by Andrew Mayne
“Okay,” I say. “What should we do?”
“Find him,” says Gerald. “If you two can’t, I don’t know who can.”
“Find him? Just like that? The man escaped federal custody and outsmarted the CIA and apparently your task force. So we just find him?”
“Start with his pattern,” says Theo. “There’s a flaw in his thinking. What is it? We know he took risks trying to kill you. So that tells us he’s vindictive and probably feels threatened by you. He even built an AI to act as a go-between because you intimidate him. What else?”
“He’s arrogant.”
“Okay. I know from personal experience that can be a fatal flaw. In what way is he arrogant?” asks Theo.
“He likes to show you how close you came before he outsmarts you. We know he watched several of the crimes he committed in the past from up close. That’s why I had our agents record video of all the onlookers at the Manhattan Void. But we got nothing.”
“Yet you think he was there?” asks Theo.
“A hundred percent,” I say without hesitation. “The question is, where?” Then it hits me like a ton of bricks. “Oh shit.”
“What?” asks Gerald.
“I’m so, so stupid. He was right there. So close. And I think I know exactly where.”
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
OPERATIONS
The Department of Homeland Security’s temporary operations center in Manhattan is located in the Ritz-Carlton ballroom. Here, hundreds of federal agents, NYPD officers, and other law enforcement personnel are scattered around tables, going over computer screens and documents as they try to identify the perpetrators of the Manhattan Void.
Rachel Penn, the FBI liaison for the operation, greets Theo and me at the check-in station by the entrance. She’s a tall woman dressed in a blazer and slacks, like me, though her clothes are newer and more stylish than the utilitarian wardrobe I’ve sported lately.
“Agent Blackwood,” she says, offering her hand. She gives Theo a more circumspect nod. “Dr. Cray. My station is this way.”
She leads us to a table in the corner of the room where her laptop rests next to stacks of folders and rolled-up posters. Gerald said that Penn was the one to ask about details of the investigation and that she could provide me with whatever we needed. From her response to Theo, I’m beginning to suspect that offer might be conditional.
Both Mandy and Gerald have made it clear, albeit indirectly, that there’s a faction within the FBI that’s no fan of Theo Cray. I’m not too surprised. There’s a faction that isn’t fond of me, either.
Not all of it is unearned, I have to admit. Besides my proclivity for chaos, I had a relationship with a man who is a person of interest to the FBI and a suspect in several cases. While I know Damian has broken more than a few laws, as far as I know he always acted in the interest of protecting me . . . perhaps too zealously.
I suspect that working with Theo is only making me more of a suspicious character to people who already had their doubts. There’s not much I can do about that. In desperate times we have to look at alternate ways of getting things done.
“How is the investigation going?” I ask.
Penn glances at Theo, then back to me. “We’ve made some arrests. We’re pushing for more information.”
Okay. So that’s how it’s gonna be. She just gave me the verbatim response they’ve been feeding to the press. Penn considers me untrustworthy, at least with Theo around. I decide to keep this short and to the point.
“I need the thermal-imaging maps from the night of the Void.”
“Do you have authorization?” she replies.
“Check your email from Gerald Voigt again if you have doubt,” I say flatly.
“Fine.” She picks up a rolled-up poster from the table and hands it to me. “Here.”
She expects me to thank her and walk away, but I want to make sure this is what we came for. I take the rubber band off and spread the poster out on the table.
It shows an overhead thermal image of Manhattan taken by a satellite one hour into the event. There are half a dozen bright splotches on the grid, showing locations where power was still running. Some of them are the size of a block and contain dozens of buildings. Searching them all could take months.
I look across the table and notice three more poster tubes by her computer. “May I see those?”
“Fine.” She hands me the other posters.
I unroll them all and lay them on the table. They also show thermal images of the city but with different bright spots. “Why the difference?” I ask, pretending Penn hadn’t been hostile.
“Some of them had backup generators that came online, only to be taken out by EMPs or overloads,” she replies.
“Is there any reason you didn’t want to show me these?” I ask bluntly.
“You didn’t ask for all the thermal images. I wasn’t clear on what you were looking for.” She checks her watch. “I have a meeting I have to go to. I need the other images.”
“Hold on,” says Theo. “May I?”
I step back. Theo takes the images and stacks them on top of each other, lining up the outline of Manhattan. He then flips through the posters, letting them flutter like a children’s flip-book.
“There,” he says, putting his finger on one tiny bright spot that never lost power throughout the event.
“What’s that?” I ask Penn.
“The Acropolis Building. They had a generator and battery backup in the sub-basement.”
“Who was in there when the event happened?”
“Only its residents. There’s no public access,” she replies.
“What about the residents?” I ask.
“What about them?”
“Have they been interviewed?”
“Yes. Anything else?”
“Could I see the interviews?”
“I’ll look into it. You have to understand that the Acropolis is one of the most expensive pieces of real estate in the city. It’s not as easy as going door to door. I have to go now. Please call the switchboard here if you need anything else.” She shuts her laptop, gathers her posters, and leaves.
The fact that she didn’t offer her cell number, which I already have from an email, was her polite way of telling me to go to hell.
“She seemed nice,” Theo replies.
“I’m not used to having bureau people be so hostile.”
“You know it’s because of me, right?”
“Not all of it. I’ve stepped on a few toes.”
“Perhaps. I didn’t want to say anything before, but I have reason to suspect that once this is all over, you’re going to be put into an uncomfortable position,” he says.
“What do you mean?”
“Because of me. See, even if we catch Heywood, we have to remember that he wants me stopped. And others have been eager to help him. I know it from Myanmar. The bill’s coming due,” he explains.
“Don’t be so dramatic.”
Theo leans on the table and lowers his voice. “I’m not. You’ll see. But I want a promise from you when they come and ask about me.”
“What’s that?” I ask, worried where this will go.
“I want you to tell the truth,” says Theo. “Every correct action. Every questionable one. Just be honest.”
“Okay . . .”
“Because they’re going to get me, one way or another. We can’t let them get you, too.”
“Whatever,” I reply. “But it’s not going down like that. You’ve already done so much.” I point to the hot spot on the map. “Now, let’s go find out if Heywood slipped up.”
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
FRONT ROW
The Acropolis Building, on the south end of Central Park, is one of the newer, ridiculously tall and thin skyscrapers that’s started to appear along the Manhattan skyline. I don’t know if they’re a sign of skyrocketing property prices or some new construction techniques, but as I stand on the sidewalk, craning my neck to look at
the top of the building, it looks like an impossible object—something that should not exist.
Theo gets out of our FBI SUV and momentarily glances up. “It’s tall,” he says before heading to the front of the building.
It’s tall. For Theo, everything is a one or zero. But I’m certain if he saw an ant walking the wrong way on the sidewalk in front of the building, he’d stare at it for half an hour, asking how it’s possible.
I join him in front of the entrance. He’s looking at an app on his phone and making an odd face, which is Theo’s tell for something’s suspicious.
“What’s up?” I ask.
Theo glances over his shoulder and speaks in a lowered voice. “It’s a kind of contact-tracing app I made. I installed it when we were back in DC.”
“What does it track?”
“MAC and Bluetooth addresses we’ve been in contact with. I think we might have someone following us,” he replies.
“Who?” I ask without turning around.
“I don’t know. It just keeps track of phone IDs, not the people attached to them. But I think these are government phones.”
Would Gerald have put a tail on me? I trust him . . . but does he trust me? Are we being followed by our own people?
Whatever. It’s out of my control. I need to focus on why we’re here. I turn my attention back to the building.
“The Acropolis has a good view of the city from the top floors. When I was on that helicopter, I saw a lot of people at their windows and some on the roof. This building has a sky penthouse that’s owned by a real estate investment firm,” I tell him.
“And you think that’s where Heywood wanted to watch the Void from?” asks Theo.
“Given that it had power and seems to have one of the best views in the city, yeah. Hopefully there’s security camera footage, although I doubt it, or someone remembers seeing him. If it were me, I’d have disguised myself as maintenance or security. I don’t think the security inside the building would stop him.”
“You’re stalling,” says Theo. “You don’t want to go inside.”
Busted. “We’ve come this far, and I’d hate to fall for one of his pranks . . . or worse.”
“You’re worried that it might be a trap?” asks Theo.
“I’m afraid the moment I touch that door, the whole building is going to collapse on me.” I can feel the shortness of my breath and my knees going soft.
“That’s not going to happen. Come on. Let’s see if he slipped up.” Theo reaches down and grabs my sweaty palm and holds open the door to the lobby with his other hand.
I step inside and take a breath of the air-conditioned air. The concierge, a twenty-something woman with the looks of a fashion model, stands at a counter to the right.
“Welcome to the Acropolis. Are you here to visit someone?” she asks.
I let go of Theo’s hand and take out my badge. “My name is Agent Blackwood. I want to see about access to the penthouse.”
“May I take a look at that?”
I hold the badge so she can see that it’s authentic. She types something into a computer. “No problem.” She reaches down and pulls out a small plastic card. “Just use this to access the elevator.”
This was easier than I thought. “Is it currently unoccupied?”
“I don’t know. But Mr. Heywood left specific instructions that you were to be given full access when you arrived.”
My heart stops. The last time I stepped into one of Heywood’s secret lairs was the first time he tried to kill me.
Theo’s hand wraps around mine again. It’s the only thing stopping me from hyperventilating.
We walk to the elevator lobby, and I turn to Theo. He can read the question in my eyes before I even say it.
“Should we go up?”
“That’s up to you,” he replies.
“You’re not helping. Should I call the bomb squad? Bring in reinforcements?”
“It’s your call. I’m with you either way.”
“Even if we’re stepping into a trap with five tons of C-4 ready to kill us?”
“Yes.”
The way he says it without hesitation soothes me a little. For the first time, I realize that it’s not dying that scares me; it’s the thought of dying alone.
I touch the plastic card to the elevator sensor, and the door opens. Theo steps inside first. I panic for a moment at the thought of the doors slamming shut and taking him away from me.
But they stay open.
I step inside and stand next to him.
The doors close, and we feel the sudden acceleration upward as the elevator takes us to the eighty-fifth floor. Theo gives my hand a squeeze, letting me know he’s present.
I reach my other hand up and touch it to his stubbled chin and turn his mouth toward my own. I pull him in, and his lips make contact with mine. My tongue probes his mouth for the briefest of moments, and I feel every blood vessel in my body open wide. I want to pull him closer, but instead I let him go.
I pull back and release his hand. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” he says.
“I know you just . . .”
“I think she’ll understand,” he replies.
“I don’t think you understand women.”
PART SIX
THEORETICIAN
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
ASCENSION
Our kiss may have killed us.
Jessica is calm, collected, and outwardly fine, but from the perspiration on her hand and the pulse I sense with my fingertips, she’s experiencing what feels like a minor panic attack. All my enemies are dead, in jail, or ten thousand miles away in another country, dreading the day they encounter me again. Jessica’s enemy has been watching her the entire time.
While chasing Heywood, she found herself in the exact spot he wanted her to be in—or at least he made it appear that way. He may be in love with her, but he doesn’t love her. The distinction is the difference between wanting a thing and wanting what is best for it.
I can convince myself that the kiss was just a platonic reassurance to a friend in a terrifying situation, but I know there’s a deeper truth. The moment I gave Jillian the papers to the bakery, the house, and everything else, she treated it like a divorce. A polite one, but a separation.
I felt so horrible for everything I’d put her through I wanted to make sure that if I didn’t return from Myanmar, she’d be able to make a clean break of it. The reality was that I didn’t expect to return.
I went there to die.
I’d become a dangerous thing. A creature willing to crawl through the gutter to strike at my enemies while casting off my few friends and the people that loved me. I was more reptile than man.
At first, I blamed it on the Hyde virus, a pathogen that I may have come in contact with while hunting Forrester, the biomedical researcher who wanted to infect the US’s armed forces, but I slowly came to realize my behavior was my own choice.
Having been the victim of a cruel and indifferent universe that stole away my father, I wanted that power for myself.
When they came for us in the jungle, I got to be who I truly wanted to be. I didn’t hold back like I did with Forrester or Angelica Covel. I didn’t hesitate like I did with Oyo. I didn’t even wait to be physically threatened.
When Johnny ran, he wasn’t running from them. They were all dead. He ran from me, terrified by what I had become.
Jillian never saw it. She didn’t know the man she slept with each night when we were together was thinking up a thousand ways to kill all the evil in the world. She saw my light and my shadow but didn’t realize that the real me was the shadow.
When I was in that cell, expecting to die, I hid away knife blades and picked the locks at night to see if I could do it . . . but I didn’t want to leave. I was too tired.
And then light walked in. A light with a long shadow, but a light nonetheless.
I’ve watched Jessica as she faces each difficult decision. She’s lear
ned that sometimes the right thing isn’t written down anywhere. Sometimes it’s the opposite of what we’ve been told.
I didn’t know if Heywood, this man who calls himself the Warlock, really wasn’t going to kill her when we set foot in the elevator. What I did know—and I at least suspect Jessica realized on some level—was that Heywood was watching us.
For my part, I accepted her kiss in an act of defiance. I wanted him to see that I have the thing that he desires. I wanted him to see that instead of being pushed off the chessboard, I got the queen.
And if in some petulant act, Heywood pulled a trigger from wherever he’s hiding, he’d do it knowing that he’d permanently lost the one thing he could never have.
A tone chimes in the quiet elevator car as we reach the top floor. Jessica is standing perfectly straight, and her eyes are facing forward as she waits for the doors to open. Her hands are at her sides, not ready to pull the gun from her waist like when we first met.
Like me, she must assume that whatever situation we’re about to set foot in, a sidearm won’t decide the outcome. Heywood is playing a game I can’t fathom and one that I don’t think Jessica understands, either. We’re simply incapable of understanding him.
The elevator opens to a foyer. The large double doors to the only apartment on this floor stand before us, ten feet tall and presumably leading to a penthouse with a high ceiling and expansive view of the city. And quite possibly a trap set specifically for us.
Every rational part of me says we should leave. A voice in the back of my mind whispers that whatever’s on the other side of those doors will change us. More specifically, it’s been designed to change Jessica.
I grasp her elbow. “He wants you to step through those doors.”
“I know,” she replies. “I know.” Her beautiful green eyes search the wall around the doors and land on a small section near the ceiling where a camera is visible, mounted on the trim. “He’s been watching.”
