ Sophia yelled. ‘How far?’

‘Straight ahead!’ Aviary said. ‘One block!’

Sophia dodged a small traffic island—grazed between the curb and a stationary car—and nudged through a minor intersection. Tall, ponderous buildings loomed before her. She had no idea what was around the corner or a block ahead.

‘You’re my eyes now,’ she said to Aviary.

‘Copy that, Ms Super Operative person,’ the redhead said.

‘Don’t ever call me that.’

Pedestrians scattered from the crossing as she tore across it, overtook a brown UPS truck and flattened a neat row of orange traffic cones outside the Late Show with David Letterman. She ground to a halt as pedestrians walked one cab in front of her. There was room to go around on the right but she was blocked off by yet another goddamn UPS truck.

‘Fucking UPS trucks!’ Sophia yelled.

Aviary remained silent in the back seat.

On the right, a black Cadillac half-merged into the left lane, cutting her off on the left. She was boxed in from pretty much every angle.

‘How far off?’ Sophia said.

‘Two blocks now, but they’re gaining,’ Aviary said.

Sophia ground her teeth. She had to make her own way out. She moved her cab in behind the Cadillac, crunching into its right taillight.

‘So is this just a case of you’re doing enough damage,’ Aviary said, ‘so you might as well just maintain that level of destruction all the way through?’

Sophia didn’t reply. She kept going. The Cadillac driver started shouting hysterically. She paid him no attention, kept pushing through. He was stuck between her and the pedestrians walking in front of her. He had no choice but to nudge forward, triggering a heated standoff with pedestrians trying to walk in front of him.’

And then she had just the gap she needed.

She roared through, smashing parked bicycles on either side. They rattled and scraped, and were briefly carried along for the ride before being slung onto the concrete like broken toys. People looked on in shock.

Sophia was on the other side of the road, in a bike lane. It was clear here so she shoved her cab through the pedestrians and accelerated into another intersection. It was chaos around her. Ahead of her the left was clear but the right was almost at a standstill. She didn’t know if she was driving on the wrong side of the road or whether it was a service lane or bike lane, and she didn’t care as long as it got her there. She hit the gas again. She noticed a green sign above that read W 52 St.

‘How far?’ she asked.

‘Two blocks,’ Aviary said.

This is taking too long, she thought.

She slowed as she reached another intersection, just enough to see if anyone was going to collide with her. A Starbucks flashed by on her left. Posters and billboards for musicals were everywhere, lights blinking and neon signs pulsing. They smeared across her vision as she watched for obstacles.

A bright orange SUV lurched to a stop ahead of her, preparing to turn left. She weaved around it and took the center of the road over the white lines, through another pedestrian crossing. A bus roared past her and ground to a stop behind a queue of cars. She maneuvered around it, caught herself in another lane of traffic. She slammed her fists on the steering wheel.

In the rear-vision mirror she saw Aviary point to their right.

‘Sidewalk,’ she said.

Sophia opened her fists and nodded. ‘Sidewalk.’

She wrenched the steering wheel to the right and took off, over the curb, horn blaring. There were more people on this sidewalk and she had to keep the horn on so everyone could scatter. She took the cab past a pharmacy and farther into the built-up portion of Broadway.

‘One block,’ Aviary said. ‘They’re not moving as fast now.’

The SUV was stuck in traffic too. That was good but she’d have as much trouble trying to reach them. She needed to get there before they made it through.

She kept the cab on the sidewalk, crashing through garbage bags and newspaper stands. She had to move slower between the corner building and a metal newspaper booth, forcing pedestrians to run back the way they’d come. People screamed like lunatics, which seemed to amuse Aviary.

Sophia continued through another intersection, saw the bike lane was clear again and found a gap in the traffic. She smashed through. Tail- and headlights shattered in her wake. She kept moving, roared over a traffic island, destroying a small tree in the process, and hit the bike lane. She turned into it, crashing through a trashcan and two more newspaper stands.

‘Where are they now?’ Sophia yelled.

‘Less than a block. They haven’t moved much,’ Aviary said.

Sophia felt her hands tighten over the steering wheel. ‘Good.’

Flooring the accelerator, she punched through the next intersection, W 48th, and made good use of the bike lane.

Aviary was swearing. She hit her phone a couple of times.

‘What’s wrong?’ Sophia said.

‘GPS is stuck,’ Aviary said. ‘Wait. OK, they’ve moved. They’re one street over, on the left.’

Sophia hit the next intersection. It was blocked off ahead, foot traffic only. NYPD officers stood before metal barriers. She looked past them and realized traffic was one-way. And it was traveling to the right, not left.

‘That’s going to be hard,’ Sophia said.

‘Sorry, I thought it was here but—’

Sophia didn’t bother waiting. She crashed through the barrier, sending the officers scattering. The windscreen shattered into a thousand pieces but was held in place by its interlayer. Didn’t help Sophia though: she couldn’t see where she was going. Pedestrians huddled on the street corner. She maneuvered to avoid crashing into them, almost hitting a passing truck. She took the cab over the pedestrian crossing. Into oncoming traffic. ‘Hold on.’

‘Shit shit shit shit,’ Aviary said.

Sophia reached for her Glock and punched the barrel through the windscreen, clearing a hole just big enough to see out of. That helped.

There were two lanes ahead of her but the oncoming cars were crammed three abreast. Sophia jerked the cab to the right. She went wide, around a champagne-colored 4WD. It brought her into the right lane and an almost head-on with a Lexus. She nosed back into the center again, sideswiping a black sedan. She swerved, avoided another incoming car. Right lane again. The correct road was coming up on her right. She took it over the curb and hit the brakes.

She hit gridlocked traffic again.

‘I think you made those cops angry,’ Aviary said.

Through the rear vision she could see two NYPD officers moving around the chaos of crashed cars and burned rubber behind her.

They had nowhere to go.

Chapter 15

Damien struggled against the weighted net. A current of electricity rippled through him. Air burst from his lungs and he collapsed. The current stopped, but as soon as Jay started wriggling nearby it sparked up again. Damien’ shook violently and he could do nothing to stop it.

He could see one of the black-helmed soldiers moving toward him. Jay was not suffering as badly. The soldier brought the end of his spear down on Jay’s leg, but Jay moved from its path and gripped the spear, pulling the soldier in. Jay planted one hand over the soldier’s Batman-like helmet and gripped. The soldier convulsed from Jay’s electrical charge and collapsed.

The current stopped again and Damien was able to regain control. Jay wrenched himself from the net. The woman shouted orders to her soldiers and they closed in. Another current rolled through Damien and his vision blurred. There was movement before him, then suddenly Jay was pulling him to his feet. He was out of the net just in time to see the soldiers leap down from the balconies. Jay swung his captured spear, catching a soldier as he landed and knocking him into the archway.

‘An electric net probably wasn’t your best choice,’ Jay said.

The woman ignored him. ‘Don’t you kill them now,’ she said. ‘They no use to us dead.’

‘No promises,’ Jay said.

‘I don’t think she was talk—’ Damien stopped mid-sentence as he noticed a soldier on the balcony aim her bow.

He pulled Jay sideways. An arrow punctured the floor-to-ceiling window behind them. They couldn’t possibly engage so many of them—Damien counted eight, not including the leader—and a further four who emerged from the foyer, blocking their escape to the west elevators.

The only other options were to move south past the three soldiers who had circled behind them. Or north, past the remaining black-helmed soldier and the leader herself. Damien had no idea where the glass-latticed doors would lead but it didn’t look promising.

Jay was already advancing toward the leader. Damien kept a few paces off. In combat, armed or unarmed, he never stopped moving. As soon as the soldiers saw Jay aiming for the leader, they pushed aggressively. The archer on the balcony removed an arrow from her quiver. Damien waited for her to aim and then rolled sideways, moving himself closer to a soldier.

The soldier thrust his spatha at Damien’s midsection. Damien turned, the blade missing him. For a longsword it was quite short, about thirty inches. Damien’s hip pressed on the soldier’s sword hand and his free hand pinned it there. Manipulating the wrist, he curled the hand back on itself. The wrist snapped and the tip of the sword turned, pressed into the soldier’s stomach, pushing at his armor.

Other soldiers were moving in fast on his left and Jay wasn’t around to disperse them. Damien tore the sword from his captive’s grasp and, with one hand, brought it back around, smashing the blade across the soldier’s golden helm. The impact concussed the guy and knocked him backward.

Damien over-swung on purpose; he’d seen another golden helmet advancing on his left. Damien’s shiny new spatha made it across in time to stop the slow overhead strike. Unlike the original soldiers who once wielded these heavy weapons, the modern day soldier attacking Damien wasn’t used to the weight and feel. The soldier swung again, in from the side.

From the corner of his eye, Damien saw the archer on the balcony take another shot. Damien turned his sword in, deflecting the soldier’s. He moved forward past him. The arrow shot from the bow and scythed behind them. As he moved to avoid it, he turned his wrist and ran the sword through the soldier’s neck.

Behind him, Jay thrust the end of his spear into the leader. She saw it coming and sidestepped it. He swung the spear in toward her. She ducked and it struck the black-helmed soldier instead. Damien could hear the air expel from the soldier’s lungs. The leader rolled under the spear toward Jay, her puglio slicing the air.

Damien saw Jay pull his spear in close. He used it as a staff, deflecting two quick stabs of the puglio. He brought it to her pearlescent helm but she ducked. He aimed low and caught her legs, knocking her to the ground. Another stab and he would’ve ended her there. But the black-helmed soldier towered over him. His spear thrust forward. Jay deflected it. The leader rolled clear.

Damien caught sight of Jensen retreating behind the archway and the safety of the soldiers. Damien couldn’t do anything about it—he had three soldiers moving toward him, each wielding a spatha. More were pushing in from the side, away from the archways. Jay had chosen their direction and they had to stick to it now.

Damien clashed his blade with the soldiers’. Behind him, the black-helmed soldier traded blows with Jay. Damien retreated beside Jay’s assailant, which at least blocked those coming at him from the archway.

The three soldiers in front of Damien moved forward together. Beside him, Damien could see the black-helmed soldier stabbing and slashing at Jay. The soldier noticed Damien and swung his spear toward him, hoping the weapon’s length would reach.

Damien deflected the spear and, between trading blows with the three soldiers in front of him, used his sword to slam it downward, pinning it to the ground long enough for Jay to skewer the black-helmed soldier.

Damien swung his sword into the black-helmed soldier’s breastplate—the blow throwing him backward and freeing Jay’s spear from its penetration. Jay was again able to swing across the advancing soldiers from the archway.

Damien kept a foot under the dead soldier’s spear as he retreated. I could use that myself, he thought. He knocked off two more strikes as the three attackers compressed, growing confident. Damien waited for the archer on the balcony to draw an arrow. He leaned back as she released it. It passed an inch from his chest. He reached near the end of the spear and—in line with Jay—kicked it into the air. It bounced from his foot. He grasped it with one hand and threw it, aiming for the center of the three soldiers. It struck the middle soldier above the collarbone and he collapsed.

Jay was beside Damien, checking over his shoulder. They had almost reached the lattice glass doors. Jay turned the handle and used the hilt of his spear to spread the doors open. Damien risked a glance. It was an open terrace, and beyond it downtown New York, skyscrapers glittering in the night. Damien could see dark, menacing clouds rolling in toward the city. A strong wind chilled his tuxedo and made him squint to see properly.

They sprinted for the edge, but Damien wasn’t impressed to find at least a one-level drop between them and a rectangular terrace below covered in tennis court grass. It connected with the tower on the other side, and from there they could escape through the east tower’s elevators or stairs.

The soldiers moved onto the terrace in pursuit.

‘This is all your fault,’ Jay said. ‘If you’d just let me shoot Jensen it wouldn’t have happened.’

Damien sighed and discarded his spatha. ‘For once I don’t disagree.’

The leader emerged onto the terrace, puglio in hand. Under her pearl helm, he could see sweat beading across her face.

‘There is nowhere for you to—’

Damien jumped.

Chapter 16

‘Where’s the SUV?’ Sophia yelled.

Aviary fumbled with her iPhone. ‘Uh, wait, they’re still there. Not moving! Just half a block right ahead of us!’ She leaned forward, pointing through the shattered windscreen.

Sophia peered out her driver’s side window to see the vehicles ahead properly. She spotted the gray SUV about six cars ahead, in the right lane. It was sitting almost in the center of Times Square, a major junction between Broadway and the road she was stuck on now, Seventh Avenue. Triangular in shape, Times Square was—unfortunately for her—a pedestrian plaza. From where she was, stuck in the center lane, she couldn’t get much closer. Traffic wasn’t going anywhere.

In her rear-vision mirror she caught sight of the other gray SUV in the distance. It didn’t seem that its occupants had seen her yet, or at least identified her cab as the one that took them out, and they probably wouldn’t since they were all packed in with other cabs in every direction.

She looked over at the other side of the Times Square plaza. Broadway was closed from vehicles entirely: it was just foot traffic. But she spotted a black 4WD pulling up near the barrier adjacent to her. The occupants were slow to emerge, moving for the trunk to get their shopping out. The vehicle was facing outward, parked alongside a sunglasses stall on the sidewalk.

‘Take the wheel,’ she said to Aviary.

Sophia jumped from the cab, crunching her door against the poor car next to her. With her slim ruck still on her shoulders, she legged it past the glass ticketing building. She watched for the driver, intending on stealing his key.

As she reached the corner, past the metal barriers, a squad car pulled in front of her. Two officers emerged, pistols drawn.

‘Great,’ she muttered.

They were yelling at her to lie down on the pavement where she stood. The crowd dispersed around her. She did as she was told, following their instructions. Until they came too close.

The nearest officer holstered her pistol and reached for handcuffs. Sophia clamped the officer’s ankle, fixing her to the concrete, and pushed into her kneecap with her other hand. The knee went sideways. The officer wobbled and fell backward. Her leg straightened out, her foot still pinned by Sophia.

Sophia launched upward, unholstered the officer’s pistol and aimed it at her partner. She held he captured officer and, pulling her to her feet, used her as a shield. Sophia closed the gap, shifted her aim back to the head of her new hostage.

She could hear Aviary squealing in her ear. ‘I think they’re trying to get out of the SUV!’

When Sophia was close enough she slumped her hostage into the other officer and used her as a stepping-stone. She kneed the other officer in the face, jumped over and kicked him in the back of the head. She landed behind the pair, pivoted, stole the pistol from his holster. They crumpled to the floor together. With a stolen Glock in either hand she dumped the magazines on the road and tossed the pistols into the back of the squad car.

‘They’re moving! Still heading south!’ Aviary shouted. ‘Chute three of three!’

Lane three of three.

Sophia searched the right hip pocket of the second officer. She found his set of keys and took the squad car. She reversed, gently knocked them aside, and drove over the curb and onto the corner of the sidewalk.

She didn’t stop, pushing through the metal barriers. The barriers were all linked so they rattled along with her for a bit. She tried a J-turn, but they got in the way and she was only half-facing the SUV on the other side of Times Square.

The road was painted blue to indicate foot traffic. She drove over one of the entangled barriers. Her tires bit into the road. She accelerated, roared past a slanted ticketing building and toward the center of the Times Square plaza. Pedestrians—not expecting to look out for cars—scattered. Once the building was clear she could look across at the traffic on Seventh. She searched for the gray SUV and found it on the outside lane. It wasn’t moving.

She negotiated the metal poles through the plaza. Her squad car flattened a metal trashcan. Between her and the gray SUV: a few pedestrians and some metal tables and chairs, painted red. Above the gray SUV, the giant strobing arches of McDonalds.

She knew it would only be a matter of time before the SUV driver decided to pull up onto the plaza and illegally circumvent the traffic. But if she could box him in from the outside, she would deny him that option. The SUV would be trapped.

And she would have five armed men to deal with, she reminded herself.

Well, she’d cross that bridge when she came to it.

She drove through a red table and chairs, flinging them into the air. She was past the point of discretion. She had the NYPD in pursuit, and possibly the second SUV. And the first SUV would see her coming very soon. She hit another red table. The driver must have seen it.

The first SUV made a sudden getaway—over the curb and onto the plaza.

Sophia stamped on the gas pedal, smashed through another set of table and chairs. She caught up to the SUV while it was still in second gear. She had a chance. Positioning herself just to the side, she brought the nose of her squad car hard into the side of the target vehicle and aligned her front wheels with their back wheels. She steered sharply into the SUV, as hard as she could. At this slow speed she’d need a good hit to destabilize it. The SUV wobbled, went out of alignment, started sideways.

Sophia continued with her own turn, correcting herself just before colliding with the traffic on Seventh Avenue. The SUV looked about to straighten up.

Don’t you dare.

She accelerated.

The SUV started to right itself.

It struck a pole. Came to a sudden stop.

Sophia found herself boxed in between the traffic on her left, a statue on her right, the SUV in front. Her rear would soon be populated by NYPD and the second SUV. It was about to get messy.

She did the only thing she could do.

She hit the brakes and crashed into the SUV cabin, sandwiching it between her half-obliterated squad car and the pole, which now leaned at a precarious angle. They weren’t going anywhere.

Her airbag deployed, smothering her face. She leaned back, released her seatbelt and checked for her Glock. It was still in her waistband. Her arms hurt, her head seemed fine. She remembered her face paint and wondered vaguely how disturbing she must have looked taking down those two NYPD officers as a skeleton from another realm.

She opened the door to step out. Dizziness took over. She realized she wasn’t fine at all. She was concussed. She tried to stand but collapsed beside the squad car. Looking up, she saw the SUV’s rear hatch flip open. Armed men in black fatigues hustled the bound operative out.

The bound operative was led toward the traffic, out of Sophia’s view. Sophia tried to move but couldn’t. All she could manage was stopping the world from spinning around her. And even that was a challenge. She turned to brace herself on the squad car and noticed another vehicle speed out into the plaza behind her. Great. It wasn’t the NYPD. It was the second SUV.

Fear twitched inside her.

Move.

Hurling herself to one knee, then both knees, one foot. She touched over her head, through her hair, feeling for anything warm or wet. It came away dry, smudged with ash from the museum explosion. She staggered around the open door, using it to hold her steady.

The second SUV was a blur in her vision. It pulled up behind her. She could see more masked soldiers in black, carbines in hand. An NYPD squad car pulled up behind it. Not good. She staggered around the hood of her squad car.

She had to move faster.

She reached the edge of the hood and almost fell. The gridlocked traffic on Seventh was only twenty feet away. If she could get there she would have some concealment. She took one step. And another. Then a third. Her legs were fine but her head had other plans, lurching her to the left and then to the right. Her balance was completely shot. She staggered dangerously to the left, slumped against a 4WD. To the commuters she must have looked drunk.

She ran her hands along the 4WD’s hood, let it guide her. She found her way into the traffic. Through the lanes she could see the masked soldiers in the distance, rushing up the avenue toward her.

One of them fell.

She heard someone yell. In pain.

Moving across the center lane, Sophia collapsed between two cabs. Her Glock slipped from her waistband. She found the handgrip. It was all she had.

She heard glass shatter. Shots fired. The discharged rounds echoed down the avenue, the sound bouncing off the vehicles like a hundred whips. She aimed her Glock at the attacker.

‘Motherfucker,’ Nasira said. ‘What the hell they do to your face?’

Sophia remembered her face paint. She took her finger off the trigger, turned to see the second gray SUV idling behind them, just past the statue. Aviary was in the driver’s seat and three black-masked heads lolled unconscious in the back.

‘Get in!’ Aviary yelled.

‘Thanks for smashing into us back there,’ Nasira said.

Sophia looked back over at two black shapes slumped on the plaza pavement and realized Nasira had in the last forty seconds taken out all of the masked soldiers from the second SUV.

‘Where did they take the operative?’ Sophia said. She tried to get to her feet and almost fell.

Nasira caught her. ‘They took her,’ she said. ‘Let’s go.’ She helped her across the traffic and past her beaten-up squad car.

Everything went a bit fuzzy after that. Sophia found herself in the back of the SUV with three bound soldiers, their masks removed to reveal glaring eyes. She ignored them and propped herself against the side, her dizziness receding.

‘Who are you?’ Sophia said.

They didn’t respond. Their hands were bound in their laps so she could see immediately if they tried to free themselves. She kept out of arm’s reach while Nasira took the wheel, relegating Aviary to the passenger seat.

‘They can probably track this vehicle so we need to ditch it,’ Nasira said.

‘Follow the operative,’ Sophia said, her voice slowly gaining strength. ‘Then we do a costume change.’ She aimed her Glock at the nearest soldier. ‘And a bit of Q and A.’

Chapter 17

Damien sprinted through a grid of white boxes on legs, each box containing a miniature flowerbed.

Over his shoulder he saw Jay a few paces behind, his face pale from the jump. At the end of the green terrace he saw the Corinthian soldiers land. They started toward Damien and Jay, swords and daggers in hand.

‘Not giving up easy, are they?’ Jay said.

Damien started running again. He reached a row of beehives. He could see the bees inside, crawling across honeycomb. Behind him, Jay ducked a spatha and kicked one of the soldiers into a garden bed. It collapsed and both the soldier and the garden bed hit the ground together, spilling soil across the fake grass. Jay stole one of the wooden legs and kept moving.

Another soldier rushed through an aisle of boxes toward Damien, puglio gleaming in one hand. Damien stepped to one side, revealing a beehive behind him. He ripped the cage door from its slide. It wasn’t the swarm of angry insects he was hoping for, but a flurry of unsettled bees launched into the soldier, slowing him enough for Damien, still holding the beehive door, to bat the puglio from his grasp and slip the cage door under the soldier’s golden helm, crushing his carotid artery. The soldier passed out, covered in confused bees, and fell back onto another beehive. It tumbled to the floor and spewed more bees. These ones were angrier.

In a clear demonstration of bee avoidance, Jay circled behind Damien and sprinted for the door at the end of the terrace. No fewer than five soldiers followed. Damien knew the remainder would be gunning for the elevators in this tower to cut them off.

Jay had reached the door at the end, his lockpicks already in the lock.

‘Got it!’ Jay said just as Damien arrived.

An arrow shot past Damien’s ear. It punched through Jay’s shoulder as he opened the door. Damien rushed toward him, helping him through as he lost his footing. He almost deafened Damien as they stepped into a day spa.

‘What the fuck!’ Jay yelled. ‘Who shoots someone with a fucking arrow?!’

Blood dripped over the marble floor. Damien could see the arrow was a narrow one, fortunately for Jay it was designed more to penetrate armor than cut as many arteries as possible. Jay hadn’t recognized his good fortune quite yet; he was now on both knees as he looked down at the arrowhead in disbelief.

Damien moved back to the door, closed and locked it again.

‘You wouldn’t by any chance have a door stopper in your pocket?’ Damien said, running past him to a circular wooden and marble table.

‘Yeah, everywhere I go,’ Jay spat.

‘Didn’t think so.’

Damien dragged the heavy table across a soft rug, screeching along the marble floor, and shoved it firmly against the door. He was thankful it opened inward. What he wasn’t thankful for was the tuxedo not allowing them to carry a tourniquet.

Jay was on his feet again, wincing.

‘Can you move?’ Damien said, starting for the entrance to the day spa.

‘If I want to stay alive I probably should, so yeah,’ Jay said from behind him.

Good, Damien thought. There really was only one solution to this, and that was to get out of this building. Secondary to that was tending to Jay’s wound. Although Jay would argue that secondary was getting hold of their pistols and, more importantly, the rest of their kit. They’d left that, of course, in another hotel. By now Jensen had probably sold it all.

Chapter 18

Sophia pulled the black combat pants over her jeans, part of the uniform they’d stripped from the bound soldiers in the SUV. She slipped the kneepads over them.

‘I’m guessing you had no clue I was in the back of that SUV,’ Nasira said.

Sophia could see Nasira relacing the paracord on her sneakers in the adjacent toilet cubicle.

‘I don’t have X-ray vision so no,’ Sophia said. ‘How did you end up in there?’

‘Long story,’ Nasira said. ‘Short version is I got lifted in Peru by Blue Berets and brought back here. They stowed me in that SUV.’ She paused. ‘I’m guessing you were the crazy bitch who crashed into us around that roundabout.’

‘It was a traffic circle,’ Sophia said. ‘And maybe.’

‘Yeah, I lost my handcuff key when you did that, thanks,’ Nasira said. ‘Next thing I know the SUV pulls up in Times Square and the masked boys pile out.’

‘They were after me,’ Sophia said. ‘Or at least making sure I didn’t get in their way.’

Nasira tapped a Glock under the cubicle wall for Sophia to see. ‘Cops find me a minute later.’

‘Donated their weapons?’ Sophia said.

Nasira laughed. ‘That’s all they donated,’ she said. ‘Can’t shoot accurately with this, trigger pressure too heavy. Don’t know how those cops shoot straight.’

‘They don’t,’ Aviary said.

‘Great,’ Nasira said. ‘Tried to take their mags but all they had in their pouches were cigarettes. Better than nothing I guess.’

Sophia reached for the tac vest and zipped it over her T-shirt. Public bathrooms were difficult to find in New York so Aviary had taken them to the NYU Midtown Campus, two blocks from Times Square.

The campus was mostly abandoned by now so they didn’t have to worry about blending in. As for the soldiers, they’d left them bound in the SUV. She knew they’d eventually escape, but she’d rather that than have to kill them.

‘Half of New York City has already evacuated,’ Aviary said from her cubicle.

‘Evacuated what?’ Nasira said.

Sophia heard her light a cigarette.

‘Hurricane,’ Aviary said. ‘Big one. Coming right for us.’

‘Hurricane?’ Nasira said. ‘Are you shitting me?’

‘Just looking at the news feeds now,’ Aviary said.

‘Fifth Column behind the evac?’ Nasira said.

‘Hard not to be,’ Sophia said. ‘Operatives crawling the island.’

Aviary tapped her phone against the cubicle door. ‘We can track them now!’

‘Good for you, kid. So why did Blue Berets steal something from operatives?’ Nasira said. ‘That doesn’t even make sense—they’re all Fifth Column. Someone gone rogue? Insane, maybe?’

‘We don’t even know if they were Blue Berets,’ Sophia said. ‘But there were a lot of operatives on the map. Nine.’

She heard Nasira whistle as she holstered her own Glock on her belt and finished lacing her sneakers. They were black and she preferred them over the soldiers’ combat boots. She stepped from the cubicle with her stolen M4 carbine to find Nasira already waiting. In addition to Sophia’s and Nasira’s Glock 17 pistols, they each had an M4 now.

Nasira was checking over hers. ‘Not bad,’ she said, cigarette in hand.

The M4 was modified to some degree, resembling an M4A1 SOPMOD—Special Operations Peculiar Modification.

‘What are you thinking?’ Sophia said.

‘From the chatter in the SUV, I’m guessing Blue Berets,’ Nasira said. She expelled a cloud of smoke toward the ceiling. ‘Special forces at least.’

‘Normally issued MP5s though,’ Sophia said.

‘Yeah, they’re accurate as fuck but they have the stopping power of a water pistol,’ Nasira said. ‘Pistol rounds though, what do you expect?’

Sophia knew that in an urban environment like this, it was likely they would be issued something with a bit more range. ‘They had the Magpul PDRs at the OpCenter in Denver,’ she reminded her.

The futuristic looking Magpul PDR was an ultra-compact bullpup-style carbine that Sophia thought had never made it into production. Perhaps the Fifth Column took over manufacture and produced it internally.

‘Then I have no fucking idea,’ Nasira said. ‘But I’m glad we have a few.’

Sophia inspected the modified Colt M4A1 in her hands. Many of the modifications operatives like her had made to the M4 had soon filtered down to the Special Forces inside the Fifth Column. It came as no surprise to her that these carbines they’d stolen from the Blue Berets were almost identically modified to her own back in Project GATE.

They weren’t the Lewis Machine & Tool M4A1 carbines specifically designed for Project GATE’s operatives; those were both expensive and staggering in their attention to detail. But the Colt M4A1 was versatile and reliable, and she was happy to have it.

This M4 had a flat top receiver, no carry handle. Replacing the plastic hand guard, an aluminum M1913 rail for attaching optics and low profile iron sights. It wasn’t her preferred rail but it would do the job. The fixed stock had been replaced with a collapsible stock. While the fixed stock was stronger and simpler, it was never the right length for close quarters or varying loadouts. Again, not her favorite, but it had a rubber buttpad that made it stable and comfortable to shoot.

The optics were x1, which did well up to four hundred meters. Sophia avoided magnified optics unless she needed to engage at long distance, and a carbine really wasn’t suited for that anyway. This carbine had an EOTech holographic diffraction sight. They were quite popular but the circle with the hash marks around the dot cluttered the sight and annoyed her.

Like all carbines bearing optics, this carbine had back-up iron sights installed. Military issue iron sights were flimsy, but these were spring-loaded and out of the way. Only the front sight remained visible through the sight.

The pistol grip was modified, but once again not what she would’ve chosen. This grip was ergonomic but it also had a thumb rest that would get in the way when shooting ambidextrously. It also lacked an ambidextrous magazine release and safety, which she needed to remember when she started transferring from her strong to her support hand.

She was pleased to spot a tac-latch though, which let her slap the charging handle to clear any malfunctions. It seemed to have become standard among Blue Berets.

A small tac light was attached to the bottom of the rail. There was also a visible light illuminator attached to the top of the rail, connected to the sight.

The tip of the barrel was fitted with her favorite flash suppressor and compensator, the Vortex by Smith Enterprises, which almost completely eliminated any flame or spark, keeping her position concealed while firing.

While she appreciated some changes, she didn’t appreciate all of them. For one, she would’ve replaced the vertical fore grip with an angled one that allowed her to grasp the barrel with her palm facing inwards, like she would hold a sword. The fore grip on this carbine encouraged poor body position and fatigue, a common mistake among special operations units. She planned to just ignore it and grasp the barrel how she wanted. It gave her better control and let her move naturally.

Nasira was doing it right now, aiming through her cubicle to check the holographic sight. She gripped the carbine near the very end of the barrel; fingers underneath and thumb over top.

Nasira seemed satisfied and let it hang from its sling. ‘Why you going after that one operative, anyways?’

‘The ruck,’ Sophia said. ‘Whatever is in that, they really want it.’

‘And now they have it. You think it was explosives for some other detonation?’ Nasira said.

Sophia pressed her lips together and realized how thirsty she was. She shrugged, leaned over a basin and drank from the faucet. She had a full water bottle in her ruck but she wanted to save it.

‘Hey guys, do you tuck your pants into your boots?’ Aviary called out.

‘Don’t worry about it,’ Sophia called out, wiping water from her chin. She caught sight of her menacing face paint in the mirror. ‘I should probably wash this off.’

‘How’s your concussion?’ Nasira said. ‘Chimera vector fixing it up?’

‘I feel better,’ Sophia said.

‘Sure you’re telling me everything?’ Nasira said.

Sophia wiped water from her lips. ‘I just did.’

‘You risked your life and ripped up half of Broadway just to stop people who might be Blue Berets from snatching a ruck that might have something dangerous inside while nine operatives circle like sharks,’ Nasira said. ‘Seems a little overkill.’

‘You might’ve missed it but they just blew up half of the upper west side. The morning news will be calling it the next 9/11,’ Sophia said. ‘I don’t know what’s in that ruck but it might be pretty damn important.’

Nasira still hadn’t blinked. ‘You’re a bad liar.’

‘I’m not lying,’ Sophia said. ‘Whatever it is, it’s dangerous.’

Nasira shook her head just slightly enough to notice. ‘You wanted the operative,’ she said. ‘You wanted to deprogram the operative, didn’t you?’

‘Look, if the opportunity arose,’ Sophia said. ‘We could find out what’s going on.’

Nasira raised an eyebrow. ‘’Cause those soldiers back there were real talkers, weren’t they?’

‘They don’t know anything,’ Sophia said.

‘Which is intentional,’ Nasira said. ‘So they can’t be interrogated by operatives—sorry, terrorists—like us.’

‘Aviary, you have the location?’ Sophia asked, still staring at Nasira.

‘Yeah, the Waldorf, if you can believe it,’ Aviary called out from her cubicle. ‘Maybe because it’s one of the first evacuated buildings so they think no one will bother checking … Sorry. Just … having some zipper difficulties. Hold up.’

‘It’s not about the ruck, is it?’ Nasira said. ‘This is an obsession. I don’t think you even know why you do it anymore.’

‘Because we need them,’ Sophia said.

‘You keep telling yourself that. Why?’ Nasira said. ‘To do what?’

‘To do anything,’ Sophia said. ‘Don’t you get it? We’re almost extinct.’

‘What happens when you have enough operatives?’ Nasira said. ‘Do you even know how many is enough? You even know what comes after it?’

‘No,’ Sophia said. ‘But I’ll know when I get there.’

Chapter 19

Damien helped Jay through the corridor, passing several suites and a library. They reached a sign that indicated elevators around the next corner. He just hoped the soldiers hadn’t beaten them to it. He heard voices as they approached. He held Jay back. Jay obviously hadn’t heard because he was annoyed by the sudden halt. Damien listened closer and realized there was some kind of authority—possibly police—steering guests and staff down to the lobby.

‘It’s an evacuation,’ Damien said quietly.

‘For what?’ Jay grunted.

Damien shook his head: he didn’t know. But the officers would be covering the elevator and stairs.

‘We have to go through them,’ Jay said.

‘Or with them,’ Damien said. ‘But first—’

Damien pulled Jay back so they wouldn’t risk being heard. Then decided to go even farther back given what he had in mind.

‘We have to take the arrow out.’ Damien pulled the tablecloth from a nearby display table.

Jay knew what was coming and unbuttoned his rented tuxedo. ‘Probably can’t return these now anyway,’ he said.

Damien looked up to see blood staining one entire side of Jay’s shirt. He held the back of the arrow firmly and snapped it as precisely as he could. It came away mostly clean. He picked off the frayed edges.

‘When you’re ready,’ Damien said.

Jay held the arrow just under the iron arrowhead. ‘Fuck you, arrow,’ he muttered. ‘Why can’t Kevlar stop arrows?’

Damien didn’t bother answering—Jay knew the answer. Their covert vests were designed for small caliber rounds, not bladed weapons. That would require a completely different type of armor, one that wouldn’t fit under a tuxedo.

Jay grunted and pulled the arrow forward through his shoulder. Damien could see him gritting his teeth, doing his best to not scream. He tossed the shaft across the hall in disgust. Damien helped Jay take his tuxedo jacket off and then wrapped the tablecloth under his arm and over his shoulder, pulling and tying it as firmly as possible. He took his own belt off and threaded it over the tablecloth, then picked up Jay’s discarded arrow and used the arrow point to create a new notch in the belt. He fastened the belt tightly over the tablecloth, using the fresh notch. That would have to do for now.

Jay pulled on his jacket and buttoned it over the belt. Damien checked him over. No sign of blood or injury, except perhaps for the tiny hole in the front and back of his tuxedo, revealing a tiny dot of tablecloth underneath. The belt bulged slightly across Jay’s shoulder.

‘That will have to do,’ Damien said.

Jay didn’t hesitate; he walked around the corner and was already calling out to the officers to ask what was going on. When Damien rounded the corner after him he realized why Jay had stopped speaking. They weren’t officers. Or perhaps they were, but they were dressed in black fatigues and carrying M4 carbines.

They appeared to be military or police paramilitary, except they wore black ballistic masks for protection. The masks covered their entire face, including the scalp and the back of their heads. The mask had only two circles for eyes and one thin vertical strip for speaking. Damien found this especially creepy.

‘We swept this level, where were you two?’ one soldier said.

‘Beekeeping,’ Jay said quickly.

The second soldier gestured to the open elevator. ‘It’s not safe. We’ll take you down.’

Damien didn’t need to be told twice. He moved past Jay into the elevator. Jay stood on the other side, his back to a wall so no one would see the hole in his jacket. The soldiers took one last look around before joining them. They stood behind Damien and Jay and asked Damien to press the button for the first floor. Damien did as requested.

‘What’s going on?’ he said.

‘Bomb scare—’

‘Terrorist attack—’

Both soldiers spoke at once.

Damien and Jay shared a glance.

‘We heard the explosion,’ Damien said.

In the mirrored wall Damien caught sight of a few dots of blood on his own collar. At the same time, he saw the soldier behind him shift his carbine. Damien stepped back into the soldier. He brought his elbow down on the carbine to keep it low.

Jay moved for his soldier, batting the carbine away.

Damien slammed his foot into the soldier’s kneecap. The soldier buckled. Damien brought his elbow up from the carbine and into the soldier’s mask. It struck with a hollow thunk and the soldier’s head snapped back into the mirror—the helmet cracked the glass.

He reached for the carbine, under the soldier’s arm and over. A quick twist and the carbine was his. Both soldiers were unconscious but likely to wake in a minute, maybe less.

‘We’re not shooting them,’ Damien said before Jay could suggest it.

Jay didn’t respond, just held the stop button in the elevator.

They pulled plasticuffs from their pockets—about the only thing they could stash in a tuxedo other than lockpicks—and bound the soldiers in the corner. Then they started stripping them of their uniforms, though they had to take turns because someone needed to permanently keep a finger on the elevator’s stop button or else it might be called to another level.

Damien had his shoes off first, his tuxedo pants undone, jacket, bow-tie and shirt. Something sharp pierced the skin on his neck.

‘Ow,’ Damien said.

Jay, holding the stop button, looked over. ‘What?’

Damien started to feel his chest tighten. His legs gave way.

‘What happened?’ Jay shouted.

Jay rushed over, his pants half-down. Damien saw flecks of saliva fly onto his face as his partner spoke, but he couldn’t feel it. He tried to grasp at his neck.

Jay was looking at Damien’s chest. A bee crawled across it. ‘Oh great,’ he said.

Chapter 20

Sophia stepped onto the green marble, mask fastened over her face. She aimed her M4 carefully at the soldier standing over the captured operative in the red jacket. The operative was bound and blindfolded. She was cuffed above her head, wrists pinned to a nickel silver railing.

The soldier was standing on the elevated end of the banquet room. He carried a sword on his back, which caught her interest. She noticed the operative’s ruck. It was near the soldier, atop a grand piano.

Sophia aimed at the soldier through the holographic sight.

‘Raise your arms,’ she said.

She knew who it was before he turned around. And he knew who she was before she ordered him to turn around. His mask moved into her sight’s red reticle.

‘I want to say it’s good to see you again,’ DC said. He unstrapped the top of his mask and let it drop to his chest, revealing his face. ‘But you always seem to have the worst timing.’

Sophia was dressed identically to DC, but she wore her mask to blend in. With her, Nasira and Aviary, similarly masked, pinned their carbines on DC.

‘Who are you working for?’ Sophia said. ‘Who are these masked soldiers? Are they Blue Berets?’

DC’s attention flickered across the banquet room. ‘That’s complicated.’

She could almost feel his anxiety. No, she could actually feel it. Perhaps it was her own.

‘I have all day,’ she said.

‘You don’t,’ he said. ‘And neither do I.’

Gunfire cracked in the lobby. Sophia moved from the closed doors. Whoever was shooting back there, it didn’t sound promising. She kept her carbine on him. He lowered his hands and moved for the ruck on top of the piano. He slung it over his shoulders, over his sheathed sword.

‘Stop!’ Sophia said. ‘I have no problem shooting you.’

‘Not the first time.’ DC raised an eyebrow. ‘But you won’t shoot me.’ He reached for his own carbine, but didn’t raise it.

‘What makes you so sure?’ Sophia said.

‘Too noisy.’

‘Noisy all round, right now,’ Nasira said.

‘And, they’re fingerprint coded,’ he said. ‘You can’t fire them even if you want to.’

Sophia cursed herself. She hadn’t checked for fingerprint scanners. They would be hidden inside the pistol grip. Moving quickly, she snapped her carbine down, pointing it to the floor. She whipped her supporting hand up and at the same time she took her firing hand away and drew her Glock. It was a fluid, fast transition.

‘OK, so I guess you can work around that,’ DC said.

Behind her, she heard Nasira do the same.

‘Um, guys,’ Aviary said. ‘I don’t have a pistol, so I can’t do that cool weapon swap thing you did.’

DC moved past the railings, down onto the main floor, confident Sophia and Nasira would not shoot. Sophia watched his attention shift—listening to something, perhaps a concealed earpiece—and something tightened around his eyes. She could almost feel his cortisol level spike.

‘Right now there’s only one way out of this hotel,’ DC said, speaking with renewed urgency. ‘You can either come with me or find your own way out. I don’t care which.’

‘Or there’s the option where we shoot you,’ Nasira said from under her mask.

‘That’s quite the gamble,’ DC said, ‘given I may be a little better informed about current affairs than you.’

Sophia felt Nasira’s gaze on her, waiting for her decision.

Sophia didn’t say anything. She gestured with her carbine for him to start moving. DC strapped his mask back over his face and headed toward a smaller exit in the corner.

Sophia fell in behind him, keeping distance and a hand on each weapon so she could look the part and still put down rounds on the move. As they left she cast a look over at the operative bound to the railing. If she had fifteen more minutes she could’ve run a quick deprogram, enough to get the woman out for a more thorough procedure later.

DC guided Sophia and her companions away from the lobby firefight and to the rearmost bank of elevators. Keeping an eye on DC’s muzzle direction, she aimed her Glock at the elevator doors as they parted. Nasira did the same. DC aimed his carbine outward, covering them.

The elevator was occupied, but not in any way Sophia was prepared for.

‘This isn’t what it looks like,’ Jay said.

He was straddled over Damien, pants falling to his knees. Damien was lying on the floor in just his underwear, pants gathered at his ankles. His eyes were closed. Behind Damien and Jay, two soldiers were bound and propped in the corners. They looked dazed.

Jay stared at Sophia, Nasira and Aviary—all wearing masks.

‘Jay?’ Sophia said through her mask.

Jay looked thoroughly confused. His cheeks flushed. ‘Soph?’

‘What are you doing here?’ they both said at once.

Aviary noticed Damien lying in his underwear. ‘Oh, hello.’

Jay looked like he was checking Damien’s pulse. ‘By the way, you wouldn’t happen to have any adrenalin, would you? Damien’s about to go into anaphylactic shock.’

Sophia pushed her way into the elevator, dropping to a crouch. She placed her carbine beside Damien, selector lever set to safe out of habit, and slipped the ruck off her shoulders. She located her EpiPen and handed it to Jay. ‘What happened?’

Footsteps—a whole lot of them—rampaged the marble floor. The lobby firefight soldiers were moving through the bank of elevators.

‘Everyone inside, now,’ DC said.

He shoved Aviary and Nasira in, stepped in after them and hit a button to change floors. The mask slipped from his face.

‘What’s he doing here?’ Jay said, prepping the EpiPen.

‘Long story,’ Sophia said. ‘Actually, short story. What are you doing in New York?’

Jay planted the needle on Damien’s thigh, injecting into the muscle.

‘Oh, just doing some close personal protection, which was really a trap because our boss sold us to this deranged Jamaican woman who wants to resell us on the black market or parts of us or I don’t even want to know. Oh and her personal army was dressed as Roman soldiers. Maybe just for today though.’

‘OK,’ Sophia said. That’s a lot to take in.’

Aviary crouched down beside Sophia, removed her mask and watched Damien begin to stir.

‘They look like Batman,’ Jay said. ‘Except they have swords and spears.’

‘Good to know you’re in demand,’ Nasira said.

Jay shot her an annoyed stare. ‘Seriously, I just want to get off this island. Islands don’t work well for me.’

The elevator came to rest. Sophia looked up to see they were on level six. DC was hammering the close door button, but the doors parted anyway. Waiting patiently for them were six people dressed as Roman soldiers. Three of them were pointing swords directly at Aviary.

‘Nope,’ Aviary said.

DC squeezed his trigger. The sound inside the elevator was deafening. Rounds tore through the face of one soldier. The others dived clear. DC found a second target. He clipped the soldier’s shoulder as a spear narrowly missed his chest.

Sophia aimed her Glock and punched two rounds into a soldier’s knee—the only part she could see from where she crouched.

Nasira was standing closer to the open doors, exposed to the Roman soldiers. She drew the sword from DC’s back and caught the spear on its second approach. The spear splintered almost in half, saving DC from being skewered.

‘Get inside!’ he yelled at her.

Nasira pulled back.

He punched the close door button and glared at Nasira. ‘Thanks.’

The doors closed. A small dagger—a puglio—slipped through and bounced off the top of Sophia’s helmet. It narrowly missed one of the bound Blue Berets and fractured the glass on the elevator’s rear wall. The glass held.

The elevator doors were finally closed.

Sophia turned to Jay. ‘Those Roman soldiers.’

Jay nodded.

‘Corinthian if we’re being precise,’ Damien said.

‘They do kinda look like Batman though,’ Aviary said.

Sophia removed her mask. She didn’t like how it limited her field of vision to one-hundred degrees. Jay was staring at her. She remembered the ornately jeweled skull painted on her face.

Jay raised an eyebrow. ‘Did you do something with your hair?’

Nasira snorted a laugh. Jay flushed again.

Damien suddenly gasped and sat upright. The first thing he saw was Sophia and he almost jumped out of his skin. Then he just looked utterly confused. Which was understandable, given he was half naked and crammed into an elevator with masked soldiers, DC, a girl who once stabbed him in the leg and Sophia with her skull-painted face.

Damien squinted and rubbed his eyes. ‘This isn’t the birthday party I planned.’

Sophia popped two aspirin from their blisters and passed them to him. He dry-swallowed gratefully. Then Jay used a fingernail to carefully remove the barbed bee stinger from Damien’s neck. Damien almost reeled from it when he realized what it was, then got to his feet and gathered his clothes.

‘I never thought operatives would be allergic to bees,’ Aviary said from behind her mask.

‘Yeah, well I didn’t think I was either,’ Damien said. ‘Never been stung before.’

Aviary smiled. ‘They need a pseudogene for that,’ she said. ‘The Buzz Vector?’

Sophia looked down at the two bound soldiers sitting in their corners. They were exchanging confused glances, but they refused to speak.

Sophia turned to DC. ‘Where are we going?’

‘I’ll tell you when we get there,’ DC said. ‘Or I can tell you now in front of these Blue Berets and then you have to kill them.’ He gestured to the soldiers.

‘I’ll wait,’ Sophia said. ‘So they are Blue Berets? These ones? Not your ones in the SUVs?’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ DC said.

‘Hang on, I thought DC was a bad guy now?’ Damien said.

DC glared at him.

‘Do you want a hand?’ Aviary said to Damien.

‘Oh great,’ Damien said. ‘You brought the girl who tied me to a chair and stabbed me.’

‘It was the least we could do,’ Nasira said, monotone.

The elevator doors opened. Sophia looked over her shoulder to check Damien and Jay were dressed. They were trying to pull the pants off the wide-eyed Blue Berets.

‘Leave them, let’s go,’ Sophia said.

The Blue Berets looked relieved.

Damien and Jay didn’t seem to have their own weapons so they carried the carbines stolen from the Berets. Sophia would have to explain to them later that they wouldn’t work.

DC led them through the underground garage of the Waldorf Astoria hotel. Jay tried to ask what was going on but DC shushed him. They weren’t out of danger yet, not until they were out of the hotel completely.

DC loaded them into a freight elevator that Sophia suspected wasn’t in working order. She was surprised when it sparked to life and rattled them to the depths below.

They disembarked onto a dimly lit subway platform smeared with grime and strewn newspaper. The platform hadn’t been used in quite some time. DC jumped down onto the tracks and started down the large tunnel. It seemed to stretch into infinity before them.

‘Hey!’ Sophia yelled.

She stopped yelling when she heard her voice carry through the tunnel in waves.

DC stopped and turned. He removed his mask completely, strapping it to his belt.

‘I can just call them in, tell them we’re waiting for them if you prefer,’ DC said.

Sophia jumped down onto the tracks beside him, her Glock hovering somewhere over his black kneepads.

‘Don’t tempt me,’ she said.

‘You don’t have the ammunition to spare and we need to get away from the hotel as quickly as possible,’ DC said. ‘I’m not the only person who knows this location.’ He turned to the tunnel ahead of them. ‘The next tunnel, we talk.’

‘Hand over the ruck and maybe I’ll let you.’

She could feel his frustration—and apprehension—as he shrugged his ruck off and slung it to the tracks.

‘Stay off the third rail,’ he called out to the others.

Most of the third rails in these tunnels looked inactive, but the ones that were active had enough electric charge to kill. She made sure to avoid them just in case. Picking up the ruck, she slung it over her own slim ruck and, Glock in hand, followed DC from a safe distance. The boys took up rear security in silence.

‘Those weapons won’t work,’ she called out to them in a low voice. ‘Fingerprinted.’

She heard Jay swear. They still carried them, if only as a deterrent. Seeing their tuxedos she couldn’t help but think of James Bond.

‘Where are your weapons?’ Sophia asked as she walked behind DC.

‘In the lobby,’ Damien replied.

‘We’re not going back there,’ Sophia said. ‘Sorry.’

‘Yeah, we figured,’ Jay said.

Chapter 21

Dust particles floated in front of Sophia as she moved. DC was using a torch with a red lens to light the way. She walked behind him with her own torch and red lens. Nasira was behind her another twenty paces, relying on Sophia’s beam of red light. Aviary was only a few steps behind. The boys had nothing, not that Jay needed a light. Damien followed a few paces behind his partner and stepped wherever Jay stepped.

Finally they reached a junction in the tunnel. It peeled to the left and crossed with three other tunnels. DC chose the far left. A short distance later he halted. Sophia stopped and everyone else followed suit.

DC turned, his light almost destroying her night vision when he switched it off a bit late. She kept her Glock in hand, low ready position. She wasn’t taking any chances.

‘What’s in the ruck?’ Sophia said.

DC took a few steps closer.

‘I can hear you just fine from here,’ she said.

DC frowned. He still held his carbine in both hands, relaxed.

‘Aviary, want to take a look?’ Sophia said, her thumb pointing to the second ruck on her back.

‘Sure.’ Aviary walked across the rocks and track to Sophia.

She unzipped the main compartment of the ruck.

‘What is it?’ Sophia said.

‘It’s a … uh … a rock,’ Aviary said, disappointed. ‘Better than a nuclear warhead, I suppose.’

‘This little rock seems to be in very high demand,’ Sophia said. ‘Care to explain why?’

‘It’s not the rock that’s in high demand,’ DC said. ‘It’s what’s inside the rock.’

‘Gremlins,’ Aviary said. ‘Is it gremlins?’

‘The Phoenix virus,’ DC said.

Sophia felt goose bumps run across her arms. That name couldn’t be a coincidence.

‘One of three Phoenix viruses,’ DC said. ‘Each dangerous in its own right. But all three together … well, it makes the Chimera vectors look like a qualifying match.’

‘How dangerous?’ Sophia said. ‘Plague dangerous? Enough to infect seven billion humans?’

‘OK, firstly the world’s population is eight point four billion. Public stats aren’t even close,’ DC said. ‘Secondly, they don’t kill people. Not the Pheonix viruses. They make you them more powerful. That one on your back is called the Recognizer. It puts your holistic and information processing into overdrive. You become a human lie detector. A behavioral analyst of extraordinary talent. An expert on humans.’

‘Isn’t that a standard feature of psychopaths?’ Sophia said. ‘Denton can already do a lot of that.’

‘Imagine it tenfold,’ DC said. ‘And it’s only one of three Pheonix viruses.’

‘Hold on a sec. This is the rock from Peru, isn't it?’ Nasira said.

‘No,’ DC said. ‘The Peru meteorite is—’

‘On its way here,’ Nasira said.

Sophia turned to her. ‘How do you know about this?’

‘How do you think I got back so quick?’ Nasira said. ‘I came across the landing site in Peru, and the testing camp. I saw them take it. The Berets got there, thought I was in on it and brought me back for, um, torture, I guess.’

‘Them?’ Sophia said. ‘The Fifth Column took it? From the … Fifth Column?’

‘From the Fifth Column,’ DC said.

‘I’m confused,’ Jay said.

‘We know,’ Nasira said. ‘But is this some sort of rogue element stealing these rocks all over the joint?’

‘Yeah,’ DC said. ‘If you call Denton a rogue element.’

‘That was Denton’s men at the base in Peru? He took the meteorite and burned the rest of it to the ground?’ Nasira said.

‘He will have the sample soon. It’s in transit as we speak,’ DC said. ‘I already have confirmation that it contains another Phoenix virus.’

‘What does that one do?’ Sophia said, trying to stay calm.

‘Called the Detector,’ DC said. ‘The ability to detect and interpret pheromones.’

Jay sniffed. ‘What, like body odor?’

‘A little more complex than that,’ DC said. ‘It’s a type of ectohormone produced through your skin.’

‘What the hell does that do?’ Jay said. ‘Warn you when someone stinks?’

Nasira raised her hand. ‘I want that ability.’

‘They’re secreted when you trigger alarm, you’re sexually aroused, attracted, repelled by someone, warning them off, planning to attack them,’ DC said. ‘Early warning system. You interpret them through your vomeronasal organ in your nose, connected to the hypothalamus in your brain. It’s like an extension to your sense of smell.’

‘Sounds like what Lucia had,’ Nasira said.

‘More sensitive, more powerful, different function,’ DC said. ‘Even if someone washes away their pheromones and obscures them with deodorizing and scented products, you can still detect them. Pick up on their moods, their intentions, their attractions, their repulsions.’

‘And the third Phoenix virus?’ Sophia said, wondering anew just what had changed in her, seeing as DC had just described the second Phoenix virus as pretty much what she’d been doing all evening.

DC pointed to the ground. ‘An old OSS—Fifth Column—base eight hundred feet below Grand Central terminal, disused since the eighties. Large enough to hide half of Manhattan’s population. Or a mislabeled sample of the third Phoenix virus.’

‘You know this for a fact?’ Sophia said.

‘No,’ he said. ‘But Denton set up camp in Grand Central a few hours ago, which seems quite the coincidence.’

‘And this one?’ Sophia thumbed at the ruck slung over her own.

‘Reclassified just a few days ago,’ DC said. ‘Until now it was hiding in plain sight.’

Sophia felt her throat tighten. ‘It was taken from the museum, wasn’t it?’

‘The American Museum of Natural History,’ DC said. ‘Blew up eight city blocks just to cover their tracks. I’m guessing you heard the explosion.’

‘I was there,’ Sophia said. ‘I did more than hear it.’

‘Shit,’ Jay said. ‘That’s a lot of collateral.’

‘Not for a psychopath,’ Sophia whispered, more to herself than the others. ‘Who’s doing this?’

DC met her glare. ‘You already know the answer.’

Sophia’s fingers squeezed around the pistol grip of her Glock. ‘Denton’s gunning for all three, isn’t he?’

DC nodded.

‘So he’s on his own now?’

‘That’s a gray area,’ DC said.

‘Speak for yourself,’ Sophia said. ‘You’re still with the Fifth Column, far as I can see.’

‘It’s a temporary engagement, on my terms,’ he said.

‘That’s what they all say. Besides, we have no reason to believe anything you’ve told us,’ Sophia said.

‘We have common goals, you and I. To get this rock as far away from Denton as possible,’ DC said. ‘That firefight in the foyer as we were leaving; those were Denton’s operatives trying to steal it back. A lot of operatives. They think Denton is Jesus and that they’re still working for the … OK, “good guys” isn’t quite right, but you know what I mean. If they’d got to us it would’ve been over very quickly.’

‘No shit,’ Nasira said.

Sophia heard the crunch on rocks as Damien and Jay swiveled to face their rear, half-expecting operatives to spring from nowhere.

‘You mean we have operatives on our tail?’ Damien said.

‘Bit of info you could’ve told us earlier,’ Jay said.

DC shook his head. ‘They don’t know how to get here. Not yet.’

‘So he already has the other two meteorites?’ Sophia said. ‘Two Phoenix viruses?’

‘One, if they’ve found the sample in the old base downstairs. Which they probably have,’ DC said. ‘Two, if he gets that Peru meteorite in here before the hurricane hits. And plenty of time to extract and prepare the virus. Three, the one on your back.’

‘Prepare it for … his own bloodstream?’ Sophia said.

‘The Fifth Column are planning to intercept the Peru meteorite before it reaches Denton at Grand Central,’ DC said.

She didn’t even want to ask how he knew that.

‘What’s so bad about him getting all three meteorites—all three viruses?’ Sophia said. ‘You seem a little worried about that.’

DC reached into a pouch on his vest. ‘I’m not supposed to have a copy, but you know—’

‘Grey area.’ Sophia snatched the printout and shone her torch on it.

It was a long printout, one long page, so she walked to the tunnel wall and pressed it flat to read, aware of Damien and Aviary breathing over each of her shoulders. She turned to Jay and Nasira, who were nudging closer behind them.

‘Can you watch our six?’ Sophia said.

Nasira nodded and, bumping into Jay’s shoulder, walked back down the tunnel.

The paper was titled Phönix and the top of the page was mostly an image of three circles. It took a moment for her to realize she was staring at an old drawing of comets.

‘China, 168 BC,’ DC said. ‘One of the first defectors from the Fifth Column was an assistant for Denton’s father. His name was Victor. Denton plucked him from a concentration camp during the second world war so he could help indentify the Pheonix viruses. By the time he made it to Akhana, he was an old man with many secrets.’

Under each comet Sophia noticed a label in English.

The Detector

The Recognizer

The Scryer

In the center of the comets there was another label, with lines drawn from each comet. The label was for all three, somehow combined.

The Controller.

Sophia read from the top, aloud.

‘The Detector — a shaman with high sensitivity to the aroma of people; a fragrance or smoke that betrays words, mood, health and humanity.’

It was the Phoenix virus DC had just described.

‘Why is it called the Phoenix?’ Sophia said. ‘This was two thousand years ago.’

‘Fenghuang,’ DC said. ‘It represents power sent from the heavens to the Empress.’

‘This is the one Denton snatched from Peru, right?’ Sophia said. ‘When was it discovered?’

‘Landed a couple of days ago,’ DC said. ‘Denton’s team got there before us.’

Sophia looked at him. ‘So it’s new. Denton got lucky.’

‘Last year cometary impacts increased by twenty-six percent. They’ve been going up every year,’ DC said. ‘It’s a good time to be hunting meteors.’

‘And the meteorite sample in this base under Grand Central?’ she asked.

‘The Recognizer,’ DC said.

She moved the torch beam down and read aloud.

‘The Recognizer — a seer of lies and truth, of men and serpent, of loyalty and betrayal,’ she said. ‘That would be helpful.’

‘It’s on your back, help yourself,’ DC said, ‘But you shouldn’t bother. You already have one.’

‘What are you talking about?’ Aviary said.

No one but DC and Freeman knew Sophia had been born carrying a Phoenix virus. And with Freeman dead, she planned to keep it that way. At least until she figured out what this whole thing meant.

She shone the torch in his face, on purpose. ‘You seem pretty sure.’

‘It’s just not—’ he shrugged in the red light ‘—in use right now.’

‘Sounds useless to me,’ Sophia said. ‘I was the only test subject in Project GATE without an ability.’

‘Latent ability,’ he said. ‘You had it. Denton disabled it. Training you would’ve been … a challenge.’

‘By training you mean programming,’ Sophia said.

‘What are you guys talking about?’ Damien said.

‘I’ll explain later,’ Sophia said. ‘When I understand it myself.’

‘We thought it might come back when you were deprogrammed,’ DC said. ‘But it didn’t. No one knows why.’

‘Well, you conveniently have all the other answers,’ Sophia said.

‘That’s because I was Owen Freeman’s right-hand man for years,’ DC said. ‘And before that, I was a test subject just like you.’

‘Without the Phoenix part,’ Sophia said.

She turned back to the paper. There was one more.

‘The Scryer — the gift of tongue; to hear the words unspoken,’ she said.‘Hang on a second. To hear words not spoken.’ She turned to DC. ‘Thoughts. Hearing thoughts. That’s—’

‘Remotely reading electrical signals,’ DC said. ‘Like what DARPA did back in 2011 with their Silent Talk program. Denton kept a close eye on that one. Leagues behind his research teams, mind you. But I guess he likes to be sure. Project Genesis, GATE, Seraphim, Phoenix—all part of the Fifth Column’s Advanced Warfighter research.’

‘That’s synthetic telepathy,’ Aviary said, reading over Sophia’s shoulder. ‘I read the tests. I mean, I hacked into DARPA and had a sneak peek. You know, wasn’t … quite public knowledge.’

‘You did what?’ Sophia said.

‘And?’ Damien said.

‘They used a computer to transmit and receive electrical signals from a test subject’s brain,’ Aviary said. ‘Through electrodes.’

‘And this.’ Sophia ran her finger across The Scryer. ‘It’s the real deal. They actually pick up on the—’ she tapped her head ‘—signals in here.’

‘Yeah,’ DC said. ‘Think of it less as mind reading, more as eavesdropping. Denton believes the meteorite sample that contains The Scryer is hidden inside the base.’

‘Is he right?’ Sophia said.

‘Unfortunately,’ DC said.

She slid the paper up the wall to read the bottom.

‘The Controller — a sorcerer who can enchant a legion with his spell; his desires become the desires of his followers,’ Sophia said. ‘So that’s the triple-threat version. Sounds bad.’ She turned to DC. ‘There’s no way any of this stuff is real. I mean, I’ve seen a lot of things in the last few years that I thought were science fiction but—’

DC raised an eyebrow. ‘Like yourself?’

‘This isn’t science fiction. This is outright fantasy,’ she said. ‘A folktale from two thousand years ago.’

‘That’s what they’ll be saying about us in two thousand years,’ DC said.

‘I know, but I can’t believe Denton is deranged enough to believe it,’ she said.

‘He’s seen it for himself, many years ago. This is his fantasy now,’ DC said. ‘And he plans to make that fantasy real.’

Aviary said, ‘He’s … wait, how old?’

‘Chimera vectors,’ Damien said. ‘And before that, a Nazi serum.’

‘Oh,’ Aviary said. ‘Guess I missed that meeting.’

‘If he finds a way to deliver all three Phoenix viruses,’ DC said, ‘there’s a very real chance he becomes the Controller.’

‘Combining specific viruses,’ Sophia said. ‘Into a new virus. There’re so many variables there: has it been proven to work?’

‘Actually, yeah,’ Aviary said. ‘Not with the Phoenix, but with similar viruses.’

‘You’re the virus expert now?’ Damien said.

‘I read a lot,’ Aviary said. ‘In places I shouldn’t.’

‘You’ve been hacking into the Fifth Column for more than just that operative map, haven’t you?’ Sophia tried to give Aviary her best disapproving glance but knew it was pointles. ‘DARPA and who knows where else.’

‘I deny everything,’ Aviary said. ‘Except this though, because it’s really weird. The Armed Forces Institute of Pathology resurrected the Spanish Flu / Tunguska virus all the way from 1918. The virus had been preserved in the frozen soil of Alaska.’

‘That’s how the Phoenix virus survives as well,’ DC said. ‘If it thaws, it disintegrates. If it’s preserved by a meteorite, like the one on your back, it can last a lot longer.’

‘Yeah,’ Aviary said, ‘so these scientist dudes discovered a new virus that combined with the Tunguska virus. It exchanged and recombined genes, creating a hybrid virus. More deadly, more pathogenic. So yeah, it can be done. You can combine viruses for sure.’

‘Great,’ Damien said. ‘I feel better now.’

‘Yeah,’ Aviary said. ‘I’m glad we had this talk too.’

‘But has anyone specifically tested the Phoenix subtype?’ Sophia said. ‘When all three mix together?’

‘No one has. At least not in modern history,’ DC said. ‘There are just tales.’

‘Fairytales,’ Sophia said. ‘But this Phoenix combo sounds like—’

‘A sort of psychic mind control,’ Aviary said.

‘Orders would leap instantly into the soldier’s brain,’ DC said.

‘You’d be a walking Seraphim transmitter,’ Damien said.

‘So you can understand why we can’t let this happen,’ DC said. ‘We need to stop Denton from possessing the viruses in any of these meteorites — even this one. But there’s a problem.’

She almost didn’t want to ask. ‘Which is?’

‘Denton has already stolen this one,’ DC said. ‘Or at least his operative, Czarina, did. Which means he’ll be tracking it, possibly even underground.’

‘How?’ Damien said, his voice pitched higher than usual.

‘Bioreactive taggant,’ DC said. ‘The rock now contains deposits of it so he can track it from within a certain distance. We need to get the rock off this island and then destroy it. Completely. Not even a particle can remain.’

‘We?’ Sophia said.

‘That’s going to need something burning real hot,’ Aviary said. ‘I’ll need some serious ingredients.’

‘That will have to wait,’ Sophia said. ‘We need some distance first.’

‘Drop it in the ocean,’ Damien said. ‘Somewhere deep.’

DC shook his head. ‘That won’t stop Denton from finding it. Hell, you could drop it on the moon and he’d get it back.’

‘A volcano!’ Aviary said.

‘Do you know any local?’ Sophia said.

‘Well, there’s … Ecuador,’ Aviary said.

‘A little out of our way,’ DC said.

‘Are you working for the Fifth Column?’ Sophia said, hand resting on her holstered Glock.

DC swallowed. ‘Yes.’

‘Were you working for Cecilia?’ she asked.

‘She thought I was,’ he said.

‘I should shoot you right now and keep walking,’ Sophia said.

‘But you won’t.’ He looked at her Glock.

‘I haven’t decided yet,’ she said.

‘This isn’t your fight,’ DC said. ‘Right now, we have half the Central Detachment in New York. Sixty-two Blue Berets sourced from Delta, USAISA, SOAR, DEVGRU, Twenty-Fourth, JTF2. The best soldiers in the world.’

‘I'm more concerned about the operatives.’ Sophia said. ‘Denton has them all?’

‘We don’t know how many are sympathetic to his cause,’ DC said. ‘Until we know for sure, they’re supposed to be inactive.’

‘Aw, they’re grounded,’ Aviary said.

‘This must be pretty important to the Fifth Column,’ Sophia said. ‘Why are you stealing it, DC? You’ve already intercepted it from Denton’s operative. And I can’t help but notice you somehow managed to lose your Blue Berets.’

‘Because I don’t think anyone should have it. Not even the Fifth Column,’ DC said.

‘Thinking for yourself now?’ Sophia said. ‘So you’re just walking out with it? Shoplifting from the secret world government?’

‘Not anymore.’ DC flashed a smile for the first time. ‘You’re shoplifting, I tried to stop you but you got away.’

‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘I’m flattered.’

She considered her options. As usual, there weren’t many. She handed DC the paper.

‘I want to trust you, I really do, but I can’t,’ she said. ‘If these are anywhere near as powerful as that scribble of paper says—because I’m hoping that like a lot of ancient writing it’s been grossly exaggerated—then Denton can’t go anywhere near this. And neither can the Fifth Column. On that, we agree.’

‘The Fifth Column have enough special forces soldiers to handle this,’ DC said. ‘We stole this meteorite, after all.’

‘Yeah sure, if you want the Fifth Column to have it after all,’ Sophia said. ‘And anyway I stole it from them. And hey, I’m just one operative. How are you going to go with eight of Denton’s pet superhumans on your tail? Actually, nine—I’m sure that one you had back there has escaped by now, or been rescued by Denton.’

DC glared at her, but said nothing. She had a point, and he knew it. ‘If you’re keeping the meteor,’ he said, ‘then I hope you intend to move it very far from here, very fast.’

He turned and, without a word, continued down the tunnel.

‘Where do you think you’re going?’ Sophia said, drawing her pistol.

He sighed and turned to her barrel. ‘If it’s alright with you, I have a psychopath to stop.’ He pointed down the tunnel. ‘Denton is holding a party below Grand Central right now and I’m not invited.’

‘Not without a plus one,’ Sophia said.

DC halted. ‘What are you talking about?’

Sophia blinded him with her torch. ‘I’m your date for tonight.’

STAGE 2
LOCKDOWN

Chapter 22

Denton strode through Grand Central terminal. The only sounds around him were the quick tramp of boots across the marble floor as his Blue Berets moved in. He looked up at three arched windows making up most of the wall of the main concourse. Above them, a large American flag was hanging, stripes down.

He recalled the first time he’d set foot here, as an OSS agent. The three windows were in that time three panels. They were hand-painted with government-sanctioned murals. Under them, in big bold letters: BUY DEFENSE BONDS AND STAMPS NOW!

Grand Central terminal had been evacuated upon his arrival, save for a lingering few staff who he’d spoken with upon entering. They were eager to join the rest of New York City’s residents in the mandatory evacs, happy to hand responsibility over to Denton and the CDC. Or the CIA. Or whatever badge he’d used—he honestly couldn’t remember.

Predictions suggested this hurricane was going to be worse than the last, and no one was taking any chances. Evacuation centers had been set up in schools throughout Brooklyn, Queens and the Bronx. All inpatients had been transferred to hospitals much farther north of the hurricane’s projected path. Police had, in waves through the afternoon, evacuated all the sick and elderly. Even the Day of the Dead festival had been cut short. He didn’t care much how his fireworks show at the museum had impacted on FEMA’s work: there was certainly no way it could have meant more New Yorkers in his way.

All subways, buses, trains and ferries had shut down. All of Grand Central terminal’s pedestrian entrances were covered off with pink tape. All two hundred trains were tucked away in above-water tunnels and platforms.

All the bridges had been manned with police, supported by paramedics and firefighters on standby. There had also been transportation officials with tow trucks ready to handle any vehicles that congested the evacuation.

But Denton knew that by now the bridges were sealed and manned instead by soldiers. Anyone on the island who hadn’t escaped during the evacuation was instructed to remain safely inside his or her residence. Anyone off the island could not return until the hurricane had passed.

It was the largest evacuation in US history. Denton couldn’t have timed his mission more perfectly.

He turned to see Czarina emerge from Lexington Passage. At almost the same time, his Blue Beret captain emerged from Graybar Passage. They approached him in unison.

‘The meteorite from the museum,’ Denton said to the captain, talking fast. ‘Who stole it and did you recover it?’

The captain’s expression seemed impenetrable. ‘Colonel, we assaulted the Waldorf Astoria hotel but the meteorite was taken elsewhere. We were driven back soon after. They’re operating at least at company strength,’ he said. ‘At this stage I’d say we’re dealing with a detachment of Blue Berets.’

‘This is less than ideal,’ Denton said. He held up his GPS device. ‘You’re tracking this, just as I am.’

‘We recovered our operative,’ he pointed to Czarina, ‘but the ruck with the meteorite is—as you can see—on the move. We have them surrounded now.’

‘No,’ Denton said. ‘I want all four Blue Beret squadrons to lock down this terminal and that includes entry to the OSS base. No one comes in or out without you knowing about it. That meteorite contains one of the Phoenix viruses and it cannot leave the island, is that clear?’

‘Yes, Colonel,’ he said.

‘The meteorite sample below Grand Central,’ Denton said. ‘Tell me you’ve located it.’

The Colonel nodded. ‘It’s in our possession now. Do you want the team to—’

‘Tell me the label,’ Denton said.

‘Violet plague,’ the Colonel said. ‘Dated November 22 1998.’

‘Good. Get the analysis team down there now,’ Denton said. ‘I want it tested and confirmed.’

Denton turned to Czarina. ‘Tell me something good.’

‘The package from Peru has landed at JFK. Cargo’s en route,’ Czarina said.

‘OK, that is good,’ Denton said. ‘Just make sure it gets through the National Guard on the bridge.’

‘Yes,’ she said.

‘The OSS base,’ Denton said. ‘Once the virus is ready. I’m going down and you’re coming with me.’

Czarina hesitated. ‘Just us?’

‘Just us,’ Denton said. ‘I’ll place our backup outside. If we need them―’ He wiggled his thumb, gesturing to the distress signal he’d placed inside. ‘One crack of this knuckle and they’ll come running. Not that I anticipate the need for it.’

‘Of course,’ she said. ‘Do you want a guinea pig for the virus? Like you did for the virus from Peru?’

Denton flexed his thumb. ‘No. We’re out of time. But I want every operative other than yourself tracking that meteorite. Do whatever it takes to get it back, just don’t damage it. If the virus is exposed under the wrong conditions we could risk destroying it, is that clear?’

‘Clear,’ she said. ‘Already tracking, Colonel. No offense to the captain but he didn’t have them surrounded.’ She gestured to his GPS device. It showed no indication of elevation, but she said with confidence, ‘They’re in the tunnels.’

Denton nodded, allowed a slight smile. ‘Excellent. Send enough to cut them off. You have five minutes then we’re going underground.’

He watched her step away, her hand over a button concealed under her T-shirt. She was relaying orders to the other operatives.

Like the rest of her detachment, Czarina was what happened when you took a Special Forces soldier and you took an intelligence field officer and you mashed them together, and then gave them the best, most progressive training on the planet and coupled that with genetic enhancements that were decades ahead of public science. Denton placed a great deal more trust in his nine operatives than he did in his platoon-sized Blue Berets detachment.

Chapter 23

‘You broke protocol,’ Nasira said.

Thirty seconds of standing guard, Jay thought, and she’s already found something to disapprove of.

‘What are you talking about?’ he said.

‘Oh nothing, just the email telling me and probably everyone from the Fifth Column where you’d be at,’ she said. ‘You know, in case I happened to be around.’

Jay folded arms over his carbine. ‘Well, you happened to be around.’

‘Not how you wanted.’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘How did you want it?’

 ‘I wanted it without being shot with an arrow,’ he said. ‘Why were you in Peru all this time?’

‘What you been doing in New Mexico for the past few months?’ Nasira said. ‘I was in Peru finding Lucia’s relatives, not that it’s any your business.’

‘So it’s you and Sophia now, a happy couple?’ Jay said. ‘I’ve just been playing bodyguard. Without a resume.’

‘Bodyguard work big on the damsel in distress market? Skills to pay the bills?’ Nasira winked at him. ‘Sophia only got the tracking thing removed last month; we been separate a while.’

‘I hear the “dudes in distress” market is stronger these days,’ Jay said. ‘So is assassination and interrogation just more of a mood swing or—’

‘Crime of passion.’ Nasira pulled him by the lapel and pressed her lips on his. ‘On both accounts,’ she said.

He felt her breath on his face. He tried to carefully place his carbine on the rocky ground. She stepped closer, pressed her vest against him. He wanted to feel her warm body against his but her chest was covered in pouches. It didn’t stop her exploring his though. Her fingers dug into his neck and ran through the back of his hair. He’d thought about kissing her for so long that it was hard to believe it was happening.

Between breaths, he said, ‘I’m not—carrying a pistol.’

‘So you are—just happy—to—’

‘See you—Fuck!’ He jerked suddenly as her hand got too close to his arrow wound.

Nasira raised an eyebrow, confused. ‘There are a few steps before that, Jay.’

‘No, the arrow,’ Jay said.

‘Oh, sorry.’ She backed away, hands in the air.

He instantly regretted making a big deal out of it.

‘No, it … hasn’t quite healed yet,’ he said.

She rolled her eyes. ‘If that arrow went through me it would take days, weeks to heal,’ she said. ‘So stop complaining. Also, I am really sorry.’

Jay heard footsteps and looked over. Someone was approaching. He adjusted to infrared and spotted Damien walking toward them.

‘Hey,’ Damien said. ‘Fall in.’

Jay picked up his useless carbine and followed back to the group. Sophia was taking the stolen ruck off her shoulders, leaving just her own ruck on her back. She tossed it at Jay.

‘You said you wanted to get off the island,’ Sophia said. ‘Now you can.’

Jay caught it with his free hand. ‘I’m guessing there’s a catch,’ he said.

‘If you can’t do it, I will,’ Nasira said.

‘I can do it, easy,’ Jay said.

He pulled the ruck over his tuxedo. More pain in his shoulder but he ignored it. ‘So, what the hell’s going on?’

‘I’ll explain on the way,’ Damien said.’

‘I just need to know one thing,’ Jay said. ‘How many people exactly are going to be looking for this rock?’

‘Everyone,’ DC said.

‘Numbers?’ Jay said.

‘Nine operatives,’ Aviary said, checking her phone.

‘He has two more operatives as backup, without RFIDS. And he has some Blue Berets of his own. From what we can tell, anywhere between two and six squadrons.’

‘And the dudes with the black hockey masks?’ Jay said.

‘Yeah, they’re my Blue Berets. Ninety-six,’ DC said.

‘Holy shit,’ Jay said. ‘So we run with this and you do what exactly?’

‘DC knows where Denton will be,’ Sophia said. ‘We need to stop him.’

‘I’m coming with you,’ Aviary said.

‘No,’ Sophia said.

‘What else am I meant to do?’ Aviary checked her watch. ‘Last trains were an hour ago. I’m stuck with you whether you like it or not.’

‘She’s right,’ DC said. ‘The mayor signed an executive order today, mandating a staggered evacuation of Manhattan. Which is complete by now. No one can get off the island.’

‘So what the fuck am I doing?’ Jay said. ‘Swimming?’

The color drained from Damien’s face. ‘Oh great.’

‘I cached a news report from earlier,’ Aviary said.

She played a video on her iPhone.

‘Isaias, a Category 5 hurricane with sustained winds of 160 miles per hour, is already responsible for 87 deaths in the Caribbean,’ the newsreader said. ‘Isaias is now travelling northward, parallel to the Eastern Seaboard, and at this moment is 150 miles southeast of New York City, moving at thirty miles—’

The video tried to buffer and Aviary closed it in frustration.

‘That’s not going to help us,’ Nasira said.

‘No, but it helps Denton,’ DC said. ‘Timing’s everything.’

‘Speaking of time, when was that announced?’ Sophia said.

‘Video was posted at six pm,’ Aviary said.

Jay checked his watch. ‘It’s 2200 now.’

‘Traveling at the same speed,’ Sophia said, ‘it should have landfall by 2300.’

‘One hour,’ Damien said. ‘We’ll need to head north if we have any chance of getting out.’

‘That’s if we can,’ Jay said.

‘You’ll have to try,’ Sophia said. ‘You should go now.’

‘Wait!’ Aviary reached into her jacket pockets and dug out an iPhone. It had a pink rubber case. She walked over and handed it to Jay.

‘What the hell is that?’ Jay said, inspecting the pink iPhone.

‘A smartphone,’ Aviary said. ‘You might’ve heard of them. Damien has one already; he can fill you in on how it works. We can share each other’s locations.’

‘Can they see the operatives on those?’ Sophia said. ‘Might be helpful.’

‘Sorry,’ Aviary said. ‘Haven’t set these up yet.’

‘It’s fine.’ Jay took the phone.

‘Cool. Our numbers are in there but it won’t work unless there’s a nearby phone or wifi,’ Aviary said. ‘Worst case scenario you can anonymously connect to a cell-phone tower—which is probably the only thing you’ll find right now anyway.’ She cleared her throat. ‘You don’t want pink? I should probably give you another color—’

Jay pocketed the phone. ‘No, no, it’s fine. I like it.’

‘Don’t go through the same tunnel,’ DC said. ‘Head for that junction, and there will be two tracks heading northwest on your ten o’clock. Ladder M or Ladder O. They’ll take you to Track C, which will take you directly north.’

Jay blinked. ‘OK, got it.’

‘Do you want me to write that down?’ DC said.

‘I’ve got it,’ Damien said.

‘In these conditions, the longer you stay underground, the better,’ DC said. ‘The rock is tagged so Denton’s operatives will be tracking you. They won’t know elevation but it won’t take them long to figure out you’re underground.’

‘Oh great,’ Jay said.

‘Hopefully these tunnels should make it difficult to track you. At least until they’re in the tunnels with you.’

‘Given that they’re operatives,’ Sophia said, ‘you won’t have much time.’

Jay nodded. ‘Always comforting, thanks Soph.’

‘Don’t call me that. Go,’ Sophia said, handing Damien her torch, red lens attached.

Jay handed off his carbine mags to her, which she passed to DC. Damien did the same. The carbines themselves were of no use to anyone except DC and he already had his own. So Jay moved to the edge of the tunnel and stashed his against the wall, hidden in the shadows. Damien did the same.

Jay gave Sophia a friendly salute. As he dropped his arm, Nasira grabbed it. She was giving him a very serious, indeed unnerving look.

‘See you soon, OK?’ Nasira said.

That sounded like a demand.

‘You bet,’ Jay said.

He started into a run. The straps on the ruck pulled on his arrow wound so he only made it a few steps before offloading the ruck to Damien. He offered to move ahead a reasonable distance and make use of his infrared so Damien’s torch wouldn’t compromise them both.

Jay figured right now they could move as loud and fast as they needed; the operatives wouldn’t be belowground just yet. But once he hit Track C or whatever DC called it, he was running on borrowed time.

Then again, he was already doing that.

Chapter 24

Sophia’s stolen tac vest was heating up. She unzipped it to cool down. DC was walking ahead of her in silence. He stopped for the first time since they’d sent Damien and Jay off. She watched him splash a finger of red light over an old rail car. It was dusty and blue, probably once used to haul cargo.

‘Alright, we’ve crossed from Track 61,’ DC said. ‘We’re on 11 now.’

‘Care to share your plan?’ Sophia said.

‘To get inside the OSS base, we need to get inside Grand Central terminal sub-basement levels,’ he said.

‘How close are we to the terminal?’

‘Almost under it,’ he said. ‘Technically we should be right below the Park Avenue Viaduct.’

‘So getting inside won’t be too difficult then,’ Nasira said, catching up from behind. ‘Over a hundred train tunnels to take us into the terminal.’

‘Denton will be watching the cameras,’ DC said. ‘He’ll have every platform covered, every level covered, every street exit covered. And we have a problem.’

‘What’s that?’ Sophia said.

‘No one knows where in the terminal you access the OSS base,’ DC said. ‘But I think I know where to start.’

‘Where’s that?’ Sophia said.

‘I need a blueprint of the terminal,’ DC said. ‘Old, new, doesn’t matter. What I’m looking for has been there since World War II.’

‘The base entry will show on a blueprint?’ Sophia said.

‘No, but the clues are in there. Enough for me to find it for you.’

‘That’s handy,’ Nasira said. She turned to Sophia. ‘Guess we didn’t need him after all.’

‘Wait,’ Sophia said. ‘So I’m guessing you don’t have a blueprint.’

‘Get me high enough and I’ll find you one,’ Aviary said, waving her iPhone.

Sophia shook her head. ‘Too dangerous.’

‘I’ll take her,’ DC said. He gripped his carbine.

Sophia eyed him carefully. ‘No. You’re staying with me,’ she said. ‘Nasira, go with Aviary.’

‘You’re assigning me babysitting duty?’ Nasira said.

‘I am trained, you know,’ Aviary whispered. ‘Force Recon and even a little bit by Sophia!’

Nasira rolled her eyes. ‘Then you don’t need me.’

‘Fine.’ Aviary slipped her ballistic mask on. She walked past DC and hesitated. ‘So, which tunnel am I taking?’

‘None of them with your mask on,’ DC said. ‘They’re not wearing masks like my detachment. Won’t help you blend in. It will help you get shot though.’

‘Cool.’ Aviary removed her mask.

Sophia reached into her ruck and handed Aviary a multitool and Gerber knife in its sheath. ‘Here,’ Sophia said. ‘I got these for you.’

Aviary’s eyes lit up. ‘Whoa, seriously?’

Nasira was already walking past them. ‘Stay behind me.’

Aviary took the multitool and the knife. ‘Thanks!’ she whispered.

Sophia watched Nasira and Aviary leave.

DC sighed, crouched against the rail car, his carbine nestled between his legs.

‘I didn’t even know you and your friends were here,’ DC said. ‘I guess this sort of activity seems to attract you.’

Sophia stopped ten feet short, remained standing. ‘Or I attract it.’

Chapter 25

Nasira kept Aviary in the shadows of the tunnel while she crouched at the edge. She watched the platform.

The platform had columns covered in square white tiles, and the number 42 was emblazoned on each. There were no trains at the platform. Nasira and Aviary had been there for almost ten minutes and there was no movement, no patrols. DC was right: Denton’s soldiers would just rely on the security cameras.

It was empty, silent. A single row of fluorescent tubes lit the platform. There was really nowhere to hide. Nasira had left her carbine beside Aviary. It couldn’t fire with her fingerprints so she stuck with what she had, a Glock 19 pistol she’d taken from the cops in Time Square.

Nasira turned to Aviary. ‘Signal?’

Aviary shook her head. ‘Nearest wifi is the Apple Store, but that’s in the main concourse. I could maybe snatch it from the west balcony or the west-side escalators.’

‘Doubt I can get you anywhere near there in one piece,’ Nasira said. ‘I’m good, but not that good.’

‘OK, I’m trying cell-phone towers now,’ Aviary said. ‘We might need to go up another level so I can get a signal.’

Nasira noticed her eyes light up.

‘Or we can hijack a connection!’ Aviary said. ‘From one of the restaurants in the dining concourse! And I’m hungry and I would like some pie maybe.’

Nasira looked over the platform again. There was a security camera on one end of the platform, mounted to the ceiling with a black dome. It was safe to assume there would be another camera at the opposing end, where the ramp took commuters to the dining concourse of Grand Central terminal.

‘Getting you to the dining concourse is easy,’ Nasira said. ‘But getting you there without being seen is something else.’

Aviary frowned. ‘No signal here.’

‘Anywhere else we can stay this low and grab a signal?’ Nasira asked.

Aviary seemed to think for a moment. ‘There’s a hotspot under the Station Master’s Office. Near Track 36.’

‘We’re on Track 11,’ Nasira said. ‘Even if I knew how to get us back out to the connecting tunnel and take us to 36, it would take us fucking forever.’

‘Yeah,’ Aviary said. ‘I don’t even think we could get it from this far down anyway. So let’s pretend I never suggested that.’

Nasira focused on the nearest security camera. She had to think of something. Although the camera was inside a reflective black dome and she couldn’t see its direction, it was very likely to be facing inward. Facing the wall next to it didn’t seem very helpful.

The camera at the other end of the platform would be facing up the ramp. There was possibly a third camera in the center as well, and she couldn’t be as sure of its direction.

‘I think I have a way in,’ Nasira said. She turned to Aviary. ‘You a good climber?’

‘I did a beginner’s class in parkour once,’ Aviary said.

Nasira did her best not to sigh loudly. ‘Gotcha,’ she said. ‘Do what I say when I say. And don’t fuck up.’

Aviary nodded and pocketed her phone. ‘Wait.’

‘What?’ Nasira said.

Aviary removed something from her ruck. She extended what looked to be a large stubby antenna with a small square block at its base. She leaned between them and placed it on a metal beam in the tunnel wall. It adhered with a click.

‘Relay, so we can contact Sophia from the dining concourse,’ Aviary said. ‘I hope.’

Nasira glared at her. ‘You hope.’

She crept from the shadow and climbed on the end of the platform. From where she was standing, she was just out of range of the cameras. She reached down and hauled Aviary up. Not that Aviary couldn’t do it herself; Nasira just wanted to get this done without bumping into Special Forces or operatives. Neither of which would be fun.

Nasira pointed up. Above, a row of four metal pipes. The pipes were braced together and ran the length of the platform. There wasn’t enough room to climb on top of them so they’d have to hang underneath like monkeys and make their way across the platform.

‘Can I borrow your multitool?’ Nasira asked.

Aviary grinned. ‘Sure!’

Nasira took the multitool and zipped it safely inside her front pocket.

Aviary watched as Nasira walked up the wall and grabbed the pipes. She bounced from the balls of her feet, away from the wall, and lifted her body to the pipes. They held her weight. That was a good start.

‘Follow me,’ Nasira said.

She worked her way along the pipes and then stopped in front of the security camera. It was suspended before her, a fraction lower and aimed down toward the platform. There was a thick cream cable that snaked up from its base. She wrapped an arm around one pipe and used the other to unzip her pocket then pry a serrated saw blade from Aviary’s multitool. It wasn’t easy with one hand but at this angle she had no choice. It took her half a minute to sever the cable. No more camera feed.

Nasira could hear Aviary clanging about on the pipes behind her. Nasira shushed her and kept moving. She hooked her ankles on the outside of the four pipes and wrapped her hands around the inside pipes. Once she got the rhythm going she could move pretty quickly. The fluorescent tubes buzzed beside her. She soon reached a camera in the center of the platform, just as she’d suspected. So she got to work severing its cable.

Denton’s people might notice the disconnected camera feeds, but that was a chance she had to take. This was the most discreet method. It certainly beat blowing the cameras up or dazzling them with stupid lasers or, worse, walking out and trying to blend in without helmets. Of the hundreds of cameras in Grand Central terminal, she hoped three black feeds would not raise suspicion. At least not until they had been and gone.

Aviary kept a reasonable pace behind her, quieter now, as Nasira made her way to the platform entrance. She severed the last camera cable and, pocketing Aviary’s multitool, lowered herself carefully to the platform. She dropped the last few feet as softly as she could and immediately drew her NYPD Glock.

She covered the ramp and moved for the nearest railing. There was no sign of movement. She risked a glance over her shoulder to find Aviary landing softly next to a pair of trashcans. Aviary actually hadn’t done too badly. But it wasn’t time for congratulations: they’d barely started.

Nasira tapped her own shoulder, indicating for Aviary to stay close to her at all times. She didn’t know whether Aviary would understand but kept moving up the ramp nevertheless. Once she reached the top she paused.

‘Check,’ Nasira said under her breath.

Aviary pulled out her phone. Nasira kept her Glock on the narrow entrance that fed into the wide dining concourse.

‘Nothing,’ Aviary said. ‘We need a restaurant.’

Nasira exhaled slowly. This was getting more suicidal by the minute. ‘Stay behind me at all times.’

‘OK,’ Aviary whispered.

Nasira listened for any sounds. Again, nothing but silence. She moved out into the dining concourse. It was a long hall cluttered with cafés and bars. Punctuating the walls were entrances to different platforms. She moved along one wall, toward the center. She hated being this exposed.

Every time she passed an entrance on her wall she nosed her Glock in, but each time the platform was empty. She kept her aim mostly to her left, covering the other side and the entire concourse, along with the various gaps behind bars and tables where someone could hide.

A restaurant loomed on her left: Oyster Bar Restaurant read the script on the arch above. The glass doors were closed: breaking them would make enough noise to alert every soldier in ther terminal.

She considered asking Aviary to check her phone again but didn’t want to be in the open any longer than they had to be. She kept her Glock aimed down the concourse as she crossed from one side to the other, Aviary three paces behind. They reached the first archway, which gave them concealment from most of the concourse.

Nasira peered through into the century-old subterranean restaurant to see if anyone was inside. The cream-tiled arches divided the restaurant into smaller partitions with vaulted ceilings. The ceilings were lit along the arches with white fairy lights. The restaurant looked untouched; the tables were set with red and white checked tablecloths and napkins.

She gave Aviary her pistol and went for her lockpicks. The lock was sticky but she seated the pins without much trouble and unlocked the door. She took her pistol back and entered first. She found it easier to hold the Glock with one hand and sweep both sides than to transition between her right and left hand. When she was sure there was no one in the restaurant she nodded to Aviary.

Aviary took cover behind the bar and checked her phone. Nasira let her do her thing while she moved back to the restaurant entrance and locked the door.

‘No wifi,’ Aviary said.

‘You’re fucking kidding me,’ Nasira said. She stopped when she realized how easily her voice travelled along the vaulted ceiling above. She moved toward the bar.

Aviary’s hands balled into fists. ‘I … I don’t know where the hell the modem is. Or if they even have one.’

Nasira jumped over the bar and started opening everything. Soon she drew the same conclusion. There was no modem.

‘Fuck,’ Nasira said. ‘Sure there’s no wifi?’

‘I’m not lying!’ Aviary shoved the phone into Nasira’s hands.

The phone buzzed in her hands. ‘It just vibrated.’

Aviary looked. ‘No it didn’t. There’s no message or anything.’

Nasira stared at it for a moment. She ripped off the soft rubber case and ran her hand over the back. The phone hummed, prickled her fingertips.

‘Is there something spinning inside these phones?’ Nasira said.

Aviary was just staring at her. ‘Are you serious? It’s not a Nokia 3210. Nothing spins,’ she hissed.

‘Just answer the question!’ Nasira whispered back.

‘I just answered the question!’ Aviary said. ‘It’s not my fault you’re deaf!’

Nasira looked at her.

‘I’m sorry,’ Aviary said. ‘That was too far. You’re a very good operative and you’re good at everything.’

‘No, wait,’ Nasira said.

Nasira placed the phone on the counter and started running her hands slowly across the surface from one end of the bar to the other. She stopped near the end.

‘Something sharp,’ Nasira said. ‘Bright. It gets kind of serrated. Little spikes.’

‘What are you talking about?’ Aviary’s eyes widened. ‘You can—’

Nasira opened the cupboards underneath and pulled everything out. Before her was a flat white modem with blinking green lights. ‘Found you, motherfucker.’

‘Whoa,’ Aviary said. ‘That’s better than being a human compass.’

‘What the hell did you just say?’ Nasira said.

‘Uh.’ Aviary clutched the modem and pulled it onto the counter. ‘I said that’s better than a huge wireless.’

She watched the redhead remove something from her ruck. It was like a miniature version of the antenna she’d attached to the tunnel wall.

Aviary attached the tiny antenna to an ethernet port on the back of the modem: it was giving them a wireless internet connection. She was already on her phone, fingertips tapping excitedly.

‘Got it,’ Aviary said. ‘Blueprint of the terminal.’ She squinted at the screen. ‘No mention of the base though.’

‘Yeah, that doesn’t surprise me,’ Nasira said, watching the restaurant entrance. ‘That DC guy can work it out for us.’

‘You don’t like him, do you?’ Aviary said.

‘Not since he fucked Sophia over, no,’ Nasira said. ‘Not his biggest fan.’

‘OK. So I’ll send the blueprint to her now,’ Aviary said. ‘Hopefully I can hit that relay in the tunnel.’

‘Whatever,’ Nasira said, pulling the lid on a bottle of whisky. ‘Just hurry it up.’ She helped herself to the bottle.

Chapter 26

Jay had barely made it to Track C with Damien when he noticed movement ahead, in infrared. It was just a sliver of color, obscured by something in the tunnel wall. He held his hand out behind him and a moment later Damien’s chest touched it. Damien stopped, clicked off Sophia’s torch—which was only shooting a tiny shaft of red light through his fingers—and waited.

Jay turned to Damien and spoke very softly. Softer than he himself could hear, but he knew Damien would.

‘One person ahead, two hundred feet,’ Jay said.

Damien nodded in response. In infrared, his head was a swirl of red and orange inside a circle of green.

Jay watched the tunnel. Another figure appeared even farther ahead, around a slight bend in the track. There was a subway station a little way along.

Jay could barely see the figure but it was running with purpose and seemed to have a pistol in one hand. The walls ranged from light blue to dark blue and purple—the occasional splotch of green where warmth emerged from a power conduit. Then the closer figure emerged: a colorful mix of green, orange and red.

‘Two incoming,’ Jay said again, softly.

Damien nodded again, reaching for a pistol he didn’t have. Jay remembered they were unarmed.

Jay led the way, heading back through Track C, the way they’d come. With Damien in tow, he ran the tunnel with lights off. Damien was struggling to keep his footing and stay silent at the same time, but didn’t complain and just followed in Jay’s footsteps.

They have to be operatives, Jay thought. Just two of them, coming up the tunnel like that with only pistols.

Jay passed their previous tunnel on the left, Ladder M. There would be another, he hoped. With more options. They just needed to put some distance between them and confuse the operatives about their position. He didn’t know how accurate the tracking was for the rock on Damien’s back but even if it was quite accurate, he still hoped their unpredictable route would buy them enough time to get to the surface and find some wheels.

They approached another junction, this one more complex. A light splashed across one wall. It was just one of the subway tunnel lights, he realized, when he shifted back to seeing visible light. The junction opened up before them and he started to move more carefully. Additional tunnels sprouted off, three ahead and a fourth on their right.

Damien pulled at the back of Jay’s tuxedo. Jay stopped and looked to see Damien holding up a hand, signaling to stop. Damien gestured to his ear and pointed ahead. Jay listened but he couldn’t hear what his partner was hearing. It frustrated him that he had the enhanced vision while Damien had the enhanced hearing. Couldn’t they each have both?

Then he saw it.

Two operatives moving through the junction. Right toward them.

Jay sprang from his position, retreating, Damien just a few steps behind. He cursed himself for not having made it to the junction in time. Now they were trapped between two pairs of operatives. He ran for the junction with Ladder M, the way they’d come through, but he knew they wouldn’t get there in time. The operatives they’d first encountered would cut them off.

‘Wait!’ Damien hissed.

Jay turned and noticed Damien pointing up. He followed Damien’s finger. High above, a long line of ventilation grates lined the ceiling. Jay could see the night’s sky through them. It was almost black except for the winking lights of skyscrapers.

Jay started for the elevated footpath on the side of the tunnel. It was narrow but just enough to stand on with both feet. He helped Damien up beside him. It didn’t boost them enough to reach the grates.

A thin pipe was fixed to the wall at chest height. Just enough to stand on with the heels of his stupid dress shoes. At the very top of the wall, another pipe he could use. It was possible.

He threw himself up against the wall, finding the tiny pipe with his feet to get high enough to grab the handhold. It was no larger than a thick piece of rope but it kept him against the wall. His hands found the higher pipe before he lost his balance and he clung to the wall, shoulder burning in protest. Damien was grappling for the same position beside him. Jay could see tiny human-shaped blobs of orange and red in the distance. The operatives were closing.

‘Hurry up!’ Jay said under his breath.

Above the higher pipe Jay could see a small ledge—somewhere he could haul himself into. He lifted one knee to his chest and laid his foot flat on the wall. He used his dangling leg to haul himself up. The pendulum effect gave him enough momentum. He threw his elbows over the pipe, onto the ledge. With his other foot on the wall, he pulled his body to the ledge.

There was nothing between him and the grates, but there were rows of arches across and supporting the ceiling. Jay edged over to one and wrapped his arms around it. Using it as leverage, he pushed off the alcove and away from the wall. Now he was dangling freely from the ceiling. The arch ended where the grate began. He had no way of getting there.

Damien had followed his steps and was also dangling from an arch. He wrapped a leg around it and pushed himself closer to the grate. Then he gripped the grate itself, fingers through the square holes. Jay watched as Damien hung from the grate using only his fingers. The meteorite was still inside the ruck strapped to his back.

The operatives were getting closer.

‘What are you doing?’ Jay hissed.

Damien was breathless, but focused. He swung on the grate, curved his body. He kicked up, striking a nearby grate above him. The impact made a resounding clang that carried through the tunnel. They were beyond the point of hiding now.

Jay felt his heart double its contractions. He didn’t fancy fighting two operatives, let alone four.

Damien swung and kicked again. This time he hit the grate hard enough to dislodge it.

Shit, Jay thought. That could actually work.

Damien kicked a third time. The grate bounced upward, moved halfway. Damien stopped swinging and moved for the gap. With one hand he struggled to slide it open. Jay watched from where he hung as Damien shifted it. The grate moved a fraction. Damien now hung with one hand on the dislodged grate and one on the grate he was swinging under. Above him, a narrow gap. He lifted himself through it.

Jay moved quickly, clawed his way along the grates until he reached Damien. He hung from one hand and used the other to push Damien up. Damien was out of the tunnel. Jay moved closer, reached out and grabbed his partner’s offered hand.

From the corner of Jay’s vision he could see movement in the tunnel. The operatives could see him now.

‘Quick!’ Jay breathed.

He straightened his arms out, held his breath and climbed up through the gap. He was half out, Damien pulling on his arm. Pain arced through his shoulder, through the wound from the arrow. His grip slipped and he fell back through.

Damien reached down, snatched him. Jay dangled inside the tunnel. He looked up, found Damien braced over the grates. Jay reached up and clamped his other hand over Damien’s arm. He wasn’t going to let go. He couldn’t.

Damien reinforced with his other arm, legs spread between the grates. Damien pulled hard and Jay slowly rose. Just a fraction more and he could reach the grates and help haul himself out.

His fingers reached out, brushed the grate, found a hold. Damien shifted one hand to the back of Jay’s collar. Jay didn’t care if it strangled him, he just wanted out. His head made it above the surface. He switched his grip from under to over the grate and wriggled upward.

A cracking sound from below.

It bounced along the tunnel, filling Jay’s ears. Something hard, heavy struck the side of his midsection, almost crushed his ribs. He pulled himself out, pressed his chest over the grate. Damien almost fell backward onto the sidewalk, but he didn’t stop pulling. Jay’s knees were up and out. He was clear. He rolled over. Away from the grates. Pain took the breath from him.

While Damien hurriedly lowered the grate back into position, Jay noticed the city lights before them start to blink out, block by block. The darkness crept closer to them and then halted two blocks away. Just before Grand Central terminal. Everything south of Forty-Second Street was pitch black.

Jay tried to stand but a fierce wind tore through the street, knocking him onto his back. The howl chilled him. When he could open his eyes again he noticed the sky in the distance. It was no longer black but a brooding purple. It ruptured with the occasional flash.

Hurricane Isaias.

Jay tried to breathe but his ribs sent fire through him with every inhalation. He looked down and realized what that cracking sound in the tunnel had been.

He’d been shot.

Chapter 27

‘Did Freeman ever give you his code?’ DC said.

The question caught Sophia by surprise. ‘Code?’

‘The one Cecilia was trying to get out of you in Denver,’ he said.

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ she said.

DC rolled his eyes. ‘It’s just us here. I already know.’

‘He never actually kept the whole code,’ she said. ‘Just the chromosomal location. Unless he was stupid enough to trust you with the number.’

‘He wasn’t,’ DC said.

‘It was the code for a Phoenix virus, wasn’t it?’ Sophia said.

DC nodded.

‘Which one?’ she asked.

He didn’t look at her, and instead seemed to focus on a stray newspaper.

‘Your one,’ he said. ‘Freeman told me it was an inherited endogenous retrovirus. Integrated into your DNA. Denton believed it was passed down from your grandfather, Yiri, and that originally it was an exogenous retrovirus of extraterrestrial nature.’ He finally looked at her. ‘Your grandfather was infected with a Phoenix virus.’

Sophia swallowed. ‘So my special power came from an alien rock.’

‘The technology wasn’t up to scratch back then but Denton spent the best part of the Cold War crunching your grandfather’s DNA. Owen Freeman defected and stole the code before he could solve the puzzle. Denton had to start again. The Phoenix virus lay dormant in your mother. Again, with the technology of the time it was useless to Denton. But for some reason it sparked inside you.’

She felt anger well inside her. ‘You kept all of this from me,’ she said.

DC shook his head slowly. ‘Half of it I only learned in the last twenty-four hours,’ he said. ‘Need to know.’

‘I need to know,’ she said softly, more to herself.

‘That’s why I’m telling you everything they’ve told me.’

‘Somehow I doubt that,’ she said.

DC shot her a piercing stare. ‘You were part of Project Phoenix long before you were part of Project GATE,’ he said. ‘Denton had been sending for blood samples when you’d never even met him. He had four candidates, including you. After Project Phoenix collapsed, all four of you were inducted into Project GATE.’

‘But only I survived.’

She remembered. The glass cubicles next to each other; Denton watching. The shivering, moaning. The girl collapsing, vomiting on the floor. The hot lumps across the boy’s skin. They turned black, oozed pus, blood. She remembered screaming, her hands clawing the cubicle door. The bodies of the children crumpled, soaked wine red.

‘You’re the lucky one,’ she whispered, reciting his words.

‘The Phoenix virus has a few perks too. The host is resistant to plagues, flu, other sickness, those brought on by other comet-borne viruses,’ DC said. ‘The other three test subjects died as part of the test to determine who was a real carrier. Which ones just had a special ability like every other Project GATE test subject, and who actually harbored the Phoenix virus.’

‘And then the real testing began,’ Sophia said.

‘With Dr Cecilia McLoughlin,’ he said. ‘But she only ever knew of one Phoenix. Denton never told her there were three. None of this matters now, of course. The Fifth Column has reached a consensus. Denton will need to die.’ He stood upright and pushed off the rail car. ‘That’s everything I know.’

‘Not quite.’ She turned to face him. ‘Why did you betray me?’

He looked at her for a moment, a long moment. She wasn’t even sure if he would respond.

‘It wasn’t about you,’ he said.

‘Seems everything else is.’ She stepped from the rail car and stood in the center of the tracks. ‘I can’t tell you how stupid I feel, trusting you like I did.’

DC seemed almost suspended in the darkness. He stood in silence, partly facing her yet partly not. ‘Whatever you feel, I feel worse,’ he said.

She almost laughed, but his words carried pain. She breathed it in and it felt like her own. For an instant she felt sorry for him, but warmth washed over her. It burned her ears and fingertips. She took two long strides toward him and had to suppress the urge to hit him.

‘Cecilia was this close to giving me a hit of the anti-Chimera vector and you did nothing,’ she said. ‘I was seconds away from becoming a robot soldier, a psychopath just like Denton.’ The words came from her mouth in a low growl. ‘Do you know who saved me?’

DC stared at her. He probably didn’t even know the answer.

‘Denton saved me!’ she yelled. ‘Fucking Denton!’ She pushed past him and paced the tracks. ‘Of all the people to stop me becoming … like that, it was him.’ She felt her cheeks burn. ‘There was a moment there where the thing I hated most in the world was you.’

She watched the quiver on his face. She hoped it hurt. She wanted it to hurt. She wanted him to feel guilty. But he just stood there, a shadow in the tunnel.

‘Say something,’ she said.

‘I don’t need to,’ he said, softly.

She swallowed. He looked tired, sad. And she could feel it. It made her sick inside.

He extended his hand. ‘You can feel it, can’t you?’

She reached out to touch the tips of his fingers.

‘You’re the Detector.’

Her phone buzzed. She dug into her pocket to fish it out.

Got it doing back now

The message was from N, which she figured Aviary had labeled as Nasira’s iPhone. And she guessed coming had autocorrected to doing, what with Nasira’s lack of smartphone experience.

‘Wait, how do I have reception?’ Sophia wondered aloud.

DC shrugged. ‘That’s good, right?’

Sophia attempted to reply. Copy tgat autocorrected to Copy that. She hit the send button and her message bubble appeared. She noticed the label underneath: Read 10:37pm. Good, at least she knew Nasira—or at least someone holding Nasira’s phone—had read her message.

In response, an image popped up of the Grand Central terminal blueprints. Aviary had sent it. Sophia made it fullscreen and showed DC. The phone’s backlight almost blinded him, but he took the phone and inspected it closely.

‘That’s good,’ he said, pinching and swiping to get his bearings. ‘Aha. I think I know where to go.’

He handed the phone back to her.

Another message.

Standby movement on dining concourse

Sophia wanted to just speak with Nasira, but it didn’t sound like she was in a position to talk. That Phoenix or DARPA mind-reading stuff would’ve been great right now. They could’ve just sent thoughts to each other. Then again, that would still be limited by range.

She checked the operative map overlay. A dot appeared. Very close to her current location. She froze.

DC was watching her intently. ‘What?’

She put a finger on her lips and showed him the phone again.

‘One operative,’ she said in the quietest voice she could manage.

‘Not moving,’ he said, dropping his voice to match.

‘There for a reason,’ she said. ‘But what?’

DC snatched the phone from her. ‘I think I know.’

She watched him take the blueprint and use it as an overlay. He adjusted the size until it matched the satellite image of Grand Central, then toggled back to street view so he could see things more clearly. He zoomed in, adjusted the blueprint a fraction more and then double-tapped the operative. The phone zoomed all the way in.

He handed her the phone. ‘That’s where Denton is,’ he said. ‘If they were hunting for us there’d be more than one. That operative is with him.’

‘We need to check it out,’ she said. ‘But we have to wait for Nasira and Aviary.’

DC’s jaws set hard. ‘We really don’t have time,’ he said.

‘They just need to wait until it’s clear.’

‘There’s an entire squadron of Blue Berets between us and them,’ DC said quietly. ‘That squadron could be patrolling, it could be static, it could break into fire-teams. If we wait—’

‘We improve our odds,’ Sophia said.

DC raised an eyebrow. ‘Nasira is just one more operative. And your hacker explosives friend too.’

‘Recon it,’ Sophia said. ‘Then we pull back and decide.’

He nodded. ‘Assuming we have the luxury of a decision.’

Chapter 28

The Grand Central terminal’s sub-basement was a control center from another era. The air was warm and musty and the ceiling lights were sparse, accompanied by a sagging American flag. The walls of the long, narrow sub-basement were gilded with banks of machinery and switchboards Sophia wasn’t entirely sure still operated. DC led her through the labyrinthine space until they reached what looked like a giant metal hamster’s ball.

‘The old rotary converter,’ DC said. ‘Used to supply power to the trains. Hitler even targeted it once.’

‘Where’s this OSS base of yours?’ Sophia said.

‘It’s not mine,’ he said, taking a sharp left.

She followed him through to a much narrower corridor, the ceiling crowded with a dozen pipes. Occasional lamps glowed like lone fireflies. It was warmer down here.

‘Why did they build this place?’ Sophia said.

‘Originally it was a clandestine operations center for the OSS,’ DC said. ‘After the war, things shifted a little.’

‘What kind of shift?’ Sophia said.

‘The OSS sent a special team of US soldiers to seek and capture a specific list of Nazi scientists. Chemists, biochemists with coveted achievements in particular fields. They extracted the scientists from basements, cellars, castles, byzantine caves, death row. Secreted them in the United States. In this base.’

‘What sort of achievements are we talking?’ Sophia said.

DC paused at a nondescript door and held his hand out. ‘Lockpicks.’

Didn’t he have his own?

She took a pair of full-length lockpicks from her jeans and handed them over. He crouched in front of the door and got to work. Sophia took the opportunity to remove her jacket and stow it in her ruck.

‘Their speciality was human experimentation,’ DC said. ‘Conducted under the guidance of the Ahnenerbe institutes across Germany.’

‘Sounds like Denton’s kind of people,’ Sophia said, slipping her ruck back over her shoulders.

‘Well, that is where he started,’ DC said.

‘I’m betting he’s already—’

DC shushed her and focused on picking the lock. She felt her cheeks burn.

‘If you can’t do it, just give it to me,’ she said.

‘Look, I’m good for something,’ DC said.

‘Yeah, being ambiguous,’ she said.

‘I won’t let anything bad happen to you, I promise,’ DC said.

The door opened and he stepped aside.

She stepped through, pausing with her hand out. He dropped the lockpicks in her grasp. His fingers lingered across her palm. She stepped through and down a flight of metal stairs blackened with grime. Dangling from exposed wires, light globes peppered her descent. At the bottom she powered on her torch and turned her body to let DC by. He held a finger to his lips as he brushed past. His scent offered slight comfort at this subterranean depth, ten stories below Grand Central terminal.

The corridor was more of a tunnel, unlit and damp. Sophia followed without a word until it opened into a larger space, connecting with three other tunnels. Before them, a blast door that was retracted.

‘Welcome to Neverland,’ DC said, stepping into the concrete foyer. The entire base was still lit, feeding off Grand Central terminal. Or at least the power was still intact. Many of the globes and tubes had deteriorated.

‘So this is where they took the Nazi scientists?’ Sophia said.

She followed him inside, checking the corners of the enormous two-level foyer. Parts of the foyer that were not concrete had peeled or fallen away, leaving rusted metal skeletons across the balconies, stairs and walls.

‘Most of them,’ DC said.

She passed a long reception desk coated in a thin layer of dust and dirt. Debris crunched underfoot.

DC paused to check the plaque at reception for directions to the different levels. He dusted it with an elbow. She knew it wouldn’t be very forthcoming but it should give them a clue at least.

‘What sort of human experimentation did they do for the OSS?’ Sophia said. ‘Were they programming operatives back in those days? Playing with viruses?’

It got a small laugh out of him. ‘Not really,’ he said. ‘Once they had the Nazi scientists here, they brought thousands of Army-enlisted men. The men unwittingly volunteered to expose themselves to comet-borne viruses.’

‘I almost don’t want to ask why,’ Sophia said. ‘But I will anyway.’

He turned to meet her gaze.

‘Why?’ she said.

‘Easy.’ DC started up the stairs. ‘They wanted to make Captain America.’

‘Who’s that?’ Sophia said. Her voice bounced off the concrete walls.

DC paused in mid-step and studied her. ‘You’re j—you don’t know,’ he said. ‘He was a new comic book superhero in the forties. They used to draw him fighting Nazis and punching Hitler.’ DC continued up the stairs. ‘He was injected with an experimental serum that imbued him with greater powers.’

Sophia snorted. ‘Like the Chimera vector?’

‘Sort of,’ DC said.

‘Are you sure it wasn’t the other way around?’ Sophia said, climbing the stairs after him. ‘You know, sounds like Captain America was inspired by the virus testing they did here.’

DC waited, watching her from behind a crumbling balustrade. She almost stumbled on a step and blushed.

‘Who knows?’ he said. ‘The OSS did recover a serum the Nazis developed during the war.’

‘Denton was ranting about a Nazi serum,’ Sophia said.

She caught up with him and continued through the upper level. The paint was peeling from the walls and some of the fluorescent tube lights dangled from one end. Sophia moved between them.

‘That serum kept Denton young and cunning for decades,’ DC said.

‘At least until he cashed in on the Chimera vector,’ Sophia said.

‘Yeah,’ DC said, following her. ‘The Chimera vector was … sexy in many ways.’

She turned to find his gaze was lower than it should’ve been.

‘Superior,’ he said. ‘Superior in many ways.’

It was his turn to blush.

She continued walking, keeping her smile to herself.

They reached a new courtyard. Vibrant green moss had bloomed out from what was once a thriving garden in the center but was now overrun by lichen. The moss spiraled around the pillars and curled over the balconies. Sophia wondered how many more decades before the entire base became a spongy emerald labyrinth.

The ceiling above was decorated with a large circular mosaic of what Sophia assumed was the OSS emblem. A pair of metallic eagle’s wings, or paratrooper wings. The eagle’s head, however, had been replaced by a single eye. The eye was large and gaped down at them, bits of the mosaic missing from the pupil.

‘OSS emblem?’ Sophia said.

DC shook his head. ‘It was a golden spearhead, and then it was a snake and thirteen stars. This looks like the Chinese Commando para wings, except there’s no parachute. Just a giant creepy eye.’

‘Maybe it’s the Fifth Column emblem?’ Sophia said, grinning.

DC shook his head and returned the smile. ‘I’ve never seen one,’ he said. ‘But this would be pretty close I guess.’

‘So, where to, Cap?’ Sophia said.

‘You’re the Cap, not me,’ DC said. ‘I’m au naturel.’

‘Sophia is fine,’ she said. ‘No Captain.’

‘You don’t speak Spanish?’ DC said.

‘That’s French.’

‘Oh,’ DC said. ‘Well anyway, it should be in containment on level six.’ He pointed to the moss garden below. ‘That’s level one.’

‘Five more below that,’ Sophia said. ‘We need to get a move on.’

‘I’ll lead the way—’ DC said.

But Sophia had started down the stairs to the courtyard.

‘Or you can,’ he said.

The moss in the courtyard was as tall as grass, springing back after each step. She moved into the center, eyeing the two diverging hallways ahead of them. DC walked down the stairs behind her.

DC said, ‘Be careful walking through—’

The ground gave way under her feet. She reached out but there was nothing to grab hold of. The entire courtyard fell beneath her. Moss, marble, plaster, debris—all of it. The heavy debris plummeted below, banging off rafters and beams. She fell after it, crashing through a plaster ceiling. It was like frozen powder, exploding under her feet the moment she landed. She kept falling. Another ceiling tore apart below, battered by chunks of marble. She scratched for the edge of the hole, but slipped through. Damp air filled her nostrils. She tried to grab a passing metal beam but it knocked her off-course, crushing the air from her lungs. She gasped. Everything spun, blurred. She drifted for the wall. Crashed into it, slid downwards. Dust and bits of debris stung her eyes. She dragged herself on the wall, slowing her fall. Hooked something. She let go so it didn’t dislocate her shoulder, but it was enough to slow her down.

She landed stomach-first on a large plastic pipe. It was too large to grasp but she managed to sling an arm around it, hanging by her armpit. The momentum sent her swinging under the pipe. She lost her grasp and found purchase on a thin metal frame. Both hands. She held firmly, swinging like a gymnast. Plaster flakes decorated the air around her like confetti.

‘Sophia!’ DC yelled from high above.

His voice echoed. She wanted to curse him for being so loud, then remembered she’d just caved in the center of the entire base and that had probably annoyed him more. But he didn’t call out again.

She looked up to see how far she’d fallen. Just above her, a giant slab of concrete was wedged in the chasm, dragging slowly on the edges. She recognized the two wings and the giant eye in the mosaic. The courtyard’s ceiling had fallen down the chasm after her. A few protrusions in the corners of the walls of the chasm had ground its descent to a halt. She saw powder fall from the corners and realized the halt would be a temporary one. If it came free, she would be crushed underneath.

She changed her grip on the metal frame so one hand was under and the other over. The frame started to bend. She looked around for something else. Below her was a dark chasm with bits of falling plaster and moss. She could hear chunks of heavy debris crashing below. Even if she avoided the mosaic slab, she would break her legs if she landed. She searched the walls. Plenty of things to grasp—broken outcrops of beams and pipes—but none of them anywhere near her.

She noticed a small metal rod protruding from a cavity in the wall beside her. It was damaged, curling downwards into the shape of a hook. The majority of the rod was firmly secured in concrete and would hold her weight.

She kept looking. There was nothing larger. The wall was sheer, flat, without texture. She was far between levels. Nothing but hard rock and concrete around her. The chasm—which might’ve originally served some sort of purpose—ran deep through the levels of the base. There was another level below her, exposed by the fallen debris. If she dropped straight down she’d fall through a big hole the debris had torn through it. But if she could swing away from the hole, she could land on firmer ground. Problem was, she had no means of doing so.

She reconsidered the hooked metal rod. She had the two carabiners attached to the carrying handle of her ruck, just behind her neck. The carrying handle was exceptionally strong. She’d attached the carabiners to it for good reason.

She released one hand from the metal frame. The frame groaned and she felt it drop her a few more inches. Slowly, not wanting to jerk or wrench the frame, she reached behind her head for the non-locking carabiner, the one not wrapped in paracord. Her elbow reached its limit. She was just able to grasp the carabiner. She breathed slowly, listened to the slab grind above her.

‘Come on,’ she whispered.

She pressed down with her thumb and disengaged the carabiner from the carrying handle. Holding it tightly, she returned her hand to the metal frame.

The small hooked rod was just out of reach. She had to get closer to the wall to reach it. She held the frame with both hands and shuffled carefully across to the wall. The slab above her growled and shifted some more. Powder sprinkled over her face, sticking to a layer of sweat. She reached over with one hand and hooked the carabiner onto the curled rod.

The carabiner clasped.

Engaged.

The slab crashed through.

She let go of the frame. Fell through the chasm.

The paracord unspooled from her ruck. She didn’t look up, but she could hear the slab roar from above. It was heavier than her, gained fast. She dropped towards the next level. She hoped the paracord had enough length.

The paracord drew taut.

Her descent stopped suddenly, her ruck pulling hard on her shoulders. She hung from the carabiner, dangling chest-down. Her armpits had kept her from slipping out of the ruck. The slab bore down on her.

Her sudden halt sent her into a fast swing under the falling slab. She saw the edge of the hole come rushing towards her. Firm ground. She reached out. The swing carried her through onto the debris-coated floor.

The slab fell behind her, through the chasm. She heard it grind, tip sideways and fall quicker. Her paracord drew taut. Hurled her across the floor. She slid back towards the chasm. The slab must’ve snagged the other carabiner. The speed and force of it pulling her was too great to wriggle out of the ruck’s shoulder straps. She was strapped in for the ride.

Her hand moved for the knife on her belt. The paracord tossed her onto one side, tearing at her jacket. She reached up and pulled the carabiner hard, lifting the paracord off the ground. She brought her knife under it and sliced.

The paracord frayed.

She kept working on it, her knife lacking a serrated edge. The edge of the chasm came up fast. She slashed the paracord again.

Half cut.

The edge of the hole came rushing to meet her. She slashed again.

The paracord severed.

She came to a sudden stop, dangling half over the edge. Knife in hand, she looked down into the darkness and saw the mosaic slab disappear. She tried to catch her breath. She heard the slab hit water.

Then she also heard debris shift behind her. She looked back to find a pistol aimed precisely at her head.

The operative wore a cherry-red leather jacket and a belt with enough room to slip a pistol down her jeans. Sophia recognized her as the operative from the museum who had been abducted by those masked Blue Berets. Denton had obviously gotten her back when he raided the Waldorf Astoria.

‘Hi,’ Sophia said. ‘You’re Czarina, right?’

Without a word, the operative tossed her a single ribbon of plasticuffs.

Sophia discarded her knife. ‘How romantic.’

*

Denton watched with interest as the operative instructed Sophia to kneel at the entrance of the debris-strewn laboratory.

‘I like what you’ve done with your face,’ Denton said. ‘It’s very … grim.’

Sophia had almost forgotten the half sugar skull the Mexican demon lady had painted on her face. Despite her unceremonious fall through the chasm, the face paint hadn’t rubbed off.

‘What took you so long?’ Denton said.

‘I stopped for a hot dog,’ Sophia said.

‘I wore my favorite suit,’ he said.

He seemed pleased to see her, and that bothered her. Perhaps it was because he was wearing a suit. Behind him, his small team of scientists stood by their equipment, waiting for his orders.

‘You’re really running low on friends these days,’ he said. ‘Would you like to borrow some of mine? Czarina perhaps?’ He gestured to the operative in the red jacket.

With her Cleopatra haircut and cherry-red lipstick, Czarina looked Sri Lankan. She watched Sophia with indifference, unconcerned that she was still wearing her ruck.

‘It’s a shame you didn’t bring that meteorite with you,’ Denton said. ‘Didn’t I say BYO on my invitation?’

Denton gave no order to Czarina to strip Sophia of her weapons. He was already inspecting her Glock. He weighed it in his hand, removed the magazine and cleared the chamber. She watched him catch the round and feed it back into the magazine. Then he handed both the Glock and the magazine to Czarina, who passed them over to a Blue Beret. The Blue Beret stored the magazine in a pouch on his vest and shoved the Glock into a larger pouch on his belt.

‘You know, since you won’t be needing it,’ Denton said.

She kept an eye on it. It was the only weapon in the room she could fire—everything else was fingerprint protected. Even the electroshock pistol Denton brandished. It was a slightly improved version of the more commonplace Taser electroshock pistol, except this one could retract its barbs from one target and engage a new target immediately.

Denton checked the cartridge and fired it into Sophia’s neck. She felt the dart-like probes break her skin. She waited for the electric current but it never came.

‘Compliance purposes,’ Denton said. ‘I’m sure you understand.’ He looked down at the plasticuffed hands in her lap. ‘We both know you can break your restraints in seconds. This is just a little stimulation.’

He squeezed the trigger and the charge whipped through her. She fell on her side, legs frozen and arms pulling into her chest. She almost punched herself in the face. Then the current stopped.

Denton frowned, but only for a moment. ‘You’re not alone,’ he said. ‘Who is with you?’

‘No one,’ she whispered, lying on the floor. ‘Unfortunately.’

She hoped somewhere nearby DC was preparing some sort of distraction, or destruction. Either would be good. As long as she wasn’t caught in the crossfire. Or blast radius, depending on what he had in mind.

Denton handed the electroshock pistol off to Czarina, keeping the wires connected to her. He stepped closer, but not close enough. The problem with being captured by Denton and his operatives was they were too smart to get within range. Once she was their captive, it was over. And the longer she remained their captive the more her chance of escape evaporated.

But she had DC.

Or did she? She couldn’t trust him completely.

Denton stood as close as he would dare. He feigned confidence, but she could feel a ripple of anxiety underneath. He had a lot on his plate today, she could tell.

Denton’s face was cold for a moment, then a slight smile emerged.

‘DC,’ he said. ‘Now that’s interesting.’

Sophia felt her insides chill. She hadn’t let anything slip. How did he know?

‘What makes you think that?’ she said.

Denton didn’t answer. He retreated to a moss-coated table scattered with equipment his scientists had piled on top. It looked like the sort of apparatus he could use to isolate and extract the Phoenix virus. She felt a growing certainty build inside her—she was too late.

‘You can sit back up now,’ Denton said.

‘You’re too kind,’ Sophia said.

‘He’s not working alone, you know,’ Denton said. ‘He has other friends. Friends you might not like.’

Sophia tried to shrug. ‘That’s life,’ she said. ‘If you don’t like them, you—’

‘Kill them,’ Denton said. Then he smiled. ‘Or at least use them. And then kill them.’

‘I see you haven’t changed,’ she said.

‘Oh, I wouldn’t be entirely sure of that,’ he said. ‘There are some remarkable wonders of this world—and not of this world—and they change you.’

Sophia wet her lips. She was tired, dehydrated. But she had to keep focus. She was still lying on her side. ‘What are you doing here?’ she asked.

She knew quite well what he was doing—or at least part of it—but she was curious what he might say. More so how he would say it. And it might buy DC some time. Assuming he was even thinking of helping her. She tried not to think about that too much.

‘See, I don’t need you in the capacity I once did,’ Denton said, removing his suit jacket. ‘Gifts from the heavens.’

‘You don’t strike me as the religious type,’ she said.

‘When I’m God I’ll get back to you on that,’ he said, searching for somewhere to hang his jacket. ‘Do you recall your most recent social engagement with Dr Cecilia McLoughlin?’

‘Vividly.’

Denton settled for hanging his jacket on the back of a steel chair. But he wiped moss from the chair first.

‘Well, add to the fact I essentially saved your life in the OpCenter—and it wouldn’t be the first time—McLoughlin was, as you might have noticed, desperate,’ he said. The thought seemed to bring a glow to his face. ‘For all her wiles and calculation, she didn’t understand the scope.’

‘She had some ambitious plans,’ Sophia said. ‘I’ll give her that.’

Denton’s hands knotted into fists. Sophia noticed that. He relaxed them, breathing deeply through his nose.

‘She had pieces,’ he said. ‘One piece. Almost, anyway. Even that slipped through her fingers.’

‘What are you doing here?’ Sophia said, eyeing off the equipment on the moss table.

Denton licked his lips. ‘Do you recall the code McLoughlin was so desperate to extract from you? The one you didn’t even have.’

The one she’d just been discussing with DC. Owen Freeman had entrusted her with it instead of him. She’d memorized the code for the chromosomal location of the Phoenix virus. In her own DNA, it seemed.

‘That’s really quite amazing,’ Denton said.

He turned on his heel and plucked a thick permanent marker from the clutter of equipment. Wiping the seat of his chair clean again, he started to write on the surface.

‘It just … popped in there,’ Denton said, smiling. ‘Like a giant image.’

She watched him write.

X Q 1 2

He shook his head. ‘My God, can you imagine what all three Phoenix viruses will be like?’

Sophia realized what he was writing. His hand trembled with excitement.

X Q 1 2 X P 3 1 2

‘Was there a dot in there somewhere?’ Denton seemed to gaze through her. ‘Right, yes.’

He plunged the marker onto the table, putting a dot between the number 1 and the number 2.

Denton knew the code.

He knew the chromosomal location of the Phoenix virus in her DNA.

How did he know?

Denton turned to the others in the room, ignoring Czarina. They appeared to be his personal traveling Phoenix virus development team.

‘This, ladies and gentlemen, is your chromosomal location.’

Denton reached into his own pocket and grasped a small hard container, the same type of container she kept her escape and evasion items inside. Only Denton’s was for keeping several plastic vials. Each filled with blood.

She realized it was her blood. Samples from the Fifth Column, taken long ago.

What had she done?

Denton finally had what Dr Cecilia McLoughlin could not acquire. He had her blood and he had the Phoenix virus in her blood. She’d just walked right in and handed it to him.

He’d already injected one of the Phoenix viruses, and now he had the second. She just hoped he hadn’t caught Damien and Jay.

The gift of tongue; to hear the words unspoken.

Denton had read the code right out of her mind. All he had to do was make her think of it and then pinch the image from her mind. All because of a goddamned electrical signal firing in her brain. Until today she hadn’t even known something or someone could receive that signal.

‘I’ve been waiting a long time for this,’ Denton said. ‘A long time.’

He handed one of the vials to his team so they could begin.

She was too late.

‘I honestly don’t have the time to interrogate—well, torture—you,’ Denton said. ‘Which is really quite wonderful because that would take an awful long time on someone as damaged as yourself. Now we can synthesize the virus anew. Prepare a vector and give it a spin.’

If you’re out there, DC, now might be a good time.

STAGE 3
BREACH

Chapter 29

Sophia watched Denton admire the vial in his hands. His team had finished synthesizing the virus or whatever it was they did to help Denton strip the Phoenix from her DNA. Something she scarcely knew she had until today.

Denton attached the needle and extended his arm.

‘Colonel, do you want a test subject first?’ Czarina said in a low tone.

‘I’ll do just fine,’ he said. He pierced the basilic vein that bulged from the inside of his elbow and pushed the plunger.

‘Are we waiting for your third virus to arrive?’ Sophia said.

‘Patience,’ he said, ‘is not a virtue. But it will come, soon.’ He licked his lips. ‘I don’t suppose there’s anyone else helping you? You used to have a few buddies. Nasira?’

Sophia tried not to think of her. Or her location. What she was doing.

Denton turned to Czarina, who was still holding the electroshock pistol. ‘Have the Blue Berets sweep the dining concourse in Grand Central,’ he said. ‘They should find Nasira. And a … friend of hers. Dyed red hair.’

Sophia felt her stomach tighten. She tried not to think of Nasira and focused on Denton. Focused on Czarina. Any escape or sabotage plans that floated in her head, she had to push away. If Denton could snatch fragments of her thoughts then anything was fair game.

‘There’s a little more to it than just fragments,’ Denton said. He snapped his fingers. ‘Tyler, how does it work? Tell her what you told me this afternoon.’

One of the scientists, plain-clothed like the others, froze in position, blinking.

‘Oh, well, a significant portion of our DNA are actually viruses. The virus DNA is absorbed—’

Denton shook his head. ‘Just get to the Phoenix virus, the mislabeled sample we found in this base that I injected an hour ago. The Scryer.’

‘Ah yes, that Phoenix virus rapidly integrated with your DNA and began coding proteins that release the neurotransmitter acetylcholine,’ Tyler said. ‘It activated the parasympathetic element of your autonomic nervous system. This is called being in a state of cholinergia. Which you’re experiencing at this moment, Colonel.’

Denton drew a circle in the air with one finger. ‘And after that?’

‘Well, from the preliminary tests we ran on your blood work and brain activity, it appears to be altering your brain function. We cannot determine gene expression without—’

Denton held up a hand. ‘Without using a breath mint,’ he said. ‘I can smell the garlic from here and it’s quite disgusting.’ He turned from Tyler to Sophia. ‘So the upshot of it is I can remotely read electrical signals from your brain and interpret them.’ Like tuning a radio. All I have to do is adjust the dial and listen.’ He smiled, his gaze drifting from Sophia. ‘Doors open that I didn’t know existed. I’m hooked into a stream of information no one else can access.’ He closed his eyes for a moment. ‘I feel connected, alive.’

Denton placed the empty syringe on the moss-coated table. ‘And now I’ll have another virus to add to my collection.’ He opened and closed his fist, then dabbed some blood from his elbow. He rubbed it between two fingers, deep in thought. ‘Sorry love, but you can’t read my thoughts,’ Denton said. Then he paused, fingers apart. ‘But you can smell them.’

Sophia didn’t say anything.

He nodded, intrigued. ‘You’re picking up on pheromones, aren’t you?’ he said. ‘Clever girl. Finally, achievement unlocked.’ He approached her. ‘How? By accident? Naturally? Some sort of deprogramming glitch?’

Sophia honestly didn’t know how it happened, but it had started at the festival that evening.

‘Ah,’ he said. ‘Maybe it was the tracking marker you removed recently. We were following you, but I didn’t want to collect on that just yet. Tried it this week and noticed you were off the grid.’ He smiled. ‘Just when I needed you too.’

She watched him unroll his sleeve. ‘You wanted me here?’

He shrugged. ‘It was really a matter of who or what arrived first. The meteorite from the museum or yourself. I could take either.’

‘That meteorite has the same—’

‘Phoenix virus as you do,’ he said. ‘Save your energy, I can finish your sentences for you now.’

‘I wouldn’t want to steal your fun,’ she said.

‘No,’ he said. ‘No, I’m having a wonderful time. Your boys needn’t run so recklessly with that rock of theirs. Considering I don’t need it anymore.’

‘Then why are you pursuing it?’ she said.

‘For my collection,’ he said. ‘Nothing against your blood, but I prefer something a little more solid.’ He inhaled sharply, then drummed his fingers on the empty syringe. ‘Tell me, what do you smell on me?’

‘It’s not a smell,’ she said. ‘Well, your deodorant wore off.’

‘Well, whatever you call it.’ He tapped his nose. ‘It’s collected here and processed in your brain so let’s not get pedantic. Unless it’s me doing it, in which case it’s acceptable.’

Sophia swallowed. ‘Desperation.’

Denton’s hand hit the table, hard, dislodging moss. ‘If there is one thing I am not, it is desperate. Not anymore, at least.’

He held up two fingers and at first Sophia thought he was giving her the peace sign.

‘Two Phoenix viruses down, one to go,’ he said. ‘Oh, but I can see myself in your mind.’ He leaned toward her, entranced. ‘Strength. Resolution. It’s—’

‘Cold,’ she said. ‘There’s a void.’

‘There is no void,’ he said in a low voice.

She could smell his breath. ‘There is,’ she said. ‘I can feel it. No one else has it.’

‘The word you’re looking for is evolution,’ he said, drawing the pistol from his holster.

Sophia stared down the barrel of his Heckler & Koch USP pistol.

‘And thank you, by the way,’ he said. ‘It’s been fun.’

A deep groan echoed from the depths of the OSS base. It wasn’t a human groan, but a metallic one. Something exploded below them. They all looked sharply down through the grated metal floor. A surge of foaming water burst through the walls and filled the base below them.

Denton turned to his team. ‘Pack it up!’ he yelled. ‘Get everything back to the surface.’

Something slammed across Denton’s pistol, knocking it from his grasp. Sophia identified the shiny blur.

DC’s sword.

It hit the metal floor with a high-pitched clang. The pistol skittered across the floor. DC lifted his sword and cut horizontally. Denton reeled back, across the moss table. The sword caught the wire attached to Sophia’s neck, tearing the electroshock pistol from Czarina’s hands. Denton’s team hustled quickly through the exit on Sophia’s left, across the spindly catwalk that connected to the outer ring of the OSS base.

Czarina drew her pistol and took aim at DC.

Water exploded into the room—spraying shattered glass across the table, covering Denton. He slid off the table, landed beside it, covered in clumps of moss. Sophia shut her eyes as the water and moss washed over her. She stood up—Day of the Dead makeup stinging her eyes—and thrust her plasticuffed wrists down hard across her midsection. The force of the impact snapped the bindings.

Czarina’s pistol washed between her knees. She went to grab it but her fingers were still numb from breaking the plasticuffs: it slipped away, carried by the water. She turned to chase but lost sight of it immediately. Water surged around her hips and poured through the only place it could—the exit on her left. Denton’s team made it across the catwalk, the last of the scientists slipping but regaining his footing. They made it out.

DC cut the air with his sword. Czarina weaved to avoid the blade. Sophia got to her feet and moved around DC, avoiding his sword. She could see Denton doing the same, edging for the exit.

She yelled to DC. ‘Stop Denton!’

DC rolled across the table—sword held to one side. He came up and lashed at Denton. It would have been a quick decapitation, except Denton knew it was coming. Denton kicked under the table, knocking DC off balance. Sophia moved for Czarina but a hard surge of water pinned them both to the wall.

Czarina reached for a knife and went in for a backhanded stab. Sophia smashed her elbow into Czarina’s forearm. She took the electrode wires still attached to her neck and wrapped them around Czarina’s arm, around her neck—then tore the barbs from her neck.

Blood, diluted ruby red with water, washed down her arm. She kicked Czarina hard in the midsection, sending her sideways along the wall—out the exit and sprawling across the spindly catwalk. More water rushed through and knocked Czarina off the catwalk.

Sophia dived for her, tried to grab her hand. She missed. Czarina dangled under the catwalk from one hand. Sophia checked over her shoulder. Denton was behind her. He turned as DC closed on him, sword in both hands. Sophia scrambled farther onto the catwalk. She rolled to her feet and swiveled, facing them.

Denton was unarmed, trapped between DC and herself.

DC thrust his sword forward. Denton sidestepped the blade, then ducked the next attack. DC moved closer, slicing Denton from every angle. The frenzied movements of the blade made it difficult for Sophia to get any closer and help subdue Denton, who seemed able to evade every strike. He advanced on DC, tearing the sword from his grasp and almost cutting his head off.

DC rolled back into the room.

Denton brought the sword toward her. Sophia ducked under the handrail. She swung between the handrail supports. Denton struck the next section of handrail. It buckled under the force of the strike and knocked Sophia off the catwalk completely.

Water rushed beneath her. Her fingers found purchase and she hung in the path of the foaming water. She shut her eyes against the blast, pulling herself up to see properly. There was salt in the water and it made her eyes sting. She was hanging under the catwalk, not much further along from where Czarina had hung.

She tried to look through the crashing water around her but couldn’t see the operative anywhere. Her eyes burned. She blinked, wiped her face across her arm to get the salt out. All that came off was a smear of her Day of the Dead makeup.

Above her, Denton and DC struggled across the catwalk. She could hear the clang of the sword striking metal. The catwalk buckled slightly and dropped a few inches. It wasn’t in the best shape and banging it around with the sword certainly wasn’t helping.

She lifted herself up until the top of her head pressed against the grille. The water pushed on her, eroding her grip. Above her, the battle shifted farther along the walkway, away from the room. She let go with one hand and allowed the water to force her back, then reached up to grab the edge of the catwalk. It wasn’t much of a grip but her other hand was slipping.

She grabbed the lip of the catwalk with both hands. She was waist-deep in fast-moving water. The catwalk shivered a few inches lower.

Sophia grabbed one of the handrail supports and held. Every muscle in her arms and shoulders burned in protest. She pulled herself up to the handrail, grabbed it with both hands and hauled herself onto the catwalk. She could see Denton forcing DC into retreat. She could also see a Blue Beret at the far end, taking up a position in the next room to fire on DC.

‘Behind you!’ she yelled above the roaring water.

DC dropped to one knee and kicked behind him. His boot caught the Blue Beret’s kneepad and knocked him onto his face. DC grappled for the carbine. It bounced off the handrail and disappeared into the water. The Blue Beret drew his pistol. DC’s hands closed over it. Their legs and arms entangled as they fought for control over the pistol. DC wrenched it from the Blue Beret, breaking the soldier’s finger through the trigger guard, and aimed at Denton—who batted the pistol off the catwalk with his sword.

Sophia looked for anything she could use. She still had her ruck on, so she searched for her spare Gerber knife, only to remember she’d given it to Aviary as a present. Denton swung at DC again, but DC rolled over the Blue Beret. The sword struck the Blue Beret in his sternum, fracturing the boron carbide plate and continuing part way into the soldier’s chest.

Sophia moved quickly for Denton. He knew she was coming and freed the sword from the Blue Beret’s armor by pressing his boot onto the soldier’s chest. He turned and carried the sword over his head. Sophia weaved to one side, hitting the handrail. It came free and she teetered on the edge. The sword struck the middle of the catwalk behind him.

She did the only thing she could do—threw herself backward onto the pinned sword. She landed on it before Denton could draw it free, protected by her ruck, and kicked him in his midsection. He lost his grip on the sword and landed on top of the critically wounded Blue Beret, almost rolling off the catwalk and into the water.

Sophia moved off the sword, her ruck still intact. She drew the sword as she moved and came to one knee. DC was nowhere to be seen. It was just her and Denton now.

She slashed left to right, just over the handrails. Denton dropped back on the Blue Beret to avoid the blade. She slashed again, right to left. This time Denton dived forward, over the Blue Beret. The blade passed over his head.

Sophia retreated and slashed downward, aiming for the back of his head. He rolled to one side. The blade missed. She kept her strikes light and controlled, careful not to embed the blade in the degrading catwalk. Denton’s roll knocked an upright off the walk completely and the entire handrail on that side fell away.

More room for her to manipulate the sword—she slashed across from her shoulder. Denton rolled the other way, leaped back to his feet. She moved in, worked the blade from side to side. The blade struck the left handrail and it peeled off, dangling from the end of the catwalk.

Denton came so close that she thought he might get around the blade. She retreated quickly. His movements were precisely timed and responsive. She kept slashing, thrusting—but Denton evaded every strike as though he knew it was coming before it happened.

He smiled and retreated a step, hands comfortably resting at his sides. He knew he was untouchable and there was nothing she could do about it. She watched him turn and walk away, toward the end of the catwalk.

Then she had an idea.

She brought the sword down across the catwalk before her—across the fractured steel, peppered with mold. Denton turned, saw the strike in mid-motion, and reacted. The blow cracked the catwalk. Two-thirds of the catwalk—with Denton standing on it—tipped downward.

Denton was in mid-jump. He landed on a parallel catwalk one level below, and crashed into the handrail support.

She was ready too. Her end of the catwalk remained stable, but it wouldn’t be for long. She jumped. A clear, prepared jump that brought her into the center of the parallel catwalk, sword held out to one side. She wasn’t letting him get away that easily. She dropped into a shoulder roll and came to her feet. She stood and drew her sword in. She was farther from the rush of incoming water now but the water level in the flooding base began to swell beneath her.

Denton didn’t wait for her to advance. He moved for the exit as fast as possible. She looked down to see water lapping her feet. Behind her, the catwalk shook suddenly.

She spotted Czarina. She’d fallen from the higher catwalk and, carried by the water, grabbed hold of the parallel catwalk as she passed under it. Czarina was clinging to it now, elbows over the side, mouth just above the water.

Denton made it to the end. He gave her a quick salute before disappearing into the outer ring of the OSS base. She wanted to pursue him, but there was Czarina.

‘Hey!’ DC called out from the room above.

He was still alive. That was a good sign.

‘Get out of there!’ he yelled.

Sophia turned to see Czarina’s elbows slip. She disappeared from view. Sophia could see fingers clinging underneath. The water pulled on Czarina. She had only moments before she’d lose her hold completely.

Sophia looked up. DC had gone. He was the only one who could operate any of the Blue Beret firearms. Maybe he’d catch up to Denton and take him down.

Sophia dropped the sword on the catwalk and ran to Czarina. She slid across the end, her slide spraying water into her own face. She reached into the rushing water and grabbed Czarina’s wrist.

Sophia braced herself with the tips of her boots clamping each side of the catwalk. She hauled Czarina up. Her wrist surfaced. Sophia brought her other hand across, pulled Czarina with both hands. Every muscle in her arms, shoulders and back burned to get the operative to the surface.

Czarina gasped for air, held onto Sophia. The catwalk buckled and Sophia plunged a foot deeper into the water. She heard her sword slide down the footbridge, coming to rest beside her leg. She ignored it and pulled Czarina up by her red jacket and onto the catwalk. Czarina clawed across the metal, rolled out of the buckled section and onto higher ground. She coughed water.

Sophia took her sword and rolled away. Czarina propped up on her elbows, strips of long brown hair smeared across her face. She coughed more water and stared evenly at Sophia.

For a moment they just stared at each other. Sophia wondered what to do next. Leave her. Kill her. Wound her. Capture her. Deprogram her.

There wasn’t much time for any except the first. But she’d gone to the trouble of rescuing her, leaving her seemed senseless—and careless if Czarina tracked her and killed her while she was trying to escape.

‘Why did you do that?’ Czarina said between breaths.

Sophia could sense lingering aggression. It pushed out toward her in waves. Czarina was not her friend. The pheromones or whatever DC called them, they were warning signals. And she was getting them loud and clear.

She did the only thing she could do.

‘Children three that nestle near, eager eye and willing ear,’ Sophia said. ‘Pleased a simple tale to hear.’

Czarina twitched.

Sophia reached for her sword. ‘Children three that—’

‘Access permitted,’ Czarina said suddenly.

Sophia swallowed. ‘Execute parapsyche designation Lycaon,’ she said.

‘Lycaon loaded,’ Czarina said. Goosebumps crept across Sophia’s neck. ‘Request command.’

The waves of aggression dropped off. Now there were no warning signs at all. Sophia didn’t know if this was a good thing or whether it was worse. She rose to her feet. ‘Follow me,’ she said.

‘Command received,’ Czarina said, mirroring her movements.

‘I’m your ally,’ Sophia said. ‘Echo status.’

Czarina stared at her with mild curiosity. ‘You are my ally.’

‘DC is your ally,’ Sophia said. ‘Denton and all Blue Berets are hostile.’

‘Copy that,’ Czarina said. She didn’t move.

Water lapped at Czarina’s ankles.

‘Where is your firearm?’ Sophia said.

‘I lost my pistol in the water,’ Czarina said instantly.

Sophia turned and started moving quickly across the catwalk. ‘Get us out of here,’ she said.

Czarina skipped over the buckled section and followed Sophia. They moved inside a stable room. It wouldn’t be stable for long—it was already inch-deep in dirty water. Czarina moved past Sophia and increased her speed. She gave no expression, no sign of struggle or confusion. She just moved at the speed necessary to escape the flooding base.

Sophia held onto the sword. She didn’t know how binding her commands were to an operative in slave mode. In fact, she hardly knew anything about slave mode. Leoncjusz died before he could tell her. 

This was a bad idea.

Czarina moved from room to room—each as dark and barren as the last, some empty, others cluttered with moldy furniture and large CRT monitors from the eighties—yellowed and speckled in mold.

Czarina found the stairs and started up them quickly. Sophia heard the roar of water behind them. She turned to see a wall of water punch through the doorway behind her. She broke into a sprint, catching up to Czarina on the second floor. Sophia hit the stairs at full speed. Water hit the stairs, the walls, kicked up and sprayed across her face.

Sophia still gripped her sword tightly. She was wet and cold, as saturated as Czarina. She probably looked nightmarish with the smeared sugar-skull makeup across her face. Czarina, on the other hand, appeared somewhat more in control. Her hair didn’t interfere with her vision and even her cherry-red lipstick refused to smear across chestnut skin.

Sophia noticed two dead Blue Berets on this level. Czarina continued up to the third level, retrieving a carbine from a Blue Beret. Sophia noticed the other Blue Beret was already relieved of his carbine. She hoped it was DC who’d liberated it and not Denton.

Sophia didn’t bother going for the Berets’ pistols, but then she remembered her Glock. She padded around the vest pockets of the first Blue Beret, found nothing. She checked the second Blue Beret and found a magazine. Her Glock magazine. She held it in one hand and searched the pouches on his belt. She had to roll him over. Water washed over her hands. It was rising fast.

Czarina paused on the next flight of stairs and looked down. She seemed to show no interest in turning the carbine against her new master. Sophia felt uncomfortable with a slave-mode operative carrying a carbine but let her for now. It was no use in her hands.

Czarina didn’t say anything, just watched. Sophia didn’t want to test how long before Czarina warned her—or if she ever would. Sophia felt the pouch on the back of his belt. It was barely closed and she ran her fingers across a pistol-shaped bulge. She opened it and found her Glock.

There you are.

She loaded the magazine as she ran, racked the slide, moved up the stairs. The water flushed in behind her.

Czarina’s knowledge of the base was useful. They changed stairs and moved across the complex, through a smaller interior courtyard and two more corridors before moving up another two flights of stairs. From there, Czarina twisted them through the edge of the base and out through the concrete foyer. Before they reached the sub-basement, Sophia stopped.

‘Is there another way out?’ Sophia said. ‘They’ll ambush us.’

Czarina nodded and picked out another tunnel. It took them into a disused subway tunnel.

Czarina checked both ends of the tunnel and then dropped to one knee. She stared carefully over the holographic sight on her carbine. Sophia moved near her and took a moment to slow her heart rate, careful not to lay the blade of her sword across the third rail and electrocute herself.

‘Your command,’ the operative said coldly.

‘Right.’ Sophia cleared her throat. ‘Take us to Grand Central through another tunnel; avoid being seen,’ she said. ‘Only engage if we have to,’ she added, mostly to herself.

‘Copy that.’ Czarina launched to both feet and started moving quickly, carbine half raised.

Sophia had her Glock and four magazines, minus two rounds she’d fired in the elevator at those Roman soldiers. She had sixty-six rounds. She loaded her spare three mags from her ruck into the pouches along the left side of her belt.

A pistol wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing. She took comfort in Czarina wielding her SOPMOD carbine, even if she was in slave mode.

Sophia held her sword in her left hand and the Glock in her right. She stayed ten feet behind Czarina at all times. The operative seemed to know the way back. They emerged short of a platform under Grand Central. She wasn’t sure which one but Czarina didn’t look concerned. Then again, in slave mode Czarina could be facing certain death and she wouldn’t look concerned.

It occurred to Sophia that the woman might be playing along and leading her into a trap. But there were no waves of aggression and they would be hard to conceal. Her thoughts were interrupted when she heard the distant echo of gunfire from above.

‘That doesn’t sound good,’ she said to herself.

‘Blue Berets,’ Czarina said. ‘Hostile.’

Sophia gripped her sword and looked at the platform ahead. ‘Additional allies: Nasira, Aviary—she has red hair.’

‘New allies confirmed,’ Czarina said. ‘Nasira, Aviary.’

Denton could read her thoughts now. At least in close proximity. But he could only get at her conscious thoughts, not her memories, not her subconscious. If she ran into him again, she knew she would have to suppress any critical information from her conscious thoughts.

She needed to start thinking garbage and let her subconscious do the work. Just as she’d been taught in Belize: to fight with her subconscious. The same fighting system she’d taught her team, and Nasira had in turn taught Damien and Jay. If she could apply this not just to her combut but to her own thoughts, it just might be the only way to defeat Denton.

‘Are you wearing an earpiece?’ Sophia said.

‘Yes,’ Czarina said.

She cursed herself for not thinking of this sooner.

‘Can you hear Denton on that frequency?’ Sophia asked.

‘Yes.’

‘Give me your radio.’

Czarina placed her SOPMOD carbine carefully on the ground and removed her earpiece. Sophia wiped and inserted it into her left ear. Now she had two earpieces running. One for her team, one for Denton’s team. Or at least she would until their next frequency switch. She needed to take advantage of that and close on Denton while she still could.

She took Czarina’s radio, the mike cable unplugged. She didn’t want to use the throat mike and the attached cable, but she hung onto it just in case and stuffed it in one of her vest pockets. Her vest was soaked and it smelled strongly of salt and mold.

Czarina was radio free now. She held her carbine in both hands again and stared down the tunnel at the platform ahead.

Sophia slipped the radio unit into another pouch on her vest. The battery was three-quarters charged. It was communicating wirelessly with her earpiece, which was all she needed. So far, she’d heard only two Blue Beret commands. They were sparing and precise, transmitting only for as long as they needed to. It seemed they were moving into position on the upper concourse inside Grand Central terminal, but she didn’t know exactly where.

Then she heard it.

‘Standby for detonation,’ Denton said in her ear. ‘Green squadron, hold your position on me—dining concourse, over.’

Sophia pointed to Czarina’s carbine. ‘Can you disable the fingerprint on that so I can use it?’

‘Negative,’ Czarina said without so much as glancing at it. ‘I don’t have the authorization.’

‘Fuck me,’ Sophia said.

‘Is that your command?’ Czarina said.

‘No, I mean follow me,’ Sophia said.

Chapter 30

Damien gripped his lockpicks between bloodstained fingers and unlocked the apartment. Jay was leaning on him to remain upright, and he wasn’t exactly light. Damien called out twice as he entered, but the apartment—like the building itself—had been evacuated, along with most of midtown. Damien had found this old three-story building above a Mexican Grill and helped Jay climb the stairs to the second floor. They had to stop on the second floor because Jay didn’t seem capable of going much farther.

Damien carefully lowered him to the sofa of the second-level apartment, removing his tuxedo jacket first. He kept Jay’s feet on the floor but noticed the lower half of his shirt was stained red.

Even with the meteorite in the ruck, which Damien kept on his back, and Blue Berets and operatives tracking them, he needed to attend to Jay’s injury now or he might bleed out before his Chimera vector-accelerated healing could do anything about it.

Jay was still conscious, still breathing. Both good signs. There were minor signs of shock but he was keeping it together. Damien unbuttoned the dress shirt to check the wounds. The nine-millimeter round had entered through the back of Jay’s thigh, struck his femoral artery and exited through his abdomen. Damien could see the exit wound clearly. Normally that was the priority but in this case Damien needed to stop Jay’s artery bleeding out.

He removed Jay’s belt and tightened it high on the affected thigh as a tourniquet. The bleeding stopped once Damien got the tension right. Now it was down to the exit wound in his stomach. Lacking QuickClot or Celox, Damien knew the only option was to apply pressure to Jay’s stomach to staunch the blood flow.

Damien hunted for a clean towel in the bathroom and instead found a basic first-aid kit. OK, even better, he thought. Pinching a roll of gauze from the kit, he wrapped it firmly around Jay’s torso. He went through two layers before the exit wound stopped bleeding. Then he ran it a third time to finish the roll.

Jay’s pulse was stronger now. Hopefully now the accelerated healing would deal with any internal damage from the round. The entry wound would heal too, without the need for stitches. Damien wasn’t sure about the exit wound, or how the Chimera vectors would fare with infection.

He left Jay for a moment and peered out an open window next to the air conditioning unit. Lexington Avenue was dark. Streetlights flickered. The city was silent except for the soothing drum of rain. There was still some power in this part of midtown, although he didn’t know for how much longer. Opposite him, a monstrous glass building disappeared high into an uncertain atmosphere. Damien didn’t know truly how tall the building was, but it glistened in the storm.

New York City was unnervingly quiet. A howl of wind gathered along the avenue. He checked his watch. 2206. The hurricane had made landfall and it would hit midtown in no time. He didn’t know how much worse it would get before it got better. But he knew it was a problem, and not his only one.

He shut the window and returned to Jay on the sofa. Jay’s eyes were still open and a bit of warmth had returned to his skin. Damien checked for bleeding below his thigh and was glad to find it had stopped. He buttoned the shirt but Jay swatted him and fumbled with the buttons himself.

‘You have to move,’ Jay said. ‘They’ll be on us soon.’

‘We have to move,’ Damien said.

Jay shook his head. ‘Do I look like I can outrun operatives and Special Forces? Right now I can’t even outrun a sausage dog,’ he said. ‘You know, I haven’t had a hot dog in a while.’

Damien heard an engine and checked the window. Over the sound of rain he could hear a vehicle moving south along Lexington. It came into view, stopping a hundred feet short of the Mexican Grill.

‘You hear something?’ Jay whispered from the lounge.

‘Marauder,’ Damien said.

Jay cursed softly.

The Marauder was an armored fighting vehicle, retrofitted for domestic use. The desert colors on its double-skin monocoque hull had been given a black coat for this special occasion. To Damien it looked like a cross between a 4WD and a tank. It had an angry triangular front and rear, ports on the side of the ballistic resistant glass to shoot from, and a gunner platform in the roof with a mounted M2 .50 cal machine gun. Damien could see a masked Blue Beret manning the .50 cal.

The Marauder was bad news.

The rear opened and four masked Blue Berets spilled out. They moved in pairs, two approaching the front and the other moving into an alley, soon out of Damien’s view. One of the front Berets carried a mini battering ram in one hand, black and no larger than a fire hydrant.

Damien adjusted the straps on his ruck and fetched Jay.

‘Looks like DC’s boss is on a slightly different page to him. We’re leaving,’ Damien said. ‘Now.’

Jay winced as Damien hauled him to his feet. ‘I can’t move, you know that.’

‘Look, your arrow wound has already healed over,’ Damien said. ‘We can do this.’

‘Yeah, I have another hole now,’ Jay said. ‘And it’s less fun than the last one!’

With Jay’s arm over his shoulder, Damien pulled him to the door, then changed his mind. He took him back to the window next to the air-conditioning unit.

He watched the pair of Blue Berets move below them. He heard the steel ram hit the glass, their boots crunching as they stepped through.

‘Take the rock and run,’ Jay said. ‘Across the rooftops—whatever, you’re the only one who has a chance at getting away.’

Damien levered the window open. ‘I’m not leaving you here so shut up.’

‘If you have the rock they’ll go after you,’ Jay said. ‘Won’t even know I was here.’

’Damien looked through the window and caught a glimpse of a figure silently following the Berets in.

They weren’t on the same side.

Jay held a finger to his lips.

Gunfire cracked below.

‘Now,’ Damien said.

He climbed out, careful not to bang his head on the frame, and helped a less-nimble Jay out. Their footsteps on the fire escape were loud. He was glad the rain—and the gunfire—masked them.

‘They’re dead,’ Jay said in his ear.

He looked over to see the .50 cal operator slumped on the roof of the Marauder. The driver wasn’t visible.

There were no stairs below their fire escape level, just the extendable ladder that dropped to the footpath. Damien pulled the latch to release the ladder but it wouldn’t budge. He tried with both hands.

‘Give it here,’ Jay said. He clamped both hands on the latch and winced.

It was rusted in place.

No time.

Damien stepped over the handrail and onto the roof of the Mexican Grill. He landed neatly with both feet, knees bending to keep the noise low. He moved forward to give Jay room. The gap was three feet wide but Jay was another three feet above.

He could see Jay struggle to duck under the handrail and jump. He didn’t make it.

Damien dived forward as Jay’s hands reached the edge. He hung from the edge. One hand slipped. Damien grabbed the other. Used his other hand to brace and pull Jay up.

Gunfire cracked from inside. The operatives were deeper in the foyer, fighting the masked Blue Berets.

Rain poured through Damien’s hair, mixing with the styling wax Jay had made him use and running into his eyes. It stung and he could barely see Jay dangling right in front of the apartment block entrance.

Damien crawled forward to check the distance. Under Jay there was another six feet or so to the pavement. Jay looked up and nodded. Damien released him. Jay landed roughly, not quite in a roll but more of a hand-plant to one side. Further downtown Damien noticed another vehicle emerge, headlights peering through the rain.

Cheetah—a smaller, lighter armored vehicle.

Damien moved across the Mexican Grill roof and jumped from the end, landing and rolling with his ruck on. He doubled back to snatch Jay and haul him to the Marauder. Its lights were still on and the engine running. He was well aware both Jay and himself were unarmed, and any stowed weapons inside the Marauder would be useless to them.

Moving along the road, away from the pavement and the alleyways, he brought Jay to the rear, avoiding the headlights so they stayed as concealed as possible.

Along the way he saw the driver slumped sideways, motionless. The .50 cal operator was slumped, half dangling from the gunner platform in the roof. The Marauder’s rear cabin had seats on either side and was large enough to fit six people. The rear doors were open so Damien helped Jay up the metal steps. Jay could shut the doors himself; Damien didn’t have time.

Another Marauder hit the intersection behind them, exposing Damien with its headlights. Reinforcements were here.

Damien ran for the driver’s cabin, jumped on top of the driver and shut the door, meteorite and ruck still fastened snugly to his back. He released the handbrake and planted his foot on the gas.

The heavy Marauder growled forward and he heard the dead .50 cal operator fall from the platform and tumble into the rear cabin. As long as he didn’t fall on Jay, Damien didn’t care. He used his spare hand to roll the dead driver onto the co-pilot seat, ignoring the slick of blood in his wake.

Something landed on top of the Marauder, hard. Damien hoped it wasn’t some sort of explosively formed penetrator. The Marauder could handle most explosions except those designed to penetrate or fragment heavy armor.

The Cheetah continued toward them, undeterred. Behind Damien and Jay, the second Marauder started to slow, only to speed up again as it realized what was happening. Something moved across their Marauder’s roof and in the mirror Damien noticed someone vault into the rear of the cabin, almost on top of Jay.

Damien hit the brakes and the doors swung shut, knocking the imposter to the floor. The door, armored like the rest of the vehicle, opened slowly again. Jay slid toward the opening, hands slipping on the floor.

Chapter 31

‘Close the fucking door!’ Nasira yelled.

‘I’m trying!’ Aviary screamed back.

Nasira kept her pistol trained on the doorway to the MTA’s Operations Control Center. The big stupid metal door remained open and the only way to close it was remotely. Or electronically. Or Aviary-ly. And Nasira didn’t like that.

She could hear gunfire somewhere in the terminal and that was usually a good sign to get out of here. Not stay put in one place with no other means of escape and be a fucking idiot. But Aviary had a bright idea, which Nasira quickly realized was evolving into a suicide attempt.

Hunched over a computer in the center of the very long, expansive control center, Aviary worked a computer mouse and made a whole bunch of things jitter across a large screen on the wall. Which she noticed was actually twenty-one screens seamlessly joined.

The center was just two very long desks, each long enough to accommodate twenty operators. Flatscreen monitors hovered on floating mounts and wheeled office chairs were scattered across a horrible green-and-red striped carpet that reminded Nasira of boiled candy. The shitty kind.

‘We don’t have time, Aviary,’ she said.

Each panel twitched and became a security camera feed. That’s when Nasira noticed Blue Berets moving through the concourses. Some of the cameras showed Blue Berets with helmets. Others showed Blue Berets with ballistic masks. That wasn’t looking good.

The blue metal door groaned and slid closed. Nasira lowered her Glock. Thank fuck for that.

She turned to see Aviary shouting at the big screen.

‘It’s Sophia!’

And she was right. On one of the security camera feeds, Nasira saw Sophia move smoothly through the dining concourse. She held a sword in one hand and a Glock in the other. Pressed against her back was someone Nasira didn’t recognize. But she was helping her. And she was wielding a carbine.

‘Who’s with her?’ Nasira said.

‘Looks like that operative I was following, who was captured,’ Aviary said. ‘Same jacket.’

The woman with the carbine moved in step with Sophia, her shoulder pressed against Sophia’s back. They moved as one, covering all angles as a team. Nasira watched them cross between a café and a grid of commuter seating. They opened fire on opposing sides—Sophia punching rounds through her Glock, the other woman with her carbine.

Nasira watched curiously as the woman passed her carbine over Sophia’s back, the barrel aimed at the ceiling to avoid crossing Sophia’s body—very fast, very smooth—as she transitioned quickly from right to left-handed and opened fire again.

‘Operative,’ she said under her breath.

Sophia and her new friend continued from the south to the north wall, both now firing in the same direction. They reached the wall and bounced off again, progressing east along the concourse in a zigzag movement. Always together, always covering.

‘Why does she have a ninja sword?’ Aviary said.

‘Ninja don’t carry swords,’ Nasira said. ‘The more important question is why the fuck is she on point when she’s only got a pea-shooter and an oversized knife. That girl with her is rocking the only stopping power between ’em: she should be on point.’

Aviary shrugged. ‘Well, Sophia does have the Chimera vectors. She can heal faster and take more hits. Their survivability goes up, right? And she’s protecting that operative.’

‘Yeah, real nice of her,’ Nasira said. ‘No good when Sophia cops a round through that fat do-gooder head of hers. Aviary, just hurry up and do what—’

‘Done!’ Aviary said, a grin spreading from ear to ear.

Nasira strode over to inspect Aviary’s screen. It was a map of the subway network and all the operating tunnels. And all the trains.

‘I powered up all the tracks,’ Aviary said. ‘Well, the ones that aren’t flooded—which actually isn’t that many.’

Nasira looked at her. ‘And?’

‘I know where the trains are. We can use the trains,’ she said. ‘We can use all the trains. And I was thinking of growing my hair longer. And other interesting developments.’

‘Great,’ Nasira said.

She heard a voice outside the operations center. Someone was using a loudspeaker to communicate.

‘You’re pinned down and outnumbered,’ the voice boomed. ‘You can walk out now or we can fight this out. One way ends better for you than the other,’ he said. ‘I’ll leave it to you to decide.’

Aviary breathed in and opened her mouth, ready to yell something back, but Nasira planted a hand over her mouth. ‘They’re in the main concourse,’ she said quietly. ‘And they’re not talking to us.’

The voice continued. ‘We have your Peru shipment. You have five minutes to make your decision, Denton. Use your time wisely.’

Nasira noticed the group of masked Blue Berets standing in the main concourse, looking down from the Apple Store mezzanine. One stood in the center, talking on the loudspeaker. He must be their commander, she thought.

‘They don’t know anyone’s in here,’ Nasira said.

‘Are you sure?’ Aviary said.

‘No, I’m not sure,’ Nasira said.

‘Good, just making—oh.’

Chapter 32

Sophia kept moving. If she stopped, she was dead. With Czarina pressed against her back and her bursts of fire making Sophia’s ears ring, Sophia knew she had the support she needed to carve through the distracted clusters of Denton’s Blue Berets. There weren’t many, but they were well trained.

The only reason Sophia and Czarina had made it this far without being torn to ribbons was because Czarina was supposed to be on their side and Sophia was dressed as a Blue Beret—she’d even scavenged a helmet from their first engagement in the dining concourse. Their most effective weapon right now was the element of surprise.

Slave mode scared her.

But right now it was all she had.

Ahead of them, gunfire rattled the concourse and reverberated toward them. It concealed the noise of their footsteps, and for that she was grateful. They moved at the quickest pace they could while glued to each other, which was almost running speed.

Two Blue Berets circled a pillar. They didn’t notice Sophia and Czarina as they crossed behind them. Sophia lashed out with her sword. The Berets turned to see her just as her blade ran across their throats. Two in one. They dropped to their knees, blood shooting from arteries. Czarina aimed her carbine at their chests but held her fire. They continued past, spurting blood showering their legs.

Sophia steered Czarina around the pillar. Ahead, a larger group of Berets appeared to be doing the same thing. They moved forward quickly and aggressively. She presumed they were giving Denton rear support and—given their direction of attention and their reports over the radio—were planning to push past him and take on an opposing force.

This group was four-strong. Since she’d seen them no one had turned to check their rear. An extraordinary oversight for a Special Forces fireteam. Then she realized why. She’d just killed their rear security.

The rearmost pair turned almost as one. They noticed Sophia and Czarina. The pair were probably expecting their own rear security and Sophia was dressed similarly. Except the obvious—blood-slicked sword and the whole being a woman thing.

Their hesitation gave her the fraction of a second she needed to line up the sights on her Glock and punch rounds into the only part of their bodies her rounds could reliably penetrate: their heads.

She emptied her magazine on the move, the slide on her Glock locking to the rear. She’d already released the empty mag and simultaneously picked another from her belt. Her Glock had gotten a workout moving through this concourse and she was already onto her second last magazine. As she released the slide, feeding a fresh round, she noticed her last magazine fall from a torn pouch and skitter across the floor.

She couldn’t go back for it now.

She continued firing, continued moving. Czarina aimed at each Blue Beret and punched a burst into each. The results were devastating. Only one of the highly trained Berets had time to line up his carbine, but he never had the chance to fire.

Sophia and Czarina kept moving, so far without injury. She was surprised she’d made it this far. They reached an octagonal-shaped booth, some sort of information center, with a screen on every face. It provided good concealment, although she wasn’t sure about actual cover. Carbine rounds would slip through without slowing.

Sophia checked her magazine. One goddamn round. And another in the chamber. Czarina was only carrying the carbine and had no pistol mags.

Edging around the south end of the booth, Sophia checked ahead. Gunfire still rang out, filling her already ringing ears. She could make out a circular café in the center, Caffe Pepe Rosso.

And seeking refuge behind it: Denton.

He was alone.

She had two rounds to finish him.

She indicated for Czarina to check the other side for Blue Berets. As she did so, she picked up on movement along the north wall. Czarina saw it too and moved, carbine aimed.

‘Sophia, do you read?’ Nasira’s voice crackled in her ear.

She didn’t have time to respond. She had to make her move now.

Denton would hear the rounds from the north wall while Sophia moved around the south. She crept low, pistol in one hand and sword in the other. She wanted to be sure those rounds would strike his head, and that meant getting a bit closer. He was talking into his microphone and she realized they’d already changed frequencies.

She lip-read him.

‘Stand by, stand by,’ he said.

Shit.

She quickened her pace.

On her left, Blue Berets engaged with Czarina. One of them found Sophia in his field of vision and took aim. She couldn’t rely on Czarina to save her, so she brought her pistol over her sword-wielding hand, using the wrist to steady her aim as she moved. She emptied the chamber. Then emptied the magazine. The Blue Beret stumbled, fell face-first.

She was halfway to Denton, out in the open. He didn’t even think to check directly behind him. He was too focused on—

An explosion vaporized the end of the concourse.

The concourse shook and a white cloud of debris rolled toward them. She covered her face and dropped to one knee. The cloud enveloped Denton. It was the last she saw of him as she was knocked from her feet.

Chapter 33

Jay hung onto a seat. The Marauder’s rear doors swung open and he could see the second Marauder fighting its way through the rain and wind.

Jay didn’t spare much energy thinking about the second Marauder: he had other things to worry about. Like the operative in the cabin with him right now, aiming his fingerprint-coded pistol at Jay’s face.

Damien’s Marauder struck something. Jay hit the ceiling, desperately clung to the seat. The operative hit the ceiling with a crunch, landed beside Jay and almost rolled out of the Marauder.

Beside them, Jay caught a glimpse of the Cheetah. Damien had steered into it on purpose, ripping it apart. Pieces of Cheetah armor were strewn across the road.

The operative clung to seats on both sides, stopping himself from falling out. Jay was about to kick him out but the operative launched at him before he could.

Elbows struck Jay’s face, knees crunched into his ribs. He couldn’t let go of his own seat or else he’d fall out instead. He felt he was at a slight disadvantage, being severely wounded and having only his legs and one hand to fight back. Oh, and his head.

He head-butted the operative.

The operative’s skull struck the cabin floor. He lay there dazed, his grip around Jay relaxing. Jay looked up and spotted the operative’s pistol sliding down the aisle. Jay reached for it. The pistol slid right into the operative’s hand.

‘Oh fuck you,’ Jay said.

He could barely hear his own voice over the diesel engine and hurricane winds. He clamped his hand on the operative’s wrist, pushed it back at a painful angle. He was almost hugging the operative now. The operative switched hands, arm around Jay’s head, barrel pressed into the base of Jay’s skull. Jay wrapped his hand over the operative’s hand. The operative slipped his finger in the trigger guard and squeezed the trigger.

Jay let go.

He dropped out the back of the Marauder. He reached out, grabbing anything he could. The open doors. He grabbed the handlebar.

The operative’s body slumped out below him, half the mouth missing.

Jay tried to pull himself back toward the cabin. His ribs were on fire and the exit wound in his stomach felt like an erupting volcano. He was sure he’d started bleeding again. Using the two convenient steps at the bottom of the cabin entry, he found his footing and hauled himself back in. He turned to close the doors and noticed someone sitting in the second Marauder’s gunner platform.

Jay dived from the doors—

An explosion ripped through Grand Central terminal. The entire side of Lexington Avenue turned white hot. Jay hoped Nasira hadn’t been caught in the explosion.

The Marauder lurched from the impact and turned onto its side. Jay dropped through the cabin. He pawed a handrail on the ceiling, clung desperately. Behind him, the second Marauder—closer to the explosion—rolled in the air and smashed through an entire row of cars.

Fire and brick showered Lexington Avenue. On one side, Jay saw chunks of the US Post Office building missing. Damien’s Marauder continued on its side, grinding past a row of parked cars. The cars buckled against the Marauder’s weight and actually helped the Marauder right itself. They were back on four wheels.

Jay found himself dangling from the ceiling. The heavy cabin doors still flapped behind him. He dropped into a seat and held onto it as Damien hit the gas again. One hand ran over his bandaged exit wound. He held his fingers up and saw blood.

Chapter 34

Sophia coughed dust from her lungs and peered through the haze. The café before her was covered in rubble. Denton was missing. She looked around and found only dead Blue Berets—and Czarina crouching nearby, watching and waiting.

‘Did you see Denton?’ Sophia said.

‘Negative,’ Czarina replied.

Sophia shoved a finger under her vest, searching for the button. It was difficult to get to so she shed the vest, putting her ruck back on over her T-shirt. She hit the button.

‘Nasira,’ she said. ‘I’m here.’

‘I know that,’ Nasira said into her ear. ‘I’m looking right at your ass.’

Sophia looked up and noticed a security camera still intact.

‘Where are you?’ Sophia said, dusting bits of tiles from her legs.

‘Operations control center,’ Nasira said. ‘We sealed in for now.’

‘Did you see where Denton went?’ Sophia said.

‘No,’ she said. ‘But the explosions wiped out forty masked Blue Berets and the commander to boot.’

Sophia felt her chest constrict.’

‘Was DC with them?’ she asked.

‘Didn’t see the motherfucker,’ Nasira said. ‘What happened down there?’

‘Long story,’ Sophia said. ‘Couldn’t stop Denton. He has two Phoenix viruses now.’

When she released her button, Nasira was hitting hers to get a word in.

‘Blue Berets!’ she shouted. ‘Standby standby! Dining concourse, moving west to you. Get the fuck out!’

Sophia tried to see through the haze but she only had visibility of twenty feet. She turned to Czarina.

‘Blue Berets are coming, move!’

Czarina was already running before Sophia could give her any further commands.

‘Get to the subway platforms!’ Aviary cut in. ‘There’s a train you can take in the subway.’

‘Uh, don’t you need keys for that?’ Sophia said.

She steered Czarina to the nearest stairs that led to the main concourse. It delivered them to the market inside Grand Central, which was strangely silent.

Czarina steered Sophia around the corner, through a passage. They passed the entrance to the Hyatt hotel. Masked Blue Berets materialized at the end of the passage. Czarina pulled Sophia down the escalators. She heard their boots echo as they gave chase.

She reached the bottom and Czarina jumped the turnstiles, carbine swiveling to check both sides. Sophia leaped after her, sword still in hand.

‘Train is new stock,’ Aviary said. ‘I can open the doors remotely and give you access.’

Sophia wished she had the time to find her missing magazine back in the dining concourse but her sword would have to do for now. She holstered her pistol in the Blue Beret belt she was wearing. She could hear boots scuffle over the turnstiles.

‘Run!’ she told Czarina.

Slave mode didn’t argue and Czarina pointed her carbine ahead as she legged it for the train. Sophia ran after her, sword in hand. She hit the stairs and took the steps two at a time. She landed on the platform.

‘Where is it?’ she yelled into her throat mike.

‘Staircase!’ Aviary said. ‘Down to the Seven train!’

Sophia saw the sign with the red 7 and the words, To Times Sq & Flushing–Main St. She ran for it. Czarina was looking back to check on her so she pointed to the stairs. The operative understood and disappeared down the stairs to the lower platform.

Sophia could hear the Blue Berets behind them. They were still moving down the first flight but they were almost on the platform.

She pretty much leaped down the stairs in one bound. She reached the lower platform. She saw the train on her left. It had to be the one Aviary was talking about. Czarina was already moving for it, but there was a slight problem.

The carriage doors were still shut.

Sophia hit the button under her T-shirt.

‘Open the doors!’ she yelled as she ran.

Czarina reached the rear carriage. The doors were shut so she kept moving. A grenade bounced down the stairs behind Sophia. She checked over her shoulder, recognized the shape. Smoke grenade.

Without any sort of infrared vision, Czarina wouldn’t be able to offer her any cover fire. She put some distance between the rapidly expanding cloud of smoke and herself. The Blue Berets would be moving through the cloud, off the narrow staircase where Czarina could’ve slowed them down. That was no longer an option.

‘Aviary!’ she yelled again.

Her fingers were clamped so hard over the button she thought she might break it.

‘Opening!’ Aviary’s voice filled her ear.

‘I don’t see them open—’

Shots cracked down the platform. She heard a chink sound from a passing window and saw a hole blast through the glass. She sprinted down the platform, after Czarina.

Czarina turned, aimed her carbine. Sophia almost hit the ground when she realized the carbine was pointed at her. Czarina seemed confused. She shifted her aim again, past Sophia, toward the staircase behind her.

The doors jerked open and Czarina darted inside. Sophia leaped into the carriage beside her and moved for the door at the end. Above her, dotted words rolled across an LCD announcement display.

(7) 11:38 PM

She burst through into the next carriage and kept moving.

‘Aviary!’ she said. ‘Close the doors!’

‘On it!’ Aviary shouted back.

She ran underneath a display and checked the next stop.

(7) TO TIMES SQ-42 ST

Blue Berets reached the platform and opened fire. She dropped to the ground and wriggled on her knees and elbows, her empty Glock in one hand and sword in the other. She heard movement in the carriage behind her.

Shit.

If she tried to make it for the next carriage they’d shoot her in the back. She got to her feet and bolted from the carriage to the platform. There were no Blue Berets on the platform. They were all inside—in the carriage just behind her. She ducked and moved under the windows of their carriage. She could hear them move through to the next carriage.

A cheerful male voice said, ‘Stand clear of the closing doors please!’

Her heart raced. She sprinted for the open door, legs working on adrenalin, and dived into the rear carriage just as the doors closed. She couldn’t really conceal herself behind anything: there was no cover inside the train. So she remained next to the doors as they shut behind her. She peered through the metal rails. At the other end, she could see the Blue Berets had moved into the next carriage.

No one checked their rear.

They were getting sloppy, she thought. Or over-confident.

‘Aviary,’ she said in a low voice. ‘Get the train moving.’

‘Uh,’ Aviary said. ‘I can’t do that.’

‘You said it was a new train!’

‘Yeah, not that new,’ Aviary said. ‘I can open doors. And close them. And I can start the engine. That’s it.’

‘Great.’

Sophia moved quickly to the doors and carefully opened them, then opened the next set of doors into the connecting carriage. The masked Blue Berets thought they were closing on Sophia but they would soon close on Czarina. She couldn’t handle them all by herself, especially if they had the element of surprise.

She looked down at her sword. If she could somehow get close enough.

Then the train started moving. She watched the Blue Berets hustle just ahead of her. The noise of the train moving along the track was giving her enough cover. That was good. But who was operating the train—Czarina?

The Blue Berets were ahead of her. If just one of them turned around she’d be done for. She crept around a pole and continued through the carriage, sword in both hands now. She could feel her pulse in both ears.

She made it five feet from the masked Blue Berets before the rear security swiveled, his carbine pointed at her.

She couldn’t knock the barrel off sight because another pole was in the way. Instead she drew her empty Glock and slung it into his masked face. It bounced off the mask, distracting him enough so she could move in the other direction. The other Berets hadn’t noticed yet, but as soon as that Glock hit—

The Beret tracked her with his carbine but the barrel struck the pole. She kicked him behind the knee and he half-dropped. She grasped his chin with her free hand and threw him onto his back. At the same time, she slashed outward to the second masked Beret, who brought his carbine around to see what the noise was.

Her tachi blade struck the carbine, which as it turned out made a reasonable shield. The Beret swung his carbine, pinning her sword to the floor. She slammed her palm down on top of the barrel with such force that it tore from his grasp and tipped over the sword. The carbine clattered along the plastic blue carriage seats.

Sophia brought her sword up under the Beret’s mask, into his neck. She kept her eyes on the other pair of Berets, one of her arms up to shield blood from her eyes. She launched forward. The third Beret reacted quickly, used his carbine to deflect her while the fourth Beret took aim.

Sophia couldn’t stop moving; she avoided a burst of rounds by running along the seating. She slashed backhanded, across the third Beret’s mask. He moved from its path and the strike was glancing—enough to shatter the rigid mask.

She landed behind the pair of them. They both tried to aim. She thrust the tip of her blade through the center of the third Beret, whose mask was now in two pieces. Her blade struck the ceramic plate across his chest.

The fourth Beret shifted his aim, but she was too close. She stepped forward and used her forearm to knock the barrel upward. The rounds punched through the roof.

Her sword was still jammed in the ceramic plate so she kicked the fourth in the kneecap before he could recover, sending him across the slippery seating, then pried her blade free, knocking the third onto the plastic seats as well.

The first Beret was still alive and reaching for his carbine. She weaved around the pole and came up behind him, ran the blade across the back of his neck. She caught one artery.

The third and fourth Beret watched as the first Beret clutched his neck, trying to stem the flow. He was still standing. Sophia pushed him forward, closing the gap between her and the remaining two, then moved around him—across the plastic seating. She weaved under a metal bar and her blade found the neck of the third Beret. He clutched his neck and fell.

The fourth Beret tried to gain some distance between them, meeting her strikes with his carbine. He drew his pistol with his support hand but Sophia knocked it away with her blade. She switched direction, catching him by surprise. Her sword found his neck.

She looked down to find her finally dry T-shirt, now spray-painted red.

Above her, the information display blinked.

(7) THE NEXT STOP IS

(7) BRYANT PK-42 ST

She checked the carriage. It was just the four of them. She thought about taking their radios but knew that in the tunnels she wouldn’t get much outside the train anyway.

She took her Glock from the ground and found two magazines from one Beret that fit hers. The other three were running their Glocks with .45 ACP rounds, not nine-millimeter. They were of course fingerprint-coded so she couldn’t even take their pistols. She settled for the two magazines she could use, loading one and moving into the third carriage—

A recorded female voice calmly said, ‘This is Fifty-First Street.’

The train didn’t slow.

Sophia continued through the carriages to the front. She found Czarina at the helm, inside the train’s driver’s cabin, carbine resting at her feet.

There was a screen in front of Czarina and an array of green and red buttons, two large yellow disc-shaped knobs. Through the windows above, Sophia could see the tunnel rush past in a blur, smeared with an occasional green or red tunnel light.

Czarina was guiding a lever that kept the train moving. Sophia stepped into the cabin and Czarina’s hand moved for the carbine, lingered. She sat in apparent suspended animation for a moment before she withdrew her hand.

Slave mode seemed to be wearing off.

Sophia didn’t know what to do.

‘Stop the train,’ she said.

Czarina released the lever and the train began to slow down by itself.

Sophia wanted to get in touch with Aviary and Nasira, but she knew her iPhone couldn’t hijack anything down here.

Sophia picked up the carbine. ‘Are you armed?’

‘No,’ Czarina said.

‘Come with me,’ Sophia said, leading her back into the first carriage.

She placed the carbine on the plastic seating, moved twenty feet away and aimed her Glock at Czarina. She applied pressure to the trigger. Just enough.

‘You’re too dangerous,’ Sophia said.

‘Your command?’ Czarina said.

‘No command,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry.’

Czarina watched her, but said nothing.

Sophia lowered her Glock. She hit a nearby pole with her sword and yelled at it. In the tunnel, no one would hear her. Only Czarina.

Czarina stared back at her, unblinking.

Sophia shook her head. ‘I’m going to regret this.’ She put her sword aside and said, ‘Unload parapsyche Lycaon.’

Czarina continued to stare at her. Her shoulder twitched. Then her eyes narrowed a fraction. It was enough for Sophia to notice. She felt the first wave of hostility come off Czarina like a fragrance.

‘What happened?’ Czarina said, bitterness in her words. ‘Whatever you’re trying to do, it won’t work.’

‘Story of my life,’ Sophia said. ‘Execute parapsyche Oranos.’

Something inside Czarina pulled her upright. She no longer seemed concerned by Sophia’s presence.

‘Oranos loaded,’ Czarina said. ‘Request command.’

This better still be the same, she thought. She held her pistol grip a little tighter, preparing for the worst.

‘Autumn frosts have slain July,’ Sophia said.

Czarina didn’t respond.

Sophia raised her Glock and lined the sights. ‘Come on.’

Czarina’s fingers wavered. Then her left arm jerked suddenly, as though someone had broken it. She twisted into a crouch and started moaning. Sophia didn’t know what to do. There was nothing she could do.

Czarina gasped, fingers scratching the carriage floor.

‘Parapsyche Ares—’ Czarina whispered ‘—erased.’

Sophia let out a small breath. She lowered her Glock.

Then Czarina bucked, her head smashing into the doors behind her. Czarina threw her body against it, limbs writhing. She screamed—a tormented, impossible scream.

Sophia took aim. Her arm trembled. She lined the sights with Czarina’s head.

Czarina cried out. Shrieked.

‘Stop!’ Sophia yelled. ‘Stop it!’

But Czarina didn’t stop. She wrapped a hand around her own neck as though she was trying to choke herself. She collapsed onto her elbows. Sophia watched her face turn white.

‘No.’

Czarina released her grip. She sat there, staring at her open hands, silent.

Sophia remembered to breathe. ‘Echo status,’ she said.

Czarina didn’t move. ‘Parapsyche Celaeno active.’

Sophia looked down to find herself on her knees. She let her head rest against the pole beside her. Its cool touch was refreshing.

‘Long had paled the sunny sky,’ Sophia said. ‘Echoes fade and memories die.’

Czarina met her gaze with renewed intensity. ‘All parapsyche backups erased.’

Sophia had two choices.

To either put Czarina back in her neopsyche—her programmed personality—or attempt to switch her into her real, original personality. Long before she was ready. It was the first time Sophia had tried this so soon. Even when she deprogrammed Damien and Jay in the field, she’d spent twenty minutes on each of them. And when Leoncjusz had taught her how to deprogram, he’d cautioned her that switching them before properly deprogramming was dangerous.

She didn’t have time to go any deeper. And she couldn’t take Czarina back to her neopsyche—she would just try to kill her.

‘Load archeopsyche,’ Sophia said.

There would be no further commands now. This was it.

Sophia swallowed. Waited.

The train remained still. There was no sound. They were alone in the tunnel together.

Czarina looked up at her. For a moment it seemed like she was almost choking. She cleared her throat and blinked.

‘Czarina?’ Sophia said.

‘I waited for you,’ Czarina said. ‘But you never saved me.’

Suddenly Czarina threw herself back, pressing against the cabin door. Then her fingers balled into fists.

‘It’s OK.’ Sophia holstered her pistol on her belt.

Czarina started to laugh softly. As though Sophia had missed an obvious joke. Czarina didn’t look up. But when she spoke, her voice cracked.

‘I went through two rounds of retraining because of you,’ Czarina said.

Sophia gripped the pole in front of her to keep herself steady. ‘What do you mean?’ she said.

‘I wasn’t convinced.’ Czarina shook her head. ‘Wasn’t convinced. Never convinced.’

Sophia rose slowly to her feet. She remained behind the pole.

‘What weren’t you—?’

‘You were a traitor.’ It brought a smile to her face.

Sophia slipped her hand back to her pistol. ‘Is that what you believe?’

‘It’s what they made me believe.’

‘Do you want to kill me?’ Sophia said.

‘Some wanted to,’ Czarina said.

‘I see,’ Sophia said.

‘Others wanted to be with you,’ Czarina said. ‘Some wanted to be you.’ She looked up, inspecting the advertising banners on the ceiling.

‘And what about you?’ Sophia said.

Czarina met her gaze. Sophia could feel it. A serenity that seemed out of place.

‘I wanted you to save me.’

‘I’m here now,’ Sophia said.

Tears made Czarina’s eyes shimmer. They spilled onto her cheeks.

Sophia wriggled the ruck from her shoulders. She laid it on the floor, pulled the zips, peeling it open so she could access everything inside. She picked out a scalpel knife, a cigarette lighter and a tube of Dermabond.

‘What are you doing?’ Czarina said.

‘Denton might know you’re with me,’ Sophia said. ‘Your RFID chip isn’t just a passive beacon. It has a geolocation transmitter as well. Once you’re above ground all they need is a satellite to pick you up.’

Sophia showed the map on her iPhone.

‘But none of his Blue Berets have seen us together,’ Czarina said. ‘At least none that are still alive.’

‘I know,’ Sophia said. ‘And the masked ones are not his. But I don’t want you being trackable, end of story.’ She held the scalpel under the flame of her cigarette lighter. ‘Will you do the honors or shall I?’

Czarina screwed her face up in protest. ‘Fine. I’ll do it.’

Sophia handed her the scalpel and stepped away. She couldn’t pick up on any hostile pheromones from Czarina, but she kept a safe distance to be sure.

‘Once you’ve thrown the implant out the window, we move to the next station,’ Sophia said. ‘I need to get above ground so I can get in touch with everyone.’

Czarina made the incision over the RFID implant in her forearm. ‘And then what happens?’

‘I’m working on that,’ Sophia said.

‘Can I ask you something?’ Czarina said. ‘What’s it like?’

‘What’s what like?’ Sophia said.

‘Not being an operative.’

Sophia shook her head. ‘Ask me later,’ she said. ‘Just get rid of that implant first.’

Chapter 35

Jay checked his pink iPhone. No missed calls or messages. Damien was to take the Marauder north, away from Hurricane Isaias. The north end of Manhattan was their best chance of escape, across the Harlem River to the Bronx. The Harlem wasn’t actually a river but a tidal channel and estuary. Even in Jay’s condition, he figured he could swim it if he had to.

But instead of going north, Damien had taken the Marauder in the opposite direction: right into the hurricane as it shattered downtown. With the rear doors finally closed and one of its wheels ripped and dislocated, the Marauder somehow managed to continue at top speed. Jay had strapped himself into the seat nearest the driver’s cabin. While there was glass between them, he could still speak to Damien and Damien could still constantly check on him to make sure he hadn’t passed out or whatever. Which he hadn’t. At least as far as he knew.

The rain was lighter than he expected, drumming against Damien’s windscreen. Around them, cars were fractured wrecks, streetlamps bent and twisted, storefronts obliterated. And Damien was moving even further into the epicenter. The Marauder could withstand the most powerful of land mines and explosives, but Jay wasn’t sure it had been tested against a Category 5 hurricane. Despite its weight, it shuddered under the pressure of the wind.

Jay had lost track of how far south Damien had taken them but he recognized the wrought-iron fences of the square park. During his short stay a couple of years back he had gone there a lot, with and without Damien. He remembered the dogs always outnumbered the owners. He’d never had a dog, but there were plenty of strays around where he grew up.

This park stuck in his memory though. He used to grab a takeout mac ‘n’ cheese—mostly because he didn’t want to be seen eating alone in the restaurant—and instead be seen eating it alone in the park, picking at a cardboard box with a plastic fork. He’d order the gluten free version—mostly because Damien would guilt him into at least partially keeping within the operative diet—but he made sure to get three types of meat and a fair shake of Tabasco.

Now, the park was empty. The many dogs and their owners were long gone. Damien turned right and worked his way around the perimeter, dodging collapsed streetlights. Jay figured he was trying for Williamsburg Bridge. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

He’d urged Damien to search the dead driver next to him for a radio but the masked Blue Berets had switched frequencies already.

‘What’s the plan?’ Jay said, knocking on the glass.

They made it as far as a shuttered-up flowers and fruit market before Jay noticed something strange ahead. It was hazy, indistinct.

‘Get out of range,’ Damien said. ‘Which unfortunately means—’

‘That?’ Jay said, staring ahead of them.

‘Shit,’ Damien said.

Water rushed toward them. An angry surge of white foam whipped up by the hurricane wind. Damien couldn’t do anything about it. The Marauder was a slow stopper and a slow starter, and its turning circle was pretty shit too. Damien did the only thing he could do.

He went straight through.

The wave hit the Marauder with a thud. It was louder than Jay expected and for a moment he thought the armored vehicle would be ripped apart. The windows were filled with fierce white. He couldn’t see anything else, but he held on as the Marauder bucked and shuddered through the collision.

The Marauder lifted off the road and tumbled—only to land violently on the road again. Jay gripped his seat and the handrail above, elbows and knees bent. He braced himself. The white cleared from the water. It became a dark, almost impenetrable color. He could hear—and feel—the water surging over them, around them.

Damien’s eyes were wide. He looked unnerved. Jay relaxed his hands and knocked on the glass.

‘Hey,’ he said. ‘You OK?’

Damien took a moment to snap out of it. ‘I don’t know.’

‘It’s fine, the water will drop,’ Jay said. ‘OK?’

Damien nodded, not convinced.

The Marauder was back on the road, at a standstill.

Around them, the water’s surface lapped past the Marauder, past the side windows. The wave was gone and the water dropped below the windows, below Jay, below his legs, and found its level somewhere around ankle-height.

‘That might make it difficult for them,’ Jay said.

Damien was back to normal now. He tried to start the vehicle again. It didn’t sound promising.

‘Engine block’s flooded,’ Damien said.

Damien’s phone started vibrating. He put it on speaker. Jay could hear Sophia’s voice.

‘Do you have the meteorite?’ Sophia asked.

‘We’re doing great, thanks,’ Jay called out through the partition glass. ‘We have your rock too, by the way.’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ Sophia said. ‘Denton only needs one more rock and the masked Blue Berets have it. I’ll need your help to—’

‘We’re having enough trouble keeping their hands off this one!’ Jay said through the glass partition.

There was a pause.

‘Who?’ Sophia said. ‘Who is trying to track you?’

‘Fuck me,’ Jay said, ‘Who isn’t? The masked dudes, the operatives—’

‘That doesn’t make any sense,’ Sophia said. ‘How long since the operatives were chasing you?’

‘They almost got us near Grand Central,’ Jay said. ‘You’re tracking them, take a look for yourself,’ Jay said.

There was a short pause.

‘Every operative on the island is moving in your direction,’ Sophia said. ‘They’re not too close yet but that doesn’t make any—shit.’

‘You there?’ Damien said.

‘Denton’s misdirecting us,’ Sophia said. ‘He doesn’t want the meteorite from Peru at all. He wants the meteorite from the museum. The one you have. Aviary, are you there?’

Aviary’s voice came through the channel. ‘Yeah, we’re here.’

‘Good. Damien, Jay, where are you now?’ Sophia said.

‘East Village,’ Damien said. ‘But we have a problem.’

‘No, we have multiple goddamn problems,’ Sophia said. She didn’t sound happy. ‘What’s this one?’

‘Jay’s hurt,’ Damien said.

‘How badly?’ Nasira called out, her voice tinny as she spoke from somewhere near Aviary.

‘Took a round through the stomach,’ Damien said. ‘Look, it’s OK. He’s healing but he can’t really—’

‘Move,’ Sophia said. ‘I understand.’

‘Hey guys, I need you to hit the location button on your screen,’ Aviary said. ‘Right now.’

Jay peered over and saw that Damien was on a conference call with two people—one was Sophia and the other he figured was Aviary. They were labeled with the first letters of their names and they lit up whenever they spoke.

Jay could see there were six buttons on Damien’s screen: mute, keypad, speaker—that button was already highlighted—add call, voice activated and location. Damien hit the location button.

‘What now?’ Damien said.

‘Swipe from the top down,’ Aviary said.

Damien swiped down, pulling a new window over the top. It was a map with markers for both Aviary and Sophia. Jay could see Aviary was around Grand Central while Sophia was further west, in the theatre district. He could see their own location much further south, near the east coast of Manhattan.

Below that, Jay noticed a string of characters.

18TWL8584008819

It was Damien’s MGRS—Military Grid Reference System. The first two digits were the grid-zone designation, the rest narrowed the precision level to one meter.

Damien started rummaging around in the Marauder’s glove box. He grasped a hands-free with earphones and mike that plugged into the phone.

Aviary hadn’t given Jay or Damien any wireless earpieces, so a hands-free would have to do. Jay considered checking the rear cabin for a hands-free of his own but couldn’t be bothered. He knew he wasn’t going to be running around for a while.

Damien slipped the wire under his shirt, pulling his bow-tie off. He left the mike on a bit of slack around the collar so he could talk into it.

‘Damien, what’s your condition?’ Sophia said.

‘I’m fine,’ Damien said.

‘Good, because right now you’re the only person who can stop Denton from—’

‘Collecting all the Pokémon,’ Aviary said.

‘What’s that?’ Jay said.

‘A joke lost on an entire generation of operatives,’ Aviary said. ‘As you were.’

‘Aviary,’ Sophia said. ‘I need a favor.’

‘You got it,’ Aviary said quickly.

‘Can you find the nearest train for Damien?’ Sophia said. ‘Plot a route between us. I need an RV somewhere in between. A tunnel, a station, whatever. We need to do a handover and we need to do it quickly.’

‘On it,’ Aviary said.

Jay could hear the rhythmic drum of keys and mouse clicks as Aviary did her computer thing. The only other sound was the rain and wind battering the Marauder’s armor.

‘You’ll have to leave Jay somewhere,’ Sophia said.

Jay shrugged at Damien. ‘I’d just slow you down anyway.’

Damien looked at him, those big eyebrows narrowed.

‘You’re coming with me,’ Damien said.

Jay shook his head, but Sophia said the words for him.

‘He can’t,’ Sophia said. ‘He won’t make it.’

‘You have to go. And you have to go now.’

‘Damien,’ Aviary said from the phone’s speaker. ‘I found a train at a platform. Second Avenue, a few blocks south of you.’

‘I have a better option,’ Damien said. ‘Williamsburg Bridge. It’s less than a mile from here. If I make it across—’

‘No,’ Sophia said.

‘I can do it,’ Damien said.

‘They’ll have it locked down,’ Sophia said. ‘There’s no question.’

Jay watched him plug the hands-free in, lock the phone and shove it into his pocket.

‘Second Avenue, got it,’ Damien said. ‘Jay, what about you?’

‘The sooner you get the fuck away from me the better my chances.’ Jay eyed off the .50 cal platform above him. ‘And that doesn’t hurt either.’

Damien shook his head. ‘They’ll look here first, the least I can do is get you off the street.’

Damien was already eyeing off the six-story building on their right. He pointed to an apartment entrance squeezed between a Thai and Mediterranean restaurant. The Thai restaurant’s roller door was closed, scrawled with graffiti, while the Mediterranean place was all glass, half submerged in dirty water.

Jay rolled his eyes. ‘Fine, hurry up then.’

Damien jumped from the driver’s cabin, carbine in both hands, and waded through the leftover water and battering wind. Jay landed in the murky water with his leather shoes. His stomach was on fire once again. If there was any fresh bleeding around his stomach Damien hadn’t noticed it yet. Instead, Damien cut a swift path through the water, toward a little red apartment entrance on the other side of the road.

Jay looked up. Deep gray tendrils curled the sky. The rain pressed his shirt to his skin and the wind made him falter with each step. He covered his face with one hand to keep debris from his eyes and waded after Damien, dodging a cluster of trash bags that floated past.

‘I’m guessing the carbine doesn’t work,’ Jay called out to Damien.

Damien slammed the butt stock into the glass door, shattering it. ‘Works for me,’ he said.

Jay ducked under the metal handlebar. His body seized up, pain flaring along his leg and through his stomach. He clenched his teeth and tried to remain upright.

‘Do you have picks?’ Damien said.

‘Yeah,’ Jay said. ‘The only thing I am carrying in this monkey suit.’

Damien was also still wearing his complete tuxedo, missing only his bow-tie. He handed Jay the carbine. Jay wasn’t sure what he could use it for except maybe to bluff someone. The better option was finding and raiding a police station for a shotgun or even a working carbine. At least they wouldn’t be fingerprint protected and he could actually shoot something for once.

Damien was about to leave. He checked his phone, then hesitated. Before Jay could walk up the stairs Damien reached through the door and gripped his arm. But he didn’t say anything. He knew he had to leave.

‘Go,’ Jay said.

Chapter 36

Damien shed his tuxedo jacket. He pulled the webbing straps on the ruck, tightening them around his shoulders. According to Aviary, two operatives were as of this moment two blocks north of him and another two further away. The closer pair moved independently of each other.

Damien didn’t know where the masked Blue Berets might be, but he figured they’d be in a vehicle. Which meant he’d hear them coming sooner. It also meant they’d catch him sooner. Especially with someone riding a .50 cal.

Aviary had sent him a map of the subway stations. She’d set the tracks. All he had to do was remember which stations to pass before stopping. His destination would be Union Square. Where Sophia would meet him.

He kept his phone in his pocket, a single earbud in his ear so he could still hear Aviary. Sophia was moving to her own subway station so she’d drop out of the call until they reunited.

He stepped onto the sidewalk. The hurricane had blotted out the sky. The water was barely ankle level here, only deeper in the gutters. The rain and wind channeled through the streets, slowing him down. With the wind roaring in his ears the whole time, he’d never hear an operative coming. He wasn’t happy about that.

The thought was enough to spur him into a run, south. He reached the first corner and hesitated when he saw a green sign for Williamsburg Bridge with a picture of a bicycle. It pointed farther south. The subway station he was supposed to go to was southeast.

He considered the bridge for a moment. If there were a way to slip past the National Guard or Blue Berets or whoever might be posted there, he’d improve his odds of survival dramatically. Trapped in New York City, he was a rogue operative in a barrel.

An overhead traffic light groaned against the wind, then the traffic light itself tore from its frame and dropped to the road with a punctual splash.

Subway it is, he thought.

He took a right past Benny’s Burgers, splashing through the deeper water in the street and reaching the sidewalk on the other side. He started running west.

Aviary had assured him she’d designed the conference calls to work regardless of who dropped out when. With her watching and talking into his ear, he hoped he’d stand more of a chance.

Damien noticed public housing on the left. The parking lot was fenced off with high chain-link fences. He slowed and took a wide turn. He ran up the chain link, grasped the metal pole at the top and levered himself over, clinging with one hand to control his fall. He landed inside the lot on both feet and started running south—straight through the parking lot. So far, not too bad.

‘Damien, that operative is gaining on you,’ Aviary said.

‘Copy that,’ Damien said.

From what he remembered of the map on his phone, the next three blocks were entirely public housing or at least very spaced-out apartments, giving him plenty of room to move discreetly and stay off the streets. It might not fool the operatives but it would keep him clear of any Blue Berets.

‘Crap,’ Aviary. ‘The dots aren’t moving.’

‘Have they stopped?’ Damien said.

‘I don’t know, you’re still moving,’ Aviary said. ‘Could be the Fifth Column satellite that’s relaying their locations. Hurricane is messing it up big time.’

The parking lot hit a corner ahead and went left, out onto the avenue he’d come from. That was the last place he wanted to go, so he scaled the chain-link fence and moved deeper into residential. He ran between a public housing block and a playground, emerged out onto another street. It was a little more open than he liked but he had to keep going now. His path to the subway station was going to be far from perfect.

‘Damien!’ Aviary yelled in his ear. ‘He’s close. Take cover!’

‘What?’ Damien yelled over the wind and rain.

‘Wait! I mean, run! Run! Go left!’ she yelled. ‘Right! Go right!‘

‘Shit,’ he said, breaking into a run across the street.

He hadn’t seen any movement but an operative could be close. He crossed the road, tried to stick to the walls, kept running. He passed a hotel on his left with nondescript cream brickwork. Then he struck it lucky. A large concrete playground on his left. Perfect.

It was fenced off like everything else seemed to be around here, so he ran, climbed and hurled himself over. He landed with precision. That’s when he caught his first glimpse of the operative.

‘Fuck.’

He was already soaked from the rain but he felt a colder chill run through him, shaking his fingers. The operative—Lijana from Lithuania—sprinted down the center of the street toward him.

‘Run run run!’ Aviary said into his ear.

Damien tore across the concrete playground with renewed energy. The chain-link fence on the other side led him to a concrete basketball court, only that fence was twice as high. There was a shed next to it so he ran and scaled the shed, rolled to his feet and moved across the roof. The fence was only two feet away so he jumped from the shed, clung to the chain-link fence. He was already halfway up. In the rain, the chain-link was slippery and he had no grip with his dress shoes. Climbing an icicle would’ve been easier.

The chain-link bowed with every step. He had to use his upper body strength to propel him over the top. By the time he cleared the fence, Lijana was already climbing with her sneakers. He watched her leap across the playground equipment, using one of the bright orange roofs to vault the fence in one jump.

‘I’m fucked,’ he said.

‘Damien!’ Aviary screamed.

‘I know!’ he yelled, running across the basketball court.

‘No!’ Aviary yelled. ‘They’re boxing you in!’

Damien felt his stomach crumple when he saw another operative ahead of him, scaling the high fence he was planning to escape through. The operative was almost over the fence. Behind him, Lijana landed.

On his right, a few concrete steps led to a door. The door was ajar. He ran for it. Shouldered through into a corridor. He was in a state school. Lijana wasn’t far behind. She drew her pistol.

Damien weaved into a gymnasium. He ran for the other end, pulled open the double doors and continued into a second corridor. Lijana was close—he could hear her footsteps. He couldn’t give her a clear shot, even for a moment.

There was a computer lab and some classrooms on his left, a cafeteria on his right. He checked the windows but they had bars over them. The school was locked up tight.

‘On your left!’ Aviary shouted.

The lobby appeared on his left. He swerved into it, stopped.

The second operative stood in the entrance, between two large red doors. Damien recognized the operative’s face but struggled to recall his name. The operative aimed his pistol, but held his fire. It was then that Damien realized.

They couldn’t shoot him.

Denton didn’t want the meteorite damaged or prematurely fractured.

‘So that’s what you meant by on your left,’ Damien said quietly.

‘Wait, I’m pulling up the blueprint for the school now,’ Aviary said. ‘Take the stairs!’

‘Hand it over,’ the operative said to him. ‘And we can all walk away from this.’

‘Stairs are behind you, the way you came,’ Aviary said.

A booming sound echoed from the street. Damien thought it was thunder, but then he saw the operative turn and dive across the lobby floor as .50 cal rounds punched through the red doors, splintering wood, brick and glass across the lobby.

Damien turned and ran toward Lijana. She burst through the corridor in pursuit. The stairs were between them. Rounds punched through the walls, blasting brick and plaster, showering the lobby. Two rounds punched above Damien, covering him in fragments.

He reached the stairs before she did. He ran up two at a time. His lungs burned for air. Lijana was closer now, five steps behind.

‘Where!’ Damien yelled.

‘Uh,’ Aviary said. ‘Uh, one second.’

He didn’t have one second. He tried a classroom with unbarred windows. Trapped. Lijana had her knife out. Sliced.

Damien moved from the blade’s path, tried to redirect her arm. She moved fast, her blows rapid and devastating. Damien didn’t like knives. And this was an excellent reminder of why.

He scooped up a plastic chair with metal legs and pushed it into her advances. He swiveled the chair, its legs entangling her arms. Damien kicked for her knee, missed, glanced her shin. She faltered, regained her footing.

Lijana pulled the chair away, sliced his midsection. The blade tore his shirt, grazed skin. He rolled backward across a desk. She monkey vaulted over it. He rolled off another, kicked it into her. She weaved around it, came in fast.

Damien lifted the top of a desk, crushing her hand. The knife came free, skittered across to another desk. They both moved for it—counter-attacked each other. Damien brought his knee to her ribs. She snapped her fist into his neck. Both blows connected, knocking the air from him and doubling her over.

She straightened up. He opened the desk in front of her, swinging the lid. It connected with her head and broke in two. She stumbled but got her footing. He kept half the lid and used it as a rudimentary weapon, thrusting it into her. She dived clear, under another desk. He moved on her quickly.

She found the knife again.

She thrust toward him, withdrew and then slashed twice in quick succession. He used the lid piece to deflect the blows and glance them aside, then used it to strike her behind the knee.

.50 cal rounds shattered the classroom. Panes of glass exploded, showered over them. Damien shut his eyes, deflected the knife. Lijana dropped to one knee.

The sound of the rounds made his ears ring. Lijana swiveled into a crouch, slashed her knife across him. The blade cut his forearm, cut across his chest and shoulder. He dropped into a seated position and deflected the knife with both legs.

Scrambling between desks, Damien couldn’t help but shut his eyes as more rounds smashed through the second level of the state school. Classrooms shook and windows disintegrated. The rounds tore through wall after wall, carving large holes in their wake.

Damien pinned Lijana’s knife arm with one leg and knocked her to the ground with the other. She landed on her hip and released the knife, grasped for his leg. He tried to roll away, knowing she’d break his leg if she had the chance.

Lijana moved around his leg, reaching his chest.

During their early training in Project GATE, he remembered swapping his orange juice with Lijana’s pineapple. He didn’t like orange and it was her favorite. And now she wanted to kill him.

Lijana pinned his chest with her knee. Her hands came fast around his face, one below his chin, the other around the top of his skull. His hand closed over the knife. He pulled his chin in to the side, but she wrenched it back. Pushed him farther.

She forced him onto his stomach. He lost touch with the knife. He lay on his stomach, head to one side. He tried to move but both her hands pressed down on the side of his jaws and skull, pushing hard into his skull with her body weight. The pressure blossomed into pain and he was suddenly immobile.

His hands-free earbud dug into her palm. She shifted her hand. That shift gave him just a moment to move. His fingers reached out across the classroom floor and found the knife. Backhanded grip. He slid his head away from her weighted hands. She clamped her hands over his head again, pushing down hard. His skull felt like it was about to fracture into a hundred pieces.

He brought the knife over his back, turned with it. Rolled into an upright position. He wasn’t sure if he’d hit an artery but then he saw Lijana kick and squirm on the floor. Blood dribbled and squirted from the side of her neck.

Knife in hand, Damien shuffled back until his back hit the edge of a desk. She reached out, touched his leg, wrapped her fingers around his ankle. It wasn’t a move to break his ankle. She just held on, looking at him with ice green eyes. For a moment it was Grace. He wanted to apologize but the words never came. Then it was Lijana again. Her grip relaxed.

Damien sat there for a moment, remembering to breathe. The .50 cal rounds had stopped tearing apart the school. And that meant one thing.

The masked Blue Berets were in the building.

He didn’t know where that other operative was. He got to his feet as more gunfire erupted downstairs.

‘Damien?’ Aviary said.

He ignored her, moved across the classroom, into the corridor.

‘Second level,’ he asked. ‘Where do I go?’

He could barely speak, catching his breath and using what little energy he had left. He was dehydrated, weak with hunger. He realized the last thing he ate was finger food at the function in the Waldorf Astoria hotel and that was who knew how many hours back.

Knife in hand, he moved through the corridor, unsure of where to go. All the windows were barred up. He could hear movement coming for the central stairs.

‘Keep going,’ Aviary said. ‘West end. West end.’

‘West,’ he whispered, more to himself than her.

He reached the end and found a much smaller staircase near the student restrooms. As he moved down the stairs he realized there was blood across both of his arms. Pouring from various slices across limbs, shoulders, chest. His white tuxedo shirt was now a crisscross of crimson.

‘Down the stairs,’ Aviary said. ‘If you can get down, there’s a parking lot on the west side.’

He reached the first level and could hear boots squeaking on polished floors. The exit was right there. Next to him.

‘Thanks,’ he said softly.

‘Buy me a drink after,’ Aviary said. ‘If you … you know, survive. I mean, of course you will but, um, you know.’

Damien pushed the door open and stepped into the parking lot. It was tiny and once again had super high fences. He didn’t know if he had the strength to climb the chain links, but the lot was still half-full of vehicles. He had nowhere to really keep an unsheathed knife so he used it to tear an arm off his shirt, then discarded the knife. He ran toward a compact silver 4x4, leaping onto the bonnet. With the shirt’s blood-stained sleeve in his mouth, he jumped from the roof of the 4x4 and grabbed the top of the fence with both hands, then pulled himself over.

He was back in public housing territory again, but only briefly. The footpath was right in front of him. He moved along the fence line, quiet as possible. Rain stung the new lacerations across his body. He took a second to inspect them. One on his forearm was particularly deep. Blood ran from it and coated his wrist and hand entirely. He took a second to make a tourniquet from the torn sleeve and wrap it just below his elbow. Without it, he’d be lucky to get another block. He pulled it tight enough to stop the blood flow, then peered out from behind a yellow school bus.

Farther back on the street he could see a Marauder in position. The .50 cal was aimed at the building. Aside from the gunner and the driver, no one was there. No one to spot him. They were all inside, hopefully tangling with the other operative.

He crossed the street as quietly as he could and reached another public housing block. This one had no tall fence to climb over, which was a nice change. He ran along the grass to keep his noise down, then realized the rain and wind were so loud that it probably didn’t matter.

The block funneled him out into yet another parking lot. He noticed a main road on the right—farther west—and took it. It was more open but he needed the speed.

He had to be getting closer.

‘Aviary,’ he said as he ran. ‘How am I looking?’

‘Yeah,’ she said, her voice straining. ‘One operative still at the school, just moving out now.’

He was still alive. This wasn’t over yet. Damien pushed the last reserves of his adrenalin and sprinted the sidewalk. Restaurants and a funeral parlor blurred past. He ran around a pair of half-destroyed bus shelters and hit a large intersection between two wide streets.

‘Where am I?’ he said.

‘Houston and First Ave,’ Aviary said. ‘Take a right. You’re almost there.’

That felt good to hear. He broke into a final run and didn’t look back. He couldn’t look back.

‘Operative’s on your street now, coming up behind you,’ Aviary said.

Great.

Ahead, something stirred in the gray. He squinted through the rain and it started to take shape. Solid, sharp. As he ran it loomed closer, twirled, swept across the street.

It was a segment of a large crane, torn from the sky. The metal frame screeched along the pavement and asphalt, rolling with the wind. It decapitated fire hydrants and crumpled parked cars. And it was coming straight for him.

He quickly realized it was too wide and he couldn’t get clear of it. It seemed too high to leap over. And it was rolling and sliding very fast, unpredictably.

Damien diverted, ducked between a 4WD and a van, lifting his feet off the ground so they wouldn’t be crushed and curling into a ball. The crane smashed across the 4WD, passed right over him, pulverized the van beside him. He pulled himself out in time to see the operative in pursuit dive into a shopfront moments before the crane collected him.

Damien was running again.

‘On your right, just there!’ Aviary said.

‘Take me there!’ Damien yelled.

‘I can’t!’ she screamed. ‘You’ll cut out once you’re underground!’

‘Where is it?’ he yelled.

‘Center platform, right side!’ she said. ‘I’ll see you on the cameras and open the doors!’

He saw the street stairs to a subway station, partitioned off with pink tape. It was next to a chemist on the corner. He burst through the tape and for a brief moment felt like a marathon runner. That feeling was short-lived as .50 cal rounds warmed the air behind him. The chemist exploded into a ball of glass and metal.

He made it underground. The Second Avenue station was still lit, he could see where he was going. It was an old station with two island platforms. Damien speed-vaulted over the turnstiles—planting one hand on a turnstile and throwing his legs out to the side. He cleared them and kept running.

‘Open the doors!’ he yelled.

Aviary wasn’t replying. She couldn’t hear him anymore.

He hoped she could see him on the security cameras. He looked back and saw the operative monkey vault over the turnstiles—both hands on the turnstiles, legs tucked underneath. The operative landed on both feet and continued at full speed.

Damien fled down the stairs to the island platform, ruck still on his shoulders. He didn’t have time to work out which platform, and he didn’t have Aviary guiding him anymore. He ran out onto the left island platform and spotted the train. It was on the inner track but it was resting next to the other platform, carriage doors closed. There was an empty track between him and train.

He’d chosen the wrong side.

The operative was running down the stairs to the platform, very close. Damien continued his escape, darting between rows of blue steel pillars. He stopped at the end, trapped.

The driver’s cabin was opposite him, but the doors were still shut. He saw a camera next to him and stared into it, hoping Aviary could see him. He pointed at the doors and took a running start. The operative was halfway along the platform. Another five seconds and he’d be on Damien.

Damien ran the narrow width of the platform. He reached the edge and jumped for the train. The doors were still shut. He leaped over the empty track.

The doors beeped. They jolted open. Damien tucked his arms in, his shoulders bunching up just enough to clear the doors as they opened. He landed inside the carriage, rolled almost out the other side. He recovered and turned to see the operative taking a wide turn on the platform. He was coming in after him.

‘Close!’ Damien yelled. ‘Close!’

The doors beeped again. Continued beeping. They were warning signals. The operative reached the edge of the platform and jumped toward him. The doors weren’t going to close in time.

Damien started to wish he’d kept that knife.

The door slid shut. The operative landed on the outside, the tips of his shoes holding him against the carriage. Damien watched him leap backward, off the train and down onto the empty track. He drew his pistol and fired through the window. Damien crawled for the driver’s cabin. He snuck inside and shut the door behind him. Aviary had disabled the locks so he couldn’t even lock himself in.

Another shot blasted through the cabin’s side window. He ducked, then noticed the far end of the platform fill with masked Blue Berets. They rushed forward, carbines leveled at the operative. Damien watched as the operative disappeared in the tunnel.

He had to disappear too. He started the engine and pushed the train into the dark tunnel ahead. He took it northwest along Aviary’s prescribed route. He was on his own now, until he found Sophia at Union Square. He just hoped she’d make it.

Chapter 37

‘Are we finished?’ Nasira said.

Aviary was transfixed on her computer, or computers, since she had a few of them running. One showed the subway map with live traffic—an easy map to read when there were only two trains in motion. Another screen showed the locations of the newer stock, the ones she had limited remote control over. And the large screen on the high wall showed a grid of security camera angles. Aviary switched them from Second Avenue to Union Square and waited in silence.

‘We finished or what?’ Nasira said.

‘No!’ Aviary said.

Nasira walked over to her. ‘Listen to me, we leave when I say we leave.’

‘OK,’ Aviary said.

‘And I say we leave,’ Nasira said.

‘I can’t leave now,’ Aviary said.

‘You want to escape or you want to be Denton’s next hostage?’ Nasira said. ‘Or more like interrogation victim.’

‘We need to get the meteorite to Sophia and get her out of there,’ Aviary said.

‘And then what?’

Aviary looked at her. ‘And then we should go.’

‘Oh, and then we go, right.’ Nasira shook her head. ‘Jay is out there, you know? By himself. Injured,’ she said. ‘And I’m trapped in here doing sweet fuck all.’

Aviary raised a finger to her lips.

‘Don’t—’ Nasira stopped when she realized she was endangering them by talking loudly.

Aviary was looking at her screens again. ‘Just call him,’ she said, handing over her iPhone. ‘Use my phone.’

Nasira was about to argue another point, then stopped. She took the phone and walked to the other end of the Operations Control Center. She leaned against a copy machine.

‘Who do I—?’

‘Pink,’ Aviary called out.

Nasira shrugged and dialed the contact labeled Pink. It rang three times before Jay answered.

‘Um, hello?’ he said in a low voice.

‘Hey,’ Nasira said. ‘It’s me.’

‘Hey.’

She didn’t know what else to say. ‘I’m … coming for you,’ she said.

‘That’s a bit early in the conversation, isn’t it?’ Jay said.

‘Shut up,’ she said. ‘I’m serious. As soon as we’re done with the handover.’

‘Take your time,’ he said.

‘What are you … doing?’ she said.

‘You know, just sitting in my apartment watching TV. How about you?’

She laughed. ‘Oh yeah, just at Grand Central, you know. Waiting for a train.’

‘Huh,’ he said. ‘Where are you going?’

‘Some bitch’s birthday from the office,’ Nasira said. ‘We’re heading over for drinks in Hell’s Kitchen—’

‘What did you say you do again?’ Jay said, clearly amused.

‘I’m a florist,’ she said.

‘What does a florist do?’ Jay asked.

‘I dunno,’ Nasira said. ‘Fucking flowers and shit.’

Jay laughed, then almost choked. ‘Yeah. Slipped my mind. Are you coming over later?’

She smiled. ‘Maybe,’ she said. ‘I might be really drunk.’

‘I might be really lonely,’ Jay said.

‘That can work,’ she said.

‘Someone’s at the door,’ Jay said.

Nasira snapped out of her scenario. ‘No,’ she said. ‘Who?’

‘I’m sorry,’ Jay said. ‘Looks like I have to go.’

Nasira pulled the phone from her ear and checked the map. She had Jay’s location. Two operatives overlapped him.

‘Are you armed?’ Nasira said.

Jay laughed. This time it annoyed her. ‘I haven’t been armed since this whole thing kicked off,’ he said. ‘Major handicap.’

‘You should’ve gone to a fucking police station or something!’

‘I know, that’s what I said!’ Jay yelled.

‘OK, listen—’ She paused, heard a door open on Jay’s end.

‘Did the hurricane slow you down?’ Jay said. He was talking to the operatives.

‘Shit,’ she said. ‘Uh, look I have an idea. Listen to me,’ she said.

‘I have to go,’ Jay said.

‘Children that nestle near!’ Nasira yelled. ‘Say it!’

Jay sighed loudly, then started repeating her. ‘Children that nestle near.’

‘Pleased a simple tale to hear!’ she said.

‘Pleased a simple tale to hear,’ he said.

She couldn’t remember what came after that. ‘Fuck you motherfuckers!’ she said.

‘Fuck you motherfuckers,’ he said.

There was a short pause.

‘Yeah, that didn’t work,’ he said.

Her eyes blurred. She blinked, felt frustration well inside her.

‘Keep your phone—’ Nasira said, but the call ended.

Jay was gone.

Chapter 38

Damien released the lever in the driver’s cabin. The train halted sharply, drawing along a side platform at Union Square. On his right he could see two more island platforms and a side platform on the far wall.

Another train stopped suddenly, screeching across the rail at the far end.

Sophia.

He hit the button for the doors on his right and jumped out onto a bare track. He ran across the first island platform, between its green columns. Ahead of him, the other island platforms were divided by partitions, but they had gaps up high that he could climb over to get through.

Damien leaped off the platform and hit the partition wall with his feet first. His fingers just managed to find the top of the partition. He absorbed the impact with his legs and hung there.

Headlights blinded him.

He looked across to see a train blast through the tunnel, heading right for him.

‘Shit.’

He hurled himself over the partition and clung to the other side. The train punched through, screeching to a halt on the other side of the partition.

More than one train. That wasn’t good.

Which one was Sophia in?

He sprang off the partition, landed in the center of the track. Ahead of him, he saw two figures running through the train on the far wall. It was Sophia, and someone he didn’t recognize. Sophia carried her pistol and a sword—DC’s sword by the looks of it. Her companion wasn’t DC though—it was another woman.

That meant the train behind him had some bad news.

Damien climbed onto the next island platform. Sophia’s companion followed her through the carriages, carbine in hand. Damien noticed how she stood, elbows tucked in, carbine aimed. Unlike most soldiers, she wasn’t in a weaver or isosceles stance. He recognized the modified isosceles stance as one he’d learned in the later stages of Project GATE. Aggressive, knees slightly bent, well balanced and solid. The stance was specific to operatives and lent itself to both speed and movement. Sophia had recruited a new operative.

Sophia forced a door open and called out to him. Another train surged past, right behind Damien. What the hell was going on? Who was in these trains?

‘Aviary?’ he yelled over the train’s screeching. ‘Can you hear me?’

Nothing.

He ran to the end of the island platform, shedding his ruck. Sophia was about to drop into the empty track between them, but the sound of another train deterred her. Damien looked over to see headlights flood his vision. The train was barreling between them.

He had to do this quick.

He grabbed his ruck and tossed it across the track to Sophia. She caught it. An instant later, the train whipped between them. Damien caught glimpses of masked Blue Berets.

He ran for the nearest stairs. Climbed to the mezzanine. His hearing picked up boots on the platform below. But the mezzanine was clear. Everyone was on the platforms searching the trains. He couldn’t get back to his now. His best chance was the hurricane.

Unarmed, he sprinted through the mezzanine. He found full-height turnstiles at the end so he dived through the emergency exit door, triggering an ear-piercing alarm. He didn’t care: it was his only option right now.

Something struck him in his side. He dropped.

It wasn’t a round. It wasn’t a fist or a baton.

He hit the ground with his limbs taut, trembling with the voltage that rolled through him. He looked up to see two operatives. One drew a needle, the other held a can of CS gas to his face.

His vision was gone.

Chapter 39

‘What the hell just happened?’ Aviary said.

‘They got ambushed, that’s what,’ Nasira said.

Nasira had watched the whole thing in Union Square go down. She’d seen Sophia and her new buddy pull away in their train before anyone could stop them. She’d also seen Damien make for the exit, through the mezzanine. He moved out of camera range but when she checked her phone she noticed three operatives surrounding Damien.

‘They got Damien,’ she said.

‘Shit,’ Aviary said, reaching for the iPhone she’d given Nasira.

‘What?’ Nasira watched her type a message to Sophia on her behalf.

Turn off your loc.

Aviary didn’t send it. She stared at the screen for a moment.

‘Oh no,’ she said. ‘No.’

‘What?’ Nasira’s question was more of a growl.

Aviary just stared the screen. ‘They have Jay’s phone now so they could follow Damien by his location.’ She looked up at Nasira. ‘I’m so sorry, I should’ve put a passcode or fingerprint on them.’

Nasira shook her head. ‘It doesn’t matter, they’d just make him unlock it.’

Aviary sent the message to Sophia, and then again to Damien—but Nasira gripped her wrist.

‘Too late,’ Nasira said. ‘You should never have turned them on.’

‘But it’s a beacon!’ she said. ‘We know where Jay is! And Damien!’

‘Give me that,’ Nasira said, taking the phone back.

Jay’s dot was now much closer, on Lexington Avenue, right next to Grand Central terminal. And Damien’s dot was moving in this direction, accompanied by operatives.

‘What are they doing here?’ Aviary said.

‘Denton has them now,’ Nasira said.

She heard boots in the distance. They sounded close.

‘Did you turn our location off?’ Nasira said.

The color left Aviary’s face. ‘Oh.’

‘Oh?’ Nasira said. She shoved the phone in Aviary’s face. ‘Turn the damned thing off!’

The door to the Operations Control Center was sealed shut, but a modest amount of explosives or detcord could change that.

‘OK, it’s off! It’s off!’ Aviary said.

‘Like I said, too late.’

Nasira scanned the room. There had to be another way out.

She didn’t know whether it was her newly upgraded sense of magnetic fields, but the shape of the room seemed wrong. She walked along one of the walls, lifting a copy machine out of the way. There was some sort of aberration in the fields along the wall. She peered closer and noticed a carefully concealed door. The handle was hidden behind the copy machine. Possibly left over from before the renovations and the new control center.

‘What’s behind this door?’ Nasira said.

Aviary leaned over her computer, fingers punching keys. ‘Clock tower.’

‘Works for me,’ Nasira said. She turned the stiff, metal handle on the door and pulled it open. It took a short, explosive pull to pry it from the frame. It was dark inside and Nasira splashed it with red light from her torch. There was an X-shaped concrete foundation before her. At the rear of the space she could see a thin ladder leading upward.

‘On me,’ Nasira said. ‘Move!’

Aviary had packed all her computer gear back into her ruck and locked the desktop computers, and now scurried to Nasira. The military boots were outside the control center door. She could hear them preparing something and knew they were planning to pry or ram it, or blow it.

Nasira closed the door behind her, making sure it was shut firmly. She didn’t have anything to booby trap it with, and she didn’t want to waste the time. She went for the ladder. It was thin and squeaked as she climbed. She moved through the ceiling. It was decorated with a fat white pipe and a bunch of cabling. Aviary was in tow.

Nasira found herself in another room. There were no other exits. Just another ladder that took them higher. She kept going, pausing only to make sure her Glock was still in her waistband. It was her only weapon and she wasn’t about to lose it.

She reached the final ladder and climbed to the top. Aviary was just reaching it now. The level was floored with wooden planks, covered in dust and grime. The walls were bare brick, occasionally sprouting a concrete frame. Nasira moved under the concrete, torch in hand, ducking some hot pipes.

They were in the clock tower. A wooden landing fed her out onto a narrow metal walkway under the clock mechanism—a cumbersome cannon-like device that connected via a sort of needle to the center of the thirteen-foot-wide Tiffany glass clock.

The stained glass was ornately designed, with a gold and blue center edged with gold, and white Roman numerals on dark crimson.

Nasira could feel Aviary’s quick breaths on her shoulder.

‘Now where?’ Aviary said.

Nasira needed something to smash through the clock face, but she stopped when she noticed the Roman number VI was actually a window she could open.

‘Through the clock,’ Nasira said.

‘What?’ Aviary said.

Nasira pushed the window open. Wind and rain roared through and howled down the ladders. She suppressed a shiver. Aviary stumbled and regained her footing.

Nasira peered down over the hand-carved stone and didn’t like what she saw. Directly below, the Park Avenue Viaduct, a raised two-way overpass that overshadowed the super-wide Park Avenue South. It was the first time she’d seen it devoid of traffic. In the distance she could see a dark storm front moving towards them.

Hurricane Isaias.

Even though it was elevated from the ground, the viaduct was still too far to survive any sort of jump—the drop to the viaduct alone was probably a six-story fall. Nasira craned her head and looked up. She could see the carvings of Mercury, Hercules and Minerva staring down on her, asking her what the fuck she was doing up here. She couldn’t fly, so get down, bitch.

The roof was just above the carvings. That was possible, she thought, so roof it was. She lifted herself up to sit on the ledge, holding the window frame around her. Aviary was watching from inside, frozen. Over the wind Nasira could hear the Blue Berets breach the door downstairs.

‘You can either come with me,’ Nasira said, ‘or you can face them.’

‘I can’t go out there,’ Aviary said.

‘And I can’t guarantee they’ll keep you alive,’ Nasira said.

Nasira shifted into a crouch and gradually rose, feeling her way along the glass clock, her hands finding grooves and protrusions in the design to hold onto. It was wet and she had to talk her legs out of trembling. She wouldn’t admit it to Aviary but she was very fucking unsure about this.

Nasira climbed over a ledge onto the side of the clock, reaching the bent knee of a god. She didn’t know whether it was Mercury or Hercules, and she didn’t much give a fuck as long as the god kept her from falling. She pulled herself up over his bent knee, landing in his crotch.

Stable and not at risk of falling, she turned and looked back down at the clock. Aviary’s red hair tangled in the wind. She was staring down at the viaduct, dissolving her will to climb.

‘Don’t look there!’ Nasira called over the wind. ‘Look up here! Look at me!’ She maneuvered herself back over the bent knee and offered her hand across the ledge. ‘Climb to my hand and you’re safe! Can you do that for me?’

Aviary nodded—not really convincing but it was something. Aviary sat on the mouth of the window and her shaky hands reached out to grip the frame around the numerals V and VII. She started on one knee and one foot, then slowly stood upright, her body pressed against the glass clock. She wrapped both arms around the minute hand. She trembled when the hand moved slightly.

‘Take it slow, it’s OK!’ Nasira yelled.

It wasn’t OK. But she had to say it. She needed to get Aviary away from the clock. Aviary reached out with her left hand, clawing for the edge of the clock. There were protrusions at every hour, carved into the stone. Aviary’s hand clamped over one. She transferred her weight across, stepped along the carved stone and out of the window.

Come on, Aviary. Come the fuck on.

Aviary moved too quickly, her hand slipping on the wet stone. She scrambled, her hand reaching for the ledge. She missed Nasira’s hand. She dangled underneath. Nasira wasn’t sure what from, but under the ledge there were more engraved things—not gods or whatever but something Aviary had managed to hold onto with one hand to keep from plummeting to her death.

Nasira hooked her boot under the bent knee of the god. Anchored, she shuffled further until she could hang half off the ledge. She reached face-down, blood rushing to her head. She was inches from Aviary.

‘Reach for my hand!’ Nasira yelled.

But she knew it was no good. Aviary had nothing else for leverage. Her strength and endurance weren’t going to last long.

‘Shit,’ Aviary said.

‘Hold on!’ Nasira yelled. ‘Grab my leg!’

Nasira retreated to the bent knee, unhooked her foot. There was only one way to get closer to Aviary and it meant going feet-first. She lowered herself over the edge. She only had her elbows keeping her from slipping off the ledge completely. The god’s bent knee was too high up to grip now. She lowered her legs, tried to find something to stand on. There was nothing.

Nasira’s legs hung in the air. She looked over her shoulder, located Aviary at her four o’clock. Aviary was hanging on the very bottom of the stone carvings, under the clock.

A gust of wind pinned Nasira against the wall. She looked up and didn’t like what she saw. Farther south the edge of the hurricane was moving through Park Avenue. It swelled and curled between the buildings, dark and agitated. It was coming right for them.

Shit.

Nasira shuffled to the end of the ledge, reached her leg out. Her boot made it to Aviary’s head.

‘Grab my ankle!’ Nasira yelled.

Aviary was looking at it, terrified. Nasira’s foot was right beside her head. Aviary lifted her free arm up and clamped it over Nasira’s lower leg. Nasira felt the weight bear on her. She transferred all her strength to her elbows and shoulders, keeping her on the ledge.

‘Both hands!’ Nasira yelled.

Nasira couldn’t look down anymore. She needed to stay on the ledge. She felt Aviary transfer over. Her weight almost pried Nasira from the rain-slicked stone. Her fingers were spread wide, clawing. She couldn’t reach out to the bent god’s knee; it was too far on her left. She shifted her elbows further onto the ledge but Aviary was pulling her back faster than she could move.

Instead of moving her elbows in, she started edging along, moving left. Aviary was swinging helplessly underneath. With each movement, Nasira lost an inch from the ledge and another inch of Aviary’s grip.

Nasira didn’t know if she’d make it but she was sure as hell going to try. She shifted one elbow at a time. Behind her, the hurricane loomed closer. The wind strengthened, threatening to tear them from the ledge. Move by move, she shifted away from the clock and toward the god with the bent knee.

Finally she reached the knee. But she soon realized it was too high to reach. Her elbows were almost off the ledge. It felt like Aviary was hanging by almost nothing. If Nasira risked moving farther she’d lose her leverage and be hanging by just her fingers. But with Aviary’s body weight she wasn’t going to last long.

She kept moving. Past the knee. To the god’s lower leg. To his ankle. The ankle was low, planted firmly on the ledge. Her elbow slipped. The other elbow slipped. Aviary screamed. Nasira clawed at the lip with both hands.

Every muscle felt like it was about to tear from her. Her fingers, pressed white against the stone, were all she had left. She released one hand and lunged upward, wrapped her fingers around the god’s ankle. She found purchase, adjusted, got more of a hold. Wrapped her entire hand over the ankle.

‘Motherfucker,’ she gasped.

‘Nasira!’ Aviary called from below.

She looked down, saw Aviary looking over at the clock beside them. An unmasked Blue Beret peered out the open window. Nasira took her other hand and tried to draw the NYPD Glock. She aimed it at the Blue Beret.

The Beret scanned the viaduct below, shielded his face from the hurricane wind, and then withdrew.

Nasira placed her Glock on the ledge and brought her elbow up. Once she did that, she was able to pull her chin over the ledge and reach up to grab the god’s knee. Using his entire leg, she pulled herself up and over, back into his crotch. Aviary found purchase on his leg and was able to drag herself up.

Nasira reached under his leg, retrieved her Glock and stuffed it deep into her waistband.

Aviary was shaking. The hurricane was almost on them. They couldn’t slow now.

Nasira held her shoulders. ‘You did good!’ she shouted. ‘Nearly there. Look, the easy part!’

Aviary looked up. She wasn’t convinced.

They had to climb over the god’s shoulder and onto the other side—the rooftop.

‘OK, you first!’ Nasira said.

Aviary seemed reassured by that and crawled over Nasira, her hands clamping over the god’s stone bicep so tightly Nasira had to push her over. She made it over the other side of the arm, checked her footing behind the god, then slowly released her grip. She disappeared from view, landing on the roof of Grand Central terminal. Nasira barely heard her feet hit the ground.

There was enough room for Nasira to follow her over. She scaled the god’s shoulder relatively quickly. The roof was almost square. There was a giant rectangular gap before her, cluttered with fans and circulation units and a drop down to skylights below. There were arched windows that let light into the main concourse. Wind whipped over the roof and Nasira crouched to stop from falling over. They needed to get off the roof. Low and careful, she led a gradually panicking Aviary around the edge of the roof, past another row of skylights and circulation units.

They eventually reached the MetLife skyscraper, which was connected directly to the roof. Nasira knew this was going to be the only realistic way out, as any other way would involve a six-level drop or venturing back into Grand Central. She found an access door and started picking the lock.

‘Hurry up!’ Aviary screamed.

Nasira barely heard her over the wind. Her hands were wet and the lockpicks slippery. Her fingertips went white as she held onto them. She raked the lock a few times, hoping for an easy cylinder. But it wasn’t that easy. She risked a glance over her shoulder and saw the darkness reach Grand Central. The edge of the hurricane looked paler than the night’s sky. It whipped towards them with rivulets of orange and purple. Skylight panels shattered. A wrought-iron barrier tore free and smashed through one of the arched windows into the main concourse below.

Aviary clung to Nasira’s back. Nasira couldn’t hold onto the door: she needed both hands to pick the lock. The force of the wind kept smashing her into the door. She pressed herself against the door to keep herself steady.

A circulation unit tore free, sending fans tumbling across the roof. One of them was spinning towards Aviary. Her ears were filled with Aviary’s screaming.

The last pin seated.

Nasira opened the door, pulled Aviary inside. Away from the doorway. The fan smashed into the doorway, too wide to make it through. Bits of metal sprinkled down the stairwell. Nasira held Aviary in the corner. She could feel her heartbeat racing in time with her own. She reached over and slammed the door shut.

‘Stay close,’ Nasira said.

Aviary nodded, gulping air. She said nothing.

Nasira took her down the stairs. She needed to get them away from the terminal before planning her next move.

The MetLife lobby lacked any soldiers or operatives, and for that she was grateful. Instead, a strange glass structure loomed above them. She passed under it and exited with Aviary through a gloomy parking-lot exit, shadowed by the viaduct. The hurricane was right on them so they couldn’t stay outside long. She grabbed Aviary’s hand and they crossed the narrow road quickly, straight into a loading dock. The wind and rain tore them off course. Nasira whisked Aviary through the next building as fast as the redhead’s shaky legs would allow. She didn’t stop for a breather until they were three blocks from the terminal and Nasira had a moment to watch for any followers both on her phone and using her eyes. There were none.

She picked an office floor three levels high. There were no lights on in this building by default, but some light cast in from adjacent buildings. She told Aviary to keep away from the windows. The hurricane battered them, which Nasira hoped would deter her. The sound rippled through the empty office building. Aviary was panting, soaking wet. She didn’t have the energy to complain. She collapsed into an office chair.

‘Giving some serious thought to just napping on the floor for a bit,’ Aviary said.

Nasira left her to it and found a water cooler. She drank three cups in quick succession before returning to Aviary with two full cups. Aviary sipped it patiently, her fingers still shaking.

‘We made it,’ Nasira said.

Aviary nodded. ‘Yeah. And I almost got you killed about ten times.’

Nasira didn’t know what to say. ‘We not dead, are we?’ she said. ‘That’s what matters.’

Aviary reached for the second cup of water. ‘Yeah.’

Chapter 40

Sophia felt like she was breathing for the first time in a while. She kept her hand on the lever, guiding the train forward into darkness, just as Czarina had done when they’d first commandeered the train.

Czarina returned to the cabin. ‘Train’s clear, no one got on.’

Sophia swallowed. ‘Good.’

‘We’re heading north,’ Czarina said. ‘What’s the plan?’

‘We burn the meteorite,’ Sophia said. ‘At two thousand five hundred degrees, preferably.’

Czarina lowered her carbine. ‘How about thermite grenades? We could raid the ESU. There’s one in the East Village. Precinct 13.’

‘They won’t have any,’ Sophia said.

‘So what then, a blast furnace?’ Czarina said. ‘I don’t think there’s one of those on the island. We’d have to go upstate—’ She stopped and said, ‘Oh. That’s where you’re going.’

‘They can’t have blocked all the tunnels,’ Sophia said. ‘And they can’t all be flooded. We’ll find one. Hopefully before Denton finds us.’

The headlights dimmed, then cut out. The tunnel went dark and the train slowed. Sophia checked the lever. She was still holding it upright.

‘That’s not good,’ Sophia said.

‘Denton cut the power to the track,’ Czarina said.

‘Aviary,’ Sophia said to herself. She hoped Aviary and Nasira were alright. She trusted Nasira would keep her safe. ‘We need to get as far away from this train as possible.’

Czarina didn’t say anything further. She moved out to the first carriage, her carbine pointing to the floor.

‘I guess we’re walking,’ Czarina said.

Sophia stepped around her, moved to the nearest doors and pried them open. She still couldn’t pick up on any hostile emotions from Czarina. All she could detect was stress and an element of relief. She hoped it was for the right reasons.

Sophia started north along the tunnel. It wasn’t lit very well, and she’d given her torch to Damien. But there was just enough light to make out the tracks and the curve of the tunnel ahead. She could hear Czarina’s footsteps behind her, lightly crunching on the rocky ground.

The New York City subway network was incredibly huge. She could spend years wandering these tunnels and never see every single spot. Right now, she just had to follow the tunnel until she hit the next station, trusting Aviary had plotted the correct direction for her.

‘So,’ Czarina said, ‘what’s it like?’

‘Being the most wanted terrorist on the planet?’ Sophia said, over her shoulder. ‘Doing wonders for my personal brand.’

‘They haven’t publicized your face yet, at least,’ Czarina said.

‘Denton can put my face on every screen in the world if he wants to, now that he has what he wants from me—after all these years—fuck.’

Just saying it made her angry.

‘I can’t believe I let that happen,’ Sophia said. ‘I never should’ve gone in after him. Not with … not with what I knew.’

‘But you didn’t know,’ Czarina said. ‘You didn’t know he could take it from you.’

‘I knew about the three different Phoenix viruses,’ Sophia said. ‘There’s no excuse: I should never have gone in there.’

She thought of Owen Freeman. And how she’d failed him. So much for being his Phoenix. Now Denton was the Phoenix.

She stopped walking. Czarina politely stopped behind her.

‘He told me not to go in,’ Sophia said.

‘Your friend, DC?’ Czarina said.

‘He’s not my friend,’ Sophia said.

‘You promised to answer my question,’ Czarina said.

Sophia started walking again.

‘What’s it like not being an operative?’

For a while Sophia kept walking and didn’t say a word.

‘Sophia?’

Sophia stopped. ‘It’s lonely.’

Finally, Czarina stopped talking. They walked in silence for a minute. Then she started again.

‘It’s lonely for me too,’ Czarina said. ‘I knew on some level that what I do isn’t right. I think we all did. At least in that real psyche—what’s it called?’

‘Archeopsyche,’ Sophia said.

‘That one,’ Czarina said. ‘I think we all know. Something about this world isn’t right. It just feels a little off balance.’

‘Yeah,’ Sophia said. ‘You soon realize that’s not a feeling.’

‘That was your friend back there,’ Czarina said. ‘Daniel?’

‘Damien,’ she said. ‘I guess so, yeah. I’ve worked with him for a while. Operative and post-operative.’

Now Sophia was talking just so Czarina wouldn’t. ‘Same with Jay. And Nasira.’

‘But not DC?’ Czarina said. ‘What’s he?’

‘I don’t know what he is. And I don’t really care anymore.’

She stopped in her tracks so suddenly that Czarina collided with her. She could make out the sliver of an outline ahead. Someone’s head and part of their shoulder. Just enough light from the far end of the tunnel gave him away. Sophia turned to Czarina and spoke in a low voice.

‘You don’t have a torch, do you?’ she said.

Czarina shook her head.

It was quite possibly a mole person. She figured most of them—and there would be many under here—would still be around even today. Most people didn’t know these subterranean people existed. That was how the Akhana had concealed a base under here the whole time. And the Fifth Column for that matter.

Sophia drew her Glock with one hand, keeping the other free for her sword. She aimed her pistol with a slight left tilt, natural for her arm.

‘Who are you?’ she said, loud enough her voice carried through the tunnel.

There was no response at first, but the response that came surprised her.

‘Didn’t know how else to get hold of you,’ DC said.

‘How did you find us?’

‘One of the trains at Union Square,’ DC said, taking a step out from the wall. ‘I saw the handover with Damien. I was going to find you at the next station but they cut the power.’

Sophia didn’t lower her pistol. She wasn’t getting a clear reading on him yet.

‘What do you want?’ she said.

DC moved to the center of the tunnel but didn’t come closer. ‘I thought we established that.’ he said. ‘Stop Denton. Destroy the meteorites. Save the world from a man who is equal parts insane and powerful.’

‘He’s not a man and he’s not insane. He’s a psychopath,’ Sophia said. ‘Sometimes I think it would be easier if he was insane.’

‘The commander of the Blue Berets has a proposition for you,’ DC said. ‘And requested I pass it on to you.’

‘So you’re best buddies?’ Sophia said. ‘This commander the commander who died in the blast at Grand Central?’

‘He’s under the impression I do, yes,’ DC said. ‘And the blast didn’t kill him. That commander was a decoy.’

‘Interesting tactics,’ she said. ‘Who is he, exactly?’

‘Well,’ DC said. ‘If you accept his proposition then you’ll find out for yourself.’

‘That’s not encouraging,’ Sophia said.

Czarina stepped around Sophia, aiming her carbine. ‘She’s not going anywhere,’ she said, ‘if she doesn’t want to.’

DC was holding a carbine of his own, but he aimed it downward.

Sophia kept her Glock trained on him all the same.

‘All you need to do is hear me out and then I leave,’ DC said.

‘Speed it up,’ Sophia said. ‘I have to assume Denton’s tracking us right now.’

‘There’s no way to completely destroy the meteorite, not on this island, not in the time you have,’ DC said. ‘There is only one way to ensure Denton never gets it.’

‘Well, at least there is a way,’ Sophia said. ‘Your commander sounds extremely clever. Is he a psychopath as well, by any chance?’ She tapped the bridge of her nose. ‘You know, I can tell now,’ she said. ‘Just a big hole inside them. Base emotions, thin like ribbons.’

‘No, he’s not,’ DC said. He didn’t seem too excited about this.

‘So what’s his plan then?’ Sophia said.

‘Give it to him,’ DC said.

Sophia lowered her pistol. ‘Brilliant. And?’

‘That’s it.’

‘Just give up the rock to the big man? The one who’s less deranged? According to him.’

‘Think about it,’ DC said. ‘He can use it to bait and trap Denton. He’s already tracking it as we speak. He still has five squadrons.’

‘Less than five,’ Sophia said.

‘Denton has two at most, maybe less. The Commander is the only person in New York City right now with the manpower to pull off a trap like that.’

‘You’re talking about a man who commands an entire company of Blue Berets for the Fifth Column,’ Sophia said. ‘I’d have to be pretty stupid to hand it over.’

DC swallowed. ‘His mission—and I’ve seen it myself—is to destroy the meteorites,’ he said. ‘And destroy Denton.’

‘Yes but was this mission written on paper with the official Fifth Column letterhead and the official fountain pen or was it just an ordinary pen?’ Sophia said. ‘Because that makes a big impact on my decision-making process.’

‘We want the same thing,’ DC said. ‘I wouldn’t let anything bad happen to you.’

‘Yeah, you said that in the OSS base and it didn’t work out so well.’

‘Well, actually you fell into a chasm.’

‘No, actually I … fell into a chasm,’ Sophia said.

‘So you know you can trust me?’ DC said.

‘The real question is if I want to,’ Sophia said. ‘And right now I don’t think it’s a wise idea.’

She started walking, around him. Czarina moved quickly to keep up, stepping in a careful arc with her barrel pointed at DC. He didn’t move.

‘I can do this without you and your creepy masked soldiers,’ Sophia said. ‘Thanks all the same.’

‘Look at your map,’ DC said. ‘Look where the operatives are.’

She took it out, but there was no reception. ‘I can’t, not here.’

‘OK, fine. But you must know what’s waiting for you at the next station,’ he said. ‘And it ain’t gonna be pretty.’

‘Nothing ever is,’ Sophia said.

‘Think, Sophia. You’re on foot. Denton has your location. Operatives will be all over you once you get there.’

‘I’ll just have to deal with it,’ Sophia said.

Czarina moved behind her, stepping backward carefully so she could keep her carbine on DC.

‘You won’t survive!’ DC yelled.

Sophia stopped, turned. ‘What makes you so sure?’

She was picking up something different from him now. It was abrasive, uneven. He was angry. And worried.

‘What have you done?’ Sophia said.

‘I have Blue Berets already covering the station,’ DC said. ‘A deterrent. It’s the only way we can make it out in one piece.’

She raised her Glock to his face again. ‘You’ve trapped me. It’s not the only way we can make it out, it’s the only way you can make it out.’

‘Those soldiers are there to protect you!’ DC shouted. ‘I’m trying to help!’

‘What part of I don’t want your help do you not understand?’ she yelled back.

His voice dropped. He spoke calmly and it annoyed her.

‘It’s not about helping you,’ he said. ‘It’s about the meteorite you’re carrying. We both know that. And if you don’t want my help, that’s fine. You don’t have to come. I can take the meteorite.’

‘And lure Denton?’ she yelled. ‘And risk him getting hold of it? Do you realize you’re playing a very dangerous game here?’

He stepped forward, a sliver of light catching his eyes. ‘If you walk out there without me, that’s when it gets dangerous.’

‘You’re not my bodyguard anymore,’ Sophia said.

‘Then start looking after yourself,’ DC said.

‘Don’t,’ she said. ‘Do they have orders to shoot me?’ she said.

‘No,’ DC said. ‘But if we don’t reach some sort of agreement here—if I fail—they have orders to take you in.’

‘Against my will,’ she said. ‘How many are there?’

‘Does it matter?’ he said.

‘He has a point,’ Czarina said.

Sophia glared at her. ‘He has quite a few points. That’s the problem.’

‘I mean, I’m still on your side,’ Czarina said. ‘I owe you my life.’

‘Do you know what really pisses me off?’ Sophia said, to DC. ‘I can feel it all from over here,’ she said to him. ‘I can tell you actually believe what you’re saying. You actually want to help.’ She lowered her pistol. ‘And I don’t know whether that’s a good thing or a bad thing.’

‘Right now there is no good thing,’ DC said. ‘You don’t have to come in with me. You don’t even have to come to the station with me. I take the meteorite and it’s all on me and those Blue Berets. And the commander.’

‘And you expect me to trust them with this meteorite?’ she said. ‘When Denton is an inch away from becoming a walking, talking Seraphim transmitter?’

DC took a step closer. ‘We just need—’

‘To stop Denton,’ Sophia said, holstering her pistol. ‘Yeah, I get it. But if you and your commander are going to do that, then I need to make sure you do it properly.’

‘So we have a deal?’ DC said.

‘Yes,’ Sophia said. ‘But I’m keeping your sword.’

Chapter 41

Aviary’s phone started buzzing in her pocket. Her half-drunk cup of water splashed to the carpet. She retrieved it.

‘It’s Jay,’ Aviary said.

Nasira shook her head. ‘No, it isn’t.’ She took the phone from Aviary, answered the call and switched to speaker.

‘Yeah?’ Nasira said.

‘Might I ask who I’m speaking with?’ Denton said.

She swallowed. ‘Nasira. Word on the street you got some friends of ours.’

‘Yes. We’ve had a good little chat. It’s been fun,’ Denton said. ‘I have a deal for you. One might say a one-time only offer. You know, one of those.’

‘Whatever,’ Nasira said. ‘Get to the point.’

‘Is Sophia around by any chance?’ Denton said. ‘She’s much more fun with the negotiation side of things. You’re a bit … rushed.’

‘She can’t come to the phone right now,’ Nasira said. ‘Guess you already know that ’cause you read minds—wait, you can’t do that over the phone. My mistake.’ She allowed herself a tiny grin.

‘I assure you, it’s not necessary,’ Denton said. ‘What’s necessary is the meteorite she’s carrying be returned to its rightful owner.’

‘The museum?’ Nasira said. ‘Yeah, you blew that up. Guess there is no owner now.’

‘I see Sophia has made some new friends—a good operative of mine and a large bunch of Blue Berets. Unfortunately, she will need to make a choice. Very soon. Hand over the meteorite or I blow your friends to dust.’

Nasira felt her frustration fade, leaving her cold. ‘Which friends?’

‘Jay and Damien,’ he said. ‘Or, as I like to call them now, Jaymien. Has a nice ring to it. And so do a couple of subway platforms lined with explosives. Motion triggered, so they can’t quite get up and walk away, if you catch my drift,’ Denton said. ‘Any attempt to rescue them, one of your friends goes boom. For every thirty minutes you fail to deliver the meteorite, one of your friends goes boom.’

‘Make it every sixty minutes and you got a deal,’ Nasira said.

‘Thirty,’ he said.

He ended the call.

Aviary was staring at her.

‘That ain’t good,’ Nasira said.

‘Your negotiation skills?’ Aviary said.

‘No,’ Nasira said. ‘I need to get them out of there before he flips the switch.’

The phone buzzed again. This time it was Sophia’s number.

Nasira answered. ‘It’s me.’

‘I just got into range. Are you and Aviary OK?’ Sophia said, seemingly calm.

‘Fine,’ Nasira said. ‘We had to bail from the control center.’

‘I know,’ Sophia said. ‘Denton’s cut the power to all the tracks.’

‘Didn’t take him long,’ Nasira said. ‘What’s the deal with you? You have the rock?’

‘I do,’ Sophia said. ‘I need you to listen carefully. You won’t agree with everything I’m about to tell you, and that’s OK. I’m telling you so you know what to do next.’

Nasira didn’t like where this was going. ‘Yeah, well I have something to tell you as well.’

‘Listen to me first,’ Sophia said. ‘I’m turning myself in. With the meteorite.’

‘To who?’ Nasira said. ‘Denton? Listen up—’

‘No, the commander of the Blue Berets,’ Sophia said. ‘DC is working with him. They’re escorting me in now. They don’t want to keep the meteorites. They want them destroyed.’

‘And you believe that?’ Nasira said.

‘It doesn’t matter what I believe,’ Sophia said.

‘It matters if you trust them,’ Nasira said, not bothering to lower her voice.

Aviary looked on with alarm and an empty cup.

‘I don’t,’ Sophia said. ‘That’s why I’m telling you.’

‘You sacrificing yourself?’ Nasira said. ‘That ain’t a good idea. I just got a call from Denton.’

‘How?’ Sophia said.

‘Using Jay’s phone,’ Nasira said. ‘He has Jaymien, I mean, Jay and Damien.’

‘OK, I have a plan,’ Sophia said.

‘No, listen up,’ Nasira said. ‘You have thirty minutes to hand over the rock. If you don’t, one of the boys gets blown up. He’s wired the platforms with explosives. Another thirty minutes, he blows another one.’

‘That doesn’t leave much time,’ Sophia said.

‘Yeah, no fucking kidding!’ Nasira said. ‘So turn around now. We need a new plan and we need it now.’

‘The commander is the only one on this island right now who has a chance at stopping all this,’ Sophia said. ‘He’s the only one with the numbers and the resources. I can’t just keep running the tunnels like a rat in a maze—you know that. With the commander, we can stop Denton before he blows anyone up.’

‘Listen to yourself. He’s Fifth Column,’ Nasira said. ‘He’ll kill you. If not now, later.’

‘That’s where you come in,’ Sophia said. ‘I’m drawing Denton’s fire. To the Waldorf Astoria and into the commander’s trap. That’s their plan. And we’re doing it now.’

Nasira realized where she was going with this. ‘He’ll be distracted. That’s when I make my move?’

‘Not on me,’ Sophia said. ‘On the boys. And not a moment before. If Denton makes it out alive and hits the trigger, the boys are safe.’

Nasira knew Sophia couldn’t say it in front of DC or anyone else who might be listening from her end, but she knew that once she’d got the boys out, Sophia was expecting her to come help with whatever shit storm she was about to walk into.

‘And then you want us to come for you?’ Nasira said.

‘You do what you need to,’ Sophia said. ‘The important thing is Denton doesn’t get the meteorite. The more people in play here, the worse his odds.’

‘Ain’t doing great for our odds either,’ Nasira said.

‘You know where I am,’ Sophia said. ‘You can see what I see.’

She was referring to her location, which Nasira could still access on Aviary’s iPhone. And that meant Denton could too.

‘Gotcha,’ Nasira said.

‘I’ll speak to you soon.’

Sophia ended the call.

Nasira stared at the phone for a moment, silent. She switched to the map. All three remaining Fifth Column operatives were clustered in Grand Central terminal. Even though Aviary had turned off her phone’s location, they could still see Sophia’s. She was moving toward the Astoria.

‘Sophia’s dot has an orange outline,’ Nasira said. ‘That wasn’t there before.’

Aviary nodded. ‘Below fifty-percent battery. I should’ve given her a backup.’

Jay and Damien were together on Lexington Avenue, or at least their phones were. They didn’t have an orange outline yet, and they hadn’t moved since the last time she checked. Probably due to lack of reception.

Only three buildings away from her and Aviary.

She couldn’t tell if they were actually on the avenue or underground. It seemed unlikely they’d be out in the open.

The map on her screen disappeared, replaced by an image of a subway station. The image was moving. Nasira realized it was some sort of live camera feed—from Sophia’s iPhone.

Nasira tilted the screen to show Aviary. ‘What the hell’s this?’

‘Oh shit.’ Aviary stood and reached for the handset. ‘That’s the wide-angle lens on the bottom of the phone; I put in there myself. Looks like a headphone jack.’

She turned her phone over and Nasira could see two headphone jacks, only one was fake. There was a very small glass lens inside, so small it almost looked like a tiny screw.

They watched as the camera feed moved through the subway platform. Sophia was walking with her phone in one hand.

‘You can see what I see,’ Nasira said, repeating Sophia’s words. ‘She wasn’t talking about the map, she meant the camera.’

Aviary reached for her ruck and removed a small laptop. She placed it on a nearby desk and flipped it open. Soon she had the camera feed onscreen. It was wider now. As Sophia moved with her phone, Nasira could see all the way to the left and right. She could see the people walking beside her. DC and that other operative.

Aviary hit the volume key on her laptop. ‘We have audio as well,’ she said.

Nasira could hear the trio’s footsteps bounce from the subway tunnel walls. They moved up a flight of stairs to a mezzanine level. At the end she could see masked Blue Berets waiting for them. Their carbines were lowered, trigger fingers pointed to the tiled floor.

‘Can you watch more than one stream?’ Nasira said.

Aviary, hunched over the laptop, rolled her eyes. ‘I can have eight if I want. As long as you don’t go too deep in a tunnel. I think the only reason Sophia could call you from the subway platform was ’cause her phone hijacked the cellular connection of someone else’s—probably one of those soldiers on the mezzanine above.’

‘Grand Central will work?’ Nasira asked.

Aviary straightened up. ‘Upper levels,’ she said. ‘Same as before.’

‘How many phones do you have?’ Nasira said.

‘Why?’

‘I have an idea,’ Nasira said, taking Aviary’s ruck and rummaging through. She found four more iPhones, each in a different colored rubber shell.

Aviary helped her, reaching in. ‘Here’s an earpiece,’ she said.

Nasira took it and slipped it into her right ear. Aviary also handed her a wireless microphone to pin under her T-shirt. Then she scooped up all four iPhones and started searching the nearby office desks.

‘What do you need all those for?’ Aviary said.

‘Denton has three operatives,’ Nasira said, finding a roll of duct tape and shoving it awkwardly into her jacket pocket. ‘I don’t.’

She slipped the iPhones into her jeans pockets—two in each side.

Aviary was staring at the map on her iPhone. ‘You’re not meant to go now: the operatives haven’t moved out yet.’

‘I’m getting into position,’ Nasira said, setting her watch to twenty-five minutes and counting. ‘Once Denton moves for the Astoria—if he moves—I won’t have much time.’

‘I’m not some stupid kid you can lie to,’ Aviary said, her voice rising. ‘You just ran from them and now you’re going straight back in? Before you’re even supposed to!’

Nasira felt her hands ball into fists. ‘What I’m supposed to do is save my friends.’

‘And Sophia isn’t your friend?’ Aviary said.

Nasira stepped toward her. ‘I’ve known her longer than you have,’ she said. ‘Maybe you’re forgetting where we came from.’

Aviary stepped up as well. ‘Pretty hard to forget, actually.’

Nasira exhaled slowly. ‘I know how much you mean to her,’ she said. ‘I ain’t gonna be responsible for you getting a round through the head.’

‘I’m still alive,’ Aviary said, her eyes suddenly glassy. ‘I know you think I’m some little girl who plays with computers and explosives.’

Nasira shook her head. ‘It’s not that, we’ve had years—’

‘I’ve had some training too,’ Aviary said. ‘But I get it. I get that I’ll never be like you. What you guys have, I’ll never have that,’ she said. ‘But it doesn’t mean I don’t care and it doesn’t mean I don’t want to help.’

Nasira turned away, but didn’t move.

‘It doesn’t mean I’m useless,’ Aviary said, her fingers descending on the laptop keyboard.

‘What the hell are you doing?’ Nasira said.

Aviary held up a finger to silence her. She was inspecting a blueprint of Grand Central terminal, but it wasn’t the same blueprint she found the last time they were in the terminal.

‘You’ll need to disable the control center before you can set foot on any of the concourses, right?’ Aviary said.

‘And I suppose you have a plan for that?’ Nasira said.

‘As it turns out, I do. But I need access to the network those computers run on,’ Aviary said. ‘And I think I know where you can find it.’ She pointed at a spot on her laptop screen.

‘What’s that?’

‘The Campbell Apartment,’ Aviary said. ‘Cocktail bar on the third level. Used to be an apartment for some rich dude. Looks like a lot of the wiring runs through there, including some new fiber for the upper levels.’

She pulled one of her ethernet-to-antenna hubs from her ruck and gave it to Nasira. ‘This gives us access to the fiber optic cable, which should already have an ethernet port you can use. That cocktail bar has, according to this, access to the same fiber connection as the control center. All you need to do is connect your phone and hit this button—’ Aviary showed her the button in the Settings app ‘—Personal Hotspot mode, with a difference. Hit the Hijack toggle on this panel and it gives me direct access to the network your phone is hooked up to.’

Nasira was confused. ‘So I just hit the button and—’

‘Yes. Just hit the button and the Hijack toggle,’ Aviary said.

‘And what’s the point of all this?’ Nasira said.

‘Once we have access, I can shut the security cameras down in seconds. Minutes. Five minutes. Maybe ten. Can you get us to the Campbell Apartment? West end, upper level.’

‘I can get there but I’ll pass at least one camera to get inside, and another once I’m inside, I’m guessing,’ Nasira said. ‘And another in the bar.’

Aviary consulted her laptop. ‘Yeah. That’s a risk we’ll have to take. I don’t think anyone watching the cameras will be focused on the upper levels. Just the main concourse and lower levels.’

‘It’ll have to do,’ Nasira said. ‘But you need to move locations.’

‘Why?’ Aviary said. ‘I’m coming with you.’

‘Denton was trying to get a fix on us. And you’re not coming.’

‘You can’t leave me alone!’ Aviary said. ‘What if I get shot? Or worse, captured!’

‘That’s why you’re moving locations,’ Nasira said.

Her hands tightened into fists. ‘You don’t want me to come?’ Aviary slipped her laptop into her ruck and stood, soaking wet. ‘Fine! I’ll go hide while you face off with those operatives all by yourself!’

STAGE 4
IMPACT

Chapter 42

‘Sophia, it’s nice to finally meet you,’ the Commander said.

He stood between identically dressed Blue Berets, all wearing ballistic masks. One of them looked different though, dressed more in casual gear with just boots and a mask added to help him blend with the others. She noticed he wore a thin permeable hood and his mask was modified with chiseled eye holes to give him a wider peripheral. Black camo cream blended the skin around his eyes with the mask. She was beginning to think the masks served a psychological purpose more than a protective one.

On her two o’clock, four Blue Berets were standing with carbines. They looked ready to step in if Sophia tried to make a run for the Commander.

Sophia and Czarina had been escorted into the ballroom by DC. He probably figured she wouldn’t go if Blue Berets tried to march her. She still carried his sword, now in its sheath, and her ruck. She carried her Glock on her belt. Czarina was wearing the ruck that contained the meteorite.

Sophia drew short in the grand ballroom, just before the seven-piece chandelier that glittered above. Czarina and DC remained on either side of her.

Czarina had been relieved of her carbine but Sophia had insisted on keeping her pistol holstered. DC had talked the Blue Berets into leaving it. The Commander still eyed her holster.

‘It’s a good holster,’ Sophia said. ‘Thank your men for it.’

The Commander gave a slight nod. He said nothing.

The ballroom was empty near the stage. The rest of the ballroom was scattered with tables from a function earlier that evening. She noticed platters of salmon and flutes of champagne. The Commander stepped forward to drink from one.

He was indistinguishable from his soldiers. She couldn’t see any insignia or feature that differed from the others. She only knew he was the Commander because he addressed her, and his voice betrayed his age.

She watched him remove the mask. He didn’t look entirely familiar but she was sure she’d heard his voice before. Or a voice quite similar.

The Commander had a shaved head and a trimmed graying beard that ran patchily across sharp cheekbones. His nose was narrow, slightly hooked.

‘I can’t help but be a little curious regarding your plan,’ Sophia said.

She kept her Glock in her holster where he could see it, but held her iPhone in one hand, the concealed lens pointed in his direction. The lens was wide enough that the other Berets were in view. She knew Nasira and Aviary would be watching.

‘And with good reason,’ the Commander said, his thin lips pressed together. ‘My men are in place. Do you have the meteorite with you?’

‘I do,’ she said.

Sophia tried to read him but he was standing too far away. She could only pick up on DC’s emotional state and that of the Blue Berets standing off side. They simmered between restlessness and anxiety.

‘Good,’ the Commander said. ‘Then I trust you’d like to hear me out.’

She didn’t have much choice. If she resisted now it would be difficult. She knew she couldn’t trust DC.

‘What do you plan to do with the meteorite?’ she said.

‘Set a trap for Denton,’ he said, ‘that he can’t resist.’

‘It’s the only one he doesn’t have,’ Sophia said. ‘But I suppose you know that.’

The Commander’s narrow, dark eyes flickered between Sophia and Czarina, perhaps trying to figure out who in fact was carrying the meteorite. They were both wearing rucks and the meteorite could be in either.

‘I have five platoons,’ the Commander said. ‘One on the fourth floor, ready to take the stairs and cut off Denton’s forces in the west foyer. The other on the second floor, ready to take the main stairs and cut off Denton’s forces in the silver corridor. I have one platoon split into two fire teams, one covering the west entry to the building and the other covering the east. We also have four snipers, two on either side.’

‘Where do you plan to keep the meteorite?’ Sophia said.

‘Basildon Room, northeast corner,’ he said. ‘Walls are wired with flashbangs and CS gas, remotely triggered.’

‘Your plans for Denton?’ she asked.

‘Capture,’ he said. ‘Kill only if necessary. Given his … value I would prefer him alive.’

‘Why do you want to stop him?’ Sophia said.

‘He has been a liability ever since his father was killed by the Akhana,’ the Commander said. ‘But now, he’s out of control. It’s time we brought him in.’

‘And what about me?’ Sophia said. ‘Is it time you brought me in?’

He arched a whisper-thin eyebrow. ‘It might shock you to learn you aren’t as important as you once thought. The deranged minds of Cecilia and Denton aside, we have little interest in one broken little operative.’

‘Hey, I’m no Denton but I figure if you have the opportunity to kill me, you might embrace that,’ Sophia said.

‘Under normal circumstances perhaps,’ the Commander said. ‘But right now you are more use to us alive than dead.’

‘At least until I hand over the rock,’ she said.

‘Don’t get in our way, we won’t get in yours,’ he said.

‘What are your plans for the rocks?’ she said.

‘They will be destroyed,’ he said.

‘They?’ she said. ‘You haven’t destroyed the one from Peru?’

A vein quivered above his right eye.

‘We have the Peru meteorite. It will be destroyed as soon as we have Denton,’ he said. ‘Not a moment sooner, not a moment later.’ He finished his flute of champagne. ‘You can keep running. With the meteorite on your back. But your chances are not … encouraging. Or you can pass the burden to us. Which is what would’ve happened before you stole it.’

‘Actually I didn’t—yeah, never mind,’ Sophia said.

‘This isn’t your fight,’ the Commander said. ‘Denton is our mess and we need to clean it up ourselves.’

‘And I’m his mess,’ Sophia said. ‘What guarantee do I have that I can walk out of here alive?’

The Commander held his ballistic mask in one hand, inspecting it. ‘We’re here to do our job,’ he said. ‘That doesn’t involve you.’

‘Of course,’ Sophia said. ‘And if you don’t do your job the details of this plan can be passed on to Denton.’ She held up her phone. ‘Camera feed.’

‘Oh, that’s not a problem at all.’ The Commander lifted the tablecloth beside him, revealing a microwave-sized cell phone jammer.

Sophia looked down at her phone and realized it had no signal. The Commander was blocking all frequencies, including his own communications, inside the grand ballroom, which meant her phone couldn’t even hijack his for reception.

The Blue Berets moved toward her, carbines raised.

‘I’ll need you to raise your hands, Sophia,’ the Commander said. ‘Just as a precaution.’

She noticed the masked soldier in casual gear approach her and produce a different weapon, a slimmer, more compact tranquilizer rifle. He fired into her neck.

She turned to DC. He’d stepped away from her. Another tranquilizer dart cut the air near her, striking Czarina in her neck. Sophia tried to fight the solution in the dart but it was useless. She dropped to her knees.

‘You promised you wouldn’t hurt her,’ DC said.

‘And I’ve kept that promise,’ the Commander said. ‘As long as you keep yours, neither of them will be harmed.’

Sophia slumped forward. Her eyes were closed before she hit the floor. The voices drifted to nothing.

Chapter 43

Nasira crossed the roof of Grand Central the same way she’d escaped. This time, she was alone and the hurricane was at full strength above her. The wind chilled her body through her jacket. Drenched, she lowered herself to the skylights by dangling from an internal ledge, dropping to a narrow column and then hanging from the column. The drop from the column was just short enough that she could land and absorb the impact by simply bending her knees.

She needed to get inside Grand Central terminal without being spotted on camera. Before her, arched windows were protected by wrought-iron barriers. The hurricane had smashed one barrier through an arched window, breaking it and granting her access.

She crawled through and found herself high above the main concourse of Grand Central. She was standing on a long balcony that ran from east to west.

Below her, the main concourse was eerily empty and quiet except for the drum of rain outside. A four-faced opalescent clock marked the center of the concourse. The east and west ends both had stairs that led up to the mezzanine floor. On the east, a café. On the west, an Apple Store. On the north end she could see four sets of escalators that fed into the MetLife building. She saw no sign of operatives, not that she imagined they would be standing somewhere she could see them. She figured they would mostly be concentrated in the lower concourses, placed strategically so they would see her before she saw them.

She moved to the center of the balcony, wiped her wet hands on the inside of her jacket and removed the first iPhone from her pocket—one with a red cover. She used the roll of duct tape she’d taken from the office space and fixed the iPhone to the balcony with the wide lens angled outward. She slowly scrunched up a ball of tape and placed it under one end of the iPhone, angling it down to face the main concourse.

With that done, Nasira activated the camera using Aviary’s custom camera app and was pleased to discover the lens was wide enough to capture the entire concourse from end to end. She got down on her stomach to give herself some cover from below, then hit the transmit button and added Aviary’s phone and her own. She checked her own phone and found the feed coming through nice and clear.

She noticed there were two video feeds on her phone now. She swiped across to the new feed and realized it was the feed Sophia was sharing with both her and Aviary. She could see an almost three-sixty degree view of Sophia walking into the Astoria with DC and her new operative friend. Her screen could only show half of the three-sixty degrees at a time but Nasira could move her thumb to pan around behind Sophia, past her leg, to the street behind her, viewing the phone’s multiple cameras seamlessly. It looked like Sophia and DC had arrived in a Marauder armored—

Nasira froze in position, lying along the edge of the balcony, as the information booth in the center of the main concourse opened and an operative stepped out, followed by another. They moved with purpose to the west end of the concourse. Nasira didn’t retreat; she stayed in place until they disappeared from view, down one of the passages to Lexington Avenue.

She glanced back at her phone and switched to the map.

The operatives were peeling off. Moving north. In pairs.

She crawled to her knees and watched as another pair moved away. Denton was pretty confident his captives—Jay and Damien—weren’t going anywhere. He probably had his remaining Blue Berets standing guard.

She needed to get to the fiber cable, fast.

Chapter 44

Sophia woke in a hotel room, by the looks of it some sort of presidential suite. She blinked to sharpen the edges of her vision. She was sitting in a cream chair, her wrists strapped to its polished wooden arms. Her ankles were strapped to the legs. Sitting in front of the ornate fireplace was Czarina. She was tied in a similar fashion.

Rain drummed the windows, obscuring what on any other night was likely an incredible view of New York City. Two Blue Berets sat on the crimson-and-gold-striped chairs at the other end of the suite. They watched in silence, masks on. Their presence unnerved her.

The Commander wasn’t taking any chances with her captivity.

‘If we survive this,’ Czarina said, now awake, ‘I think I’d like to go dancing somewhere. On a beach. And drink out of a coconut. That would be really nice.’

‘Are you OK?’ Sophia said.

Czarina nodded slowly. She looked drowsy still.

Sophia glared at the Berets. ‘At least they didn’t kill us.’

One of the Berets tilted his head. She wondered if perhaps he was reconsidering.

The door to the suite burst open. It was DC. He moved inside and closed the door behind him. He stepped between her and the Berets. He was carrying a carbine in one hand, pointed down. The Berets started to stand, alarmed by his urgency. DC strode toward them. Sophia noticed his left hand grasped his sword, slung between his back and her ruck, which he was carrying on both shoulders.

‘Have they been talking to you at all?’ DC asked the Berets.

‘No—’

DC drew his tachi sword and ran it through the Beret’s neck. The other Beret was on his feet, carbine swinging to fire. DC used his sword to knock the carbine clear.

DC thrust his sword into the disarmed Beret. The blade fractured the Beret’s armor and moved deeper. DC used the barrel of his own carbine to remove the impaled Beret from his sword. He finished with a stroke across the neck.

‘You’ll probably need to sharpen that sword later,’ Czarina said.

She watched him wipe the blade across the fabric of a nearby chair.

‘Why did you do that?’ Sophia said.

DC sheathed his sword and approached her.

‘I guess I’m stupid enough to care,’ he said.

The words were off-hand but she felt them move to something deeper.

DC used a knife to sever the plasticuffs around her wrists. Blood flow prickled into her fingers again.

‘You didn’t care about them much,’ she said.

DC grimaced. He cut the plasticuffs around her ankles. ‘Everyone pays for ignorance,’ he said. ‘Sooner or later.’ He dropped her ruck from his shoulders. ‘Your pistol and phone are inside.’

Sophia grasped the comfort of her own Glock again and covered the closed door. DC freed Czarina and helped her to her feet.

‘Are we escaping?’ Czarina said, her words slurred. ‘Where are we?’

DC shot Sophia a concerned glance. ‘You need to deprogram her properly.’

‘I’ll pencil it into my busy schedule,’ Sophia said. ‘Right now we have to get out of here.’

‘Actually no,’ DC said. ‘We have a bigger problem.’

She met his gaze. ‘Denton.’

Chapter 45

Nasira stepped into the Campbell Apartment, a neo-Florentine cocktail bar with a vividly hand-painted ceiling, stone fireplace and a lavish scarlet palette. Like the rest of Grand Central terminal it was still lit, although dimly, and a trickle of light bled in from the wall-sized stained-glass window behind the bar.

Nasira spotted the camera in the corner. If someone was watching this particular feed then she was busted. She didn’t have the time to circumvent one stupid camera. Everyone’s lives were hanging in the balance so this was a risk she had to take.

She spotted the mahogany balcony above and climbed the stairs. She ran her hand along the wall, pausing when something rippled through her. She traced it down to a cluster of cables fixed to the skirting. She followed the cables to the other end of the balcony and found the ethernet ports Aviary insisted would be there. Nasira plugged in Aviary’s antenna and connected to it with a spare iPhone.

Sauron … Connected. Digging into the phone’s settings, she switched the Personal Hotspot on and made sure to toggle Hijack so Aviary could access the network directly.

‘Got it,’ Aviary said into her earpiece.

Nasira hit the button under her soaked T-shirt. ‘Do it quickly. They’ve already moved out.’

‘OK, gimme a minute,’ Aviary said.

Nasira couldn’t let the iPhone stray too far from the antenna while Aviary was working her magic, so she left it on the balcony, against the skirting where no one would find it.

She was tempted to visit the bar for some water, but it would be stupid to do that now when Aviary was minutes from disabling the cameras. She lay on the floor beside the phone and tried to reassure herself Jay would be OK. She figured she should use the minutes usefully so she checked the camera feeds on her own iPhone. The main concourse was still clear. She’d planted another iPhone on the mezzanine level, facing under the first camera feed so it would hit the blind spot and reveal anyone lingering out of view in the tunnels and ramps that led to the lower concourse.

She swiped from her two feeds back to Sophia’s feed.

It was gone.

‘Nasira to Aviary,’ she said into her mike. ‘You lost Sophia’s feed?’

‘Yeah,’ Aviary said. ‘Gone for a couple of minutes now. It just cut out so probably a reception problem.’

Nasira swallowed. The knot in her stomach was growing.

She switched to the map.

Six operatives were bunching around the Astoria. Only one lingered behind, at the south end of Grand Central. She figured the lone operative was keeping tabs in the control center. There was no movement yet, so the camera feed in the Campbell Apartment had yet to catch the operative’s attention.

The operatives started moving through the Astoria. Suddenly, Sophia’s location blinked to life.

That was a good sign, she thought.

Except Sophia’s dot was no longer outlined in orange. It was red. Her battery was almost toast.

‘OK, cameras out!’ Aviary shouted. ‘You’re clear!’

Nasira launched to her feet. ‘Copy that.’

‘Hey, can you leave the phone there?’ Aviary said. ‘I still want access.’

‘Why?’ Nasira pocketed her own phone and grasped her Glock.

‘A few minutes and I could hijack the security cameras—they see nothing, I see everything!’ she said. ‘Holy crap, why didn’t I think of this before? I’m glad we talked about this.’

Nasira moved down the stairs, quiet but fast. ‘Just keep an eye on everything and—’ she peered out of the cocktail bar onto the west balcony ‘—watch my back.’

‘I can do that,’ Aviary said, ‘but once you reach the lower levels I don’t know if I can talk to you.’

‘I know,’ Nasira said. ‘And when that happens, I know I’m on my own.’

Chapter 46

A pair of masked Blue Berets threw Denton to his knees under a chandelier in the Basildon Room. Near the Parisian marble fireplace, Denton could see the ruck that contained the meteorite. Opposite it, two of his own operatives already bound and stashed in a corner. They had hoods over their heads, probably ear defenders plugging their ears too. Denton wouldn’t receive the same treatment. This Commander seemed eager to chat.

‘Predictable,’ the Commander said through his mask. ‘I would’ve expected a little more flair.’

Denton rubbed his thumb through the plasticuffs. He’d posted his two backup operatives in the building opposite the Astoria Waldorf hotel.

‘It’s early yet,’ he said. ‘I liked the flashbangs but I was hoping you’d fire off the gas just for a laugh.’ He peered down at his own chest, where a pair of swimming goggles hung. ‘I was looking forward to using these.’

The Commander’s tactics were familiar to him, and Denton had no trouble making it into the Basildon Hall with a pair of operatives. The Commander had set off the flashbangs when Denton’s operatives entered, and once he was surrounded by Blue Berets the Commander hadn’t even bothered with the CS gas.

‘It wasn’t necessary.’ The Commander removed his mask. ‘I’m sorry it’s come to this.’

Denton felt unexpectedly icy at the sight of the Commander’s face, but anger flushed through, warming him.

‘I almost didn’t recognize you,’ Denton said. ‘Did you …? New lips? Collagen?’

‘Think bigger picture.’ The Commander ran two fingers along the creases under his eye. ‘Not as remarkable as the regenerative effects of your more recent Chimera vector,’ he said. ‘But for what they had, the Nazis did a bang-up job.’

‘I thought you were dead,’ Denton said.

‘Like I said, they did a bang-up job,’ the Commander said. ‘I could have bled out on the snow or I could have lived to see the day I arrest my own grandson. Honestly, I’m not sure which I prefer.’

‘About that,’ Denton said. ‘Should have left the cellar door open.’

‘What did you say?’ the Commander said.

‘You blew my cover in Norway,’ Denton said. ‘You wanted me dead long ago.’

The Commander seemed caught between two states, as though Denton had frozen him by sheer will. If only there was a Phoenix virus for that too.

Denton smiled. ‘Guess you can finish the job now.’

‘All this time, you masqueraded as your own son,’ the Commander said.

‘They gave him Project GATE when it should have been mine,’ Denton said. ‘Also, there were other reasons but that’s my favorite.’

‘I gave him Project GATE!’ the Commander shouted. ‘And I gave it to him for a reason!’

Denton gave him a lubricated smile. ‘You’re right, the Nazi serum wasn’t half-bad. One little injection and I looked just like him, only somewhat more attractive of course.’ He withdrew his smile. ‘I killed your precious grandson.’

The Commander shook his head. ‘I protected you for so long,’ he said. ‘If I had any idea who you really were I would’ve—’

‘You would’ve what?’ Denton said. ‘Shot me back? Returned the favor? Given me a pep talk? Man to man? Jonathan Kent to Clark Kent?’

‘My time protecting you is done,’ his father said. ‘You will—’

‘Answer for my crimes?’ Denton said, reading his mind. ‘Really? That’s the best line you’ve got?’

‘They are crimes against humanity.’

‘These days it’s called a promotion,’ Denton said. ‘I was beginning to think it would never happen. Will there be a party? I’ll bring the cupcakes.’

‘It’s called a charade,’ his father said. ‘A charade you’ve maintained for two decades.’

‘That’s more or less why I was hired in the first place.’ Denton shrugged. ‘But faking your own death is fun, you should try it some—oh, you already have, haven’t you? Cheeky Daddy.’

Unlike the masked Blue Berets who flanked him, the Commander was armed with only his Colt .45 pistol. He raised it for the first time. To Denton’s head.

Denton tried to smile but he couldn’t be bothered. ‘Really?’

‘Don’t doubt me,’ his father said.

‘Oh I’m not,’ Denton said, finally managing a smile. ‘You’re doubting, I can read it straight from that antique head of yours. It’s like a big melon of … shame.’

His father’s finger moved into the trigger guard.

Denton wiggled his thumb. He was disappointed, to be honest. He expected something more. Something driving the man. But shame? That was not something.

‘Really?’ Denton said. ‘Of all the most insipid emotions, you’re ashamed? Well, I’m insulted.’

A vein in his father’s forehead quivered. He was thinking of squeezing the trigger but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Denton knew he was safe. Especially as half the masked Blue Berets in the Basildon Hall were not in fact Blue Berets.

‘It was a lovely chat, Father,’ Denton said. ‘But I really should run.’

He rolled to one side, used one foot to kick the carbine from the nearest Beret and the other to strike the kneecap.

On both sides of his father, two Berets stumbled, blood spraying from arteries. Their carbines were taken, fingers kept in the trigger guard, and their magazines emptied at the Blue Berets guarding Denton.

When the firing stopped, Denton could hear a hissing sound. Something stung his eyes, burned his throat. His sinuses clogged with mucus. There was movement behind his operatives, near the fireplace. Near the ruck containing the meteorite. His vision blurred.

The CS gas.

He couldn’t reach for his goggles with his hands tied behind his back. He shut his eyes and waited for his operatives to put their own goggles and masks on first. They couldn’t help him until they’d helped themselves. He felt a pair of hands place goggles over his face then retrieve a mask from his suit pocket.

He was helped to his feet and his wrists unbound. He peered through his goggles. He could barely see a thing, his eyes filling the goggles with tears. His father lay crumpled before him, spluttering.

Denton coughed, scrambled for the ruck near the fireplace. The ruck looked empty now. He ripped it open.

It was empty.

He threw the ruck on the ground, trying to check the hall with his blurred vision. He pointed to the hooded operatives retching from the gas.

‘Untie them,’ he said.

His free operatives moved to untie their less fortunate associates while he stumbled out into the silver corridor and almost collapsed on the black and white tiles. He propped himself up against a grand piano, his throat and nasal passages in searing pain. Sophia, he thought. It had to be Sophia. He pulled his goggles and mask off, used his hands to wipe the tears and snot streaming across his face. He could barely think, let alone breathe. He reached into his pocket and found Jay’s pink iPhone. On it, Sophia’s location blinked.

Chapter 47

Nasira found Jay halfway down the long platform, in the center. He was sitting beneath another one of those long single strings of fluorescent lights suspended by crisscrossing wires. There were no pillars on this platform so Nasira had a clear view. Silver suburban trains rested on both sides of the platform. One train had blue livery, the other red. The carriages stretched almost to infinity, beyond Jay, to the very end of the platform.

Nasira had placed her last iPhone on the bench of a gelato bar. It was close enough to connect with the antenna Aviary had plugged into the restaurant during their earlier visit. As she approached Jay she checked her own iPhone and found it was just in range of the antenna. She could see the camera feed of the dining concourse. If anyone came running down, she’d know about it. She reminded herself to ask Aviary to program in some sort of motion detection alarm for the cameras that would make her phone vibrate, saving her checking the screen every ten seconds.

Jay didn’t look up until Nasira had almost reached him. His hands were tied behind his back, but he didn’t seem to have attempted to free himself.

She stopped. Something felt wrong.

‘You could’ve at least moved your hands to the front,’ Nasira said.

‘My ass is too big,’ Jay said. He looked up. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘What the fuck do you think?’ Nasira said. ‘Visiting hours.’

Nasira surveyed the silver trains flanking her. They buzzed sharply. Large, angry spikes that shot through her arms. It rattled her, tingled across her spine. This wasn’t good, she could feel it. She walked across the nearest train and forced a door open. The carriage was spaced out with block-shaped demolition charges, two wires running from one to the other.

‘Denton wasn’t kidding,’ she said.

‘Not when it comes to RDX and thermite,’ Jay said.

Nasira crossed over to the train on the other side and pried the door open. Same deal. More demolition charges.

‘You can disarm them,’ Jay said. ‘But you’d have to go through here.’

Nasira watched him mark out a perfect square—a barrier that included the carriages themselves. The barrier ran across a break in the platform tiles where it shifted from a rusted brown to a line of black, and then back to rusted brown.

‘Where’s Damien?’ Nasira said.

‘Another platform, I was told,’ Jay said. ‘Probably far away to maximize the effect.’

‘What’s the mechanism?’ Nasira said.

‘Motion sensors,’ Jay said. ‘Two in front of me, two behind. I can see the infrared.’

‘I can snip the wires on one,’ Nasira said. ‘But that will—’

‘Trip another,’ Jay said. ‘They overlap.’

She turned to leave. She needed to find Aviary.

‘Don’t!’ Jay yelled. ‘Wait!’

He was standing now, hands still tied behind his back.

‘What?’ Nasira said.

‘You just activated another set of sensors!’ Jay said. ‘Don’t go back!’

‘What the fuck?’ Nasira said. ‘Where?’

‘I don’t know how, but they just kicked in right behind you, only a few feet,’ Jay said. ‘Come forward!’

Nasira strode toward the black tiles. ‘Why didn’t you fucking tell me!’ she yelled.

‘I didn’t fucking know, did I?’ Jay said. ‘Fuck, Nasira!’

‘I nearly blew us up!’ she yelled.

Jay shook his head. ‘No,’ he said, suddenly quiet. ‘You would’ve blown Damien up—along with a good chunk of the platforms around him. And his trigger would blow ours up.’

Nasira crouched down before the black tiles, tried to breathe, tried to think. ‘Denton has your phone?’

Jay nodded. ‘Yeah. I’ll have to ask for it back later.’

‘Can he see the operatives on the map?’ Nasira asked.

He shook his head. ‘Nah, not on our phones.’

‘Good,’ Nasira said. ‘There has to be another way out of this.’

‘You should’ve gone for Sophia,’ Jay said.

‘How did you—?’

‘Denton was here,’ he said. ‘Couldn’t contain his excitement when the meteorite surfaced, got a strong signal and just stopped moving.’

‘Ain’t he suspicious?’ Nasira said.

‘Of course,’ Jay said. ‘But that won’t stop him. Sophia needed your help.’

‘Don’t you think I fucking know that?’ Nasira yelled.

‘She has a programmed operative and DC!’ Jay yelled back. ‘Not exactly the A-team, you know.’

She stared at the black tiles, trying to picture the invisible line. ‘I made the wrong call,’ she said. ‘I shouldn’t be here.’

‘Finally, you agree with me on something,’ Jay said.

‘Shut up, Jay,’ she said.

Jay nodded. ‘Guess I deserved that,’ he said. ‘What now?’

‘Now?’ Nasira said. ‘We’re both fucking stuck here, aren’t we?’

She checked her phone. No connection.

‘And I have no signal,’ she said.

‘I’m sorry,’ Jay said.

‘For what?’ She turned to him. ‘For getting caught? Yeah, that was pretty shit.’

‘Fuck you too,’ he said.

Nasira shrugged. ‘I wanted to save you. Before the operatives snatched you.’

‘You don’t need to tell me that,’ he said.

‘Why?’ she said. ‘Because it makes you uncomfortable that someone wants to help you?’

‘No,’ Jay said. ‘Because I know you wanted to save me.’

She returned to the black tiles and sat before him, cross-legged. ‘If we don’t make it through this,’ she said, ‘no regrets.’

He smiled. First time she’d seen him smile all night.

‘No regrets,’ he said.

She felt her eyes clouding and blinked it away. ‘I just needed … someone watching my back,’ she said. ‘Just that one extra person and we could’ve made it.’ She shook her head. ‘Even Aviary, for fuck’s sake.’

‘I have one regret,’ Jay said.

Her heart skipped a beat. ‘What?’ she said. ‘I mean, yeah, I guess you would.’

‘I want to see my family again,’ Jay said.

She was almost certain she’d heard him wrong. ‘Are you sure about that?’

‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘I’ve been thinking. Since you said you went to see Lucia’s family. I have an uncle, two cousins. In Rio. I just—’ He blinked. ‘Just want to let them know I’m here. And I’m not a fuck-up.’

‘You told anyone you want to do this?’ Nasira said. ‘Damien?’

‘Nah,’ Jay said. ‘He doesn’t want to hear that.’

‘If we get out of this,’ she said. She caught her words, held them for a moment. ‘If we get out, I’ve always wanted to see Brazil.’

Jay started to laugh softly. ‘How about you?’

‘What about me?’

‘I was adopted, Jay,’ she said. ‘Denton took me from an adoption center.’

‘Oh. You have no family?’ he said.

She nodded. ‘I have one now.’

Jay cleared his throat. ‘Any other regrets?’

‘Not saving you,’ she said. She felt her cheeks flush. ‘Shit, this is really not cool.’

‘If only they could see us now,’ Jay said. ‘Deep conversation in the middle of a ticking bomb.’

‘See us now,’ she repeated.

If someone could see us now, she thought. She launched to her feet. Searched for the nearest security camera. She found one behind her, pointed down to the platform. She jumped up and down, waving her arms.

‘What are you doing?’ Jay said. ‘Asking for a bathroom break?’

If Aviary had successfully taken control of the security cameras, that meant she could see them right now. She finished jumping and waving and started miming explosives with a big boom, pointed to the train and imitated cutting with a knife.

‘I know you’re out there,’ Nasira whispered. ‘Come find me.’

Chapter 48

‘Move!’ DC yelled.

Sophia ran across East 49th, weaved between a pot plant and a boom gate, and sprinted through the narrow alleyway toward DC. Hurricane Isaias roared above them, tearing into her with torrents of wind and rain. She was in the center of Hell and her vision was still clouded from the residual CS gas in the Astoria. On the upside, the hard rain helped wash it away.

She’d moved quickly, covered her face, and snatched the meteorite out of the ruck while Denton and the Commander were busy fighting. The meteorite was now crammed into her ruck with her own things. She wasn’t sure how the trace materials on the meteorite allowed Denton to track it, but she made a mental note to scrub her ruck and herself as soon as this was over.

She checked over her shoulder: Czarina was a few paces behind her, barely keeping her footing as hurricane-force winds shunted through the alleyway. She almost hit the boom gate but kept running. They ran between an older ten-story brick building and an obsidian black skyscraper. At the end of the alleyway, DC had a Marauder ready to go. Sophia could see the rear doors open. There was no one else inside.

This route was the only way out to avoid the Commander’s snipers and any masked Blue Berets posted nearby. Sophia made it halfway down the alleyway when she realized half the masked Blue Berets were probably dead by now. She had no idea who was who in the Basildon Hall, and lingering a second longer would have meant succumbing to the effects of the CS gas and incapacitating herself—or worse, exposing herself to Denton and his operatives.

You either kept moving or you wound up dead.

She was near the Marauder now, her vision sharpening and her nasal passages clearing. She spluttered the last of the mucus build up—a wonderful display for DC, who sat at the wheel with his carbine in both hands. She veered around the back of the Marauder. She grasped her Glock and checked the street. It was narrow, cluttered with parked cabs and flanked by tall, monstrous spires of glass and steel.

Czarina caught up and climbed into the back, up the three metal steps. Sophia did the same. Together they closed the rear doors. The vehicle groaned under the pressure of the hurricane’s wind.

‘Go!’ Sophia yelled.

DC had already hit the gas and the Marauder took off, grazing a parked truck. Sophia took a seat near the driver’s cabin.

‘Where?’ DC yelled back.

‘Grand Central!’ she said.

DC looked at her, not quite certain he’d heard her right. ‘Of all the—’ He stopped mid-sentence as though he’d decided to just take her word on it.

‘If Denton wants to play this game, I’ll play this game. If he thinks he can blow up Damien and Jay then I’ll put the meteorite right in there with them.’

Sitting opposite her, Czarina shrugged. ‘But how will he know it’s there?’

‘He’s tracking the meteorite and he’s tracking me,’ Sophia said. ‘He’ll see its exact location.’

‘Yeah but we need to actually get there first!’ DC yelled from the driver’s seat, swerving to avoid more parked cars.

‘What if the operatives come and take it?’ Czarina said.

‘Then we blow it,’ Sophia said. ‘Whatever explosives Denton is using, they’ll burn hot enough to either destroy the meteorite or fuse it, destroying the virus. It’s the only way to be sure. Obviously we need to get the boys out first.’

‘I can take us underground—on foot direct to the platform the guys are being held on,’ DC said.

‘We don’t have time,’ Sophia said. ‘Until we get the meteorite in place, Denton can blow one of those platforms. He has leverage right now. And we need to change that.’

She felt DC push the Marauder harder. ‘We have company.’

Sophia saw another Marauder lurch out behind them—one block away.

She slipped her ruck from her shoulders and jumped into the gunner platform. Climbing into place, she cocked the .50 cal and released the lock on the mount. The Marauder slipped into her front sight. Someone was moving into its gunner platform too.

She squeezed the trigger and held it there. The recoil shuddered through her. She held, refocused her aim and kept the rounds on the Marauder. The driver’s cabin took the rounds but didn’t deflect them. The large caliber pierced the cabin, punched through the roof and hit the gunner platform, tearing the operator and the machine gun into splinters of flesh and metal.

The Marauder turned and crashed through parked cars. She continued to punch rounds into it, vaguely aware that rounds had struck just below her. She looked down to see a tear in the armor and a hole in the driver’s cabin. DC was still driving straight. She hoped he was OK.

Something blurred across her vision. She took a hand off to clear her eyes from the CS gas. The blur was real. An operative was on the roof, beside her. His foot smashed into her ear. The same boots that casually dressed soldier had been wearing. Starbursts popped across her vision. She almost fell back into the rear cabin, losing her Glock, but somehow managed to hang onto the rungs.

The operative tore the .50 cal from her grasp and brought the barrel around. She saw his masked face. It was him. Standing beside the Commander in the ballroom.

She ducked under the barrel, pushed the barrel harder. It caught the masked operative in his stomach. He rolled over it, his face connecting with her fist. She captured his head and shoulders, wrapped her supporting arm over his neck and broke his—

The operative slipped from her grasp. A knife scythed toward her neck. There was no room to move inside the circular hole of the gunner platform, it was too cramped. She moved clear of the blade, brought her shoulder back down on it, pinned his wrist there. If the blade cut into her arm she didn’t care. She wrapped an arm around his neck, another over his shoulder and twisted him away. His forehead hit the porthole and she held it there. He grunted, blood pouring from his face.

Czarina was below, carbine ready. The chance of her getting a clear shot was unlikely and Sophia knew it. This was on her. The operative’s knee connected with her chin. She reeled from the blow, almost losing focus. Her teeth clashed together—thankfully with her tongue out of the way—and she released her hold on the operative’s head. She still kept the knife pinned, but he was able to maneuver around with one arm and two legs free.

The operative struck her leg, smashing her knee and ankle against the hull. Then he struck her neck, trying to shunt blood into her brain and knock her out. She tried to trap his arm but he wriggled further upward. Then he freed the knife-wielding hand. She ducked into the porthole and—

An overheard traffic light connected with the operative.

Sophia watched him tumble off the back of the Marauder.

‘One block and closing!’ DC yelled.

Sophia climbed down into the rear cabin, Czarina beside her checking for injuries she might not have noticed.

‘Minor laceration on your arm,’ she said. ‘You have a lot of blood on you but most of it isn’t yours.’

Sophia reached down to collect her Glock. ‘Another operative I could’ve saved,’ she said.

Chapter 49

Damien stood in the center of the platform, directly under the strip of fluorescent lights.

Although he had a ten by ten foot square to freely move inside, he didn’t want to stray too close to the sensors and trigger the explosives on Jay’s platform. The motion sensors were fixed to the ceiling in pairs: two pairs in front of him and two pairs behind. Their arcs coalesced, which, as Denton had informed his captive, would catch anyone trying to disable one of the sensors. They were configured to work as barriers instead of a wide field of vision, trapping Damien inside an invisible box. If he tried to climb over the trains on either side of him, he’d step through a barrier and goodbye Jay.

Damien hoped Denton had filled Jay in on the same details, since Denton had vacated abruptly, leaving him under the passing Blue Beret patrol in the dining concourse and the odd operative or two, not to mention someone watching the security camera feeds. All while Denton was probably hunting Sophia and the third Phoenix virus.

‘Damien!’

Aviary half yelled, half whispered. She was standing at the far end of the platform, on the ramp. Her orange-red hair was unmistakable, damp from the hurricane. She started running toward him. He could already hear she was out of breath. She seemed to be alone. He didn’t know whether to be relieved or concerned.

He held his hand out. ‘Stop!’

‘I know,’ Aviary said, slowing to a walk. ‘Nasira is trapped with Jay. Triggered a new box of sensors. So I snuck inside.’ She held up her iPhone. ‘The cameras are under my control now.’

She was searching the tunnel walls above the trains. She pointed to a pair he hadn’t noticed.

‘There,’ she said.

‘Are there any more?’ he said.

Aviary looked closer but shook her head. ‘Just the extra pair.’

‘I can’t get out,’ Damien said. ‘You’ll have to leave me.’

She shot him an offended stare. ‘I’m here to save you, mister.’

Damien watched as she moved for a gap between train carriages. Nimbly and with a speed that impressed him, she climbed between the carriages and onto the roof.

‘I’ll need to disable the spare set of sensors first,’ she said, ducking under the crisscross of wires that suspended the fluorescent lights in place.

He watched her walk to the sensor. It was attached to the ceiling—or more accurately a wire mesh ceiling below the actual ceiling.

‘Hey Aviary,’ he said.

‘Yeah?’ she said, gleefully brandishing the Philips head screwdriver on her multitool.

‘Don’t blow us up,’ he said.

‘You mean Jay?’ Aviary said.

‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘Don’t blow him up.’

‘Copy that.’ She popped the panel on the motion sensor. ‘Roger that, in position. Over. Standby. In progress. Over and out.’

Damien shook his head in silence. He hoped she knew what she was doing. He watched her remove three wires—red, black, yellow—and then pop a small disc-shaped battery from the panel.

‘Disabled,’ she said.

‘Are you sure?’

‘No.’

Aviary slid down off the roof and sprinted to the train on the other side of the platform. She climbed between another two carriages and moved carefully across the roof to the sensor. Within moments she’d disabled that sensor as well.

‘OK, that’s the easy part,’ she said.

Aviary crawled under a length of wire and continued along the carriage roof. Her hands were black from the grime on top of the carriage.

‘Thanks for helping me,’ Damien said. ‘Get to the subway, before.’

Aviary blinked, then seemed to realize what he was talking about. ‘Right, yeah. Glad you got there in one piece.’

Damien shrugged. ‘They got me in the end though.’

‘Well, you got the rock to Sophia,’ she said. ‘So … any ideas on how I can do this?’

Damien’s stomach dropped. ‘You don’t have … a plan?’

She slowed when she reached the corner of Damien’s invisible box. This motion sensor was active, so she didn’t move any closer.

‘Yeah, I did,’ she said. ‘That was it. Disable the inactive ones.’

‘Don’t go any closer, they’re aimed at each other.’ He indicated to the sensor opposite her. ‘You’ll set that one off.’

‘We got past the sensors in that base on Long Island,’ Aviary said. ‘Last year, remember?’

Damien hadn’t thought of that. ‘Yeah, you could hang a blanket or sheet from the wire.’

Aviary stared at the sensor, then shook her head slowly. ‘They’re more clever than that,’ she said. ‘They take the average temperature at difference points across their field of view—which in your case is a thin barrier. Not very wide but still very long. If the temperature at one point changes past the tolerance level, more than the other points, then it triggers.’

‘Oh,’ Damien said. ‘So you’d need a very long sheet. Well, if it was me I’d just slap duct tape over the Fresnel lens,’ Damien said.

‘But they’re overlapping, genius,’ Aviary said.

‘Yeah, keep forgetting,’ he said. ‘So that works for every scenario except this one.’

‘Do you have an infrared filter on your torch?’ Aviary said.

Damien padded his tuxedo pants pockets. ‘No torch, sorry.’

Aviary frowned. ‘I don’t have one yet. Crap.’

‘They’re wireless, aren’t they?’ he said. ‘I don’t see any wires. You could disable it with your phone—’

‘If I use the right frequency,’ she said. ‘They have onboard batteries though. I need to disengage the battery first otherwise it might trigger the alarm.’

‘Which in our case is not an alarm but a very large explosion,’ Damien said.

‘I’m guessing you don’t have an EMP grenade handy?’ Aviary said.

He shook his head. ‘All out.’

‘OK,’ Aviary said. ‘We can do this. We just have to think.’

‘The sensor is infrared, right?’ Damien said. ‘So you could cover yourself in something to conceal your infrared signature.’

‘Like what, mud?’ Aviary stifled a laugh. ‘Just like Predator, huh?’

‘Predator? Like an animal?’ Damien said. ‘No, the mud would warm up too quickly—’

Aviary sighed. ‘Never mind. Yeah, it’s passive infrared. It triggers on rapid change of infrared energy, not gradual change. Wait, there is a way.’

‘Tell me it doesn’t involve mud,’ Damien said.

‘There’s a joke there somewhere.’ Aviary shook her head. ‘The sensors have a threshold. You know, six hertz and you get radio frequency interference. Like point five hertz and you get the sun moving across the sky. But if I move slowly enough—’

‘I have no idea what you just said,’ Damien said.

‘OK, I need to be slow enough so I’m indistinguishable from the thermal fluctuations behind me,’ Aviary said. ‘Very, very slow.’

She had her multitool’s screwdriver in hand and started moving her arms very slowly toward the active sensor. He could see her trembling.

‘You’re shaking,’ he said.

‘Sorry.’ She stopped, waited for her arms to steady and then continued. ‘So are you.’

Damien looked down. He clenched his fists.

Aviary’s screwdriver-wielding hand touched what Damien was sure to be the invisible barrier. No explosion. She moved again, a fraction of an inch. He realized he hadn’t breathed in a while and slowly inhaled.

Aviary’s screwdriver head reached the first screw on the panel. She held it in front of the screw, waited a moment, then seated the screwdriver into the top of the screw. Then held it. Then applied pressure to make sure it was seated properly. Then held it. Then started to turn her hand slightly.

It was painful to watch. But he couldn’t look away.

Ten more movements and Aviary was unscrewing the panel. One screw dropped and he held his breath. Nothing triggered. The screw wasn’t exactly warm, so its movement wouldn’t have registered. The sensor was designed to identify movement in infrared energy, not the infrared itself. While Aviary’s arms probably burned hot on the infrared spectrum, they weren’t moving enough to register on the sensor. She’d found a weakness.

The panel popped open. Aviary kept her hand in place for a moment, breathed—her face safely out of range—and began the slow, arduous turn of her multitool to shift from screwdriver to needlenose pliers—located right in the center of the multitool. Once she finally got there, she took a few more cycles to get her grip, then raised the multitool fraction by fraction to the panel itself. She moved the needlenose pliers through a red wire until the wire was nestled inside the wire cutters.

Aviary snipped.

Chapter 50

Sophia checked her phone. She’d tried to call Nasira but it didn’t ring. She called Aviary but hers didn’t ring either. She hoped they were just out of range. A new camera feed had appeared, showing a bar of some sort. It was empty. She swiped to another feed and found the Main Concourse inside Grand Central terminal. It was empty. Good.

‘Which way?’ DC yelled. ‘East side?’

She switched back to the map to check for operatives. They were all behind her, although one pair was close.

‘Scratch that.’ DC swerved, taking a sharp left into a narrow road.

‘Here!’ Czarina yelled. ‘Here!’

Sophia looked over to see the MetLife lobby on their left. DC lurched to a stop. Sophia collected her ruck—the meteorite inside—and slipped it over her shoulders. She pulled on the straps, pressing it firmly against her back.

Sophia took it while Czarina opened the rear doors and leaped out. Sophia followed her. Her right leg was tender and she couldn’t put her full weight on it after fighting the operative in the gunner’s platform. DC was already moving toward the MetLife building, carbine in both hands. He left the Marauder on the street. It was no use to them now.

Czarina slowed her pace and fired a short burst from her carbine—shattering a glass pane on the other side. DC saw it and changed direction, crossing to the far left and using the butt of his carbine to smash away the fragmented glass, still bound in place by protective film.

Sophia reached him by the time he’d cleared the glass and stepped through. She tossed the ruck to him.

‘You’re faster,’ she said. ‘Get to the platforms.’

DC slung the ruck over his shoulders. ‘Which one?’

‘I don’t know, the suburban tracks,’ she said. ‘Dining concourse.’

DC moved, carbine in both hands. He’d have to find the correct platform because she didn’t know.

Czarina pulled her pace back to offer Sophia some rear security. Sophia tried to run but her ankle threatened to buckle. She followed DC’s trail, under a jagged glass sculpture, and risked a glance at her phone’s map. Two operatives were very close to them now.

Behind her, Czarina opened fire. Sophia turned to see someone manning the .50 cal on their abandoned Marauder.

Denton.

She could see his shaved head, slick under the rain. His lips curled with delight.

‘Shit.’

Sophia ran behind a marble wall. Czarina was with her, pulling her along. The marble wall erupted beside them, spewing chunks, fragments and a white dust cloud that stung her eyes.

Huge rounds tore through the MetLink lobby. The glass sculpture came cascading down. Sophia clenched hard with her teeth and put her full weight on her ankle. Fuck it, it’ll heal soon. She moved with her hips, sprinted under the falling glass.

The sculpture crashed behind her. Shards of glass bounced past her. A large triangular shard struck Czarina’s shoulder. She yelled, her grip on the carbine slipping. Sophia tried to change course, scoop it up, but a blizzard of fine glass particles washed past them. She shut her eyes and forced her way through. Czarina collided with her, trying to find her carbine. Sophia pushed them both forward.

More .50 cal rounds punched through the lobby, shattering entire pillars.

Sophia kept running. She blocked out the pain. Czarina was still in front of her, unarmed. Either she’d removed the piece of glass from her shoulderblade or it had fallen out. All Sophia could see was a jagged tear in Czarina’s red jacket.

The machine-gun fire ceased.

Czarina reached the escalators that fed down to Grand Central terminal’s main concourse. Sophia was five paces behind Czarina, checking the map on her iPhone. She realized her phone was dead. In the center of the main concourse, crouched inside the circular information booth, DC had his carbine in his shoulder, ready to fire on anyone pursuing Sophia.

Sophia didn’t even realize there was a stairwell below the information booth, but she could see the spiral staircase behind DC.

‘Go!’ Sophia yelled at him. ‘Nasira and Jay’s platform. Get them out!’

What was he waiting for?

DC saw Czarina had no carbine and placed his own on the ground, slid it toward them as they approached. Then he turned and disappeared down the stairwell, sword and ruck on his back.

Sophia followed Czarina out into the main concourse.

‘Stop!’

The voice didn’t come from behind her. It wasn’t Denton or the operatives that accompanied him. It came from in front. From the south end of the main concourse. She drew to a halt, ready to draw her Glock.

The Commander emerged from the Vanderbilt Hall into the main concourse, flanked by masked Blue Berets. This time, the Commander wore no mask. This time, Sophia saw the resemblance.

His attention shifted from her to the top of the escalators. Sophia moved for the information booth but one of his Blue Berets took aim.

‘Sophia, one more step and my men will shoot you both down,’ the Commander said.

Sophia halted before the information booth. Czarina was a few paces behind her. They were caught out in the open.

The Commander held a pistol of his own, an old Colt .45. But he wasn’t aiming it. He left that for the Blue Berets, who could manage accurate shots even at this distance with their carbines.

Sophia turned to see Denton at the top of the escalators, his own USP pistol leveled at the Commander. On either side of him, operatives had taken up positions behind pillars, their Glocks barely visible but carefully aimed at the Blue Berets.

‘Sidney,’ the Commander said. ‘You have a choice. You can—’

Denton opened fire.

The operatives opened fire.

Sophia whirled to circle around the information booth with Czarina.

The Blue Berets opened fire as they moved.

A round punched through the Commander. He retreated to the Vanderbilt Hall, staggering. Sophia saw him collapse. She ran across the open ground at a right-angle to both parties. She shunted the last of her energy into her sprint, making it as difficult as possible for anyone to hit her. But the rounds didn’t crack past her.

The gunfire echoed off the walls in the concourse. Five firearms sounded like fifty. Sophia hit the stairs under the mezzanine just a step behind Czarina. They both moved along opposite walls down the stairs.

Something rippled before them.

It was the masked operative she’d fought on top of the Marauder.

He aimed his pistol.

Czarina aimed her carbine.

Sophia drew her pistol.

‘Well, hold up there,’ Denton said.

From the corner of her vision, Sophia saw Denton standing at the top of the stairs, his own USP pistol aimed downward. She couldn’t get a fix on who he was aiming at, not without turning to face him.

The masked operative aimed at Czarina, but his attention seemed to be on Denton.

‘Sophia,’ Czarina said.

‘Yes?’ Sophia said.

‘Operative X,’ Czarina said. ‘Hostile.’

She had no idea what Czarina meant, but she seemed to be stating the obvious.

‘What side are you on?’ Sophia shouted.

The operative didn’t respond.

‘Lycaon loaded,’ Czarina said. ‘Request command.’

‘Oh really?’ Denton said. ‘Now that’s interesting.’

Sophia knew she had to make a decision. Fire on the target already in her sights or change targets and try to shoot Denton. There was a good chance he’d beat her to it, but she was willing to take—

‘Open fire,’ Denton said.

Czarina squeezed the trigger.

The carbine didn’t fire. It was DC’s carbine, she realized, not a stolen one. No operative could fire it. A nice safety measure for him. Not for her.

‘No!’ Sophia yelled.

The masked operative opened fire.

Denton saw it coming early and ducked. She saw blood in his wake.

Sophia kept her sights on the masked operative, squeezed her trigger. Slammed three rounds into—

Air.

The masked operative was gone.

Crypsis, she thought, recalling Grace’s prototype chameleon suit, worn under her clothes. Looked like this operative was wearing one too.

The slide on Sophia’s Glock locked to the rear. She reached for a magazine from her ruck—the ruck wasn’t there. DC had it now.

‘What happened?’ Czarina clung to her carbine, pressed against the wall. Sophia could feel her confusion: it was soft and clammy.

Sophia discarded her Glock and sprinted up the stairs. Her ankle was holding up. All she could hope was that Denton had taken a critical hit. She reached the top of the stairs and stepped out from the center, not wanting any surprises from a corner. She saw Denton on her far right, a good distance from the corner.

‘Sorry to disappoint you,’ he said, pistol aimed at her.

Chapter 51

DC ran for the platform entrance. A few tracks ahead he could see a train with blue livery. He reached the platform and peered around the corner.

Nasira was pacing. Behind her, he could see Jay sitting on the ground. Trapped inside the box perimeter of the motion sensors. He started down the ramp. Nasira saw him and stopped pacing. He picked up his speed and ran the length of the platform.

Nasira held out her hand. ‘Don’t come too close,’ she said.

He knew, so he stopped well short of her.

‘I don’t think there’s another perimeter but just in case.’

He realized she was also trapped in a perimeter. ‘Good to see you too,’ DC said.

Nasira’s attention shifted to Sophia’s ruck on his back. ‘What are you doing?’

‘It’s the only way.’ DC moved for the doors on a nearby train carriage.

‘The hell you talking about?’ Nasira yelled.

He paused in the doorway. ‘Denton won’t trigger the explosives if the meteorite’s here.’

Nasira’s eyes burned into him. ‘You’re not saving us, are you? You’re saving that stupid rock.’

He slipped the ruck from his shoulders, leaving the sword on his back. ‘This rock is saving you.’

‘You’re full of shit,’ Nasira said.

He stepped into the carriage and walked halfway, picked a luggage compartment at random. He stowed the ruck inside, making sure Nasira and Jay couldn’t see. He was about to step out of the carriage when he noticed movement at the edge of his vision. Someone was walking the platform toward Nasira and Jay. He froze, resisting the urge to duck. The train’s windows were tinted: they wouldn’t see him unless he moved suddenly.

There was more than one individual. He counted four in his field of vision. They were dressed casually but he noticed tactical vests under their jackets. He noticed blades on their hips, swords in sheaths. They all carried carbines.

Except the fifth figure who slid between them. She carried only a sword.

‘We’ll be meeting again now,’ she said.

Her accent was Jamaican, but DC did not recognize her from the Fifth Column or any of its projects. Not that it surprised him. Even as the former General of the Fifth Column’s Tactical Division, he hardly knew any of the organization’s special projects—at least until he’d volunteered for one.

‘Nice sword,’ Nasira said.

‘Not believing we’ve been introduced,’ the Jamaican woman said.

‘Not believing I want to be introduced,’ Nasira said. ‘Didn’t I hear you guys were at the Astoria? How did that work out for you?’

The woman smiled and moved past her soldiers, toward Nasira. ‘Five by five. Slide your pistol out where we see it now.’

Nasira did as instructed, placing her stolen NYPD Glock on the floor and stepping away.

‘I wouldn’t come any closer if I were you,’ Nasira said. ‘This platform is rigged to blow.’ She pointed to an imaginary line of the platform. ‘Motion sensor. Step over that line and we’re toast, pal.’

The Jamaican woman didn’t seem convinced, but she stopped walking.

‘That a tall story you expecting us to be down with,’ she said. ‘Where the explosives be at now?’

Nasira pointed at the carriage. DC flinched, even though no one could see him. She was pointing directly at him. DC slowly lowered himself in the carriage, aware that he was crouching over a long line of demolition charges Denton had placed down the aisle. He could see the door at the end that connected to the next carriage. If he could open it quietly and move through he had a chance of making it to the end of the platform and escaping up the ramp. It was a small chance but it was all he had. He had to move. Now.

Shifting to his hands and knees, he checked over his shoulder to make sure his sword, in its sheath, wasn’t going to catch on any of the seats or make a sound. Satisfied, he started moving.

The doors at the end of the carriage lurched open and one of her soldiers stepped through. DC halted in the aisle, still on hands and knees, and rolled into a row of seats. He grasped the sword on his back, ready to draw. But he knew at the same time that he didn’t have much room to get it out of its sheath, let alone use it.

‘What do you want?’ he heard Nasira say.

‘Simple now,’ the woman said. ‘We just here for the package, nothing more.’

The soldier moved through the aisle, each step careful and measured. DC imagined he was inspecting the demolition charges. He was drawing closer. If he walked past, DC would be hard to miss. And the soldier’s wavy daggers were ideal for the confined spaces of this train carriage.

They’re after the meteorite, he thought. That had to be why they were here.

‘We don’t have it,’ Nasira said.

‘Looks like you not hear me too good,’ the woman said. ‘Half the package be sitting behind you.’

The soldier’s footsteps were getting closer. DC started to remove his sword, slowly, silently. His hand moved out at a two o’clock angle, higher as he lifted the sword. He stopped when his hand hit the window beside him. Carefully, he shifted onto one knee. The soldier paused. He hoped he hadn’t given away his presence. He heard a luggage-compartment door creak open.

DC drew one leg in from under the seats and planted a boot quietly on the linoleum floor. He tilted to one side and continued drawing his sword directly above. Then stopped when he realized his hand was about to pop into view above the headrests.

‘What the hell are they talking about?’ Nasira said.

DC figured she was talking to Jay, because he said, ‘Long story. Black market. They want our abilities. Or, like, blood.’

‘What the fuck?’ Nasira said. ‘Can they even do that? Can you even—? Lady, you better believe you just walked into a war zone.’

If DC tilted his body any further he’d fall into the aisle. All he could do was keep his sword at half-draw and hope the soldier didn’t come any closer.

‘Everything cool. We be taking your friend here,’ the woman said. ‘If you want to be living, you step out the way for us.’

‘This joint is crawling with special forces and operatives,’ Nasira said. ‘They’ll shoot you on sight, you stupid bitch!’

The woman sighed. ‘Just shoot her and be done with it.’

DC drew his sword completely from its sheath. The soldier’s boots scuffed in the aisle, one row behind him. DC wielded his sword with both hands and thrust it into the seat behind him. He heard the breath leave the soldier’s lungs. He looked over his shoulder to see the soldier freeze in position, mouth open, sword through his upper leg.

DC withdrew the sword from the seat. The soldier grunted, hands trembling with adrenalin and quite possibly rage. He aimed his carbine and fired.

Nothing happened.

DC put the end of his sword through the soldier’s neck, severing his windpipe. He kept it there, guiding the soldier to the floor slowly and with minimal gurgling. Blood pooled on the aisle around him.

‘And that’s why you don’t steal other people’s weapons,’ DC said.

Through the window, he saw another soldier aim his carbine at Nasira. He was checking the carbine’s chamber. He removed the magazine and checked the round on top. But DC knew this was no stoppage or double feed.

They were carrying Blue Beret weapons. Fingerprint coded.

Which variant of Blue Berets—Denton’s or the Commander’s—he did not know.

But he could check. He carefully picked up the carbine from the dead soldier and wrapped his primary hand around the pistol grip. He checked the small diode next to the selector switch. It blinked red.

Not the Commander’s masked Blue Berets then. Unfortunately. The weapons were useless even to him.

Through the window, he could see the woman push past the leading soldier. She drew her sword from a sheath engraved with a headless serpent and moved toward Nasira.

‘Don’t come any closer!’ Nasira yelled.

DC had two choices. He could continue through the carriages while everyone was distracted and slip away, unnoticed. It was his plan, after all. Or he could turn around and help Nasira.

Could he even do much though? Aside from being sliced to ribbons.

All he had was one sword. There were five of them.

‘Please lower your hands,’ the woman said. ‘Best if I am to remove your head clean.’

Chapter 52

Denton stood off to the side, USP pistol aimed at Sophia.

‘The bag with the meteorite, if you will,’ Denton said. ‘Go on, bring your friend up.’

Sophia realized Czarina was still wearing a ruck of her own. Denton thought the meteorite was inside.

‘Sorry to disappoint you,’ Sophia said. ‘We don’t have it.’

Denton remained in position. ‘You have five minutes to bring it to me or I blow up one of your friends,’ he said.

She noticed the other hand in his pocket. He removed it, revealing a simple two-way radio transmitter.

‘Which one? I don’t know,’ he said. ‘Lucky dip?’

‘That doesn’t have the range,’ Sophia said.

Denton smiled. ‘No,’ he said. ‘But the antenna in the master tower does.’

She returned the smile. ‘Then you should have no problems blowing up your own meteorite,’ she said. ‘Four thousand degrees? That’s hot enough to fuse the meteorite to thermate, mixing it with molten iron.’

Denton’s face paled. He fished out his touchscreen GPS, checking the location of the meteorite.

‘If your precious Phoenix virus doesn’t last long in warm climates then I doubt—’

‘Oh shut up,’ Denton said. ‘I can already read your mind, I don’t need to hear your jokes twice.’

Sophia smiled. ‘Double the fun.’

Denton was breathing heavily now. ‘You brought it—’ his words barely reached his lips ‘—here.’

Sophia blinked. ‘Isn’t that where you wanted? I was just doing as you told. You know, following instructions.’

Denton pursed his lips. ‘You have no further use,’ he said. ‘I can kill you right now.’

Sophia holstered her empty Glock on her hip. ‘Then why don’t you?’

Denton must have read her mind again because his face paled yet another shade. ‘Because he’s pointing his stupid pistol at me, isn’t he?’

‘Yep,’ Sophia said. ‘He is.’

Off to her left, out of Denton’s field of vision, the Commander was sighting Denton with his pistol, an old Colt .45. She could see the Commander’s tactical vest was shiny, and not from the rain. He was losing blood. She didn’t know how much longer he’d be standing.

She could feel the Commander’s emotions wash over her, strong enough to eclipse Denton’s burning rage. She felt his exhaustion, pain, and something re-opening to hurt inside him. He was different from his son.

With Denton’s attention diverted, she let her thoughts free. Where was Czarina? She couldn’t see her from the corner of her vision. Was she armed? Was she even OK?

‘Sidney,’ the Commander said. ‘It’s over.’

Denton turned slightly, keeping his aim on Sophia. ‘I’m Gabriel now.’

‘New York City’s open,’ the Commander said. ‘The army has this place surrounded.’

‘I should kill you now.’

The voice came from somewhere unexpected. It wasn’t the Commander. It wasn’t Denton.

Czarina moved to the top of the stairs. She wasn’t carrying the carbine any longer. Through the edge of her vision, Sophia thought she might be carrying a pistol.

It was a knife.

The blade trembled in her grasp.

She seemed only a heartbeat from charging Denton.

‘Czarina,’ Sophia said. ‘Stand down.’

She didn’t know who would shoot Czarina first, if she made her move. Denton or the Commander.

Denton’s nostrils flared. ‘I can smell your fear,’ he said to the Commander. ‘That’s smart.’

‘Drop your weapon,’ the Commander said.

‘No,’ Denton said. ‘Give in. Do it. Take it all.’

‘Command acknowledged,’ Czarina said.

‘No!’ Sophia yelled.

Czarina’s trembling subsided. Her gaze seared through Denton.

‘Who pays the piper,’ Czarina said. ‘Calls the tune.’

‘Czarina!’ Sophia shouted.

Czarina threw the knife.

Denton leaned to one side. The blade slipped past him.

The Commander opened fire on Czarina. She dropped to her knees, confused.

‘No!’ Sophia yelled.

Denton drew his pistol to his chest, pivoted, punched out. He lined his sights on the Commander.

The Commander, arms still extended, shifted his aim to Denton.

Denton fired.

The Commander fired.

Sophia sprinted for Denton. Closed the gap quickly. Targeted his pistol. She saw it leave his fingers. A round punched through Denton’s cheek. His cheek rippled. Fragments of tooth moved like confetti.

Another round disappeared into the Commander’s vest. He collapsed.

Denton was the last man standing.

He faltered, gargled something incomprehensible. Then growled. It echoed through the main concourse, sounded primal.

Sophia reached him. The pistol hit the ground. She moved in low, grasped for it.

Denton’s elbow connected with her forehead. She fell, sliding past Denton. Starbursts exploded across her vision. She couldn’t feel her head for a moment, then it came trickling back.

‘I saw that coming a mile off,’ Denton said, slurring his words through fractured teeth.

Chapter 53

The tiny red dot on the sensor winked out.

Fraction by fraction, Aviary withdrew one hand. And then the other. She knew if she fucked this up, both Jay and Nasira would die. And then Nasira would probably haunt her as a ghost to remind her eternally that she wasn’t an operative and should’ve stayed away.

Sweat ran down her nose. She moved her remaining hand through the barrier and then slowly started her retreat.

One sensor down, one more to go.

She retreated, pushed herself off the carriage roof and landed back on the platform. Her entire face itched with sweat. She wiped it all away with the back of her hand.

‘Quickly!’ Damien said.

‘Going as fast as I can,’ she said.

She shoved the multitool in her jeans pocket and jumped onto the other train. She clung to the edge and hurled herself up to the roof. Her arms were trembling. But she didn’t need to move slowly until she moved closer to the sensor. She reached for her multitool. The sensors on the sides of the platform, boxing Damien in on his left and right, were still monitoring invisible barriers just along the outside of the train carriages. This prevented Damien from smashing a train window and bailing out the side. Or on top. Or underneath. Really, the only way he had out was to burrow through the platform or fly through the ceiling—neither of which was an option right now.

With her multitool poised before the sensor, she slowed right down again.

Aviary popped the panel and started cutting the wires. With that done, she pried the end of her multitool knife into the edge of the battery. Fraction by fraction, she pushed further. Sweat itched her face, collecting on her upper lip and eyebrows.

‘To laugh at death and show we’re not afraid,’ Aviary whispered.

She pushed a little more. The blade levered the battery out. It sprang from its receptacle. Aviary’s other hand was covering it, ready to grab it. The battery bounced into the palm of her hand. Her hand concealed its motion from the sensor on the other side. The battery—warm enough to trigger a sensor—bounced off the palm of her hand and back into the sensor’s panel.

The tiny red dot faded.

She breathed. Her body relaxed so quickly she almost collapsed on the carriage roof.

With barely the energy to speak, she said, ‘I did it.’

Damien was staring at her. He looked like someone had paused him in mid-sentence, his mouth open, eyebrows high.

‘I can walk through?’ Damien said.

Aviary pocketed her multitool and climbed down. ‘The sensors are dead. Batteries removed.’

‘And no explosion,’ Damien said.

She grinned. ‘I totally just saved an operative.’

She watched him tentatively step forward, across the imaginary line. He moved slowly at first, then once he was through the barrier he started to collect speed. She thought he was going to break into a run and move down the platform but he changed direction and moved to hug her. She returned the embrace but was too slow. He already had his phone out and was asking her how to find which platform Jay was on. He was swiping through the camera feeds.

‘I don’t know which one,’ Aviary said. ‘But when I was on top of that train I saw another one train just down that way.’ She pointed.

‘East,’ Damien said.

‘Yeah, that.’

He stared along the platform with a quickening pace.

‘Let’s go!’ he called over his shoulder.

Her legs seemed to have stopped working. She forced them into motion and tried to keep up with Damien.

The platform was exceedingly long—the ramp at the end almost a dot. It felt like a long time before she reached it but that was probably because she was quite unfit. She hit the ramp and followed Damien into the dining concourse. He was moving to the right, toward where she’d told him there was another train. She just hoped that was the train in Jay’s security camera feed.

He paused to wait for her, casting a glance behind them.

‘What is it?’ she gasped, sucking in air as she caught up.

‘Thought I heard—’

Something flashed past her. Knocked her to the ground. Knocked Damien to the ground. It congealed into view. Or her eyes were totally losing it and he’d been there all along.

It was a masked Blue Beret, only without the Blue Beret part. A masked operative?

Damien was on his feet, fighting the operative. The operative wielded a knife in one hand. Both hands. No, that didn’t seem good at all.

The operative and Damien danced across the floor. When they moved in close their limbs were a blur of short stabs and cuts. Almost too fast to make out the individual strikes.

‘Go!’ Damien yelled.

Aviary ran. She felt bad she’d just left Damien behind to get beaten up by some creepy operative but it’d be worse if the operative took even the half-second he’d need to gut her.

Chapter 54

The Jamaican woman stood before Nasira. 

Nasira remained still. She could avoid any attack, but she knew as soon as that blade touched the barrier that separated them, explosives on another platform would take Damien’s life.

‘Not even be protecting yourself,’ the woman said. ‘So be it then.’

‘This is my last warning,’ Nasira said, measuring her words out so there was no confusion. ‘Come any fucking closer and we all die.’

The woman lifted her engraved sword.

Nasira pointed to the motion sensors. ‘Do you see those sensors? Passive infrared. Why else would I be sitting here?’

The woman glanced at the sensors—one on each end, fixed to the mesh ceiling. Finally, she understood. She smiled and focused on Nasira.

‘You be playing tricks on us. Clever girl.’ Her smile faded. ‘Dead girl.’

The sword came down on Nasira.

Another sword intercepted hers, keeping everything safely short of the sensors’ path.

DC was standing beside the woman, his sword extended past hers.

A snarl curled across her lips.

‘Bad man, bad mistake,’ she said.

She squared with DC, pressure on her sword. He matched the pressure, then they both withdrew. The swords clashed together again. Nasira shuffled back into her invisible square, watching.

The other soldiers crept forward, ready to close on DC.

‘Look out!’ Nasira yelled.

DC sidestepped the woman’s sword. She seemed, to Nasira’s surprise, a skilled fighter with her longsword. Only Sophia or DC could compare. But even DC was having trouble. She cut across him, once, twice. He avoided one, deflected another.

She came in hard. The sword sliced downward. Nasira watched as it slithered through the invisible barrier. The sensor on her right flashed red.

‘No,’ she breathed.

A chain reaction of explosions rumbled nearby, building in intensity until it drowned everything else out. Glass ruptured from the windows beside her. She shielded her eyes, hit the ground. Through narrow gaps in her fingers, she saw chunks of carriage from the explosion turn into fireballs and strike the train beside her. One fiery chunk collided with the carriage right beside her. Jay was behind her, hands bound behind him, just getting to his feet.

He was too slow.

The carriage beside her reeled from a colliding carriage and turned over. It bore down on them. Nasira ran. Collected Jay, knocked the air from him. She threw herself—and him—onto the far side of the platform. The overturning carriage crunched onto the platform. It landed right beside them, crushing her pistol. The impact rattled her bones.

Chapter 55

Get back up, Sophia told herself. Get back up.

She crawled to one knee. The corners of her vision seemed to pulse and curl. Denton was searching for his pistol. It was halfway between them.

He ran for it.

She ran for it.

A ripple of explosions tore the ground up from under them. The blood-smeared marble of the Grand Central main concourse cracked into violent shards and the center dropped inward. Sophia never got to the pistol. Denton scooped his hand to collect it, but it bounced off the marble and skittered into the collapsing floor.

Denton went with it. The transmitter tumbled from his grasp. He slid down the center. Sophia tried to keep her footing. The information booth in the center disappeared through a cloud of debris.

Czarina and the Commander were still lying on the outer edge. Sophia wanted to get to Czarina but she was too far in to climb out. The marble floor gave way underneath Sophia. She dropped through the abyss, bounced off displaced slabs of marble, shuttling feet-first toward Denton.

Sophia fell with the center of the concourse, down a waterfall of debris. She landed, rolled down a mountain of debris and landed on the level below. She wiped her face. Her hand came away smeared with dust and blood. She was on the lower concourse now. Quickly, she moved away from the rubble in case more chunks dropped from above. She searched for Denton’s USP pistol and for the transmitter, but she couldn’t see anything through the cloud of debris.

Chapter 56

Jay rolled clear of the sword. It sliced through the tourniquet on his leg. He looked down. The entry wound in his thigh was finally healing and the tourniquet was due for removal.

‘Oh, thanks,’ he said.

The soldier with the sword advanced.

The train platform was covered in fiery debris and chunks of carriage. Behind the soldier, other soldiers pressed forward, swords and spears gleaming orange. Jay leaped onto the fallen carriage to avoid another swipe. Not one but two soldiers had clearly made it their mission to cleave Jay’s head from his shoulders. Both leaped onto the carriage, sword and spear cutting the air toward him.

Jay dropped into an empty window, past a row of seats. His stomach burned but it had come a long way toward healing while he’d been confined to this platform. He landed in the other row, quickly climbed the seats into the aisle. One soldier dropped in behind him, sword slashing. Jay rolled from its path, his shoulder crunching along an armrest. Everything in the carriage was sideways. He moved quickly, feet alternating between the luggage compartment and the edge of the headrests. He leaped up toward the row of seats above, stepped up on the outside armrest and sprang off the seats until he reached the window. He was out and rolling along the scorched surface. A spear hunted him. He diverted, leaped off the train and back onto the platform.

‘Get out of here!’ DC yelled.

Jay saw him exchange blows with two soldiers while their leader, the crazy woman, circled him in search of an opening.

Nasira was below Jay, fending off another soldier with just her knife. Nasira cut an artery along the inside of a soldier’s elbow, and then the inside of his thigh. She stole his sword and called to Jay.

He landed on the platform—unarmed—and followed her into the train carriage on the other side, the train that was still upright and mostly intact. He didn’t like the narrow aisle but it was this or the open ground crawling with Batmen.

‘What about DC?’ Jay shouted.

‘Not my problem,’ Nasira said.

A soldier cut Nasira off and thrust his spear toward her. She stepped out of the aisle, forcing Jay to do the same. Nasira brought her sword down on the spear, splintering it into a staff. Jay took the end—now a short spear—and threw it into the soldier. It struck him above the collarbone. He still moved forward, with half a spear.

Jay spun to find another soldier behind him, wielding two puglio daggers. Jay was unarmed again. He retreated in time for the first dagger to sink into the foam headrest. Jay was trapped in the window seat. He avoided the second dagger by leaping over the seats into the next aisle. The soldier lunged over the seat after him. Jay leaned back, his neck inches from the blade. He gripped the armrest, thumb over the button, and kicked the chair. It thrust back, pinning the soldier between two seats. Jay used the kick to push himself over another row, away from the soldier.

He found himself beside the spear-wielding soldier, the spear end still embedded below his neck. The soldier drew a puglio of his own and closed on Nasira. Jay wrapped a hand over the soldier’s eyes and used his other hand to rip the spear out. He now had a short staff with a spear tip at his disposal.

He kneed the soldier in his lower back, driving him into Nasira’s sword. This gave Jay enough room to fend off the dual-puglio-armed soldier with his spear tip. It wasn’t ideal, but at least he had something to keep his arms from being sliced.

‘Go!’ Jay yelled.

Nasira jumped into the aisle, sword in one hand, and moved to the end. Jay kept her rear covered, retreating as the daggers closed on him. He found himself back to back with Nasira at the end of the carriage. She had stopped.

‘Which way?’ Jay said.

The puglio wielding soldier moved toward him with confident strides.

‘Outside,’ Nasira said.

She changed direction, wrenched the doors open beside them, and skewered a soldier.

Jay followed her out and closed the doors behind him just as the puglio guy reached him. On the platform the woman’s soldiers were everywhere.

‘Shit,’ he said.

Two soldiers broke off and moved for Nasira and himself.

Behind Jay, the puglio guy was pushing the doors open. Jay pivoted and drove the spear tip between the doors. It struck the puglio guy through the bridge of his nose, right through the forebrain, killing him instantly. His hands slipped and the doors shut again, the spear tip pinned between them. Jay tried to draw it out but it was too wide.

Nasira weaved to avoid a soldier and counter-attacked with her sword.

Jay couldn’t stand here forever. He ran. Scooped up an abandoned carbine and used it to deflect a sword. Two swords. He was trapped between two soldiers. He held the carbine with one hand on the pistol grip, the other on the barrel. He caught the blade with the top of the rail. The notches stopped the sword from slipping along the carbine.

He stepped in toward one soldier, deflected another blow with the sword, and jabbed the barrel into the soldier’s neck. The sharp edge of the carbine’s flash suppressor crushed his Adam’s apple, knocking him to the ground. Jay wasn’t close enough to steal the sword so he left it. He kept moving, circling the other soldier.

With both hands on his carbine, Jay pinned the soldier’s sword hand to the side of the train carriage. The soldier used his free hand to draw his dagger. Jay slipped the carbine’s barrel up behind the soldier’s neck and pulled him in with the barrel as leverage. The dagger was out of range. The soldier stumbled past Jay, tripped over Jay’s well-placed knee and sprawled across the platform.

Jay had a sword now.

In the center of the platform DC was surrounded. His tachi sword was almost a blur. He divided its arcs precisely between the soldiers. Two lay nearby, bleeding out. Another two closed on him. Nasira was engaged with a third.

He moved around Nasira and caught up with DC. He didn’t stand back to back: not a good idea when using a sword. They formed a loose figure-eight, enough clearance between them.

‘I told you to go,’ DC said, deflecting a sword.

Jay laughed. Parried and sidestepped a sword. ‘You’re part of the family now.’

‘Like hell I am,’ DC said.

Jay heard air escape a windpipe and knees drop to the platform. He turned just enough to make sure it was a soldier and not DC. As he did so, his own soldier moved in for an attack.

The soldier’s sword came down in an overhead strike. Jay went to intercept the vertical strike with a horizontal one—the typical response—but this time he moved differently. Something he’d picked up from Nasira. He sidestepped and ran his sword along the soldier’s blade, altering its path. The soldier’s sword reached waist height, having cut nothing but air. Jay’s sword was on top of his. Jay changed trajectory, flicked his sword up into the soldier’s neck.

It was over.

DC and Nasira stood nearby. The soldiers were either dead or losing vast amounts of blood across the platform.

The leader of the soldiers, Crazy Jamaican Woman, seemed impressed. With her engraved sword in one hand and a pistol in the other, she aimed the pistol at DC. She stood near the ramp at the end of the platform. Far enough away that he had no hope of closing on her. But close enough to make an accurate shot with her pistol.

‘This pistol be not fingerprint coded,’ she said. ‘Drop your weapons.’

‘How about you let us go and we don’t kill you?’ Nasira said.

‘Some of your men can still be saved,’ DC said, ‘if you stop their bleeding in time.’

She seemed unconcerned about the welfare of her troops.

‘I only be repeating this once,’ she said. ‘Drop your weapons. The gentleman in the suit belonging to me now.’

Jay weighed up the possibility of running into the train carriage. It might not stop a round from her pistol, but it provided enough concealment. The trouble was, he was too far away. Nasira was the closest—she could make it. DC, maybe, but her sights were on him. Jay knew he could take a hit, and maybe DC was wearing ballistic protection.

Nasira reluctantly discarded her sword.

DC gripped his tighter. ‘Listen lady, I’ll only be repeating this once,’ he said. ‘Lower your pistol and we walk. All of us.’

Crazy Jamaican Woman squeezed the trigger. DC collapsed. The tachi sword slipped from his grasp.

‘Now,’ she said to Jay. ‘Drop the weapon.’

DC was on his knees, hands over his chest. Jay wanted to drive his sword through her skull. But he couldn’t.

He dropped his sword.

‘Everything cool,’ she said.

Her aim shifted to Nasira. Jay saw her finger in the trigger guard again.

‘No,’ he said.

She squeezed the trigger.

A blade appeared through the Crazy Jamaican Woman’s neck. It missed her windpipe. It looked like a knife. The woman’s jaws worked, but she said nothing. The knife withdrew. Jay watched the woman stagger forward, one, two steps. She dropped the pistol.

Jay could see the attacker behind her.

Aviary.

She clutched her knife with both hands. Her brilliantly red hair was darker, plastered wet against her forehead. Jay could barely see her dirt-smeared face and liquid eyes. She said nothing.

Nasira was on one knee. She looked unharmed. She moved her hands across her body, checking for injuries. The window behind her was fractured. The round had gone wide. But DC didn’t look so good. He was face-down and covered in blood.

The woman faced Aviary, her engraved sword now in both hands. Jay took up his sword and moved forward.

‘Silly girl,’ the woman said.

She moved for Aviary.

Jay broke into a sprint, but he knew as he ran that he wasn’t going to make it in time. Aviary didn’t retreat. She didn’t evade. She didn’t do anything. Her body was frozen in place. She clutched the knife over her chest. Her limbs were locked, her gaze transfixed on the woman with the engraved sword.

Jay ran toward the ramp.

The engraved sword drew back, ready to skewer her.

Aviary was still.

The blade drove in. Aviary stopped breathing.

Jay screamed.

Something shimmered behind Crazy Jamaican Woman.

Someone was standing behind her. The engraved sword thrust forward, but wide. It missed Aviary. As Jay drew closer, he saw someone remove a knife from inside the woman’s collarbone and sweep it across the side of her neck. Blood pulsed from below her neck. The operative stepped back from the woman, let her slump to the floor. With her subclavian artery severed under the collarbone, she would bleed out inside ten seconds. Severing the carotid arteries in her neck was just a failsafe measure.

Jay knew the technique because it was part of the sentry removal module in Project GATE.

Operative, he thought, drawing to a careful halt twenty feet away.

The operative glared at him. This one wasn’t Sophia’s friend. This operative wore a mask like the Blue Berets. Jay stood maybe ten feet from the discarded pistol. The operative didn’t appear to be carrying anything other than the knife. And if he did, he didn’t move for it.

Jay lowered his sword and watched the operative shimmer out of visible wavelength. Jay adjusted to infrared and watched the operative move past Aviary and up the ramp without so much as glancing at the redhead.

Nasira moved past Jay. ‘Check on DC!’

Jay turned on his heel and ran back to DC. He was still lying face down. Jay reached him and checked his pulse.

DC’s heart was still going strong.

He rolled DC onto his side to find him blinking. His chest rose and fell with each breath.

‘You lucky son of a bitch,’ Jay said. He slapped DC on the chest.

DC coughed, his hands reaching for the shattered ceramic plate under his vest.

‘Oh right, sorry,’ Jay said.

Chapter 57

Sophia stood at the perimeter of the haze. She couldn’t see or hear Denton, but she could smell his anger and desperation. He was close by, that she was sure of.

She heard his footsteps crunching on debris before she saw him through the haze. He held the transmitter in one hand.

‘Which platform is the meteorite on?’ Denton said.

Before Sophia could even think of an answer, he’d already taken it from her.

‘Good,’ he said. ‘Take me to it. Or I kill all your friends.’

‘If you do that, you lose the meteorite forever,’ she said. ‘How many years have you been—?’

‘If I hit the transmit switch,’ Denton said, ‘that’s a two for one. Jay and Nasira, last I checked.’

His finger hovered over the transmit switch. He emerged from the haze, his white buttoned shirt streaked in blood and dirt, torn to reveal a pale gray covert vest underneath.

‘You’ve already lost Damien,’ Denton said. ‘His blood’s on your hands now. Tell me exactly where the meteorite is.’

She was about to respond but he roared, screamed, at her. He’d heard her answer before she had a chance to speak and hadn’t taken it too kindly. He gripped the transmitter tightly. She thought he was going to press the button but he relented.

‘You don’t know where it is!’ he yelled. ‘How about we go find out?’

Sophia thought of DC. She tried to undo the thought but it was too late. Denton had seen it. His face twisted into a close approximation of a smile.

‘There’s a start,’ he said. ‘Take me to your guard dog. Take me to DC.’

‘No,’ she said.

His finger wavered over the button.

You won’t press it, she thought.

‘Maybe I will,’ he said. ‘Maybe I’ll just destroy it all. The meteorite. Everyone you care about. Most importantly, you.’

I don’t need to read your mind to know you’re lying.

Denton stepped closer.

The meteorite is worth more to you than me.

‘Care to find out?’ he said.

You’re scared.

Denton’s thumb ran the edge of the transmit button.

‘So are you,’ he said.

Sophia tried not to think of any of her friends in particular, tried not to divulge any details Denton might find useful. She focused on him. On what he was doing now. She couldn’t consider a strategy because he’d see it coming.

His hand trembled. He discarded the transmitter, started toward her. He wasn’t armed, but he didn’t seem to care. He ripped off the last of his shirt, leaving only his suit pants and gray ballistic vest—shoulders and triceps shiny with perspiration. His body gave off fresh waves of fury. Fury with little beyond.

Under normal circumstances, Sophia would have welcomed the opportunity. And she wouldn’t stop. She would do what she should have done in Denver. She would kill him.

But now it was different. He had an edge.

Denton reached striking range. Sophia sidestepped. He was already there. His fists worked in rapid succession. She deflected, moved, kept the blows off her body. But he came in with precisely the right movement. The right timing. Faster. Quicker. Every time he got better. She was running out of reaction time. The blows glanced off her body.

She thought of Damien, possibly dead. She thought of Czarina, dead. All because of him. She wanted to tear him apart. Her arms weaved between his. A blow glanced off her cheek. She absorbed the blow, moved along its trajectory. Drove her knee into his sternum.

Denton avoided it, drove his foot hard into the side of her knee. She buckled, fell to her other knee. His elbow glanced her forehead. She moved barely in time, right into the path of an open palm. She felt her nose crunch under the pressure of his strike. She fell to her back.

She used her legs to entrap him, knock him off balance—but he moved around them effortlessly. Came in from her side. One hand bore down on her forehead, twisting her head to one side. The other closed over her neck.

‘I’m going to take your life,’ he breathed. ‘And then I’m going to take my rock.’

The pressure on her skull was incredible. But it wasn’t what worried her. His fingers crushed her neck.

She couldn’t breathe.

Her vision frayed.

Her thoughts faded.

She brushed her hand down his arm. He seemed confused by the motion. She focused. With the same hand, she pushed his hand off. The grip broke. Denton stared at it.

She grabbed a piece of debris nearly. It was thin, disc-like. She didn’t think, just brought the object around. It slammed into the side of his neck. He almost lost consciousness from the blow. Sophia looked down to see she had struck him in the neck with an iPad. She was lying in a pile of rubble of Apple products from the store above.

With both hands, she smashed the back of the iPad on Denton’s head. He reeled backward. He managed to stay on both feet, faltered, shook his head.

‘How—?’

Sophia smiled. ‘Electromagnetic disturbance,’ she said. ‘Disrupts the signals in your brain, for a change.’

She could feel blood run warmly down her lips, down her chin. It was her blood.

‘I didn’t see those blows,’ he said.

‘Because you were choking me,’ she said. ‘And I couldn’t …’

Think.

It was how she’d been trained to fight in Belize. It was fast because there was no conscious thought to slow it down. And it worked because Denton didn’t have a sneak preview.

She started to think of something else. Something outside her and Denton. 

Denton closed on her. 

Cupcakes. Red velvet. Dark chocolate with peanut butter frosting.

He punched. Her hand ran along his arm, forced the joint across her hip. Broke his arm. He screamed. Forced his elbow back into place.

‘What are you doing?’ he roared.

Sophia blinked. ‘I’m thinking about cupcakes.’

He struck again. She waved the blow over her shoulder, her arm going in low. She snapped her fist inward, driving her knuckles into his abdomen. The punch was unexpected for both her and Denton. The movement was relaxed, but her fist heavy as lead. The energy corkscrewed into his midsection.

Denton retreated a step, lips taut. She could see him try to bear the pain she’d sent rippling through his body. But she could feel it. He was enraged.

‘It won’t work,’ he said between sharp breaths. ‘It’s over.’

Chapter 58

Damien picked himself up off the ground. He was covered in books. He couldn’t see in front of the debris cloud. Half of it seemed to be in his lungs because he coughed violently. He searched around him. The operative was nowhere to be found. He got to his feet, aware of a laceration across his back that had started to sting.

The nearby explosion had washed the dining concourse with debris, sending Damien crashing into a bookstore. He checked his body and tested his limbs. Nothing life-threatening and he wasn’t losing blood. That would have to do for now. He moved from the bookstore into the dining concourse. He’d lost all sense of direction and, with the concourse littered in bricks, tiles and plaster, nothing looked familiar.

Then he heard movement from his right, farther down the concourse. He peered through the thick cloud but saw nothing. He could hear footsteps. A single figure moved away from him. Running. He wasn’t sure who it was but he knew he needed to find Aviary and Jay, and Nasira too. He moved through the cloud toward Jay’s platform.

*

‘I’m sorry,’ Aviary said.

She’d screwed up again. Almost gotten herself killed and everyone else around her. Now she knew why Nasira had told her to stay away. She just wasn’t trained for this.

‘I was going to disable the sensors,’ Aviary said. ‘I wanted to—’

Nasira lowered Aviary’s knife, took it from her. She grabbed Aviary by the collar of her jacket and held tightly. Aviary thought Nasira was about to hit her.

‘Did I kill Damien?’ Nasira said.

Aviary felt Nasira’s saliva hot on her face. ‘What? No,’ Aviary said. ‘I got him out.’

‘Thank fuck,’ Nasira said.

Aviary found herself in probably the most unlikely scenario possible—being hugged by Nasira. Aviary’s face pressed in Nasira’s shoulder. She stopped freaking out and shut her eyes, dizzy from the near-death experience. She didn’t know if she could move at all, let alone survive the rest of this. She let Nasira hold her.

‘Thank you,’ Nasira said.

Chapter 59

‘Last chance, Gypsy,’ Denton said. He grasped a chunk of marble. ‘If I don’t kill you, the reinforcements certainly will.’

Sophia didn’t think of getting back onto her feet. That would happen naturally, when the time was right. Instead, she lay there and thought of cupcakes.

‘That’s stupid! You don’t use espresso frosting on pumpkin cupcakes!’ Denton yelled.

He brought the chunk of marble down on Sophia’s skull. She slid fractionally to one side and fractionally inward. Her arm brushed his, knocked the chunk off trajectory. It missed her. She brought her hand down, palm striking his kneecap. His leg straightened out and he hyperextended.

Dry cupcakes. Burnt cupcakes. The icing was too watery on that one.

Denton shook his head, dizzied by her thoughts.

She brought her hand back up, driving another corkscrew punch into his stomach for good measure. The air burst from his lungs.

Gluten free cupcakes. Vegan mocha cupcakes with garlic frosting.

‘I hate garlic!’

She watched him lash out with another fist, but it was more of a wild shot than a precision strike. She moved around it, brushing it off with her shoulder. Circling him, she wrapped her other hand over his face and pulled him back. Then she bent her leg so his spine dropped onto her knee. He bounced off and landed on rubble.

His stomach rose and fell with ragged gasps. He held his thumb in one hand, then released it.

‘Last … chance,’ he said.

She picked up the chunk of marble.

Denton cupcake. With marble frosting.

‘Stop!’ the Commander yelled through the haze.

Sophia turned slightly, saw the Commander standing ten feet behind her. His Colt .45 aimed with both hands. She noticed his arms were steady but he was having trouble standing. His strength was being drawn from him.

Sophia moved to one side, keeping both Denton and the Commander on the edges of her vision.

‘Why?’ she said.

‘Where’s the meteorite?’ the Commander said.

‘Destroyed,’ Sophia said. ‘With the explosives.’

She didn’t know on which platform DC had cached the meteorite, she’d left that to him, but she hoped it was the one that had been destroyed.

‘So be it. We need him alive,’ the Commander said.

‘No, that’s not it,’ she said. ‘You actually think he’s worth saving.’

His voice was a rough whisper. ‘I do.’

‘You think he’s human?’ Sophia said.

‘He’s my son.’

‘He’s not human.’

‘I’m not a fool, Sophia. I know he’s not like most people,’ the Commander said. ‘But I can’t give up. I hope you understand.’

‘I don’t need to,’ she said. ‘I’m close enough to disarm you before you get a shot off. Let alone a shot that could stop me.’

She saw his fingers tighten around the pistol. His primary hand held the pistol firmly. Too firmly. She knew his shot would go a little left and high, but at ten feet it would still hit her face. She didn’t tell him that though.

‘Let me take him in,’ the Commander said.

‘He’s already injected two Phoenix viruses,’ Sophia said. ‘Even without the third he’s more dangerous now.’

‘He will be punished, I promise that. Walk away and I call off the search in this building. Pick any tunnel and you’ll have safe passage out.’

‘And if I don’t?’ Sophia said.

‘Then there’s a cell next to Denton’s,’ the Commander said. ‘I’m sure he’d enjoy the company.’

‘There is no cell,’ Sophia said, gripping the marble chunk tighter. ‘You’d have me on an operating table. For as long as it takes to get the Phoenix from me.’

‘Perhaps,’ he said. ‘If you don’t accept my deal.’

‘You could have us both,’ she said. ‘Why should I trust you?’

‘Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth,’ he said.

Even if he was lying, she thought, at least her team would have a chance to escape.

‘Can you contain him?’ she asked.

‘I can’t kill my son,’ he said. ‘But I promise you he will never be in a position to harm anyone again.’

Sophia tried to laugh but it emerged as a cough. ‘You should just kill him. I can do it for you.’

He shook his head. ‘As tempting as it might be to bring an end to all this, he possesses valuable information.’

‘The Phoenix,’ Sophia said.

‘The Phoenix. The plague. The future. The fate of the human race. Hell, even the origins of the human race,’ he said. ‘One man can know too much.’

Now she knew why the Commander had been sent in to collect Denton. It wasn’t just to stop him, he was a high value intellignece asset now. The Commander was here to cash in on both the Phoenix virus and Denton, or at least one of them anyway.

‘And how do you plan to extract this information?’ Sophia said.

‘We have various means, one will work,’ the Commander said. ‘I know you want to kill him. I know you want to kill me. All of us. But the fact of the matter is, he’s more valuable alive than dead. You’re a woman with a sense of justice, Sophia. You know the only chance you have of making all these wrongs right is to let us take him.’

‘You don’t exactly fill me with confidence,’ she said.

‘The other option is you kill him now. With that piece of marble. And me in the process. And then you and your friends die here in this place. After all you’ve done,’ he said. ‘But what of the Fifth Column, and the future of the human race? What of the people who will never know what Denton knows? Who will never know what’s coming.’

‘No one ever knows,’ she said.

‘You will,’ he said. ‘All I ask is you walk away. Pick a tunnel. I’ll hold off the search as part of my agreement.’

Desperation and sadness came off him in slow waves. 

‘You mean that.’ She let the chunk of marble fall from her hand.

‘Your friend in the red jacket is still alive. She’s in the passage behind the ticketing train boards.’ He lowered his pistol. ‘We’re not all monsters.’

Sophia found the transmitter lying nearby. She picked it up.

‘Not all of you,’ she said. ‘But enough.’

*

Sophia found Czarina propped against a wall behind the main concourse. She’d moved around the ticketing train boards and down into a lowered passage. It dipped under a walkway. The operative was under the walkway.

Sophia followed a smear of blood along the wall, calling Czarina’s name as she ran, but she showed no response. Sophia yelled her name louder and louder. The Commander had shot Czarina. For that alone, she regretted her decision in leaving him with Denton.

Anger coiled inside her and she wanted to double back and kill them both. She would use as many chunks of marble as it would take to shatter their skulls. But the thought of doing that made her sick. And the sight of her new charge sitting against the wall, motionless, made her sicker.

By the time she reached Czarina she felt tears pouring down her cheeks, clouding her vision to the point she could barely make out Czarina’s face. She checked the carotid pulse.

It was there, but not strong.

She tried to keep her mind together. OK, what next? Check the wounds. She opened Czarina’s jacket wider to inspect her T-shirt and ran her fingers across it. She felt the hardness of a ballistic vest underneath and realized the round hadn’t even penetrated her skin. Relief washed over her.

Czarina opened her eyes and focused on Sophia.

‘You’re OK,’ Sophia whispered.

‘Request command,’ Czarina said.

More tears poured down her face. She smiled. It was probably a stupid smile. ‘You’re OK.’

‘No critical injuries,’ Czarina said.

Sophia swallowed hard. ‘Unload parapsyche Lycaon.’

Czarina stared straight through Sophia, then blinked twice.

‘Hi,’ Czarina said.

Sophia almost laughed. She rested her forehead against Czarina’s and closed her eyes for a moment.

‘Wasn’t letting you go that easy,’ Sophia said.

She heard footsteps above. She soon recognized them as their pheromones reached her. The Commander was difficult to identify but Denton was unmistakable.

‘This man needs medical attention,’ the Commander said. His voice echoed through the main concourse. ‘Banged up pretty bad, has a concussion.’

Sophia heard them draw to a halt on the walkway, directly above her. She locked gazes with Czarina and listened. She could hear a shuffle as the Commander took something from his pocket.

‘NCS,’ the Commander said.

He was referring to the National Clandestine Service, a CIA division. On the rare occasions Sophia had worked in an official capacity, she too had been issued a mask identity matching the host country.

More footsteps on the other end of the main concourse. Local reinforcements. Sophia heard them guide the Commander and Denton around the concourse, avoiding the collapsed center and west mezzanine. Once they were around the other side, she heard the Commander again.

‘No one is to enter this terminal until I say so; get everyone out now,’ the Commander said. ‘I need to speak with your commander.’

Sophia waited for them to leave the main concourse before getting to one knee. ‘We don’t have much time,’ she said.

‘I don’t feel right,’ Czarina said.

She leaned past Czarina to rest her head on the wall. She closed her eyes and focused on breathing. If the Commander kept his word, he would hold off a sweep of the terminal. At least for a short time. Either way she needed to get out now.

Sophia focused on the smear of blood across the wall. Slowly, she leaned Czarina forward to check across her back. She noticed a tear in the jacket and remembered the glass shard that had struck her while running through the MetLife lobby.

She saw movement at one end of the passage. Nasira and DC.

Without a word, they moved quickly down the walkway. DC still had his sword, sheathed. Sophia helped Czarina to her feet. She was weak but she could move.

DC and Nasira came to a stop before them.

‘Is Damien alive?’ Sophia said.

Nasira nodded. ‘Lucky son of a bitch. Everyone’s in one piece.’

‘Even the meteorite,’ DC said.

‘Where is it?’ Sophia said.

‘Still in a carriage,’ DC said. ‘Intact.’

She handed Nasira the transmitter. ‘Once everyone’s clear, blow it.’

‘You got it,’ Nasira said.

‘Where’s Denton?’ DC said.

‘His father helped him out. Agreed to give us time to escape,’ Sophia said.

‘Why?’ Nasira asked.

‘He … I don’t know,’ she said. ‘But I could feel it. He’ll let us go. I’m not questioning it, I’m just taking it.’

‘You fucking let him go? Are you crazy?’ Nasira said. ‘You had the motherfucker in your sights and your finger off?’

‘Look, there are compelling reasons,’ Sophia said. ‘I’ll explain later.’

‘Fine,’ Nasira said. She slung Czarina’s arm over her shoulder and started to help her up the passage. ‘Let’s move.’

Sophia started after them. ‘Come on,’ she said to DC. ‘About time we get off the island.’

He wasn’t moving.

She stopped. ‘You’re not coming with us, are you?’

‘I can’t,’ he said. 

Nasira and Czarina had already reached the end of the passage. Nasira waited for a moment before losing her patience and moving onward.

‘Not yet,’ he said. ‘You should go. He won’t stop you.’

She shook her head and couldn’t help but smile. ‘You’ll take on highly trained operatives with just a sword but you’re too scared to kiss a girl.’

DC swallowed. ‘I am … not.’

He took a step forward but she grew impatient and closed the gap herself, her hand around his neck, drawing him in. His lips were softer than she expected. She felt the tension slip from his body. She could smell more than the blood and sweat between them. It was an intoxicating spice that dizzied her. Or that might’ve been her post-adrenal dump, she couldn’t be sure.

DC broke away, hesitated a moment, then withdrew. She noticed a slight smile across his face, but he quickly concealed it.

‘Why won’t he stop me?’ Sophia asked. ‘You seem so sure.’

‘I never said I was sure,’ DC said.

‘You know your bodyguarding gig is up, right?’ she said. ‘You don’t have to watch me anymore.’

He shrugged. ‘He’s just honoring his agreement.’

‘With you,’ she said.

‘I never said that,’ he said.

‘You didn’t have to. But thanks,’ she said. ‘I’ll see you on the other side.’

Chapter 60

Sophia stepped out of the excavated tunnel. Her friends were waiting in the chamber. The ground was mostly mud, rock and water. Pipes hooked to the ceiling and snaked around her. The tracks hadn’t been laid in these tunnels yet, but the bare bones of the curved surface had been assembled. It felt like it was an animal carcass and she was walking through the ribcage.

Fluorescent lighting spaced at intervals gave the chamber enough light, along with a single red bulb that burned above Nasira.

Czarina stepped out from behind Sophia to help create an informal circle. She was patched up, her arm immobilized in a sling. She would need a more thorough deprogramming, but for now she held.

Nasira and Jay leaned along the chamber’s rocky wall. Aviary stood between Nasira and Damien. Damien had both hands in his pockets as he kicked rocks.

‘I couldn’t have done this without you,’ Sophia said, her gaze falling across all of them and resting finally on Aviary.

‘No shit,’ Jay said.

Nasira elbowed him in the ribs.

‘I mean it,’ Sophia said.

Jay cleared his throat. ‘It’s not your burden,’ he said. ‘Hey, I don’t like nearly being killed on a daily basis but when we help you it’s dangerous—you know, all bets are off.’

Nasira’s eyes rolled. ‘Is there a point there somewhere?’

‘Yeah, not really,’ Jay said. ‘You don’t have to thank us, Soph. I know I complain and I’m not going to lie, working with you is kinda suicidal, but no one else can stop these guys. We’re the last line.’

Damien nodded. ‘It’s what we do now.’

‘OK,’ Sophia said. ‘Well that was easy. See you later.’

She pretended to leave and Jay laughed.

She could see more questions forming on Nasira’s mouth, but Jay beat her to it.

‘What about Denton?’ Jay said. ‘Did he get away?’

‘I negotiated our escape,’ Sophia said. ‘He throws Denton in a cell, we get free passage.’

‘And you believed him?’ Nasira said.

‘I didn’t have to,’ Sophia said. ‘DC, he … made sure of it.’

‘Where is DC?’ Jay said. ‘He was, you know, OK to have around.’

‘That’s his business,’ Sophia said, ‘and I’d rather not make it mine.’

‘So what happens now?’ Damien said.

Sophia surveyed the circle. ‘You do what you need to do.’

‘Well, I have something to do,’ Jay said, ‘that I should’ve done a while ago.’

‘Have a shower,’ Nasira said.

Jay fake-laughed with her, then stopped. Sophia could feel undercurrents from him that suggested this wasn’t another wisecrack.

‘See my family,’ he said. ‘My uncle, cousins. They’re all still in Rio. They think I’m a terrorist who murdered his own parents.’

‘What are you going to tell them?’ Sophia said.

He met her gaze. ‘That I’m a terrorist who murdered his own parents.’

‘I can hack some flights for you,’ Aviary said.

Nasira was shaking her head. ‘Too dangerous right now,’ she said. ‘I can hook you guys up with some drivers. Take longer but it’s low profile.’

‘Actually,’ Jay said to Nasira, ‘I was thinking you could come.’ He turned to Damien. ‘If you’re cool with that.’

‘I don’t know,’ Damien said. ‘Three of us in the same bed might be a bit weird.’

Nasira glowered at Damien. ‘I kill people for less than that.’

Damien chewed his lip. ‘I don’t really have any plans.’

Nasira gave him a wry grin. ‘Aviary could use some protection. And training.’

Aviary glared at her, offended.

‘She’s a quick learner,’ Nasira added. ‘Be an operative in record time.’

Aviary stared at her sneakers. ‘Blushing,’ she said.

‘Aviary, you can’t go back to your apartment,’ Sophia said.

‘I know,’ Aviary said. ‘I have some friends in Austin.’ She looked over Damien. ‘But some training would be cool.’

‘Yeah, that’s kind of on the way to Rio, I guess,’ Damien said. ‘I could meet you guys there later.’

‘Done,’ Jay said.

‘Depends what Sophia has cooked up,’ Nasira said, turning to her with raised eyebrows. ‘What’s the deal?’

Sophia held up her phone. Onscreen, the operatives around the world. 

‘We can’t do this alone,’ she said. ‘Not anymore.’

Sophia removed the tangerine vial from her ruck.

‘What the hell’s that?’ Nasira said.

Sophia grasped it. ‘Anti-Chimera vector,’ she said. ‘Cecilia tried to inject me with it in Denver. It would’ve removed my conscience, permanently.’

‘What, turn you into a psychopath like Denton?’ Jay said.

‘Something like that,’ Sophia said.

‘You never said nothing about that,’ Nasira said. ‘Why you still got it?’

‘The mother of all painkillers.’ Sophia gave her a weak smile.

‘You never—’ Nasira said.

Sophia dropped the vial and crushed it underfoot.

‘Enjoy your vacation,’ Sophia said. ‘While it lasts.’

Chapter 61

Everything was soft. Moving like Jell-O. Denton blinked a few times and his vision cleared. Why was he in a hospital bed? What city was he in? There was a window on his left. Outside were a brick building he couldn’t identify and an overcast sky. Not much help. There was a small square table next to him and on it a small vase. Inside the vase, a single chrysanthemum stem. It bloomed blood orange.

‘Hello, Sidney.’

His father entered, removed his suit jacket and half closed the curtain around the bed. He pulled up a chair and sat beside Denton. His body sank low into the cheap vinyl.

‘That’s not my name anymore,’ Denton said. ‘And why didn’t you cuff me?’

His mouth was dry and he was only half comprehensible.

‘We have our own men on this level, you’re not going anywhere.’

Denton blinked. ‘Actually my bladder’s full so I’m going right now.’ He grinned. ‘Just kidding. For now.’

‘I bought you a new shirt,’ his father said, pointing to a white shirt with french cuffs that hung on the curtain rail behind him. ‘It’s not 1944 stitch, but it’ll do.’

‘Where am I exactly?’ Denton asked, grasping his thumb.

‘You’re still in New York.’

His father thought of Roosevelt Hospital, but nothing more. 

Denton pulled his thumb hard. His knuckles cracked, activating the distress signal.

‘How’s traffic out there?’ Denton asked.

‘Enough small talk,’ his father said.

Denton rolled his eyes. But he did catch a brief glimpse of 10th Avenue through his father’s thoughts. Traffic seemed light, if anything. Denton estimated eight minutes for the reserve operatives to make it from the Astoria Waldorf hotel to here, assuming they took a cab along Broadway. He checked the clock on the wall and made a note of the minute hand. 

‘Thanks for shooting me,’ Denton said.

His father bristled. ‘Likewise. Fortunately you missed my organs and arteries. And I missed your spinal cord.’

‘That’s thoughtful of both of us, isn’t it?’ Denton touched his cheek. ‘Oh, good as new.’

‘Don’t be too proud, that is a skin graft. From your butt.’

Denton glared at him.

‘I always knew,’ his father said. ‘I just didn’t want to believe—’

‘What a monster I’d become?’ Denton said through cracked lips. ‘As though there was some transformation you missed?’

‘I wasn’t there much,’ his father said. ‘I regret that.’

‘Any real transformation I made was long after you bled out on the snow.’

‘You knew I was alive, didn’t you?’ his father said.

Denton cleared his throat and sat upright. Under the bed sheet, half his body was bandaged. ‘I had suspicions,’ he said.

His father was thinking of other things. Of the pre-Chimera vector serum the Nazis gave him. Of the first Phoenix virus they’d tested in Germany.

‘The meteorite from the museum. You had a sample all this time,’ Denton said. ‘Sixty years.’

His father nodded. ‘The Recognizer. Behavioral prediction, tactics. It brought me to where I am today.’

‘A man of sudden talents,’ Denton said. ‘A man of sudden promotion.’

His father’s thoughts shifted to the Benefactors. The men who guided the six-star general of the Fifth Column. Or used to. But the thoughts that fired through his father’s mind suggested the Benefactors still existed.

And they suggested his father was one of them.

That was new.

Or old, to be accurate.

‘So you’ve just been waiting for me to collect the other two Phoenix viruses?’ Denton said.

‘No, we’ve been actively looking ourselves,’ his father said. ‘Our workload has increased somewhat in the last decade, what with the sun’s dark twin blasting through the Oort cloud and turning our solar system into a cosmic pinball machine.’

‘That’s where the Phoenix virus comes from?’ Denton said. ‘The Oort cloud?’

His father shrugged and sat upright. ‘Honestly, absolutely—’

‘No idea,’ Denton said.

‘As long as big rocks fall from the sky with plagues and mutations, I still have a job,’ his father said.

‘Until retirement age,’ Denton said.

He was baiting his father. Which was substantially easier when he only needed to get the fool thinking.

His father thought immediately of the Chimera vector. Something that had been lost after the events at Desecheo Island. But in his father’s mind, it hadn’t been lost for long.

Sophia, Damien, Jay and himself were the only ones with both Chimera vectors woven into their genes. At least that was what Denton had thought. But he should’ve known better.

‘When did you crack the Chimera vector?’ Denton said. ‘Again, I mean.’

‘Quite recently,’ he said. ‘Cecilia helped us.’

His father’s thoughts shifted to Dr Cecilia McLoughlin, and her brief arrangement the year before with the Benefactors.

‘McLoughlin was dangerous,’ his father said. ‘We gave her some authority in exchange for the Chimera vectors. Then she went too far. We needed to remove her.’

‘Imagine that,’ Denton said. ‘Looks like I did you a favor.’

‘We cut off her reinforcements at the eleventh hour,’ his father said. ‘Looks like I did you a favor.’

Denton laughed. ‘Imagine that,’ he said. ‘We’re both missing the same Phoenix virus. And it was sitting in a museum all along.’

‘And now it’s dust in some burned out subway tunnel,’ his father said.

Denton tuned to his father’s thoughts. His father had intercepted the Peru meteorite in mid-transit, somwhere in Brooklyn. It had never even made it to New York where Denton was waiting.

His father stood, brushed his suit. ‘You need your rest.’ He cast a disappointed glance over Denton’s bandaged body. ‘Clearly your Chimera vector isn’t quite the wonder you’d hoped.’

Denton checked the clock. Barely four minutes.

‘Tell me about the Benefactors,’ Denton said.

‘I’m not here to indulge your cloak and dagger fantasies,’ his father said.

No, Denton thought, but your brain is.

He focused hard. Saw a smear of faces. They were vague, distant. But he recognized one face. It was unmistakable.

Colonel Wolfram Sievers.

The Director of the Ahnenerbe.

‘What happened to Sievers?’ Denton said.

‘Who?’

‘The Standartenführer,’ Denton said. ‘1944.’

His father adjusted his tie. ‘Long dead. He was hanged in ’74.’

Denton raised an eyebrow. ‘Just like Saddam Hussein, right?’

‘We’re not amateurs,’ his father said. ‘Sievers’s stunt double actually looked like Sievers.’

Denton saw Sievers’s face again, this time in detail. The beard. The waxed mustache. Greyed but still thick. The bastard was alive.

Denton reached out, pulled his father by the tie. The old man’s chin pressed hard into Denton’s chest. Denton removed the catheter from his wrist and wrapped the tubing around his father’s neck, drew it tight. He sank the needle into Denton Senior’s neck. Not to inject it, just a bit of pain to distract him. Denton held the tubing in place as his father clawed for him.

Denton got to his feet. His father was making a bit of noise, which wasn’t great, so he pulled the bed sheet off the mattress and wrapped it over his head. He twisted the end over a few times, made it taut, and used his spare hand to reach over the table. He took the vase by the lip and lightly smashed its base on the table’s edge, careful not to make any noise that might attract someone posted outside the ward.

The base shattered, leaving him with helpfully jagged edges. He carefully grasped one piece and aimed with precision at his sheet-entwined father, where he approximated the neck to be. Around the tear, the sheet stained dark crimson. The crimson blotted outward.

Denton discarded the piece and reached for the oxygen tube on the wall behind him. It was attached to an oxygen line. He opened the valve and shoved the end of the tube into his father’s neck, probed his way to the carotid artery. Blood shot up the tube, the suction working at high pressure. Denton held his father down, soothed him with a soft shush.

His father’s body jittered, gargled, then slumped over the mattress. Denton held him there for a while, watching the blood shoot up the suction tube. He would be drained in no time. Denton pushed the tube in a fraction more and found it remained in place.

‘Relatively painless,’ he said. ‘For me, anyway.’

He set about the task of undressing his father. The pants, shoes and socks were salvageable. The tie and shirt were not and bloodstains on a suit tended to attract attention too. He didn’t want that.

He paired his new shirt with his father’s incomplete suit and, with six minutes elapsed, set foot into the private bathroom. He would have to do without a tie for now. The man who stared back at him looked ghostly, damaged. But as he peeled off each bandage the regeneration was obvious. Pink, freshly formed skin replaced recent lacerations and grazes. He might’ve been covered in swelling and bruises when he was admitted here, but he saw none in the mirror now.

The pockets of his father’s pants yielded only a set of keys, a wallet with an NCS badge and a comb. Denton discarded the comb and took the rest.

He practiced a smile in the mirror. ‘Born again.’

Bright new teeth were visible at the back of his mouth. His cheek looked just like it always had. He was impressed with himself, which occurred often.

When he finished in the bathroom, he peeked around the curtain for a quick check. His father lay slumped over the bed, knees on the floor. Denton checked his pulse. It was weak, almost gone. The suction tube still sucked blood enthusiastically to the wall. He’d probably lost almost half by now. There wasn’t much that rudimentary Nazi serum would do to help. Even if Denton closed the valve, his father would most certainly die.

He checked the clock. Eight minutes.

‘I think it’s about time to discharge,’ he said to himself.

Somewhere in the distance, as if on cue, a small explosion detonated. The sound rippled off the many walls, reaching Denton as he straightened his tie. He stepped out of the ward in time to see suited men and armed soldiers rush for the explosion and doctors and nurses scatter. Only two remained calm and standing: his operatives.

‘I always wanted an explosive discharge,’ Denton said. 

Epilogue

In the unlikely event the historical record of humankind breaks from tradition and reflects the truth, it would note that by the close of 2001 the Fifth Column had achieved its aim of directly manipulating governments and, indirectly, proxy governments. The organization had spent the next decade stripping basic freedoms from supreme law. To turn governments against their citizens, citizens against their governments.

The record would go on to state that terrorism—the use of violence to coerce political change—was used during the first two decades of the twenty-first century with overwhelming success by the Fifth Column and the operatives at its disposal, chiefly through deception and carefully managed campaigns. That the Fifth Column itself was, paradoxically, the terrorist. The record might also note that leaders of the Fifth Column strove to herd as many of the people of the world as possible into a fine order of control for a very precise reason—so that when it became obvious the real threats to the people’s freedoms were cataclysmic weather and cometary viruses—both inextricably linked—the chance for mass revolution would be long past and the Fifth Column would, despite widespread hysteria, maintain control for the foreseeable future. The human race had crossed the abyss from which there was no return.

But as an addendum, the record would note that a small group of former operatives prevented their rogue case officer from obtaining a dangerous virus of extra-planetary origin.

The former operatives continued their small, overlooked campaign against the Fifth Column. Their successes would not be known. Their names would not be known. But they would continue.

They would continue until the Fifth Column fell.

Or until they did.

About Nathan M Farrugia

Nathan Farrugia served in the Australian Army in infantry and reconnaissance, and studied film, television and professional writing. He has worked as a post-production video editor, colorist and copywriter, where he earned the nickname Fagoogoo because no one could pronounce Farrugia.

Nathan lives in Melbourne, Australia. In his spare time he discovers hidden places around the world with urban explorers, practices lock picking and escaping from plasticuffs and straitjackets (you never know when that will come in handy, right?) and studies Systema, a little-known martial art and closely guarded secret of Russian special forces. Nathan has trained under USMC, SEAL team and Spetsnaz instructors, the Chiricahua Apache scouts and Australian Aboriginals. He also drinks tea.

Also by Nathan M Farrugia

“Farrugia! Bringin’ the awesome from the first headshot to the last ’splosion.” – John Birmingham, author of the Axis of Time and Disappearance trilogies. 

The Fifth Column: the world’s most powerful and secretive organization. They run our militaries. They run our governments. They run our terrorist cells. 

Recruited as a child, Sophia is a deniable operative for the Fifth Column. Like all operatives, Sophia’s DNA has been altered to augment her senses and her mind is splintered into programmed subsets. 

On a routine mission in Iran something goes catastrophically wrong. Bugs are beginning to appear in Sophia’s programming and the mission spins out of control. 

High-speed chases, gun fights, helicopter battles, immortal psychopaths, super soldiers and mutant abilities are all in the mix in this edge-of-your-seat action-packed techno-thriller. 

Perfect for fans of Matthew Reilly, The Chimera Vector melds sci-fi with sizzling espionage action.

For more information please visit momentumbooks.com.au/books/chimera-vector/.

The world is reeling in the aftermath of genocide. 

Former black operative Sophia is among the remnants of the Akhana, a once-strong organized resistance against the all-powerful world government known as the Fifth Column. Branded as the world's most wanted terrorist, Sophia barely escaped her last encounter with the organization with her life.

Now a new threat is emerging from inside the Fifth Column. Project Seraphim: a technology utilizing extremely low frequencies that can make anyone feel and do anything at any time. Mass populations will fall under the influence of an almost unlimited power.

To stop them Sophia must join forces with former friends turned enemies and former enemies turned unlikely allies—first among them Denton, a master manipulator whom she would prefer to run her knife through than work with.

Sophia has four days. Four days before what little freedom the human race has left is gone forever.

The brutal game of betrayal and counter-betrayal that began with the international bestseller, The Chimera Vector, continues in this highly anticipated sequel.

For more information please visit momentumbooks.com.au/books/seraphim-sequence/.

First published by Momentum in 2014
This edition published in 2014 by Momentum
Pan Macmillan Australia Pty Ltd
1 Market Street, Sydney 2000

Copyright © Nathan M Farrugia 2014
The moral right of the author has been asserted.

All rights reserved. This publication (or any part of it) may not be reproduced or transmitted, copied, stored, distributed or otherwise made available by any person or entity (including Google, Amazon or similar organisations), in any form (electronic, digital, optical, mechanical) or by any means (photocopying, recording, scanning or otherwise) without prior written permission from the publisher.

A CIP record for this book is available at the National Library of Australia

The Phoenix Variant: The Fifth Column 3

EPUB format: 9781760081683
Mobi format: 9781760081690

Cover design by Pat Naoum
Edited by Kate O'Donnell
Proofread by Laurie Ormond

Macmillan Digital Australia: www.macmillandigital.com.au

To report a typographical error, please visit momentumbooks.com.au/contact/

Visit www.momentumbooks.com.au to read more about all our books and to buy books online. You will also find features, author interviews and news of any author events.