Jack shook his head. He knew what had to be done. He knew where he belonged. His home—his true home—was waiting for him. She was waiting for him. Beth was waiting for him, there in the flames. He pulled himself from Thorne’s fragile grip and turned . . .
To see that Beth was gone. Nothing left in the fire but a quivering lump of flesh. Nothing but the lie. Another lie.
Jack grasped Thorne by the arm and hauled her up. “Come on.” She might have saved his life. He knew that. But he never would have been in danger if she hadn’t been here. Beth wouldn’t have, either, if Thorne and Ross and the rest of their Armani-clad thugs hadn’t shown up with that thing. She was no friend. What she was now was leverage, pure and simple.
He locked the crook of his arm around Thorne’s throat, put the muzzle of his pistol against her temple, and pushed his hostage ahead of him toward the door, using her as a shield.
• • •
They were outside waiting. Not Ross, not yet. But a mass of suits, all of them with Tasers drawn, twelve of them at least. Time slowed the way it did in every awful dream Jack had had since childhood, since long before he knew that nightmares could be real. He heard timbers crack and fall behind him. The roar of the fire was matched only by the roar in his head. As one, the agents began to move toward him.
“I’ll shoot!” he called out, grinding the barrel harder into Thorne’s temple. “I mean it. I’ll shoot her.”
“Acceptable loss!” one of them shouted back.
There would be no place he could outrun them, not on his injured ankle. Not even if he were fit to race in the Olympics. He scanned the advancing agents. No sign of Beth among them, no sign of Blood. Either they’d escaped, been captured, or—
Jack cut the thought off right there. This was it. Jack Jackson was going back to where it all began, to where he’d first become the man he was today. All he could do was try to end it. He shoved Thorne away from him. She tumbled to the sidewalk in a rough heap. He lifted his pistol to his temple.
Before he could pull the trigger, the night was rent by the wail of a fire alarm. Immediately after came shrieks and screams. Across the street, people streamed from the nightclub’s front door. The anonymous mass plowed into the Division agents in a landslide of club finery.
Jack bolted. A thrumming electric jolt arced up his leg with every frantic stride. He scanned the street as he ran, searching for someplace to hide, anyplace. But every door was boarded up, every window shuttered or barred.
He’d made it almost four full blocks when a Division agent rounded the corner in front of him. The man stood dead center in the street. His Taser was drawn. He was in range. He smiled that waxy, too perfect smile they all had and took aim at Jack.
A fan of headlights lit up the night from behind the agent. The whine of an engine grew loud, grew close. The car seemed to come from nowhere, a long silver Lincoln. There was a heavy thud. The man rolled up and over the hood, his body twisting into angles that nature had not designed it for, and tumbled out of sight.
Beth was behind the wheel of the old Lincoln. She leaned on the horn, breaking Jack’s trance. “What do you want? Me to hop out and open the door? Get the fuck in, already!”
Jack obeyed, still dazed. Blood welcomed him with a bark from the back bench as he collapsed into the passenger seat. The dog hopped up to rest his muzzle on Jack’s shoulder, offering a wet tongue as he stroked his fur. “Fire alarm, huh? Is that from—”
“From the club? Yep. Worked last time,” Beth said, slamming the car into drive. “Besides, looks like the Camden FD will have their hands full anyway with the bank. Quick thinking.”
Jack nodded, gazing at the smoke billowing from the abandoned building.
“And the creature?”
“Dead,” Jack answered, still remembering how he’d seen it both as Beth and in its true form. What either of those two facts might mean was a question he could answer tomorrow. Right now, they needed to get someplace safe.
“So that’s the Division.”
Again Jack nodded. “It was a setup.”
“I gathered. You’ll have to tell me more over waffles. Buckle up.”
As Beth peeled out down the street, Jack noticed that her window had been smashed in. “When did you learn how to hotwire a car?”
“From my eleventh-grade boyfriend. He was a part-time jazz drummer and a full-time repo man. Not my proudest moment.” She kept her hand firm on the steering wheel, her eyes fixed on the road, and she smiled even as they blew through the next five stoplights.
Seventeen
Thorne watched as three of the biggest agents she’d ever seen grappled with Dr. Kander. Even with all their bulk, they were having a difficult time keeping him from rushing back into the burning building.
“Calm down! Just calm down now!” Agent Lamb shouted over both the crackle of flame and Kander’s frenzied cries.
Thorne herself was still shaking off the spell that thing had cast over her and what had happened since. It was worse, far worse and far more powerful, than what she’d felt in the ’Clave.
If it hadn’t been for Jackson, she’d have died in the building, of that she was certain. She’d have been worm food. And there was that scream. Thorne hadn’t just heard the creature scream when Jackson shot it; she had felt it, in her blood, in her bones. That scream was like a splinter in her being, and there it was going to stay; there it was going to fester. A chill took her that the raging blaze did nothing to abate.
“Let me in, you worthless apes!” Kander roared, his words finally coalescing into a modicum of intelligibility. “We need to get back inside. We need to collect what organic material we can.”
“The thing is dead.” Ross appeared, pushing through the throng of assembled agents. He kept a healthy distance from the smoke and flames as they claimed ever more of the building. “Let it go, Doctor. Don’t add yourself to this evening’s losses.”
“Don’t you understand what’s at stake? That’s the only one of those things we’ve captured in a decade.”
“We will capture more.” Ross’s words were counterpoint to the growing wail of sirens. The first responders would be on the scene soon. Division protocol had it that they should be gone by the time that happened.
Ross lifted his wrist mic. “Does anyone have a lock on the car?” He paused, listening. “Find it. How many seventies-era pimp mobiles can there possibly be in this shithole?” Gruffness was showing through Ross’s carefully applied veneer of calm. “Find them. Find Jackson. Copy? Capturing Jack Jackson is priority one.”
“Priority one?” Kander shook the agents restraining him. He stood much straighter than his habitual stoop should have allowed. “What do you mean, priority one? Salvaging what we can of the specimen here needs to be priority one! Not your childish vendetta.”
Ross kept his cool, not betraying a single bead of sweat despite the growing heat. “I apologize, Dr. Kander. I didn’t realize you’d discovered a way to synthesize the gas without Jackson.”
Kander looked around nervously, his voice an unsteady quaver. “I haven’t, but . . . you must understand. I—”
“I must, must I? I must understand your consistent failure in that department?”
“No . . . that’s not . . . if you could only . . . I’m inches away from developing another way to detect them. You saw the footage.”
“Yes, I saw the footage. I was there when you gathered it. Remember? I saw exactly how it was you obtained it. We can’t rely on it. We need the gas. We need Jackson.”
“That’s just the preliminary stages. If you would just—”
“Doctor.” The word was a slammed door. “Jackson has been far more successful locating those creatures on his own than we have ever been without him. I want to know how he’s doing it. He is priority one.” Ross turned to an agent Thorne didn’t recognize. “Casualties?”
“Five.”
Ross hooked a finger under his collar, loosening his tie. “I want a full briefing in tran
sit. If any of the downed agents have spouses, prepare standard cover stories. When this is over, I’ll inform the families personally.”
“Yes, Agent Ross.” The man turned, about to leave, but Ross signaled him to stay.
“One more thing,” Ross said. “Where is my Go board?”
“All packed up.”
“Excellent.” Ross dismissed the man with a nod and turned to Thorne. “I doubt the stones will be in the same positions we left them in. We’ll have to start the game anew.” He lifted his wrist mic. “I want the entire detail loaded and in transit in three minutes tops. Let me know when you’ve got a lock on that Lincoln.”
Dr. Kander stood stock-still, gawping. “We can’t leave.”
“That is not a subject for debate.”
“We need those resources. We need them back at the New Harbor base.”
“How the Division handles its resources is my burden to shoulder,” Ross snapped, turning his back to Kander, discussion over.
“Shoulder?” The pique beamed from the doctor nova-bright. “Yes, shouldering things is probably the only thing a pack animal like you is good for. You and your fucking baboons. You think you’re smart, Ross? You don’t know what smart is. You’re nothing but bluster. You and the rest of your clown show. Oh, you can dress your monkeys up in all the Brooks Brothers suits you want. But they’re still monkeys, nothing but trained monkeys. Just like you. Now, be a good little monkey and have them salvage what organic material they can from inside that bank before it’s all gone.”
“Agent Lamb,” Ross said, ignoring the raving doctor, “please hand me your Taser.”
Lamb tugged his weapon from its holster and gave it to Ross. Without an instant of hesitation, Ross pointed the gun at Kander and fired. The doctor’s body went rigid immediately, collapsing onto the sidewalk. He twitched spasmodically as fifty thousand volts of electric current surged through him, and a spreading stain of hot piss soaked the doctor’s crotch, pooling between his legs.
Ross calmly handed the Taser back to Lamb. He stepped to Kander, put one impeccably shined shoe on the crook of his neck, and bore down. “It would be in your own best interests to listen to every word I say, and listen carefully. I will not repeat myself.”
Thorne thought Kander might have nodded or simply quivered in fear. She wasn’t sure.
“I’ve indulged your behavior until now, Dr. Kander. That ends here. If you think that you are special, you are mistaken. If you believe that I can’t replace you in an afternoon with another socially retarded wunderkind, you are mistaken. If you don’t believe that the Division has countless possible recruits under observation, any one of whom would gladly see your throat slit for the chance to take over your research, you are mistaken.”
Kander’s body shook, and his face started to go purple as Ross knelt, his full weight grinding Kander’s cheek into the concrete.
“If you are under the delusion that you are anything other than an interchangeable chit in all of this, one that I can choose to use, sacrifice, or simply discard if I deem that to be the best course of action for this mission, then you are mistaken.” Ross straightened up, tightening his Windsor knot as he pulled his heel from the doctor’s neck. “Have I made myself clear?”
Kander gasped for air in three deep gulps as he rolled over onto his back, both hands clutching his chest. He coughed, then retched. Vomit plumed up and slid down both of his cheeks.
Ross plucked a pocket square from his suit and let it flutter down to Kander. “Now, clean yourself up, Doctor.”
Kander slapped the handkerchief aside and stumbled to his feet, wiping away a long string of saliva and vomit. “You’re wrong,” he said. Tears and snot streaked his face. “You can’t do this without me. You fucking cretin. Without my research, you’d be—”
Ross had Kander by the collar before the man could speak another syllable. He hauled him up one-handed and frog-marched him forward, directly toward the bank and the hell raging within. “You might be the best scientist we’ve got on the payroll, Kander,” Ross said, “but I’ll make do with the second best until we can get him or her up to speed.”
“What are you . . . what are you—”
“Agent Diamond,” he called, shoving Kander forward. The doctor stumbled, plowing into Diamond’s waiting clutches. “Dr. Kander has become an unacceptable and unpredictable variable. Put him inside the bank with what is left of his precious specimen.” Ross wiped his hands and dusted his shoulders. “Then shut the door.”
“No! No!” Kander writhed in Diamond’s grasp like a caught eel. Another agent stepped up and grabbed the doctor’s other arm. Together they dragged him toward the bank. The tips of his shoes left shaking black lines on the sidewalk. “You can’t do this, you—”
“Make sure to delay the first responders,” Ross added. “Delay them long enough to make sure that all evidence is sufficiently corrupted. That includes the doctor.”
To Thorne’s ears, sufficiently corrupted meant burned to an unrecognizable pile of cinders.
“No! No! You can’t do this.” Kander’s voice rose a shrill octave as they drew close to the glowing, smoking door. “Ross! Ross!”
This is a bluff, Thorne thought. It has to be. No sane AIC would liquidate a crucial asset midmission. Let alone seal another human being inside a burning building. And certainly not over a few heat-of-battle slanders.
Ross surveyed it all with his velociraptor gaze. And Thorne knew this was no feint, no ruse, no bluff. “Agent Ross!” she blurted out, not quite believing it was her own voice. “They think they’ve got eyes on the car. We need to scramble the chopper now.”
Ross paused for the briefest of moments. Then he turned toward the men about to incinerate Kander. “You heard Agent Thorne. Everyone move out. And bring the doctor with us. We can only hope he’s learned his lesson.”
As he eyed her, Thorne thought Ross might know she’d lied to him and wondered if he’d been pushing her to do so all along.
Eighteen
DOUBLE TROUBLE STATE PARK, NEW JERSEY
Beth heard the rasp of a zipper, the swish of nylon and netting. A morning zephyr filled the tent, trailing cool fingers down her exposed arm. She opened her eyes to see Jack hovering in the squat doorway. “What time is it?”
“A little after eight.”
Beth scrambled up. “What, why did—”
“The body needs sleep,” he said. “Every body, even yours.” Then he walked away. Blood padded along in his wake. She looked over to his side of the tent to see that he’d already rolled and stowed his own sleeping bag. Swift and silent as always.
The few hours she’d slept felt like little more than a blink. And although she knew Jack was right about what her body needed, she still wished he’d woken her earlier. Already the dread was sinking deep. Overnight they’d gone from hunters to hunted.
When they’d finally pulled their stolen car into the park, it had been nearing dawn. They’d stuck to back streets, avoiding the major highways, keeping eyes out for approaching town cars or hovering helicopters. Apprehension clung to her like pine tar the entire time. And then they’d finally collapsed into their sleeping bags, the tent’s thin walls offering little security. She’d wondered if she’d sleep—then or ever again.
But exhaustion finally took her and took her completely. She woke only once, to find that Jack had pulled her close. He nestled against her back, and they lay there, side by side. For one lunatic moment, everything seemed right. She nuzzled closer to him, almost melting into his crooked form. His even breaths wafted over her cheek, telling her that he was dead asleep. She wondered now if he even realized what he’d done. Or what it meant to her. Such a small act but as powerful as any of his grim heroics had ever been.
Beth slipped out of her bag, pulled on a pair of jeans and a hooded sweatshirt, then shuffled out into the cool morning. She looked back at the tent. Dew rolled down the outer walls in thick rivulets, and she wondered on what patch of earth it would find itself
pitched next.
Jack sat on the sagging picnic table. He poured a cup of coffee for her.
“So what now?” she asked, taking the cup.
Jack sipped his own coffee but said nothing. There was something in his eyes she’d never seen before. It wasn’t guilt or remorse or even shame. What she saw there was doubt. It was as if the walls he’d built around himself had crumbled to a heap of mortar dust. “I don’t know,” he said, and took another sip.
He offered nothing else. No reassurances. No opinions. No options. Nothing but a void that Beth wanted filled at any cost, even with vain hopes or lies. “I need to know everything, Jack. No holding back. We’re past that now. Who were those people?”
“You know who they were. The Division.”
“But who are they? Who do they work for?”
“I don’t even know if they know the answer to that anymore. As far as I can tell, they are completely decentralized. Division isn’t just some cute name; it’s how they operate.”
“What do they want?”
Jack wrung his hands, another thing she’d never seen him do. “They want me.”
“Why?”
Jack nodded. Time to shed this burden, his eyes said. “They came for me the night it all started. The police had me in one of those cinder-block rooms like you see in the movies. That’s what I kept thinking. This is just like a movie. They wanted me to confess to a string of killings that I hadn’t done . . . and one that I had.”
“Jack . . .”
He held up a hand. “I did, Beth. I killed her. I killed Sarah. Nothing will ever change that. No reasons, no excuses, no justifications, nothing.”
Beth had no words. She knew he was right. All she could do now was listen and offer comfort. She reached for his hand and was surprised that he let her take it. She laced her fingers with his and drew the hand into her lap. “Go on.”
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