The creature stood and glared down at him. “But I don’t have to listen to that voice. Not anymore. You are no longer my problem.”
The beast turned and walked away. When it reached the phage distributor, it spent several moments studying the machine’s circuitry then bent over and began slicing through wires with its deadly talons.
Lukas, too afraid to move, watched as the creature broke open the gate to the ventilation shaft and crawled inside.
The scientist sat upright, wondering if he could make it to the lift without the beast noticing. He glanced at the dimly lit entrance to the laboratory, chewed his lower lip, and decided against it. The Nightmare had shown him mercy. He would not tempt fate a second time.
Nearly a minute passed, and Eugene Carver emerged from the ventilation shaft. There was a large purple bruise of the right side of his face; his nose was gnarled and bleeding freely, and his eyes were nearly swollen shut. He grinned at Lukas, revealing a bloody smile with two missing teeth. He kicked the dead woman’s boot and said, “Your friend didn’t get the memo about my new armor. She put up one hell of a fight, though.”
Eugene leaned into the ventilation shaft and helped the beast lower a second man to the floor. The man’s shirt was drenched in blood, and he clutched his side with both hands.
“Is he going to make it?” Eugene asked in a low voice.
The beast nodded. “Yes. I removed the bullet fragment and closed the wound. He will need antibiotics and at least a pint of blood, but he will live.”
Eugene strode over to the Phage Distributor. “And this thing is out of commission?”
“Yes,” the beast replied.
Eugene whistled. “Things were a bit rocky there for a while, but I think we can count today as a win. Drinks are on me, Smitty.”
Lukas clenched his jaw, enraged by Carver’s gloating. “You fool. You think you’re the hero, but you’ve doomed humanity to a slow and painful death. I could have saved us. I could have saved the entire planet.”
Eugene shook his head and pointed at the ceiling. “There are eight billion people up there who deserve to make that choice on their own.” Bending over, he grabbed Lukas by the elbow and jerked the scientist to his feet. “Let’s go. I have some friends in the CIA who would love to chat with you for the next few days. Or years.”
37
Richmond, Virginia
The gravesite was nothing like she had imagined. It wasn’t a cold, meaningless placard standing over an empty grave. The polished granite headstone rose nearly four feet high and bore a photo of Clint that had been taken at a Christmas party two years before. It was the only photograph in existence that proved “Agent Ford” was capable of smiling.
Janson knelt in front of the headstone, her eyes brimming with tears. She read the epithet: Clint “Ford” Rayburn. Beloved patriot, brother, and friend.
Two dates had been inscribed beneath the epithet, separated by a thin horizontal line. Janson felt the carved stone edges with her fingers, struggling to believe what she was seeing. The headstone, as simple as it was, gave away multiple state secrets. Clint had reportedly died years ago, allowing him to enter the world of black operations with a fresh identity. But the dates on the stone were the actual times of his birth and death. And the photo revealed his unnaturally youthful appearance following the Alpha Experiments.
Clint had been nearly seventy years old when he died. He had served his country for more than five decades and spent most of those years conducting solo operations.
When he and Janson met in Hillcrest, they were both terminally ill. She suffered from late-stage MS and he had been battling stage-four leukemia. He was twenty years her senior, but when the Alpha Experiments had run their course, she could have passed for a woman in her late twenties while he looked to be about forty. They had been the only two human test subjects to survive the Alpha experiments, and among only three to live through the whole of Project Nerium.
She glanced down at her hands—hands that had been empowered to fight terrorism and tyranny. To end wars and bring hope to the poor and downtrodden. But she had used them for vengeance, and in her blind hatred, she had killed one of her best friends.
San and Eugene had been there for her all along. They wanted to help her, just like they wanted to help Jarrod. Looking back, she understood why they kept secrets from her. She had been planning to kill Jarrod ever since Clint died. And, one way or another, she would have found a way to do it.
Six hours ago, on the rooftop in Baltimore, she had nearly succeeded. She had beaten The Nightmare to a pulp, and her newfound mission was nearly complete. But the cost was greater than she ever anticipated. And Eli—sweet, kind Eli—had paid the price.
Hot tears rolled down her cheeks, leaving streaks on her tin-colored skin. She didn’t know if Jarrod was alive or dead, but now that Eli was gone, she hoped Jarrod had survived. She hoped Eugene had succeeded in whatever operation he had set out on. The guilt of killing Eli was already more than she could bear.
Jarrod’s death would not bring Clint back from the grave. Rage could not be relieved with retribution. Forgiveness was the only balm for the wounds of grief. San knew it; Eugene knew it. Now, after learning the hard way, she knew it, too.
Janson touched the picture of Clint one last time then stood and brushed the dirt off her knees.
She returned to the cemetery parking lot and sank into the driver’s seat of a rusty, stolen truck.
“What are you going to do now, a baritone voice asked, “now that the mission is over?”
She glanced at the hallucination. “The mission isn’t over.” She shook her head. “But it isn’t what I thought it would be, either.”
Clint raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”
She grasped the steering wheel and stared straight ahead. “I can’t change the past. I can’t bring Eli back, and I can’t bring you back. But I can make a different choice—decide what’s really worth fighting for.”
A raindrop struck the windshield. It was followed by another, then a third. The sporadic taps gave way to a frantic beat, and soon the world outside the truck was blurred by streams of water on every window. She glanced at the passenger seat and found it empty.
Closing her eyes, she bowed her head and whispered. “Goodbye, my love.”
38
Hillcrest Trauma and Rehabilitation Center
Baltimore, Maryland
The dull ache continued in her lower abdomen, igniting a searing pain in her heart. The agony wasn’t physical—she had endured more discomfort from menstrual cramps since she was a girl—it was psychological. Emotional. But no less real than a fractured rib.
The doctors had found an unidentified virus in her blood and were mapping out its RNA. Based on the initial examination with a scanning electron microscope, they already believed the virus was synthetic—a self-replicating bio-weapon.
But understanding the weapon wouldn’t change what had happened. It wouldn’t undo the damage done to her uterus and fallopian tubes. It would never give her the chance to bring a child into this world.
Felicity stared at the blank, cold, concrete wall. She hadn’t really thought about when she would start a family or with whom. She’d dated a few guys in college, but she never imagined settling down with any of them.
But now that she couldn’t, even if she wanted to, she felt hollow inside. And the fact that it had not been her choice—or even an accident or natural disease—filled her with hate.
But the woman who had poisoned her with a bloody kiss was dead. Jarrod had taken justice into his own hands and acted as Audrey’s judge, jury, and executioner. Felicity wasn’t sad that the woman was gone, but she regretted that she never had the chance to look into her eyes and ask her why she had done it.
And it broke her heart to know that Jarrod had given up so much of his progress for her sake.
She lifted her head to the sound of three knocks on her underground dormitory door. She didn’t look up and didn’t try to hi
de her face. She had no more tears to cry. Taking a deep breath, she said, “Come in.”
In response to her voice, the steel door slid into a recess in the wall. Director Torres stepped in, and Felicity rose to her feet as a sign of respect.
“Please,” San said, holding up a hand, “you don’t have to do that.”
“If it’s the same to you, Director…yes, I do.”
He lowered his head slightly then held an open palm toward a steel chair in the center of her room. “May I?”
She nodded, and San eased into the chair. She sat on the edge of her bed and folded her hands in her laps, staring down at the floor.
Silence gripped the room for a long moment before San spoke. “Felicity, I’d like to pass along my condolences.”
She gave a curt nod; her chin bounced against her chest.
“I can only imagine what you’re going through, and I’m sure hearing an old man say he is sorry does little to make you feel better.”
She frowned. It was what she had been thinking, but she was too polite to say it out loud.
“That’s why I waited so long to speak with you. I wanted to have something better to offer than just sympathy.”
Her brow furrowed, and she met his gaze, looking into his dark eyes. “Wh—what do you mean?”
Director Torres took a deep breath and held up two fingers. “Two things. We have taken a man named Lukas Woodfall into custody. He is a terrorist, and we believe he oversaw the development of the bio-weapon that you were exposed to. There’s a possibility that he may have designed the weapon himself.” Leaning back in his chair, San went on, “Lukas will be brought to justice, but not until after he fully cooperates with the newest endeavor here at Hillcrest.”
The director took a deep breath and cleared his throat. “We have the most advanced nanotechnology on the planet right here in this facility. And some of the brightest physicians, surgeons, and geneticists, too.” He raised his chin. “Which is why I’ve decided to dedicate all of our resources toward finding a cure for what has happened to you.”
She blinked, and her eyes brimmed with unshed tears. “Really? You would do that for me?”
“Not just for you—for everyone. Today, we prevented Katharos from unleashing the most dangerous biological weapon ever known. But there are more Katharos agents—and government officials sympathetic to their cause—still out there. They may yet find a way to release the weapon. We need to develop a vaccine and find a cure, and we can’t do it without you. So…what do you say? Will you help us?”
Abandoning all propriety, Felicity shot forward and wrapped the Director of Hillcrest in a hug. He rose to his feet and patted her gently on the back, and she wept into his lab coat.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you, for everything.”
The glass doors to Operatory Three in Sub-Level Four slid shut. Eugene gave them a tug, making sure they were locked, then nodded.
It wasn’t an effective prison cell for a determined prisoner of war, but it would contain the old man well enough.
He turned around and startled. Gripping his chest, he shook his head and said, “Dammit, Jarrod. How many times do I have to tell you? Don’t sneak up on me like that.”
The burly supersoldier shrugged. “I wasn’t trying to sneak up on you. Until my legs are fully healed, I didn’t think I could.”
Eugene wrinkled his nose and tapped Jarrod on the chest with his index finger. “From now on, you’re required to wear a bell in Hillcrest. I’ll stop by the pet store to pick one up later.”
Jarrod tilted his head. “It’s strange. I can’t tell if you’re joking.”
“That’s because I don’t know if I’m joking or not.” Eugene pivoted and stood next to Jarrod, facing the operatory. He nodded at the glass doors and the prisoner beyond them. “I’m not sure what to do with this one. We can’t trust him, and I’m not sure if he’ll be any use to us, going forward.”
Jarrod folded his arms across his chest. “He is highly intelligent. And skilled in his field.”
Eugene bit his lower lip. “But the things he’s done…I don’t know. At some point, I don’t think it matters why someone does what they do. Evil is evil, whether or not it’s done with good intentions.”
Jarrod gazed through the glass at Wagner’s huddled form. “I’m surprised you located him so quickly.”
“We had help. Janson had been hiding him in the mountains, where he performed surgeries to give her more of an edge against you in combat. And she covered her tracks well—it might have taken us months to find him.”
“But?”
“But something made her change her mind. She turned on him and sent us a message, giving us his location a few hours ago. The old man isn’t denying what he’s done. He wanted to turn Janson into a weapon then pit you two against each other.” Eugene shook his head. “He wanted to know who would win, like you two are a couple of engineering club robots duking it out in a community college parking lot.”
“What will happen to him?”
“That’s out of my hands. With his security clearance, he’ll never see a courtroom. But we’re not about to put a bullet in his big brain, either.” Eugene exhaled sharply through his nose. “If it were up to me, I’d lock him up for the rest of his despicable life—for what he did to Janson, and for what he did to you. But I don’t have a say in the matter.”
Jarrod sidestepped and looked through a different set of glass doors. “And what about him?”
Eugene’s face soured. “Don’t worry about Lukas. He will never see the sun again. The only way he’s leaving Hillcrest is through the chimney above the incinerators. But San thinks he’ll cooperate long enough to help us hunt down the last stinking remnants of Katharos and maybe even develop a cure for his bio-weapons. I think he’s right. And either way, we can’t afford to get rid of him until the last Katharos lab burns to the ground.”
“Will you need me, for the cleanup operations?”
Eugene regarded him for a moment. “It wouldn’t hurt to have you along, but we can probably make do. Why?”
Jarrod watched Lukas as the man scribbled notes onto a yellow pad. “Because I want to go home.”
Eugene nodded slowly. “I’ll tell you what, I’ll complete the risk assessments for all our upcoming ops, and I’ll only call you if I think we can’t pull it off without someone getting killed. Sound good?”
“It does.” Jarrod turned toward him and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Thank you. When can we leave?”
Eugene chuckled. “San wanted to be the one to drive you home. But humans need sleep. It’ll have to be in the morning.”
Eugene strode toward the elevator, and Jarrod followed close behind.
“Eugene? I do have one more question.”
“Shoot.”
“Has the U.S. Government sent anyone to track down and kill Emily Roberts?”
Eugene stopped in his tracks. Without looking at Jarrod, he said, “That’s classified.”
Jarrod nodded and said, “Very well.” But as the elevator doors slid shut, Eugene felt a chill run down his spine. Deep down, he knew that Jarrod knew the truth.
39
Sykesville, Maryland
Eugene stared at Susana’s house through bloodshot eyes. Today had been the worst day of his life—not because of the firefight, or the stress, or his questionable decision to let Jarrod into a room with Audrey Stokes—it was because of what had happened to Susana, and the bad news he was waiting to receive.
Though it was approaching eleven o’ clock at night when he arrived, he still sat in his Datsun for nearly thirty minutes, listening to the rain and searching for the courage to knock on her door. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing her, but he wouldn’t be surprised if she never wanted to see him again.
Eugene had laughed in the face of death more times than he could count. He’d been a Recon Marine, solo-hiked the Pacific Crest Trail, and been held captive by Katharos. But nothing scared him more than the
uncertainty he now faced, wondering if the woman he loved would send him away or pull him into her arms.
His gaze wandered to the glove box, and he made up his mind. It was all or nothing. He would tell her how he felt—let her know that he wanted to be with her forever, whether or not she could bear children of her own. And if she turned him down, then he wouldn’t hold it against her. He would love her for the rest of his life, but he respected her enough to love her from a distance if that’s what she wanted.
Tearing open the glovebox, he closed his fist around the small velvet case hidden inside. He stepped out into the pounding rain, lowered his head, and walked straight to her front door.
Waiting any longer would have been torture, so he pressed the doorbell and closed his eyes.
The door opened, and he glanced up. Susana was dressed in flannel pajamas, and her thick black hair hung loosely around her shoulders. But to Eugene, she had never looked more radiant.
He swallowed and made no move to enter the house. “Did you…talk to the doctor today?”
She nodded, and tears welled up in her eyes. She held a hand against her lips, unable to speak.
“Susana, I’m so sorry. It’s all my fault.”
She took a sharp breath and managed to force out the words, “Yes, it is.”
Eugene bowed his head. “I understand if you’re bitter. If you hate me. I understand if you want me to leave and never come back. But please, give me a chance to tell you how I feel before you send me away.”
She let out a soft cry, and a pair of tears raced down her cheeks. “You stupid, stupid man.”
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