by Matt Rogers
The Suzuki roared and shot out into thin air. A fall from this height would kill them. There was a split second of calm as time froze, with the bike suspended in mid-air and Jake hunched over the handlebars, sweat dripping from his face, forearms tensed with concentration.
Then there was a bone jarring jolt as the front tire slammed down against the ramp of the Super Stallion.
Just the front tire.
Jake let out a yell of surprise. The rear wheel spun in empty space. There wasn’t enough weight on the front for the bike to stay perched. The back swung down and smashed into the end of the ramp and the whole thing tumbled away.
Jake and Zoe fell with it. In a last-desperation attempt, Jake shot out a hand, searching for the ramp.
He found it.
Four of his fingers caught the steel, jolting him to a stop. Zoe’s arms, still wrapped around his waist, squeezed hard. She too came to a standstill, hanging from his torso. The bike fell away below them, twisting and turning in the air.
Jake gasped in exertion. The muscles in his arm were straining, trying to support both their weight at once. His sweaty fingers struggled for a grip against the metal. He felt his purchase begin to slip. With a lurch of vertigo, he let go involuntarily and dropped…
…about ten centimetres.
A powerful arm seized his forearm and held tight. The hand was enormous, the size of a dinner plate. Thorn.
Jake and Zoe were still dangling out in open space. He looked down upon the scene below, and saw the Suzuki tear through a set of power lines. It took both the thick wires down in an explosion of sparks, and carried on falling.
“Thorn, help!” he shouted.
There was an entire depot of fuel tankers resting directly underneath the falling dirt-bike’s trajectory. They all had the same logo on the side. Jake watched the bike tumble. Then, the inevitable happened.
The bike slammed into the thin roof of one of the petrol tankers and it caved in like tin foil, spilling gallons of petrol. A shower of sparks from the power lines fell straight into the open container.
The explosion was colossal. As Thorn pulled Jake and Zoe up into the fuselage, the entire depot of tankers went up like a nuclear bomb. The fireball engulfed half the construction site. Superheated flames flooded through the ground floor of the half-finished skyscraper like a wave. Irene was pulling the chopper away, banking sharply to the left, but still the mushroom cloud nearly consumed it. The Super Stallion twisted in the air. It swung away from the explosions and zoomed in the direction Jake had just come from, back down the street.
“This, uh …” Thorn said, staring out at the construction sight, “this might get a bit rocky.”
Still lying in a heap on the floor, Jake watched the skyscraper fall.
It began with the ear-splitting groan of twisting metal. The sound echoed off buildings. It encompassed the whole city. The heat of the blasts had incinerated some of the supports holding the building up. The rest were weakened. There was no sign that it was unstable; one second it was standing, and the next a dust cloud of epic proportions rushed out in every direction, obscuring the construction site. The top simply fell. It looked like the ground was eating it up, swallowing the building whole.
With the roar of crumbling concrete, the skyscraper collapsed into a pile of rubble. Jake watched the debris cover the construction site and spill out into the T-junction. It was over quick. By the time the dust cleared, the slayer horde had been buried, squashed to grisly death.
The chopper roared away, outrunning the dust cloud until the destruction was nothing but a speck in the distance.
Jake groaned with relief and collapsed back onto the floor. The wind howled all around him, but he was unfazed.
“I cannot believe I’m alive,” he said, panting.
Zoe lay next to him, breathing so hard she was almost hyperventilating. Her eyes were transfixed on the dust cloud in the distance. He turned to face her; she broke from her trance and kissed him on the lips.
“Thank you,” she whispered in his ear. “You’re amazing.”
They kissed again and headed back inside the chopper.
“Hey, Zoe,” Wolfe said. “How’s your dad?”
“So, I guess you’re the one they had to rescue, huh?” she said. “Dad could be better. I’ve heard he’s in military prison. You know, for what he did.”
Wolfe nodded. “Can’t keep him out of trouble. Don’t worry. I’ll get him out once this all blows over.”
Zoe looked around. Her face fell. “Where’s the other two? Where’s Sam?”
Wolfe shook his head. She collapsed onto one of the seats and clammed up, rigid.
There was a moment of silence.
Then Felix came and wrapped an arm around Jake’s neck, rubbing the top of his head.
“I hate to break a solemn moment,” he whispered, “but I think you just single-handedly killed every slayer in Iquitos, kid.”
Jake didn’t know how to react.
“Come on,” Felix said. “Do you think Sam, of all people, would want you mourning his death?”
Jake hesitated. He knew the truth. “He’d say it was a waste of time.”
“Exactly. You just saved an entire city, along with your girlfriend. You’re allowed to be happy.”
Jake couldn’t resist a smile.
It’s what Sam would have wanted, he thought. There had been no time for negative emotions in that man’s life.
The Super Stallion dipped and flew off towards the airport.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
This time, there were no special forces soldiers waiting to arrest them. There were no planes flying in and out.
The airport was a ghost town.
Irene touched down in the refuelling area. Immediately, hundreds of curious faces from within the terminal pressed up against the glass, attracted to the noise. A stooped man came sprinting towards the Super Stallion. He was thin and partially bald, with mahogany skin.
“Excuse me, sirs!” he cried as the six of them descended down the ramp. “Sirs!”
Jake stopped in his tracks. Irene strode forward confidently to meet the man. He hustled over to them and hunched over with his hands on his knees, panting.
“Do you know what is happening, ma’am?” he asked after he had caught his breath. “I have nearly a thousand people in the airport. We need help.”
Irene motioned to Jake. “I think my friend here just took care of the majority of the problem. But, just in case there are still a few more out there, I want you to keep everyone indoors and lock up the terminal. Wait until the military give you the all-clear. You should all be fine, okay?”
“Oh, thank you so much,” the man said. “Thank you indeed. Is there anything we may do to help?”
“We need a fully fuelled jet that can get us to Washington, D.C.”
“I’m … I’m sorry?”
“You heard me. I’m a pilot, so we don’t need one of those. Just the plane.”
“I’m not sure if –”
Irene puffed out her shoulders, doing a good job to appear menacing. “This is a matter of national security. You don’t need to be sure about anything. You simply need to do what I tell you. This is on the highest orders.”
“Uh…”
Jake could tell the man was unsure of himself. He was clearly in a position of authority within the airport, but in such a stressful situation no official exchange had been made between the two parties as to who could tell who what to do. Irene took advantage of his hesitance.
“Look, if you help us out, you’ll be a national hero. I can get the President of the United States to contact this airport himself at a later date. Right now, buddy, we don’t have time.”
The man bowed. “Of course, ma’am. I think we have a few jets here. I’m not sure if the owners will be too happy, though…”
“We’ll reimburse them.”
“After me.”
They were led across the tarmac to a row of private planes. The official told them to cho
ose what they fancied.
“Any discrepancies can be resolved later,” he explained.
“Where’s ours?” Jake asked Wolfe quietly.
“Probably being searched for evidence,” Wolfe said. “They wouldn’t keep it here.”
Irene and Zoe, the two pilots of the group, chose a Bombardier Global Express business jet. Jake got told it was fast and designed for flying long distances.
“How many kilometres can this thing do?” he asked Zoe.
“Just over nine thousand.”
“How far away’s Washington?”
“Just over seven thousand.”
“That means we can make it,” he deduced.
A smile played across her face. “I’m certainly not attracted to you for your prowess in the field of mathematics.”
He winked and pecked her on the lips. “But you are attracted to me.”
They climbed aboard. Jake, Wolfe, and Felix carted their hiking packs and weapons from the Super Stallion to the Bombardier, as Thorn helped Crank up into the plane. Crank hobbled awkwardly across the tarmac on his one remaining leg, grimacing in pain. On a last minute decision, Wolfe instructed them to bring parachutes from the Super Stallion, one for each person aboard.
“In case of emergency,” he said.
Jake hoped there wouldn’t be an emergency.
Ten minutes later, they were back in the air, soaring over Iquitos at twice the speed that the CH-53 had been travelling. Irene and Zoe set up shop in the cockpit, with the door shut tight as a symbol of privacy. Jake, passing by, heard his name mentioned during the muffled conversation from within. He blushed and moved back into the fuselage of the jet. The conversation was most likely about his intentions with Zoe, but at the same time he disliked the lack of communication. Talks behind closed doors were unnerving in such a tense situation.
The main section of the Bombardier was lavishly furnished. Recliners and tables with polished leather surfaces took up the majority of cabin space, much like the Gulfstream they had taken to Iquitos. Wolfe, Felix and Thorn had lain Crank down across one of the couches. The expression on his face showed remnants of post-traumatic shock. Jake had seen the same expression at rugby training, after a badly broken bone had left a teammate speechless. There was little colour in Crank’s cheeks, and he spent the majority of his time conscious zoned out, staring up at the roof.
Once they levelled out, Irene swung the cockpit door open. Jake caught a glimpse of Zoe at the controls. She was focused on the view outside. He found the concentration furrowing her brow cute.
“Wolfe, with me,” Irene said.
Wolfe looked up. “Why?”
“I got on the line with the President. You need to debrief him.”
Wolfe physically blanched. “Ah … okay.”
He rose and headed into the cockpit, shimmying past Zoe, who was heading out.
Jake smiled slightly. It was humorous to see Wolfe, a man who radiated an aura of safety and calm, finally nervous.
Felix noticed too. “Interesting priorities.”
“Huh?” Thorn said.
“That man would put his life on the line to fight Archfiend in a heartbeat. Now, he’s scared of talking to an important person.”
Zoe sat down next to Jake and chimed in. “It is the President, though.”
Jake put his arm round her. “I wouldn’t be scared talking to the President.”
“Oh really, macho man? Want to go in there and have a chat?”
“I’ll pass. Thanks for the offer, though.”
It only took them twenty minutes. Jake had assumed Wolfe would be on the phone for hours, but clearly his knowledge of Archfiend’s plan was limited.
“I just spoke to the President,” he said as he emerged from the cockpit, as if disbelieving of the words coming out of his own mouth.
“And what was that like?” Thorn said.
“Well, once you get over the fact that he’s just a guy – actually quite normal. Besides, there’s bigger issues than making a fool of myself out of that.”
Everyone nodded; the mood was solemn. Jake was unable to shake the sense of impending doom. If Archfiend wasn’t lying, the stakes were unfathomable. He tried to imagine three thousand slayers. It achieved nothing but the unsettling feeling of being a tiny speck. He was out of his depth and he knew it.
Wolfe took the collective silence as a cue to continue.
“D.C. is issuing a city-wide lockdown,” he said. “The President listened to everything I said. He was deadly serious. Clearly, he’s been watching the news.”
“What kind of lockdown?” Felix asked.
“The Army’s putting soldiers on every street corner. That’s the best they can do so far.”
“That’s not going to be enough,” Thorn said, shaking his head. “Not against three thousand slayers.”
“I spent ten minutes on the phone with the Pentagon, too. They wanted a debrief on everything I knew about slayers – I think they’re sending electronic copies to every general in the army.”
“Still not enough,” Jake said.
“I know,” Wolfe said, bowing his head. “If Archfiend wasn’t exaggerating, then I don’t think anything is going to be enough.”
He plopped down in one of the recliners opposite Jake and rested his cheek on his fist, deep in thought. No-one spoke a word for the next ten minutes. Jake began to drift off as he grew used to the turbulence every now and then, becoming familiar with the rhythm of the plane. It was almost soothing, and his seat was comfortable; he felt himself slipping from consciousness. He hadn’t had much sleep over the past few days.
“Wolfe,” Felix said, breaking the silence.
“What?”
“Tell him.”
Jake stirred and opened his eyes. Wolfe noticed, and cast his eyes away. Was the conversation about him?
The man looked more nervous than Jake had ever seen him. Both his legs were twitching.
“It’s not that easy, you know,” he said to Felix.
“The longer you hold it off, the harder it will be.”
“What?” Jake said. He was almost sure they were talking about him. Thorn was watching him closely.
Wolfe sighed.
“Listen Jake,” he said. And then trailed off. Jake watched him shuffle nervously, before continuing. “I … haven’t been entirely truthful with you. Ever since you joined us.”
“About what?”
“Everything.”
Wolfe sat there, staring at a random point in the space in front of Jake, unblinking.
“Wolfe, what are you talking about?” Jake said. He was beyond confused.
Wolfe looked up, for the first time, and stared deep into Jake’s eyes. He was crying. Jake watched as a tear trickled down his cheek.
“Please don’t kill me for this, kid,” he said.
Then he reached up and dug a single finger into his chin. He worked the nail around a little, pushing and prodding. Jake sat and watched in bemused silence. He hadn’t the faintest inkling of what Wolfe was playing at.
And then, with a jolt of shock like a bullet to the heart, he realised.
Wolfe had picked away a flap of loose skin from the base of his neck. It was dangling in thin air. But it wasn’t skin.
It was the base of a mask.
Wolfe slid two fingers underneath the flap and tugged hard. Slowly, but surely, the material separated from his neck. It was some kind of latex, fixed to his skin by some kind of sticky material, so complex and intricate in its detail that it had moulded perfectly to the contours of his face.
Wolfe lifted and pulled and picked and scratched until his entire face had adopted a saggy texture. The mask, infinitely detailed, had been covering his whole complexion.
Jake’s heart pounded and his palms grew sweaty.
In one final, fluid movement, Wolfe wrapped both hands around the base of the flappy skin and wrenched it free, tugging his hair off with it. The disguise fell to the floor.
Maybe it was
partially due to exhaustion, or stress, but as soon as Jake saw the person underneath, the blood drained from his head and he collapsed back into his chair.
It was impossible.
He recognised the man.
How?
“Dad,” he whispered.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Four hours earlier.
Hamish Benson’s breath misted in front of his face.
He wrapped his overcoat tighter around his shivering body and shoved his hands into his pockets, trying in vain to combat the night’s cool air. It was nine in the evening in Washington D.C., and the city was empty.
Where is everyone?
He was hustling along 17th Street at a brisk pace, and there wasn’t a single person in sight. A soft yellow glow pooled down from the streetlights overhead, exacerbating the shadows. Someone with an active imagination could have dreamed up all kinds of things waiting in the darkness.
Hamish was accustomed to the walk. He had made it every night for the last month, and would probably be making it every night for the next month, too. Running for senior partnership at a prestigious law firm called for a commitment above and beyond what was expected. Arriving home before ten these days was a minor victory.
It was probably a good thing there was no-one waiting at home to protest over his uncanny overtime hours. He lived alone, besides his border collie Chester. All the dog protested about was getting a late dinner. He could handle a dog. He wasn’t sure if he could handle a girlfriend.
Wrapped up in thought, he crossed the street, heading away from the enormous bulk of the White House. 17th ran parallel to the presidential residence. It was quite the scenic walk; his footsteps took him alongside the Washington Monument and the Ellipse, the enormous oval that lay behind the White House’s rear gardens. At night, the deserted grounds had a certain majesty to them. Sometimes, Hamish would walk through. Right now, all he wanted was a strong coffee and his bed. It had been a long day at the office.
So he crossed to the other side of the street, because that way he would get home faster.
If he had stayed on the footpath, he would have lived.
