Firestorm

by Iris Johansen

  “Hope's a wonderful thing.”

  She glanced at him. “Do you know what's happening in that operating room? You knew about the fire.”

  He shook his head. “Only because it was connected to you. It doesn't work the same every time.”

  “You have limitations?” Her lips twisted. “I'm surprised.”

  “We all have limitations. We work with what we've got. You'd know about that if you'd cooperated with Travis.” He looked down into his cup. “You don't have to be afraid of me, Kerry. I'm not here to hurt you.”

  “And I suppose that man who set Jason's house on fire didn't want to hurt me either.” She moistened her lips. “He was enjoying it. He was . . . hideous. He was sorry he wasn't close enough to smell the burning flesh.”

  He went still. “You made contact with him?”

  She nodded. “He was your monster, wasn't he? You were in the back of his mind all the time he was looking at the fire.”

  “Yes, I'm sure he set the fire. No one else is capable of that pattern of ignition.”

  “It was strange.” She rubbed her temple. “No connection. Different pieces of furniture seemed to ignite all by themselves.”

  “Yes.”

  “And that last explosion . . .” She turned to look at him. “Why? Why did he set fire to Jason's house?”

  “He's probably been watching you because he thought you might be persuaded to help me.”

  “So he tried to kill Jason and Laura as well as me just because he saw me with you?”

  “He wouldn't care how many people he killed. You've got to understand that about Trask.”

  “You know who did this? You have a name?”

  “I have a name. I don't know where to find him. He's brilliant at covering his tracks. He's very smart, close to genius.”

  She shook her head. “He's mad. He loves the fire as if it were his child. But he's angry with you . . . angry and afraid.”

  He was silent. “You picked up a lot from him tonight.”

  “Not because I was trying. He was bombarding me. He was wide open and spewing venom.” She closed her eyes. “It made me sick. Laura . . .”

  “You're hurting,” he said quietly. “I can help. All you have to do is give me permission.”

  Her lids flew open. “Don't you dare. My pain belongs to me. It's a sign I'm alive and functioning. If I wanted a sedative to block it out, I'd ask the doctor, not some half-baked—”

  “Okay, okay. I just thought I'd offer.” He leaned back in his chair. “Sometimes it's hard for me to know how to strike a balance.”

  “Don't strike any balance. Just act like a normal human being.”

  “I am a normal human being. Most of the time. May I get you something to eat?”

  “No. I don't need or want anything from—”

  “We lost him, Kerry.” Jason was standing in the doorway, tears running down his cheeks. “He was dead. How am I going to tell Laura?”

  “Oh, damn.” Kerry jumped to her feet and ran into his arms. “Lord, I'm sorry, Jason. I hoped with my whole heart that—”

  “Me too.” His arms tightened around her. “I knew him, Kerry. We'd talk to him. It was like Pete was already part of the family. Laura . . . How am I—”

  “I'll go with you to her room. We'll talk about it. If you want me there, I'll be there.”

  He nodded. “You're always there when I need you. But if you could . . .” He shrugged. “I don't know what you could do. I don't know what anyone could do.”

  She turned him toward the door. “First, we have to go to Laura. She'll want you there when she wakes up.” She brushed the tears on her cheeks away with her fist. “We'll worry about everything else later.”

  Jason nodded. “Laura first.”

  “Right.” She slipped her arm around his waist and opened the door. She glanced back over her shoulder at Silver. “You stay here,” she said fiercely. “No matter how long I'm gone, you be here when I get back.”

  “I'm not going anywhere.” He stared directly in her eyes. “Why should I? I'd bet that bastard Trask has done my job for me.”

  Kerry didn't return to the waiting room until three hours later.

  “Let's go,” she said curtly.

  He rose to his feet. “May I ask where?”

  “I need a shower, food, and something to wear besides these surgical greens the nurse gave me.”

  “What about your brother?”

  “He won't leave Laura. They're letting him stay here at the hospital.”

  “You don't want to stay with him?”

  “He doesn't need anyone but Laura now. I'd be intruding on a private grief.” She headed for the door. “Where are you staying?”

  “The Marriott.” He reached for his phone. “I'll book a room for you and one for your brother for tomorrow night. Okay?”

  She nodded. “I don't know if he'll use it, but it's a good idea. Clothes?”

  “I'll have them open the gift shop early and buy you a few things to hold you over until we can get yours from Atlanta.”

  “I'm not even going to ask how you intend to make them do that.”

  “No hocus-pocus.” He took her elbow. “I'll bribe them.”

  Kerry had showered, washed her hair, and was blow-drying it when Silver knocked on the door two hours later.

  He had also showered and changed, and he handed her a plastic bag when she opened the door. “That towel is fetching, but you'll be more comfortable in these. Pants, sweatshirt, and makeup. Sorry, they didn't have underwear. I sent the bellhop to the mall to pick up some.”

  “You know my size, I suppose.”

  “Bra thirty-four B, size-five panties.” He sat down in the easy chair by the window. “I've ordered room service. Soup, chicken sandwiches, and coffee. Okay?”

  She nodded. “Anything.” She took the bag into the bathroom and closed the door. A few minutes later she came out of the bathroom in the tan pants and green sweatshirt. “Shoes?”

  “They'll arrive with the underwear. Size-seven tennis shoes. New Balance, not Nike.”

  Her lips tightened. “You know everything about me.”

  “No, I don't. But details like that are hard not to pick up.”

  “When you were ‘monitoring' me. Do you know how angry that makes me?”

  “Of course. I'd be furious too.” He smiled faintly. “You look like Little Orphan Annie with your hair curly like that. It's very appealing. I don't know why you struggle so to keep it straight.”

  “Because I'm not Orphan Annie. I'm an adult, and I want to look like what I am.” She sat down opposite him. “I don't like deception and I hate invasion of my privacy.”

  “You've already made that point.”

  “Because you intruded in the most intimate and ugly way possible. That stinks.”

  He nodded, waiting.

  “And I'm never going to forgive you for bringing that monster into our lives. Your culpability is only a little behind the man who started that fire.”

  “I accept that.” He met her gaze. “But I think you've decided who's tops on your hit list.”

  “You come pretty damn close,” she said coldly.

  “I'm everything you hate. I'm a complete son of a bitch. But you wouldn't be talking to me without a reason. So tell me why I'm here.”

  “I want answers.” Her hands tightened on the arms of the chair. “I want that son of a bitch who killed Jason's son. I want him so bad that I can taste it.”

  “I thought you'd feel that way. You're a very loving and protective woman and have a strong maternal streak.”

  “Stop analyzing. You don't really know anything about me.”

  He shrugged.

  She felt a flare of anger. “Damn you. Anything you know is stolen. I feel as if you robbed me.” With an effort she smothered the rage. “It's not going to happen again. If I decide to help you find this Trask, you've got to promise me you won't ever do what you did to me when Charlie was dying.”

  “I pr
omise.”

  “And you won't . . . intrude.”

  “Never without your permission.”

  “And you'll never get that.”

  “Perhaps. Situations sometimes dictate radical measures.” He shook his head as she started to speak. “But I won't trespass again. I don't usually, anyway. Do you think I'm some damn peeping Tom? It's very uncomfortable until I become accustomed to all the nooks and crannies.”

  “Nooks and crannies?”

  “Besides, you've put up barriers against me. It wouldn't be easy to jump over them.”

  “But not impossible?”

  He scowled. “You would have to ask that question when I'm doing my best to reassure you.”

  “You could do it?”

  “Maybe. I'm pretty good.” He added, “But like I said, I do have certain ethical standards. When I saw how this thing I have was shaking out, I had to develop a code. Otherwise I could see myself developing into someone pretty unpleasant.” He grimaced. “Not that I don't fall from grace more than I'd like to admit. I'm not like Travis. I get angry and I want to strike back with no holds barred.”

  “If you're trying to reassure me, you're doing a lousy job.”

  “But I'm letting you get to know me. And the devil you know . . .” He met her gaze. “You've already told me how you hate deceit. I won't be handing you any of that. What you see is what you get. I've given you my promise and I'll keep it.”

  “If I don't piss you off.”

  “That's not likely if we're on the same team.”

  A polite knock on the door.

  “Room service.” He rose to his feet and moved toward the door. “You'll feel better once you've had something to eat. You're a little hypoglycemic and get edgy without protein.”

  “I'm not hypo—” She let it go. It was only a pinprick and there were more important things to worry about. “And I'd be edgy regardless of how much protein I'd had. I have the right.”

  “Yep.” He wheeled the service cart into the room and kicked the door shut with his foot. “That you do. But food always helps.”

  It did help. She hadn't realized she was hungry until she started to eat. She finished the chicken sandwich and the tomato soup in minutes.

  “Not so shaky now?” Silver poured her a cup of coffee.

  There was no way she was going to admit that she had been shaky before. “I'm perfectly all right.” She lifted the cup to her lips. “You didn't eat much.”

  “I robbed the minibar in my room while I was waiting for you to shower and pull yourself together.” He poured his own coffee. “I've got a passion for cashew nuts.”

  “Really? I wouldn't think you'd have a passion for anything.”

  “You're wrong. But you have a right to your opinion, and it probably makes you feel safer to imagine me as cold and clinical.” He smiled. “I have a passion for all kinds of things. I'm nuts about NASCAR races, baseball, scuba, opera, dogs, and blondes who look like Gwyneth Paltrow. I just don't have much time for them.”

  “Too busy digging around where you don't belong?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Then why can't you find Trask?”

  “Ah, we're back to ground zero.” He lifted his cup to his lips. “I can't sense him. I'm blind to him. Besides, it's not my talent.”

  “I can't believe you didn't try to get one of your psychic buddies who could sense him.”

  “Oh, I did. No luck. So I've had to try to do old-fashioned detective work, but we've still come up with nothing.”

  “Then why not call in someone who has more experience, like the police?”

  “We did. Police. FBI. ATF. Secret Service. They all batted out.”

  “And why would any of those government agencies even be interested in trying to catch Trask?”

  He didn't speak for a moment. “Do I have a commitment from you?”

  “If he's the man who burned Jason's house down.”

  “I think you know he is.”

  Yes, she knew. The tendrils of emotion and memory had been unmistakable. She had not been able to decipher or even recognize some of the splinters of consciousness, but the ugliness, the hatred of Silver had been clear. “Why does he hate you?”

  “I've come close to catching him a couple times. He likes to think of himself as untouchable. It's important to his ego.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I've studied his profile and I believe I can forecast the way his character would change given the circumstances.”

  “What circumstances? And why would any government agencies be involved?”

  “James Trask was the head of a scientific project funded by the Defense Department. About a year ago the project was scratched and Trask and the other scientists were given their walking papers. He was furious. He packed his bags, slipped away from his CIA tail, and disappeared from view.”

  “Why would the CIA be tailing him?”

  “Because he had information that might be useful to a foreign power. Just because we decided not to pursue the Firestorm project was no sign it wouldn't be attractive to any number of other countries.”

  “Firestorm?”

  “Trask was trying to develop a radio-transmitted method of spontaneous combustion. The method also transformed the molecules, which produced intense heat. He claimed he would be able to target small isolated areas or, with a larger transmitter, an entire city.” He added grimly, “Talk about scorched earth.”

  “He did it, didn't he?” She was remembering the strange way the fire in Jason's house had spread. “He'd completed the project before they stopped it.”

  He nodded. “He'd done it. He was working on it on his own as well as at the lab. He gave the other scientists just bits and pieces so that he was in sole control. That was why he was considered a security risk. He didn't want his work buried in a locked file cabinet somewhere. He wanted it used and credit given where it was due. After he skipped out, the lab was blown up along with all the data collected from the other team members. The orders from the White House were that the project never see the light of day.”

  “It was that dangerous?”

  “About as dangerous as a mutated form of smallpox set loose in a city. Only quicker. It could destroy a city the size of Atlanta in two hours. The burn would be so intense that it would be impossible to put it out.”

  “Jesus.”

  He nodded. “Andreas didn't want to set that kind of firepower loose in the world. It has enough weapons of mass destruction already.”

  “He should have thought of that before he allowed it to be funded.”

  “He can't monitor every project. It was the pet project of a group of senators who thought more is always better. They buried the funding in other bills. When Andreas learned about the project, he closed it down. But Trask already had his disks and was out of there. He was enraged, a little crazy, and bent on revenge.”

  “He's been trying to sell information to a foreign country?”

  “There have been leaks from sources overseas to that effect. We have info that he's been dealing with Ki Yong, one of the North Korean government's power figures. But he's not focusing his main attention in that direction at the moment.” He paused. “So far he's been targeting fellow coworkers in the project and people in government he feels have victimized him.”

  “What?”

  “Six project scientists have been murdered in the past year. All burned to death.”

  “Why would he do that?”

  “The supposition is that he thought they might be capable of duplicating Firestorm and he wanted it for himself.”

  “And the government targets?”

  “Revenge. Three senators and one member of the House of Representatives brought Firestorm to the attention of Andreas and convinced him it should be scrapped.” His lips tightened grimly. “So far two senators and one representative have been murdered.”

  “Burned to death?”

  He nodded. “And he's not been careful about isol
ating them when he does it. Cameron Devers was with his wife when his car went up in flames. Representative Edwards was on his way to a ball game with his little boy. Both were killed.”

  “It doesn't surprise me. He didn't care about Jason or Laura.” She shivered. “He didn't care about that little baby.”

  “That's right. It's just as well you get the picture straight. I told you he was a monster.”

  She nodded. “You have no idea. Ugly . . . So ugly . . .” With an effort she pulled herself away from that memory. “But I don't understand how he could remain free to do that kind of damage with everyone looking for him. He'd have to have a way of stalking or setting up those kills.”

  He nodded. “I agree. Unless he had help.”

  “What kind of help?”

  “That's one of the things we have to find out. It could be a weak link.”

  “Why me? He wasn't even sure that I was going to help you. And, even if he thought I was, did he know why you wanted me in particular?”

  He shook his head. “The number-one reason is that I wanted to hire you. The second reason is that he must have found out who you are and your success at your profession. That would be a threat enough for him. You put out the fires, and that makes you the enemy.”

  “Yes, that would make sense. The fire is his child. . . .”

  “He really thinks that way?”

  She nodded. “I can see now why he might. How long has he been working with spontaneous combustion?”

  “Fifteen years.”

  She shook her head. “It goes back further than that. Maybe . . . twenty-five years?”

  “He's only around forty.”

  “It's been a long time.” She finished her coffee and stood up. “So where do we go from here?”

  “Washington. He hasn't finished his death list there. Our chance of snagging him is much better.”

  “I may not be able to help you, you know. I've never known how this thing works. I can't control or instigate anything.”

  “You already know more than I do about him. With experience you may learn how to search him out.” He paused. “Or maybe I can help you.”