Omega: The Girl in the Box, Book 5

by Crane, Robert J.

  “Oh,” I said. “Probably why he doesn’t use it. I asked him once, and he told me he prefers to use weapons—a control thing, of course.”

  “Of course.”

  We reached the eleventh floor and emerged into the hallway, separated from the yawning maw of the courtyard by only a high railing. “Majestic,” Reed said as he looked down.

  Far below, I could see Clary standing next to the coffee stand. “Oh, yeah, it’s a great view. Just once, I’d like to fight in a wide open field rather than in a mall, or a house that collapses on my head, or where I could be dropped eleven stories—or fifty—to a splattering end. Somewhere boring.”

  “How about a basement?” Reed asked with a half-smile.

  “Keep it up, wise guy, and I’ll throw you off myself.”

  Eve and Bastian approached from the other side, converging with us upon the door of Eleanor Madigan’s hotel room at a very casual pace. We all stopped, wordless, outside, halting on either side of the frame so there wouldn’t be any chance for her to see us through the peephole. Bastian held up his hand and gestured to indicate we would be breaking down the door in seconds. I steadied myself and drew the replacement pistol I’d pulled from the quartermaster and took a deep breath, pressing my shoulder to the door next to the frame. Eve stood across from me, Bastian behind her. It was understood that I would be second through the door, and I pulled my gloves off, wiping my hands on my jeans, ridding myself of the excessive sweat on my palms.

  I tried to concentrate, tuning out the faint warbling sound of music being piped in over speakers, the scent of lilac pumped into the air conditioners to give the place a nicer smell, the feel of the crosshatching of the gun’s grip in my hand and the sight of Eve tensing across from me, her arms bared because she had left her jacket in the car, her pixie-blond haircut almost white because of the lighting.

  She moved, rolling herself off the frame and in front of the door, gun drawn, and kicked, breaking it off its hinges. “FBI!” she called and burst into the room, leading with her pistol in one hand and her other hand extended, ready to cast one of the webs of pure energy that her Peri-type meta powers allowed her to command.

  I led with my gun, following behind her only a pace or two, watching her blouse ruffle as she slid through the hotel room’s entry, past the bathroom without clearing it. I pointed my weapon inside; the lights were off, and I ducked in and flipped them on while Bastian passed behind me to back up Eve. I ripped the shower curtain off the rings to be certain the room was clear, then turned to see Reed pass the bathroom door. I could hear them in my earpiece now that we’d gone active, and Eve’s clipped Germanic accent reported, “Clear,” both in my ear and also muffled on the other side of the bathroom wall.

  “Her clothes and personal effects are still here,” Bastian said as I joined them. A simple queen-sized bed sat in the middle of the room, red overtones on everything from the carpet to the bedspread giving the place a warm feeling. The bed was made, the suitcase open but in perfect order. “But this room doesn’t look very disturbed. Too clean.”

  “To you, perhaps,” Eve said, unsmiling. “This is how it looks whenever I travel.”

  “You make your own bed?” Reed asked.

  “Yes,” she said. “I prefer everything well ordered.”

  “Sighting,” Parks’ voice came over the earpiece. “We have eyes on target; she is in the lobby and moving toward the elevator.”

  “Reed,” Bastian said, “make sure the hallway’s clear. Let’s see if we can set the door back up and lure her in.”

  “That’s a negatory,” I said. “That sucker is off the hinges. Even an idiot would bolt if they went to unlock the door and it just fell in.”

  I saw Bastian’s eyes waver as he pondered the options. “Then we take her getting off the elevator.”

  “You might wanna hurry,” Parks voice came in reply, “because she’s in.”

  “Move,” Bastian ordered, but we were all in motion already. I kept my pace to the high end of human potential in case anyone was watching, as did the others. We charged along the walkway, the doors of the rooms to our right seeming like a blur of squares shooting by with nothing but open air to our left. We turned the corner and saw the elevator bank; it was built into the walls, with a subtle overreach that had the walkway run under it, like a tunnel, elevators on both sides. The wallpaper took on a browner tone here, protected from the skylights by virtue of being covered over and isolated from the main area. Four elevators, two on each side, serviced the floor. There were potted ferns stuck between each elevator to add some green to the otherwise sterile environment. The yellow lighting on the walls cast the place like a darkened steakhouse at midday, cave-like, with only the suggestion of daylight showing in through the apertures that led back to the open-air walkways on either side of the elevator bank.

  I dodged to the side of the elevators, positioning myself in the middle of two of the doors, waiting to hear the ding. If the light lit up on the opposite side, I would have to move fast, but I was ready to do so. I kept one hand free of my gun; the other gripped the pistol tightly. I saw Reed station himself near where we came in, gun in hand. Eve took up position in the far corner, giving her the view of the entire room. Bastian blocked the opposite walkway entrance.

  The dinging sounded, and I felt the tension, the sweat back on my palms now, the stress I hadn’t even known I was feeling bleeding through me. The triangular light above the door to my left lit up red, and the doors began to open.

  Eleanor Madigan emerged, not really looking around as she stepped out of the elevator. Her profile was different than I would have expected from her photo, strong cheekbones but a more pronounced nose than was evident by the front-on passport photo. She wore very casual attire, jeans and a sweatshirt from the Mall of America. She sensed I was there, turning to look at me. I waited to see her reaction, my gun hidden behind me; if she was Omega, she would know me.

  A flicker of recognition passed behind her eyes. Her hand came up and I batted it aside with my pistol as I wrapped a hand around her neck. Her eyes widened, this time in outrage, all her teeth displayed in a feral look that was half-grimace, half-snarl. She reached out a hand, past me, toward the elevator and her fingers extended, grasping for something.

  I heard the crackle before it hit me; electricity flowed out of the call buttons, snapping across the distance between her fingers and the metal like bolts of lightning. A charge ran up my hand and every muscle in my body seized, clenching, my head exploding in a burst of pain like someone put a thousand knives through me and I contracted in a full-body heave. I held tight to her neck for as long as I could, which felt like a year but was probably more like a second, before I was propelled through the air into a wall as I fell, limply, to the ground.

  14.

  “Thor-type!” Bastian shouted somewhere in the distance; it felt far off. Another droning hum of electricity filled the air, along with the soft whoosh of Eve’s nets striking the wall.

  “She moves fast,” Reed said, his hand on my shoulder. “You all right?” His voice was practically a shout, but I lifted my head to see him looking at me, lips pursed in concern.

  “I’ll live,” I said as gunfire filled the air. I whipped my head up to see Madigan send a surge of lightning at Eve and Bastian, forked electricity striking the barrels of their pistols. I heard a pop from each of them as their guns flew out of their hands, Eve staggering back into the wall and Bastian ducking behind the arch that led back to the walkway.

  I raised my pistol at Madigan and drew a bead on her. I hesitated, though, and she swung around. Reed had just begun to raise his gun when the burst of lightning came for us, arcing toward our weapons, the closest object to the point of contact, and metal to boot. I was already moving my gun to throw it away when the lightning hit and I managed to get clear with only a little stray voltage hitting me. R
eed made a similar move and I saw him fall back, out into the uncovered walkway behind me as he recovered from the attack.

  “Sienna Nealon,” Madigan said, her voice a sort of droll whisper.

  “Shocked to see me?” I asked, drawing to my feet. I cringed. “That...was not the witticism I was looking for.” A pun. I blame the electricity.

  “Not really,” Madigan said, her blunt face curving in a slight smile, a British accent barely there. “Perhaps surprised it took you so long to come calling, but not startled to see you here. Not after Bjorn. Not after Fries.”

  “Yeah, we just keep taking your pieces off the board,” I said, circling around to place my back to the elevator door to my right. It was metal, and I had a grand plan to use it as a backstop to catch her next bolt of lightning while I tested my reflexes to see if I could dodge her attacks. The potted fern next to me was going to be my accomplice, whether it wanted to be or not. I could see Eve out of the corner of my eyes, leaning against a wall, breathing heavily, staring at Madigan with glaring eyes but not making any aggressive moves—yet. With Eve, that was sure not to last.

  “But a queen has yet to fall,” Madigan said with that same eerie half-smile. “And we all know that the game doesn’t end until you’ve trapped the king. So whose pieces are moving faster toward the checkmate? Because everything else is irrelevant. Take all our pawns that you want, because so long as we make the last move, the one you don’t see and can’t defend against, we still win.”

  “Aww, that’s so sad.” I backed against the elevator, felt the steel against my hand to make sure I was positioned right. “You’re just a pawn? Give yourself more credit. Maybe you’re a knight. Or, like, part of a knight. Maybe the horse’s ass.”

  “You think you’re so clever, don’t you?” She smiled again. “Because you beat Wolfe. Because you bested Henderschott, and circumvented our spy.”

  “I also decapitated your vampires, outmaneuvered James Fries and put a bunch of hurt onto your boy Bjorn,” I said. “Small victories, but I’ll take ‘em. What about you? What’ve you got, Eleanor? And please don’t say abs.”

  Her face twisted in confusion and without warning she sent a bolt at Eve, who dodged behind the archway to hide behind Bastian, who I could see from where I was standing. “You needn’t ask what I’ve got. I’m a hand of Omega, the oldest and most powerful force in the world. I carry out the will of those who were named gods to the men of old, those who run the world, who wield strength the average man can’t comprehend, that every other meta would die to possess. I am one of the chosen, a brandisher of thunder and lightning, and the servant of the—”

  I slipped a foot behind the potted plant while she was talking, and sent it at her face with a kick. I heard the crack of thunder, saw the lightning hit the clay and refract as I charged behind it. It shattered inches from her face as her fist intercepted it and I adjusted to keep from colliding with the punch she had intended for the pot. I felt a burst of wind propel me forward, my brother giving me a helpful shove that accelerated me through the clods of dirt, blowing the plant out of my way and allowing me to deliver a punch to Eleanor Madigan’s lip. I watched it split with impact, and I followed it with another as I caught my footing, hammering her with a blow that cocked her head to the side.

  I heard movement behind me—Eve and Bastian. I dodged to the side as I heard the crackle of electricity shoot through the air I had been occupying only a second earlier. Eve’s net didn’t miss this time, hitting Madigan in the chest and making a latticework of light from the middle of her thighs to the top of her neck. One hand was caught facing the ground, the other sideways, and I saw the glow as she summoned electricity to her. I stepped forward and cracked her twice on the jaw, watching her eyes roll back, knocking her out cold.

  “Tough bitch,” Eve said, and whipped another net at her, this one wrapping around her face, setting it aglow and trapping her hair against the lines of it. I could see a closed eye through the gaps.

  “Wow,” Reed said. “I’d never dealt with a Thor-type before. Crazy. Lightning bolts and everything.”

  “Yeah,” I said, rubbing my knuckles where I had struck her, “but she’s no Chris Hemsworth.”

  The elevator next to us dinged and sent me scrambling. I wondered very briefly if I’d have to take the memory out of a passing civilian when they saw what had happened, but felt a dash of relief when Clary and Parks stepped out.

  “What the hell happened here?” Parks asked.

  “A clean takedown,” Reed answered. “Minus, y’know, the clean part.”

  “We need to get her out of here,” Bastian said. “Clary, you’re gonna want to go to rock-form everywhere but your head. Make it look casual, like you’re wearing gloves—but keep her away from your flesh. She’s a Thor-type, and if you let her touch you, you’re gonna wish you hadn’t.”

  Clary nodded, ripping away the netting that Eve had used to restrain Madigan. Madigan didn’t even twitch as Clary freed her, the nets blinking out of existence as Clary ripped through each fiber. As he picked her up, I caught a glimpse of rocky skin under his t-shirt collar, and he readjusted her to walk her in front of him in a way that could possibly be described as making her look like she might be conscious and being walked out. If you didn’t look too closely. And you were an idiot.

  “We need to move,”‘ Parks said. “Folks in the lobby were asking questions about the noise when we came up. Doubtful this will stay quiet for long.”

  “FBI IDs out,” Bastian said. “Let’s not go mugging for the surveillance cameras, though.”

  We moved toward the nearest stairwell, Bastian at the fore with Eve behind him, Reed at my shoulder. We cleared each floor quickly, passing a few confused hotel guests as we descended, not saying anything. Bastian waved his badge at them as we passed, running interference, saying, “Please stand clear, folks, we have a dangerous fugitive here.”

  When we hit the lobby, Bastian hurried to the front desk. Dressed as he was, in a suit, he pulled his ID and warned the clerks what was coming.

  “I was sure one of us was going to go off the walkway at some point,” Reed confided in me as we passed the front desk. “I mean, we fight in an open-air courtyard hotel and no one goes over the balcony?”

  “I was sure it’d be you,” I said as the first chill of the outside air hit me, wind blowing my hair back. I felt the tickle of static electricity run through my hair and I wondered how long I’d be dealing with the aftershocks (ha ha) of Eleanor’s attack.

  “Well, at least I’d have been able to pull a soft landing,” Reed said as we approached the van. I heard tires squeal as a Cadillac wandered into the wrong lane as it was exiting the parking lot and almost got hit by an airport shuttle. “Geez. Some people shouldn’t drive.”

  “Nice to know you weren’t worried about it being me to go over the edge,” I said, stepping into the back of the van after Clary.

  “I would have cushioned your fall.”

  “How are we gonna keep her contained on the ride home?” Parks asked. “Have her sit on Clary’s lap the whole way?”

  There was a moment of perplexed silence that ended as Bastian shut one side of the rear doors. “Yep,” he said. “Clary...sit her on your lap and stay in a rubberized form.”

  “What did the poor woman do to deserve that?” Eve asked, sotto voce. We all heard it anyway and Clary changed his skin to black rubber before any hint of blush or emotion made it to his cheeks.

  “Just keep her subdued,” Bastian said, and I saw no further movement from Clary. He was still, arms clamped around Madigan’s limp body, as the van started up and we pulled out onto the road, the miles ticking by and no one speaking, as though Madigan were not unconscious, electricity still filling the air around us.

  15.

  Interlude

  Bloomington, Minnesota

 
“Yes, they caught her,” the old man said into the phone. He swerved the big Cadillac to avoid a shuttle bus pulling into the parking lot, causing the shuttle to squeal its tires. He looked into the rearview mirror and saw the procession, the four members of M-Squad, the young man from Alpha—and her.

  “I have her in sight right now,” he said into the phone, watching her dark hair, a little frizzy , bob up and down as she hurried across the parking lot toward the Directorate van. “She is...shorter than I expected.” At that moment, she looked up at the car, and he felt almost as though she were looking at him through the rearview mirror, as though a sort of current were between them, and he pressed the pedal, accelerating out of the parking lot. As he turned, his eyes followed her, still making her getaway with her comrades. “Pretty, in her own sort of way. She has a focused air about her, her mind on the things she has to accomplish. Her will is strong, I can tell you that much. I can feel it from here.”

  He waited as he drove, passing a freeway onramp that was grey, dull, and overdone—just like everything else in America. “I don’t know how much of a problem her will presents,” he said, answering the question asked on the other end of the phone. “I am merely informing you that she seems to possess a mind of her own, that she is no simple dullard as easily manipulated as the goon in Iowa whom I set upon a different path. He will wake up in twenty years as an electrician and never know that I steered him from his life of crime, because he has all the self-awareness of a microwave dinner. She, on the other hand...her mind is firm in its decisions. All I can do for one such as that is begin to stir the waters of uncertainty.”

  He pulled the car onto the freeway. “We will be prepared by tomorrow to finish this.”