by Greg Cox
He used the noble sacrifice of their comrades as an emotional bludgeon to dampen the debate. The way he saw it, their real problem right now wasn’t Jordan Collier’s death squads; it was the leadership void created when Isabelle Tyler killed Rebecca Parrish. Somebody needed to step up and take charge now that Rebecca was gone. And who better than the Oscar-winning producer of Beachhead: Seattle?
“Look, here’s the thing,” he continued. “I’ve headed enough summer blockbusters to know that things always look bleakest right before the good guys turn things around. And make no mistake, we are the good guys here. If we don’t stop Jordan Collier from spoiling the future, who will?”
“But this isn’t one of your damn movies,” Roff protested. “This is life-or-death for all of us.”
“Which makes it all the more important that we stick to our guns, no matter what.” Sterling delivered a carefully scripted pep talk. “Trust me, friends. This isn’t over. We can still crush Collier’s obscene Movement in its infancy. We just need to use our combined influence to get the authorities to do whatever it takes to put humanity back on the right track, even if this means shipping every 4400 to concentration camps, dosing them all with the inhibitor, and nuking ‘Promise City’ back to the Stone Age.”
Nasir and Burke nodded in approval of his vision. And even Kenpo started to look a bit more confident. They were going for his pitch …
“Easier said than done,” Roff groused. “How exactly do you intend to pull that off?”
“It’s all about telling the right story.” Sterling had given the matter a lot of thought before calling this summit meeting. “The trick is to provoke the Powers That Be into taking such drastic step. Perhaps by proving that Collier is planning another Great Leap Forward?”
The general grudgingly returned to the table. “That might work.”
“We can do this,” Sterling insisted. He felt the momentum shifting toward him. “But not if we don’t hang together.” He focused his efforts on the holdouts. “Without your pull in the Pentagon, General, we don’t stand a chance. And you, Kenpo, don’t underestimate your influence in the East, not to mention here in Hollywood. We’re all essential parts of our grand endeavor.”
“But what about Calabria’s assassination?” the lama asked fearfully. “Any one of us could be next.”
A sly smile lifted the corners of Sterling’s lips. “Let me take care of that.”
“Pass me another slice,” Kyle said.
A large Canadian bacon and pineapple pizza was laid out on the dining room table. “Sorry you have to settle for takeout tonight,” his father said in apology. A frosted bottle of Rainier sat on the table in front of him. An open doorway led to the foyer beyond. Soft rock issued from the stereo system in the next room. “But I just didn’t have time to prepare a home-cooked meal this week.”
“Fine with me, Uncle Tommy,” Shawn said. “You forget, I’ve tasted your cooking before.”
The senior Baldwin feigned a wound to the heart. “Ouch, that’s a low blow, Farrell.”
Kyle grinned as his dad playfully punched Shawn in the shoulder. It was good to spend time with his family again, especially after all they’d gone through recently. These weekly dinners at his dad’s house were something they had agreed upon after Danny’s and Aunt Susan’s funeral, when the three men had vowed to become a real family again, despite everything dividing them. So far the ritual seemed to be working. This is just what I need right now, Kyle thought.
Too bad Cassie felt otherwise.
“Pineapple on pizza?” The attractive young redhead made a face. A funky peasant-style purple frock flattered her figure. A turquoise pendant rested atop her cleavage. Hoop earrings peeked out from beneath her straight red hair. Henna-tinted bangs hung above crafty emerald eyes. “Honestly, we came all the way here for that?”
Although there were four people at the table, only Kyle was aware of that fact. A projection of his own unconscious mind, Cassie Dunleavy was both invisible and inaudible to everyone else. But she was more than just his imaginary girlfriend; she was also his ability.
“How much longer are we going to stay here?” she asked impatiently. She polished her nails at the other end of the table, across from Kyle. Cassie strongly disapproved of these dinners, feeling that Kyle should have nothing to do with his dad until Tom Baldwin agreed to take a shot of promicin. “We’ve got better things to do than hang out with these two.”
Kyle declined to respond. His dad and Shawn wouldn’t understand if he started arguing with empty air. Although they both knew that he had acquired some sort of precognitive ability after taking promicin, he had never really explained exactly how his ability manifested itself, that all his insights into the future came straight from Cassie. She told him what to do, and so far she had never been wrong.
Except maybe where his family was concerned.
“So how was your day?” Shawn asked. A stringy piece of cheese dangled from his lips.
“Pretty intense,” Kyle answered. “We’re working overtime just to coordinate all of Jordan’s new initiatives.”
His dad put down his beer. “Speaking of which, Kyle, I hate to bring this up, but I need to talk to you about something Jordan may be involved in.”
“Whoa,” Shawn said. “I thought politics was off-limits at these dinners.”
Cassie immediately got her hackles up. “Careful, Kyle! I don’t like the sound of this.”
“I know,” his dad said reluctantly. He squirmed uncomfortably in his chair. “But this is a family matter, too.” He gave Kyle a serious, somewhat pained look that the young man recognized from awkward father-son talks about sex and drugs. “Did Jordan tell you about Danny’s body?”
“Yeah.” Kyle lost his appetite. A fresh slice of pizza went cold on his plate. “But Jordan promised me he had nothing to do with that.”
Cassie shot him a warning glance. “Don’t say anything more! He’s trying to trick you into betraying the Movement.”
“I wish I could be sure of that,” his dad said. “But we have reason to believe that someone is trying to duplicate Danny’s ability. Are you certain Jordan, or anybody else in his organization, isn’t planning another Great Leap Forward?” He sounded worried. “I could really use your help here, Kyle.”
“That’s not fair, Dad!” Kyle couldn’t believe his dad was putting him on the spot like this. “You know how much the Movement means to me. Don’t ask me to spy on my own people.” He made sure his dad knew where he stood. “Besides, Jordan would never sanction something like that.”
“Are you positive about that?” Shawn challenged him. “Let’s be honest here. Jordan can be awfully ruthless when he has to be. Hell, he tried to kidnap Dr. Burkhoff to keep him from perfecting a promicin-compatibility test. And he’s deliberately distributing promicin throughout the world, knowing full well that half the people who take it will die horribly.” Not even Shawn’s healing ability could save someone from a promicin overdose. “I wouldn’t put it past him to try something like this.”
Kyle bristled defensively. “What, now you’re both ganging up on me? I thought this was supposed to be a friendly get-together, not an ambush!”
“I told you,” Cassie crowed, rubbing it in. “You can’t trust these people. Your father proved that when he refused to take the shot.” Getting up from the table, she circled around to come up behind him. She wrapped her arms around his chest. A fragrant perfume made his head spin. Her lips whispered softly in his ear. “They don’t understand about the future, not like we do.”
“Just think about it,” his dad asked. “I’m not asking you to double-cross anybody, or do anything that violates your beliefs. Just poke around a little and see what you can find out about this Bernard Grayson character and his connection to the Movement. Help us track down Danny’s remains before it’s fifty/fifty all over again. Maybe use your ability.”
“Hah!” Cassie snorted. “Like that’s going to happen.” She tugged on Kyle’s arm. “L
et’s go.”
Kyle felt like he was under attack from all directions. He found himself torn between his family, Cassie, and his loyalty to the Movement. Why does this keep happening to me? I just want to make the world a better place!
He shoved his plate away and stood up abruptly. “I need to get back to my place.”
“Kyle.” The stricken look on his dad’s face broke Kyle’s heart. “Please, I’m sorry. I wouldn’t ask this if it wasn’t important.” He reached out plaintively. “You don’t need to go.”
“Yes, you do,” Cassie said. “Now.”
Kyle got his coat. He didn’t want to storm off like this, but his father and Shawn hadn’t given him any choice. They had broken the rules, not him. A gust of cold air invaded the foyer as he opened the door to the outside. “Thanks for the pizza, Dad,” he said bitterly. “This was great.”
Cassie took his hand as she led him out the door.
TEN
PROMISE CITY HAD turned out in force to hear its messiah speak. Thousands of people crowded the outdoor plaza in front of City Hall, waiting to hear from Jordan Collier, who had once addressed a similar throng at this very location, in the uncertain days following the Great Leap Forward. A podium, bearing an image of Mount Rainier’s snowcapped peak, had been erected at the top of the wide stone steps. A pair of regal stone lions guarded the steps. Towering marble pillars flanked the podium. Banners sporting colossus-sized portraits of Collier hung from the upper stories of the building. Camera crews waited to broadcast Collier’s oration to the entire planet. Spotlights kept the fall of night at bay. Peace officers in pine-green uniforms patrolled the plaza. Metal detectors screened new arrivals.
It was a cold, clear evening, but the falling temperature did little to discourage the teeming horde who had gathered for the dedication of a new public sculpture commemorating the epochal return of the 4400. A cloth was draped over the installation, which, according to advance reports, featured a glowing crystalline sphere hovering over a bronze replica of Highland Beach. Newly invented antigravity technology was said to have been employed to keep the orb suspended over the sculpted landscape without any visible means of support. The artist, who had won a citywide competition sponsored by the Collier Foundation, was the daughter of one of the original 4400. Ironically, she appeared two decades older than her beaming mother, who now stood behind the podium, warming up the crowd for Jordan Collier. The expectant throng listened patiently, more or less, to her opening remarks. It was Collier they had really come to see.
Just like April Skouris.
The sheer size of the audience frustrated the petite brunette as she tried to make her way to the front of the crowd. Mirrored shades and a wide-brimmed hat obscured her sly, mischievous features. Cold hands hid within the pockets of her designer trench coat. Milling bodies jostled her as she peered irritably through the packed shoulders of the people in front of her. She had shown up two hours early for this event, but there were still literally dozens of spectators between her and the foot of the steps. How was she supposed to get close to Collier with all these lookyloos in the way?
“Excuse me,” she muttered as she stubbornly elbowed her way forward. “Coming through.” Worried about attracting the attention of the watchful Peace Officers, she kept her head down. Her pushiness elicited dirty looks and complaints from the other attendees, but who cared what they thought? She was only interested in Collier.
He’s going to talk to me whether he wants to or not.
Her blood boiled as she recalled the humiliation she had endured at Collier’s headquarters the other day. Getting turned away by his goons was bad enough, but to be dissed like that in front of Diana of all people was just too much. They didn’t throw Di out on her ear. Just me!
It was the same old story. Diana got all the respect and attention, while she was treated like some sort of embarrassing hanger-on. Diana was the honor student, everyone’s pride and joy. April was the screw-up, whose overachieving older sister had to bail her out of trouble time and again. Even now, with an amazing new ability to brag about, April still found herself playing second fiddle to Diana.
Well, not anymore, she vowed. Tonight was the night she proved she was twice the NTAC agent her sister was. She had given her own government-appointed bodyguards, Ralph and Eric, the slip just for a chance to take on Collier one-on-one. She would do more than show everyone she wasn’t the immature loser they thought she was. I’ll expose Collier’s lies in front of the entire world.
If she could just make it through this frigging mob scene!
Up at the podium, the artist’s mother, one Naomi Snodgrass, was wrapping up her interminable remarks. “And now, without further delay, the man you’ve all been waiting for … the man a wounded planet was crying out for … Jordan Collier!”
Collier emerged from City Hall to thunderous cheers and applause. He raised his hand in acknowledgment and the crowd went wild, waving and shouting like he was the Second Coming or something. Cell phones and digital cameras captured his arrival for posterity. It was easy to forget that, less than a year ago, he had been a wanted fugitive. Amazing what a difference one little citywide catastrophe could make. He was like Giuliani after 9/11, but more so. Giuliani had never started his own religion.
Disgusted, April joined in the cheering to avoid standing out like a sore thumb. Granted, she owed her own ability and cushy new lifestyle to Collier’s policy of distributing promicin to all and sundry, but she didn’t buy into the whole save-the-future ballyhoo. In her experience, lofty rhetoric was usually just a cover for an elaborate scam. You can’t con a con artist, she thought smugly. Collier was simply working the angles like everyone else.
And she was going to prove it.
Not Tom Baldwin. Not Diana. Me.
She waited impatiently for the clamor to die down. She bounced on her tiptoes in order to see past the annoying rabble blocking her view of the podium. There were still several rows of wide-eyed worshipers between her and Collier, but maybe she was finally close enough for him to hear her anyway? A damning question was poised upon her lips. She had been rehearsing it in her head for hours now.
“Where is Danny Farrell’s body?”
Collier accepted the horde’s adulation for a moment, then gestured for them to simmer down. The hubbub gradually subsided. A hush fell over the plaza. Rapt faces gazed up at Collier in adoration.
“Thank you, my friends,” he addressed the crowd. A microphone and loudspeakers projected his voice across the teeming plaza. “It warms my heart to see you all gathered here, in common purpose, on this auspicious occasion. It is both a privilege and an honor to come before you once more …”
April saw her opportunity. She shouted at the top of her lungs.
“Where is Danny Farrell’s body?!”
Her brain mentally commanded him to tell the truth, but, to her extreme vexation, he just kept on talking about what a glorious evening it was in Promise City. “A night to celebrate the arts, and for the arts to celebrate the dawn of a new age …”
Damnit, she thought. Collier couldn’t hear her over his own amplified voice. She was still too far away. Frustration welled up inside her. I should have brought a bullhorn or something!
She wasn’t about to give up, though. Knowing Collier, he’d be waxing eloquent for a while. There was still time to get to him. Throwing caution to the wind, she started shoving her way aggressively through the crowd. “Out of the way, please! Coming through.”
“Hey, watch it!” some idiot objected. He was a homely, frog-faced goober with a stringy brown combover and a bad suit. A double chin bobbed beneath his blubbery lips. He stood protectively behind a shriveled old crone in a wheelchair who was probably his mother. Protruding eyes glowered at April. “Where do you think you’re going, sweetheart?”
She tried to squeeze past the moron, but he wouldn’t budge from her path. “Don’t be a jerk,” she said impatiently. “Just let me through.”
“Forget it.” He deli
berately shifted the wheelchair to block her. “You wanted a good spot, you should have got here first.”
April’s temper flared. A smirk lifted her lips. Okay, buster. You asked for this.
“You ever paid for sex?”
“A couple of times,” he admitted without hesitation. “When I was really hard up.”
Knew it, April gloated maliciously. This pig’s way too gross to get laid on his own.
A look of utter horror came over the man’s face as soon as he realized what he’d said. He clamped a fleshy hand over his mouth. The old crow in the wheelchair looked up at him with a scandalized expression on her wrinkled puss. Bony fingers clutched her chest. “What did you just say, Junior? Did I hear you right?” She squinted suspiciously at April. “Just who is this woman?”
“Never mind, Ma! It’s all a misunderstanding!”
He couldn’t get away from April fast enough.
That will teach you to mess with me, she thought as he wheeled the appalled old lady out of there. Ma was already giving Junior a piece of her mind. Pleased with herself, April savored her victory over the bug-eyed loudmouth. He’s lucky I didn’t ask for every nasty detail.
She squeezed through the gap left behind by Junior and his mom. “Excuse me!” Less obnoxious spectators grudgingly let her wriggle past them. Not taking no for an answer, she steadily edged toward the front of the crowd. The crowd ignored her progress, preferring to lavish their attention on Collier instead. They nodded enthusiastically as the great man droned on:
