“Some of them hated me,” said Hara finally. “One woman said to me...” He pointed a finger right at Bowen’s face, and Bowen couldn’t help taking a step back. “She said, ‘You’re part of this. You’re not just a nobody doing his job. You’re an intelligent person, you’ve got money, you could be doing anything. And you’re choosing to do this. You’re raping my daughter.’ Those were her exact words. I’ll never forget them. Rape. I won’t ever forget the hatred in her face.”
“There are always people who oppose progress,” said Bowen, giving in and rubbing his forehead. “People who are stuck on—”
But Hara went on as if Bowen hadn’t been speaking. “I let my certification expire. Lost a lot of money that way. People started picketing my clinic in Atlanta. I remember thinking, ‘My God, these people want the government to force people to change their bodies. Give up their rights. They were angry because I refused to cooperate. The signs said things like, ‘Hara opposes women’s rights.’ Eventually I moved and joined a rural family practice.”
Good grief, thought Bowen. You’re so brave.
“So you keep thinking that you’re just doing your job,” said Hara. He let out a small cough and winced. Mwangi had only given him a mild pain reliever because they needed his mind to be right for Francis. “Keep comforting yourself in that. But yes, you’re right there with the people who stormed my house and shot me and sent my wife and son on the run.”
Bowen walked to the window and opened the blinds so that he could look out at the lighted sidewalk that bordered the building and to the darkness beyond it. He could feel his heavy pulse in his chest, throat, temples, and arms. Hara was a doctor. An educated man. A man who had made it through nearly a decade of university. How could someone like him join with the fanatics? Even though the nut jobs disgusted him, he could at least make sense of them. They were nut jobs doing what nut jobs did. Most of them were religious idiots or rural bumpkins too ignorant to know better. But to see a fellow doctor who thought like those people...
“You can think that if you choose to,” he said finally, turning to face Hara. “But what I really am is the man who is going to save your wife and son. You put them in danger by taking out your wife’s implant. You brought into the world a child who would have to suffer his whole life, and you damned your wife to living a life of secrecy and confinement.”
Hara only looked at Bowen with a sad, wordless gaze. His eyes welled up, but his mouth stretched slightly into an ironic smile.
“From what I’ve heard, your son is extremely powerful,” said Bowen. “We keep three people here who are like him.”
Hara’s eyebrows furrowed. “You keep them here,” he said.
Bowen shook his head. God, he had to get out of here.
“Poor choice of words,” he said. “They live here, yes, but only for their own safety. You know as well as I do that people like them can’t live out there.” He pointed out the window. “They live here, and they’re safe and comfortable. They have everything they need. We study them in a humane way. We try to understand, and we look for a cure. That’s what they need.”
He thought of the dream he’d had a few hours ago. Theresa. Her gratitude.
“Braden doesn’t need to be cured,” Hara said. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes.
“One of these people—her name is Celina—is on her way to this room right now,” said Bowen. “She’s going to look into your mind and see if she can tell us where your wife and son might be going.” Bowen made himself approach the bed again. “You know what it’s like to have one of them look into your head. We don’t have to do it this way. If you’ll just tell me the truth right now, this can be a lot easier, and then you’ll be reunited with your wife and son. You’ll never need anything again. You can live comfortably with them without having to worry about somebody raiding your home.”
Hara didn’t move.
“Hell,” said Bowen, “you’re a doctor. You could help us study him and try to help him. This could be a good thing. Good for you, your wife, and your son.”
Hara’s eyes opened, and he looked up with an expression that looked like amusement.
“You’re right,” he said. “My son is strong. I didn’t know how strong until those agents
showed up at my home. So you just wait to see what happens to anyone who tries to take him from us again. And my wife—” He shook his head, chuckling. The hair on Bowen’s arms stood up. “Anybody who tries to lay a hand on our son—she’ll make them wish they were dead.”
33
The Dragonfly rocketed forward, now headed south along the creek bed. Val banked and flew over the tops of the trees, heading west as fast as the Dragonfly would go.
On the radar screen, the blip of the other UAD was right on top of them.
Asa leaned forward to look at the sky through the canopy.
“He’s up there,” Asa said. “Twelve o’clock. Heading east now.”
Val steered a little to the right so the compass in the dash read NW.
“I told you,” said Asa, “we’re not going to outrun him.”
“I’m not trying to outrun him,” said Val. She stayed low, maybe fifty meters above the treetops. “I’m going to outfly the bastard just like the last one.”
Asa laughed. “And I believe you can do it. It’s good to be fighting with you again, Val.”
Stop it, she thought. But she couldn’t help thinking of how much this felt like Iran. Asa had often been her gunner on the Timberwolf, and together they had taken out almost as many Iranian helicopters and tanks and drones as a lot of attack pilots flying F-38s or A-192 Grizzlies. Even though they were primarily tasked with ground assault and street warfare, Val’s unit had earned a nickname for their ability to hunt down and take out Iranian aircraft. The Hellhounds. Val and Asa had been happy to share the name with the rest of the unit, but the truth was that the two of them had earned it. They had been quite a pair.
“You realize where you’re headed, I guess?” said Asa.
“I do,” she said.
She lowered their altitude to just above sixty feet, staying right above the tree tops. The pilot’s commanders would be following the UAD’s transponder during the chase, and the pilot would report to them about what was happening. Val hoped that heading northwest toward Tennessee and beyond would throw DHS off the real trail. It would make more sense for them to head toward Texas, where Kim’s sister lived, but that would mean sending DHS agents to interrogate Maeko—or worse.
“He’s coming around, it looks like,” said Asa, watching the radar screen. “We’re going to have to lose him quick. By now they’ve scrambled more Dragonflies from Atlanta. Hell, maybe even the Air National Guard.”
Val glanced at the airspeed indicator. This Dragonfly topped out at just under three hundred forty-nine miles per hour. The UAD would probably be able to reach a little over four hundred at full throttle. At this speed, they would have a few minutes before it caught up. Val throttled back to two hundred fifty miles per hour.
“You want him to catch us quicker,” said Asa.
“Gotta get this over with,” said Val. She glanced at the battery level and fuel gauges. The battery was at just over half charge, and the fuel tanks were at three quarters. The lift engines were hybrids, and the thrust engines ran on fuel only. Val needed enough fuel to get them to North Carolina to rescue Kim. After that, she needed enough battery to get them as close to the Mexican border as possible. If she could rescue Kim by a few hours before dawn. And it was already 2:46 a.m.
“Well, he’s coming in fast,” said Asa. “We’ve got maybe thirty seconds before he’ll fire EMPs or rockets. Forty for guns.” He gripped the controls for their own weapons. After a pause, he said, “It’ll be guns and rockets this time.”
“Just be ready,” said Val.
She glanced at the dash and found the switch for the GPS monitor. They were about twenty miles northwest of the house and about fift
y miles north of Atlanta. The town of Bakersville was about ten miles to their west.
Bakersville. Mostly empty. The town square was mostly abandoned buildings, like most small towns these days, and the few shops still in business would be deserted at this time of night. An open lot where she could land.
She glanced over her shoulder at the weapons on the wall of the troop and cargo bay.
That was it.
She banked to the left and accelerated to full throttle.
“Where are you going now?” asked Asa.
“Bakersville, population thirty,” said Val. “Give or take.”
“Urban warfare?”
“Hardly,” Val said. “Lot of empty buildings in town, and a few houses in the surrounding area. All the harm we’ll do is wake some people up in the middle of the night.”
“What’s your plan?”
Val looked at him out of the side of her eye.“ You’re not going to like it.”
“If I get killed doing this—”
“Asa,” she said. Saying his name felt strange. “I never gave you a reason not to trust me. So shut up and go unbuckle my son.”
She landed the Dragonfly between a pair of old three-story buildings on a concrete slab where a structure had once stood. Once the loading ramp was down, they ran. Asa carried Braden, the boy’s arms flopping as they hurried across the slab toward the building to the south. Val carried two of the Stinger IV rocket launchers at her sides.
“In here,” Val said, huffing toward the side of the building where an old wooden door barely hung on by a rusty hinge.
“This is a bad idea,” said Asa.
Val ignored this. She placed the two Stingers on the ground just inside the opening and turned to take Braden from him.
“I’m serious,” he said.
“Just do what I said and everything will be fine.” She lifted Braden out of his arms. “Shine a light for me.”
Asa turned on a flashlight. The building was mostly empty except for some loose bricks and mortar dust. Val kicked away some pieces of rubble to clear a spot and laid Braden down on the concrete, letting his head rest on a piece of sheetrock. The warmth of his body had reassured her, but she couldn’t help thinking he looked like a corpse lying on the floor. She felt the pulse in his neck. Slow, but steady. Maybe fifty-five beats a minute.
“What did—” she began, but her stomach lurched suddenly. For a second, she was no longer standing in an abandoned Bakersville store, but in the hallway of her home again. Kim lay on the floor below her, blood gushing from a wound in his shoulder.
“Val?” said a man’s voice behind her. Asa’s voice.
Val shook her head. She was back in Bakersville again.
“You okay?” said Asa. He gripped her shoulder.
“What the hell did you people shoot him with?” she said, turning to Asa and shrugging his hand off of her shoulder.
“It’s good stuff,” said Asa. He let his hand fall to his side and eyed her with a nervous look. “He’ll be out a while, but he’s fine. And it’s probably better this way. At least he isn’t scared or—”
But the scream of the UAD-9’s thrust engine cut him off.
“Show time,” he said, putting his head out the window and looking toward the sky.
“Get out there,” said Val. “And do exactly what we planned.”
Asa nodded, but he hesitated.
“You okay?”
“I’m fine,” Val said. “Now get into position!”
“I still hate this damn plan,” he said, but he ran through the opening toward the Dragonfly.
Val crouched next to the Stingers and flipped both of their power switches. A pale green light issued from the scopes, and yellow LEDs indicated the launchers were priming.
The scream of the UAD-9 grew louder, and then died, leaving only the whine of the lift engines to echo between the buildings outside. The indicator lights still showed yellow.
“Come on,” she said.
Finally, the lights turned red, and with a glance at Braden, she hefted a launcher onto her shoulder.
“Show me your face, you bastard,” she said, leaning her head through the doorway and into the night. Asa stood just in front of their parked Dragonfly, facing the street. She could see the UAD-9’s spotlights shining on the asphalt and on the buildings across the road. It was coming up from the south. That was good.
You serve your country, she had once told Asa in Iran. Now she waited to kill two U.S. Homeland Security agents, men who probably had people who loved them and who waited for them to come home from missions like this one. Men who had signed up to serve their country. But how could she know that for sure? Val had known plenty of men and women in Iran who hadn’t signed up out of idealism or patriotism. And Homeland Security paid good money. She knew because she had considered it herself after the service.
The image of Kim bleeding on the floor flickered in her mind again, but she shook the thought away. Not now. God, not now.
Now the entire street was white with the UAD’s searchlights. Val could feel a breeze coming into the empty lot from the lift engines. Fifteen seconds, maybe ten. She tightened her fingers around the Stinger’s pistol grip and raised the scope to her eye. The buildings, the street, and the light from the UAD turned a ghostly green. Asa glanced back at her.
“Put your hands up, dammit!” she yelled.
Asa put his hands on his head just as the UAD emerged into view. It turned to face the empty lot and hovered. Spotlights shone on Asa and the parked Dragonfly.
And away from Val. Just as she’d planned.
Val put the crosshairs right on the UAD’s cockpit.
“This is Homeland Security,” said a voice from the loudspeaker. “Drop to your knees.”
Asa started toward the ground, and Val squeezed the trigger.
Now.
But as she fired, a burst of white light shone in her head. Instead of the UAD, Asa, and the street, she saw Kim again. He was lying on a hospital bed surrounded by doctors and nurses, each of whom held up a syringe with an impossibly long needle.
Boom.
The explosion bathed the street in orange and red and yellow, and the concussion knocked Val backwards into the doorframe. She dropped the launcher to the ground.
She had missed. The missile had fired right over the top of the UAD and into the building behind it. The blast had sent the hovering craft reeling, though. When the gunner fired in response to the attack, the bullets sprayed the street instead of Asa, who dove behind the forward landing gear of the Dragonfly.
Val scrambled to pick up the other Stinger and aim it.
Please, God.
She squeezed the trigger.
The missile launched with a hiss and a roar.
And it struck the UAD.
Boom.
The right side of the vehicle exploded, sending two of the wings flying. Their engines whined and made a whip whip sound as they whirled out of sight down the street. Again, the shock of the blast sent Val backwards into the doorframe. The UAD went into a flat spin and crashed into the building behind it. With a rumble, the whole street-side wall, which had been weakened by the first rocket, crumbled into a heap on top of the UAD. Smoke, dust, and fire billowed from the wreckage.
Her ears ringing and her heart pounding, Val dropped the Stinger, but she barely registered the clatter of metal on concrete.
“Braden?” she said, but her voice sounded like it was under water or behind glass. She stumbled toward her son, panting. The air in her chest burned.
He lay exactly as she had left him, his head on a broken piece of drywall and his limbs splayed. She fell to her knees next to him and put her hands on his face.
They’re going to call me a terrorist, she thought. If they can, they’ll kill us and say that we kidnapped him. That he was a victim of our fanaticism.
“Val!” screamed a voice from somewhere. From far away, and from a lo
ng time ago. No, not far away. Close. Now. But the voice sounded like someone speaking into a pillow. She didn’t turn to see who it was. She only looked down at her son. He had slept while she had gunned down two Dragonflies. Had dreamed of his father while she set the world on fire.
A hand grasped her shoulder.
“You did it!” the voice said. It was Asa. He put a hand on her cheek and turned her face toward him. “We’re clear! But we’ve got to go now!”
“I did,” she said. She pulled her face away from his hand and looked at her son again. Braden’s chest rose and fell only slightly with each breath. He was deep under. Would he ever sleep that way again? Where would they go?
“Val? Do you hear me?” said Asa, his voice becoming clearer. “They’re going to send everything. We’ve got to go!”
He took her hand, and Val looked up at him. His eyes were wide with fright.
“I need you to shake it off,” he said.
But Val couldn’t move. For a moment, she thought this all must be a dream. None of this was real. She was back in Iran, and these walls that surrounded her were not Bakersville, Georgia, but the walls of some burned-out shop in Damavand or Karaj. Kim, Braden, their home, SRP—none of that had been real.
“Val, come on!”
No, it was Tehran. Asa had stripped off her clothes and made love to her right here. She could hear the noises and smell the scents of war. In the background, fire roared and metal creaked as it heated in the flames. The smells of burned fuel, smoke, and shattered mortar drifted in the air. She looked down at herself, and instead of the jeans and tee shirt that she’d been wearing, she saw only her naked body kneeling on the concrete floor.
No, that’s not right, she thought. That was years ago, and so much had happened since that day. A whole life has happened since then.
Another flash of light. Now instead of Braden lying on the ground in front of her, Kim lay there on the wood boards of their hallway. A dark puddle spread beneath him, and his dead eyes looked up at her. His mouth hung open, but he’d never speak again.
Val squeezed her eyes shut.
The Way Out Page 18
